Emanuelle Around the World (Joe D'Amato, 1977)

The plucky intrepid photojournalist from Emanuelle In America is back, and this time it's, um... I wouldn't say it's personal, as being forced to watch a dog rape a woman or a shapely milf show mild discomfort over the fact that her garter belt clip is digging into her thigh aren't exactly things I'd call "personal." Think about it, she is not an active participant, she is merely a spectator. No, I'd say it's more unsettling than anything else. I mean, imagine a world where stockings caused pain. Exactly, it's not a world I would want to live in, either. Now, granted, dogs raping women in Macau is pretty heinous. But I think most sane or close to sane people will agree that the sight of a milfy blonde experiencing garter-based distress is much more disturbing. To make things even more disturbing, her step-son and Emanuelle are hiding in a nearby closet.  Luckily for the milfy blonde, she has her girlfriend by her side to alleviate her hosiery troubles. And what happens after this nylon dilemma has been solved? Duh, cunnilingus. It's true, I'm trying to focus on one of the few scenes in Joe D'Amato's Emanuelle Around the World that doesn't end in an orgy of degrading sexual violence in order to maintain my mental health. But how long can I continue to talk about a five minute scene that revolves around stockings and cunnilingus?

I don't know, but I think I just gave myself a challenge. Let's see, where does the stocking scene fit in the overall scheme of this odious slab of Italian trash?

As most of you already know, Laura Gemser's Emanuelle is a reporter who travels the world in order to expose corruption and criminality of the unsavory variety. While in Rome, she convinces two women to join a sting operation to bring down a sex slave operation run by a deformed man with pus-laden right eye.

Never one to go into a sticky situation without a solid plan B, Emanuelle enlists the help of a mildly hunky motorcyclist. When the mildly hunky motorcyclist comes through in the clutch, Emanuelle decides to repay him the only way she knows how. That's right, she uses the soft confines of her buttery vagina to thank the mildly hunky motorcyclist for his services.

Well, she would like to do so. But she can't at the moment, as the mildly hunky motorcyclist's step-mom just came abroad the boat, with her girlfriend in tow, just as they were about have European-style sexual intercourse.

It's this exact moment when the mildly hunky motorcyclist's milfy step-mom begins complain to her girlfriend that the clips on her garter belt have begun to dig into her legs. While removing the stockings is the only logical way to alleviate her discomfort, the sight of her stockings being removed caused me to become quite enraged.

Actually, is it, though? (Is it what?) Is removing the stockings the only logical way to alleviate her discomfort? I mean, I'm sure two reasonably intelligent Italian women can figure out a way to solve this garter quandary without having to resort to drastic measures.

Nevertheless, the mildly hunky motorcyclist's milfy step-mom is rewarded with guilt-free cunnilingus. And at the end of the day, that's all that really matters. Though, I have to say, the cunnilingus, from my point of view, anyway, would have been a million times sweeter had the mildly hunky motorcyclist's step-mom's girlfriend's head, no doubt, bobby and weaving in the throes of performing hearty cunnilingus, been framed by the mildly hunky motorcyclist's step-mom's creamy, stocking-encased thighs as the mildly hunky motorcyclist's girlfriend dined heartily on her throbbing Italo-clit. I'm just... yeah.

It should go without saying, but all the women who appear in this film are gorgeous. As for the men, they are a disgusting bouquet of creeps and low-lifes. In fact, I would go as far to say that's there's not an attractive one in the lot.

I mean, it's pretty much one dysphoria-causing bearded face after another.

Seriously. Don't these scumbags know how to shave?

Oh, hello. Who are you? Now that's a sexy man. (Who are you talking about?) While Emanuelle is hiding in the closet with the mildly hunky motorcyclist, her partner, Cora Norman (Karin Schubert), visited by some shady characters. Anyway, I didn't feel dysphoric at all while their leader was on-screen. Sure, his bearded henchmen made me want to chop up my disgusting body and toss the pieces into the nearest active volcano, but still... I dug this guy. Of course, I disagree with what he and his henchmen do in this film (as you might expect, it's monstrous), but... yeah.

