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.

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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Midnight Heat (Roger Watkins, 1983)

A hitman for the mob sits in a sleazy hotel room and reflects back on all the mistakes he's made over the course of his life. One of the mistakes, no doubt, was that time that he and a large breasted woman stood on a balcony overlooking New York City. I know, that doesn't sound like the kind of thing you might regret one day. Okay, how about this, the woman, whose large breasts have just been fondled by the hitman, initiates oral sex, but he tells her, "I'm not in the mood." After the hitman refused to have his genitals orally massaged by a large breasted woman, one who was wearing a black nightie, no less, I sat there in awe of what the hitman just did. And, no, I wasn't in awe of the hitman's herculean brand of self-control, but because never in all my years of watching sleaze have I seen a man stop a woman–who was in the middle of  implementing her descent to crotch-town, mind you–from performing fellatio on his slumbering member. Anything, whether it be intentional or not, that interrupts the flow of seminal fluid makes me happy. You heard me. Any film that causes the self-abusers in the audience to lose the ability to masturbate in the manner in which they're accustomed is doing something right in my book. And the gritty Midnight Heat is definitely one of those films. You want to make sperm? Grab the Sears catalogue, flip to the pantie section (use the handy index if you have any trouble finding the pantie section, but knowing you, that shouldn't be a problem), stare at the seemingly unending array of pantie-covered undercarriages by employing your eyes (don't bother looking for camel toes, as they have been air-brushed into oblivion), and, well, you know what to do next. However, if you want to watch artful smut with a hint of menace, Roger Watkins (Her Name Was Lisa) is here to provide you with a stimulating alternative.    
 

 

Am I tired of seeing Jamie Gillis' scrotum under constant mouth-based duress? You bet am I. On the other hand, I'm not entirely sure what a "scrotum" is to be honest. It's true, I could look it up. But I think I've past the point in my life where looking up the definition of scrotum is a viable option. Every man comes to what I like to call a "scrotal impasse," and looks like I just hit it. Either way, if you were to show me a picture of Jamie Gillis' scrotum, I could probably identify it without much difficulty.
 

 

Most x-rated movies, or "fuck films" as they're sometimes called, seem only interested in showing you the mechanics of sex. But what if these so-called "mechanics" were accompanied by shots of destitute souls wandering the streets of New York City during a rain storm? How would your raging hard on and/or perspiring clitoris feel about that? I think I can safely say that I bet they would be none to pleased to see their pornography treated that way. Well, you know who doesn't care about you or your poronography? The writer-director of Midnight Heat, that's who; hell, I bet cinematographer Larry Revene doesn't care, either.
 

 

On top of his scrotum, you better get used to the sight of Jamie Gillis staring out a window, as it's where Alan, a hitman for the mob, does his best thinking. And besides, why wouldn't you look out the window? You live in New York City. I mean, the idea of someone watching television in New York City doesn't make sense to me. Anything happening outside in New York City at any given moment, especially in 1983, is a thousand times more interesting than any show on television.
 

 

Opening with Alan sitting by a window, no doubt doing some of that thinking I alluded to earlier, when suddenly, he receives a call about a job. Utilizing a point-of-view camera angle, we find ourselves walking down the hallway of what looks like an office building. Coming to a doorway, a man sitting at a desk asks Alan, "What are you doing here"? Without saying a word, Alan calmly pulls out his gun, points it at the seated man, and shoots him.  
 

 

To celebrate yet another successful hit, Alan heads over to the apartment of his milf-tastic mistress (Dixie Dew), who is smoking a cigarette in an old school lingerie, for a little informal fornication, if you know what I mean. Yeah, we know, they're going to have sex. You know how I implied that all the sex scenes were peppered with these grim shots of authentic New York City street life? Well, this particular sex scene features shots an older gentlemen driving a car. In fact, this "older gentlemen" looks exactly like the guy in the picture that was standing upright on the milf-tastic mistress' vanity–you know, before she turned it face down (I guess she didn't want him looking at her as she brushed her teeth with Jamie Gillis' darkish cock). You mean to say that the guy in the car is the milf-tastic mistress' husband? Yep. And he's coming home.
 

