Nightdreams 3 (Rinse Dream, 1991)

"Just mention On the Waterfront and she gets... randy pants." So much agreeable agreement is nestling softly between the uppermost point of my... prize winning cerebral playtex. Oh, yes, that's right, Nightdreams 3 is here. And while it still could use some more of that sweet, sweet jibber-jabber that I crave so non-lustfully, at least words are uttered. Sure, some of the words uttered are edited in a manner that will make you wish for the quiet that only a quick death by firing squad can provide. But the characters say things and sometimes, get this, they do things. Which I think is a vast improvement over Nightdreams 2. As I always used to say, saying and doing things is the cornerstone of quality cinema. Too bad there are no armpit vaginas or elongated clits in this chapter. You know, if I had a time machine... (You would go back to 1991 and remind Rinse Dream to hire Otis Elwell in order for him make vaginas appear on places where vaginas don't usually go?)  Actually, I was thinking about traveling back to 1951. Once there, I would sneak onto the set of Singin' in the Rain and strangle Gene Kelly to death with an orange extension chord. I could probably do both. Hmm. Which reminds me, is the climate inside Tianna's asshole temperate? (You should ask Lauren Brice's tongue, as it gets all up in that ass.) Your aura reeks of the worst kind of cockeyed smugness. I'm the type of person who would not be afraid to ask such questions. I've seen so many assholes pitter-patter over past ten pseudo menstrual cycles. In other words, I watch and observe with the complete opposite of apathy.       
 

You, me, and everyone with eyeballs, should stick our shaved/waxed/zapped hindquarters in the air with the most reckless form of abandon possible, and thank the lucky lord of taint filth that Tianna and Lauren Brice are in this slab of unequivocal art masquerading as an early 1990s shot on video fuck flick. They're wordy healthcare providers in heels.
 

Call me a saline-based electrolyte solution, but aren't high heel shoes meant to be walked in? (What on earth are you babbling about?) Everyone who isn't repugnant, is wearing high heel shoes. But they don't walk anywhere. ("You're a fascinating woman.") I guess Dale Bozzio from Missing Persons was right about one thing, nobody walks in Nightdreams 3. You've got a factoid forming on your breath: Dale Bozzio performed with Frank Zappa in the late 1970s. Rinse Dream worked with Frank Zappa on the album Thing-Fish (they collaborated on an unfinished musical). Moon Unit Zappa has a cameo in the Spirit of '76. I don't think Sonny Bono knew Rinse Dream, but Cher is Armenian.
 

His cock looks like a vein-adorned U-boat periscope. *ring ring* This Admiral Dönitz' secretary callin', your circumcision has been canceled due to plague-related circumstances beyond the Admiral's control. We ask that you please bear with us. Sucking his cock would be akin to sucking on a rusty drain pipe or a candy cane covered in burnt hair. Speaking of burnt hair, his torso looks like a Brillo pad that has been set alight by a flamethrower. I grew up in an era when flamethrowers were the solution to all of life's problems. But even a flamethrower can't solve this Spironolactone-laced pickle of a I need to pee predicament.
 

Unlike your Grandma's consommé, sex is something that is never consummated behind closed doors in the Rinse Dream universe. Uh-uh. There's always someone watching. In this video sequel movie thing, Dr. Simone Sledge (Lauren Brice) and Dr. Sirk (Tianna) are the doctors doing the observing. Well, actually, Dr. Sledge is doing more than watching and observing. I know, that's what she says she's doing at the start of the video sequel movie thingamajig. But she's got a cause that she seems pretty passionate about...
 

Get this, it turns out that Dr. Sledge is running a clinic for wayward transgenders. Providing trans people with access to hormone replacement therapy and gender affirming surgeries, Dr. Sledge is a pioneer when it comes to trans healthcare. What in the criminy?!? I do remember seeing a copy of Boys Don't Cry at a downtown Blockbuster Video that was erroneously placed in the lesbian section. (You rented movies at Blockbuster?) Nah, I was just killing time before the peep show booths opened. Anyway, helping people transition is seen by her colleagues as uncontaminated quackery. By the way, that annoyingly humour challenged transistor-gender individual you keep seeing on your filter bubble didn't become annoyingly humour challenged after they transitioned (with the help of that poorly funded lab on the outskirts of Tiraspol, Transnistra), they were always annoyingly humour challenged. So, don't crumble cookie crumbs around me when I'm tryin' to realign my Chakras.
 

During the Elizabethan era, Tilda Swinton has a Elizabethan era dick, a dirty, pockmarked Elizabethan era dick. But sometime during the Ottoman Empire, Tilda Swinton wakes up with a pussy that may or may not have a yeast infection, a dusty, windswept yeast infection.
 

