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5/10
Opinions are like...
18 May 2024
Dumped onto DVD with little fanfare under the generic title SEX ADVICE, SESSO IN CONFESSIONALE (or "Sex in the Confessional" in more accurate English) is, rather than the mondo-style doc promised by its advertising, more a scabrous and very period-appropriate critique of the Catholic church's attitudes on sex. If anything, the structure of the film more resembles one of the German REPORT films, centered on short, supposedly true vignettes.

Structure is fairly loose, and mostly built around people seen confessing or seeking guidance in a Catholic church. In addition to providing absolution, the priests serve as confidantes and psychiatrists, too. Of course, there's the expected litany of schoolgirl-style "I was heavy petting, father - is it a sin?" questions, but several of the parishioners also seek guidance on whether they can use birth control or family planning. As expected, the priests' responses - now decades out-of-date - are uniformly cringe-inducing: it's maddening to watch one guy tell a parishioner who's having great, fulfilling sex with his wife that he needs to stop if he's unwilling to have more children. Generally, most of the supplicants seem like sane, well-meaning individuals who only have their lives complicated by a bunch of uptight moralists introducing pointless rules and inventing problems.

Not that the film would articulate its thesis quite like that, but it does ultimately seem to be what it boils down to. While the movie uses these confessions as bridges to quick, semi-salacious scenes of the subjects people are talking about, the heart of its argument is found in equally brief interviews with feminists, sociologists, sex researchers, and various men and women on the street. Almost uniformly, they rebuke the clergy's advice, insisting that in a modern society things like premarital sex and birth control are necessary for people to form healthy relationships and lead fulfilling lives. As such, the film provides an interesting snapshot of Italy during a time of great transition, as things like the pill and legalized erotica were ushering in an era of greater sexual permissiveness. Despite being marketed as an exploitation film, SESSO instead has a lot more in common with other social issue movies of the time than an Ernst Hoffbauer jiggle opus. It still feints in that direction, but clearly is thinking deeper, and a more somber tone to match.

Unfortunately, the film - at least in available versions - never fully achieves its ambitions. It's erratic in the extreme, hopping from confession to confession and enactment to enactment with little structure or rhythm, and interspersing its interviews rather arbitrarily. Perhaps there's a more integral Italian edit that makes better sense, or maybe it's just an artifact of the '70s and You Just Had to Be There, but the result is muddled and confusing, an interesting attempt at something different (and more substantial) that nevertheless fails to make a compelling or cohesive argument.
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Paranoid Garden (1994 Video)
5/10
Needs pruning
18 May 2024
Directed by "death photographer" Tsurisaki Kiyotaka, PARANOID GARDEN, a WWII-themed AV (adult video), represents the beginning of his career, before he discovered his specialty. It's decently directed, but I don't think all that different from a lot of AV.

Less a story than a set-up, the film is about a family in the waning days of WWII mourning the death of their son in combat in increasingly bizarre ways. There's sadomasochism and incest, and when the authorities learn the younger daughter is hiding a deserter, they resort to all manner of nefarious methods to get her to reveal his whereabouts.

An interesting quality of Japanese AV - or at least this one - is that it seems less sex-focused than its American counterparts. That makes sense, as when you have to blur out everyone's genitals the depiction of simple sex becomes (even more) visually boring. However, it also leads to a lot of very weird sublimations, like toe-sucking, (fake) coprophilia, and a "nose speculum" scene that seems like a pretty obvious visual metaphor for something... (Even weirder, this isn't the first time I've seen such a thing, though given the other, another AV called LOVER M, was also produced by Cinemagic, maybe someone there just has a particularly weird fetish...)

All this is fine, but eventually grows wearisome even at just an hour. Given the war content, I'm sure someone could construct an elaborate intellectual defense for the project, but you'd also have to ignore the fact that such themes and imagery crop up in lots of Japanese erotica throughout the decades. Ultimately, a better inquiry into the subject would be sociological rather than based on this film, and a better dive into the director's filmography would probably start elsewhere.
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6/10
Drop in on the DROPOUTS!
28 April 2024
Generally slagged on as one of the lowest common denominators in the world of soft- and hardcore sexploitation, Leonard Kirtman gets a bad rap, but every dog has its day. Before he dove into the genre himself in the early '70s, Kirtman produced a vast number of (frequently pun-based) erotic titles for Distribpix. THE MARRIAGE DROPOUTS, by Tommy Goetz, is one such example, and while it's not anything revelatory, it's a solid enough low-energy grinder. Maybe Lenny should've stuck to producing.

Exceedingly basic premise, like a lot of these Distribpix softies, finds four guys headed to the marriage office to get their unions annulled. Each has a tale of woe surrounding the collapse of his marriage, and they all get a chance to meditate on them when their elevator breaks down:

First guy seems to be living the perfect life, happy with a wife and kid, until his son stumbles in on his mother and a female friend making love. Aside from the kid part, I feel like most guys would welcome this development, but it was the '60s, so maybe some were a bit more uptight. The second has a ridiculous problem, which is that his wife can never get enough and is running him ragged. The third guy calls his wife a pig because she likes to sit around eating crackers in bed and pleasuring herself with a vibrator. He eventually catches her stepping out on him. The final segment is the most interesting, with a young man coming home to his beautiful bride but failing to perform - he can't stop thinking about the hustler he made eyes with on the street. After cycling through all these couples twice for some reason (first for the setup and then revisiting for the "stinger," where everything falls apart), the film closes with this poor handsome closet case leaving his wife to go explore his gay desires, the film failing to even close out the elevator scenario that serves as a wraparound.

Lazy in the extreme, this is another softcore nudie that's basically just 60 minutes of people rolling around in bed, papered over with ridiculous narration - no sync sound in sight. At least in this case, however, the film features multiple narrators, and boy do they have a bevy of ridiculous problems! Toss in the fact this is coming on the cusp of the hardcore revolution and features a fair amount of welcome (and equal-opportunity) frontal nudity, and you have a softcore flick that's unambitious but agreeable, a weird kind of cinematic comfort food for a certain kind of filmgoer (me!), who, for some reason, just cleaves to it. The bizarre gay plotline is the icing on the cake, a fascinating left-field inclusion for a straight film and an interesting time capsule of just how far attitudes have progressed since the '60s. While certainly not that much to write home about, I nevertheless found THE MARRIAGE DROPOUTS surprisingly diverting - it may not be high art, but it works well within the confines of its limitations.
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Man and Wife (1923)
5/10
Country vs. city - silent style
28 April 2024
As the nascent film industry was still shaking itself out, the early 1920s saw plenty of opportunity for smaller players like New Jersey-based Effanem Productions to float lower-budget product onto the market. Fairly modest in both scope and ambition, MAN & WIFE reaps appropriate dividends - it's diverting but little more, while also being just a tad ridiculous.

Another tale of country vs. City life, MAN & WIFE finds farmgirl sisters Dolly and Dora longing for something bigger than their pa's attempts at marrying them off to the local farmhand. Running off to the city, Dora disappears, while Dolly, staying on the farm, eventually meets and falls in love with a visiting doctor. Moving out themselves to establish a sanitarium, the two are shocked to learn - quite by accident - that the doctor's prior wife, presumed dead in a fire, is actually alive and hopelessly insane. Only the doctor himself can perform the brain surgery necessary to restore her health - but what will the woman's regained sanity reveal about her prior identity? (If I have to tell you, you may need the operation yourself!)

Predictable in the extreme, MAN & WIFE is basically a one-hour, self-contained soap opera, mainly interesting for how bonkers the plot is willing to get. Its primary draw now will be for fans of Norma Shearer, quite winsome as the city-loving Dora. She clearly reveals the charming star quality that would soon get her shipped out to LA, making much bigger films under the auspices of Irving Thalberg and Louis B. Mayer. As for the rest of the cast, they're proficient but nowhere near as memorable, with Robert Elliot as the doctor making for a particularly dull leading man. Production values are modest and locations limited, though at just 54 minutes, the picture is mercifully brief - not doing anything terribly novel, it at least knows when to exit the stage.
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3/10
Just crawls along...
26 April 2024
Apparently the first (surviving?) movie made on Okinawa, THE VINDICTIVE SNAKE has some interesting, lived-in cross-cultural elements going for it, but little else.

