Kamikaze 1989 (Wolf Gremm, 1982)

Damn, it's cold! Who knew the winters (hell, the springs, too) in Canada could be so chilly? Speaking of which, whose bright idea was it to continue removing my arm hair throughout the winter months? Brrrr. What's that? Yeah,  dysphoria is a real thing and it doesn't simply go away once it starts getting colder. I know, I could just put on a sweater... Wait a minute, if I had a leopard print blazer like the one Rainer Werner Fassbinder sports as Polizeileutnant Jansen in Kamikaze 1989, that would solve all my problems. What I mean is, if I owned a leopard print blazer, I could express myself through fashion and remain warm at the same time. Win-win. Anyway, this West German film, based on the book, Murder on the Thirty-first Floor by Per Wahlöö, about a 50-something detective working in a grim yet stylish totalitarian state is a... Huh? You're telling me Rainer Werner Fassbinder isn't 50-something. He was actually 37 when he shot this? Really? Wow, kudos to the makeup department for making Fassbinder look so much older than he really is. You say he's not wearing makeup? Hmm. Well, let that be a lesson for all you kids out there. If you continue to smoke and drink booze to excess, you'll end up looking like Rainer Werner Fassbinder does in this movie. Don't get me wrong, the movie is a visual/audio feast to behold, it's just that Fassbinder doesn't look so good. It's true, he would die soon after filming this Wolf Gremm-directed movie. But still. It's a stark reminder to take better care of yourself.

When Polizeileutnant Jansen tells Anton (Günther Kaufmann), a fellow detective, to: "Refrain from unnecessary remarks" for the very first time during the first of their many conversations, I thought: Huh, that's a nicest way I've ever heard to tell someone to shut the fuck up. When he instructs others to "Refrain from unnecessary comments" and "Refrain from unnecessary questions," I thought: I love this guy. Sure, his scraggly beard was mildly triggering. But as far as being an onscreen detective goes, I dig Jansen's style.

In his defense, he does make a, if feeble, attempt to trim his scraggly beard at one point.

Nevertheless, telling people to refrain from using extraneous phrases while saying words out loud while wearing a leopard print jacket and leopard print trousers is, you have to admit, pretty bad-ass.

Did I mention that the handle of his snub-nosed revolver is leopard print as well? Yeah, well, it totally is.

It should be noted though that Jansen's kooky blazer game isn't limited to the gruff detective. No, it would seem that the entire country of Germany, which has apparently unified in 1989, has gone kooky blazer mad.

In fact, I don't think I spotted a single drab, ho-hum or bland blazer during the entire film's running time.

It wouldn't surprise me to learn that the film's wardrobe department didn't plunder the wardrobe of The Apple, as a lot of the outfits worn throughout Kamikaze '89 had a distinct disco science fiction vibe/stench about them. And, as you know, The Apple was shot in West Germany, well, West Berlin. Which makes my theory even more plausible.

Actually, if I had to compare Kamikaze '89 to just two movies, I would have to say, The Apple and Blade Runner are the two that spring to mind immediately. Yes, there's some A Clockwork Orange sprinkled here and there as well. But the tone and look are purely The Apple and Blade Runner. Which, of course, is a good thing.

A hard-boiled detective story set in a garish cyberpunk universe, Kamikaze '89 will have retro futurism enthusiasts scrambling to suck on their inhalers. Granted, the story itself is a tad convoluted. In other words: Refrain from unnecessary complexities.

Let's see, the plot involves a plot to blow up the head quarters that belong to a ruthless tyrannical entity known simply as "The Combine." Brought in to help solve this mystery is Polizeileutnant Jansen, a cop who is considered to be the best in the business. Sure, he's a little rough around the edges, but if there's anyone who can penetrate the shadowy confines of The Combine, it's Jansen.

Of course, the further he penetrates these confines, the more confusing things become. While the confusion that inevitably comes might be a turn off, the film is never not interesting to look at. Nor is it never not interesting to listen to, as the soundtrack by Edgar Froese is a synth-lovers dream.

Along with top-notch production values, a fascinating lead performance by Fassbinder... Wait... Fascinating? Fassbinder? That was totally not on purpose. Ugh. Where was I? Oh, yeah. The film looks and sounds amazing. Highly recommended.

(What about those gender non-specific assassins?) Yes. Thanks for reminding me. Yeah, these assassins try to rub out our unhealthy-looking hero at one point and they do so while wearing ski-masks and stockings.

Well, one is wearing black fully-fashioned stockings, and the other is wearing what looks like black fishnet pantyhose. I can't believe I almost forgot to mention that scene. I'd go as far as to say it alone makes this film worth watching. But like I said in the above paragraphs, there's so much to savor in this film.

The Backdoor Club (Jack Remy, 1985)

While the anus-loosening methods used by the A-Busters in White Bunbusters to get American women to open the final section of their large intestines to penis traffic might seem crude by comparison, their European brethren in Jack Remy's The Backdoor Club are just as dogged when it comes to getting their cocks thoroughly shellacked by womanly butt-juice. Of course, like in the Dark Brothers classic, most American women don't want dicks in their asses. However, instead of calling up some shady operation on the outskirts of town (one that promises to send over the finest door-to-door anal rapists forty dollars can buy), you have to physically get on a plane and fly all the way over to Munich, West Germany if you ever want your forlorn penis to see the inside of your wife/girlfriend's flawless rectum. I know, you're probably thinking to yourself: What kind of person would go through all that trouble just to fuck his wife or girlfriend in the ass? Well, for starters, these aren't "people" we're talking about here, they're men. In other words, they will do just about anything if they think it will benefit their revolting cocks. And secondly... No, that just about covers it. I've said it once and I'll say it again: Men love holes.

