Sorority Sex Kittens Five
Directed by Jim Holliday
Seven-somes out of Three-somes
LAST YEAR I THOUGHT that no adult-erotica photoplay could top Jim Powers’s breathtaking epic Kelly the Coed Part 13, but dear readers, I have been hoisted upon my own petard once again. And it hurts like a mother.
Jim Holliday’s Sorority Sex Kittens Volume 5 is like nothing else I could have dared to imagine. It is as if my dreams of the heavens above have copulated with the passions of the world’s greatest fornicators, and in that sexy collision, they gave birth to a fantastically erotic film that I shant miss next time it plays in my local cinematheque. While you, gentle reader, may think my prose is reaching hyperbolic heights, let me pose you two questions:
When was the last time you were so awed by beauty that you literally wept out loud? When were you so moved by images that you soiled yourself with glee?
The answer to both questions, you mortal fools, is never. You have never known such pleasure because you have not witnessed the all-girl 10-some between the nubile young ladies of this blessed sorority. I dare you to find a more scintillating, and honest, expression of love than when two of the sorority sisters combine their oral talents to pleasure the gentleman caller they both desire. Oh, the foolish acts of young love! The only curious matter of the scene is why both the ladies look as if they have been out of college for some time. Now that I think about it, most of the lovely damsels here look as if they haven’t pursued scholastic efforts in at least three semesters.
It is a curious matter that is never fully addressed throughout the film, but methinks that Mr. Holliday is simply leaving room open for the inevitable, and highly anticipated, sequel. That sly brigand! But, lovely reader, I digress. The moans of delight that up-and-coming actress Alyisn Chaynes makes towards the grande, sensuous orgy finale are not to be missed. If only dear Uta Hagen were alive to see Ms. Chaynes’s brilliant performance. Oh well, a boy can dream, a boy can dream.
— Barry Hertz
Toe Tales Volume 110
Directed by Vince Benedetti
Two Toes out of Five
FOR THE SOLE BENEFIT of the Eyeopener’s Love and Sex issue, I opted to dip my toes into the world of (apparently) amateur foot fetish porno for the very first time. Hey, what better way to be stripped of my porn-watching virginity than to delve into a world where toe sucking is a truly orgasmic experience?
Toe Tales Vol. 110 tells the story of a raunchy young pair who are bored after a “lame party” and end up in a pay-by-the-hour motel room. In the feet of the night, the female partner, Lavenda — complete with long black wig, far too much lavender lip liner and a large zit on her chin — wastes no time in taking control of the situation and commands her “slave” boy-toy, Darryl, to suck her toes “like a cock.” Friction on friction keeps the predictable action going, but alas!
Right when it seems that the pair might consummate their sexual affections, they seem to forget all about it and opt for some quality foot caressing instead. If I were into toes which smell “like roses” this film might have been my bag. Come to think of it, I’m not sure Darryl even found as much pleasure in the act of toe suckling as he tried to make us believe. His manhood remained limp as a fish the entire time, despite Lavenda’s caressing and dominating dirty talk.
Oh, and she also forces him to paint her toenails a vile opalescent purple. Exciting stuff. I knew from the moment the store clerk placed the black DVD into the case that Toe Tales was definitely amateur and not really worth anyone’s time, even for those with a taste for foot licking.
There was some painfully unfortunate cinematography — the shadows of the cameraman grace the walls of the fake motel room at many points while the camera shakes and the money shots, well, miss the jackpot. But, hey, you still get to see plenty of sexy foot-age, which is the entire point of the porno in the first place. My favourite part of Toe Tales has to be the melodramatic Hallmark-ish music, cranked up for dramatic effect in the sensual toe licking scenes.
If toe jam turns your crank, be sure to rush out and rent Toe Tales Vol. 110. Oh, and see if you can track down the first 109 volumes while you’re at it.
— Sarah Boesveld
The Shoe Maker
Directed by some Italian guy
Two Shoehorns out of Five
CONSIDER THE TITLE OF this “so lame its not even ironically lame” 2003 title, I’m assuming that it’s the result of an Italian-to-English mistranslation. I mean, the dubbing was so bad, I expected the actors to bust out karate moves. If only I were so lucky. What’s giving the viewer time to “refuel” in between sex scenes is a storyline that appears to be someone’s daily errands interjected by lots of equally banal sex.
The lead character — the average clean cut, boy-band European who disturbingly resembles someone you went to high school with — goes into a store to buy a pair of shoes and accidentally leaves his wallet behind. He goes home to show his boyfriend his new purchase and they naturally have sex.
Afterwards, he gets a call from the storeowner about his wallet, they meet and naturally have sex. The main character then trips on some stairs and his shoes fall apart, so he takes them to a shoe repair shop where the repairman (inexplicably looking like a farmer wearing nothing but white overalls) naturally has sex with him and he completely forgets about the shoes. The main character is never seen again as he disappears in this weird dream-like dissolve, and we see the repairman masturbating, only to be caught by his fellow white overalls-wearing coworker and they naturally have sex. The end.
You know it’s a bad porno when the viewer pays more attention to the wicked black skater sneakers with blue shoelaces that the repairman was wearing rather than the naked people. I never thought I’d actually fast-forward through a sex scene because it’s so boring.
You see two camera angles throughout: a close up of a guy giving oral sex and a medium close up of a guy giving oral sex. The climax, expecting to be something like Old Faithful, is more like spilling an empty can of Mountain Dew — a few drops here and there so there’s no need for clean-ups. But there’s one thing I’ll give them credit for. When the guys are licking each other’s rears, they don’t go for the target. It’s good to know that they listened to their mothers’ advice, “Don’t put that in your mouth, you don’t know where it’s been.”
The audio didn’t help either. While there’s thankfully no so-cheesy-it-needs-crackers porno music, we’re instead given monotonous groans that I could have sworn were recorded once and played in a loop like the Road Runner’s “Beep Beep.” Most of the film is silent as we’re shown random shots of the city (possibly leached off some tourist’s vacation video) but the highlight was the hilariously appropriate “Genie in a Bottle” playing from one of the stores in the background.
For wasting 50 minutes of my time when I could have been watching something more arousing like Janet Reno in a sundress, I give The Shoe Maker two flaccid shoehorns.
— Karon Liu