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November 4, 2008

Election Day Special: Who’s Nailin’ Paylin?

During election season, what stirs the male imagination more than female candidates? Hustler Video picked up on the instant popularity of Alaskan sex kitten/vice-presidential candidate Sarah Palin by rushing into production Who’s Nailin’ Paylin. It follows in the footsteps of 1976’s Union of American Socialists (whose alarming storyline follows Constance Blomen and Willie Mae Reid surrogates through a depraved, expressionistic vision of post-Watergate Washington) and 1984’s Ferraro Fever, notable primarily for the Geraldine Ferraro-Nancy Reagan sapphic gymnastics that close the picture.

Unfortunately, Who’s Nailin’ Paylin lacks the variety and vivacity of older titles. The film suffers from an overall lack of focus and mostly atrocious casting. Much as I wanted to enjoy director Jerome Tanner and writer Roger Krypton’s absurd take on the circus the 2008 campaign became, the plot never jells and the humor never rises to the heights of great political satire. Instead, they rely on cheap stereotypes (portraying “Serra Paylin” as an airhead) and lame-brained humor.

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Posted by D. B. Bates on November 4, 2008 12:00 AM  | Permalink  | Print-Friendly  | Comments (0)

October 10, 2008

SEXth Element

I’ve come to expect very little from Private. Their pandering to bizarre Eastern European fetishes in films like Top 40 DPs and Without Limits gets worse with each film, but I had some hope for SEXth Element. A big-budget sci-fi film driven by special effects, the film could have been a genre masterpiece. Instead, its disappointing, incomprehensible storyline sinks it, making this a late entry in the competition for “Most Disappointing Film.”

I guess I should have known better than to expect anything from writer/director Andrew Curtis and executive producer Milk; they’re in too deep with the Private aesthetic. Still, I didn’t expect a film so confusing and dramatically inert that I could only say, “What?” when it faded to black. That’s the bottom line: SEXth Element has a story that makes no sense. Apparently, Curtis and Milk assume the effects will dazzle us into believing we’ve watched a Star Wars-like epic. This plunges even lower into the depths of badness than Star Whores: The Phantom Anus.

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Posted by D. B. Bates on October 10, 2008 12:00 AM  | Permalink  | Print-Friendly  | Comments (0)

October 3, 2008

Not the Bradys XXX

In eager anticipation of X-Play/Hustler Video’s latest classic-sitcom spoofs — Not Bewitched, This Ain’t the Munsters and Not the Bradys 2 — I’ve decided to take a closer look at 2007’s highly popular, award-winning erotic comedy, Not the Bradys. Although it’s a mixed bag, I admit that it entertained and aroused me. Can I ask for more than that? Yes. Will I get it? In this case, no.

The trio of Will Ryder (director), Jeff Mullen (writer, producer, composer, art director) and Scott David (producer, art director) have crafted a loving parody of Sherwood Schwartz’s hokey sitcom, The Brady Bunch (1969-1974). References abound (Cindy’s Kitty Carry-All doll!), although Mullen misses opportunities to go deeper here. More puzzling, it includes some odd moments that I assume were intended as references, but they don’t quite pan out.

At one point, Greg begs Sam the Butcher (played with bizarre spunk by Ron Jeremy) for a job, but Sam grumbles that he already gave that job to Bobby. I think they were trying to reference 1972’s classic “Big Little Man,” in which parallel stories feature Bobby trying to overcompensate for his diminutive stature while Greg gets the job at Sam’s. When Greg and Bobby both get locked in the freezer, Bobby’s size actually saves them — he can squeeze through the freezer door’s window, which Greg couldn’t have managed. It taught us all a valuable lesson about finding strength in who we are, no matter what our perceived shortcomings. But at no time in the episode does Bobby get the job or attempt to steal the job out from under Greg. Perhaps if they had boned up on their Bunch trivia (or engaged me as a consultant — I’m happy to help out, pro bono), such absurd mistakes wouldn’t exist.

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Posted by D. B. Bates on October 3, 2008 12:00 AM  | Permalink  | Print-Friendly  | Comments (0)

September 28, 2008

Stan McKagan Proposes a Ban on the Industry’s Midwinter of Cocks

CANOGA PARK, CA — All right, everyone. We’re going to go around the room, and I want to see an honest show of hands from the men in the audience: who thinks double-penetration is erotic? I didn’t think so….