Have I mentioned that this film is refreshingly pornographic? No? Damn, I must be slipping or something. At any rate, I wish more films had a sprinkling of porn in them. Though, if you're going to use a body double for the lead actress when it comes time for a hardcore close-up, the least you could do is get someone who has the same skin colour. The woman they got to portray Laura Gemser's vagina as it plowed into a cock during an orgy wasn't close to being Gemser brown.  I don't why they couldn't have just painted her crotch and butt brown. I'm sure they had some brown paint leftover from the can they used on George Eastman, who plays an Indian guru.

Moving on. Whether you like it or not, the film's main theme by Nico Fidenco, which plays close to six times over the course of the film, will not leave your brain willingly. Neither will the dog rape scene, the wooden dildo party, the New York bum rape scene (a group of derelicts rape Miss Ohio for the amusement of a bunch of rich fucks) or the banana penetration scene.

It's not all beastly and foul, the lesbian scene between Laura Gemser and Brigitte Petronio (The House on the Edge of the Park) is kind of tender, as is the well-documented scene that takes place on the boat (ahoy! cunnilingus!). So, yeah. It's beautiful and unpleasant at the same time. Win-win.

Oh, and keep an eye for the cameo by adult film legend Paul Thomas (The Devil in Miss Jones 3: A New Beginning), he plays a truck driver (it occurs during the first few minutes).

Convent of Sinners (Joe D'Amato, 1986)

Here's a wacky idea, if you don't want the nuns living in your convent to turn to the soft embraces and gentle caressing that only properly administrated lesbianism can provide, don't put them in black hold-up stockings. If you do that, you're just asking for trouble. What's that? You say the lead nun, the so-called "Mother Superior" who runs the nun joint at the centre of Joe D'Amato's Convent of Sinners, is a card carrying member of The Cunnilingus for Ladies Club? (The Cunnilingus for Ladies Club: Supplying cunt-based cunnilingus for discerning lesbians since 1569.) Well, I don't know if she's a card carrying member, but she definitely digs chicks. How can you tell? You're kidding, right? She practically throws herself at the convent's newest nun the first chance she gets. Won't that make her current girlfriend, a conniving c-nun-t who sees herself as the heir apparent, a tad upset? You better believe it will. It's this bitter conflict over the ownership of a pair of fully-engorged bee stung lips that is the meat in this nun-tastic stew. Hold up, "nun-tastic"?!? Weren't the one who just said that you were pretty much finito when it came to nunsploitation films? I would never say anything like that (especially the word "finito"). You totally did. When? In your review for Bruno Mattei's The Other Hell. Oh, well, who reads my reviews? Really? That many, eh? What can I say? I lied. Besides, if Joe D'Amato (Beyond the Darkness) makes a movie about a reluctant nun with fully-engorged bee stung lips, you bet your bottom dollar that I'm going to watch the living shit out of that movie. And like I said, this one has black hold-up stockings in almost every scene, so, in other words, I had no qualms about ignoring my no nuns allowed rule.

The reason the rule was in place in the first place was because of the fact that I don't find nuns to be attractive. Um, I don't think you're supposed to find nuns attractive, that's why they're called nuns. Even the word itself, "nun," is a turn off. Again, I think you're missing the point, nuns don't exist for the benefit of your perverted fantasies.

Then why make movies about them? I think it's an Italian thing. You see, unlike all you godless heathens out there, Italians grow up around nuns. And sometimes these nuns act badly. Which is the reason Italian filmmakers are drawn to the nunspolitation genre; they're lashing out against the very system that abused them. It sounds like you just pulled that theory out of your ass. You're right, I have no idea why anyone, let alone a bunch of Italian men, would want to make a movie about nuns. However, in the case Convent of Sinners, I'm sort of glad Joe D'Amato did, as it's probably the best the genre has to offer.

