Invasion of the Love Drones (Jerome Hamlin, 1977)

I don't know why I was reluctant to tell you all about my date with Invasion of the Love Drones. After all, the film features a scene where a Love Drone–who is wearing, get this, black fishnet stockings and a black studded collar–masturbates by using two futuristic-looking vacuum tubes that boast irregular nozzles. If that weren't enough, the reason she's masturbating is to thwart a nuclear-tipped rocket that is headed her way. You see, in order to stop the nuclear-tipped rocket from destroying the Love Drone mother ship, Auto-Erotic (Alexandria) must have an orgasm. It would seem that her climax has the ability to blow nuclear-tipped rockets out of the sky. I know, pretty awesome, eh? So, why was I reluctant to admit that I took time out of my busy schedule to watch this sleazy slab of sci-fi pornography? Well, the reason I was reluctant has a lot to do with the fact that most of the performers don't fully commit their genitals to the sex scenes. It's true, we see many close-up shots of women's anuses whilst in the throes of vaginal intercourse, but I have a sneaking suspicion that all the anuses in this film belonged to the fabulous Bree Anthony (Claudia from Satan Was a Lady). Now, I have no way of proving that every anus was Bree Anthony's anus, but there was definitely some anal recycling going on in this film. And it annoys to think that five years after the birth of porno chic, a triple x production had the gall to try to limit the amount of lady buttholes I see in a motion picture. I mean, if you can't trust the makers of hardcore pornography, who can you trust?

Fraudulent rectums aside, Invasion of the Love Drones is a straight-up masterpiece. And it features a ton of actors I sort of recognized. I know, a straight-up masterpiece with recognizable actors? Talk about a win-win. It even opens with a Rod Sterling-esque introduction. "Welcome to... The Erogenous Zone."

The first recognizable actor being the film's male lead, Eric Edwards. You might remember him from Waterpower, he performs a backroom enema on Long Jeanne Silver. Anyway, did you know his penis has been inside Taija Rae? Well, it totally has. Many, many times in fact. What's this got to do anything, you say? Oh, nothing.

Why the aliens, who are currently orbiting the planet Earth in their penis-shaped spaceship (just once I'd like see an erotic sci-fi film bypass the whole penis-shaped spaceship gag), chose Eric Edwards to be their first Drone is never really explained. Or maybe it was and I just wasn't paying attention. Either way, they beam him abroad their ship.

Naked and confused, Eric Edwards is told (by a female voice emanating from a red light located in the middle of what looks like a giant disco ball) to have sex with two Pornovisions (Arlana Blue and Lorraine Alraune). Don't ask me what a "Pornovision" is, I'm just copying what it says in the credits. Actually, I think the Pornovisions were created in order to entice Eric Edwards to have sex with them and in turn become a Drone.

The huge afros, the freaky shades, the black and white armwear, the habit of performing interpretive dance, the gold-studded belts, the Pornovisions are quite the sight to behold.

You can tell there's something different about Eric Edwards after he ejaculates in the mouth of one of the Pornovisions just by listening to the sound of his voice, which has developed a robotic, almost monotone register.

Returned to his bathroom in Queens, Eric Edwards, who is actually a guy named George, tells his wife Joanne (Joann Sterling), a top-heavy redhead, in his new robot voice, that he wants to have sex. When you have sex with a Love Drone you yourself become a Love Drone. And, you guessed it, Joanne is now speaking with a robot voice.

Since he can't go around having sex with random strangers (at least not yet), George heads to a clinic where Dr. Debra Femme (Viveca Ash) and her assistant Andrea (Michelle Magazine), two leggy lab coat enthusiasts, are conducting sex research. Volunteering to be a test subject, George is paired with a woman named Janet (Any Mathieu) and the two of them have sex. It's during this sex scene that we get our first glimpse of Bree Anthony's anus in action. The lighting and the thrusting speed didn't match at all (in the wide shots, Any is doing the bulk of the humping, whereas, during the close-ups, the man is doing the lion's share of the fuck work). In other words, that wasn't Any Mathieu's anus in the throes of love making.

One way to spot a Love Drone, besides their tendency to speak in a robot voice, is to listen for the phrase "okee dokee." If you hear this, then you know you're in the company of a Love Drone.

