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.

Pretty Peaches 2 (Alex de Renzy, 1987)

While I would love to say that I haven't seen such a pronounced spattering of semen since my days as a male prostitute. I can't because I've never been a male prostitute. Oh, sure, I used to fuck guys for money (in bus station men's rooms to be unnecessarily specific), but that was for charity (Reach Arounds for Cancer Research to be, again, unnecessarily specific). What was the point I was trying to make? Oh yeah, whitish secretions of the moist kind. Now, I've seen pools of cum coagulating in pornography in the past, but the quality of the picture has always prevented me from admiring the goo's innate viscosity. The reason for this can usually be attributed to laziness on the part of the people in charge of releasing this so-called "pornography" to the masses. In their greedy little minds, they figure the saps who like these kinds of movies won't care if their precious pornography is simply transferred from worn out videocassettes. The result: Lackluster porn. That being said, when you think of restoring old movies to their original luster, stuff like, The Red Shoes, Metropolis or The Whoopee Boys probably come to mind. Well, the fine folks at Vinegar Syndrome are trying to change all that, as they, for some strange reason, have lovingly restored Alex de Renzy's Pretty Peaches 2, which looks freakin' amazing. And...

You see that? (What?) Look at the way I said, "for some strange reason." It would seem that even someone like me is having trouble understanding the logic of restoring Pretty Peaches 2.

Not to worry, though, I don't feel that way anymore, as I have just witnessed classic (shot on 35mm film) hardcore pornography the way it was meant to be seen.

Which brings us back to cum. When I saw how vivid that pool of recently expelled spunk looked as it lay all over Tracey Adams' mid-to-late '80s stomach in the film's opening sex scene, a single manly tear fell from my eye. And believe me, it was a pool; the cum languishing on Tracey Adams' mid-to-late '80s stomach, not my single manly tear.

Of course, it should come as no surprise to anyone with eyes or genitals that the pool of recently expelled spunk used to belong to Peter North, as the Halifax born actor is renowned for giving forth an extra helping of the creamy joy juice.

Anyway, you gotta hand it to Alex de Renzy, as only as an artist of his caliber would be able to weave Peter North's generous wad into the film's plot with such an effortless elan. Oh, I'm sure countless other films have played up the vast size of Mr. North's wad, but I've never seen one do so in a manner that seemed so plausible.

When the film opens, Peter North, who, of course, plays Bobby (he's such a Bobby), is trying to penetrate the pussy that belongs to Peaches (Siobhan Hunter), his dimwitted girlfriend. The reason he's trying to penetrate her in this fashion is because it's one of the best ways for a man to achieve an orgasm. Granted, there are countless methods at a man's disposal (trust me, I should know - I must have raised at least a million dollars for cancer research via butt-fucking), but I have found that most of men prefer vaginal intercourse. And it looks like Bobby is no different in that regard.

Unfortunately for Bobby, Peaches' mother, Eunice Goldbloom (Tracey Adams), doesn't seem to care about his impending orgasm, and tells her daughter to go to bed (their sex noises are disturbing her something fierce). Not one to disobey her mother, Peaches manages to cram Bobby's rock hard cock into his jeans and sends him packing.

Speaking of cramming things, I liked how Peaches stuffs her panties (her white panties) in her shoe; she may be dimwitted, but she knows how to... put her panties (her white panties)... in her shoe. That doesn't make a lick of sense. Either way, Peaches' panties (her white panties) are in her penny loafers (the left one, I think) as she goes upstairs.

After Bobby supposedly leaves, Eunice continues to remove her womanly accoutrements (bracelets, earrings, garter belt, stockings, etc.) with a haughty grace.

Unbeknownst to her, but Bobby is watching her remove her womanly accoutrements. That's right, he never left, and is hiding behind the curtains. Hearing a slight rattling sound coming from the window, a now naked Eunice grabs a knife and investigates.

After Eunice scolds Bobby for being a peeping tom, she forces him to remove his clothes (it's what chicks named Eunice do). At around this time, Eunice notices that Bobby has "lovers nuts." Engorged with enough fluid to fill at least five reasonably priced kiddy pools, Eunice decides to help Bobby some extract some of this "fluid" by employing her mouth and vagina as temporary receptacles for his throbbing, overstuffed man-junk.

Who wants to name the multitude of jizz rivers that are currently snaking their way along the surface of Tracey Adams' abdomen? Anybody? Clean up on Tracey Adams' tummy!

Frustrated that her mother refuses to tell anything about sex, Peaches decides to ask Stanley (Herschel Savage), her former step dad, for advice. Showing up at his office in a red top paired with a yellow skirt, Peaches begs her former step dad to teach her about sex. For a second there it looked like Stanley was contemplating giving his former step daughter a private lesson, but less pervy heads prevail. Instead, Stanley tells Peaches to "ask around" and most importantly, "don't be a tease... no-one likes a tease."

"Golly, daddy... that's some excellent advice," she cheerfully replies. The manner in which Siobhan Hunter says the word "daddy" is so unsavoury, that it will cause you to run down to the nearest police station to register yourself as a sex offender.