Following much travelogue footage of the island of Oahu (one wonders if, like a lot of Asian silents, the film was constructed this way to give traditional live narrators time to make introductions), we meet our protagonists, a couple who just moved to the island to start a plantation. All seems to be going well for the two, until the wife is stricken with leprosy. Sneaking away under the pretense of finding a doctor in Japan, the husband simply absconds, abandoning his wife for the next several years. When she's finally given money by a pair of kindly neighbors to make the voyage, she ends up on the streets, begging for money while her husband romances a dance hall girl and takes her as his new bride. When hubby finally bumps into his old wife on the street, he begs her forgiveness, though that's just a ruse so he can take her somewhere and push her off a cliff. Thinking himself rid of her, a surprise awaits that night, as the husband and his new mistress are visited by a pair of very angry serpents.

Very little about this movie hangs together, and it moves at a glacial pace. It's really about 15 minutes of legend dragged out to a patience-testing 70, and everything takes ten times longer than it should. An opening scene by a lake, where the couple discusses their good fortune and then takes turns finding excuses to worry about it (followed by admonishing their partner not to do so) threatens to cross over into self-parody it becomes so cyclical. And just when you think it's done, it adds a coda with the husband noticing his wife's fever - the first symptom of her impending diagnosis.

Much of the film is like this, needlessly languid and pointlessly drawn out - the dance hall scene where the husband meets his new wife seems like something out of an exploitation film, padding the runtime with endless musical numbers. It's quite clear where the film is going with every beat, but in each instance it takes much way longer than necessary getting there - why couldn't the wife just die on Oahu, for instance, rather than having to come all the way to Okinawa just to get killed? But if the narrative had been streamlined, we'd have a one-reeler rather than a feature, and that probably wasn't the filmmakers' intention.

Unfortunately, writer/star Seizen Toguchi, while handsome, generally brings thespian skills to match his scriptwriting. While he's fine enough in regular scenes, the second things get dramatic, he begins pulling silly faces. Even for a silent film dilletante like me, it underscored the elegance of good silent acting, because that's not what's on display here. The climax is decent, if arbitrary, with some snakes and the wife's ghost appearing to terrorize the couple in their bedroom, but it's 5 minutes of horror after an agonizing 65-minute slog. Maybe viewers in 1914 were willing to put up with that, but it's a tall ask of anyone today.
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The Awakening (1971)
7/10
Another evocative gay porn film from Jai
26 April 2024
The mysterious Jai (here credited was "J. A. I.") strikes again with another flick that seems more art than porn. Across a small but potent body of work, he's managed to leave a strong impression on me, and I hope others seek out his stuff too.

Like other known Jai efforts UP & COMING and THE LAST THRILL, THE AWAKENING feels more like a sketch than a finished project, but it's effectively handled and full of promise, unified by many of the same obsessions that inflect the director's other films: art, melancholy, and loss. Simple but effective set-up finds a car running off the road before an excellent opening credits sequence, which makes effective use of Cat Stevens' "Sad Lisa" over images of a pretty blonde intercut with countdown leader - an effective meta touch that works well despite feeling charmingly "film school."

We meet our protagonist (Jason de Witt) driving down LA's Pacific Coast Highway, where he's retreating to his lonely beach house one year after the death of his wife. Along the way he picks up handsome hitchhiker David Michaels, who, with his long flowing locks and beard, has a Barry Gibb / James Brolin vibe that's quite sexy. Letting the stranger crash at his, our hero is surprised when the guy crawls into his bed that night after a long cry on the couch, trying to assuage whatever pain he's feeling through a passionate bout of fellatio.

It takes the film an incredible 16 minutes (out of 56) to get here, and the sequence itself, while generally too shadowy to be good porn, is nevertheless great as a piece of mood building, bathed in cool blue light as the ocean waves crash mournfully in the distance. The next morning, the narrator admits he's never been with a man but hopes this won't be the last time. Dressing his new paramour in a Christlike tunic from one of his photography shoots, he allows him to wander the beach and make up his mind whether he wants to stay.

Up to this point (around halfway through), the film has been superb, effectively building an incredible sense of slow-burn mood. Unfortunately, around here it becomes clear the movie doesn't have much of an idea where to go: the guys wander the house some more and have various brief sex scenes, but any sense of narrative progression dissipates. Eventually, the Christ guy turns up with another, twinkish dude from the beach (the oddly-spelled Sabastian McKenzie), and the trio make love - unfortunately bereft of any catharsis because it's unclear, emotionally, what anyone is going through. After that, they all go their separate ways.

Despite petering out, THE AWAKENING still leaves a positive impression. Even more so than Jai's other films, it's evocative and mournful, making great use of its location and a few well-chosen musical tracks. The cinematography is professional, and if anything suffers as a result of the surfeit of style it's the sex, which is given short-shrift. In a sea of so much interchangeable porn, however, I'll gladly take an intellectual turn-on over a physical one. Unfortunately, Jai never quite seemed to nail it with any of his productions, always feeling like he was starting with a great idea but didn't quite know how to develop it. Nevertheless, something as evocative as THE AWAKENING still deserves praise - it's another breath of fresh air from one of early gay porn's most interesting unsung auteurs.
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7/10
You got your art in my porn film!
11 April 2024
Feeling like an unusually successful collision between an adult movie and a micro-budget arthouse flick, THE LAST THRILL is too limited in scope to qualify as more than a modest success, but it's interesting and contains the blueprint for something better.

More of a sketch than a full feature, the 50-minute film opens with some oblique footage captured driving through a cemetery, before switching to an anonymous high-rise office building, where a man narrates into a tape recorder his gradual introduction to homosexuality. Beginning with imagining what it must be like giving head while his girlfriend is blowing him (not shown), the guy is driven by these thoughts to a porn theater, where a tall stranger drops to his knees and grants the him his first male-male encounter. Still curious what it's like to be the one sucking, the protagonist fulfills his fantasy after-hours at an art gallery, where the guy whose paintings are showing also - rather improbably - owns the place and can shut it down for some privacy. An encounter with a pair of dudes follows, after which comes a bizarre interlude where a naked black man dances to Elton John's "The King Must Die" for several minutes (his moves suggest he's professionally trained). Things run off the rails into full-on existentialism afterward, with the protagonist ushered into a secret room where, having been unable to climax for the last few months, he's joined by all his former lovers to give him the titular LAST THRILL.

Shot almost entirely in a single white room, THE LAST THRILL seems to actively turn poverty into an asset. Usually, it's pathetic when you can recognize the same set re-dressed multiple times in a single film, but here the environs are so sparse that the nakedness seems to become the point: the "gallery" toward the beginning is merely a couch with a single painting hanging on the wall, while the three-way takes place in the same room with zero context as to what environment it's supposed to represent. The climax occurs here as well (the room is consistently recognizable by its badly-painted corner), with the cadre of former lovers worshipping the protagonist on a strange white altar. About the only scenes that don't take place in this room appear to be the narration interludes (which still well could - it's shadowy) and the theater scene, which is nevertheless just six folding chairs set up in front of a cheap window. Most early sex films are threadbare, but LAST THRILL turns it into an aesthetic, using the spartan nature of its near-single location as part of its attempt to play with memory.

