Babyface 2 (Alex de Renzy, 1986)

Ahh, look at me. I'm staring in the general direction of a motion picture of some kind, and, get this, I want to write words about it for some inexplicable reason. Now, I wasn't entirely sure if they still made motion pictures, or, "movies," as they're sometimes referred to. So, just to be safe, I selected one from a time period I knew was rife was movies. 1986, baby! I also picked one that featured plenty of disgustingly beautiful guys unloading lukewarm seminal fluid all over ultra-soft girl flesh. Why? Because that's what I like to pretend I like to watch/wallow in. Duh. I ain't kidding around, when the exhaustive orgy at the centre of Alex de Renzy's Babyface 2 goes into overdrive, I knew I had made the right choice. Actually, I felt a warm tingly sensation (where? I'd rather not say) when Jamie Gillis emerges from the cake at a well-attended bachelorette party taking place in some unnamed porno-soaked iridescent pantie stain of a city. Call me seriously unwell, but I'd rank Jamie Gillis introduction in Babyface 2 to be easily one of the greatest moments in cinema. Hyperbole? Maybe. Well, definitely, maybe, as I don't remember what 'hyperbole' means exactly. Just a second... an exaggerated statement or claim. Right. It might be that, but I swear to Satan, the sight of Jamie Gillis being all gross and slovenly as the stripper at a well-attended bachelorette party taking place in some unnamed rape-tinged overused diaphragm of a city was fucking glorious. Proving that he still knows a thing or two about defying conventions (from an anal and allegorical point of view), Alex de Renzy casts Jamie Gillis instead of, oh, let's say, the frightfully dim Francois Papillon as the stripper.

 

It's a stroke of genius.

Get it? Stroke? Most of the people (i.e. dudes) watching this movie will, at some point, stroke their blood-filled cock for pleasure-related purposes. Don't blame them for doing so, they do the bulk of their thinking with those things. Hmmm, I wonder what Ernest Borgnine's final erection would have thought of that pun? (You mean his final deathbed erection?) Yeah, that erection. I wonder about stuff like that when I'm not ovulating.

Anyway, I happen to think Jamie Gillis is gorgeous... in Waterpower from the mid-1970s. However, this film is from the mid-1980s. In other words, Jamie Gillis, to put it bluntly, looks like a scumbag. Yet, despite his overt scumbaggery, I can't help but overtly love the creepy fucking fuckface fucker.

  
I want to elope with the mustard stains on his undershirt... do crack cocaine on the outskirts of a fever dream until the end of time.

Out of all the cocks that appear in this movie, I'd say the one attached to Kevin James is the most appealing from a I want to suck it standpoint.

The main draw from a "I like to bang hot chicks all night long" angle, is, of course, Taija Rae and Lois Ayres.

I know, I know, why didn't open with a protracted soliloquy on the merits of Taija Rae's robust thighs or Lois Ayres' to die for new wave hairdo. Well, first things first, things are slightly different now. My brain is soaking in the mucus-laden contents of Tyne Daly's designer colostomy bag. So... That being said, I was relieved to see Jerry Butler's working class pelvic region cause Taija Rae's thick, Philly-raised buttocks ripple as a direct result of his equally working class pelvic thrusts. I sorely missed watching Jerry Butler mount Taija Rae for sex-related purposes.

Rivers of jizz, years of despair.

In fact, there were many moments in this film that caused me to get somewhat emotional. I didn't cry, exactly. But I started to realize midway through Babyface 2 how much I love well made sleaze. And Babyface 2 is definitely well made. Granted, it's not quite up to the level of Alex de Renzy's Pretty Peaches, Pretty Peaches 2, Pretty Peaches 3, or even Femmes de Sade. But it's way better than most of the putrid garbage floating around out there.

You could say, the film's biggest star is the wind machine, which keeps a steady indoor breeze going for the entire length of the film's epic orgy scene. But I won't say that... even though I sort of just did.

No, the film's biggest asset is its all star cast.

  
It's no secret, Taija Rae, Lois Ayres and Jamie Gillis are three of my favourite actors. And each get plenty of screen time.   

 
However, in the early going, the film belongs to Lois Ayres and Kevin James (Johnny Rico from Café Flesh).

(Why did you watch the video for "Magic" by The Cars before starting this review?)

