Reviewed by Don Luis
Joanna Angel’s indomitable spirit and inimitable directorship have undoubtedly changed the face of porn forever. Her performances and authorship of the storylines for both Alt Throttle and Joanna’s Angels were anomalies of such ilk that the industry itself dubbed their uniqueness ‘things that make you go hmmmmm…”. This latest installment is a departure from her usual punk porn ethos, and something of a return to the DIY scenes that attracted us all, like moths to the flame, towards BurningAngel.com when it first jiggled strands on the World Wide Web several years ago.
In an apparent attempt to play up his mirroring of all Keanu Reeve’s styling cues, a nearly unrecognizable, bearded, shaggy Tommy Pistol returns for an impromptu romp through Pixie Pear’s tattooed garden set against a jade green post modernist geometric backdrop. Noticeably absent are any of his characteristic comedic antics, as the scenes seem to be strictly focused on the sex with slim-to-no dialogue whatsoever. However, strategically placed Aqua Teen Hunger Force ink discourages any belief in his disguise.
Joanna Angel and Mr. Marcus were an inevitable pairing, though, conspicuously imbalanced. Formidable though her BJ skills may be, the laws of physics pertaining to two bodies occupying the same space at the same time apply, and she is overwhelmed. When finally that fabled warrior marches through her hallowed gate, not unlike friend Dana DeArmond, she has no frame of reference with which to compare it, she barely survives the onslaught, and is undone by the enormity of the situation. Nor are her legendary anal skills any match for this Titan as her expression belies her verbosity and the Marcus family heirloom destroys her remaining antiquated notions of elasticity.
Painted canvas and known alternaporn bad boy Rob Rotten appears for a BGG scene with Ms. Joanna herself and pal Kylie Kross. The three make sweet music in Rotten’s at home sound studio and try not to topple the keyboards in the process. The action here is visibly less violent than many other films in which he’s appeard, though, the girls are no less satisfied, and in homage to the film’s title, after a protracted short stack of porn starlet pancakes, Rotten unleashes atop Kross and collaborating cutie Joanna’s claims to coolness.
Fans of Joanna’s more thought provokingly characteristic lines from her earlier adventures in both the director’s and performer’s chairs with VCA as her vehicle will be somewhat disappointed here. There seems to be a film wide gag order, and not just from all the deep throating action. Scenes here are more reminiscent of the Kill Girl Kill 3 aesthetic I reviewed some months ago. However, the action here is no less hot: beautiful and likewise beautifully tattooed people of both sexes getting dirty for your viewing pleasure in all the positions you wish you could be in with them. Take home a copy and see what I mean!
 Email this review to a friend
|