Speaking of which, the film's overall project, even if under-sketched, is still laudably ambitious. While it's never quite clear where the movie ends up, its outline nevertheless functions as a forebear to a surprising number of hardcore hits, anticipating both Gerard Damiano's DEVIL IN MISS JONES with its NO EXIT-style existential angst as well as Anthony Spinelli's SEX WORLD in its (in this case very threadbare) depiction of a FANTASY ISLAND-style environment where one's desires (or perhaps needs) are fulfilled via a sexual scenario organized by a group of mysterious overseers. The existential dread of the graveyard footage even recalls the haunting ending to Jason Sato/Norman Yonemoto's BROTHERS which would follow a few years hence. Unfortunately, the mononymic Jai's work here isn't quite up to that film's standard, both throwing in goofy art school touches like needless French dialogue as well as failing its premise by inadequately fleshing it out (the film trails off into a vague non-ending rather than feeling like it's really concluded). Nevertheless, it's still a solid effort for the fledgling hardcore genre, which was still finding its legs ca. 1971. Jai's other known XXX outing, UP 'N' COMING, deploys a lighter of a touch in its depiction of an art world love triangle, but evinces a similar skill at delivering an entertaining and unusually fleet sex opus. My hope is this mysterious auteur moved on to bigger and better things under his real name, as based on the evidence here, he was certainly not without talent.
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Eager Beaver (1977)
2/10
Meager BEAVER
10 April 2024
Hiding behind a myriad of pseudonyms, the Cooper Brothers cranked out a seeming infinity of interchangeable porn flicks, highlighted only by crude-but-effective exercises in poor taste like GOLDEN BOYS OF THE SS and the infamous WET WILDERNESS. Emblematic of their devil-may-care attitude, credits are listed in the same font and interchangeably swapped between films - pseudonyms ultimately representing no one. For the desultory EAGER BEAVER, "Ted Most" gets the directing credit (having also "acted" in BUCK'S BIRTHDAY and "written/directed" Y'ALL COME), while Alec Reon, supposed auteur behind MORTGAGE OF SIN and SEX MUSEUM, is here listed as writer (a credit "he" shares only with the aforementioned GOLDEN BOYS).

What all this jabbering is to say is that these films, like their credits, are largely interchangeable, and it's clear - as though the movies themselves didn't make it so - that the creators cared little for most of them on any individual basis. Still, even by that low standard, EAGER BEAVER is more half-hearted than the majority: it has effectively no plot and even fails the ultimate porn test of being erotic. What passes for story follows Mary (Christine De Shaffer), whose husband John has developed a bad habit of privileging his office job over his marital duties. Left home alone after John goes to work, Mary hooks up with neighbor Sue and heads to the beach, where she frolics in the surf as Sue gets it on with handsome lifeguard Jim and his less appealing friend Steve. When John calls Mary to tell her he'll once again be working late (he's busy getting a hum job from his secretary), she and Sue decide to invite the lifeguards over. No prizes for guessing who decides to stop by on his way to a date at the movies...

Less a story than a succession of random incidents, BEAVER has nothing to offer from a narrative or character standpoint - it's strictly sex, half-heartedly performed. The problem is the Coopers are so lazy they can't even manage to get a sex scene right: their privileged angle is bed-level, like Ozu on his tatami mat, locking the camera down like Warhol and limiting themselves to zooms into portions of the action which are then intercut with returns to the wide shot. For some reason, they also seem to love positioning guys so they are leaning back with the woman mounting them, resulting in an angle limited to buttocks-and-penetration alone. A legitimate enough vantage point for inserts, this becomes maddening as the backbone of a sex scene, where it reduces to action to a pair of disembodied genitals. The result is not just useless as entertainment (natch), but even for the specific purpose for which it was designed - forget good art, this isn't even good porn! That's too bad, because some members of the cast are attractive, and one wonders what could have been made of them by a director with even the most marginal investment in the material.
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Januarius (1971)
8/10
Both sides now...
6 April 2024
Opening with a silly preface about the Roman god Janus - master of gates and doorways who was able to see simultaneously in two directions - and one of his female subjects, the mawkish but loveable JANUARIUS posits its story as what might happen if the legend were updated to modern times (ca. 1970). The result is underwhelming when judged by that metric, but impressive when taken on its own - for an early hardcore film, this is unusually ambitious and heartfelt.

JANUARIUS centers around pretty housewife Janice (see what they did there?), who's having marital problems with her handsome blond husband Bob. Not so keen to do much in the sack lately, Jan soon realizes why: she can't stop thinking about being with another woman! After a pretty young neighbor stops by looking for her dog, Jan masturbates about her, fantasizing they're first making love in the woods and then that the neighbor is whipping her, in a bizarre and impressive scene that finds an entire bed dragged outside for the couple to use under the leaves.

Meanwhile, both Jan and Bob have caught the eye of swinging neighbors Frank and Patti. Frank tries to get Bob to bring Jan over, but Bob rightly intuits she's not yet open to a swapping. Patti plays it cooler, discussing Jan's marital issues with her before recommending her psychiatrist to help Jan deal with her problem. Played by early hardcore vet William Howard (credited as George Peters), the doc and his nurse Miss Hargrove take a hands-on approach after Jan confesses she thinks she's a lesbian: Howard has her first try making it with his nurse, then with him! Meanwhile, back at the ranch, the swinger's orgy has begun: Bob kicks things off with his visiting cousin(!) Melinda, while everyone else lounges around naked. What will Jan think when she gets home? Will she join the orgy? (Few points for guessing correctly...)

Starting from the plot of a typical one-day wonder, JANUARIUS distinguishes itself with its delicacy of touch: while it will certainly come off as naïve to modern audiences, there's nevertheless a purity to its project that's charming. This is a bona fide artifact of the sexual revolution, and the film leans hard into the belief that love and self-understanding can cure almost any personal ill. The sex scenes demonstrate an impressive (if occasionally inept) experimentalism, overdosing on dissolves, cross-fades, superimpositions and the like. Likewise, the film goes the extra mile aesthetically, leaning heavily into sparkling filters as well as touches like the forest-bed fantasy above - flourishes that give the film a respectable touch of class and make it play more like a bawdy student project rather than a seedy storefront grinder.

In contrast to the type of often-tawdry sex flicks that proliferated in the early days of hardcore, JANUARIUS is graceful and restrained, featuring a surprising lack of ejaculations and a young, attractive cast that truly seems to be enjoying itself. Even if they're not the best thespians, they nevertheless seem wholly committed to the film's project, and their charm and exuberance is contagious. JANUARIUS may not reinvent the wheel, but it's a perfect example of an early sex film done right, the product of people who truly believed in the potential of a newly liberated American cinema. In that regard, it's a small but notable treasure, and well worth discovering for enthusiasts of vintage erotica.
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3/10
Overlong collection of bad horror shorts
3 April 2024
Warning: Spoilers
A haphazard collection of (mostly) Joe Sherlock shorts centering around supernatural entities, the main problem with BENEATH A DEAD MOON is that most of its films fizzle out narratively. Way overlong at two hours, you get seven (count 'em!) go-nowhere shorts:

TAINTED BLOOD - Following an elaborate preface about a worldwide war between humans and vampires, imagine my surprise when we end up with a two-hander. Discovering an old acquaintance about to throw himself off a bridge, a woman brings him home, and, after a ton of jabber-jawing, they make love. He asks her to turn him into a vampire, but there's a surprise in store - you can guess from the title.

SUPERSTAR - A lady (who starts things out with a gratuitous shower scene you probably won't be that thrilled for) gets a tattoo on credit, but never seems to get around to paying for it. Eventually, the tattooist comes back to exact his pound of flesh.

DARK BITE - A nerdy office worker is despised by his boss and coworkers, so a woman appears out of his dreams and gives him a book of spells that turns him into a werewolf. For some reason, he kills the local convenience store clerk rather than taking revenge on any of his enemies.

BEETLEMANIAC - A guy shows up to a woman's place for a blind date, and after way too much prelude of her goofing around getting ready, he grosses her out by telling her about his work with insects at the zoo. Then he turns into a bug monster and eats her. No, it doesn't make any more sense if you watch it.