And one of their favourite holes is, you guessed it, the human anus. Clamoring for free access to the fleshy canals for centuries, men have always been curious about the opening next to the vagina/ball-sack.

Since European men have been clamoring for free access for much longer, European women are more willing to indulge their anal fantasies. In American, however, anal sex between consenting adults has always been frowned upon. The nation's puritan origins obviously played a large role in explaining why anal sex isn't as popular as it should be. But the fact you can't get pregnant via anal sex has something to do with it as well. You see, in order to replace the native population that they had just slaughtered, the white people who would eventually call themselves Americans came to the conclusion that vaginal intercourse, not kinky ass play, was the best way to increase their numbers.

While the European population was busy butt-fucking and fighting wars (a population killer if there ever was one), Americans were having tons of state-sanctioned, baby-producing vaginal intercourse.

You might not realize it by looking at it, but The Backdoor Club encapsulates the gaping divide that exists between Europe and America when it comes to sex. (It can't be that simple, can it?) Um, in the movie, the film's three Euro-porn starlets are fucked in the ass, the film's three American porn starlets are not.

Oh, sure, multiple attempts are made to coerce the Americans into letting the likes of Gabriel Pontello and Sascha Atzenbeck fuck them in their asses, but the Americans' cheeks remain clenched.... closed for business.

After taking us on a tour of the streets of Munich (the decision to use the video camera's blurring effect during this sequence was ill-advised), and delighting us with the film's on the cusp of being catchy theme song by "Galaxy" ("Slip in through the back door, like a thief in the night!"), the singer, by the way, sounds like Nina Hagen, if she had a head cold, The Backdoor Club gets down to business by showing an American couple, Tony (Herschel Savage), a dumpy palooka, and Sadie (Danielle Martin), a lithe blonde, entering the "Backdoor Club," a lavishly furnished home complete with expensive-looking artwork on the walls and fancy couches.

Reluctant to have her ass penetrated by a throbbing rock hard dick, Sadie manifests her unwillingness by pouting on a white couch (this couch, in case you're wondering, is the film's least fancy).

Noticing Sadie's childish antics are another couple, Horst (Gabriel Pontello) and Missy (Taija Rae), who are sitting nearby. Since I can't understand a word Horst says, I can't tell you what he asks Missy. That being said, I'm going to go ahead and assume that his query was butt-sex-related, as her response goes something like this: "Are you serious? My asshole is doing flip-flops." What does that mean, I thought to myself. Either way, the dialogue I did understand is clunky, and I can't wait for them to stop saying words out loud to one another.

Even though they say a few words here and there (ugh), the scene where Backdoor Club's butler, Hans (Sascha Atzenbeck) has sex on a table with two Backdoor employees, Gretchen (Christine Level) and Rachel (Tracey Adams), wearing satin garter-belts is up next. And it's here where we get our first taste of the film's continental divide when it comes to anal sex, as Tracey Adams' asshole goes conspicuously un-fucked during this scene. Come to think of it, I don't think Tracey Adams' character actually works there. I mean, it doesn't make sense for a woman who doesn't do anal to work at a brothel that specializes in anal sex.

When Sadie asks Horst if he's an "old hand," she realizes right away that she needs to dumb things down a shade. Gesturing toward her asshole, Sadie asks Horst, "Does it hurt"? To which Horst responds: "You mean, ass-fucking"? I'll admit, that line caused me to make a laughing sound. The combination of Gabriel Pontello's broken English combined with the fact that he's a terrible actor is probably the film's strongest non-stocking element.

Oh, what's that? I haven't mentioned the stockings yet. How strange. Well, it's a given that all the female performers wear stockings. After all, the film is European (stockings and Euro-porn go hand in hand). So, you won't be getting any complaints from me. Anyway, I have to say, the fully-fashioned stockings attached to Danielle Martin's beautiful legs are pretty much perfect. Everything from the colour (jet black), to the thickness of the nylon, to the size of the seams was absolute delight. 10/10!

It also helped that Danielle wore a red dress with red strappy heals, as I thought they went well with her black stockings.

As for Taija Rae (the reason I watched this film in the first place). She isn't really given that much do. Sure, it's 1985 (the height of her shapeliness) and her thighs look amazing as usual. But watching Herschel Savage anal shame Taija Rae as he plowed into her vagina doggie-style kinda ruined the mood.

Hey, Herschel. Do you mind not asking Taija Rae every other hump if she wants your dick in her ass, it's hampering my ability to appreciate the hypnotic ripple effect your pedestrian thrusts are causing to occur on the surface area of her sublime mid-80s buttocks. Seriously, one of my favourite things in the whole world is to watch the flesh on Taija Rae's ass ripple as a direct result of being fucked, and you're ruining it.

While the editing of the final scene is, let's just say, off-putting (four sex scenes are slapped together in a haphazard manner - video editing at its worst), you can't undermine Danielle Martin's sex appeal. Doing it with some guy who looks like Paul Bernardo on one of them fancy couches I alluded to earlier, Danielle (after some of the most awkward dialogue I've ever heard - it made me want to crawl underneath my non-fancy couch) gets fucked in the hole of her choice. And that is, of course, her vagina.

Should more American women allow their anuses to be fodder for erect penises? Who's to say? All I know is this: Don't let guys named Horst force you insert things in places that you don't want things... inserted.