Excellent question. First off, it's a great song/video (Ric Ocasek is seen walking on water in a pool... in a gaudy blazer... 'nuff said). And secondly, rumour doesn't have it that Alex de Renzy got the inspiration to make Babyface 2 after seeing the video on MTV. Oh, the reason I didn't said, "rumour doesn't have it," instead of the usual "rumour has it," is because I just made it up. That being said, this film's main theme does sort of sound like "Magic" by The Cars.

 
Picking up Lois, his cheerleading girlfriend in his white Trans Am, Kevin takes her to a shed (the owner of this shed is never revealed... maybe we'll learn his or her identity in Babyface 3??? ...whenever de Renzy gets his probably senile ass around to making it), so they have standard heterosexual sex in private. Now, while fucking in a shed isn't exactly commonplace, it's easily the most normal sex scene in the movie.
  

Of course, since the scene features Lois Ayres, I couldn't help but be drawn to Lois' hair and makeup. And laugh when Kevin James takes off his sneakers (Velcro!)

I did notice the garden tools hanging on the wall of the shed. As they fornicated, I kept imagining Lois and Kevin being brutally murdered with that giant tree pruner.

In what has to be one of the most romantic things ever, Kevin offers to use his sock to clean the physical representation of his orgasm off Lois' back.
 

She doesn't want his twitching seed slowly dying on her back as the rest of the day progresses, so he wipes away his sticky discharge with one of his socks. And they say chivalry is dead.

After we're done at the mystery shed, we're quickly whisked to Careena Collins' bachelorette party.

  
Everyone is there, Lois Ayres (sex toy enthusiast), Taija Rae (lingerie whore), Stacey Donovan (the world's biggest Skinny Puppy fan), Kristara Barrington (cock-starved shill for fruit flavoured lube), Lynn Francis (calamari!!!!! - my epic cunt smells like a dirty dish rag), and, of course, Careena Collins (her screams will be forever muffled by Jamie Gillis' filthy boxer shorts).

They play with sex toys, they giggle uncontrollably, they try on lingerie, they watch porno tapes, they... do a shitload of girly ass shit. It's fucking awesome.   

It's not a bachelorette party without a male stripper... Enter... Jamie Gillis. Like I said earlier, greatest entrance of all-time... hands down.

 
Drunk, dishevelled and drunk (Booger from Revenge of the Nerds/Bluto from Animal House), Jamie Gillis dances erotically for the chicks for a pretty long time. Wanting more, the ladies demand to see some skin. Give them a "proper show," as one of them puts it. Warning the women that they will be overcome with lust if he gets hard, Jamie Gillis unfurls his dirty, dry piss-covered erection... and, yeah... all hell breaks loose (clench your crevices, kids).  

The woman are, just like Jamie Gillis said they would be, overcome with lust, and start demanding cock.
  

 
Luckily for the women, a bunch of guys (and their cocks) do show up (including Tom Byron and Dick Rambone... Jesus), and the orgy to end all orgies breaks out.

Is the orgy scene exhausting? You bet it is. Did it cause me to think about how ridiculous the universe is when you get right down to it? How the fuck should I know? I was drunk on cloudy pickle brine when I watched this. However, you have got to admire a film that boasts an extensive orgy scene while a wind machine blasts the whole time. Think about it. Filming an orgy sounds like a logistical nightmare. Add the fact that the whole thing is done with a wind machine set on high, and you've got a potential disaster on your hands. While I'm sure the shooting of this sequence was difficult, the end result is nothing short of brilliant. Even if you have zero interest in watching 1980s drug addicts fuck on film, you have got to admire the execution. I mean, this is art.

  
It took me eight years to get around to watching Babyface 2. It was recommended to me by a blogger named "Gore Gore Girl." And I promised her that I would watch and review it someday. Um, sorry for taking so long. In my defense, I was waiting for a company like, Vinegar Syndrome, to put out a remastered, uncut version, and, yeah... the film looks amazing. It's a masterpiece.

Just realized it's the ten year anniversary of HOSI. Wait. Ten years?!? That's some fucked up shit right there.