NOWHERE TO HYDE - Dr. Jekyll's grandson continues his grandfather's experiments using potions he buys off eBay(!). The serum works, and quickly attracts the attention of his still-living grandfather, who wants to use it to reverse the permanent transformation he's caused in himself. The conclusion to this is baffling, with the serum actually serving as a portal to another dimension and dark-universe characters swapping out to replace their counterparts.

SCENT OF THE SASQUATCH - A couple girls and one of their ranger boyfriends go into the woods and one of them gets killed by a sasquatch. There's really no plot to this one at all.

As though that weren't enough (we're already at the 100-minute mark!), the film ends with several minutes of bloopers, followed by a "Bonus Short":

THE EYEBALL OF FEAR - This is a takeoff on Eurotrash slashers, with a bunch of unattractive campers going into the woods and running afoul of the reanimated corpse of a maniac (brought back to life by his mad scientist father), whose head has been replaced with a giant eyeball. This kind of had potential, but there's no effort made to characterize anyone, and no creativity to the killings - the guy just runs around with a pitchfork and stabs people off-camera. More boring and annoying than clever or parodic.

Overall, the quality of the shorts is what you'd expect for later-day (digital?) SOV: cheap, but not the cheapest you've seen. A couple of the featurettes have been repurposed from an earlier omnibus called WEREWOLF TALES that doesn't appear on the IMDB - I have no idea about the rest. In general, it's all quite arbitrary, with decent set-ups but no idea how to follow through. The most baffling outing is BEETLEMANIAC, which features totally confusing non sequiturs like the "script girl" wandering into the middle of a shower scene to make out with the lead as the production crew looks on. I expected this to be a twist, with the film suddenly turning into a meta-movie about making horror films, but nope, it returns to its go-nowhere plot and stays there. I've seen worse SOV garbage, but I wouldn't even recommend you stoop this low; there are better ways to waste your time.
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7/10
Unexpected profile of gay fetish outfit Palm Drive Video
20 March 2024
Decent documentary about Palm Drive Video, which made a name for itself producing fetish content as a self-sex alternative to traditional porn during the AIDS epidemic. The film does a very thorough job of illustrating the various - erm - unique facets of the company's oeuvre, with plenty of clips that may shock even seasoned viewers. It also manages to make a fairly convincing case about the value and importance of pornography as a means for the gay community to speak about and to itself, and the importance of preserving this history.

I wish the film had done a better job actually portraying the two gentlemen behind the company, however - we just get a tiny bit of background about both of them, and, despite being the co-protagonists, neither emerges as a terribly well-developed character. I guess the star of the film is ultimately the videos, but, even at just 79 minutes, things start to drag toward the end, feeling like the film's treading the same territory. Result is a fairly satisfying portrait of an obscure part of smut film history, but would have better staying power if it had taken a bit more time with the surrounding details.
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Lost Man (2001)
4/10
Pointlessly provocative festival fodder
19 March 2024
An almost perfect example of the kind of self-indulgent short that proliferated at film festivals in the early '00s, LOST MAN would be totally forgettable if not for a couple crudely inserted shock scenes, clearly designed to get people talking. But if the main thing they're saying is "That's the poo movie, right?", unless you're John Waters, it's probably time to head back to the drawing board.

It's impossible to convey the plot of LOST MAN, as I couldn't really follow it. It's essentially a "couples squabbling" short story yanked straight out of the pages of The New Yorker. John is a city dweller adrift in his 20s, struggling to figure out where his relationship with girlfriend Courtney stands while French acquaintance Pascal comes to visit. What all this means is presumably apparent to the director, who would no doubt love to walk you through it at length if you were obliging enough to watch his movie with him.

Where the film stands out - clearly by design - is in a couple shock moments that come out of nowhere. The second, which features Pascal dropping his pants and graphically masturbating while ogling the protagonist's old Polaroids, is surprising but also de rigeur for the period, the turn-of-the-millennium heyday of "art-core." More shocking is a scene beforehand, which finds John's girlfriend unleashing her pent-up frustration by dropping *her* drawers and graphically urinating and defecating on his pillow. The irregular rhythms at which these excreta are produced give the uncomfortable impression it's all too real, and, if so, it's possible to commend the thespian for her commitment while still questioning the moment's necessity. It basically stops the film cold, an example for all the wrong reasons of Tom Gunning's Cinema of Attractions. Unlike a typical moment of attraction, however, one has to wonder who on Earth was asking for this.

Whatever the case, these two odd moments mark the film's claim to fame, and serve as a handy summation of its key qualities: masturbatory and ultimately kind of crappy.
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5/10
Too much of a good thing
19 March 2024
William Higgins' porn generally isn't known for its elaborate plotting, but even he pushes the limit in MALIBU DAYS, BIG BEAR NIGHTS, a film with a great title but not that much backing it up.

Bare bones set-up finds a quartet of college guys (Adam Stewart, Alan Howell, Kurt Franklin and Joel Allen - cuties all) heading up to a cabin at California's Big Bear Lake for a bit of R&R. Settling in, one of the guys finds an unmarked video in the closet and pops it in for the crowd, hoping it's a porno. That's what they get, but as one piquedly huffs, "It's all guys!" Nevertheless, they make the most of it and settle in for five scenes, growing progressively more aroused. You can imagine how things end!

The title sets up a great contrast, pitting California's sunny beaches against its snowy mountains, but the film barely takes advantage of it. Apparently "Malibu Days" are broad enough to encompass action pretty much anywhere (a number of interior scenes in no way have to be in Malibu, nor do they involve beaches or surfers), and the Big Bear stuff only accounts for the intro and last scene. The result is exactly the kind of pseudo-loop-carrier the set-up promises: a bunch of discordant - and discordantly erotic - scenes strung together with little rhyme or reason.

Film's biggest honors go to Mark Scott Solo (aka Scott Nichols), a bleach-blond cutie with a shoulder tattoo who's the epitome of a SoCal heartbreaker. He gets the two sequences up front, first tag-teaming J. W. King with Brad Scott in lieu of doing $25 in chores, then coming back from a surfing trip and stripping out of his wetsuit with Jamie Wingo, before the two join friends Davin McNeil and Peter Geary for a four-way living room orgy. Solo is hot in both scenes, even while stuck with guys who are only his match about half the time, but the film is hampered by some shoddy lighting during the indoor parts - you can see a spotlight moving around desperately trying to illuminate things. Subsequent pairings are hit or miss, with a tearaway jeans number featuring Nick Rodgers and Giorgio Canali that did little for me (neither is really in the twinky Higgins mold), though a follow-up with Shawn Michaels and Davin McNeil brings the heat. A closing sequence in a hot tub with Mickey O'Toole and Kevin Carey should be hot (both guys are sexy), but feels dashed-off, rushed through like an afterthought as the film is already past the 90-minute mark.

This highlights the primary problem with MALIBU, which is that it just keeps going and going. The film takes north of 15 minutes to get to its first sex scene, with endless footage of the surfers and college guys wandering around eating up time. When the action starts, in the Higgins style, it's all a bit overlong, until the film suddenly starts rushing toward the end. By the time it gets to its climactic showdown, it's exhausted the viewer's patience with one too many video segments, and despite the pace picking up considerably during the cabin orgy and all the boys bringing a marked level of enthusiasm, the film's overall length prevents its climax from being the firecracker of a closer the movie needed. Knowing a good thing when he sees one, Higgins still throws in a weird coda after "The End," a quick three-minute scene with Solo showing off how he may well have earned his name.

In contrast to a film like CALIFORNIA SUMMER, all of whose scenes are also long but compensate via impressive sexual heat that usually involves multiple climaxes, MALIBU consistently feels like it's struggling to find its footing, as though it threw a gauntlet for itself ("This film should be two hours!") with no idea why. The result is frustrating and arousing in equal measure, full of many good points that would nevertheless shine all the more brightly with a bit of pruning.
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2/10
Paying the rent
17 March 2024
Sharing several cast members and a central location with Roger Marks' far superior THE CROOKED ARRANGEMENT, THE GREAT RIP OFF comes off as a pale companion, a rote and near-plotless bump-and-grind done doubly wrong by poor photography. Fitting for a film about paying the bills, it seems like everyone here is just cashing a paycheck.