Since the film hasn't had a sex scene in at least two minutes, we're given a quick one when Stanley calls over his secretary, Miss Wilson (Tammy White), to "discuss" something important. What transpires is your standard office sex scene. What isn't standard, however, is Tammy White's body. Dang! This Tammy chick is shapely as all get out. Oh, and since she isn't some cave-dwelling neanderthal, Tammy's delicious gams are sheathed in black stockings. Mmmm, slice 'em thick, Ma.

Taking what Stanley said about "asking around" seriously, Peaches comes to the conclusion that the sanest course of action for her to take is to visit Uncle Howard (Ron Jeremy) up in San Francisco; which, according to Peaches, is the best place to learn about sex.

Those familiar with the handkerchief code will probably notice that Peaches has a dark blue hanky stuffed in the back pocket of her jean shorts. Does this mean Peaches will have anal sex later on in this movie? Who knows? I do know this, the guy in the trucker cap (Buck Adams) who picks up a hitchhiking Peaches definitely has anal sex with Juliet (Janette Littledove), a busty prostitute, during their stay at a motel.

What's amusing about this scene is that Miss Littledove kept calling Buck a piece of shit as he plowed into her ass. And I couldn't help but laugh when she mock asks him whether or not he took humping lessons at Disneyland.

Worried about her daughter, Eunice teams up Stanley, and they both hit the road in search of Peaches. And, of course, they end up booking a room at the same motel Peaches and the trucker cap guy stayed at. Except, instead of having anal sex with Janette Littledove, Eunice blows F.M. Bradley; much to the chagrin of Stanley, who had hoped their little road trip would lead to some kind of reconciliation between himself and his ex-wife.

Meanwhile, in San Francisco, Peaches is up to her eyebrows in perversion. Let's break it down, shall we? Incest, gaudy furniture, Jamie Gillis dressed as a granny, wispy pubes, blue panties, Melissa Melendez (Kat Dennings meets Asia Argento) as a Chinese chick and an impromptu bunny dip tutorial. It should come as no surprise that Peaches is a tad overwhelmed by what she sees at Uncle Howard's. That being said, she seems to be learning a lot.

Other than not giving us any clear shots of Tammy White in her lingerie, as far as being a playful piece of plot-driven pornography, I'd say Pretty Peaches 2 is pretty much perfect. And thanks to the fine folks at Vinegar Syndrome, it looks perfect. I'm almost tempted to throw away all my porno DVDs, as this release makes them all look like utter garbage. Almost (let's not do anything rash).

Cabaret Sin (Philip O'Toole, 1987)

Since no one living in 1980s could have foreseen what the world was going to look like in, say, forty or fifty years, there was only one thing the people in-charge of depicting the future for entertainment purposes could do. And that is, take the 1980s aesthetic and amplify it to point of mental and physical exhaustion. Now, I could be wrong, but I think that's exactly what the producers of Cabaret Sin (a.k.a. X-Trop) were trying to do when they came up with the look of this film. You see, without access to expensive special effects or elaborate sets, the makers of this particular (and highly peculiar) slice of pornographic sci-fi had no choice but to exploit the stylistic temperament of the fingerless glove era. Besides, in a weird way, high fashion hit its zenith during the 1980s. Meaning, everything that has occurred since, fashion-wise, has simply been a rehash of something from the '80s. So, in a strange sort of way, the clothes and hairstyles seen throughout this movie are in fact futuristic, even though they're over twenty years old. Let me put it this way: Anytime you see a woman with flat, lifeless hair with no personality, blame Jennifer Aniston. On the other hand, anytime you see a woman with short platinum blonde hair that's been shaved around the sides and back, thank Lois Ayres. Sure, the incomparable Miss Ayres isn't in this movie, but her life force is. Speaking of force, you could say Gail Force's "Shadow Dancer," who can be seen dancing behind a screen as Lorrie Lovett and Tom Byron fornicated on stage, is the director Philip O'Toole's subtle tribute to Lois Ayres.

Ah, I see your eyes lit up when I implied that Miss Lovett and Mr. Byron did the bulk of their fornicating on a stage. Well, this film, my friend, is the closet thing to a sequel to Café Flesh we're ever gonna get.

I know, you're out there screaming at your television: "They made a sequel to Café Flesh, two in fact, dumbass." That's true, they (not Rinse Dream, mind you) did make a couple of sequels, but I think Cabaret Sin is one of the few films that manages to truly capture the spirit of Café Flesh.

While the makers of Café Flesh were portraying a bleak future from the perspective of someone living in 1982, the makers of Cabaret Sin are living in 1987. In other words, they, the Cabaret Sin folks, had more of the 1980s to work with. It's true, you could say Café Flesh had a bit of an edge because its cast and crew were able to utilize fresh memories of the late 1970s (the late 1970s were nothing but a cocaine blur by the time 1987 rolled around), and they had the advantage of shooting on film (film looks better than video). But let's get real, in Cabaret Sin, the hair is bigger, the colours are bolder, the neon is brighter and the sex is hotter.