Rock Hard (Bob Vosse, 1985)

I've read that in the early days of MTV, the then music video channel would play just about anything. Now, this policy had nothing to do with MTV being open-minded or adventurous, it was like that because they to had play something. You see,  music videos in the early 1980s were still a bit of a novelty. Meaning, not every artist bothered to make a music video. So, if you were in a band with a music video, the chances of it getting it played on MTV were pretty good. What does this have to do with Rock Hard, a Taija Rae porno movie from 1985? It's simple, really, if I was in charge of deciding what got played and what didn't get played on MTV, I would have flat-out refused to air "Hotter Than Hot" by Adonna and The Sexelettes on the grounds that it sucks ass. Seriously, what was that? Okay, I get it, Adonna (Taija Rae) is the singer. But what are those other chicks doing? Are they even in the band? Ugh. We wouldn't be in this mess if writer-director Bob Vosse (Yank My Doodle, It's a Dandy! and She-Male Sex Clinic) had the horse sense to hand them guitars. Hell, even a tambourine would have been a step in the right direction.

And don't give me any of this crap about musical props being expensive. The opening scene clearly

shows a drum-kit and two mannequins, one with a guitar and one with a bass guitar.

Look at them, they're right there. Grab 'em.

That being said, it sort of makes sense that Adonna and The Sexelettes were kinda terrible. Think about it, they would have to have sexual intercourse with almost everyone connected to the music industry in order to get their shitty music video on the air. And–you guessed it–that's exactly what they end up doing. Humping anything with a pulse, Adonna and The Sexelettes literally fuck their way to the top.

After enduring the music video for "Hotter Than Hot" (which is played in its entirety during the opening credits) Taija Rae's Adonna gets right down to business at hand by massaging the cock attached to her manager's crotch with the inside of her mouth. Even though they're technically a couple, Adonna treats Phil (Jerry Butler) more like a boy-toy. In other words, she'll continue to let him make the flesh on her juicy, pale ass ripple as a direct result of his pelvic thrusts as long it helps her career.

Call me avuncular tree frog, but I simply adored how each thrust caused a brand new ripple to appear along the surface of Taija Rae's untanned backside.

Pinning her legs back as far back as they will go, Phil penetrates Adonna with not as much gusto as I would have liked. The fact Adonna obviously wanted to be somewhere else minimized the impact of his thrusts. And it didn't help that Phil and Adonna stopped to chat every once and awhile either.

I did like Taija's purple satin garter belt and the torn up nature of her black stockings, which looked like they had just survived a nuclear explosion.

While to a certain degree it was also annoying that the opening sex scene between Taija Rae and Jerry Butler is periodically interrupted by the scene where The Sexelettes try to convince a VJ to play their video, I wasn't too upset, as the scene introduces us to Ultra Box!!!!

Yep, you heard right, Rock Hard has a character named Ultra Box, who I'm officially declaring to be one of the greatest movies characters of all-time. Sure, a lot my hyperbolic praise has got to do with the fact that she's called "Ultra Box," but Patti Cakes, the actress saddled with the task of bringing Ultra Box to life, is simply amazing. It doesn't have to be noted, but unlike Taija Rae, and Nina Hartley, who plays Cindi Looper, Patti Cakes doesn't have hundreds of credits on her resume (according to my research, Patti Cakes only appeared in ten movies during her film career). Anyway, Cindi Looper, who is wearing an orange sweater dress with a longer pink dress underneath it (creating a nice layering effect) and Ultra Box, who is wearing black stockings with a short skirt, approach Billy VJ (Billy Dee), the VJ for a MTV-style music channel. She hasn't said a word yet, but I like Ultra Box already; she starts clawing at her skirt (reveling the tops of her stockings with every claw).

When Billy VJ implies that there is something they can do to get their video played on the air, Ultra Box assumes he's talking about money, and says, "I thought payola was unlawful." Ahh, I love it. Her voice is so snotty and uncouth; she would be perfect in an early John Waters' movie.

He's not talking about money, by the way, he's talking about sex. Pulling out the mattress he had tucked away underneath the studio mixing board, Billy VJ invites Cindi Looper and Ultra Box to dine on his genitals.

Wearing a red ruffle garter belt, a giant blue crucifix earring and sporting pink highlights in her hair, Ultra Box is the one who gets jizzed on when Billy VJ is finished. Or does she? I know her bush is thick and all, but I can't see any cum.  Man, what a piss poor cumshot. Whatever. Lying in a post-coital heap together, Billy informs the ladies that he can set up an appointment with the station's program director (he doesn't have the authority to decide what gets on air).

Meanwhile, Adonna is over at her record label's sales department to smooth talk Super Sales (Eric Edwards), his secretary (Mai Lin) and Dave Darling (Francois Papillon), an art director (he's in charge of designing the video boxes).

