Sven Conrad was another superlative cinematographer turned mediocre director, clearly more along the lines of the haphazard Jack Remy than Gary Graver, the latter still the shining example of such a successful career switch. His artistic contribution to Rick Robinson's early '70s carnal classics ADULTERY FOR FUN AND PROFIT and especially MARRIAGE AND OTHER FOUR LETTER WORDS remain among the very best work seen within the industry around that period. Once he was solely in charge however, it proved quite a different story. As is so often the case, Conrad showed little evidence of the erotic "eye" indispensable for generating truly memorable porn, leaving only his keen visual sense to pick up the pieces. As his first of a mere handful of directorial endeavors (followed by the rather more endearing FRAT HOUSE and the quirky companion pieces BODY MAGIC and DOING IT !), PINK CHAMPAGNE proves a wildly overblown affair, all surface gloss and absolutely no substance.
Its excuse for "plot" can actually be summarized in a single line. Big shot Hollywood producer Horst Zagfield (handsome Jon Steele) struggles to find the next screen sensation in order to avoid encroaching bankruptcy as a result of his latest box office bomb. Setting the movie in that most glamorously romanticized age of American cinema, the studio-ruled '30s, allows for eye-popping sets and costume design. Like other technically proficient pornographers in lack of a genuinely dirty mind, Conrad seems at a loss whenever the elaborate frocks are taken off and sex is called for, scenes frequently so brief as to be perfunctory. Appreciated adult actresses come and go in the blink of an eye with only the much missed Lisa DeLeeuw who passed away from AIDS in '93 providing anything close to a female lead as Zagfield's wanton mistress, former screen superstar April Shelly. Donning white opera gloves to manually relieve the black chauffeur they can no longer afford (Rick Fonte as the insultingly named "Snowball" ; he was "Winston Fonte" on George O'Connor's TOUCH OF SEX with Michael Pataki), she performs one of the more memorable encounters when she goes to complain at the studio's overworked publicity department (industry legend Bill Margold, radiant Tawny Pearl and one shot Art Claybourne, uncharitably described by one Hustler reviewer as "the smallest dick ever seen in porn") and offers them a crack at her curvaceous figure as an incentive. Another scarce highlight comes courtesy of dependable second stringer Maria Tortuga (Annette Haven's assaulted assistant from Ed De Priest's warped SKINTIGHT) as a gum-snapping, tap-dancing starlet "auditioning" for Zagfield, duly demonstrating her sword-swallowing capacity showcased to much better advantage in Gerard Damiano's NEVER SO DEEP. An almost impossible to recognize Tiffany Clark makes her inauspicious debut as the wild woman in an unflattering fright wig assaulting Steele on an empty sound stage.
Ironically, the movie falls apart when it's time for what was clearly intended as its show stopper, an interminable orgy sequence set at an upscale brothel specializing in movie icon lookalikes. Pat Manning, one of the industry's most interesting "older women" (unforgettable in Bob Chinn's delightful THE YOUNG LIKE IT HOT), doubles as talent agent Myrna coaxing a premature pop out of Fonte and Marlene Dietrich. Rectal royalty Connie Peterson (star of David Fleetwood's LITTLE FRENCH MAID) is wasted in a speeded-up "comic" clinch as Mae West with Jennifer West (Graver's TANGERINE) faring little better as Jean Harlow. Watch for a youthful John "Buttman" Stagliano as Rudolph Valentino. About all that can be salvaged from this lengthy line-up is a no frills fornication fragment involving bearded director Jeff Parker with the original "video vixen" Crystal Dawn, whose most significant 35mm enshrined contribution might be her part in the R.J. Reynolds pile-up in Bobby Hollander's efficient SEKA'S FANTASIES. On the fringes, flitting about but afraid to join in due to her suggested tender age is "Shirley Dimple" (one hit wonder Lorelei Winston) who will, of course, fill the hole in Zagfield's pocket as she takes up the rarely empty space in his bed. The choreographed climax, sort of a severely twisted Busby Berkeley pastiche involving showgirls in pink pastels bouncing balloons about, beggars belief and possibly inspired as my "virtual friend" John Lynch suggested a suspiciously similar spectacle in Matthew Barney's critically revered CREMASTER CYCLE ! Along with Conrad's occasionally striking sense of composition, production is all this bloated bonanza has going for it. Everything seems to shimmer and glow here, making for eye candy of the highest order but like the beverage that gave its title it barely leaves a trace in one's mouth or mind. The sheer number of popular participants might impress fans yet most should be disappointed by the paucity with which they are actually employed, many of them merely blending in with the furniture and assorted vintage accouterments. Ending on a positive note however, and you can take that literally, I would like to single out the unusually effective soundtrack by Jay Michaels who subtly spoofs several well-known movie and TV themes though it hardly makes up for the film's deplorable absence of sensual stimulation.