The plot, which doesn't even reveal itself until two-thirds through the film, concerns a residence that rents rooms to wayward young men. Given most are unable to meet their financial obligations, the landlords allow them to take it out in trade. In the final minutes, one of the guys overhears the two discussing their scheme, and comes up with a lousy plot for him and his fellow tenants to get revenge.

Even the synopsis above gives the film too much credit, as it seems like more of an experimental exercise in narrative delay than a proper movie. The film begins with one of the landlords (a curly-haired guy with a mustache) making it with a tenant (a cute young twink in a gaudy '70s floral-pattern shirt) before cutting to another couple, a ridiculously fit bodybuilder and a willowy blond, and their dilettantish explorations of (very) light S&M. It takes a whopping 40 minutes for these two set-ups to conclude, at which point the central conceit of the rental scam (how is it a scam, exactly, since both parties get something of value?) is finally revealed and then immediately resolved. It isn't even made clear that the two couples are in the same house until the start of the (largely theoretical) third act!

As usual in porn, when the story fails, what's left is sex, and RIP OFF unfortunately proves insufficient in this regard too. The first pairing was the less appealing to me, with the one guy's curly hair and mustache a turn-off and reminding me of THE JOY OF PAINTING's Bob Ross. While the twinky partner is cute enough for two (at least theoretically), he's unfortunately undermined by terrible photography, which favors disorienting macroscopic zooms into his shaggy raven locks over clear views of the action.

More interesting is the second couple, which features two hot guys and the promise (though failed delivery) of S&M thrills. Unfortunately, most of what the implied discipline amounts to is just weird positioning, with the muscular top at times hefting his partner onto his thighs (while remaining standing) or bending him over horsey-style for rear entry. Still, despite the scene itself failing to achieve take-off, the uber-toned dom is captivating, and, using his tattoos, I was able to match him (and his submissive partner) to a longer, far better scene in CROOKED ARRANGEMENT. That sequence, where the two engage in a marathon - and very hot - sex session in an upstairs bed, is even sampled here when the final tenant peeks through a door and briefly spies on the couple, inadvertently offering a free glimpse of a far better film. I'd advise you to stick with that production and skip RIP OFF, whose only real merit is truth in advertising.
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Anne's Ordeal (1972)
2/10
Early storefront roughie, available 2 ways
7 March 2024
Available in two versions, ANNE'S ORDEAL (or MAN AT THE DOOR, as is titled what seems to be the original cut) is a fairly desultory early storefront roughie no matter how you slice it. I'll begin by describing the MAN version...

Minimalist set-up finds Anne (Sandy Carey) getting a call from her roommate Jill (Sunny Boyd / Eve Orlon) saying she's staying late at the office (you can guess doing what!). Left alone in the house, Anne is surprised by Howard Alexander knocking at the door. After first claiming he has a date with Jill, Howard takes Anne hostage and ties her to a chair. Certainly the film's most interesting / fetishistic scene, this plays out like something between an Athena (Terry Sullivan's SF fetish company) and Avon production, as Howard threatens Anne at knifepoint, then makes her pee all over the chair after she asks to use the restroom. Finally untying her, he forces her to masturbate on the couch after she reveals she's a virgin, then drags her into the bedroom to render that moot.

Noise at the door announces third roommate Leslie (Becky Sharpe). Barely a minute into her conversation with Howard, Leslie proclaims she's harbored feelings for Anne and would love to have her way with her too - some pal! Things proceed apace, with the three getting into various configurations, before Jill comes home to join the party. Can Anne manage to grab her attacker's weapon and find her way to freedom? (Well, this has to end somehow...)

Aside from the roughie segment, there's little to write home about in this cut, with prosaic, early one-day-wonder cinematography, stiff improvised dialogue, and a total lack of narrative momentum. ANNE'S ORDEAL, which I originally assumed to be a projectionist's personal hack job on a single print but actually appears to be a professional (the term being relative) alternate edit, grafts on a slightly more complicated story by turning the bulk of the narrative into a flashback. Carey has been brought back and is now dating well below her station in the form of portly Kris Flanagan. After the two experience the usual porn problem of frigidity issues (after Flanagan finds a knife under the bend and pulls it on poor Sandy!), Flanagan brings Carey to a quack psychiatrist who hypnotizes her, cueing an abridged flashback version of MAN. Why someone felt the need to rebuild this from the ground up (maybe it was to include a greater variety of sex scenes?) is a mystery, but all of the good stuff (i.e. The chair scene) seems to still be there, with more of the lollygagging shorn away (albeit replaced by similarly turgid filler). Either way, you're not signing up for much. For now the film's main point of interest remains the story behind its two radically different iterations.
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7/10
It's a scorcher
15 February 2024
Short on plot but long on eroticism, William Higgins delivers a surprise knockout with CALIFORNIA SUMMER. I usually fault his films for lacking narrative, but who cares when the men are this sexy?

In the film's defense (or maybe not), it seems like there's some attempt at a barebones plot, but it's so sketchily elaborated that, if it exists, it's impossible to follow. Opening finds three guys - Mark Scott Solo, Brett Woods and Chris Thompson - skateboarding and then going their separate ways. Woods is a surfer going to a contest in Hawaii, and Thompson is a pilot and offers him and his buddy a free ride. Back at Chris' place, the two get down to it before Chris has to leave. Next scene finds Solo hanging out with three friends and unable to get their girlfriends to come over - what's left to do but play grab-ass in the pool and have an orgy? One of the orgy participants, Tim Richards, leaves his brother Larry at home the next day, and Larry promptly seduces the pool boy. Back at Thompson's house, Chris makes it with Joe Reeve, the other surfer, before discovering Wood is bowing out of the trip. Set to housesit for Chris, Tim convinces Joe to go solo so he can still have the run of the place. With the house to himself, Tim invites three more friends over for another orgy (he's just that insatiable, I guess!).

During the early '80s, there was a vogue in straight porn for LA RONDE-style narratives, where the action passes from character to character. CALIFORNIA SUMMER can't even manage that, instead just accumulating random incident as it hops from one guy to the next with the barest of set-ups. This seems to presage the type of scene-based content Internet porn would eventually devolve back into, and it would generally earn my contempt, but for the fact all the guys are so darn hot. Obviously, the Higgins brand is famous for young, athletic, all-American men, and Will doesn't disappoint here, delivering a cast of stunners who all have great chemistry, rut enthusiastically and in many cases deliver multiple pop shots in a scene. It's not exactly high art (though it does feature a nice original score by Costello Presley), but sometimes, you just have to let porn be porn, and here Higgins delivers.
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Only Darkness (1999 Video)
5/10
Interesting giallo pastiche; a flawed experiment
2 February 2024
Warning: Spoilers
The opening scene of ONLY DARKNESS finds a woman being stalked in her apartment by an unseen strangler and features heavy use of canted angles and extreme color gels, with one exemplary shot bathing a stairway in cool blue while rooms above and below glow green and red. Already impressed with the film's style and feeling like I had stumbled onto a lost giallo, I was delighted when the next scene found the film's screenwriter protagonist discussing the ins and outs of that genre with his agent. Clearly, I was among friends.

While over-stylized throwbacks to the Italian thriller have become an eye-rolling cliche recently (think KNIFE IN THE HEART, THE STRANGE COLOR OF YOUR BODY'S TEARS, etc.), ONLY DARKNESS is the earliest example I've seen, and by far the least pretentious. This is a film clearly besotted with the genre and trying to find something interesting to do with it, so it's a shame it ends up floundering as much as it does. The opening third is surprisingly engaging even while cliched: Paul, the hero mentioned above, is a British author sick of cranking out lurid sex-and-gore mysteries for a group of Italian financiers and desperate to put his creativity toward loftier artistic goals. He and his agent engage in that age-old (and eye rolling) cliché, the debate on art vs. Commerciality.

