Corruption (Roger Watkins, 1984)

Blue stockings, red stockings, black stockings. Is there any significance to the order in which the stocking-clad women who greet a confused businessman in the ultra-creepy, ultra-weird Corruption? Why do blue stockings come before red stockings? And why do black stockings come last? Is the colour blue meant to represent something? Maybe the colour was used to give the scene a sort of a cool, detached flavour. In other words, you can looking at my legs encased in blue hold-up stockings, but don't you dare touch them. Yeah, that makes sense, as the next pair of nylon-clad legs are sheathed in red stockings. And we all know that red represents fire, the complete opposite of cool. What about black? Good question. What does black mean? Hey, sorry to interrupt this nylon-based chromatic dissertation you having with yourself, but isn't this kind of movie you're supposed to masturbate to? First of all, I wouldn't call what I was doing a "dissertation," they're way longer than a few sentences strung together; incoherent blather would be a more apt description. And secondly, "masturbate to"? Don't be vulgar. This film was made by Roger Watkins (The Last House on Dead End Street), one of the few visionaries working in the consecrated cesspool that is x-rated cinema. You don't masturbate to his films, you clasp your hands by your chin and nod ever-so slightly as you soak in the artistry. Nevertheless, getting back to my original point, there is definitely a hidden meaning behind the colours of the stockings. I mean, there has to be. And get this, the colour of the lingerie matches the walls as well. Don't tell me, is this one of those flicks where a character goes from room to room, having sex with scantily clad women along the way? It is, isn't it?
 

 

One of the pleasures of watching an x-rated film that was clearly made by an artist, and make no mistake, Roger Watkins is an artist, is picking out all the subtle details that the raincoat crowd would surely miss. Oh, that reminds me. One of the primary reasons I responded so positively to Corruption, besides the fact that the film features the pleasing shape that is Tish Ambrose's ass, was the fact that the so-called "raincoat crowd" (a.k.a. dedicated patrons of erotic movie houses) probably despised this film. And, no. It's not because they dislike things are awesome. Mainly because a pussy isn't penetrated by a penis until we're well into the production. Oh, sure, fingers and tongues come close on several occasions to hitting vaginal pay dirt in the early going. But the raincoat crowd is going to need to see a lot more than a slight labia dusting to achieve the liquid-based satisfaction they so wantonly crave.
 

 

And they're definitely not going to get it by watching the opening scene, as Mr. Williams (Jamie Gillis) tries to reassure a seated Mr. Franklin (Michael Gaunt, a.k.a. Larry the Lineman from A Woman's Torment) that he "believes in business." From the looks of it, Mr. Williams was given something by Mr. Franklin and his associates, and they seem to expect something in return. What it is they want from Mr. Williams exactly isn't quite clear. But I'm guessing it involves power. And what represented power during the 1980s? That's right, a nondescript briefcase. It doesn't matter what's in it, just as along as you're holding one.   
 

 

You know how I said that Mr. Franklin has "associates"? Well, it would seem that Mr. Williams has some as well. And one of these "associates" is entering a mysterious building while electronic music throbs on the soundtrack. The music heard during the build up to this scene sounds like it's from The Thing, but I'm not 100% sure about that. Anyway, this "associate," who is probably more of an errand boy that an associate, is actually a man called Alan (George Payne), and he's about to go on a strange erotic trip.
 

 

In order to go on this "strange erotic trip," he must first get past the "person behind the desk," a.k.a. "woman at desk." Played by Samantha Fox ("Lisa" from Her Name Was Lisa), the woman behind the desk confuses Alan with cryptic language. You'll notice that Samantha Fox is reading Cosima Wagner's Diaries 1878-1883. Which makes perfect sense since Roger Watkins'  porn nom de plume is Richard Mahler, an amalgamation of the names of classical composers Richard Wagner and Gustav Mahler. Well, enough about that, Alan is about to enter the first room. Why is he going in there? The woman behind the desk told him that if he wants what he's looking for, he's going to have to enter that room to get it. Okay, that sounds simple enough. Oh, you're so naive. I'm talking about Alan, not you, by the way.
 