Posted by D. B. Bates on September 28, 2008 12:00 AM  | Permalink  | Print-Friendly  | Comments (0)

September 26, 2008

Fuck My Mom and Me 5

I confess I had some reservations about reviewing this, the fifth in a series, when I hadn’t seen any of the previous entries. Would I be lost in the drama, or did these movies work as standalone features? I found out rather quickly that the Fuck My Mom and Me series is an anthology of shorts with little connection to one another outside the premise and the unending presence of producer/director Stoney Curtis, the semi-mythical “man behind the curtain” who interviews the female subjects before and after their love-making sessions. There is no story to speak of, so I had no problem plunging in to the depths of depravity contained in Fuck My Mom and Me 5.

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Posted by D. B. Bates on September 26, 2008 12:00 AM  | Permalink  | Print-Friendly  | Comments (0)

September 19, 2008

Edward Penishands

I’d like to start this review with a brief history to put this important work into its proper context. For those who do not remember, by the late ’80s the U.S.’s post-feminist malaise caused a shift in relationship dynamics. A sort of unusual emasculation of the male gender occurred, trying to reconcile the sudden, male-like aggression of the opposite sex by embracing the softer so-called “feminine side” within themselves. This spawned an archetype designated at the time as “Sensitive Ponytail Man” or “Sensitive Man of the ’90s,” currently referred to by the less cumbersome “Pussy.” This type of person went into films like Wall Street and Point Break as affirmations of their machismo and intellectual superiority, but they invariably shed a few tears before the closing credits, often waiting long after the theatre emptied out, so they could wipe their tears and let the redness fade from their cheeks before leaving the dark theatrical womb.

Of course, such a drastic change in the male psyche also dictated a change in their adult entertainment. Watching the erotica from 1985 to 1995, you’ll see a radical shift in the type of sexual endeavors portrayed — gone is the “woo ‘em, bang ‘em, leave ‘em” attitude, replaced by a gentler emphasis on foreplay. Manual stimulation and cunnilingus became rote aspects of each sex act, rather than the “classic” model of stripping down for intromission.

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Posted by D. B. Bates on September 19, 2008 12:00 AM  | Permalink  | Print-Friendly  | Comments (0)

September 12, 2008

Hookers and Blow

Addiction. Man’s most dangerous of foes. No other force can alter a man’s psychology and physiology so rapidly, so completely. It can render the most virile of men impotent; it can hurtle the weak among us to the precipice of death. Addiction is a force that can be stopped, with great effort and expense (both financially and spiritual), but it can never be destroyed. It always remains, in the hidden recesses of the mind, waiting for a moment of weakness to pounce and destroy again.

Brandon Iron’s tour de force Hookers and Blow explores this disease with a jarring mixture of harrowing drama and gentle humor. In casting this film, auteur Iron trusts friend and longtime co-star Joe Blow to carry the brunt of the emotional heavy lifting. Iron himself co-stars, and the two actors — ostensibly playing themselves, lending additional verisimilitude to the gritty, realistic world Iron creates — drift down a tragic path. Contrary to what you might expect from the title and DVD box cover, this is a tale of sex addiction — Iron brilliantly uses “blow” as a pun, alluding to both Blow’s name and the film’s harrowing final scene but not cocaine.

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Posted by D. B. Bates on September 12, 2008 12:00 AM  | Permalink  | Print-Friendly  | Comments (0)

September 5, 2008

Asian Street Hookers #46

I felt a strange sense of déjà vu after watching Asian Street Hookers #46. Its disastrous attempts to undermine and demean Asian culture reminded me of Screwing Asia, while its rock-bottom production values and sloppy direction made Fresh Outta High School 9 look like 2005’s Pirates.

Here’s how lazy the Asian Street Hookers series has become: they’ve all but abandoned the “hooker” pretense, referencing it only twice (in five scenes). We’re left with the implication that, while all the featured women, only two are opportunistic tramps, which is very different from being a “hooker.” For example: if they got all skanked up and walked up and down Melrose until a half-drunk embarrassment going through a hard divorce pulled up in his tan Volvo station wagon and slurred, “Wanna party?” — that’s a hooker. If they’re casually walking home from work, a guy stops them and starts rubbing their genitals and they say, “Wait a sec — that’ll cost you” — that’s the free market at work. These women aren’t hookers. Or maybe they are, appearing in tripe like this.

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Posted by D. B. Bates on September 5, 2008 12:00 AM  | Permalink  | Print-Friendly  | Comments (0)

August 31, 2008

Stan McKagan Proposes a Ban on Breast Implants

CANOGA PARK, CA — I’m very surprised that, with the recent admission of several websites that video and subscription-service sales have gone down, no one has yet stated what appears to be obvious to me. The cause of all these problems are fake breast implants.

