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Pulse P.o.V.
 Studio: Digital Playground
Director: Robby D.
Cast: Codi Milo, Jasmine Byrne, Holly Morgan, Alexis Silver, Nautica Thorn, Honey
The Point of View format is tricky because the camera is supposed to be your eyes and, by deduction, the hands reaching into the frame, yours, and the everything else one sees that does not belong to the starlet being viewed, also yours.
In that Robby D. does all the talking and is directing the camera in this movie, it is as if he is your eyes and your brain. Your dick belongs to Scott Nails. For a while I thought all the elements belonged to D. himself, but then I concluded, "How would he hold the camera?"
Since Nails does no talking on his own, the picture one gets is that Robby D., Vishnu-style, is doing the whole job himself, but behind the camera.
So watching Mr. D. romance Holly Morgan, Jasmine Byrne, Alexis Silver, Honey, and Nautica Thorn leads me to put myself in his place. His dick is my dick.
Would I be as smooth with the ladies as Robby D.? Would I be able to make small talk about peanut butter with Holly Morgan? Probably not. I find, though, that having a camera helps almost as much as having a few drinks.
Unlike other narrated movies, however, Pulse has someone's dick in it. That didn't happen with Blade Runner or Stand By Me. One gets used to it, though. With other porn movies the viewer can at least be satisfied that the director isn't getting laid (like Atomic Vixens). With this one Robby is getting all the business.
"I can see your nipple through that shirt," D. says to Honey, channeling my exact thoughts.
"Thanks," she says. (She is grateful that I still pay attention after all these years.)
I would like to have been on the set of the scene with Honey, because she was groaning in pleasure even when our dicks were nowhere near her. At one point, a pair of hands grabbed her ankles. How did the camera stay up??
Honey was a little too strident and affected for us, but Yow what a dynamo.
Jasmine Byrne as a compromised maid and titan-breasted Britisher Alexis Silver both took very good care of us.
But it was Nautica Thorn, who let us come on her glasses in exchange for a contract, who provided the perfect porn star experience.
"That was fucking hot. That was so fucking hot - that felt so good," we told her. "I'm having a fucking heart attack. Oh shit," we said.
My time as Robby D. was well spent, though I would have rather we had been serviced here at Gram Ponante Towers and Aviary or at one of those trendy porn journalist parties we attend rather than in the standard porn houses. But if you have to be a tourist on someone else's fantasy, Pulse delivers.
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The More the Merrier
 Studio: Adam & Eve
Director: Roy Karch
Cast: Carmen Luvana, Carmen Hart, Sunny Lane, Julie Night, Kelly Wells, Celestia Star, Chrissy Cumms
Performing a solitary dance on a large butcher block table in a room slowly filling with dry ice is Sunny Lane. Behind her, ascending in a freight elevator, are the Carmens Luvana and Hart. They get out of the freight elevator and sit at the table.
Why is Lane facing away from them? Why is she alone? Why is the room smoky? Why hasn't Carmen Luvana received her dinner? No Morals.
It is not surprising that porn directors, like the great bon vivant Roy Karch, will find a visually arresting location and keep it in mind for other projects. That the last Karch film I watched under my covers with a USB flashlight also featured the same freight elevator and the same smoke made watching The More the Merrier feel like coming home. If home was a smoky warehouse.
"AVN gave No Morals four stars, Gram," Karch pointed out.
"'Nuff said, Roy," I replied.
Karch could not have picked three tastier treats than the two Carmens and Sunny Lane. Lane, "the girl next door gone hardcore", became the dinner the Carmens dropped by for.
The More the Merrier pulled in porn's alliteration-crazed major demographic: people who like watching sex on film. Luvana uncoupled a candle from its stick and dropped wax on Lane's quivering parts for not having dinner ready.
Luvana and Hart are a little more statuesque than Julie Night and Kelly Wells, who join the massive Lee Stone in the next scene. What Wells and Night lack in height they make up in unbridled filthiness, and this scene serves as an excellent counterpoint to the deflowering of the virginal Sunny Lane.
Stone is large in a way that he employs the same hold on the tiny Wells that professional wrestlers use before they bodyslam one another. He holds her up by the waist, her legs over his head, and she is then capable of blowing him or canoodling with Julie Night. Note to self: must go rent a spinner.
The three get very sweaty on a red couch and Wells is folded and unfolded like Costco patio furniture.
In a deserted (but refreshingly smoky) bar, two men bemoan their hard luck when their lamentations are interrupted by Celestia Star, who walks down a set of stairs and begins blowing them. If she were my daughter I would chastise her for having No Morals. But, employing my trusty double standard, I would tell the men, if they were my sons, The More the Merrier, boys.
In yet another bar, bartender Randy Spears tells a buddy about the non-English speaking blonde who frequents the place about this time. Sure enough, in walks Carmen Luvana who, it turns out, understood everything Spears had been saying all along. She fucks them on a convenient couch (it is Hollywood). Why has she chosen this night over all other nights? It's not important. What matters is that she's here now. I was glad that out of all the gin joints, Luvana chose to walk into this one.
The final scene features Chrissy Cumms holding her own against three fellas who were alerted by her masturbation. The Moral? This is what happens when one masturbates loudly..
