Latex (Michael Ninn, 1995)

After scanning my retina for, oh, I'd say, a minute or two, Michael Ninn's Latex finally granted me access to its shiny, dystopic, dysphoria-causing universe. (Hold up. The first two I understand. But dysphoria-causing?) There are a shit-ton/fuck-ton of close-up shots of crinkly ball-sacks in this movie. Need I say more? I didn't think so. Anyway, the reason I said the film "finally granted me access" was because I think this was my third attempt to watch and review this mid-1990s masterpiece. Yeah, that's right. My third! And you'll notice I didn't call it a mid-1990s "porn" masterpiece. Yeah, the film is that good. Of course, I wouldn't have called it a masterpiece, porn or otherwise, during those initial viewings. I don't know why it took me so many tries. But either way, here we are. I think one of the main reasons I didn't care for the film the first few times was because I was watching it as a porn flick. In other words, I was judging it based on its ability to arouse/titillate. Quirky fun-fact: This was the first film I watched after starting hormone replacement therapy (a.k.a. HRT). I know, pretty awesome, eh? Well, I think so (I've never felt better in my life... it's like I've been reborn or some gay ass shit like that). Now, I'm not saying my estradiol-soaked noodle factory reacted any differently to the slick images Michael Ninn threw my way over the course of the film's two hour running time than my testosterone-soaked one. But it was quite telling that I finally "got" what Ninn was getting at after starting to medically transition. It should be noted that both pre-HRT, pre-everything Yum-Yum and HRT Yum-Yum found some of the sex scenes to be dull/uninteresting. That being said, HRT Yum-Yum practically ate up the style clinic that director Michael Ninn and screenwriter Antonio Passolini pull off with this movie.

As with most movies of this type (porn movies that try to be different), I got a perverse thrill out of knowing that Latex probably frustrated the living fuck out of those who like to masturbate to stuff like this. I don't know, just the mere thought of someone desperately trying to jerk off to this, and failing in spectacular fashion, brings me so much joy.

Now, is it as subversive as the films of Rinse Dream or even Gregory Dark? No. But I found it quite telling that the film's goatee-sporting, quasi-mulleted hero's first line is: "I know you're watching me." A repeated phrase uttered in Rinse Dream's Nightdreams and Dr. Caligari.

Arrested for vagrancy, Malcolm Stevens (Jon Dough) finds himself in locked up in an asylum... Oh, did I mention that the world is a totalitarian, fascist nightmare-scape? Well, it totally is. Under the observation of a bunch of doctors in lab coats (again, very Nightdreams), they're interested in Malcolm because he seems to have a special gift. And while no-one, not even Malcolm, can explain what his special gift is exactly, it's agreed upon that it involves sex in some shape or form.

Spotting a billboard through his cell window, Malcolm fantasizes about the woman on said billboard. A vivacious blonde named Kato (Sunset Thomas), Malcolm imagines the billboard woman masturbating with yellow latex gloves in a retro-style kitchen.

After she's finished pleasuring herself, Kato has sex on a vintage kitchen table with her husband.

The great thing about this scene was... (Sunset Thomas' tits!) I was going to say the attention to detail that went into creating that retro-style kitchen... but I guess her tits were nice. Personally, I dug her black headband. But what can I say? I'm a sucker for hair accessories, especially those that serve a purpose.

Did anyone else wonder what Kato had stocked in those vintage kitchen cabinets of hers? I was kinda hoping she had 'em stocked with pickles, corn chips (with flax-seeds baked right into the chips), salted chickpeas and gummy bears. Damn it, why did I mention pickles? I want to consume an entire jar right this minute. But don't worry, I'll finish this first.

I'm not entirely sure what was going on in the next scene. But I do know that it features Malcolm having sexual intercourse with a "Latex Pony Girl." (A latex what?) It's a fetish thing.

Anyway, while I loved Emerald Estrada's pony look. The spotty, haphazard manner in which Malcolm's taint was shaven was tremendously disappointing. Is there anything more disheartening than a taint that's been improperly shaved? Probably not.

On that yucky note, I think now is as good a time as any to mention the soundtrack. While some people seem to enjoy watching people fuck on film/video, I now find the act itself to be extremely revolting and, not to mention, tedious as all get out. Thankfully, all that gross/yawn-worthy fornicating is set to a non-cacophony of warm synthy goodness cascading over the top of a surplus of choice funky beats. Composed by Dino Ninn, the music heard throughout this movie was a virtual lifesaver. Seriously, their music is a motherfucking godsend. I doubt that could have made it through the whole thing without it.