I can’t tell you how many times I’ve prowled the Internet for a new erotic adventure to enjoy, only to be taken in by misguided reviews declaring, “This bitch has perfect tits!” Perfect tits, I always think, stroking my soul-patch in deep contemplation. I have to see this. As soon as I click on the link, the cover photo or screenshot captures throw me into a fit of rage and disappointment. Of course they have perfect tits — they’re 100% fake.

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Posted by D. B. Bates on August 31, 2008 12:00 AM  | Permalink  | Print-Friendly  | Comments (0)

August 29, 2008

It’s a Young Girls Thing #7

Two weeks ago, I rode director Greg Lansky hard for his inept sequel, Fresh Outta High School 9. Unlike other filmmakers of limited means, Lansky opted to coast on past successes by attempting to insert an inferior product. Well, I wasn’t swallowing it, and It’s a Young Girls Thing #7 might do a good job of explaining why.

You see, the uncredited director hired by Legal Pink Productions did a fucking phenomenal (in more ways than one) job of using his limitations to his advantage. With the exception of some sloppy production design (scenes two and four shared the same room, swapping out chairs without making an effort to mask the distinctive and unattractive bamboo glued to the wall), It’s a Young Girls Thing #7 gives audiences exactly what they want, but this doesn’t satisfy the director. He pushes everything a little harder (in more ways than one), and I thank him for it.

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Posted by D. B. Bates on August 29, 2008 12:00 AM  | Permalink  | Print-Friendly  | Comments (0)

August 22, 2008

Screwing Asia

“Oh, big American cock. Can’t get enough.” This line, uttered by Keeani Lei, opens Screwing Asia, and it does the job of summarizing Frank Marks’ grim depiction of race relations in the U.S. The film cannot, by any measure, be considered a high-quality endeavor, but it does have some fascinating moments that manage to simultaneously undermine and support Marks’ filmic treatise.

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Posted by D. B. Bates on August 22, 2008 12:00 AM  | Permalink  | Print-Friendly  | Comments (0)

August 15, 2008

Fresh Outta High School 9

I can’t deny the high expectations built up from the first eight in the Fresh Outta High School series, but I still tried to maintain objectivity when I popped the DVD in my player. I don’t intend to sugarcoat my opinions, so if you consider yourself a fan of this series, you might want to sit down. Fresh Outta High School 9 might be the biggest disaster of 2008.

What an absolute embarrassment for all involved, from the cast to the production crew. Everything that made the previous films special, different, innovative — up in smoke. What remains is a horrific amalgam of poor direction, fresh-off-the-street (or -boat) acting and shoddy production design. I’d like to try to find an explanation for what went wrong.

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Posted by D. B. Bates on August 15, 2008 12:00 AM  | Permalink  | Print-Friendly  | Comments (0)

August 8, 2008

Oh No! There’s a Negro in My Mom!

After having extensive practice with their Cuckold series, the blood-brother team of Grip and Cram Johnson have perfected the awkward three-person adult film with Oh No! There’s a Negro in My Mom! Equal parts character study, race-relations exploration and full-blown (pun intended) comedy, the film’s assured direction and improvised dialogue make it quite an achievement, both artistically and commercially.

A study in contrasts, the Johnsons have decided Oh No! There’s a Negro in My Mom into an anthology of four parallel stories. In each, a shocked young-adult child discovers his mother in a compromising position with an African-American “gentleman caller” (as Vanessa Videl euphemistically refers to partner Byron Long). The shocked offspring watch with a mixture of horror and fascination as the Nubian princes ravage their mothers with aplomb.

Having one of the three members of the scene remain fully clothed and able to shine as an actor or actress, the Johnsons step up the inherent drama of forbidden sexual liaisons. The dialogue, improvised by each actor (who were clearly given little more than character “types” that they flesh out on the spot with unparalleled brilliance and wit), ranges from laugh-out-loud funny to heart-wrenching. The reactions of the sons and daughters, and the interaction between them and the mothers and “Negroes,” make the film worth watching.

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Posted by D. B. Bates on August 8, 2008 12:00 AM  | Permalink  | Print-Friendly  | Comments (0)

August 1, 2008

King Cobra

“Hi, my name is Creampuff. At least, that’s what they call me, anyways. And this is the story of how I ran away, lost my virginity, lost my virginity again, ran away again, got kidnapped by bikers and turned into a rowdy biker bitch. Hope you like it.”