 

Told immediately to sit down, Alan is greeted by the "Woman in Blue" (Tanya Lawson). And by "greeted." I mean she proudly flaunts her hairy pussy (which is beautifully framed by a pair of blue stockings) with much fanfare. Itching to show off her vagina in a more flattering light, the "Woman in Blue" sits down on a blue chair and spreads her legs (a surefire way to get your genitals more word of mouth). Instructing him to "do nothing," the "Woman in Blue" pulls down the breast-covering mechanism attached to her blue corset and begins playing with her nipples. When she's done doing that, she beckons him to smell her pussy; that's right, smell. When she feels that he has experienced everything her cunt has to offer odor-wise, the "Woman in Blue" pushes him away, and proceeds to finger herself for an extended period of time.
 

 

If you're confused by what just happened, you're not alone, as Alan seems more perplexed than ever. After the extended period of time I alluded to earlier runs out, the "Woman in Blue" informs Alan that what he's looking for is beyond that door. You mean? Yep, another room, and another colour-coordinated lingerie-enthusiast to contend with. This time it's a woman in red lingerie, oh, let's call her the "Woman in Red" (Marilyn Gee), who greets Alan. However, unlike the "Woman in Blue," the "Woman in Red" wants Alan to do more than smell her pussy. You guessed it, she wants him to eat it.
 

 

Sliding off her red panties in a gingerly fashion (she obviously doesn't want to disrupt the structural integrity of her equally red stockings), Alan seems to relish this opportunity to get his face smeared with vaginal wetness. His relish is rewarded when she puts his cock (the male equivalent of a pussy) in her mouth. Of course, she doesn't just leave it in there, she removes it every so often, like she was sucking on a Popsicle. As she is, as the kids like to say, "blowing him," Roger Watkins gets in touch with his inner Jess Franco by giving us a gratuitous leg pan. Just as he's about to deposit his load skyward, or downward, depending on the viscosity of his wad, the "Woman in Red" removes his cock, denying him the opportunity to spew his seed. What are you trying to say? Let me put this way, there will be no clean up necessary in the red room on this day.    
 

 

Even though the women who have greeted Alan so far have been alluring in terms of sex appeal, nothing could have prepared me for the shapely perfection that is Tish Ambrose's pale ass. If that wasn't enough, the scene where Alan meets the "Woman in Black" (Tish Ambrose) starts off with a top-notch synth flourish. Up there with the likes of Rinse Dream and Gregory Dark, Alan's "confrontation" with the "Woman in Black" is as dark and twisted as porn can get it. Oh, don't get me wrong, the sex itself is pretty straightforward. It's that the atmosphere is so off-kilter. Lounging in black stockings, the "Woman in Black" asks if Alan is ready to renounce love. See what I mean? There's no love in pornography.
 

 

In the 1980s, power was more important than love, so Alan has no trouble whatsoever renouncing it. In return for renouncing love, Alan is allowed to penetrate the "Woman in Black" with his long suffering penis. Before he does that, however, he removes her black panties, in a gingerly fashion, of course, and throws his face in the general direction of her clitoris. If you listen carefully, you can hear a mass sigh of relief fall over the audience when Alan's penis finally enters her vagina. In my mind, waiting eighteen minutes doesn't seem that long a time to wait for a penis to be inserted into a vagina. But to the raincoat crowd, it must have seemed like an eternity.  
 

 

As Alan plows into the "Woman in Black" doggy style (the blackness of her stocking's garters tear across her ashen thighs like crumpled bolts of polyester lightning with every thrust), it occurs to me that I need more Tish Ambrose in my cinematic life. Everything from her wide, expressive eyes to the birthmark on her left breast (they're nature's tattoos) was appealing. Nearing the end of his thrusting capacity, the "Women in Black" tells Alan, "Don't cum inside me!" After dispensing his future stain across her ample backside, she curtly instructs him to leave. Ending up back where he started, Alan notices a briefcase sitting on Samantha Fox's desk.   
 