Sure, I've only seen a handful of nunsploitation films, but Convent of Sinners had more a women in prison feel to it. Instead of a shower scene, they had a mass wash basin scene. Instead of a cruel, sadistic lesbian warden, they had Mother Superior and her toadying henchnun. And instead of a... well, you get the idea. Oh, and the fact that the new nun (or in w.i.p. terms, "the new fish") constantly feels like she's a prisoner was the very appealing to me.

I don't know exactly what century this film is supposed to take place in, but I know they didn't have elastic bands or garter belts back then. Actually, they might have had garter belts, but these nuns definitely didn't have access to them. What am I babbling about? Well, what I'd like to know is, how did the nuns manage to keep their black stockings up? I'm gonna go out on a limb here and say, they held them up through the power of prayer. Quit joking around. What was holding them up? Okay, maybe they didn't use the power of prayer; even though I love the idea of keeping one's stockings up that way. But something was causing them to stay wrapped tightly to their pristine thighs, and I'm not going to rest until I find the answer.

In the meantime, we're treated to some table-based father-daughter incest. Do the white stockings Maria Susanna Simonin (Eva Grimaldi) wears on the outside represent innocence and purity, and do the black stockings she wears in the convent represent sin and wickedness? I don't know about that, but there's nothing pure about being raped by your father on the kitchen table. And, not to mention, having your mother blame you for being raped and punishing you by sending you off to become a nun at a convent run by an unruly dyke.

Did they really send her to a convent? Yep, and she's getting her habit as we speak. Is it normal for new nuns to stand on a table while the other nuns gawk at her as she gets dressed? I guess. How the hell should I know? Either way, Maria Susanna Simonin is reborn as Sister Susanna, the most pillowy-lipped nun ever to don that weird diaper-like underwear they make them wear. I dig the black hold-up stockings, but those panties are an abomination; I get a rash on my taint just thinking about them.

You would think the moment the black robe goes over Sister Susanna's head would be the last time we'll being her pert tits for quite some time. Well, think again, sister. The always horny Mother Superior (Aldina Martano) has got her eye on Sister Susanna, much to the chagrin of Sister Teresa (Karin Well), who is clearly jealous of the new nun.

As she's been shown her cell, Sister Susanna says... Hold on, cell?!? That's what the nuns call the places where they sleep. Cells are for prisoners. Couldn't they call them sleeping rooms or restrooms. Or how 'bout this, bedroom. Yeah, bedroom. I like that. It's a room that contains a bed, hence, bedroom. Anyway, after being shown where to pray and where to sleep, Sister Susanna says she'll be happy here. Happy, eh? Um, I don't think so.

You never know, she might like being a nun. I mean, check out that shirtless water boy. On top of shirtless water boys, you get free meals, and, if you happen to have pillowy lips, Mother Superior will tuck you in at night. I'm no expert when it comes to relationships, but won't Sister Teresa being upset when she finds out Mother Superior is tucking in Sister Susanna at night? How will she find out? You're obviously new around here, Sister Teresa always knows what's going on; her talent for lurking around convent hallways is second to none.

Now, I'm not sure if Don Moral (Martin Philips), the convent's father confessor, likes puffy bee-stung lips, but he's clearly taken with Sister Susanna when Mother Superior introduces him to her.

It's not like Sister Teresa needed another reason to resent Sister Susanna, but she gets one, nevertheless, when Sister Susanna gives Mother Superior and her fellow sisters an impromptu harpsichord concert. Seething with jealous rage, Sister Teresa seems powerless as she watches her influence with Mother Superior slowly slipping away. "Don't deprive me of your affection," she begs Mother Superior at one point. But it does her no good, as Mother Superior has made her choice, and that choice involves groping Sister Susanna a semi-regular basis.

