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).

New Wave Hookers (Gregory Dark, 1985)

Supporting the spiritual trajectory of a decade's counterculture has never been the strong suit of mainstream Hollywood. Take, for instance, the cinematic output of the 1980s. You can scour the frames of countless motion pictures that were made during that particular period of time and still come up empty in terms of finding era specific examples of the fashion, music, sexuality, and interior design that helped shape the Zeitgeist. The people in charge of making these movies clearly had no real interest in the chromatic explosion that was happening all around them. It's true, there were a handful of directors, costumers, and production designers who understood the full magnitude of what was going down. But for the most part, the film's reek of misguided nostalgia and broken dreams. If the bland and the feckless amongst filmmaking elite weren't going to remove their collective heads from the gaping asshole known as "the sixties" and properly capture the essence of the fingerless glove decade, who would? Pornographers! That's fucking who. The unsavoury world of pornography may have a lot going against it: wanton drug abuse, suspect production values, wonky acting skills, and scene after scene of unappealing double penetration action to name slightly more than a few. But when it comes to crystallizing what it meant to be alive in the 1980s, you should look no further than your average adult film made between 1980 and 1989.

Unashamedly embracing everything that has made the 1980s the shining beacon to all those who desire to be a little less lame in their day-to-day life that is today, New Wave Hookers is the most audacious, most shameless, most stain-covered '80s movie ever made. Fearless when it comes depicting new wave culture gone awry, writer-director Gregory Dark and his crack team of perverts (including set designer Pez D. Spenser) have come up with a premise so simplistic, yet so mind-numbingly brilliant, that it's no wonder it has spawned a truckload of sequels and a remake.

It starts off with two slackers named Jimmy (Jamie Gillis) and Jamal (Jack Baker) sitting on their couch watching pornography – this act itself is groundbreaking in that it breaks the pornographic fourth wall rule, you know, the one that stipulates that there is no porn in porn. Wondering aloud about how great it would be if they were pimps and could control their "bitches" with the sound of that newfangled new wave music.

Drifting off (the television is now nothing but static), the pair awake to find themselves sitting at desks in an office setting. Jimmy, wearing a studded collar and a sleeveless t-shirt with word "anarchy" written on it, and Jamal, sporting a yellow jumpsuit with matching sunglasses, are now in charge of New Wave Hookers Inc., a pimping agency that supplies new wave obsessed women to those who need to be sexually serviced. (It should also be noted that Jimmy, on top of getting a funky new wardrobe, now speaks with a bad Japanese accent.)

Oozing coolness from start to finish, New Wave Hookers grabs you from the get-go with its super-terrific opening credits sequence set to "Electrify Me" by The Plugz (the band responsible for the majority of this film's amazing music). Introducing the female cast through a series of tantalizing clips that feature them posing seductively and pawing at their genitalia, this smokey sequence gently moistens our eyeballs for the gaudiness to come.

The first scene involves a gal named Candy (Desiree Lane) roller-skating into the fledgling pimps' office in a pair of skimpy white denim shorts (she saw their ad in the Valley Gazette). The guys slap some headphones on her, no doubt blasting the latest new wave jam, and before you know it, Candy is feign consuming the cock of Jimmy and Jamal's dog (Steve Powers); yeah, their dog is a man (he also makes the ringing sound for the two phones in the office). Anyway, while the dog is getting his biscuit polished, Jimmy repeatedly slams his turpentine estrada into Candy's minimal compact, and Jamal can be seen masturbating off to the side.

Next up, Jimmy and Jamal send over Palace (Kimberly Carson) and Nora (Brooke Fields) to sexually gratify a fella named The Sheik (Peter North) in his indoor tent. Well, the ladies start off by gratifying each other: licking and groping the usual places. Now, don't get me wrong, the sheer amount of spunk produced by Mr. North was awe-inspiring (I thought their respective crevices were gonna overflow), but it was actually the irregular nature of Kimberly and Brooke's wardrobe and makeup that made the scene the worthwhile entity that it is.

With star quality written all over her, the sight of the angelic Ginger Lynn Allen standing between two nerds craving anal sex was the pinnacle of the film's off-kilter sex appeal. Sent over to satisfy the poop-shoot desires of two college students (Tom Byron and Steve Powers), Ginger plays Cherry, a forthright New Wave Hooker in a chi-chi retro number that was poodle rectum red, drive-in theatre blue, and covered in black polka dots. Even though both her southbound holes end up getting prodded with erect penises simultaneously, Ginger manages to maintain an air of dominance about her. Also, the industrial-sounding music that played during the scene was downright awesome and the assertiveness of Ginger's command for one of the dorks to lick her ankle was greatly appreciated.

The action returns to office where Jimmy, Jamal, and the dog expose Kammy (Kristara Barrington) to a three-pronged attack on a desk. All of them seem to love jabbing at Kristara's foxy organic structure with a profound vigour, yet I found Jack Baker's enthusiasm for her dainty curves to be the most pronounced when it came to heaving the contents of his mouth in her general direction.

This dedication to Kristara's ethically complex body continues over to the next scene. Moving to the storage facility of the New Wave Hooker offices, we find a trio of hookers languishing on a red spinning wheel (a.k.a. the "whoring machine"). The aforementioned Kristara is joined by Desiree Lane's Candy and an unnamed new face (the lovely Gina Carrera). When the wheel stops spinning, the dog ends up straddling Kristara's frequently visited undercarriage (Jimmy beats her softly with a belt), and two vice cops (Greg Rome and Steve Drake) busy themselves with Desiree and Gina. As usual, Jamal jerks off from a distance, shouting race-based encouragement ("Fuck those white bitches").