As George is out making new Love Drones, his wife Joanne is out doing the same. Showing up a photographer's apartment to get her picture taken (she's model of some kind), Joanne "drones" a photographer played by Alex Mann. I must say, if watching Alex Mann movies was a skill, I would be... well, to be honest, I don't know what I would be. Let's just say, by adding this film to the mix, I've seen a total of four Alex Mann movies. Just to remind you, the others are: Malibu High, I Drink Your Blood and Satan Was a Lady.

It should go without saying, but whenever I see Alex Mann's name in the credits, I know the film is going to be good.

In order to absorb all the sexual energy emanating from Earth, the Love Drones unleash two Sex Servos (Bree Anthony and Tony Richards), who begin to have sex. This scene, by the way, is the only "real"sex scene in the movie, as the rest are simulated. Actually, that's not entirely true, the scene with Eric Edwards and the Pornovisions was definitely real. But other than that... Of course, I don't mean to imply that sexual intercourse between a man and a woman is the only sex I consider to be "real." It's just that Bree Anthony and Tony Richards are the only performers who seemed willing to fuck on camera.

Hence, the reason Bree's chocolate starfish makes several appearances throughout the film and the reason the sex scene between Bree and Tony on the floor of the Love Drone spaceship lasts until the end of the film. Let me better explain the latter. Each leg of their sexual journey is gradually unveiled as the film progress. For example, after Molly (Dusty Evsky), who uses Bree's anus as well, "drones" Frank (Levi Richards), an F.B.I. agent, on her couch, we're whisked aboard the Love Drone spaceship to watch the Sex Servos engage in the oral presentation of their act of deep space copulation.

F.B.I. agents, chicks named "Molly"? It would seem that the Love Drones are quickly taking over.

Yeah, the F.B.I. get involved at the behest of Dr. Femme, who is convinced aliens are trying to take over the world. When Agent Frank fails to uncover an alien plot, the F.B.I. chief sends Agent Rona (Jennifer Jordan from The Tiffany Mynx and A Woman's Torment) to investigate a sex party happening at Club de Vie. This, of course, just leads to Agent Rona being turned into a Love Drone. She tries to escape, by Alex Mann and a gang of Love Drones overpower her and gang drone her on a chess table.

Since the F.B.I. are no help, Dr. Femme hatches plan--with zero help from her assistant Andrea (who sort of just sits there with the clueless expression on her face)--to stop the Love Drones by infecting the Love Drones with a venereal disease. She figures since the Love Drones are a collective, she reckons that all she has to do is infect one and the rest should follow. Only problem, where to find one? That's easy, just locate a man with a monotone voice, have sex with him, and then inject him with the virus as he's about to climax. Drone, and drone.

(Wait a minute, what if the man Dr. Femme has sex with in not a Love Drone, but some random dude who just happens to speak in a monotone voice?) Huh, I didn't think about that. Well, the first guy Dr. Femme approaches on the street is played by Kevin Andre, a.k.a. the car salesmen from Teenage Hitchhikers.

Oh, and in order to come off as more appealing to the men of New York City, Dr. Femme puts away her lab coat and dons a mini-skirt and a pair of knee-high boots.

You would think a film like this, one with a limited budget, would have trouble depicting a planetary invasion convincingly. But the film does a surprisingly excellent job making it seem the world is about to overrun with sex-obsessed Love Drones. We get a shot of George, Rona and Joanne heading to the airport, Jerry Jerome plays various newscasters from around the globe (U.K., France, West Germany and India), and authentic footage of a rocket being launched into space is used at one point. All these things helped give the proceedings a real sense of urgency. Meaning, if Dr. Femme doesn't infect a Love Drone with V.D., and quick, the world is doomed.

As I implied earlier, the nuclear-tipped rocket is thwarted by Auto-Erotic (Alexandria), who masturbates (in black fishnet stockings with seams) with a pair of vacuum hoses with bell-shaped metallic tips.

When Jamie Gillis shows up as the leader of a group of Love Drones, I was sure he was going to fuck something. But when he doesn't, I was like: Huh, Jamie Gillis is not fucking anything. How strange. Instead, he just sits there asking his fellow Love Drones: "Are we one?" over and over again.