Do you think Sister Teresa is going to sit idly by and watch everything she's worked for turn to shit? If you think she will, it's obvious you don't know Sister Teresa; she's what we like to call in the nun racket a "real go-getter."

You might have noticed that during the past couple scenes that Mother Superior coughs. Yeah, so, she probably just has a cold. That's true, but people who cough in the 1600s usually end up dead within a week or two. Oh, I see. How does this help Sister Teresa? Don't you see, without Mother Superior around to stick up for her, Sister Teresa can destroy Sister Susanna without having worry about the consequences. Won't the other nuns kick up a fuss? What are you kidding? Sister Teresa has slowly been currying favour with them. For example, she totally didn't punish Sister Agatha when she caught her molesting a male statue. So, what you're saying is, she's turning all the nuns against Sister Susanna? Exactly.

Don't get me wrong, Sister Susanna still has allies in the form of Don Moral and Sister Ursula (Jessica Moore). But, as we'll soon find out, they're a pretty feckless lot. In other words, Sister Susanna better watch out. And I mean, like, right now.

You know she's in trouble when Mother Superior coughs onscreen for a fourth time. Telling her that her skin is soft like marble ("fresh and beautiful"), Mother Superior enjoys Sister Susanna's body one last time, as she slowly morphs into a bedridden mess.

It starts when Teresa instructs Sister Susanna to scrub the floors, and eventually graduates to poisoning her. Don't worry, it's not a lethal dose, just enough to make her foam at that mouth, giving everyone the impression she's possessed by the Devil. Bursting into her bedroom, er, I mean, cell, Sister Teresa and her goons pussy whip Sister Susanna. They did what? They whipped the area where her pussy lives. You know, the part where... I know where a pussy is, I just never heard the expression "pussy whip" used so literally before.

Call me, I guess, sick and twisted, but liked how Eva Grimaldi's pubic hair poked out of the sides of her nun diaper as she was being pussy whipped. On top of being aesthetically pleasing, it signaled to me that Eva Grimaldi was fully committed to the role. Not that she needed to. I mean, she is, after all, raped by father in the film's opening scene. Nonetheless, I nodded ever so slightly as the nuns whipped her pussy in her cell, as I knew right then and possibly there that Eva Grimaldi is all right in my book.

After being subjected to beatings, holy water douches, exorcisms, and an extended stay in the convent's rat-infested dungeon, you would think Sister Susanna would be ready to give up. Think again. Actually, with no allies left, Sister Susanna is pretty much destitute. However, her defiance exposes the hypocrisy of the other nuns, as everyone around her so determined to protect their place in the church, that they seem to have forgotten what it means to be a Christian. And, at the end day, that's what I took away from Convent of Sinners. People, no matter how pious they pretend to be, will stop at nothing to advance their own self-centered agenda, even it means destroying a woman with fully-engorged, pillow-like, bee stung lips.

Porno Holocaust (Joe D'Amato, 1981)

Most men, when put in a situation where lives are at risk, would politely decline a hysterical woman's impromptu offer to perform guilt-free oral sex on him in a tropical setting. But then again, it's obvious from the get-go that Captain Hardy isn't your average man. Hell, he's not even your average captain. "Oral sex in the tropics," that should be his middle name, because it seems like he's on the receiving end of a sun-baked blow job for the majority of this movie. I guess you could shorten his middle name to something like, Captain "Sunny Head" Hardy, or just join together "oral sex in the tropics" to make the Latvian-sounding, "Oralseksen Thetropiks." Either way, he's getting sucked off more often than a garden hose at an insufficiently catered backyard birthday party in the middle of a heat wave. Maybe it was the way his hairless nut sack glistened as it bathed in the uncompromising glow of the sun's shimmering rays, or maybe it had something to do with his virile mustache (it's a little known fact that chicks prefer to fornicate with men with strong facial hair). Well, whatever it was, I was extremely jealous of the male lead in Porno Holocaust, Joe D'Amato's mildly racist, extremely sexist ode to radioactive poontang. Even though his wad was pretty much nonexistent in terms of voluminosity, the amount of attention his barely erect member receives in this movie is enough to drive you up a wall made entirely out of broken dreams and partially trodden on cucumber slices. I don't know why I'm reacting this way. After all, it's common knowledge that I abhor watching non-transsexuals receive head. However, I don't think it's got anything to do with dome-o-phobia, or even tonsillitis, for that matter, I think it's got something to do the frequency in which the film's captain is orally serviced. And if there's one quality I hate in a man, it's oral sex-related greed.