Paul gets his creative break driving home, when a pretty young woman darts out in front of his car. No sooner does he bundle her into the backseat, however, then he finds she's being chased by a strange man in a rain slicker and cap, who sends the two dashing to a nearby cottage. Discovering a dead body inside, Paul ends up held at gunpoint, forced to hack at the corpse with an axe before managing to wrestle the gun away and escape. Taking the woman back to his place, Paul is seized with inspiration for a new script; unfortunately, inspiration isn't the only thing he's brought back, as the two find themselves once again stalked by the mysterious assailant.

As set-ups go, you could do a lot worse, and while the film's influences often feel explicit (both NIGHT OF THE HUNTED and THE BIRD WITH THE CRYSTAL PLUMAGE inflect things strongly), it nevertheless manages to make them feel its own. Unfortunately, once the set-up is over, the film seems to have no idea where to go: the mysterious young female is never characterized or made interesting, and the movie becomes mired in the day-to-day minutia of Paul's life, with subsequent killings (there are only two) feeling both gratuitous and like afterthoughts. Narrative elements like Paul falling off the wagon come out of nowhere and have minimal impact, while the story overall just seems stuck in the mud.

(SPOILERS)

Unfortunately, it's only at the end that the film really reveals the extent to which it has no idea what it's doing. The denouement, which finds Paul cornering the killer at the cottage, reveals the man is actually the girl's father trying to protect her: she suffered a sexual trauma years earlier, which was re-triggered by a symbolic object and sent her flying into a murderous frenzy - she was the one who killed the guy in the cottage, not her dad, and he was trying to stop her. Aside from the fact this backstory is ripped off wholesale from THE BIRD WITH THE CRYSTAL PLUMAGE, it also opens numerous holes: if the father is just concerned with protecting his daughter, why does he kill several people? And why didn't the young woman display any signs of being dangerous when she was with Paul?

(END SPOILERS)

The result is a real misfire, made all the worse given it has such a promising opening. Directors Jon Kirby and Mitchell Morgan clearly know the words to the genre but not the music, cheekily playing off its aesthetic flourishes while totally failing to craft a satisfying (or even coherent) narrative. To make matters worse, the film's stylistic affectations are schizophrenic, with the elegant lighting of the giallo set-ups clashing violently against cringe-inducing '90s visual tics. Overall, the cinematography is quite good (nicely shot on what looks like 16mm) but gets done a painful disservice by things like split-screens that use the technique to disorienting rather than stylized effect. The less said about the score, by some band called Rachel's Basement (no, I've never heard of them either), the better - this anodyne corner-bar soft rock would fit better over the opening of a CW series than it does here. ONLY DARKNESS at least scores points in terms of ambition, and is laudable for taking bold swings, but while there's obvious talent on display, the film would do well to take the advice of its talent agent sidekick: more blood & sex, less artsy-fartsy BS.
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3/10
A minor improvement
28 January 2024
Slightly better than its predecessor if only by virtue of the cast and crew actually venturing outside, JAMES BANDE CONTRE O. S. SEX 69 is just as inane as the original but improves on it slightly with more attractive performers and locations.

Blessed with a narrator this time, the film does a better job simulating coherence as a woman's voiceover guides us between scenes. This still doesn't mean there's a plot, but at least someone's holding our hand through the stream-of-consciousness idiocy. Opening half threatens to replicate the housebound tedium of the first, going into a laborious degree of backstory about Bande and co-agent Tchernikov, who ended up defecting to the side of the Russians and is now Bande's nemesis. All this is explained over scenes of the two first having sex with one woman, then having sex with different women in different rooms, with a hammer-and-sickle flag in Tchernikov's the sole indicator of his move to Russia.

The two Russians get split up for the back half of the film, with Tchernikov joining Middle Eastern prince Amor El Sodo on his yacht to try to get him to do... something (they mostly just have sex with El Sodo's daughters). Meanwhile, the other guy joins Dr. Gode ("Dr. Dildo," a bit part wasted on the fetching Marilyn Jess) and her lesbian Amazons trying to hunt down and kill Bande, who's lounging by a pool. They all make amends during the inevitable orgy that follows.

This is again as tossed-off and low-effort as vintage porn gets - short of being shot on 16mm in a hotel room - but there are a few glimmers of interest. O. S. SEX ups the kink quotient a bit, with a partial fisting and intimations of incest between El Sodo and his daughters (the narration actually points it out explicitly, but the characterizations are so slapdash that the incident carries zero weight). The cast in general is more appealing, with Gabriel Pontello making for a marginally more attractive James Bande and Eric Dray and Pascal St. James covering stud duties (the latter with an '80s frat bro vibe that looks like a cross between Francois Papillon and that guy from the "Garbage Day" meme). Outdoor photography - much poolside - is attractive and helps the film breathe, though the lack of plot still leaves things stillborn. Even the winsome Miss Jess can't save it, wasted in what is essentially a cameo and seeming loathe to touch any of her costars. To hear her tell it in IL ETAIT UNE FOIS MARILYN JESS, by this point her increasing fear of AIDS was leading her to plan her exit from the industry, and what we're seeing here is probably one of her last roles. And if this is the way things were going, she was smart to get out when she did!
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1/10
Awful
24 January 2024
Recalling the work of bottom-of-the-barrel US pornographers like Carlos Tobalina or Ray Dennis Steckler, Jean-Francois Davy and Michel Beaudricourt's JAMES BANDE 00SEX is just about the laziest porn "parody" I've ever seen. Shot in a single house probably over a weekend, it looks more like a class project run amok, inexpiably shot on wasted 35mm celluloid.

Evinced by its title, the film's sole capacity for wit lies in an endless barrage of wordplay - "bande" meaning "to become erect" in slang French and "sex" sounding fairly close to the French "seven," or "sept." Set-up finds the title character at a rowing machine in someone's basement, where he's serviced by poor Cathy Stewart, utterly debasing herself in this vs. Her profoundly touching performance in Jean Rollin's NIGHT OF THE HUNTED. As though that opening oral number weren't enough of a waste, the couple then improbably spies via binoculars on another pair getting it on - apparently in the other corner of the room!

It's 20 minutes before what passes for a plot kicks in, with Bande meeting up with his Q, who assigns him to investigate something or other. Seriously, story is not this film's strong suit - all of it is doled out solely via dialogue, and it's absolutely incoherent. No matter anyhow, since the sexual super-spy never leaves the house. He wanders out by the pool in snorkeling mask, dives in, and appears in some lady's bathtub, then apparently gleans some information after tag-teaming a woman he meets at the dining room bar (with the bartender joining in) before matching wits with his arch-nemesis, a vaguely-handsome guy who mainly seems to enjoy boffing women on the basement pool table.

Perhaps I went in with too high of expectations, but this is an absolutely pathetic excuse for a film, insulting to the audience and a complete waste of time. Obviously, given this is a porn spoof, I didn't go in expecting Shakespeare (or even Zucker-Abrams-Zucker), but why bother to invoke a subject like a spy thriller when even attempting to replicate it is so woefully beyond your means (and, apparently, ambition)? Most French porn in this period was - just like this - being cranked out over a day or two in a country chateau, so why not stick with the program and try to turn out something satisfying? One can even imagine another version of the film that turned its financial limitations into an aesthetic - avant garde filmmakers like the Kuchars made whole careers out of recreating and parodying Hollywood aesthetics out of junk they found lying around the house - but such scope of vision is hopelessly out of evidence here. A bit of the wordplay merits a chuckle, but beyond that, there's nothing. Even the sex is largely off-putting. If a porn parody is going to fail as a parody, you'd think it could at least succeed as porn...
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1/10
Cut-and-paste nonsense
24 January 2024
Hacked together out of two other films, DIAMOND BABY and JOURNAL EROTIQUE D'UNE THAILANDAISE, JAMES BANDE OOSEX N2 might qualify as some of the laziest, most incomprehensible porn I've ever seen if it weren't preceded by... every other entry in this series.