A trans man with heavy breasts who longs to be a longshoreman, is paired a bimbo-adjacent cis spark-plug with crimped hair. They have yawn-inducing sex on a bed (a bed that has never once experienced a normal human nap) set to a Jan Hammer-esque slow jam. After this tawaudrey tautou display, Dr. Sirk tries to rebuke Dr. Sledge's approach to helping her patients.  
 

This brings us to one of the best exchanges in the entire Nightdreams trilogy. Interrupted while reading The Nightmare of Reason: A Life of Franz Kafka, Dr. Sirk gets in Dr. Sledge's face. At one point calling the bosomy doc a cupcake filled with strychnine and a bad rash. It's an amazing exchange. The kind of exchange I found several lacking in Nightdreams 2. To make things even better, both Lauren Brice and Tianna's legs are sheathed in white stockings!
 

As if contending with belligerent colleagues wasn't enough, Dr. Sledge has to deal with the partners of her trans clients, who seem unsure that "a battery of hormonal treatments" is was what's best for their significant others. The only thing that makes my ash-coloured atrocity quiver ever-so slightly is the sight of Lauren Brice's hi-falutin backdoor density ripple as a direct and/or indirect result of a slamming jimmy that belongs to an unsupportive parent of a trans person. All this talk of slamming jimmies has made me "ravenous for boy jerky." But first I got some literature in the trunk of my car I'd like to show you.  
 

A lot of recycled ideas are employed... teetering into the realm of self-parody at times, Nightdreams 3 is a slight improvement following Nightdreams 2. By adding more dialogue and fleshing out the characters a bit, Rinse Dream redeems himself... a tad. Plus, having Sharon Kane play a patient added some class to the proceedings. She has tiny ears, frail ankles and delicate wrists. However, her clit is normal sized and her armpits are devoid of cavities... vaginal or otherwise... so, boooo! 

 

Nightdreams 2 (Rinse Dream, 1990)

How does this work again? You watch a particular movie... then you... uh... do something or something. Speaking of launching pituitary tumors into outer space, I want the specter of my newly constructed lady speckle to be placed inside the smoldering skin pit located under my right arm. Wait, why stop at one underarm? Ooooh! I would like, if it's not too much trouble, to have a festering lady speckle festooned under each arm. Yeah, that sounds like the most reasonable request ever requested from a brain that's totally not covered in blisters. It should go without saying, but I am so looking forward to giving a high-five while wearing a tank top after getting my government subsidized lady speckles. My new lady speckles sparkle in the unforgiving light of day. Think about it, with two gorgeous little slits under each arm, I'll be the most popular girl in this disease-ridden moist towelette of a universe. In case you're wondering, my wet-naps don't violate Sharia law. And to think, I'll have Nightdreams 2 to thank for that. Not only for making my already bangin' bod even more delectable, but for single-handedly giving rise to the vaginal armpit deodorant industry. Hold up, Nightdreams 2 is written and directed by Rinse Dream! How did this happen? Too be honest, I'm not entirely sure. All I know is, I feel profound sense of relief. Not having a review (a.k.a. words typed in conjunctivitis with projected pus fragments that may cause bemusement and/or bewilderment) pertaining to the sequel to the original Nightdreams on here has always irked me. This has been a long time coming. Of course, there's no way this "video" could live up to the hype I created inside my head over the past ten years. But I was strangely comforted to hear the words, "I know you're watching me" once more. And again. And again... and several more times for good measure.

 

I'm reminded of birth defects, scarlet fever and the comment section for the YouTube video about the 33rd Waffen SS Grenadier Division of SS Charlemagne. In that, it's a microcosm of Ahhhh! These people are going to find a way to duplicate themselves. You just wait.
 

Right off the bat, the music score by Double Vision is funky, groovy, jazzy and is filled with weird ass noises that sound like indigestion. Oh my God! Is Tom Byron going to continue to sport that stupid expression on his face for the entire movie? I hope not. I'll say this about him, his cock has an okay head on its shaft-like shoulders.
 

The fine not-so upstanding citizens who run this... Asylum? Sanatorium? Bed & Breakfast? Clinic? Should really think about getting some less dangerous furniture. Though, it should be noted the reason Joey Silvera looks so shocked as he watches Tianna and Tom Byron perform the longest wet hug in history has nothing to do with unsafe amenities. He's, like, where's Tianna's cock? I bet he's hoping that her character grows a long erectile clitoris at the anterior end of her vulva. I think he would lick that. I mean, like that.
 

While pretending to write on a piece of paper attached to a clipboard, Joey Silvera's Dr. Haunt tells Lauren Brice's Dr. Sledge that he's "gathering data." I don't believe him for a second. He's either using the clipboard to obscure his sort of raging early '90s porno hard on from view or doing a logic-based combinatorics number-placement puzzle. What's that? Maybe he's doing both? Yeah, baby! Multitasking like a boss, yo.
 

