Forced Entry (Shaun Costello, 1973)

As I watched Shaun Costello's early 1970s scrotum oscillate as a direct result of the pelvic thrusts he was hurling effervescently towards the hirsute quagmire festering between Jutta's David's tantalizing thighs, I thought to myself: They had better change positions soon, or else I'm going to have to get a restraining order against his woebegone testicles. In other words, get your junk out of my face, Shaun, I'm trying to get a glimpse of Jutta David's ample backside. And it's obvious, from where I'm sitting anyway, that your swinging ball-sack is one of the leading causes for the complete and utter lack of Jutta David booty in my life. Now, you could say, it's not his fault his nuts are obstructing Jutta's tangible thickness. But you know why you can't say that? It's because Shaun Costello (a.k.a. Helmuth Richler) is the one directing this bad boy. Meaning, he's in charge of dictating the positions. So, Shaun, baby, buddy, pal, honey cakes, bubala, let's get your greasy taint off the screen. Thanks a bunch. When Jutta David does finally climb on top of Shaun's pole, I was like: It's about time. And you know who else was relieved to finally get a look-see at Jutta's masterpiece of an ass? Everyone's favourite deranged Vietnam vet turned gas station attendant/serial rapist/serial killer, that's who.

That's right, if I can find solace in Shaun Costello's enema classic Waterpower (come for the sleazy, authentic 42nd Street atmosphere, stay for the lukewarm, taupe-coloured, rectal-flavoured water spewing all over Jamie Gillis' cock), I can find some motherfuckin' solace in Forced Entry, the film that has the distinction of being not only one of the roughest fuck films of the burgeoning porno chic era, but one of the first to exploit the Vietnam Vet as a movie villain.

When most people think of films that feature mentally disturbed Vietnam vets, they usually think of Taxi Driver. Well, Joe (Harry Reems)–I'm assuming he's the "Joe" in "Joe's Friendly Service," a gas station in West Greenwich Village–is way more out to lunch than Travis Bickle. For starters, Joe has no desire to clean up the streets. He seems simply wants chicks with nice bums to massage his penis with their mouths, is that too much to ask? What's that? I'm being told that is too much to ask.

Given that the freewheeling, free love vibe/stench of the late 1960s is still floating around out there, Joe probably could get his genitals serviced via conventional means. But I'm afraid his time in Vietnam has completely ruined his social skills. Though, I must say, his ability to acquire the personal information of the people, particularly the young, attractive women who roll into his station, is pretty first-rate. It's too bad this ability of his is only used to foster his two favourite hobbies: Rape and murder.

I would have liked to have added breaking and entering to his list of hobbies. But then again, as the first rape and murder scene clearly shows, Joe isn't all that adept when it comes to forcing his way inside the places of residence belonging to the ladies he plans on raping and murdering.

Unsure how to break into the apartment belonging to David (Shaun Costello) and his wife, oh, let's call her, Beatrice (Jutta David), Joe lingers on the fire escape for what seems like an eternity. Granted, he was probably waiting for David to unleash his moist load all over Beatrice's humdinger of a poop chute. But still, get in there, man.

It's obvious right off the bat that this isn't going to be your average porno flick. Opening with a wall of text that explains the definition of the term "Vietnam vet" and a quote from American psychiatrist and author Robert Lifton, those wanting to masturbate with any level of comfort better start thinking about looking elsewhere to find cinematic satisfaction.

Granted, you might be able to induce a self-administered climax with the help of the film's opening sex scene. But only after you have viewed it once already. Why? It's simple, really. When you watch David and Beatrice going at it the first time, you never know when Joe, who, like I said, is lurking on the fire escape, might decide to break in and chop both their heads off with that huge knife he's waving around. This makes it impossible for you to relax. Hence, ruining your chances of attaining a stress-free orgasm.

Sure, there are plenty of sick twists out there who can pretty much masturbate to anything. But most normal people will find Joe's presence to be too distracting. That's not to say your second viewing will be any easier. As I mentioned before, the sight of David's untoned pouch of scrotum skin knocking violently against Beatrice's anus is the only thing on the screen for what seems like forever. And this, no matter what context it's shown, will cause some audience members to remain flaccid for the scene's duration.

Lingering testes aside, the scene also features graphic footage from the Vietnam War, eerie music, light jazz, the sound of helicopters flying over head, Harry Reems in an oil-stained shirt acting like a lunatic and police sirens wailing the background. Oh, how I would have loved to have seen the raincoaters squirming in their seats when this film played on 42nd Street.

Of course, Joe isn't really terrible at breaking and entering, he was just waiting for David to leave, so he can have Beatrice all to himself. Holding a knife to her throat, Joe forces Beatrice to give him head. To make matters worse, this scene is spliced together with footage of dead children. If this scene didn't cause the raincoaters to run for the exits back in the day, then I have clearly underestimated their desperate need to see naked women on film.

After dispatching the cherub-faced goddess with the butt that doesn't know the meaning of the word quit, Joe goes back to the gas station. Like clockwork, another woman, let's call her, Judy (Laura Cannon), shows up, this time asking for directions. Writing down the address she was looking for on a piece of paper seconds after she drives off, Joe is on the move again.

Not messing around this time, Joe grabs Judy from the shower, and throws her on the bed. If you thought the scene with Beatrice was rough, you ain't seen nothing yet.

While the throat slitting effect was okay in terms of realism, the stabbing effect was downright horrific. It also helped that actress being stabbed was so committed to the scene. Hell, I'll just come right out and say it: Laura Cannon is an amazing actress. You really get the sense that she is being raped and murdered somewhere in Queens by a psychotic Vietnam Vet.

In an ironic twist, Joe's meets his match in the form of two aloof hippie chicks (played by the ultra-annoying Nina Fawcett and Ruby Runhouse). Employing the same credit card scam he used on Beatrice, Joe shows up at their house unannounced (I know, how rude) and tries to rape and murder these two "scummy hippies" who have just finishing dyking out on a ratty-looking mattress. The key word there being "tries." Proving that Joe feeds off his victim's fear, what happens when he attempts to rape and murder someone who doesn't behave in a manner that he's used to? And just like the raincoaters in the audience, Joe becomes bewildered when faced with events that deviant from the norm.

Despite all the unpleasantness, Forced Entry is a surprisingly compelling slab of early 1970s sleaze. Shot on location in New York City, the film features top-notch acting, highly effective gore and clever editing. If you enjoyed Waterpower, do all of us a favour and get your head examined immediately. Just kidding. Seriously, if you like your cinema gritty and nasty, you can't get any grittier or nastier than this film.

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).

video uploaded by trailerparkblood

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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