In Café Flesh, Marie Sharp doesn't even come close to touching Kevin James' well-traveled ball sack with her mouth. However, in Cabaret Sin, the captivating Leslie Winston devours every square inch of real estate Kevin James' well-traveled ball sack has to offer.

This is going to be the last time that I compare the two films. But it should be noted that Cabaret Sin is nowhere near as compelling as Café Flesh, as the former is severely lacking when it comes to acting and basic storytelling. It's just that I was simply taken with the fact a non-Rinse Dream directed film came somewhat close to duplicating the magic of Café Flesh.

In reality, while Cabaret Sin does owe a debt of gratitude to Café Flesh, the majority of the inspiration seems to come from Blade Runner.

Everything, from the Sean Young-esque manner in which Krista Lane smoked, to the part where a bouncer tells the film's lead that it's "time to die," before attempting to strangle him, practically screamed Blade Runner. Even the year the film supposedly takes place in screams Blade Runner. Sure, Cabaret Sin takes place in Los Angeles in 2020 (Blade Runner takes place in 2019), but it's close enough.

In charge of killing droids, Taylor (Greg Derek) is the best "Eliminator" there is. In sector 48 to conduct a routine clean up job, Taylor enters the Pleasure Dome, a club that features live sex shows. As he walks in, it looks like Kristara Barrington (who is dressed like a geisha) is about to get it on with a guy dressed as a samurai, but this scene was clearly cut out of the movie for unknown reasons.

Despite this hatchet job, the atmosphere of the Pleasure Dome is so '80s, it hurts. Seriously, my brain can't handle the amount of '80s-ness on display in this scene. I mean, the combination of punk and new wave hairstyles, neon signs and synth flourishes on the soundtrack are enough to send even most fervent apologists for the 1980s (from a pop culture standpoint) to the emergency room.

Every audience member looks the part, as they watch Lorrie Lovett dance in ancient Egyptian garb for a lengthy period of time. Slowly but surely, she removes most of her clothing (don't you dare remove those white stockings). This is obviously Tom Byron's cue to go on stage. I don't think I have to tell you what happens next. But you know what? I think I will anyway. Jumping on stage, after some playful dancing, Lorrie sucks Tom's cock. And, after making sure his balls have been licked up and down more than once, Lorrie allows Tom to enter her vagina. And what's the best way for a man to enter a woman's vagina? Yep, he uses his penis.

If you're thinking to yourself: This sounds like your typical sex scene. Wrong. The editing and the music is so off-kilter, you'll be too stimulated to even notice two people are fucking on stage.

Meanwhile, backstage, a droid (Kevin James) has sex on a pink bed with a female Pleasure Dome performer played by Leslie Winston. Ball licking, 69, sex in the spoon position, and a cum shot. The best thing about this scene, besides the fact Leslie has a great face, is that feathery mask Leslie wears when the droid enters her dressing room.

Unlike the replicants in Blade Runner, the droids in Cabaret Sin dress like bikers and wear masks with flashing red eye lights. "Flashing red eye lights"? Ugh, I guess that makes sense.

Thankfully, some plot points are laid out in the next scene (the scene between Kevin James and Leslie Winston seemed to serve no real purpose), as we learn that a killer droid is on the loose, one who is stealing decoders. Now, they don't explain what these decoders do exactly, but I did appreciate the attempt to lay down some sort of story structure. We're even introduced to Turk (Herschell Savage), the film's villain, a shady fella who runs his criminal empire out of the Pleasure Dome.

Let's take a moment, before it's too late, to bask in the exquisite thickness that Keisha's oomph-tastic body. Dancing on stage in a tight green dress, the curvy Keisha proceeds to give Candie Evens (who is wearing white stockings and a fedora) a series of gifts (lingerie mostly). After rejecting them all, Keisha decides to give Candie the gift that every woman wants. No, not a diamond ring, silly. She gives her cunnilingus. As you would expect, the audience laps this up, and show their appreciation by applauding loudly.

Skipping past the scene where Taylor boinks Candie Evens backstage, the film's greatest scene in terms of editing and having an original concept is the one where Bunny Bleu's "Tammy Dorsey" plays the trombone in a mini-raincoat and sequined leotard. Flanked by two guys blowing on trumpets, this scene has got so much going in terms of creativity, that it's kinda of a shame that Bunny had to stop blowing on her trombone and turn attention to blowing the two guys blowing on trumpets. Unable to receive a blow job and play the trumpet at the same time, the guys toss their horns into the audience.

The way one of the audience members started to play the trumpet tossed in his general direction immediately upon catching it was favourite non-Keisha moment in the entire film.

My least favourite moment is the scene where Leslie Winston and Tish Ambrose double-team Herschel Savage. The sight of Leslie Winston riding on top of Herschel's cock was great and all. But I didn't like the way Tish Ambrose (Corruption) and her first-class booty were filmed during this scene. What I mean is, we get no clear shots of Tish. This irked me beyond belief. It didn't ruin the movie for me, but it did put me in a sour mood for the rest of the flick's running-time. Sadly, Cabaret Sin is the closest thing we're ever going to get to a "Who's That Girl (She's Got It)" porn parody, so, savour it while it lasts.