On moist days, I like to imagine myself as a clitoral chambermaid. One who is gleefully saddled with the task of sifting through uranium soaked soil in search of out of the ordinary orgasm deposits.
 

She cut off her balls because she wanted to frustrate doctors and scientists by rendering the physical representation of her orgasm invisible to the non-glistening eye. Her plan backfires when an elongated clitoris grows in its place. You nurture it by rubbing it. And that's exactly what she does every night before self-induced unconsciousness takes over the luminous cloud that swirls above her head like a tornado. 

Oooh! Stockings! Remember those? Mouthwatering legs encased in stockings. Oh, yes. While wearing white stockings, Dr. Sledge is talking to a patient in black stockings with her legs wide open. I'm not the best at reading body language, but I think Dr. Sledge is about to starting poking and probing her patient's Lima bean-shaped glandular girl thing with her tongue... all the while bathed in blue rinsey dreamy gutter light.
 

Quick lucidity-based observation: This feels more like a continuation of the Dr. Caligari universe than it does the Nightdreams one. Hell, even Lauren Brice's voice and mannerisms reminded me of Madeleine Reynal's demented doctor. (So, it's sort of the porn version of Dr. Caligari?) Not quite. One enlarged clit and one armpit vaginal cavity don't make it Dr. Caligari. Uh-uh.
 

According to the opening credits, the "special" makeup effects were done by Otis Elwell. I know, Otis who? I can't seem to find his name listed among the twenty odd makeup artists who worked on Dr. Caligari. Hmmm. Either way, this motherfucker makes a mean armpit vagina.
 

The way too brief underarm cunnilingus scene is an excellent mix of off-kilter and body horror. And it perfectly encapsulates the idiosyncratic appeal of Rinse Dream. If only the entire film had been able to maintain this level of inventiveness. But let's be realistic, there will be no sentient box of Cream of Wheat at the end of this rainbow.

 

 

 

Pretty Peaches 3: The Quest (Alex de Renzy, 1989)

In Alex de Renzy's Pretty Peaches 3: The Quest, the sexual awakening of a naive young twit with thighs that don't know the meaning of the word quit continues unabated. Which should come as no surprise, as that's exactly what occurs in the first two movies in the Pretty Peaches trilogy. What is surprising, however, is that I won't be able to watch porn ever again. Just kidding, I will always be able to watch porn. Imagine... a world without porn. *shudders* What I mean is, from now on, all porn that isn't treated with the same reverence and respect that Vinegar Syndrome bestows on the genre will be looked upon with suspicion. I know, a company in France called "Alpha France" puts out high quality porn releases, including titles by Alex de Renzy. But as far as North America goes, I can't think of anyone who cares more about the preservation of sleaze than Vinegar Syndrome. Oh, and, by the way, this isn't some elaborate ruse to get them to send me free porn. It's just that I've never seen 1980s-era XXX cinema look so good. Hell, I bet the version the raincoat crowd saw in theatres back in the day didn't look this crisp and clean. Sure, some of you might say: Yum-Yum, you dolt, classic erotica is supposed to look like crap... that's what makes it so charming. True, but I think that only applies to roughies. I mean, I can't imagine a film like, say, Forced Entry, looking all pristine and junk, it just wouldn't feel right.

However, hardcore films from the 1980s are a different animal all-together. Boasting bright colours and garish art direction, the 1980s was a visual decade, and those visuals need to be crystal clear to be properly appreciated. This applies to '80s music videos, '80s magazines, '80s television commercials, '80s fashion ads, '80s art, and, of course, it also applies to '80s pornography.

I would argue that it needs to apply to porn more than the others because porn is the only true way to take the temperature of the era you're currently living in. Whereas most genres are filled with people whose job it is to undermine the creative process at every turn. Porn, on the other hand, has more freedom. In other words, when you watch porn from the 1980s, you're getting an unfiltered view of the decade.

Take Keisha, the totally bodacious lead in Pretty Peaches 3: The Quest, for example. In all the other genres I just mentioned, a person like Keisha would have been dismissed as either too chubby or not white enough (the plague that is white supremacy has its hooks in everything). But in porn, particularly '80s porn, Keisha is not only welcome, she's the star of the show!

Shapely and oh so soft (more cushion for the pushin'), and, not to mention, dim and utterly clueless, Keisha plays–you guessed it–Peaches, and, golly, I gotta say, does she ever do Desireé Cousteau (the original Peaches), and, to a lesser extent, Siobhan Hunter (the second Peaches), proud.