 

Meanwhile, Mr. Williams, the guy who sent Alan on that crazy errand in this first place, is at home with his wife Doreen (Tiffany Clark). Since this film is technically a pornographic film, Jamie Gillis and Tiffany Clark have sex, but not before exchanging some esoteric dialogue. In order to placate said esoteric dialogue, a scene where Mr. Williams watches (through a crack in the door) his wife's younger sister, Felicia (Kelly Nichols), masturbate on her bed in purple panties and white hold-up stockings. While the scene with Felicia feels superfluous, it actually sets up her character and the voyeurism of the next few scenes rather nicely.
 

 

When Mr. Williams finds out what Alan has done (the contents of the briefcase are his), he heads down to a local bar to ask his half-brother, Larry (Bobby Astyr), for help. In keeping with the film's odd tone, the bar is a sort of a cross between the Bang Bang Bar in Twin Peaks: Fire Walk With Me and the joint from Café Flesh. Dancing on a stage is, to quote Larry, "a half-wasted broad shaking her ass," named...actually, she doesn't have a name. Well, despite that, she's played by Nicole Bernard, and she continues to dance as Mr. Williams and Larry discuss the whereabouts of Alan.  

 

Similar to the scenes where Alan goes from room to room, Larry takes Mr. Williams to a subterranean hallway that contains three red doors. Now, what lies behind these is not anyone's guess, as each door is equipped a reverse peephole. Telling Mr. Williams that he must watch what takes place behind each door before they can continue, the frustrated businessman is subjected to bathroom lesbianism (a wonderfully bruised Alexis X and Sabrina Vale); dungeon-based sadomasochism, a dominatrix in fishnet stockings (Melissa Strong) demands that a man in a leather mask lick her boots; and, believe or not, necrophilia. While the lesbianism behind door number one is a pleasant diversion, what Mr. Williams sees through the other two doors will cause him quite a bit of distress.
 

 

A true work of subversive art, Corruption, with its total and utter disregard for the needs and wants of your pathetic genitals, is a rare of example of what porn can become if put in the hands of a thoughtful director. On top of that, the acting by Jamie Gillis, Samantha Fox, Bobby Astyr, Michael Gaunt, and Vanessa del Rio (who shows up near the end of the film) is excellent across the board. I would compliment Tish Ambrose on her acting as well, but I was too busy admiring the smoothness of her backside to notice her acting. Just kidding, her lines are read with just the right amount of forcefulness.

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Her Name Was Lisa (Roger Watkins, 1980)

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Come With Me My Love (Doris Wishman, 1976)

I didn't know guys with hairy taints performed cunnilingus in 1925. But according to Come With Me My Love (a.k.a. The Haunted Pussy), it was being dolled out like copious amounts of cotton candy. Which reminds me, it's not everyday that you see an erotic horror film that includes a prologue that takes place in the 1920s. But then again, Doris Wishman isn't your everyday kind of filmmaker. She sees things from a decidedly cockeyed point-of-view, and this film is proof of that. A supernatural thriller interspersed with scenes involving sexual intercourse with ghosts, the film is an epic tale about lust, jealously, desire, and revenge. And just like her previous masterpiece (and I use the word "masterpiece" sheepishly with a dash of sincerity), Satan Was a Lady, this film, featuring the groundbreaking cinematography of C. Davis Smith, takes place entirely inside a modest apartment building located near the park. However, its premise is bold and daring. Covering the topic of life after death in a thoughtful and intelligent manner, the film begs the question: Do the curtains match the drapes? If you have ever had the pleasure of watching a Doris Wishman film, then you know that's a loaded question. The chances the curtains would match anything, let alone the drapes, is highly unlikely. You see, Miss Wishman likes play around with our perception of what constitutes tasteful interior design. Pushing the limits of home decor to the outer reaches of gaudiness, this film will test the integrity of your eyeballs. But don't worry erection/wetness fans, the film is also filled with the kind of mid-70s-style fucking and sucking that will keep the contents of your respective crotches on their crotchety toes. Just thought I'd throw that out there just in case anyone was worrying that the film was exclusively an exercise in tawdry feng shui.
 

 

There are three separate events that occur before the ghost of a spurned husband from the 1920s can begin to have sex with a drugged woman that looks exactly like his dead wife. First, the curtains begin to ripple as  the result of an eerie breeze. Second, we can't help but notice that the sky looks like it's on fire. And last but not least, the blurry shape of mustached man suddenly appears in front of a wall covered with garish red and white wallpaper. And judging by the number of times the dead guy from the twenties has sexual relations with the 1970s version of dead wife's doppelgänger, we're going to see a whole lot of that wallpaper.
 