When I heard Creampuff’s (Page Morgan) opening narration, I came very close to leaping to my feet and applauding. Why? Because that, ladies and gentlemen, is a brilliant premise. Imagine an exploration of a sheltered, naïve girl thrust (in more ways than one) into a world of debauchery and depravity rarely witnessed on film. Imagine it. Imagine the level of character depth and thematic insight required to do justice to such an ambitious concept.

Imagine it, because if you watch King Cobra, you won’t see any of it.

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Posted by D. B. Bates on August 1, 2008 12:00 AM  | Permalink  | Print-Friendly  | Comments (0)

July 25, 2008

Kamikaze Premium, Volume 28 — Black Jesus

The heavy beats of a hip-hop anthem surge and thud on the soundtrack as three adorable Japanese girls walk along Wilshire Boulevard, shopping bags in their arms. They move toward us, looking directly into the camera, beckoning with their eyes and hips. Not only have we once again entered the strange and often frightening world of Kamikaze Premium — in Black Jesus, we have the fortune of watching a sociological passion play unfold before our very eyes.

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Posted by D. B. Bates on July 25, 2008 12:00 AM  | Permalink  | Print-Friendly  | Comments (0)

July 18, 2008

Belladonna’s Fucking Girls 6

Would Belladonna’s Fucking Girls 6 have been less disappointing if I had watched it before Belladonna: Manhandled 3? That near-masterpiece of rough sex and relationship drama prepared me for the best. Belladonna often shines when confronted with the fairer sex, but in this case, I’m afraid she offers a lackluster entry. So to speak.

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Posted by D. B. Bates on July 18, 2008 12:00 AM  | Permalink  | Print-Friendly  | Comments (0)

Belladonna: Manhandled 3

“Mmm, everyone thinks they can just use me and manhandle me. I’ve had enough, Alan. I’ve had enough. It’s time for me to do the manhandling. It’s time for me to get a taste of what you have… control.” This voiceover opens Belladonna: Manhandled 3, the latest and greatest directorial triumph of one-woman cottage-industry Belladonna.

The erotic auteur’s bleak view of male-female relationships often permeates her directorial efforts, but it’s often most evident in the Manhandled series. Like its predecessors, Manhandled 3 examines couples in sexual crisis. The crises work themselves out in unflinching portrayals of sexual anguish and deviance.

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Posted by D. B. Bates on July 18, 2008 12:00 AM  | Permalink  | Print-Friendly  | Comments (0)

July 15, 2008

Jenna Haze Fists Belladonna

This special seven-minute video comes directly from Belladonna herself, so what better way to celebrate her reentering — so to speak — the adult industry. Opening with an interesting attempt to toss audiences in medias res, our first sight is of Belladonna’s rear, raised high in the air. Within seconds, Belladonna asks her partner in crime — adult star Jenna Haze — if she would like to stick her hand up Belladonna’s butt. Ms. Haze lets out her trademark braying laugh and snorts, “I actually would!”

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Posted by D. B. Bates on July 15, 2008 12:00 AM  | Permalink  | Print-Friendly  | Comments (1)

July 11, 2008

Drunk Sex Orgy: Bangsta’s Paradise

From Europe comes an unusual effort produced by notable Eromaxx subsidiary DrunkSexOrgy.com. What begins as an Altmanesque weaving of characters — utilizing a massive ensemble — descends rather rapidly into an incoherent mess of a film. Like any film, it has individual flashes of brilliance — flashes that force a viewer to root for the film’s overall success, against all odds. If the whole film had been a disaster, I’d be less disappointed. As it stands, a feature with such promising moments forces me to mourn its lost potential.

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Posted by D. B. Bates on July 11, 2008 12:00 AM  | Permalink  | Print-Friendly  | Comments (0)

July 4, 2008

Love for the First Time

From Wicked Pictures comes a tale of yearning and desire. Love for the First Time takes a pinch of inspiration from 2005’s sleeper hit, The 40 Year-Old Virgin, but takes it a step further by paralleling the stories of 44-year-old virgin Bob Smith (a never-better Randy Spears) and 23-year-old virgin May Singleton (Wicked contract player Carmen Hart). The film does a credible job of allowing serendipity to bring them inches apart, yet neither character lays eyes on the other until nearly an hour into the film’s runtime.

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Posted by D. B. Bates on July 4, 2008 12:00 AM  | Permalink  | Print-Friendly  | Comments (0)