Its excuse for "plot" can actually be summarized in a single line. Big shot Hollywood producer Horst Zagfield (handsome Jon Steele) struggles to find the next screen sensation in order to avoid encroaching bankruptcy as a result of his latest box office bomb. Setting the movie in that most glamorously romanticized age of American cinema, the studio-ruled '30s, allows for eye-popping sets and costume design. Like other technically proficient pornographers in lack of a genuinely dirty mind, Conrad seems at a loss whenever the elaborate frocks are taken off and sex is called for, scenes frequently so brief as to be perfunctory. Appreciated adult actresses come and go in the blink of an eye with only the much missed Lisa DeLeeuw who passed away from AIDS in '93 providing anything close to a female lead as Zagfield's wanton mistress, former screen superstar April Shelly. Donning white opera gloves to manually relieve the black chauffeur they can no longer afford (Rick Fonte as the insultingly named "Snowball" ; he was "Winston Fonte" on George O'Connor's TOUCH OF SEX with Michael Pataki), she performs one of the more memorable encounters when she goes to complain at the studio's overworked publicity department (industry legend Bill Margold, radiant Tawny Pearl and one shot Art Claybourne, uncharitably described by one Hustler reviewer as "the smallest dick ever seen in porn") and offers them a crack at her curvaceous figure as an incentive. Another scarce highlight comes courtesy of dependable second stringer Maria Tortuga (Annette Haven's assaulted assistant from Ed De Priest's warped SKINTIGHT) as a gum-snapping, tap-dancing starlet "auditioning" for Zagfield, duly demonstrating her sword-swallowing capacity showcased to much better advantage in Gerard Damiano's NEVER SO DEEP. An almost impossible to recognize Tiffany Clark makes her inauspicious debut as the wild woman in an unflattering fright wig assaulting Steele on an empty sound stage.
Ironically, the movie falls apart when it's time for what was clearly intended as its show stopper, an interminable orgy sequence set at an upscale brothel specializing in movie icon lookalikes. Pat Manning, one of the industry's most interesting "older women" (unforgettable in Bob Chinn's delightful THE YOUNG LIKE IT HOT), doubles as talent agent Myrna coaxing a premature pop out of Fonte and Marlene Dietrich. Rectal royalty Connie Peterson (star of David Fleetwood's LITTLE FRENCH MAID) is wasted in a speeded-up "comic" clinch as Mae West with Jennifer West (Graver's TANGERINE) faring little better as Jean Harlow. Watch for a youthful John "Buttman" Stagliano as Rudolph Valentino. About all that can be salvaged from this lengthy line-up is a no frills fornication fragment involving bearded director Jeff Parker with the original "video vixen" Crystal Dawn, whose most significant 35mm enshrined contribution might be her part in the R.J. Reynolds pile-up in Bobby Hollander's efficient SEKA'S FANTASIES. On the fringes, flitting about but afraid to join in due to her suggested tender age is "Shirley Dimple" (one hit wonder Lorelei Winston) who will, of course, fill the hole in Zagfield's pocket as she takes up the rarely empty space in his bed. The choreographed climax, sort of a severely twisted Busby Berkeley pastiche involving showgirls in pink pastels bouncing balloons about, beggars belief and possibly inspired as my "virtual friend" John Lynch suggested a suspiciously similar spectacle in Matthew Barney's critically revered CREMASTER CYCLE ! Along with Conrad's occasionally striking sense of composition, production is all this bloated bonanza has going for it. Everything seems to shimmer and glow here, making for eye candy of the highest order but like the beverage that gave its title it barely leaves a trace in one's mouth or mind. The sheer number of popular participants might impress fans yet most should be disappointed by the paucity with which they are actually employed, many of them merely blending in with the furniture and assorted vintage accouterments. Ending on a positive note however, and you can take that literally, I would like to single out the unusually effective soundtrack by Jay Michaels who subtly spoofs several well-known movie and TV themes though it hardly makes up for the film's deplorable absence of sensual stimulation.