It turns out that Malcolm, simply by touching you, can "see inside of people." And what he sees is usually sexual in nature.

When he touches Tiffany Million, the doctor currently interviewing him, on the arm, we're treated to a scene where she gets poked and prodded by Sam Cooper, her male assistant.

If you have a thing for rough lesbian sex, colourful latex and bob wigs (blonde and brunette), you'll love the next sequence. Played by Debi Diamond, Lacy Rose, Barbara Doll and Tasha Blades, the wonderfully uncouth antics of these swaying "latex vixens" eat up a huge chunk of time.

Since Malcolm can't visualize himself in his fantasies, he uses an avatar. And at the tail end of the day-glo lez-fest, Malcolm takes the form of a man named Brick Majors. As the synths wind down and the beats begin to fade, Brick spews a modest dollop of creamy, non-watery tartar sauce-esque jizz from the smallish opening located at the tip of his clearly worn out penis.

(Smallish opening?!? Don't you mean his urethra?) Ure kidding, right? That word makes my skin crawl. No, smallish opening is way less upsetting.

I didn't think I would say this, but the acting of Jeanna Fine (Party Doll A Go-Go!) and Jon Dough in that black and white flashback scene during the Julie Show segment (Malcolm eventually becomes a minor celebrity and the toast of the "psychic underground") is pretty fantastic. It was, like, all dramatic 'n' junk. Bravo.

Of course, the top-notch pathos of that scene quickly falls by the wayside when the vapid TV hostess (Juli Ashton) is double-teamed by two of her long-haired crew members. Wait, I think one of the crew guys was played by Tom Byron. Man, does this guy get around or what? In the year 1985, Tom starred in White Bunbusters. In the year 1995, Tom appears in Latex. That's a ten year gap! I wonder how many people Tom penetrated during that period. Hmm, I wonder.

Oh, would you look at that, we're back where it all started: Watching Sunset Thomas getting fondled and fucked on a vintage kitchen table. Great.

Culminating with something called the "mega-splash" (don't ask), Latex, despite the repulsive/repetitive nature of the sex, is always interesting to look at.

On the cusp of being a cyberpunk classic and sort of smart in places, Michael Ninn has made a film that is glossy, smooth and super... cool, I guess. And I'm not just saying that because everyone from start to finish is encased in latex. Or maybe I am. At any rate, if only they could have trimmed some of sex scenes. I know, what's the point of porn without porn? But still, do we really need to see that much fucking? I'm being told that we do. Whatever. Now, where are those pickles at? Yum. No foolin'. I need salt, goddammit!

Pretty Peaches 3: The Quest (Alex de Renzy, 1989)

In Alex de Renzy's Pretty Peaches 3: The Quest, the sexual awakening of a naive young twit with thighs that don't know the meaning of the word quit continues unabated. Which should come as no surprise, as that's exactly what occurs in the first two movies in the Pretty Peaches trilogy. What is surprising, however, is that I won't be able to watch porn ever again. Just kidding, I will always be able to watch porn. Imagine... a world without porn. *shudders* What I mean is, from now on, all porn that isn't treated with the same reverence and respect that Vinegar Syndrome bestows on the genre will be looked upon with suspicion. I know, a company in France called "Alpha France" puts out high quality porn releases, including titles by Alex de Renzy. But as far as North America goes, I can't think of anyone who cares more about the preservation of sleaze than Vinegar Syndrome. Oh, and, by the way, this isn't some elaborate ruse to get them to send me free porn. It's just that I've never seen 1980s-era XXX cinema look so good. Hell, I bet the version the raincoat crowd saw in theatres back in the day didn't look this crisp and clean. Sure, some of you might say: Yum-Yum, you dolt, classic erotica is supposed to look like crap... that's what makes it so charming. True, but I think that only applies to roughies. I mean, I can't imagine a film like, say, Forced Entry, looking all pristine and junk, it just wouldn't feel right.

However, hardcore films from the 1980s are a different animal all-together. Boasting bright colours and garish art direction, the 1980s was a visual decade, and those visuals need to be crystal clear to be properly appreciated. This applies to '80s music videos, '80s magazines, '80s television commercials, '80s fashion ads, '80s art, and, of course, it also applies to '80s pornography.