If everything I've described so far still sounds unappealing to you, just sit back and enjoy the synthy goodness that is the film's soundtrack. Seriously, the music in this movie rules. The music used when Bree Anthony is being mounted missionary style in particular is fucking awesome, as deep, sinister-sounding synth flourishes fill the air as Bree's real pussy is filled with drug-free 1970s cock.

I Drink Your Blood (David Durston, 1970)

Enjoy her large, broad hips and her thick thighs while you can, fellas, because she's totally about to give each and everyone of you a serious case of rabies. Presenting one of her inner thighs like it were prize-winning piece of meat, Sylvie (Iris Brooks), the leggiest hippie Satanist/drug abuser with full blown rabies in the entire state, stands pantless before an unwashed gaggle of horny construction workers. You could call them a walking, talking kerfuffle symposium just waiting to happen. But I don't really feel like doing that at this juncture (maybe later). After taking turns redecorating the gluey walls of her stout vagina with wad after wad of their unsentimental seminal fluid, the now less horny construction workers await their fate. Little do they know, but they're about to become a highly organized gang of machete-wielding psychopaths. Just in case you haven't figured it out yet, I'm laying the groundwork for yet another nonsensical movie review. (Hey, don't be so hard on yourself, you can be very sensical when you want to be. However, judging by the way you have started your review for I Drink Your Blood, it would seem that this is not going to be one of those occasions.) At any rate, the second point I'd like to make (the first, as you know, had to do with pointing out the fact that Iris Brooks has great gams) has to do with the difference between hippies with rabies and construction workers with rabies. Did anyone else notice the difference? All right, I'm sensing that some people picked up on this. Hippies with rabies are literally all over the place. Attacking everyone they see, a hippie with rabies is a loner who views even their fellow rabid hippies as something that needs tearing apart asap. Whereas, the construction workers with rabies work together to achieve their goals. Sure, that goal still involves killing everything in sight, but at least there's a semblance of teamwork to their rabies-fueled madness.

I guess the next question has to be, why the disparity? Is it because the construction workers were already a tight-knit unit before becoming rabid? And therefore were predisposed to work as a team? Possibly. While, on the other hand, the hippies were a fractured group when they were infected with rabies. Hence, the first to feel the brunt of their rabid-brand of violence were themselves.

Actually, the first to feel the brunt of their hippie-based hydrophobia was a non-infected hippie named Shelley. Oh, and don't let the feminine name fool you, Shelley is all man. In fact, he's played by Alex Mann.

As I watched a rabid Rollo (George Patterson), the group's resident black drama queen, repeatedly stab Shelley with a dagger, it slowly dawned on me that Alex Mann is the same Alex Mann who played Tony, Kim Bentley's pimp in Malibu High, and the same Alex Mann who played the doctor in Satan Was a Lady. I'm no math whiz, but it looks like I've seen and reviewed three Alex Mann movies (someone should give me a prize if I see and review a fourth Alex Mann movie).

Did I finish making my point? (What point?) The point about the difference between rabid hippies and rabid construction workers. (Let me see... Well, not quite. You laid a pretty good foundation, but your theory didn't really go anywhere.)

Says you! I think most of you will agree that I clearly pointed out the differences between the two groups infected with rabies. The rabid construction workers represent the hive mentality (i.e. communism) and the rabid hippies represent individualism (i.e. free market capitalism).

(What about those who are neither hippies or construction workers?) You mean the old man, the little kid and the owner of Mildred's Bakery? They're fascists, pure and simple.

Now that that's been taken care of, let's shift our attention to the otherworldly beauty that is Lynn Lowry (Score, Cat People), shall we?

In a minute, the Sons and Daughters of Satan, or SADOS, are about to perform a nude campfire ritual. Holy crap! Look at Sylvie's hips! They're so freakin' wide. Dang! Get me a heterosexual penis, stat! I want to put a baby in there.

