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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Waterpower (Shaun Costello, 1977)

Every time the tepid water would start to spew all over the victim's bathtub, this profound sense of relief would wash over me. Relieved that the worst was probably over for the person being forced to have their bowels cleansed at gun point, yet, at the same time, filled with dread over the fact that someone else was gonna wind up going through the exact same ordeal in the not-so distant future, Shaun Costello's Waterpower is unlike anything I have ever seen. Actually, that's not entirely true, I've seen plenty of films about crazed loners lurking the mean streets of New York City, but none where a quaint-looking item, one that can be purchased at any neighbourhood drug store, is used as the perpetrator's primary instrument of terror. Nowadays, the human beings you see walking the streets of almost every major city in North America have become so pacified by the glowing rectangles they carry around with them, that they rarely ever think about purifying the insides of their fellow citizens. They were originally designed to keep you connected to the world at large, but they're actually doing a better job of separating you from the human experience. In the middle of the 1970s there were no such distractions, everything and everyone was literally in your face whether you liked or not. The people you passed on the street were acutely aware of your presence and there was nowhere to hide as they sized up the structural integrity of your anus. In the like-minded Taxi Driver, Travis Bickle uses his taxi cab as a protective shield (it helped keep the so-called "scum" he is always railing against at a distance). In this film, however, our deranged protagonist is constantly exposed. Armed only with his denim jacket and a thick mane of curly brown hair, he seems to be stalking the streets rather aimlessly. I'm not one who usually likes to give such individuals advice, but I think this guy needs to get a hobby, or better yet, find a purpose in life.

Bored with the ho-hum nature of the pornography that is currently occupying his sock drawer, and clearly unsatisfied by what's on television (an early version of the glowing rectangle), Burt (Jamie Gillis), a solitary man with a lot of free time on his hands, is determined to find something that will sufficiently scratch him where he itches. While I could do without the random muggings, the aggressive dope pushers, and, of course, the surly pimps, I do envy the fact that Burt gets to wander 42nd Street during the time when it was seedy as fuck. However, being a jaded New Yorker, Burt is going to need more than a few hundred adult movie threatres and adult bookstores to keep his penis moist and giggly.

Turning to his trusty telescope, Burt searches for the object of his obsession. This particular object isn't in the sky, though it does spend a lot of time up there, it's the brunette flight attendant (Clea Carson) who lives across the street. Watching as she gets undressed (her imitation Pan Am uniform is gingerly unsheathed from her dainty frame), Burt talks as if he were in the room with her. And judging by the glossy black and white photos he has of her, it's safe to say that Burt has a thing for her. I'm sorry, did I say he has a "thing"? What I meant to say is that Burt is quite fond of the lithesome stewardess (stalkers hate it when you dismissively label their infatuations as a "thing").

After wandering around 42nd Street for a while (an eerie electronic sound throbs seductively the soundtrack), Burt decides to enter an establishment called "The Garden of Eden," a sort of high end sex palace for discerning reprobates. There he meets the joint's Hostess (Gloria Leonard), lounging on a hammock in black boots and hold-up stockings. A tad standoffish, Burt rebuffs her first couple of attempts to offer him some assistance (he says that he's just looking). It's true, I have no way of knowing what exactly is going on in Burt's mind, but I like to think it was the sight of Eve (a long-haired Sharon Mitchell), a woman in a silver, disco-flavoured pantsuit, that caused him to loosen up. Excepting her introductory offer, Burt hands the Hostess ten dollars and proceeds to take Eve to room number six.

While he's walking down the hall to get his half and half from Eve in room number six, Burt can't help but notice a woman named Leslie (the statuesque Marlene Willoughby) dressed like a nurse reciting medical jargon to herself. In the film's lone adorable moment, Burt asks if anyone is sick. She's not a real nurse, that's Leslie, she performs "specials," Eve tells the naive little scamp. As he's getting the first half of his half and half performed on him, you could totally that his mind was preoccupied with these so-called "specials." I'll admit, my heart was filled with a creamy dollop of sadness when I heard Burt say that he wanted to bypass the second half of his half and half, as I was really looking forward to seeing Jamie Gillis penetrate Sharon Mitchell's mythical pussy with his darkly glamorous penis. But the sight of Sharon reclining in the buff after an exhaustive oral workout was like receiving a consolation prize. In other words, her gorgeousness (her distinctive profile is a work of art) alone was enough carry me over to the next scene.

Getting nowhere with Eve when it came to finding out more about the "specials" (she's not allowed to talk about them), Burt is told to ask the Hostess (who is still lounging on a hammock in black boots and hold-up stockings) about the "specials" they provide. After she's finished talking on the telephone (a conversation where the line, "our watersports expert is on vacation" is uttered), the Hostess gives Burt the fullness of her attention.