I would argue that it needs to apply to porn more than the others because porn is the only true way to take the temperature of the era you're currently living in. Whereas most genres are filled with people whose job it is to undermine the creative process at every turn. Porn, on the other hand, has more freedom. In other words, when you watch porn from the 1980s, you're getting an unfiltered view of the decade.

Take Keisha, the totally bodacious lead in Pretty Peaches 3: The Quest, for example. In all the other genres I just mentioned, a person like Keisha would have been dismissed as either too chubby or not white enough (the plague that is white supremacy has its hooks in everything). But in porn, particularly '80s porn, Keisha is not only welcome, she's the star of the show!

Shapely and oh so soft (more cushion for the pushin'), and, not to mention, dim and utterly clueless, Keisha plays–you guessed it–Peaches, and, golly, I gotta say, does she ever do Desireé Cousteau (the original Peaches), and, to a lesser extent, Siobhan Hunter (the second Peaches), proud.

Giving a performance that will no doubt cause your mundane genitals to be imbued with rigid and moist sensations (the sensation you experience will depend on the structural composition of your genitals), Keisha stomps her way through this movie with a well-proportioned aplomb.

It would seem that Peaches and her mom (Tracey Adams) have gone down a few rungs on the social ladder since we checked in with them. While living in a trailer park is quite the change of scenery, one thing remains the same, and that is, Peaches is still an idiot. Okay, maybe that's a tad harsh. Let's just say she's not the reddest radish in the shopping cart, if you know what I mean.

After a disturbing dream, one that involved her friend (Lynn LeMay) having her pantyhose torn asunder by her boyfriend Bobby (Gene Carrera) and a pal (Marc Wallice), Peaches' mom suggests that she go see Dr. Thunderpussy (Rachel Ryan), a doctor who has appeared on the Oprah show.

(Whoa, hold up, guy... "Pantyhose torn asunder"? Tell us more.) Sure, the dream, like I said, involves the two guys I mentioned tearing Lynn LeMay's pantyhose off. But get this, every time they tear away her pantyhose, another pair miraculously reappears. I wasn't keep track (though, I should have been), but they must have removed at least ten pairs of pantyhose before eventually reaching vaginal pay-dirt.

At any rate, when Dr. Thunderpussy says to Peaches during her examination, "Time to check your girl things," I couldn't help but be reminded of Rinse Dream, as that's the kind of line you might hear in one of his movies. Wouldn't it be awesome if Alex de Renzy and Rinse Dream worked together? Actually, I know for a fact they did. So, what are you waiting for Vinegar Syndrome, restore that movie; don't make me watch some grainy, thirty year-old VHS rip.

As expected, Dr. Thunderpussy's examination of Peaches mostly involves having her "girl things" poked and prodded. When Dr. Thunderpussy is finished doing that, she has sex with a doll and tells Peaches that she needs to find spiritual enlightenment. And with that, Peaches embarks on an epic journey of self-discovery.

Actually, the quest doesn't officially get underway until Peaches watches a tearful sermon by a televangelist named Billy Bob (Jamie Gillis) on her tiny trailer park television. Flanked by his busty sidekick, Nanette (Victoria Paris), Peaches nods approvingly to the bulk of what the blubbering preacher has to say. Personally, it sounded  like a lot of  nonsense to me, but Peaches clearly liked what she heard, and heads out to meet him in person.

Unfortunately, the authorities are closing in on Billy Bob and Nanette just as Peaches arrives. Not to worry, though, despite the fact that a helicopter is swirling overhead, Billy Bob decides to take a break from destroying evidence and planning their pending getaway to give Peaches some "spiritual guidance" after all. Of course, it being late 1980s, his "spiritual guidance" largely involves feeling the shapely nitwit up.

A bizarre sex scene between Jamie Gillis and Victoria Paris gets underway after Peaches has been sufficiently felt up.

(What's Keisha doing during this so-called "bizarre sex scene?) She struggles to maintain her balance (the helicopter hovering above is making it difficult for her to stand up).

Meanwhile, back at the trailer park, Bobby and Mrs. Peaches hatching a plan to find Peaches; the sexual tension between these two is palpable.

Waking up in a field, Peaches stumbles upon the "Holy Repose Spiritual Retreat." You might think: Ooh, what luck, that's exactly what Peaches is looking for. You couldn't be more wrong, as the people there, specifically three blonde lesbians (Tianna, Priscilla Love and Vicki Blair) seem more interested in cunnilingus than spiritual guidance.