The Behind the Scenes featurette is notable for Sunny Lane's suggestion of the candles, Hart's revelation that "you can pour candle wax in the crack of my ass if you want to", definitive proof of fluffing, and Karch's reassuring a wood-deficient actor that there's "no pressure".
While we may be momentarily confused about why people do the things they do in this movie, it is always a pleasure to watch. It should have been called The Morals the Merrier.
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Nothin' but a Gangsta Orgy
 Studio: Hustler
Director: D. Sparky
Cast: Kaleah, Valerie Spice, Angel Skye, Fetish Fatale, Love, Madison, Pursuajon, Mya, Raven Sky, Vida Valentine
"It's a gangsta orgy 'round here."
If I were the public speaking teacher of Pursuajon, Raven Sky, and Angel Skye and had to grade the trio's performance as each introduced herself to the camera at the beginning of Nothin' but a Gangsta Orgy, I would have to fail them. It seemed that each performer, upon telling me what she was going to do with my cock, couldn't turn her back to the camera fast enough, walk over to a couch upstage, and shake her booty listlessly.
"Speak up!" I would yell from my desk at the back of the room. "I'm not believing what you'll do with my cock!"
But it wasn't a public speaking class. It was, in fact, Nothin' but a Gangsta Orgy.
Soon the ladies were joined by two gentlemen. Still bent over the couch, each was subject to an inspection involving ass slapping, titties-jiggling, and thong-bunching. As I was keeping score, only one of the gentlemen was dressed like a gangsta. The other was dressed like a hip church organist. What followed was nothin' if not a gangsta orgy plus a hip church organist.
We joined the next scene in progress as four ladies groped each other in preparation for what I think was inevitable: the arrival of gangstas to finish the job in true gangsta style.
One might think that the cattle sale nature of the previous scene's inspection was due to the fact that men were present, but in this scene it was demonstrated that the ladies were self-jiggling. The camera pulled out to reveal that the quartet were all perched on a purple ottoman.
The group was again joined by two men, one of whom looked like a gangsta and one of whom looked like he was in transition out of da life.
Kaleah, in a pink top, kept up a running commentary through the scene that was casual and supportive.
"She likes that fat dick," she said, referring to Valerie Spice.
"Put your pussy on that dick just like that," one man said, referring to his own dick.
A pattern emerged of scenes in which only half of them men present appeared to be gangstas. It was either a union thing or my definition of gangsta is too narrow.
What the movie lacked was all eleven women in one scene, but that, I guess, would have been something more than a gangsta orgy.
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Cousin Stevie's Pussy Party: King Klit
 Studio: Cousin Stevie/PurePlay Media
Director: Cousin Stevie
Cast: Kami Andrews, Missy Monroe, Vivian West, Brandi Wylde, Amber Peach, Monica Sweetheart, Erika Kole, Taryn Thomas
To watch a porn movie be filmed and then to receive its DVD realization can be scary. What if the things I loved on set didn't make the final cut? Does the DVD capture my heady thrill at being so clinically close to the action? How do the sights, sounds, and smells of such a thing translate to a sterile digital format?
No one can say that porn performers do not work for a living. Many in the adult industry complain that porn stars are flaky, false, fucked up, and/or frigid, but when the Record button is pressed most stars are all business. The Pussy Party series, which won AVN's Best All-Girl series this year, features a graduated progression of girl-on-girliness. First each participant masturbates, then couples get together, then the couples double up, and then the day ends with an eight-person competitive free-for-all. I find solo scenes to be most problematic because that is where people look most affected. The only times I've ever masturbated for a camera were at a Gap dressing room and the Van Nuys DMV, and I wasn't aware of it. In Pussy Party, even the normally-unabashed (and eventual winner) Kami Andrews puts on a voice about an octave above how she sounds normally. It is a lesson about who people are and what they think people like us want. Missy Monroe was able to avoid sounding like she was putting on airs because I had just brought her a 12-pack of Guiness and she was delightfully sloppy. Sloppy in a bar girl in Angela's Ashes sort of way. Meowrr. (Producers PurePlay Media do not condone alcohol on their sets and had no knowledge of this transaction, let's just say.) And Vivian West had a certain arch world-weariness to her that was a little more immediate than the others', and which showed up in her solo scene. As more partners were added, however, individual personalities began to manifest themselves in earnest. Kami and Missy were aggressive, Monica Sweetheart was submissive and demure, Brandi Wylde was glamorous, Amber Peach was shy but game. Having sex on film, no matter how many times it is done in front of whichever kind of crew, looks tough. One has to shut off a part of herself that finds the process unnatural. Pussy Party was successful in live and movie form because the atmosphere was very, very congenial. Cousin Stevie is a great host (though the subtitle "King Klit" makes me uncomfortable and sounds like something I'd pick up at Trader Joe's). A 63-year-old New York native, Stevie (his cousin is Seymore Butts) seems like he is having the time of his life. He has an earring. He flips off the camera. His lovely wife is supportive. His lechery has limits. He doesn't have the creepy gene. The shoot was so much fun (the scholar can see me standing in the background looking like a bass player in a Doobie Brothers' tribute band...I'm thinking we could call ourselves Still the Ones) that I wanted to bus myself in as male talent. The movie might best be watched backward because it's good to open with a bang.
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Studio: Digital Playground
