Unfortunately the raw material is marginal at best, which means 1970s tits and assesiii, and especially the utterly repugnant 1970s genitalia.iv To add insult to injury, apparently nobody involved ever had sex before, which permits them to happily engage in patently insane behaviour such as licking the pubic hairline -- I don't mean towards the asshole, I mean towards the bellybutton. Who the fuck thinks that's something to be done, excepting of course the Sesame Street alien guys, "bok! bok! bok bok RIIIING! cat cat cat" ?!
Everybody -- even the girls!!! -- interact with the clit like it ain't something to be suckled and tortured and teased to death, but a sort of 1800s North Polev : always to be sought, never to be actually reached. I suspect none of them has ever had a clitoral orgasm, because there's no other way I can explain to myself why they spend most of their time licking the labia majora sorta halfway to the side, and exactly never lick inside the prepuce, as a forinstance. What the hell ?!
These all-important considerations asidevi the dialogue's incomprehensibly terriblevii, and the delivery (not to mention movement) scandalously stiff and inconvincing. The economy apartment interiors, with their hallways narrower than even the film Ed Wood could afford to pay for might be excusable if the sluts were young, pretty and sprightly ; but the sad fact of the matter's rape victims are generally (if not absolutely universally) more convincingly complicit and eagerly conniving in their own consummation than this wary band of nuts.
I'm sure there's loads and loads of home videos about on par with this attempt, made a decade or maybe two later. I don't think any of them constitute cinema, specifically because of their authenticity. It doesn't necessarily mean they shouldn't have been made, but it does rather indicate they should never be watched. Unless, of course, one's on a research project.
And to think, this sad trainwreck's still the best you people could produce, the pinnacle of your achievement, the foremost foray into the foreign mists of that seventh and final artform. What sadder testament for (that) America ? Indeed, if anything, Necromania should play at its funeral. Speaking of which, when's the service ?———
- "A Tale of Weird Love! ", 1971, by Edward D. Wood Jr. (as Don Miller), after a screenplay by Edward D. Wood Jr., as adapted for the screen by Edward D. Wood Jr. from a novel by Edward D. Wood Jr. All the endless layering's particularly hysterical considering how little actual work is included with all these "works". The whole layered cake's a lot like a rough log cabin somewhere in the forgotten woods that's made entirely without nails yet nevertheless sports a half ton chromed plate on the side, naming the architect, sketch artist, press agent and majordomo.
The (15mm "Home Video", by the looks of it) production's blessed by the starring graces of the likes of Rene Bond (period porno powerhouse, bitch musta made 500 reels, loops &c) as well as "Tanya" whoever that is, "Maria Arnold" and so on. As the footage candidly puts it, "Our cast wishes to remain anonymous" and it's a good thing they so wished, because they'd have remained exactly as anonymous had they wished the exact opposite. It's like a curse, let's say : if you do what comes natural and only that, no-one ever has any conceivable reason to remember you. Not anymore than anyone remembers "individual" water flowing downriver -- the one other thing in creation besides dumb womanhood that does what comes natural to it and naught else. [↩]
- As opposed to the cuntarded thing Hollywood keeps churning out, wherein women are inexplicably never naked -- indoors or generally -- and all the walkers were apparently made synthetically, out of spun plastic or something, because nobody ever engages in the only known activity liable to produce people replacements (let alone ever practice for it). [↩]
- You know what I mean, girl stands nude and you think "Well... there's some potential... but it'll need a lot of work to come out from under all that trite gunk".
Actually... no, you don't know what I mean, what the hell am I saying. You don't own women, you don't handle females like meat animals, you don't consider their bodies as objects. I do, but you don't, thus for you none of this is familiar in the settled, vocational, systematic sense. It might constitute the basis or context of states of fugue, but it's never something considered coldly and plainly, in the light of day. Here's the thing, though : your pets look a certain way to you, and a very different (yet actually certain, not to mention actually true to them, for objectification's the only approach allowing for individuality in subjects -- you always see the same woman in all the women, and it's your mother, whereas I always see the bitch that is, specifically because I actually look) way to me.
Anyways, these bitches be okay, I guess... I wouldn't want to fuck 'em tho. Maybe if they gymmed that butt, maybe after they got the silicone udders bolted on, maybe. As they stand they're about as attractive as nine year olds (gender irrespective, because nine year olds don't have genders), or sheep for that matter. They could very well be your girlfriend, I'm sure, but who the hell has the time or could possibly summon the interest to fuck that ?! I'm no everyday careerwoman's fucknurse, even if you'd love to be. [↩]
- I've not seen a bushy beaver in the flesh in well over twenty years (there was this one time a slavegirl tried out a thin stubble for maybe a week, but it never got anywhere close to the roadkill these unkempt bitches haul between their legs) nor do I regret this. I've also not eaten worm castles in a long while, and somehow (quite explicably) the urge to chow some absolutely never strikes me. [↩]
- Har har. [↩]
- Just think if you will : a porno 1made by virgins, 2with mediocre girls that 3really have no idea how any of the gear works, and yet it's still (and by a rather fat margin) the best your sad country has to offer!
How can you fail so utterly ? Why are you so ridiculously inept ? Huh ? [↩]
- The "Bela Lugosi in a coffin" throwaway particularly grating in its ineptitude. It really evokes an aluminum siding salesman trying to be intertextual on the basis of this one article on contemporary literary fashions he read in Farming Today, the American's Almanac (published continuously since 1-800-DUSTBOWL). [↩]