On one level, the film could be seen as an erotic instructional guide on how to perform cunnilingus on driftwood. Yet, on another, completely different level than the level I just mentioned, the film is a cautionary tale about the dangers of atomic weaponry in the late twentieth century. While I like the sound of those levels, the offensively titled Porno Holocaust is mostly about killing time between sex scenes. As in, how are we going to fill the chunks of time when the not quite aptly named Captain Hardy (Mark Shannon) is not getting his pee pee licked by brunette scientists with small breasts?

Driving through the streets of, oh, let's say, Santo Domingo in his jeep, Captain Hardy–you can totally tell, by the way, that he's a sailor by not only the cut of his uniform, but also by the cut of his jib–is smirking because he knows that his cock is about to be inundated with a wide array of oral and vaginal riches over the course of the next few days. Since the scene where Captain Hardy is driving around the city is still going, let me take a second to comment on the film's official theme song by Nico Fidenco. Boring its way into your head like a playful head cold, you might think that a song this catchy has no business being associated with a film called "Porno Holocaust," but it's obvious that the esteemed Joe D'Amato (Beyond the Darkness) and his committed cast have put a lot of effort into justifying their presence alongside such an amazing piece of music.

After meeting with his crew, a bunch of misogynists who think women are bad luck (wait until he tells them their passengers are not only women, but scientists, too), Captain Hardy flirts with one of these so-called "lady scientists." Lounging by the hotel's pool in a white bikini, Annie Dorman (Lucia Ramirez), a racially ambiguous (think: Laura Gemser meets Jennifer Balgobin) nuclear physicist, chats with Captain Hardy about who the fuck cares. Please excuse my indifference when came to recalling the minutes of their, what I'm sure was, interesting conversation. You have to understand, Dr. Dorcin de Saint Jacques (Annj Goren) is about to saunter onscreen, and whenever the gorgeous Dr. Dorcin de Saint Jacques, who prefers to be called "Contessa Saint Jacques," graces us with her lithesome presence, my mind turns to mush.

Walking over to where Annie and Captain Hardy are conversing with one another with a whorish brand of unfermented aplomb, Contessa Saint Jacques, a stylish zoologist who is wearing a peach-coloured string bikini like her life depended on it, seems to realize almost immediately that she's missed the boat when it comes to claiming squatter's rights to the thrusting future of Hardy's penis. It's a good thing Annj Goren is playing this role, because only an actress of her calibre would be able to convey the emotional whirlwind that the Contessa experiences in this moment. Check out her back as she listens to Annie and Captain Hardy blather on and on about the island he's supposed to be taking them to, it's a textbook example of what I like to call dignified stillness. In fact, she's so stationary, that the loose strings dangling from her bikini top seem to have a mind of their own.

The other half of the science expedition, oh, haven't you heard? a group of scientists want to visit this deserted island to run some tests, and Captain Hardy is the man they have hired to take them there. Anyway, we meet Dr. Lemoir (George Eastman) and Simone (Dirce Funari), two married scientists who are struggling to iron out the kinks of their burgeoning sex life. Let's be honest, Simone is frustrated by her husband's lack of enthusiasm during love making, and upset over the fact that his rapid expiry rate in the sack is failing to satisfy her womanly needs.