 

What are the odds that the milf-tastic mistress' husband is also Alan's boss? I'd say they're pretty high. And since Alan works for the mob, that would make his boss a "mob boss." Instead of getting angry, the mob boss plants a big wet kiss on Alan's face. It would seem that Alan's days are numbered (he received "Il bacio della morte"). In order to delay his fate, Alan decides to hide out at a cheap hotel.
 

 

As he sits on the chintzy-looking bed, Alan reflects on his past mistakes. Well, I wouldn't call having sex with Tish Ambrose a mistake, exactly. However, when you take in account that Tish is playing Susan, the boss's daughter, the decision to do so seems fraught with more danger than usual. Oh, haven't you heard? Danger is Alan's middle name. It's true, I'm not even sure what his last name is, but I bet his middle one is Danger.
 

 

Anyway, after Tish Ambrose's mobster's daughter uses the word "facetious" in a sentence, Jamie Gillis pulls out his wiener. There's no lingerie in this scene, but Tish's terrific backside and the birthmark on her left breast are both prominently displayed. And she wears whites pumps throughout her encounter with the junk attached to Jamie's scrotum.  
 

 

While flipping through the hotel room's Bible, Alan comes across a flyer for "Mr. C's Escort Agency: "Beautiful People for Friends." And before you know it, Shirley (Joey Karson), a sexy blonde, and Diane (Cheri Champagne), a quiet brunette, are knocking on his door.
 

 

Telling the women that he likes to watch, Shirley and Diane perform the sixty-nine position on his bed. The erratic nature of the seams on the back of Joey Karson's fishnet stockings was the sexiest thing about this particular scene. I also liked Cheri Champagne's red satin garter belt; very classy.
 

 

When they're done, Alan asks Diane to stay. While Shirley protests at first, she eventually agrees to leave Diane, who is relative newcomer to the whoring business, all alone with Alan.
 

 

Proving that "Danger" is in fact his middle name, Alan, while looking out the window, of course, tell Diane that "danger motivates people."
 

 

In another flashback, we see Alan and his wife (Sharon Mitchell, fuck yeah!), sharing a passionate embrace. This so-called "passionate embrace" leads to oral and vaginal sex. The great thing about this scene is the way Sharon Mitchell's nose looks whilst filmed in profile.
 

 

During their post-coital chat, Sharon informs Alan that she is leaving him. Standing by a window, as usual, Alan seems unmoved by what his wife just said, as he basically shrugs his shoulders and says, "Do what you want, I can't stop you."

 

 

Just when you thought the film couldn't get anymore cynical and dark, we hear Alan, again, standing by a window, utter the line, "There's a lot of fucking weirdos out there." Of course, this line is accompanied by some street level shots of New York City that look like they were filmed with a hidden camera. As I watched the "fucking weirdos" shuffle down the street to classical music, I thought to myself: Is this film the most depressing porno ever made?
 

 

The film does nothing to counter its bleak reputation when we see, Diane, who gets her own flashback, waiting for her husband (Michael Bruce) to come home. Wait, that doesn't sound so bleak. Yeah, but the sex they have is not even close to being erotic. In fact, he pretty much treats her like a piece of meat. 
 

 

It would seem that it was a prostitute, played by the alluring Susan Nero, who suggested that Alan join the mob. Now, typically, after Susan Nero tells Alan that the mob is currently hiring, this is the point in the film where Jamie Gillis and Susan Nero begin to have sex. But Midnight Heat seems to shun convention at every turn. Even I was shocked when Susan Nero's pussy didn't get properly poked and prodded. Actually, if you think about it, Alan, as we learned during the scene with Shirley and Diane, has a no-sex rule when it comes to hookers. So, his not having sex with Miss Nero was in keeping with his character's unique temperament. However, that doesn't mean he can't break his own rules, as we'll see during the film's disturbing, and, of course, bleak finale.
 

 

As with all the Roger Watkins/Richard Mahler directed films I've seen so far, I would have loved to have seen the looks on the faces of the movie patrons as they filed out from the 42nd Street theatres that were showing this movie; what a confused lot they must have been.

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