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.

The Pussywillows (Bobby Hollander, 1985)

I don't know why it took me so long to get off my butt and review this erotic masterpiece. But here it is, the one everyone has been patiently waiting for, my review of Bobby Hollander's The Pussywillows! Yep, all you hardcore Pussywillow fanatics (or Pussywillowers, that's what you like to be called, right?) can rest easy, as I just watched The Pussywillows, and I, of course, plan on reviewing the shit out of it. I think the reason it took me so long to review it has a lot to do with the film's complex plot. Which, to the uninitiated, can be a tad impenetrable. In order to prevent this from happening to me, I decided to penetrate the film multiple times from a multitude of different angles. After awhile, I kinda lost count how many times I penetrated this film. But if you were to corner me in an alleyway, I would have to say that I must have penetrated The Pussywillows at least nine times. Now, you're probably thinking to yourself: Wow, nine times! That's a lot of penetrating... your eyes must be exhausted. It's funny you should mention my eyes being tired, as my right peeper was itchy and dry during my last viewing of the film. Anyway, it turns out that nine, or close to nine, is the perfect amount of times to penetrate this film, as its so-called "complex plot" started to finally make sense to me.

Let's see if I can breakdown the film's "complex plot" in less than twenty words. Okay, here it goes: 'An all-girl jazz rock septette show up a television studio to shoot a music video for a sleazy producer.' What's that? You say I managed to do it in nineteen? Well, whatta ya know? I guess the film's "complex plot" isn't that complex after all.

I think the thing that threw me the most, especially during viewings one through eight, was the fact I had no idea who played who.
  

Dressed in their street clothes when they arrive (two in short shorts, three in cut-off jean shorts and two in short skirts), I had a difficult time pairing the Pussywillows who enters the studio (they look like they had just walked off the set of a Roger Corman movie circa 1976)  with the new wave-tinged Pussywillows they would eventually become.

Now, you wouldn't think a little hairspray wouldn't make that much difference, so much so, that you couldn't recognize them. But that's just the thing, they didn't use "a little hairspray," these chicks were dipped upside down in a giant vat of the stuff; the members of Vanity 6 would have looked at them and said: Whoa, ladies, take it down a notch... you look like a bunch of gaudy tramps.

When Bobby Hollander's The Pussywillows ("A Bobby Hollander Feature Video") opens, we actually see the finished product; a bold move, if you ask me. What I mean is, the music video the band spend the bulk of the film working on is shown at the beginning. A lot of films use this technique (reverse chronology, I think it's called), but I didn't expect it from The Pussywillows. And that's just the thing, The Pussywillows is full of surprises.

Almost experimental at times, The Pussywillows ("Music that looks as good as it sounds," reads the tag line) is a film that doesn't play by rules. Some times appearing as if it was shot using a wall-mounted security camera, other times it had a more polished feel to it (i.e. shots were in focus), the film seems like its toying with our preconceived notion of what cinema means.

After a five minute sneak preview of the finished music video, we're shown the moment when the band arrive at the office of Ray Hardin (Ray Wells), a slimy piece of shit who fancies himself as the next Quincy Jones, but in reality, he's more like Kim Fowley, the notorious manager for The Runaways.

Chaos reigns almost immediately, as the seven member band stand around in short shorts and equally short skirts. It's a good thing the direction of this particular scene is so piss poor, as the sight of so much legginess would have been too much for me. This, by the way, is one of the scenes that looks like it was shot with a wall-mounted security camera. While that doesn't sound appealing at all, it does give the film a documentary feel.

Promising to turn them into the next Go-Gos (or Banarama), Ray, while gesturing pompously towards the gold records that cover his wall, tells the women that they could go far in this business... with the right cooperation.

Just as the ladies are about to leave Ray's office, Cheri Janvier, the band's baritone sax player, asks how long it will take for them to "make it." Clearly irritated by her question, Ray reiterates that  it's ultimately up to them whether they succeed or not.

While I thought Cheri's question was dumb, Ray's irritation was mostly due to the fact he couldn't wait have sexual intercourse with Andrea (Jessica Longe), the band's bass player.

Now, there are many theories floating around on the film's many fan sites and forums as to why he chose her out of all The Pussywillows, but I think he chose her simply because she was the one he found to be the most attractive.

As Ray and Andrea are going at it in his office (I liked the way Ray used Andrea's long, Atlanta-reared legs for thrusting leverage), we see the other members skanking up the joint something fierce in their newly acquired new wave hooker clothes.

And the one skanking it up the most is Susan Hart, the band's trumpet player, who does a sexy, cunt-heavy dance routine in a pair of camouflage/animal print stockings.

It's during Ray and Andrea's post-coital awkwardness that we get a brief glimpse into the inner workings of the band. And I have to say, after listening to Susan Hart, Cheri Janvier, Robin Cannes, the band's drummer, and Miss Sweden Kaj, the band's keyboard player (she uses an Emulator) talk about their new outfits for just a few minutes, there's no way their dialogue was scripted. It must have been improvised, as you can't plan that kind of clumsiness.

That being said, expressing thoughts using words is not what the band is about. No, The Pussywillows are about looking hot and junk. And while Susan Hart is definitely the biggest skank, no one can touch Misty Regan when it comes to pure, unadulterated sexiness. Playing Misty, the band's guitar player, Miss Regan, who looks like a new wave princess with punk and goth overtones, grabs the movie by the throat and never let's go.

In terms of excelling at being a fake musician, I have to give major props to Cheri Janvier for her semi-convincing sax playing. Wearing a pinkish body stocking, the sight of the bubble-butted Cheri blowing on her sax is one of the film's most indelible images.

At the opposite end of the spectrum is Robin Cannes, who has to be one of the most rhythmically challenged women ever. Whoever thought it was a good idea to cast her as the band's drummer needs to have their head examined. On the bright side, her lack of rhythm didn't seem to have an effect on her ability to ride Marc Wallice's cock all the way to Fucktown, population: 1 Excellent orgasm.

What's weird about Susan Hart, besides the fact that wishes she could play her trumpet with her pussy, is that none of the music in the film features the trumpet. Nevertheless, the music heard throughout The Pussywillows is, believe or not, pretty good. My favourite being, of course, the ZZ Top parody, which features Misty Regan in a fake beard and fishnet stockings.

To help us get that disturbing image out of her heads, we're given a lesbian scene between Misty and Cheri, followed by a three-way that introduces Ray Wells' cock to the Misty/Cheri mix. Shot mainly from above, the protracted scene where Ray pounds Misty's perfectly coiffed vagina is hands down the film's hottest. Oh, and, by the way, did anyone else think Misty Regan looked like a grown up version of the punk girl from the Art of Noise video for "Close (To The Edit)"? I would ask the people on the Pussywillows fan sites and forums, but those things, I'm sad to say, don't really exist.