It has gotten so bad that Simone makes a joke about leaving the door of her hotel room unlocked in the hope that a man with a functioning penis might break in and rape her. Luckily, Contessa Saint Jacques shows up just in time to calm her frazzled nerves by administering some well-applied lesbian sex. Of course, judging by how hostile they were to each other, the chances of there being any lesbian sex, forget about the well-applied variety, looked pretty remote. You see, after the Contessa makes this crack about her husband's impotence, Simone returns the favour by mocking her inability to snag Captain Hardy away from Annie (who's currently being wined and dined by the Captain as we speak). The slight against the Contessa's man-luring capability causes her to slap Simone in the face. Not the type of person to be bullied by a woman with a boyish haircut, Simone hits the Contessa in the face as well.

After they have finished slapping each other in the face, Contessa Saint Jacques plunges her erect left nipple into the modestly spacious confines of Simone's symmetrical ass crack, and follows that up by devouring every inch of her nimble frame with the care of a fun-loving wildebeest. Awash with brunette hair of every shade imaginable, this not-so crazy session of lesbian make-up sex is dominated by the Contessa, as she does most of the scene's heavy lifting when it came to giving the gift of cunni and anilingus.

This heavy lifting trend carries over to the next scene when we find the Contessa paying to have her wart-covered holes poked and prodded by a couple of Dominican penises. If you're wondering why Simone isn't there with the Contessa to make sure the two male prostitutes treat her with respect, your guess is as good as mine. Anyway, with Simone off doing whatever, the Contessa is ready to get double-teamed by two guys at once. Standing fully dressed before her double dose of dangling man-candy, Contessa Saint Jacques starts off by removing her red blazer. Then she pulls down her red skirt (flinging it off camera after both her legs had broken free of its wooly grip). Moving on to her white blouse, she unbuttons all the buttons and proceeds to toss it where her jacket and skirt are currently lying in a state of crumpled chaos. And last, but not least, she doffs her black panties. Slowly hiking them down with a purposeful hiking motion, the Contessa flings them off with a cavalier grace (she is a "contessa" after all), and nakedly awaits her double-helping of dark cock.

What makes Porno Holocaust so great, besides the fact that it's called, "Porno Holocaust," is that Joe D'Amato can turn the simple removal of a woman's clothing into an erotic event. Think about it, we've already seen Annj Goren naked at this point in this film, yet he still manages to create an air of excitement around the prospect of seeing her naked again. Which, I've been told, is no small feat. Attacking her body with multiple kisses and mussing her boyish hair, the two prostitutes do to the Contessa what the Constessa did to Simone in her hotel room. Only in this case, there's eighty percent more pelvic thrusting involved. After performing duel handjobs, along with duel blow jobs, the scene morphs into your typical mfm threesome scene, as all the usual positions are employed. The great thing about this scene–you know, other than the disco music throbbing on the soundtrack and the scuffed up bottoms of the Contessa's tan pumps–was the fact that both Annj and one of the guys (the fella with the sweat-drenched hairy bum) both look directly into the camera at one point.

Meanwhile, on a nearby beach, Captain Hardy and Annie are enjoying a spot of outdoor consensual sexual intercourse. Don't bother taking a long, good look at Captain Hardy's balls as they plow toward Annie's moist undercarriage, because you'll be sick of them by the time Porno Holocaust is over. At any rate, after they're done, we're subjected to longest walk and talk scene ever to be committed to film. Okay, maybe that's a bit of an exaggeration. But still, as far as babbling incessantly about radiation goes, this scene is the Gettysburg Address of mobile gabbiness. Let's just say, I was plenty relieved when they finally got on board Captain Hardy's vessel. Oh, and by "vessel," I don't mean his penis, I'm referring to his boat.

