Not to be confused with the David Friedman-produced film of the same name (and year!), this BIG SNATCH, in contrast to its soft core counterpart, is another of the innumerable tedious storefront features that proliferated after hardcore broke in 1970.
The film begins with drug addict Harry Keller (whose name I remember because characters constantly repeat it in full) grabbing a young woman off the street and raping her in an alley (obviously a set, but at least artfully lit). Using the money he's stolen to procure his next fix, Harry collapses into a stupor until his friend awakens him, saying that the girl he raped belonged to a female gang that has been combing the streets looking for him. Playing things safe (or so he thinks), Harry goes to hide out at the apartment of his prostitute friend Ruby.
The visit to Ruby's paves the way for a gratuitous sex scene with one of her johns, a sequence I would say is there to pad to running time if the entire story didn't collapse almost immediately thereafter. Sending Harry Keller to the store to get some cigarettes (isn't he supposed to be in hiding?), Ruby is soon accosted by three members of the gang, who have managed to track Harry back to her place. Things fade out as she screams, denying the audience the minimal pleasure of a brief cross-over into roughie territory - the film is merely tedious, bait-and-switch hardcore all the way.
When Harry Keller returns, the women knock him down and toss him onto the bed along with the guy who snitched, whom they've had in tow this whole time. The second half of the movie, an interminable 30 minutes, finds the women "forcing" the men to have sex with them as retribution (yeah). A splash of cheesy, cheap-jack bloodletting brings things to a close, though it's too little, too late - certainly for any audience attracted by the prospect of seeing a couple low-lifes get what's coming to them from a trio of foxy amazons, which I can only presume constituted this film's target demographic.
Production values, aside from the aforementioned lighting, are uniformly poor. Many of the early scenes take place on stagy sets that almost achieve an air of surrealism, though the apartment-bound conclusion (the last 40 minutes of a 60-minute film) produces such profound disinterest that it eliminates any minor goodwill the film's opening might have engendered. Acting is abysmal across the board, and the above plot synopsis should be enough to illustrate the shallowness of the film's creative wellspring. While it's easy to mythologize the Golden Age of porn (particularly if you've seen very little of it) a lot of it was dime-store dross like this - as featherweight as Kleenex, and an equally disposable masturbatory aid.