 

Welcome to Kenmare City. Where? You know, Kenmare City. Actually, to be honest, I've never heard of Kenmare City. It says here that there's Kenmare in North Dakota. But nothing about a Kenmare City. Here's an idea, maybe Doris Wishman simply made it up. Anyway, it's 1925, and Randolph (Jeffery Hurst) is creeping up the stairs; the black and white picture quality is grainy to give the film a 1920s feel. Opening the door to his apartment, he stumbles upon his wife (Ursula Austin) canoodling in the buff with a guy (Terry Austin) who is supposedly Randolph's best friend. They don't see him standing there, so they continue to canoodle. After awhile their canoodling morphs into the realm of oral sex. Oral sex?!? In the 1920s?!? Blow jobs I can see, as men have always liked to have their cocks orally serviced. But cunnilingus?!? I'm telling you, I just can't picture it happening back then. Really? You can't picture men going down on women during the so-called roaring twenties? Okay, maybe you're right. Forget everything I just said about oral sex and 1920s.
 

 

Visibly annoyed, okay, more like, enraged, Randolph interrupts them, pulls out a gun (maybe he didn't "stumble upon" them, after all), announces his displeasure, and proceeds to shoot his best friend in the chest. You would think that this would be the moment when Randolph's wife would start to scream (she just watched the guy whose face was just all up in her pussy shot to death). But no, she throws her wedding ring off in disgust and basically tells Randolph to go fuck himself. As she did that, I thought to myself, yeah, you go, girl. After shooting her in the head, Randolph turns the gun on himself.
 

 

Welcome to Kenmare City... Hey, man, didn't you already say that? Can't a brother finish a sentence? I'm sorry, go ahead. Welcome to Kenmare City, it's 1976, and Abby (Ursula Austin) is walking up the stairs to her new apartment. Dressed like Little Edie from Grey Gardens and carrying the world's reddest suitcase, Abby enters her new digs, which we get a brief tour of thanks to a spinning camera shot.
 

 

Meanwhile, at another apartment building, a guyed named Patrick (Robert Kerman) and a blonde woman, oh, let's call her, Beatrice (Nancy Dare), are engaged in the 69 position, when Lola (Vanessa Del Rio) shows up. Asking if them if she can join them, Robert Kerman pulls his face out of Beatrice's ass and replies, "Sure, come on over." I don't know what these people have to do with the plot. Nevertheless, they provide the bulk of the non-ghost sex in this movie. Oh, I remember, Abby knows Lola somehow, and she calls her every now and then. It doesn't quite justify they're presence, but at least they're loosely connected to the story.
 

 

Since Abby can't call Lola on her phone (the one in her apartment isn't hooked up yet), she uses her neigbour's phone instead. And you know what that means? That's right, it's time for Annie Sprinkle to make her shapely presence felt. Yay! I love Annie Sprinkle! Oozing a naive exuberance, Annie plays Tess Albertino, Abby's helpful next-door neighbour, like her life depended on it. She does what? Yeah, she has urgency about her that practically screamed quiet desperation. If you say so.
 

 

Maybe it's the new apartment (the carpet is blood red) or maybe it's the eerie creaking noises, but either way, Abby is having trouble sleeping. Suddenly, a bottle of sleeping pills magically appear on her nightstand. Doing what any normal person would do, Abby takes one of the mysterious pills, removes her sea green nightie and goes to bed. What occurs next is a sight we're going to be quite familiar with by the time this film is over, and that is: Curtains, sky, wind, wallpaper, and ghost. When you see these five things show up in this order (the "wind" is usually represented by the sight of Abby's hair being jostled by a stiff breeze), you know you're about to see something truly out of this world. Or more specifically, tiny droplets of ghost jizz sloshing around on Abby's naturally flat stomach with nowhere to go.
 

