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Euro Anal Sluts #2; VCA; Dir., John Decker; Stars: Laura
Angel, Rebeca Kamava, Stephanie Silver, John Decker...
I’m watching this over Thanksgiving leftovers,
which means I’m grateful not to be on the receiving
end of the worst blow job I’ve ever seen, here in the
opening scene of Euro Anal Sluts #2. First off, the
guy has a dick the size of a chicken wing, and still the
dick-a-phobic blonde barely plumbs the head with a reticent,
yet, robotic mouth. I’ve got news for you honey: If
you don’t like to suck dick, go back to Prague and
clean toiletts, or something. Next, the young couple copulates
on the flower print couch that looks like a liquidation
sale item. I wonder what happens to all those slightly used,
cum stained couches? Let’s hope they burn them. Knowing
the cheap, idiot fucks who make this fabulous filth, they
probably throw it in their Nissan pick-up and take it home.
Back to the matter at hand; this is supposed to be Euro
Anal Sluts #2, but she never even takes it in the ass!
Hello?! What is this, an art film?! Scene two: A dick-a-phobic
brunette gives a somewhat greater endowed John Decker such
a pathetic blow-job, he stops her thirty seconds into her
what-am-I-supposed-to-do-with-this-thing fumblings to fuck
her... finally, in the ass. Thankyou. Close-up of the Euro
slut’s strange, lipless cunt that looks like a pig’s
smile. All in all, there’s very little actual ass fucking.
More like timid, tired Euro Anal Slut wannabes. John Decker
is a jerk. Maybe use this one to stuff the turkey, but definitely
do not deck the halls with Decker’s tiny cave man balls.
Rocco’s Cocktales #6, Sex Animals; Sin City; Dir.,
Rocco Sifredi; Stars: Rocco, Milly D’Abraccio, Emmanuelle
Cristadi... other long Italian names
This shot-on-film feature has a twisted 70s feel
to it as we open at a board meeting with a bunch of men
and women arguing in Italian about action figures... presumably,
what their company makes. Who knows. Out of the unsane distance,
one of the board members, who’s dressed in drag, jumps
up on the long wooden table, hikes up his skirt and offers
his ass to the woman chairman of the board. She mounts him
wielding a strap-on (get-it, a new action figure) probably
molded to resemble Rocco’s famous dick. Very Fellini.
Another, actual woman hikes up her dress so some clown in
a flower print shirt can attach brightly colored clothes
pins to her labia—the clothes pins perhaps another
product manufactured by this corporation. I don’t know.
Like I said, they’re speaking Italian—the universal
language of love. Or is that French? Or heroin? Anyway,
all sorts of fucking and sucking breaks out in the board
room. No siliconed breasts, no lame scene by scene set-ups,
all coupled with the presence of actual pubic hair and raunchy
(I assume) Italian dialogue, makes this a trip back in time
to a dingy, cum-soaked inner city porno theatre, circa 1969.
Sex Animals is exactly what you might see, stumbling
from the glaring light outside into the forbidden rain coat
shadows, hoping to find a seat that wasn’t wet. Invariably,
the film was Italian, Swedish or Danish and had no plot,
purpose or raison d’etre other than something to jerk-off
to. If you could recreate such a film, before the Mitchell
Brothers revolutionized porn and the invention of the super
8mm loop projectors, Rocco’s Sex Animals would
be that movie. There is a subtle, but slightly insane genius
at work here, as Rocco neither telegraphs nor explains his
tawdry recreation here of early porn. He just springs it
on you, the same way he unleashes his almost Holmes-like
cock from his pants.
Rocco’s cast leaves the boardroom and goes prancing
across a Dionysian meadow dressed in their 70s finery. At
the edge of the wood, they disrobe and throw their clothes
on a bonfire. In silly Satyr-like poses and prancing, they
devolve into “Sexual Animals.” A woman eats a
handful of weeds while sucking dick... hoping to regurgitate
the semen later? Lots of crawling around naked on the good
green earth in a send-up celebration of Nudist Colony films
from the 60s. The “Sexual Animals” crawl, grunt
and fuck their way back into civilization. Inside the techno
wonder of a modern living room, they fumble like chimps
with hair dryers, telephones, magazines, vacuums and settle
in for more sex. This is a strange film that was strangely
unarousing. Celebrating the raw, joyful naturalism of the
sex act, like early porn, made me ponder the Free Love philosophy
of the 60s and 70s. Maybe it wasn’t AIDS but the advent
of the VCR that ruined the whole thing. They both debuted
in ‘83. The VCR was the beginning of the techno, digital
deluge that was to follow. And bury us. Sexual Animals
is like watching Massman crawling out of that ensnarement,
if only for a moment, to just have a little naked fun. Worth
watching in case you forgot, or never knew, the early, boisterous,
naturist innocence of pornographic film.
Voodoo Lounge; Sin City; Dir., Michael Raven; Stars:
Amanda Rain, Aspen Brock, Bunny Love, Mirage, Kandee Loupes,
Mark Davis, Jim Holliday. Evan Stone...
An innocent couple driving out on the lonely night road
stop at a sleazy motel for directions. The veritable Jim
Holliday gives his best Twin Peaks performance and
refers them to the lounge next door. Turns out to be the
Voodoo Lounge—the last chance to live it up before
moving on to eternity. So, that’s the set-up; but what
follows is a lot of forgettable sex scenes augmented by
fog machine effects. The first scene features a happy hubby
(or someone) watching his willing wife get nasty with Marc
Davis—who looks like he could use a little more Rogaine
(tm) these days. She definitely has the kind of silky-smooth,
naughty girl pussy that you might wanna lick before you
leave this earthly pain. She, too, sucks dick like she’s
afraid to get her mouth full. It’s like I’ve stumbled
into some bad cocksucking vortex. Nothing really lascivious,
or lewd, or preternatural, or even voodoo-like about this
Voodoo Lounge. More safe, couple-friendly fodder
to feed the Beast of your friendly ATT adult pay-per-view
provider. If this is the last stop before the end of the
road, I think I want to go back a few miles before the millennium
and do over. Wait to watch this when you’re on a business
trip in Akron and you need to order something up, on the
business account, to help you fall asleep.
Ghostly Desires: VCA; Dir., Bud Lee; Stars: Evan Stone,
Jessica Drake, Annie More, Gisselle Yum, Ian Daniels...
Evan Stone shows up to shoot on a haunted set
where a husband and wife stunt team died during the “earthquake
of ‘94.” I tell you, who comes up with this stuff.
Now we’re into the shoot; Jessica Drake finally takes
some dick in her mouth like she means it. He comes on her
tits, then she suddenly disappears... like the Ghost of
Cocksuck Past. Another ghost shows up in scene two, this
time the male half of the stunt couple killed in an earthquake,
to get his dick wet. This succubus/incubus theme continues
ad nauseum with dentist chair jazz music under. Evantually
(sic) Evan Stone and Jessica Drake have their big scene.
Evan puts his mantool in her ghost pussy and rocks her undead
world. The porn producers who come up with these premises
need to get off the Prozac, or whatever mind and dick numbing
drug their taking. Please be kind and rewind my mind to
a time before I ever witnessed the ghastly Ghostly Desires.
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