Anyway, flaunting his pubic hair like it was a purified patch of pure resplendence, Horace Bones (Bhaskar) leads his small congregation of Satanists in an ancient ritual. Declaring Satan to be an acid head, Horace says, "pass the acid," and the group begin to chant. After they sacrifice a chicken, which bleeds onto Sue-Lin (Jadin Wong), the group's cheongsam-sporting spiritual leader, Horace notices someone is watching them from the woods.

Oh, don't worry, that's just Sylvia Banner (Arlene Farber), a local gal. If Horace heard me say that, he would slap me silly. But since he didn't hear me, he slaps Andy (Tyde Kierney), the group's resident Stellan Skarsgård lookalike, instead. After all, it was Andy who allowed her watch in the first place. However, since Horace has a strict no outsiders policy, this Sylvia chick must be taught a lesson.

Just to let you know, Sylvia, the local gal played Arlene Farber, and Sylvie, the acid head played by Iris Brooks, are both listed as "Sylvia" in the credits. To prevent there from being any confusion, I've changed Iris Brooks' Sylvia to Sylvie. Actually, maybe I should change it to Mitzi or Blanche, 'cause I'm still confused.

Even though we don't exactly see what happens to her, it's obvious judging by her bruises, that the members of SADOS were a tad rough with Sylvia. Staggering home, a badly beaten Sylvia is helped by Mildred Nash (Elizabeth Marner-Brooks) and her younger brother Peter Banner (Riley Mills) who come across her while making a delivery (Mildred is the owner of, you guessed it, Mildred's Bakery). What's cool about this scene is the fact that Sylvia and Mildred are both wearing mini-dresses.

Actually, I misspoke. What's cool about this scene is that it features a rare occurrence. And that is, we see a leggy woman help another leggy woman. (I'm sorry, maybe I'm a tad naive, but don't leggy women help each other out all the time?) No, I'm afraid they do not. Instances that boast the leggy helping the leggy are, unfortunately, not something you see that often. Chalk it up to jealously or just plain vindictiveness, but being leggy comes with a price. And one of the biggest prices is the inability to assist your leggy brethren in times of leggy need.

Meanwhile, the hippie Satanists are having car trouble, or, I should, they're having hippie van trouble. Displaying his playful side for a change, Horace coaxes the others to push the hippie van over a cliff. (I don't get it, what's so playful about that?) What's playful is that Shelley was sleeping inside the hippie van when they pushed it off the cliff. (You know what? You're right, that is playful.) Oh, and don't feel too bad for Shelley, he wasn't hurt.

I am somewhat surprised that Horace didn't ask Sylvie to help push the hippie van off the cliff, as her strong, lusty thighs would have made pushing that hippie van seem like a walk in the park. I guess writer-director David E. Durston thought it would be more humourous if the extremely pregnant Molly (Rhonda Fultz) helped push the hippie van off the cliff instead; pregnant women aren't usually asked to perform manual labour.

In one of the weirdest coincidences I've experienced in recent memory, just as I was starting to think that the timber of Elizabeth Marner-Brooks' voice had a distinct Tantala Ray quality about it, the industrial noise coming from the nearby construction site, where Mildred's boyfriend Roger (John Damon) is the foreman, is becoming audible. (I don't get it.) Don't you see, the industrial noise sounded exactly like the industrial noise that is heard throughout Café Flesh. Which stars... Tantala Ray!

Speaking of things that sound industrial, the film's synth-friendly music score, by Clay Pitts, is a wonderful cacophony of eerie electronic noise.

Without wheels, the hippies find themselves stuck in Valley Hills, population: 40. Well, the population is now 48, as the hippies set up shop in an abandoned, rat-infested hotel. After taking care of the rats, the hippies cut the bottom of Shelley's feet, and perform a blood ritual in the attic (they swing him from the rafters). When word gets out that the hippies were the one's that roughed up Sylvia, her grandpa (Richard Bowler) heads over there to confront them. Even though he was wielding a double-barrel shotgun, Horace is not intimidated one bit.

As he lay on the floor as a result of a punch to the gut, Sylvie (a.k.a. Mitzi and/or Blanche), crouches down, utilizing her sturdy thighs for leverage, licks grandpa's face ("He's pretty yummy for a dirty old man") and gives him a tab of acid.

