Masked members of a secret club look on at the ravishing of Marilyn Chambers by a flock of lesbians and a black man with the crotch cut out of his longjohns, and, for an encore, by four men on swings, coming at her from all points of the compass. The …
Radley Metzger's deluxe, air-conditioned model of the durable romantic drama by Dumas fils (Metzger's second recruitment, after Carmen Baby, from the ranks of the classics), updated to the pop-art and jet-set era of sterilized, plastic, inflatable furniture and of sexual partners of similar description. Daniele Gaubert, Nino Castelnuovo.
His trademark fast-shuffle editing does wonders to disguise the fact that one-third of this Russ Meyer film was accidentally destroyed in the laboratory. A slight setback, that. To plug up the gaps, Meyer belatedly added a voluptuous mute pixie named Haji, who flits mischievously through the movie and establishes a …
A perfumed, chi-chi piece of erotica, exported from France and bearing a rather vain, savoir-faire attitude about the ins and outs of carnal pleasure. Actually, the amorous adventures of the pixie wife of a French diplomat in Southeast Asia rely mostly on obvious, frivolous amusements: masturbating in front of a …
Jean-François Davy's cinema-verite portrait of the French porno actress, Claudine Beccarie, can boast of appearances at the New York and Los Angeles film festivals. Its intentions, indeed, seem serious enough, but its course of action is basically, brainlessly, to encourage this tough-looking and glib-talking actress to sound off freely on …
An honest and humorous enough movie, despite some Godardian affectations, to bear up rather well under its reputation as one of the great landmarks of sexual liberation in the cinema. Lucky it has other merits to fall back on, because the bodies on exhibit are too close to the human …
In the course of four erotic short stories, Walerian Borowczyk travels over a mountain range of bare bosoms and through a forest of pubic hair. The first, and best, of the four has a wonderful feel for climate and topography. And in general, Borowczyk exhibits a careful, selective, still-photographer's eye …
What’s buried in Grant’s Tomb? The headquarters of the Bureau of Sexological Investigation, a non-existent but factual-sounding organization designed by husband and wife comedy team Jeanne and Alan Abel for this early entrant in the mockumentary market. A parody of Mondo movies, this hit at around the same time the …
An exhibitionistic display of phallic symbols (a toy tank and cannon, a sausage, an electric carving knife, etc.) as well as of Gerard Depardieu's real thing. Authentically sexy if one can stomach the sterile, whitish lighting that makes the acres of exposed flesh look like laboratory specimens, and, more importantly, …
Warhol and his crew appear perfectly pleased to be identified as loathsome vermin from the counter-culture, as they invade the Western genre and a stock Hollywood replica of a frontier town, with clear intent to desecrate. They also appear far too low on inspiration and energy to be able to …
Originally titled La Derobade, which, whatever the correct literal translation (The Evader or something like that), holds no promise of the Fanny Hill rompishness hinted at in the American re-titling. There is one authentically rough scene in which a couple of gangster brothers are forced at gunpoint to perform an …
“Situated on precipitous peaks above yawning canyons,” bellers our off-camera guide, “San Francisco thrusts itself into the bosom of the Pacific.” The cadence of the eloquent voice-over suggests ersatz Ed Murrow, but the salacious syntax is unmistakably that of Russ Meyer. After five minutes, all semblance of documentary realism is …
Purported factual tale of a late-blooming doctor who champions bedside manner above all else: clown nose, angel costume, novelty-shop glasses, funny voices, whatever will raise a smile from the afflicted. His ultimate dream: the Gesundheit Institute, dedicated to healing through humor. What stands in his way is the sourpuss dean …
Joseph Strick continues his respectful plunder of 20th-century literature -- The Balcony, Ulysses, even after being ejected from the Justine project. He adheres doggedly to Henry Miller's sloppy prose; but the events, reproduced without flavor or atmosphere or period, seem as thin and flat as a paperback page. All that …
At bottom a murder mystery, but not so as you'd notice. Russ Meyer's steady barrage of throwaway titillations, throwaway gags (when the narrator says "but," Meyer gives you a shot of a bare behind), and throwaway nothings, prepares you for pretty much anything; so the "surprise" solution to the mystery …