Selecting the perversion that is right for you is very important step for a man, and the Hostess sees that Burt hasn't got one (an unperverted man is an unhappy man). Listing a wide array of depravity for Burt to choose from, the Hostess rattles off a bunch of kinky acts, including: BDSM, pantie worship, cross dressing, emasculation, spanking, and podophilia. While rifling through the many services they provide, Burt is intrigued by the words "high colonic." Not knowing what it is exactly, the Hostess informs him that "there in," and that one is currently being performed as they speak.

Escorting him to the viewing gallery of the operating threatre they have on the premises, the Hostess allows Burt to watch an enema being performed. A client posing as a doctor (Eric Edwards)—I'm under the assumption that he's not a real doctor—explains, in great detail, the history of enemas (they go back thousands of years). The dialogue employed during the enema tutorial, by the way, was outstanding ("your eyes widen at the mention of the word 'enema'"). Anyway, performing an enema on a woman named Pamela (Jean Silver), while the aforementioned nurse provides assistance (she gags Pamela with a piece of tape), the doctor tells his uncommon patient that she going to receive an uncommon enema. I don't know what that means exactly, but I did like the multiple use of the word "nozzle" as he prepared his inflatable nozzle.

As the murky water begins to exit her thoroughly lubricated anus, the Doctor and Burt both ejaculate semen. It's true, the former enrolls the help of nurse Leslie's mouth, and the latter uses his hand to achieve his orgasm. But make no mistake, it was the rectal water that induced the bulk of their liquid pleasure.

Feeling an overwhelming sense of euphoria, Burt declares enemas to be "where it's at," and disavows conventional pornography. His latest trip to the adult bookstore reflects this change of heart, as all his purchases are enema-based publications ("Water and Power" being the name of one of the magazines). However, this feeling of euphoria doesn't last long. While observing his beloved stewardess through his trusty telescope, he's horrified when he sees her with a man, and not just any man, a man with a mustache. He thought she was different, he thought she was, unlike all those whores out on the street, pure, yet there she was, engaging in a wide array of unseemly acts with a man with a mustache. It's right then and there that Burt decides that he needs to make her clean again, and the only way he can do that is to break into her apartment and perform an enema on her at gun point.

Suffering from delusions of grandeur, Burt bristles at the media's charge that he's a rapist (he sees his "job" as a public service, cleaning the bowels of the city, one anus at a time). On top of labeling him a rapist, the media also dub him, "The Enema Bandit." This distinction causes Burt to take his nozzle work more seriously (a recent trip to the enema store bears the fruit of this new-found seriousness). As expected, the police are determined to put a stop to his ass irrigating ways (they can't have some guy running around the city raping and performing enemas on people). Two rape squad detectives are put on the case, Jack Gallagher (John Buco) and Irene Murray (C.J. Laing). Will they stop him? Who knows.

Call me a cockeyed scoundrel, but I found Jamie Gillis to be strangely handsome as Burt, The Enema Bandit. What am I saying, "strangely handsome," he was a total babe from certain angles. Sure, it is difficult to crush on someone when they're, oh, let's say, forcing girls to expel watery fecal matter on one another while he urinates and ejaculates seminal fluid on them, but the moments when he wasn't doing that, which were few and far between, he looked kinda foxy.

Speaking of watery fecal matter, the way the ghastly scene featuring two teenage sisters named Ginger (Susaye London) and Candy (Barbara Belkin) being brutalized by The Enema Bandit (he catches them whilst dabbling in lesbianism) was edited together with a consensual sex scene that was taking place in another part of the city was downright heinous. If my genitals could talk, they would be cursing my brain for feeding it such a confusing melange of sick and twisted imagery.

The fact that the fake doctor at the beginning of the film did such an amazing job walking us through the ins and outs of your average enema was what helped me get through Waterpower pretty much unscathed. When the taupe water started to flow, I wasn't put off at all. On the other hand, the rough manner in which the enemas were implemented was quite disturbing. Make no mistake, with the exception of the first enema (which was performed in a controlled environment by willing participants), all the enemas performed in Waterpower were unwanted by the recipients. On top of being delusional, Burt is also full of contradictions. He says he wants to rid women of sin, but at same time, he usually ends up engaging in the same sinful acts he's purportedly against. This contradictory temperament gave Burt, and the film, an air of unexpected depth. If you like enema movies that contain more than just enemas, then I recommend you check out Waterpower, you'll probably regret it.

If you watch the Dutch version, the rape/enema/watersports scene has been, like I said, edited together with the consensual anilingus/dirty feet showcase. But if you watch the American version, the two scenes play out separately, which, I've been told, allows for easier self-abuse. Just for the record: I've seen both versions, but the one I'm writing about is the Dutch version (so-called by me because it has Dutch subtitles).

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Special thanks to Jerry at Dead Eye Delirium for introducing me to this...um, unwholesome ordeal masquerading as a piece of filmed entertainment.

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