The coda of New Wave Hookers has a surprisingly surreal vibe about it. However, it shouldn't be that surprising; there is, after all, a giant Residents-style eyeball sitting on top of one of the desks and Jamal does go on this strange tangent about disembodied dicks in Borneo. At any rate, the sight of a recently awaken Jimmy driving through the neon-tinged city, reflecting on all the debauchery that has transpired, while the "New Wave Hookers" theme plays over the soundtrack, was the perfect way to wrap up this titillating masterpiece.

If archaeologists in the not-so distant future want to know what life was like during the 1980s, I say show them a copy of New Wave Hookers. In terms of fashion, crude stereotyping, politically incorrect humour, music, stylistic temperament, and sexual deviancy, you can't get a clearer picture than this. Hey, whatta you know, maybe the infamous scene featuring Traci Lords in devil horns and red lingerie will be included in this futuristic version.

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Party Doll A Go-Go!: Part 2 (Rinse Dream, 1991)

What must have the stained raincoat crowd thought when they inadvertently stepped in front of this chatty smorgasbord in 1991. It's not the clearest vision I've ever had, but I can almost make out their broken little faces crumbling under the sheer of weight of the weirdness transpiring on-screen. No fooling around, the operational integrity of their masturbatory instincts must have been severely compromised by this salacious enterprise. In that, the rapid fire manner in which it belittles the audience's erotic comfort zone is just as prominent as it was in the first chapter. Besides, given the fact that the radioactive lingerie, freeze-dried ornamental grasses, toxic space flowers, rustic fence materials, dangling clumps of rope, and the chain-adorned mattresses from the first film were probably still lying around the no doubt gamy-as-fuck set, and since the cast's genitals were already percolating with a lustful hunger, you'd be totally insane not to make Party Doll A Go-Go! Part 2. Taking what worked from the first chapter, jiggling it ever so slightly and not expanding on it one bit, all Stephen "Rinse Dream" Sayadian (the genius who brought us Dr. Caligari, Nightdreams, and Café Flesh) does is switch up the penetration pairings, change the licking order, move around the excellent music of Double Vision, and, boom, just like that, you've got yourself an equally unwell sequel.

If the first telecast celebrated irregular insertion, then part two downright glorifies it. Behold, as a wide array of avant-garde items are willfully jammed into crevices big and small. This cranny packing is made possible thanks to the generous assistance of the non-unionized members of a demented crew of sentient female persons: Jezabel, the mysterious one; Lannie, the lascivious one; Roxi, the kinky one; Vivian, the seductive one; Tantrum, the hippest one; Vera, the lubricious one; and Echo, the troubled one. All their rambunctious girl biscuits are hungry for firm boy jerky. Well, some are itching for the taste of a special kind of secret secretion. Which just goes to show that one should never assume what one might desire to temporarily have placed/inserted inside a body cavity.

You know you're watching a Rinse Dream project the moment Jezabel (Jeanna Fine) says, "I know you're watching me," just as Randy Spears is about to orally ravage her labia and surrounding girl-area. This paranoid statement is a reoccurring slice of dialogue that permeates most of Mr. Sayadian's work. A sentence that is an obvious a dig at the voyeuristic temperament of pornography, the judgmental way Miss Fine stares directly at the camera, spouting non-sequiturs like a banshee, is meant to be a direct challenge to the audience.

The second coupling features Lannie (Patricia Kennedy) and Roxi (Nikki Wilde), and is all about utilizing your mouth as a weapon for sex. The expression "girl homo" (a Nikki Wilde holdover from part one) is used with a freewheeling wantonness in this segment. In fact, Nikki takes a second to utter the two words just as her entire face is about to become muffled by the crumpled flesh of Patricia's damp expanse; an "artificial man-thing" is implemented when Nikki's face grows tired of being muffled.

A securely built Vivian (Raven) is the next party doll to get her tender places tinkered with. And I say, "tinkered," because this probing sequence is all about using sexual metaphors of an automotive nature. Sporting slicked back hair this time around, Tom Byron goes through the pounding motions, laying into Raven's finely tuned organic structure, as Tantrum and Echo dance wildly in their day-glo underwear, periodically shouting out the names of car models from the 1960s.

Exhausted from all that boogieing, Tantrum (Madison) relaxes against an erratic hodgepodge made out of metal and lace, and proceeds to allow Vera (Bionca) to vigorously lick the appetizing viscosity out of her consecrated cookie juice. The spunky Madison, still the sexiest party doll on call, has the off-kilter vibe down perfectly. I mean, not once does she resort to spouting the hackneyed, "fuck me," "pound my pussy," or the classic, "don't you dare draw energy from my squirting mess, you glorified hat rack!" Even when Bionca is attempting to cram one of her pointer-than-usual nipples into her gaping sex maw, the angelic sex kitten keeps it together like a bitter butler on his last day of closeted homosexual servitude.

The closest thing Party Doll A Go-Go! Part 2 has to a conventional plot is the situation concerning Echo (Tianna) and her inability to stop "The Wiggle." This strange, yet immensely groovy affliction was acquired by the short-haired blonde with the wonderfully circular backside during the encounter with Tantrum and Vera. The other party dolls try to snap her out of it by suggesting that she ingest the contents lying in wait somewhere inside Peter North's purposeful ball sack. I'm no scientist (obviously), but the milky man-medicine seemed to do the trick. Sure, none of it is actually ingested, but only a major tool would deny the healing power of Mr. North's Halifax-reared cock.

At any rate, I'm surprised they didn't make a PDAGG part three. They're fun movies with endless possibilities for crotch-based mayhem. Hello, you've reached Party Doll A Go-Go! Uh-huh.

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