Annoyed that the hippies beat up and gave his grandpa LSD, his grandson Pete is planning to get back at them. And, to sort of quote Peggy Gravel from Desperate Living, Congratulations, hippies. You're about to be infected with rabies.

This just dawned on me, I think the reason the hippies reacted differently to having rabies than the construction workers is because the hippies were on acid as well. In other words, the combination of the acid and the rabies made them even more insane. At any rate, when the hippies figure out that something was put in the meat pies they ate, it's too late for them to plan their counter-attack, as they quickly turn on one another. Scattering in every direction, the hippies flee into the night, as an axe-wielding Rollo is the first to fully embrace the rabid hippie lifestyle.

Employing her mouth-watering lower half to great effect, Sylvie manages to bum a ride from a group of construction workers. Telling her to get her "pretty little ass" in the back their truck, the construction workers... Wait a second. C'mon fellas, let's get real. Her ass may be pretty, but there ain't nothing little about it. Taking her and her junk-laden ass back to their barracks, the construction workers clearly dig Sylvie's construction (one of them grabs a chunk of her thigh in triumph after she presents it to him with much fanfare), and declare her ready to be riveted (their words, not mine). Giving at least twenty guys rabies, Sylvie's impromptu gangbang antics intensifies the situation to outbreak status.

Nearby, the gorgeous Lynn Lowry, who plays a deaf-mute Satanic hippie acid head, is cutting off the hand of a housewife with an electric carving knife. Up until this point, Lynn Lowry might not have done all that much in terms of being an obnoxious hippie Satanist on acid. But I think most people will agree that just her presence alone manages to elevate the proceedings whenever she's onscreen, as she has a quality about her that transcends talking and doing stuff.

Should I end there? Yeah? Okay. Let me just add that with its racially diverse cast, its dedication to leggy chicks in mini-dresses, and its abundance of frothy-mouthed psychopaths carrying severed heads, I Drink Your Blood is sleazy, violent, fast-paced fun for the entire family. Yeah, if your family is the Manson Family. Zing!

Satan Was a Lady (Doris Wishman, 1975)

If you don't think the sight of an exceedingly voluptuous Annie Sprinkle getting a glass of water for her sister's fiance is the height of drama, then you might want to think twice about watching Satan Was a Lady, the Doris Wishman-directed psycho-sexual thrill ride/ugly couch showcase that begs the question: Actually, the question it begs is currently not available. We ask that you please bear with us. However, if the sight of a, yeah, yeah, an exceedingly voluptuous Annie Sprinkle getting a glass of water for some guy–let's keep this thing moving–does appeal to you, then you my friend are in for a real treat. You mean to tell me there's a film out there that features an exceedingly voluptuous Annie Sprinkle getting a glass a water for a man who's about to marry her sister? I don't know. All this talk of retrieving water while being exceedingly voluptuous sounds a little too good to be true, if you know what I mean. I don't, know what you mean, that is. But I can tell you this, an exceedingly voluptuous Annie Sprinkle does in fact do exactly what I says she does in this quiet meditation on greed, sex and gaudy furniture. And not only that, but Bobby Astyr mock consumes Annie Sprinkle's pulsating pussy for five whole minutes. While I like the idea of a man sopping up the consecrated wetness congealing in the vicinity of a clean-shaven cooter, especially in 1975, a time when vaginal baldness was a bit an an anomaly, I wanna hear more about this glass of water. Are you fucking with me? The only reason I mentioned any of that business involving Annie Sprinkle (whose voluptuousness is never in doubt in this film) and the glass of water she fetches for her sister's fiance is because I'm an idiot. Or, to put it another way, I like the idea of someone taking the time to write words about a seemingly innocuous scene in a film filled with hirsute ball sacks and damp hatchet wounds.  

 

Now, the act of you, who is really me, telling me, who is really you, that you wanna hear more about the infamous glass of water scene in Satan Was a Lady is the definition of enabling. It's true, I am messing with you to a certain degree. But then again, that's what I...Hey, wait a minute. I just noticed that you put the word "infamous" before the words "glass of water scene." How come? Well, thanks to my incessant blathering about the glass of water scene, the glass of water scene has now become, you guessed it, infamous. Truth be told, anyone can do it. Just watch a movie, preferably one that no one has heard of. Then after it's over, just type a bunch of words–you can arrange them in a manner you wish–about any scene that tickles your fancy, and, boom, you have laid the groundwork for making a movie scene infamous.      
 