Any gesture at a plot is totally inscrutable with this entry's Bande (Alban Ceray - it changes every film!) driving around Paris telling us about some of his earlier misadventures as well as the exploits of his friend in Bangkok. With even this wraparound footage repurposed from another movie, it's all just there to cue clips - sometimes clips within clips! - theoretically papered over by the stream-of-consciousness narration (albeit unsuccessfully).

It's useless commenting on the usual things like cinematography, mise-en-scene or even sexual chemistry, as all this material would be better served viewed in its original context. And you'd be better served watching anything *other* than a JAMES BANDE film - particularly this one! Consider yourself warned...
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6/10
Wild love triangle from Teuvo Tulio
16 January 2024
Warning: Spoilers
Known as the master of Finnish melodrama, director Teuvo Tulio certainly earns that title with MUSTASUKKAISUUS ("Jealousy"). Apparently the 1946 original, LEVOTON VERI, is even wilder, but for me this will certainly do.

Like many of Tulio's films, the plot has the naivete of a fairy tale or legend: rescued by a logger when their raft is caught in the rapids, two sisters, Riitta (Regina Linnenheimo) and Anja (Assi Raine), fall in love with their handsome savior, Jyri (Eero Paganus), with the strong-headed Riitta eventually seducing him and winning his hand in marriage. When a family tragedy caused by Riitta drives Jyri from their home, Riitta goes mad, losing her eyesight. After Jyri returns, Riitta - still blind - begins to suspect a romance growing between him and her sister, a suspicion that drives her to more and more drastic actions.

In its broad strokes little more than a sappy melodrama, MUSTASUKKAISUUS nevertheless remains of interest for just how crazily operatic it's willing to get. Early developments, like a brawl between Jyri and a fellow logger in a sauna (featuring shocking-for-'53 full-frontal nudity and beating EASTERN PROMISES to the punch by a cool five decades), are mere appetizers for how bonkers things get in the third act (SPOILERS): after trying several times to kill her own sister, Riitta goes for an operation to restore her eyesight and, despite its success, returns home claiming it has failed. She spends the final 20 minutes of the movie pretending to be blind so she can further sabotage her sister's (suspected) romance.

Dealing with such heady material, it's a surprise any of it works as well as it does, but top-billed Linnenheimo, whom I quite enjoyed in the director's subsequent film, OLET MENNYT MINUN VEREENI ("You've Gone into My Blood"), once again acquits herself well, proving her star power. With a performing style more often resembling a silent actress, Linnenheimo is blessed with a wonderfully expressive face and reaches a zenith of charm in her seduction scene, a surprisingly frank piece of filmmaking for 1953 which sees her coquettishly disrobing behind a half-closed door and slowly luring Jyri in with her charms. She's like this throughout the film, sinking her teeth into moments of girlish levity and utter derangement with equal aplomb. It's a perfect encapsulation of the film's bizarre clash of tones, where action is often framed and edited with the stiffness of an early talkie, but with a discordant boldness regarding sex that wouldn't reach most of the rest of the West for a good 10-15 years. The other two leads do well in what's largely a three-hander, but it's nevertheless clear why Linnenheimo appears to be Tulio's muse: the two work great together, elevating what seems like a turgid weepie into something more engaging than it has any right to be. I'm still not sure if that fully qualifies as masterful melodrama, but it's at least *maximal* melodrama, and that has to count for something.
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6/10
Minimalist XXX melodrama about love in a men's prison
10 January 2024
Warning: Spoilers
Clearly hiding the venerable Tom DeSimone given it bears the exact same credits as GAY GUIDE TO CRUISING, "Tom Mosca's" CONFESSIONS OF AN INMATE again delivers a solid gay hardcore outing from the early days of the genre.

Opening is strongly reminiscent of CONFESSIONS OF A MALE GROUPIE (another DeSimone tip-off - he's credited by name there), with sync-sound, direct-to-camera address again confined to a single, static camera set-up. The results are a bit more elaborate here, as protagonist George Peters interrupts throughout to narrate this minimalist tale of gay love in the clink, but the cost-saving result is the same.

The unnamed protagonist never reveals what he and his cellmate, Phil ("Paul Lee," supposedly hetero performer Billy Lane - though if true, this is his only known gay performance), are in for, which certainly makes it easier to focus on the romantic aspects of their relationship. Joining Phil in his cell, the narrator is initially wary, but it's not long before the two start cruising each other by stripping naked and working out in full view. Very soon, the two are keeping each other company on those cold, lonely prison nights.

All seems well until midway through the film, when a third cellmate, Lee (Vince Bruno), arrives and begins diverting Phil's affections. With the narrator disconsolate at Phil's betrayal, he contemplates suicide, though hope may be on the horizon if the three can come to an agreement...

The opening half of INMATE is a minor masterpiece of mood, starting with the wonderful, extended build-up as the two cellmates tease each other by flaunting their bodies with increasing abandon. The film does likewise, easing into its explicit nature slowly, building from the kind of "dangly" beefcake Pat Rocco perfected in the '60s to increasingly explicit images of erection and masturbation. When the film finally crosses into hardcore, it again moves slowly, progressing from fondling to barely-glimpsed blowjobs and only at long last moving to anal (in a scene that could charitably termed "noirish") around 20-30 minutes in. To modern audiences used to immediate nonstop pounding, this will simply equate to bad sex, but for those who can take it slow and enjoy the tease, it's more a cerebral turn-on than a physical one - and quite good for what it is.

Unfortunately, this rising tension deflates once it's revealed the narrative has little sting in its tail. At the risk of spoiling things, the film effectively goes nowhere - the "plot" can be boiled down to: two guys fall in love, another shows up and makes one jealous, then they all learn to share. Not much to write home about, despite the film's visual-epistolary wrap-around. But, despite its shrug of a non-conflict, INMATE is still laudable for taking on the subject of situational homosexuality in prison - a stereotype still often confined to crude jokes in pop culture but treated with a surprising degree of dignity here. If it seems ironic that a so-called "adult" film may actually be more mature than its mainstream peers, that's a testament to the unique space early gay sex films afforded their creators to speak to a rare sympathetic audience. If the narrative seems slapdash, that was surely a constraint of this early, outlaw mode of production. DeSimone would tackle a similar love-triangle with even better results in the sublime DUST UNTO DUST, but already acquits himself well here. Either - or both - are recommended for viewers seeking better examples of early gay hardcore.
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House of Sir (1978)
6/10
Put on the pink light
10 January 2024
Rik Taziner switch-hits again in HOUSE OF SIR, this time adapting TEENAGE MADAM for the lavender set (or is it the other way 'round?). What's most fascinating about these gay/straight pairs is how closely they hew to each other; the films often use the exact same script, down to details as small as character names.

Told in the same style as MADAM, SIR is also presented with a first-person wraparound, with Dr. Gonad (there as here) touring a whorehouse to survey the workers about their sexual experience. Whereas in MADAM the matron was Madam Rose (Desiree West), here it's just "Sir" (Jack Wright), again introduced via a random Mae West impersonation. Kicking things off with Sir explaining his introduction to the biz - he was bequeathed his uncle's mysterious "business," only to discover it was a house of ill repute on meeting his first customer - the scene follows things to a T with regard to the other film, aside from the fact that there we got Desiree West and John Holmes, while here we get... Jack Wright and some guy.