Giving a performance that will no doubt cause your mundane genitals to be imbued with rigid and moist sensations (the sensation you experience will depend on the structural composition of your genitals), Keisha stomps her way through this movie with a well-proportioned aplomb.

It would seem that Peaches and her mom (Tracey Adams) have gone down a few rungs on the social ladder since we checked in with them. While living in a trailer park is quite the change of scenery, one thing remains the same, and that is, Peaches is still an idiot. Okay, maybe that's a tad harsh. Let's just say she's not the reddest radish in the shopping cart, if you know what I mean.

After a disturbing dream, one that involved her friend (Lynn LeMay) having her pantyhose torn asunder by her boyfriend Bobby (Gene Carrera) and a pal (Marc Wallice), Peaches' mom suggests that she go see Dr. Thunderpussy (Rachel Ryan), a doctor who has appeared on the Oprah show.

(Whoa, hold up, guy... "Pantyhose torn asunder"? Tell us more.) Sure, the dream, like I said, involves the two guys I mentioned tearing Lynn LeMay's pantyhose off. But get this, every time they tear away her pantyhose, another pair miraculously reappears. I wasn't keep track (though, I should have been), but they must have removed at least ten pairs of pantyhose before eventually reaching vaginal pay-dirt.

At any rate, when Dr. Thunderpussy says to Peaches during her examination, "Time to check your girl things," I couldn't help but be reminded of Rinse Dream, as that's the kind of line you might hear in one of his movies. Wouldn't it be awesome if Alex de Renzy and Rinse Dream worked together? Actually, I know for a fact they did. So, what are you waiting for Vinegar Syndrome, restore that movie; don't make me watch some grainy, thirty year-old VHS rip.

As expected, Dr. Thunderpussy's examination of Peaches mostly involves having her "girl things" poked and prodded. When Dr. Thunderpussy is finished doing that, she has sex with a doll and tells Peaches that she needs to find spiritual enlightenment. And with that, Peaches embarks on an epic journey of self-discovery.

Actually, the quest doesn't officially get underway until Peaches watches a tearful sermon by a televangelist named Billy Bob (Jamie Gillis) on her tiny trailer park television. Flanked by his busty sidekick, Nanette (Victoria Paris), Peaches nods approvingly to the bulk of what the blubbering preacher has to say. Personally, it sounded  like a lot of  nonsense to me, but Peaches clearly liked what she heard, and heads out to meet him in person.

Unfortunately, the authorities are closing in on Billy Bob and Nanette just as Peaches arrives. Not to worry, though, despite the fact that a helicopter is swirling overhead, Billy Bob decides to take a break from destroying evidence and planning their pending getaway to give Peaches some "spiritual guidance" after all. Of course, it being late 1980s, his "spiritual guidance" largely involves feeling the shapely nitwit up.

A bizarre sex scene between Jamie Gillis and Victoria Paris gets underway after Peaches has been sufficiently felt up.

(What's Keisha doing during this so-called "bizarre sex scene?) She struggles to maintain her balance (the helicopter hovering above is making it difficult for her to stand up).

Meanwhile, back at the trailer park, Bobby and Mrs. Peaches hatching a plan to find Peaches; the sexual tension between these two is palpable.

Waking up in a field, Peaches stumbles upon the "Holy Repose Spiritual Retreat." You might think: Ooh, what luck, that's exactly what Peaches is looking for. You couldn't be more wrong, as the people there, specifically three blonde lesbians (Tianna, Priscilla Love and Vicki Blair) seem more interested in cunnilingus than spiritual guidance.

Leaving in the middle of the night (the blonde lesbians' late night cunnilingus session was keeping her up), Peaches is next seen walking along a country road in an acid wash skirt. Call me crazy, but the sight of Keisha simply walking is the sexiest part of this movie.

Hitching a ride from Fife Bardot's "Chicken Girl," Peaches is taken to a meeting of The Realization Cult. Run by Professor Otto (Jon Martin), this group, just like the others, seem more about exploring one's genitals than you know what.

Do you think Peaches' chance meeting with Jack Baker (New Wave Hookers) on the streets of San Francisco will lead her to finally achieving her goal? I don't know about that. But I do know this, at around the hour mark, someone finally fucks Keisha with their penis. Not to sound crude, but I was like, yes! Pound that pussy! Anyway, uh, the film's grand finale is quite unusual, in that it implies that Peaches becomes a... You know what, I don't want to spoil the ending for you. Let's just say it's a fitting end to a pretty kick ass trilogy. Oh, and Vinegar Syndrome, if you decide to restore the Alex de Renzy/Rinse Dream collaboration, don't forget to do the same to the rest of the Rinse Dream catalogue (including the untamed cowgirl flicks). Thanks.