Emerging from the red wallpaper, Randolph's ghost walks up to Abby's bed and begins to grope her flesh. Besides the fact that he came out of the wallpaper, how do you know he's a ghost? Well, for starters, Doris Wishman shows us what's being in reflected in Abby's mirror. And what do we don't see? We don't see two people engaging in a raucous bought of mid-1970s-style sexual intercourse, we only see Abby, who, according to her mirror, appears to be hugging/humping no-one. The sight of Abby having sex with the air is hands down the film's most haunting image.
 

 

Wandering in the dark with only a candle guide her way (the lights in her apartment stopped working for some strange reason), Abby is trying to find the fusebox. What she finds instead is Tess' Movie Date (Levi Richards), who startles her by grabbing her arm. Taking him back to her apartment, Abby offers to get Tess' Movie Date a drink. She makes it all but four feet, when Tess' Movie Date grabs her again (this Tess' Movie Date guy, he's one grabby motherfucker), and steers Abby the direction of  her bedroom where they engage in, you guessed it, a raucous bought of mid-1970s-style sexual intercourse.
 

 

If you're wondering what Tess doing during all this. Wonder no more, because I'm totally about to tell you...for some inexplicable reason. Waiting in her apartment for Tess' Movie Date to show up, Tess, who looks sexy in a slinky black dress, taps her fingers on her hips and paces back and forth like a caged animal. Call me someone who is one gourd sort of a six pack, but I'd rather watch Annie Sprinkle act frustrated in a gaudily furnished apartment, than watch Levi Richard's unkempt ball sack bounce around inside Ursula Austin's mouth.
 

 

She might not kill with her cunt, but terrible things seem to happen to all those who enter its gaping expanse. Case in point, Tess' Movie Date leaves Abby's apartment the following morning, and goes home. While Abby did a pretty good job washing his genitals, you should really take a bath, you know, just to be on the safe side. Only problem is, your radio is sitting on the edge of your bath tub. Meaning, you're practically inviting a jealous ghost, one who is none too pleased that you just had sex with a woman who looks exactly like his dead wife from 1920s, to push the radio in the water. Oh, Tess' Movie Date, when will you ever learn?
 

 

Am I crazy, or does the 69 position really bring out the luster in Ursula Austin's thighs? What's that? You're saying I am crazy?!? Interesting. And here I thought I was being perfectly sane. At any rate, the curtains, the wind, the sky, the wallpaper, and the ghost return, as Abby is visited yet again by Randolph's phantom cock.
 

 

Oh, and don't feel sorry for Tess. Sure, she was stood up by Tess' Movie Date, but she has plenty of suitors who want to rake her proverbial cornfield. Inviting a slab of brainless man-candy (Roger Caine) over to fuck her on a drawer, Tess gets the ripe dicking she deserves. Even though the wallpaper nearly steals the scene, nothing beats the sight of Annie Sprinkle in black stockings, chunky black shoes, and a black garter belt. Nothing, I tell you. Nothing!
 

 

In the film's most bizarre sequence, Abby wanders the park during a blizzard. If the weather wasn't bad enough, some ponce starts throwing snowballs at her. What? Yeah, snowballs. Three to be exact. You're being inundated with paranormal penis on a nightly basis, so you go to the park to clear your head. When you get there, this asshole decides use you as target practice. That's some fucked up shit, if you don't mind my saying so. To make matters worse, when she gets home, a wedding ring suddenly appears on her finger. And, of course, she can't seem to remove it.
 

 

The curtains, the wind, the sky, the wallpaper, and the ghost appear four more times before all is said and done, as more hairy balls are gargled and more people end up dead. With Ernie Hudson nowhere in sight, will Abby be able to resist the horny ghost who lives inside her wallpaper? Who's to say, but Come With Me My Love is Doris Wishman at her most sinister. An erotic horror classic for the ages, the film is a must-see for fans of hairy taints, hairy balls, hairy vaginas, let's just say, hairy everything. Though, Annie Sprinkle's pussy is surprisingly hairless, and... Let me start over. If you like a pinch of horror with your porn, then you will want to go see Come With Me My Love. If this film is not currently playing at your local erotic theatre, make sure you tell the manager that you want them to screen Come With Me My Love.