My initial thought when Adonna comes barging onto their office was: Holy crap, that pink dress with the zipper sleeves is so fucking chic. However, after that initial thought had subsided, I thought to myself: I wonder how much cocaine Taija Rae did before shooting this scene?. And it would seem that I wasn't the only one who was thinking this, as Eric Edwards asks Adonna at one point if she's on anything. After giving Adonna's body the once over, Dave Daring suggests that since Cindi Looper and Ultra Box aren't there, that Super Sales and Mai Lin stand-in for them in order that he imagine what the box art will look like. One thing leads to another, and the four end up having group sex on the floor. As was the case with the studio scene with Cindi and Ultra Box, the music during the floor foursome is all wrong. I mean, the jazzy score just doesn't fit with the tone of the movie. If this had been, oh, let's say, a Doris Wishman-directed nudie cutie flick from 1964, it would have been perfect. But this film is about hot new wave chicks fucking their way to the top in 1985.

Wearing pink pantyhose, knee-high black boots, a pink top covered in splotchy black dots, multiple gold chains around her neck and a short black and white skirt, Cindi Looper shows up at the office of Joan (Lili Marlene), a booking agent of some kind. And I don't have to tell you what happens next. For those who don't know, Cindi Looper and Joan engage in lesbian sex with BSDM undertones.

Since Adonna and Cindi Looper have both tried to get their band's music video air play by employing sexual favours, it only makes sense that Ultra Box give it a shot. And her target is Mr. Wilson (Roger Scorpio), the music video channel's program director. As luck would have it, Mr. Wilson digs trampy chicks who talk dirty. And no one comes close to being as trampy or vulgar as Ultra Box.  Unlike the previous scenes, the one between Ultra Box and Mr. Wilson has pep. What I mean is, there's nary a dull moment. This is because Ultra Box never stops berating Mr. Wilson, who is inundated with crass put-downs and insults of an emasculating nature. My favourite line during the cunnilingus/annilingus portion of their love-making session is this Ultra Box gem: "I'm going to cum all over your executive neck-tie, you asshole!" Though, I have to say, "Come on, faggot. Give it to me," has its charms as well. Oh, and when Ultra Box informs Mr. Wilson: "I'll show you what Ultra Box is," I didn't doubt her for a second.

There was a moment when I got scared, as I didn't think Mr. Wilson had it in him. It occurs after Mr. Wilson had just expelled a modest amount of seminal fluid all over Ultra Box' ample hindquarters. When she instructs him to lick it off, I wanted to crawl under a rock. Assuming that Mr. Wilson would ignore her request, I braced for the awkwardness that was surely to come. To my unexpected delight, Mr. Wilson does exactly as he's told and laps up his spunky leavings with more vigor than I expected. You rock, Mr. Wilson.

Unfortunately, the same can't be said for Ron Jeremy's Teddy Turner; this guy's repulsive. Nonetheless, if Adonna, Cindi Looper and Ultra Box wanna get their music video on the air, this is is man to see, or, I should say, this is the man to fuck. I know, you're thinking to yourself: Why don't they just upload their shitty music video to YouTube? (that's what everyone else does). Believe or not, there was no YouTube in 1985. So, on the downside, they have to fuck Ron Jeremy in order to get famous. On the plus side, they wear pink (Cindi Looper), red (Ultra Box) and yellow (Adonna) stockings while doing so.

She's So Fine! (Henri Pachard, 1985)

Gritty realism isn't an attribute one usually associates with the glamourous world of erotic cinema. Sunny climes, jizz-stained patio furniture, and recently laundered pink thongs are pretty standard stuff when it comes to depicting sex on screen. Yeah, that's true. But what about the dreary ambiance of Detroit, Michigan? Is it possible to make an alluring film set in the Motor City? That's the question the makers of She's So Fine! dare to ask. Things don't start off too promising, as we are given a quick geography montage depicting different Detroit landmarks languishing on a bleakly overcast day. Don't get me wrong, I love the city; after all, it's where Juan Atkins lives. I just don't think that inflamed genitalia and Joe Louis Arena are compatible with one another. On the other hand, I kind of admired what director Henri Pachard (Babylon Pink) was going for with his unpolished opening. It may not be attractive on an aesthetic level, but it does ooze authenticity. Which is something a film like this doesn't normally ooze. After the film does one of the more competent jobs of establishing where the majority of action takes place, we find ourselves in the bedroom of Roger (Jerry Butler) and Susan (Sharon Kane), a relatively young couple living in the suburbs. Fooling around with his video camera, Roger starts to shoot himself while he masturbates next to a sleeping Susan. Woken by his excessive stroking, she is shocked by the sight of a playing with himself–the fact that Susan had never seen a man jerk off before should have alerted Roger–you know, in terms of the validity of her heterosexuality. Anyway, Susan eventually puts Roger's junk in her mouth. Well, it's in there periodically (sometimes it's in, sometimes it's out).

