If the title 'Bang My Box: The Robin Byrd Story' doesn't win some sort of award for Most Unforgettable Documentary Name, we might as well give up on humanity's capacity for joy. Jyllian Gunther and Stephanie Schwam's exuberant profile of Byrd - a female pioneer in bringing risqué programming to American television - has a ramshackle charm and a nostalgic heart, much like its subject.

From 1977 to 1998, New York City cable subscribers could tune into 'The Robin Byrd Show,' a sex-positive, freewheeling public access party that aired late at night. Byrd, a self-described 'orgy queen' who appeared in over a dozen pornographic movies (including the classic 'Debbie Does Dallas'), hosted in her signature black crochet bikini and milk-white manicure, wrangling performances and interviews from porn stars and artists like Candida Royalle and Annie Sprinkle.

More kitschy than carnal, the shows were fueled by goofy exhibitionism and a genuine enthusiasm for all sexual orientations. But when the Reagan Administration stayed silent on H.I.V./AIDS in the 1980s, Byrd got political, repeatedly promoting safe sex and welcoming gay fans to her call-in segments. And when furious conservatives tried to shut her down, she won a lawsuit against the cable company that wanted to scramble her show.

Now a contented septuagenarian, Byrd remains recognizable behind her shaggy blonde bangs and infectious good humor. Watched fondly by Shelly Byrd, her husband since 1974, this unlikely First Amendment warrior recalls a difficult childhood and ponders her legacy. Moving between her cluttered Manhattan apartment and her beloved Fire Island home, Byrd struggles with the decision to release her more than 600 tapes ('my babies') and other memorabilia to an eager archivist. That she hasn't already done so is surprising, but then again, who among us is eager to let go of their babies?

Assembled with love (Sarah Jessica Parker is among its producers) and an admirable economy, 'Bang My Box' is sprinkled with snappy, candid commentary from Sandra Bernhard and journalist Michael Musto. The result is a frisky callback to a time when shows like Byrd's weren't really about fornication. What they were broadcasting was freedom.