The Devil in Miss Jones 3: A New Beginning (Gregory Dark, 1986)

A lively debate about the difference between a "hoe," a slender tool used mainly for gardening purposes, and a "ho," a derogatory term used to describe a woman who is drawn to the seminal fluid of others, is just one of the many unexpected treats to be found lurking underneath all the untoward thrusting and exhausted panting in The Devil in Miss Jones 3: A New Beginning, Gregory Dark's epically bizarre interpretation of an adult classic. Fully aware that I have not seen the original Devil in Miss Jones from 1973, or, for that matter, the Henri Pachard-directed sequel, I've elected to skip forward to part three for a number of reasons. First and foremost, I was so impressed with the Dark Brother's New Wave Hookers, that I decided that I would pretty much watch anything he made during that particular era–even something with a title like, "Let Me Tell Ya 'Bout White Chicks." Secondly, the film features the exceedingly luscious presence of Lois Ayres, who, as far as I'm concerned, is the unofficial face of 1980s. The look she sports throughout this film perfectly encapsulates the stylistic temperament of the decade. Using words that are different than the ones I just typed, it is safe to say that the decision to bypass the first two chapters was a relatively easy one.

Blissfully unaware of what I was about to get myself into, it turns out the combination of Gregory Dark and Lois Ayres was so potent, that I almost had a new wave-induced body fever before the opening credits had even finished...crediting. It's true, I had readied myself beforehand like I usually do with some mild stretching exercises followed by a long, vigorous bike ride through the suburban nether regions of my mind. But nothing could have prepared me for the sight of Lois Ayres (also spelled "Ayers") showering to the awesome strains of "A Christian Girls Problem" by The Gleaming Spires. "I am talking serious drugs / I am talking mental health..."

The camera carefully follows Lois's cleansing motions as she washes every nook and cranny of her tantalizing frame. The sequence also gives us the viewer the chance to familiarize ourselves with her organic structure, which is important because we'll be seeing a lot of it the course of the next seventy-something minutes.

After the shower, we learn that Lois Ayres is playing Justine Jones, a woman who it turns out is the focal point of a some sort of documentary that involves former classmates, ex-boyfriends, clergymen, family members, and others being interviewed by an unseen man with a probing voice. An ex of Justine's named Bill (Tom Byron) is the first to be questioned and tells the mystery man an anecdote about an argument they had over the phone. You see, while Bill was talking, he was also lathering up the crotch of a woman in white lingerie (Jennifer Noxt). With a pink razor in one hand and a telephone in the other, Bill pathetically attempts to do both things at once. As expected, the former wins out as the activity Bill's simple mind would most like to focus on. Hairless in an instant thanks to this wanton act of pubic desecration (cunt-ruining reprobate), Bill's erect penis can be seen burrowing itself inside her many openings with the enthusiasm of an agitated mongoose.

Frustrated by Bill's insistence on fornicating with women who are not her, Justine's heads out to a local tavern. However, before she can go in, she is verbally accosted by a pimp ("crazy ass white bitch!"). Anyway, the scenes on the street and in the bar are the first where we really get a chance to appreciate the immensity of Lois's awesome hairstyle. The way her platinum blonde follicles seemed to reach out toward the sky was awe-inspiring. Complimented by a colourful dress and a saucy pair of red gloves, Justine looked like a cross between Margaret from Liquid Sky and Christina Moser from the Italian new wave group Krisma, particularly during their Clandestine Anticipation period.

Once at the bar, Justine meets a stood up groom in white (Paul Thomas). After some friendly banter, the two of them end up in bed together. Except, they don't sleep, their swollen genitals wind up hammering out an acceptable compromise with one another. I found the groom in white's gentle fondling of Justine's bright red stockings to be entirely satisfying. It was a rare tender moment in a film full of intrusive, ungentle prodding.

The slow motion shot of Justine's hindquarters undulating under the weight of the groom's thrusting bureaucracy was not included in order to crank up the titillation factor, but to accentuate the minor tragedy that was about to unfold. Crashing headfirst into her bed's purple headboard, Justine wakes up alone and naked in a very dark place. After some moments of semi-consciousness, Justine finds herself unwittingly discussing the mysterious allure of homonyms with a demented man dressed in clear plastic. It turns out Justine is in Hell, a fabricated netherworld full of fire and a smattering of brimstone, and the guy in plastic (Jack Baker) is her guide. Of course, she doesn't believe this for a second and demands that she be shown the way home.