Leaving in the middle of the night (the blonde lesbians' late night cunnilingus session was keeping her up), Peaches is next seen walking along a country road in an acid wash skirt. Call me crazy, but the sight of Keisha simply walking is the sexiest part of this movie.

Hitching a ride from Fife Bardot's "Chicken Girl," Peaches is taken to a meeting of The Realization Cult. Run by Professor Otto (Jon Martin), this group, just like the others, seem more about exploring one's genitals than you know what.

Do you think Peaches' chance meeting with Jack Baker (New Wave Hookers) on the streets of San Francisco will lead her to finally achieving her goal? I don't know about that. But I do know this, at around the hour mark, someone finally fucks Keisha with their penis. Not to sound crude, but I was like, yes! Pound that pussy! Anyway, uh, the film's grand finale is quite unusual, in that it implies that Peaches becomes a... You know what, I don't want to spoil the ending for you. Let's just say it's a fitting end to a pretty kick ass trilogy. Oh, and Vinegar Syndrome, if you decide to restore the Alex de Renzy/Rinse Dream collaboration, don't forget to do the same to the rest of the Rinse Dream catalogue (including the untamed cowgirl flicks). Thanks. 

Deviations (Domingo Lobo, 1983)

The producers of Deviations must have read my review for Rock Hard (or the very least, skimmed it), as it manages to avoid many of the same mistakes that film made. If you recall, my biggest complaint about Rock Hard was that two out of the three members of Adonna and the Sexelettes (the one's not named Adonna) did jack shit while on stage. In other words, they were glorified back-up dancers. Whoa, I just realized something, Deviations came out in 1983 (two years before Rock Hard). Meaning, there's no way the producers of Deviations could have read or skimmed my review. You know what that means, right? Exactly, the producers of Deviations decided to put musical instruments in the hands of the band at the centre of this San Francisco shot masterpiece on their own. Oh, and by "masterpiece," I'm referring to films that are in the rock porn genre. Anyway, just because the band members hold musical instruments, doesn't necessarily mean they know what to do with them. I'm looking at you, Connie Lindstrom. To be fair, this was Connie's first (and probably last) film. So, you can forgive her not knowing the proper way to hold a guitar. But then again, Connie Lindstrom's unorthodox guitar playing could be seen as her way of standing out from the crowd.

However, since it's 1983, you're going to need to do more than have a guitarist who holds their guitar funny to stand out.

Holy crap! It just dawned on me, they don't have a bass player. That's right, no bass!

And that poses a big problem for The Four Foxes, an all-girl pop band with new wave overtones. No, not the lack of a bass player... well, maybe that too. Nevertheless, the band can't seem to make any headway in the music industry.

(No headway, eh? Hmm, I wonder if giving head to others will lead them to attaining some of this "headway" you speak of.)

Lead by Ellen (Shanna McCullough), a shapely delight with killer thighs, The Four Foxes spend most of their time jamming in their fortress-like apartment/rehearsal space and getting... (Hold on, I gotta an idea. Why don't The Four Foxes emphasize Ellen's killer thighs?) They might just have to do that the way things are going. Only problem being, yep, you guessed it, Ellen has artistic integrity. (Killer thighs and artistic integrity? Now that's a losing combination.) Tell me about it.

While the other Foxes are more than willing to degrade themselves to get ahead, Ellen resists the urge to lower herself.

Sure, she'll have sex with a snake. But ask her to wear skimpy lingerie on stage and sing songs about anal sex? I don't think so.

Oh, and don't worry, I'll get to the snake in a minute.

After a close up shot of the cleavage belonging to Connie (Connie Lindstrom), the band's guitar player, the film gets underway. The other band members are introduced in a similar fashion. The band's drummer, Ginger (Adrienne Bellaire), is introduced via a close up of her camel toe in tight shorts, and the band's keyboard player, Goldie (Robin Everett), is introduced by focusing on her righteous booty in tight pink and white shorts. As for Ellen, she gets a close up all right, but it doesn't occur during the opening scene.

Belting out a song with lyrics like, "I love his hair and the clothes he wears... darling, oh, darling," Ellen's band is obviously not very good.

