All posts by Rod Lott

Sexytime: The Post-Porn Rise of the Pornoisseur

Hard as it may be for you to believe from a guy who named a book-review site after an orgasm, I don’t watch porno movies. However, this dared not stop me from picking up Sexytime, which rounds up poster art from the X-rated genre’s porn-chic heyday of the 1970s and VHS breakthrough of the early ’80s.

That’s only because it comes (tee-hee) from Jacques Boyreau, whose previous exploitation-art exhibits in book form, Trash and Portable Grindhouse, have earned permanent placement on my shelf. The guy has a knack for picking images; much like Supreme Court Justice Potter Stewart and hardcore porn, Boyreau knows it when he sees it.

And luckily, he shares it, this time from the visual-presentation experts of Fantagraphics Books — a match made in poster-art heaven. Whereas FB’s packaging of Portable Grindhouse was appropriately the size and shape of a VHS tape, this hardcover book measures 14 inches tall, and that’s … well, you know.

Writes Boyreau in his balls-out introduction, “The idea of Sexytime is that these posters are more satisfying than the movies they advertise.” And the results suggest that’s for damn sure.

Presented in full-color, naturally, they range from photography to paintings to cartoons; from purposely artful and well thought-out to crude and thrown-together. They carry straightforward titles like New Wave Hookers, Blazing Zippers and Flash Pants; they also boast more eyebrow-raisers like Hugo’s Magic Pump, That’s My Daughter! and Librianna, Bitch of the Black Sea.

Little Orphan Dusty apes Farrah Fawcett’s iconic bikini poster, right down to a lookalike startlet. American Sex Fantasy is a “red, white & BLUE movie” whose cartoon image is meant to be the squeaky-clean teen star of Archie Comics. With its looming dinosaur, One Million AC/DC could be mistaken for an AIP sci-fi cheapie of the ’70s, until you notice the bare-breasted beauties underneath the beast.

Some are really classy; I’d frame the cutout composite image of Scorpion ’70, if not for the explanation I’d have to give to every visitor. While several are gaudy, only a select few are disgusting; in that latter category falls Juice (“It’s Suck-U-Lent!”), whose bloated red title appears to be dripping in spermatozoa.

Arguably the most clever poster of all turns out to be a fake; see if you can spot it. Here’s a hint: It focuses on a woman’s crotch. What, that doesn’t help? —Rod Lott

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The Black Six (1973)

A nice, young black man is killed by a group of racist white bikers because he’s been dating the sister of one of the gang members. When his older brother, Bubba (Gene Washington), gets the news, he and his roving motorcycle posse of five other burly black guys roll into town for some payback. Together, they are … wait for it … The Black Six!

And they’re really nice, peaceful boys, first shown helping out an old widow on her farm, petting goats and sewing(!), but when pushed too far, they’re more than ready to stick it to The Man. And The Man deserves some sticking, especially when he’s represented by guys with names like Snake, Moose and Thor (yes, he’s the one with the Viking helmet). Moose rouses an army with such warnings as, “These ain’t your normal spooks!”

Indeed, all half-dozen of our heroes were NFL players, with the team association of each spelled out in the opening credits of the film by director Matt Cimber (Butterfly). Among them is “Mean” Joe Greene, who looks like he needed to be downing bottles of diet Coke instead of the straight stuff. Unique insults bandied about in this underrated blaxploitation effort include “mustard ass” and “porkchop lips.”

Sadly, there was no sequel for these African-American Avengers, although the end frame sure threatened one: “Honky … Look Out … Hassle a Brother …. and The Black 6 Will Return!!!” Oh, how one wishes they had! —Rod Lott

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Thrill Seekers (1999)

Also known as The Time Shifters, Thrill Seekers is not thrilling. Despite the presence of JAG hottie Catherine Bell, Thrill Seekers is not something that will give you an erection. Despite having Starship Troopers vet Casper Van Dien in the lead, Thrill Seekers is something I watched anyway.

VD (as I like to call him) portrays (okay, maybe “portrays” is too strong a word for someone of his limited talents) a disgraced broadcast reporter forced to seek employment at a National Enquirer-type weekly. He uncovers the story of a lifetime when he spots the same man in photos of three natural disasters spaced 100 years apart, all in his first 15 minutes on the job. (Whereas in reality, a single page of Where’s Waldo? probably would have VD flummoxed for a good 45.)

Through some crack investigative techniques (i.e. pure dumb luck), VD discovers a travel agency in the future is sending tourists back in time to the sites of these disasters as part of their “Thrill Seekers” package, masterminded in part by a jowly Martin Sheen. Using a brochure swiped from one of the tourists, VD and fellow reporter Bell aim to change history by preventing the tragedies before they can happen. Lucky for them, they all appear to occur in the same city in the span of a couple days.

Thrill Seekers is almost worth sitting through just to see VD’s ham-fisted theatrics. Every time he gets a monologue, it’s like watching the high school quarterback audition for the drama department’s play just for a joke. I think the reason they gave him facial hair in this movie is to remind you you’re not watching something on Nickelodeon. Catherine Oxenberg has a small part as the Thrill Seekers spokesperson. Geez, who’d she have to blow to nail that plum role? Oh, yeah, I forgot: her husband, VD. —Rod Lott

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Saint Nick (2010)

One could read the second word of Saint Nick‘s title as not just a name, but a verb, as in “to cut into or wound,” for the unheralded film is the Netherlands’ entry in the horror subgenre of Santa Claus slashers. Both tongue-in-cheek and ax-in-face, writer/director Dick Maas’ movie loves to spill the red stuff — ho-ho-homicide!

Being set in modern-day Amsterdam, the shiny-as-tinsel film cannot be mistaken for our Silent Night, Deadly Night — not with all the seasonal-clad prostitutes waving from windows and talk of gobbling down marzipan. Even more, the slaying Saint Nicholas (Huub Stapel, Maas’ Amsterdamned) is informed by Old World design; with a red robe and a pointy hat, he bears more than a slight resemblance to the Pope. The difference is the leader of the Catholic Church does not rides across rooftops on a horse, nor carry a staff just sharp enough to make decapitation a breeze.

Legend has it that every time there’s a full moon on Dec. 5, Saint Nicholas rises from the dead to avenge his death in 1492. But to 25-year police veteran Goert Hoekstra (Bert Luppes, Black Book), it is no legend — his entire family, kiddos included, succumbed to the slaughter in 1968. The only person who believes the cop is a college guy (Egbert Jan Weeber) nursing a broken heart, because he just watched his pals in blackface get murdered on their way to a sorority party.

Presenting a nasty sense of humor throughout, Saint Nick has the air of feeling original, although it clearly isn’t, up until the tired climactic battle to the (not) finish. But in a film like this, all that matters is that heads roll, bodies are stuffed up chimneys, torsos are halved, and so on. Those happen. —Rod Lott

Buy it at Amazon.