The overt strangeness of The Devil in Miss Jones 3: A New Beginning really starts to come through once the Hell Guide's human horses start screwing. The Hell Guide rode in on a female horse (Chanel Price) and when he's ready take Justine to the first room of Hell, he calls a male horse (Steve Powers) and instructs him to stick his phallus in her lilac-scented poop chute. At first, I thought he was speaking metaphorically, but that's exactly what he ends up doing. This scene doesn't really exploit Chanel's 6ft. 3inch frame (being a horse, she spends most of her time on her hands and knees), which is a shame, but it does emphasize her wonderfully large rear-end, boast multiple participants in fingerless gloves, and features equine-based sound effects.

Entering the first room of Hell, Justine and her guide witness a place where voyeurs are forced to watch others have intercourse until the end of time. Torn fishnets and some strenuous spooning are the highlights of this room's first encounter, one that sees Marc Wallice and Careena Collins getting all up in each other's beefy junk like nobody's business. Only problem being that Marc's upside down banana dick didn't seem to want to remain ensnared inside Jennifer's precisely tuned vagina. The second encounter sees one woman–a silver pump-wearing Amber Lynn, who tosses her fingerless glove out of the arena with a breathless panache–take on two poles at once. A reinvigorated Marc Wallice and a buff Peter North (Party Doll A Go-Go!) insert their man-things simultaneously, causing a bit of a fleshy impasse. Nevertheless, the transvestite in the wedding dress, Justine's college roommate (Kari Foxx), and the three guys in tuxedos watching seem extra excited by the coordinated poking transpiring in front of them. And, of course, I liked the way the perspiration on Amber's red-hot thighs seemed to glimmer in the murkiness of the unflattering light.

Coming face-to-deformed-face with the unsavoury realm of the Slutmen, Justine is about to enter the film's most disturbing room. Animalistic in nature, the Slutmen are the definition of cloaked debasement. Their nasty charm entices Justine to the point where she winds up allowing two of them to ejaculate sperm on her. Thankfully, her wily Hell Guide steps in before she becomes addicted to their sticky deluge. You see, unlike the room where you spend eternity watching sex, this room, where the Slutman is king, you are forced to have degrading sex with them for, you guessed it, an eternity. It also explains why Justine and her Hell Guide are wearing plastic; it's basically raining cum in there.

Having sex forever is exactly what happens to Vanessa De Rio's Mandy (a woman who was in the same aerobics class as Justine). The sequence that follows is an unpleasant enterprise involving five Slutmen taking turns violating Mandy's ample, candy-flavoured clitoris. The pig noises, the gold chains, the deformed faces, and the general moistness of this scene all combined to create something that was truly sick and twisted.

The topless aura of Lois Ayres's bare performance reminded me of a lot of that other great topless performance by Gisele Lindley as the Princess from the Forbidden Zone. Sure, others have been topless in movies before, and, sure, I have a tendency to reference Gisele's blouse-free work in the Richard Elfman directed classic a little too often, but it takes a special brand of actress to be able to not have their performance overshadowed by their perpetual toplessness. The ability to create an air of nonchalance surrounding one's unclothed upper torso is an innate skill, much like, macramé or synthesizer repair.

Having only seen Lois Ayres in photographs and the odd movie clip, I was delighted to finally hear the sound of her non-moaning voice. I was afraid Lois's appeal was going to be limited to the boldness of her killer look, but all that seemed to melt away the moment she began hurling insults at the creeps trying to grope her cookies as she made her way to the bar.

She had a snotty intelligence about her that elevated the proceedings beyond your typical girl goes to Hell, fucks a bunch of guys flick. Her un-PC give-and-take with Jack Baker was hilarious at times and everything from their exchange about poet Robert Frost to their homonym debate ("Do I look like a garden tool to you?") crackled with an unforeseen sharpness. This sharpness came as a bit of a relief, because the film ends with a cliffhanger, and you know what that means? That's right, there's a part four. Woo-hoo?

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