A lengthy stretch of dialogue follows, as Susan goes next-door to bring her friend Angela (Taija Rae) a wedding dress and chats with Angela's mother, Mrs. M (Gloria Leonard), in the kitchen. Apparently, Angela is getting married today, but isn't quite sure if the groom is gonna show up (she hasn't heard from him in quite sometime). The wedding was supposed to be a modest affair: one priest, two witnesses. But the groom's strange music buddies start showing up. Plus, an old school chum named Ron (Joey Silvera) and the aforementioned Roger end up coming over as well.

Hard as it may seem, but no one has ejaculated semen yet. However, this all changes when Ron, a real half-wit, seduces (I think he says "you have changeless tits") the bride-to-be. While not every scene shares its naturalistic temperament, the straightforward intercourse Joey and Taija engage in was quite jarring in its simplicity. I mean, I kept expecting something gross or off-putting transpire, and when it didn't, I was genuinely shocked. The shot of Taija sitting on the toilet hosing down her voluptuous lady taint had a post-coital sorrowfulness about it that, again, seemed eerily out of place.

The first of Angela's new wave/punk friends to arrive is Alice George (Paul Thomas). Appalled by his appearance–he's wearing a puffy shirt, a large black wig, and about a gallon of haphazardly applied make-up–Mrs. M doesn't even want to let him inside the house. When Angela assures her mother that it's just an act, she reluctantly lets him. Of course, they end up getting quite familiar with one another later on thanks to a tub of cold cream and a giant bottle of booze.

Bursting onto the screen like a crotch starved maniac, Sharon Mitchell (The Violation of Claudia) injects the proceedings with a foulmouthed viscosity. It's hard to believe she's a mere backup singer, because Sharon is a fucking superstar as Tweeky, a beer and pussy craving goddess with eye make-up that was just to die for. The epitome of new wave sensuality, Miss Mitchell causes Jerry Butler's cock and asshole to quiver with dampish fear. There's nothing sexier than watching a woman dominate a man, especially one as conniving Roger. The sight of him frazzled and unhinged by the saucy language Sharon throws his way was delightful.

Spiky-haired, covered in leather (including a cream-inducing pair of pointy boots and one fingerless glove), and sporting dehumanizing blue and electric pink lines across her optical infrastructure, Sharon forces Jerry to orally massage the meaty folds of her hairy sliver at a pace that suited her orgasmic requirements. Only after these needs were sufficiently fulfilled could Jerry dare think about penetrating her with his pathetic excuse for a penis.

Almost as if the producers were mentally eavesdropping on my fleshy desires, Sharon moves to the warm expanse of Sharon Kane's Susan immediately after she's done with Jerry's expended mess. Unencumbered by her leather and metallic outfit (naturally she keeps the fingerless glove on), Sharon devours her namesake's torso like it were an oversized ear of corn. My favourite part was when Sharon rubs her spiky hair around the surface area of Sharon's primary pleasure centre.

Unfortunately, that's pretty much it as far as Sharon Mitchell awesomeness goes.

A priest/cars salesmen (Johnny Nineteen) ends up having talkative bedroom sex with a random hanger-on named Pam (Rachel Ashley), while Joey Silvera's Ron hooks up with the other backup singer played Melanie Scott.

Increasingly unlikely that groom will ever show up, Angela and Roger (still sore over the fact that his wife is a lesbian) unanimously agree to fornicate with one another during a brief moment of boredom. Of course, with almost every room in the house occupied with people behaving lewdly, the two have to settle for bathroom as their place to crank out a quick shag.

It's true that I lost all interest in this film the second Sharon Mitchell and her spunky attitude walked out the door. But Taija's laughter as Jerry came on her lower back perfectly summed up her situation; in that, two guys have cum on her today, yet none of them were her groom-to-be. That's life in Detroit circa 1985, baby.

I'd like to throw a nod of recognition in the general direction of The Gore Gore Girl for making me aware of this unique slab of '80s erotica.

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