As in MADAM, the structuring conceit quickly falls apart. A young boy is introduced as having run away from his stepfather, whose sexual abuse is shown in flashback. Typical of the '70s, the guy is presented as "about 14" - though the actor's obviously legal - a bit of age-play fantasy that will surely alarm modern viewers. The young man ends up inducted into the profession by a more experienced hustler, and their first trick is a doozy: Bill "Head" Clover, reprising his role as a macho truck driver who likes to dress up in lingerie and get whipped and degraded. In one of its few digressions from its cousin, SIR moves Clover's impressive feat of oral self-gratification - effectively the eye-popping climax of MADAM - into flashback here (which appears to be the same footage, repurposed and optically flipped - you try doing what he does twice!). Amazingly, Rik even manages to slot his most engaging and attractive performer into the character of Rusty, played here in the male version by an angelic, curly-haired brunet. He gets it on with his regular customer, who subsequently proposes marriage (or what passed for it for gay men in the '70s). As everyone decides to celebrate, the film devolves into a 30-minute closing orgy.

With the entire movie running a good 10-15 minutes longer than its straight counterpart, this is another of SIR's missteps - unusually fleet and well-paced to this point, the film threatens to wear out its welcome in this extended closer. Taziner still acquits himself fairly capably, keeping things moving via the performers' passion and a couple great soft-rock tunes, but this scene just goes on forever, and is missing a moment of closing spectacle like Clover's self-suck in MADAM. The only thing SIR has to offer is a gross shot featuring a guy ejaculating endlessly over the gaping anus of a partner who clearly failed to prepare adequately for his scene (if you catch my drift).

Still, despite these missteps, SIR, along with its straight cousin, is proof Taziner was capable of delivering fitfully entertaining - if silly - porn when he set his mind to it. It's no great shakes, but it moves fairly quickly and just might keep you entertained. As the film closes, Dr. Gonad says he'll be back - and for once in Rik's ramshackle career, I can't say as I blame him.
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5/10
Rik's not licked yet! (or, how I learned to stop worrying & love this bomb)
10 January 2024
Back in the '30s, before the invention of dubbing, studios would sometimes produce sound films in multiple-language versions, with Spanish, French, German, and other-language remakes shot at night on the same sets as their English counterparts. Within a few years, a more economical solution was uncovered, but in the '70s, aspiring smut purveyors found this old trick similarly applicable to sex, with several XXX cineastes cranking out duplicate versions of their scripts to suit both hetero and gay markets. Foremost among these was Rik Taziner, who has at least five such pairs to his name, with more almost certainly waiting to be discovered. While the titles were usually similar, we get a bizarre exception with FINGER LICKEN GOOD, a strange gay take of the director's already-weird-enough hetero flick THE DEVIL'S PLAYGROUND.

Set-up and even whole scenes are exactly the same here, with Kelly Guthrie reprising his role as Lucifer ("Don't call me Lucy!"), an overseer of Hell who regales us with the story of how he got his latest pair of souls. As Lucifer and his assistant get serviced by the caged guys on a chintzy, cut-rate set, our hero guides us through the guys' confusing and arbitrary road to perdition.

LICKEN follows the same erratic structure as PLAYGROUND, showing the Devil and his henchman first spying on the boys as they hook up a party (a swinger's orgy in the original; a gay cruise party here). Next, the Devil dons various disguises to tempt the lads: in one, he dresses up as an old man playing with marionettes who so fascinates one of the boys he can lead him back to a nearby residence for some fun; in the other, he's a hippie guru, with the other guy a delivery boy hypnotized by Lucifer's assistant into getting tied to a St. Andrew's cross and servicing them both. Next scene has the young men coming home from school to find one of their uncles (a young Paul Thomas in the straight version; Just Some Guy here) looking at a stroke mag; intrigued, they end up putting what they see into practice. The final scene finds the lads as hustlers on Selma Avenue, brought to a nearby motel by Lucy and his henchman.

What any of this has to do with stealing the guys' souls is anyone's guess. If sinful (presumably non-marital - or perhaps in this case homosexual) sex is what damns you, Lucifer should be set after the first encounter; if it's something else, the film never bothers to explain the progression. It just presents one arbitrary, weird sex scene after another - and I do mean weird. In the first one, as Lucifer and his assistant watch the guys get it on, the Devil stimulates himself with a hand puppet; later, as the old man, he rides the guy's erection with his marionette.

The two young men at the center of this are attractive enough, both twinkish, uncut, and looking like mid-tier Hollywood hustlers; neither is quite ready for primetime, however, as both have to fake several of their ejaculations. Guthrie, largely confined to the sidelines in the straight version - aside from a bit of half-hearted humping and a three-finger near-fist toward the end - is much more involved here, taking a key role in the majority of the sex scenes against, presumably, most of the audience's will. Like its straight counterpart, LICKEN is full of age-bait, positing both young guys as in their mid-teens (though the actors, of course, look significantly older). It's a bizarre film, a bit more coherent than its straight counterpart, and consequently more of a middling effort than that film's outright disaster. Once again, good luck getting off to it, though!
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5/10
Go-for-broke hardcore TV farce
30 December 2023
A takeoff seemingly in name only on Dick Clark's $10,000 PYRAMID, THE $50,000 CLIMAX SHOW has little to do with its inspiration, instead providing an anarchic array of sexual "contests" that make very little sense and generally fail to generate much heat.

Admirably committed to its premise, CLIMAX presents one night in the broadcast of the titular show, a late-night, adults-only hit. Hosted by J. P. Paradine (the actor; the character is unnamed), doing less a Dick Clark than a total psycho, the show makes very little sense, with Paradine hopping around like a jackrabbit and introducing various confusing "contests" like The Pokey Pull, where the girls have to... well, "pull" their partner's "pokey" - it's a masturbation contest (though who on Earth calls a penis a "pokey" is I'm still trying to ascertain).

Dropping viewers in during the middle of the show, the film takes only one break, where the host heads backstage after the first skit to find the program's sleazy producer - obviously gay het-hardcore character actor Kevin Andre - taking liberties with a prospective female contestant (grinning and bearing it, Andre offers a noncommittal bout of cunnilingus). Ending up fired from the show, Paradine calls his mother to complain and breaks down in hysterics, but by the next scene, he's back onstage, the incident never alluded to again until the end.

The rest of the film stays the course as Paradine guides the contestants through a number of not terribly erotic "games," including a glory hole penis guessing contest (the mystery member belongs to Marc Stevens, who figures heavily in the film's second half), a contest of sexual acrobatics (standing sex), and a concluding orgy that requires the constants get four different people off before the bell, with that fourth orgasm garnering the titular $50,000.

Very little of this is sexy, because it's all smothered in Paradine's nonstop histrionics - even when the film slows down for a prolonged sex sequence, it's still stuck with his endless squalling over it. Beyond that, the eponymous "game" appears to have no discernable structure, with random people paired together with no rhyme or reason and all the "contests" essentially boiling down to "have sex with each other," which makes any element of narrative or suspense a non-starter.

Aside from Paradine's mugging, the other most bizarre element is an extended mid-film interview with Stevens, who sits in a chair pants-less for five minutes and hawks his new (and very real) autobiography, "10 ½." Deliriously towing the line between a joke and a real ad, this segment stops the film cold (not that it was going anywhere anyway) but is absolutely fascinating nonetheless. (One wishes it were still so easy to run to the local bookshop and grab a copy of Marc's tell-all!) For what it's worth, Stevens - often as loathed as he is loved among vintage porn fans - generates what small charm I managed to find in the film, providing some able schtupping and a welcome bit of subdued comedy to counter Paradine's nonstop yowling.

Less a porn movie than a psychotic off-Broadway performance inflicted on unwilling smut fans, there's very little out there like THE $50,000 CLIMAX SHOW. I have no idea who credited director "James Wood" is, but given Paradine's, Andre's, and notorious switch-hitter Stevens' presence in the cast, one suspects he might have been a member of the lavender set, if not one of those three themselves. Either way, the whole production smacks of "gay guys making a straight porn flick," with its constant deference to high camp at the expense of sexual heat. YMMV regarding whether that equates with entertainment, but one thing's for sure: you certainly won't forget it.
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