 

Since the sight of Annie Sprinkle's curvaceous frame stomping oh-so erotically from the living room to the kitchen to get a glass of water occurs later the film, I suppose, in the meantime, I'm going to have to talk about the events that lead up to its infamous retrieval.
 

 

Opening your film with a scene that features a man removing a woman's stockings is, from my perspective, the best and worst way you can begin your movie. On the one hand, you've got legs sheathed in tan stockings in your face right from the get-go. Unfortunately, the guy pawing at the woman in the tan stockings decides to remove them. If you imagine real hard, you can almost hear the perverts in the audience groaning with displeasure by this act of untoward unsheathing. What perverts? You know, the guys and gals who went to see this film when it played on 42nd Street throughout the mid-to-late 1970s.
 

 

Oh, how I would have loved to have attended the premiere of Satan Was a Lady back when it opened in New York City in 1975; the atmosphere must have been electric.
 

 

Anyway, getting to back to the tan stockings. After they're removed, Victor (Tony Richards) lifts Claudia (Bree Anthony), the woman who was wearing tan stockings, off the sleazy rug she's currently resting on, and proceeds to put her body in a position that will be more conducive for sexual congress. Telling him, "This is wrong, Victor," Claudia is somewhat reluctant to allow him to penetrate her with his penis (she thinks they should wait until they're married). It's obvious that Claudia has had a change of heart regarding the whole penetration situation, as Victor's penis is clearly plowing into her birth canal utilizing a series of sharply implemented jabbing motions. 
 

 

Just as I was beginning to tire of being immersed in the untamed undergrowth that is Victor's palustrine scrotal no-man's land, Claudia's sister Terry (Annie Sprinkle) appears in the doorway. How did you know she Claudia's sister? Excellent question. As Terry stares at her fornicating sister, employing a facial expression that can best be described as exasperated contempt, she thinks to herself, "My little sister Claudia. My sick little sister."
 

 

Call me perceptive, but I think the reason Terry didn't wait until Victor ejaculated sperm all over Claudia's stomach (she left during the cowgirl stage of their sex act) was because she has the hots for Victor as well.
 

 

Quirky fun-fact: The voice used to verbally express Terry and Claudia's thoughts is provided by none other than Doris Wishman herself.
 

 

Frustrated by what she just witnessed, Terry sits on a putrid-looking couch, crosses her legs, and begins to admire to floral patterns that pepper her bluish skirt. Only problem with that is, her mother, Ada (Sandy Foxx), is crouching by the television, which is located between two equally putrid-looking chairs. Why is that a problem, exactly? Well, you see, Terry's mother is constantly nagging her about her unladylike behaviour. And, as you might expect, this annoys Terry like you wouldn't believe. Leaving the room in a bit of a huff, Terry decides to make a phone call.
 

 

If you thought the sight of Annie Sprinkle fetching a glass of water was compelling, you should see her dial a touch-tone telephone. Hubba-hubba.
 

 

Calling up Bobby (Bobby Astyr) on said touch-tone telephone, Terry arranges a meeting. If you thought Terry wanted to meet Bobby in order to discuss macrame, you would be wrong. Noticing that she is admiring the bondage gear hanging above his bed, Bobby suggests that she strap herself in.
 

 

Willing, to use her words, "to try anything once," Terry is suddenly naked on his bed with her wrists and ankles bound with leather restraints.
 

 

Spread eagle, Terry finds the smoothness of her shaved pussy at the mercy of Bobby's inquisitive tongue. Gaining in ripeness with every lick, Terry quivers with delight as Bobby dines on her pinkish maw. It's only a matter of time before Bobby's penis is saying hello to Terry's throbbing box, and, to no one's surprise, it enters its slippery housing with an eel-like ease.    
 

 

Meanwhile, Claudia is wandering around in the park. The sex scenes are great and all. But there's something wonderfully off-kilter about the film's non-sex-related ones. The phone call scene, the brief exchange between Terry and Ada, and Claudia's stroll in the park are all marked by an idiosyncratic awkwardness that I can't help but lap up with a spoon.