Suddenly, there's a knock at the door, or, I should say, a buzz. Would you look at that, it's Mr. Grundic, the band's landlord. Demanding that they pay their rent, Mr. Grundic threatens to evict them if they don't cough up the dough. Not wanting to be evicted, Goldie steps up to the plate. Removing her pink top, Goldie puts on a leopard print bikini, and offers to sit on Mr. Grundic's face in order to get a two week extension.

And the sexy blonde with the low center of gravity does exactly that, she sits on his face.

When the door-buzzer rings again, Goldie thinks it's Mr. Grundic back for more face-sitting. But it's only Stanley (Mike Horner), their next-door neighbour. Repaying Ellen with two cartons of eggs for the two eggs borrowed earlier in the week, it's clear that Stanley has a crush on her.

How could I tell? Check out the look on his face as he watches Ellen go to the kitchen to get Stanley some milk for his cereal, he wants to do nasty things to that booty. And why wouldn't he? Shanna McCullough has one of the most stain-worthy bums in porn.

Since jamming in their apartment isn't going to make them any money, The Four Foxes audition for Paul (Billy Dee) and Sybil (Lili Marlene), the owners of a local club. Wearing her finest black hose and a black and white striped dress, Ellen gives it her all, as she sings that awful, "darling, oh, darling," song.

While Paul thinks they're okay, Sybil dismisses The Four Foxes as "bubblegum," and tells her partner to break the bad news to them (Ellen is crestfallen). As they're leaving the club, Ginger is approached by Ziggy Rockstein, a music producer of some kind. Informing her that her band needs a gimmick, Ziggy says he's going to noodle with some ideas that are sure to make her band a success.

Meanwhile, back at Four Foxes HQ, Ellen dismisses the song she's currently working on as "cornball,"  and begins to openly bemoan the fact that she can't seem to express her true feelings in her lyrics.

Openly bemoaning must be a thing in this film's universe, as Paul and Sybil are doing exactly that at their club. Complaining that the crowds at their club are not as big as they used to be, Paul and Sybil are struggling to make ends meet. In  a moment of unexpected clarity, the stylish and sophisticated Sybil blames punk, new wave and blues rock for their financial woes, which she believes have become stagnant in recent years.

Instead of doing something about it, Paul and Sybil decide to have sex on the bar (I loved the close up of Sybil's garter belt adorned butt grinding against their modest returns as a direct result of Paul's first-rate thrusts - the bar is littered with cash).

Intertwined with  Paul and Sybil's bar sex scene is Ziggy and Ginger's meeting to discuss his ideas for The Four Foxes. As expected, Ziggy isn't all that interested in discussing his ideas. Well, for one thing, he doesn't have any. But more importantly, he seems more interested in eating Ginger's pussy, which he states that he's had a "burning desire" to do so since he first laid eyes on her.

After Connie and a reluctant Ellen (who still feels cheap) earn money posing for some wrestling photos (I'm a fan of the wrestling fetish, but only if the women are wearing slips), the band celebrate this sudden of influx of cash by drinking champagne on their deck. It's here that the idea to become more outrageous is born.

As Goldie is going on and on about how lewd they should be, Ginger chimes in and says, "We should change our name to The Deviations!" And with that, a new band is born. But what does Ellen think of all this? Who cares, let's get these gals in lingerie, stat!

Offended that the photo-shoot set up by Ziggy and the wrestling fetish photographer to promote their new look has turned into an orgy, Ellen storms off and has sex with a snake in another room. (Seriously?) Seriously. Coiled around her black fishnet-adorned legs, Ellen basically allows the snake to do everything but penetrate her vagina.

Speaking of penetrating vaginas, I can't believe that lumpy fuck Ziggy gets at least four helpings of pussy in this movie. It just goes to show you that even lumpy fucks can get laid if they... Actually, I have no idea he managed to pull this off. I guess it helps that he's in a position of power, but still... he's so fucking lumpy.

Debuting their new sound at Paul and Sybil's club, the Deviations hit the stage with a feisty, lingerie-clad aplomb.

Call me somewhat deranged, by I kinda liked The Deviations' music. Grabbing the mic, Ellen begins to wail: "We're The Deviations, we're into new creations / Normal is boring, kinky is wild / We're not straight, we deviate / I'm not mild, I'm a wild child... Let us demonstrate, how we deviate!" Don't judge me too harshly, but I was singing those lyrics under my breath in the supermarket the following day. And, as we all know, that's the hallmark of quality cinema.