Yay! After much chit chat, they finally arrive at their radioactive destination. As they're disembarking, we can't help but notice that someone or something is watching then from the bushes (the sound of heavy breathing and eerie music is added to the point-of-view lurking to emphasize the baneful nature of their ominous presence). As the menfolk set up camp, the Contessa and Simone don their skimpiest bikinis and sit facing one another on a piece of driftwood. As the waves crash against the loose chunks of wood that litter the beach, Simone starts to remove the Contessa's beach attire. Still smarting from the reaming she received at the hands of those Dominican prostitutes, the Contessa is open to the idea of Simone treating her swollen pussy with kid lesbian gloves. And faster than you can say, the circumference of Dirce Funari's ass is quite pleasing, the two of them are sitting naked, crotch-to-crotch on a huge log.

As they're busy scissoring the day away, Captain Hardy and Annie decide to do the sex on the beach thing as well. While I can't really blame him for wanting to penetrate the goodies located between Annie's chocolatey thighs instead of picking up radioactive sand crabs, I'm tired of looking at his balls. Sure, we get a wispy hint of George Eastman's genitals. But I can't subsist on wispy hints alone, I need to feel the wrinkled fullness of his haphazardly shaven scrotum sloshing around inside my herpes-free mouth. Returning from her log encounter with the Contessa, Simone, now wearing a dark one piece bathing suit, tells her husband all about the mutated algae she found on the beach. Noticing a lull in the algae-based conversation, Simone decides to fill the awkward void by pinning her husband against a palm tree. Extracting ten well-timed pelvic thrusts from her husband before his genitals began to leak semen, Simone was literally beaming with pride as she dismounted her potent steed. Unfortunately, her pride quickly turns to horror as the entity who has been watching them ever since they landed on the island finally makes his presence felt.

A disfigured man wearing rags, the so-called "ape-like creature" kills the members of Captain Hardy's crew (their forehead's resemble plates of mushy baked beans after he's through with them), and grabs Annie all for himself. Tucking her away in his cave for safe keeping, the radioactive madman focuses his energy on the other women on the island. You know how I said that Annj Goren did most of the heavy lifting during her first sex scene Dirce Funari? Well, this could be applied to the movie on the whole, as Annj's body is put through the ringer in terms of being violated in a tropical setting. You have to admire her for the way she puts herself out there. Seriously, while most of the actors appear in three or four sex scenes, Annj does her thing in five: One straight sex scene (sans cunnilingus, bastard), one mfm threesome, one rape scene, and two lesbian scenes.

While the drably attired nutcase is romancing Annie in his cave (he brings her flowers and fruit), the Contessa, Captain Hardy, and a male scientist with a beard whose name began with an 'L' are still trying to figure out what's going on. I'll admit, while Captain Hardy is attempting to cut a coconut with a machete, I thought I had accidentally changed the channel to the latest installment of Survivor. But that thought quickly melted away, as the Contessa, her breath, no doubt, reeking of Scotch whiskey, decides right then and there that she wants to have sex with Captain Hardy. Did I lose some respect for the Contessa as she went about removing her khaki-coloured clothing? I guess. But you got to give up to the Contessa, not even a million radioactive madmen are gonna prevent her from getting her, as the kids in 1998 might say, "freak on." Hey, if Captain Hardy can have sex in a rowboat, than surely the Contessa can engage in some off-the-cuff campsite sex. I mean, so what if there's a psychokiller on the loose whose funky spunk makes your junk bleed?

Am I watching a porno, or am I watching a horror movie? I was never quite sure. And that's part of the charm of Porno Holocaust, as it causes you to constantly keep tabs on your mental well-being. Of course, most people are too lazy to keep tabs on their mental well-being, as they would rather, to sort of quote Mr. Burns from The Simpsons, "wallow in a tepid pool of their own crapulence." Aroused while horrified is the ultimate form of cinematic catharsis, and Joe D'Amato provides both in equal measure. Is there anything else to say? Let me see. Cunnilingus. Driftwood. Nope, I think that pretty much covers it. Porno Holocaust, bitches!

uploaded by BastardCinema

...