Standing by a chain link fence, Claudia suspects that "something strange is going on," and wonders if she should tell her mother that she and Victor are getting married. While Claudia's commitment to her fiance is unwavering, Victor clearly isn't, as committed, that is. What do you think Victor's doing while she's ruminating in the park? That's right, he's placing his boy thing between Terry's ample breasts.

 

 

If I had to point out a single flaw in Satan Was a Lady, it would have to be the fact that no-one has sex with Sandy Foxx. You mean the actress who played Ada, Terry and Claudia's mother? Yeah, her. She's got a tight little body on her and she knows exactly how to drive men crazy. Don't believe me? Check out the way the she crosses her black pantyhose-adorned legs. Her sitting technique will reduce your pathetic genitals to a mound of shapeless goo. Anyway, I guess I'll just have to take solace in the scenes that feature Sandy stirring the contents of a cooking pot, crouching in a grey skirt, and the one where she tells Terry to put some clothes and to "act like a lady," as there all we get as far as Sandy Foxx-based titillation goes.
 

 

The sisterly bound between Terry and Claudia is obviously a fractured one.  All you need to do is take one look at them sitting on that  war crime of a couch together and you will fully understand the tenuous nature of their relationship. In all honesty, I was somewhat surprised I was able to pick up on the tension. I mean, the fact that Annie Sprinkle is wearing a pink, frilly, Little Bo Peep-style prom dress was kind of distracting, as my mind was inundated with thoughts such as: Why is she wearing that? And: Who dresses like that around the house? To which Terry would probably reply, "Leave me alone."
 

 

With two slabs of hearty vaginal cornmeal already on his plate, you wouldn't think that Victor would be able to handle three vaginas at once. Think again, Skippy. Not only does he juggle three women simultaneously, one of them is played by the sophisticated C.J. Laing, a woman who literally oozes a Sharon Mitchell-approved brand of spunk appeal. As Terry and Claudia are not chatting with one another on that guacamole stain masquerading as a couch, Victor is busy inserting his cock inside C.J. Laing's warm, wet and inviting pussy. Despite their obvious drunkenness, Victor and C.J. manage to execute a series of well-timed thrusts. Though, it should be noted that when it came time to for C.J. to carry out her thrusting end of the bargain, I couldn't help but notice that the close up shots of her pussy were replaced with what looked like Bree Anthony's pussy. How do I know this? It's simple, really. While Bree's pussy is shaved, C.J. is rocking a full bush, and the pussy in the scene between Victor and C.J. is clearly shaved.
 

 

When the film's jaw-dropping climax is about to get underway, Victor, Claudia, Ada and Terry all gather together in the living room. And, yes, that putrid couch and those ghastly chairs are front and centre to witness the greatest twist ending in cinematic history. Appearance-wise, you wouldn't think something "jaw-dropping" was about to happen. But trust me, some weird shit is about to go down. It all starts when Victor asks Terry to get him a glass of cold water. I won't say anything else, as I don't want to ruin the surprise. Which is a shame, because I was looking forward to heaping a fair amount of misguided praise on Alex Mann, who shows up during the finale as a doctor, a doctor who wears a red blazer (he's constantly adjusting the sleeves) and sounds like a mobster. 

 

 

It just dawned me, by bringing up the fact that Sandy Foxx doesn't appear in a sex scene, and, not to mention, letting the cat out of the bag in regard to the C.J./Bree pussy switcheroo, I'm in danger of making this film sound like a piece of crap filled with nothing but errors and goofs. When, in reality, the exact opposite is true. A genuine camp classic if I ever saw one, Satan Was a Lady, with its odd shifts in tone, its dedication to long, protracted shots of  inanimate objects, and, of course, its tawdry approach to interior design, this film will satisfy the hunger that lies within all those who love their pornography to include elements of horror and melodrama. If watching Annie Sprinkle lounge around in nothing but black stockings and a matching corset is more your thing, then you'll love the film, too. I'm just saying, there's something peculiar about this film, and that's the main reason to seek it out.

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