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 Mercy;
Franchise Pictures; Dir., Damien Harris; Stars: Ellen Barkin,
Peta Wilson, Wendy Crewson, Karen Young, Marshall Bell,
Julian Sands
I
was low on porno this month (kidding) so I thought I’d
snatch up this scintillating, new erotic/suspense straight-to-video,
Mercy, from Hollywood Video. And we open with homicide
dick Ellen Barkin—sporting a nice, new rack—investigating
a good looking corpse. Close-ups of the woman’s beautiful
dead feet. Kinky. Meanwhile, Julian Sands, of Warlock
ad infinitum fame, is scene as a psychiatrist fucking his
lonely, pushing-40 female client. I’ve got a clue for
you: she’s either the killer or she’s going to
wind up dead. Back at the murder scene ranch, Barkin discovers
the comely corpse was into kinky sex—naughty pics and
S&M regalia in a locked briefcase. People who are into
kinky sex always get killed... or so Hollywood says. ‘Cause
they deserved it. After seeing the pictures, Barkin has
to hit the bar and pick-up a mechanic, Stephen Baldwin.
His role is limited to just this cameo; he was smart enough
to get out of Mercy while the getting was good. Still,
he has enough screen time to deliver this gem to Barkin
over a beer: “I’m a mechanic; I fix things,”
eying her heaving bosom. Brother.
Barkin
(detective Palmer) starts visiting the high-class S&M
joints. Looking like she might nod-off at any second, Palmer
delves deeper into the world of perverted, high-risk sex.
Ooh, scary! Thank God Peta Wilson (La Femme Nikita
TV fame) shows up to set Palmer straight about the high
society, lesbian BDSM circuit. Peta Wilson does what every
high class junky whore must do: chase the dragon while crying
over pictures of her little sister, and then go shopping
at Sak’s.
Karen
Young gets on Julian Sand’s couch to recount fond memories
of her step daddy. Talking about pedophilia in the pool
makes her nipples hard. Mercy proselytizes that women
who were sexually abused by dad turn into rough sex lesbians
who only turn to men when they need some real pain. And
still my balls hang low.
Finally,
we get to see Peta Wilson naked—and it’s worth
the wait—doing a freak dance by the window for a guy
that gets off playing Lee Harvey Oswald. Using paint bullets,
he assassinates Wilson from afar, as she dances around the
room dressed like a Saigon hooker.
The
jump edits in Mercy are merciless—like the director’s
on crack or suffering ATD. Rent this to see Wilson, not
Barkin’s new lifts above and below the neck. And don’t
blame me if the dialogue punishes your ears.
“Do
you know what I think sex is?” Wilson coos to Barkin
(unfortunately, while Wilson is clothed). “A thrill.
It’s like putting your head in the mouth of the only
lion in the cage who’s totally unpredictable.”
I
swear, people in Hollywood are getting paid to write this
stuff. And showing us no mercy. Now that I’ve got my
Gay Pride Weekend review out of the way, let’s bring
on the smut, boys.
Maxed Out 19; Max Hardcore productions; Stars: Gabriella,
Cloey, Maren
First
of all, Max Hardcore is one idiot fuck and I can prove it.
Using some cheap Croatian dupe lab, no doubt, means I wind
up with one lousy video that doesn’t slo-mo or freeze
frame for shit... so I can write this review, toilet head.
The middle-aged Max, who gets uglier every time I see him,
goes around the world with his camcorder fucking itty bitty
hard bodied women. Now, that’s not a bad idea, per
se. It’s the fact that we must suffer his ugly ass
and idiot fuck rantings to watch these tiny treats.
In
scene two, he finds a little girl (who says she only weighs
90 pounds) and tells her to say, “Am I sucking your
cock right, mister?” as he not-so-playfully pulls on
her pigtails. Get the picture? After that, I have no idea
what naughty-little-girl things he makes her say to earn
her pay, because the sound on this made-in-Croatia tape
is suddenly shot to hell in a fuck basket. But I can tell
by the vacant look on little Cloey’s face that she
is bored out of her skull.
Adding
insult to injury, Max shamelessly solicits new girls for
his films between segments, promising them fortune and movie
star fame. I shit you not. Yeah, with a speculum, for Chris’sakes,
hangin’ out of your bald pussy while he fucks your
ass. Cloey smokes a cigarette (which she is delightfully
unable to inhale) while Max plumbs her ass with the above-described
speculum technique. While all this is going on, Cloey manages
a look of perturbed pain. Like, ‘when the fuck is this
gonna be over, pal.’ None-the-less, she dutifully delivers
her little girl lines at Max’s prompting. A real actress.
Just like in his talent search promos. Rent this series
for the hard-bodied little girl routine and tune-out Max.
Don’t even try to figure out the speculums.
There’s
something about a woman in a carefully tailored rubber dress...
wearing an elaborate gas mask, that’s like a visit
to a World War I Museum of Perversion.
White room Part III; Marquis Video; Dir., Peter W. Czernich
(No Cast)
This
film is to fetish what Andrew Blake is to mainstream porn.
No one else will be able to touch what director Czernich
has accomplished here. Or even want to. The opening shot
of the cruel headmistress of this rubber palace is worth
the price of admission. I have no idea who she is as the
fine female participants go uncredited. Marquis puts
out one of the most highly respected, fashion, glossy fetish
magazines catering mainly to rubber enthusiasts. As in latex.
Can you feel it. It’s so Armageddon. For fans of this
fetish, there is no better magazine (Skin Too is
a distant second). And, apparently, no better video.
White Room has segments that last too long and split
second, mind boggling snippets you must freeze frame to
appreciate. Czernich achieves an otherworldly edit with
this technique... time slowing to a crawl, then hours lost
in the blink of an eye. White Room is like stepping
into a separate reality where the unimaginable can happen.
Like the latex covered bathtub. And under the taut surface
of the paper-thin see-through latex, there is a writhing
female. Breathing through a snorkel poking out through the
latex, her hands, face and body press up against the rubber
skin. Trying to free herself or succumbing to unimaginable
desires? Or both. In the white tiled bathroom, a black latex
clad attendant uses a pump to suction the air out from under
the latex lid, thus causing the rubber skin to cling obscenely
to the naked, struggling, anonymous woman underneath. Then
the latex bath attendant smooths the rubber over her body,
carefully taking out all the creases. The woman underneath
offers the outline of her shocked face and hands pressing
futily against the rubber sarcophagus. In a final act of
submission/trust, the attendant puts her mouth over the
snorkel. Now the woman underneath is utterly dependent on
the woman above to breathe air into her lungs; they share
one breath.
A
corseted woman, in thigh-high rubbers adorning a perfect
body, is chained by her wrists to the ceiling of the white
room. A rubber hood covers her head, leaving only her mouth
open. She is tormented slow and sweet. There’s something
about a woman in a carefully tailored rubber dress, cinched
at the waist, teetering on stiletto heels and wearing an
elaborate gas mask that’s like a visit to a World War
I Museum of Perversion. While every scene doesn’t sizzle,
the only stain on White Room is the English translation
over the intermittent German narration. Couches made of
black rubber spikes; torture tables built from hundreds
of black rubber dildos; see-through nude latex body stockings.
It’s all too beautifully macabre. Slow squeaky dance
with death. There’s not a dry cunt in this video. Guaranteed.
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