From [email protected] Sun Feb 12 14:00:50 EST 1995
Article: 48179 of alt.sex.movies
From: [email protected] (Caress Magazine)
Newsgroups: alt.sex.movies
Subject: Review: Nightdreams....classic adult movie
Date: Sun, 12 Feb 1995 17:42:07 +0000
Organization: Caress Magazine
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NNTP-Posting-Host: line0f.kemp-du.pavilion.co.uk
Status: RO
Nightdreams
Review by Duncan Richards for Caress Magazine
Ever since the invention of Hollywood, we Brits have suspected that the
Americans were getting more sex than they were entitled to, and the
arrival of Yankee Porn-flicks in the mid-to-late seventies did nothing to
dispel that belief.
Here in sleepy old Bristol, several of the main cinemas set up special
clubs to show the new Triple X rated films. Some of those images remain
etched in my memory. The locker-room scene from Midnight Blue for
instance, where Jamie Gillis and friends take gangster's moll Vanessa Del
Rio apart; and Desiree Cousteau, a Russ Meyer remould of Betty Boop, being
screwed rotten by red-necked pirates in Summer Heat.
It was too good to last!
Outside in the real world, it didn't take long for the city fathers to
discover that somebody was having fun, and move to close down this
loophole. Fortunately the closure of the cinema clubs coincided with the
advent of the first low-cost VCRs, and small video rental shops sprang up
on every street corner eager to satisfy the demands of a new market.
TCX, Electric Blue, Essex and other distributors rushed to supply cut-down
versions of familiar porno titles, which although badly-butchered were
still pretty horny by U.K. standards. The self-censored TCX version of
Pretty Peaches for example retained the 'hot-water bottle' douche scene
uncut. Call me kinky, but I've always preferred to watch this sequence in
reverse, with Desiree's powerful anal pucker sucking the water back up
into her rectal cavity like some turbo-charged vacuum cleaner.
When even these meagre scrapings were outlawed by compulsory
certification, there was no difficulty in getting hold of the real McCoy
>from the more liberal regime in nearby Holland.
Of those early purchases my favourite is the 1981 classic Nightdreams,
directed by F. X. Pope and starring Dorothy Le May. Dorothy plays Mrs. Van
Houten, a young housewife receiving treatment at a private clinic. From
behind a two-way mirror, doctors observe the progress of her erotic
psychosis and agonise over whether or not to intervene. We, on the other
hand, spend ninety minutes inside their patient's head as she explores her
perverted fantasies. Lucky old us!
The opening titles are accompanied by the amplified sounds of a beating
heart, then shallow breathing and a close up of Dorothy's face as she
delivers an angry monologue direct to camera. But the clinic scenario is
only the thread by which the fantasies are strung together, so don't go
looking for psychological insights, this is porno, not Baywatch. The
girl's a slut, let's leave it at that. The screen goes black, and we are
in a moonlit nursery full of sinister shapes and shadows.
Suddenly the big red box in the corner flies open and up pops a
white-faced Jack with the crutch cut out of his nice red outfit. Dorothy
is waiting for him so they get straight down to some serious pussy-licking
and cock-sucking. Jack then penetrates her, first with the long pointy
nose of his mask (in homage perhaps to the famous scene in Kubrick's A
Clockwork Orange), and then with the long pointy end of dick (in homage no
doubt to the sheer loveliness of Dorothy's extremely juicy little twat).
She moans her pleasure and Jack pulls out, spunking copiously on her
belly.
Back briefly to the clinic where Mrs. Van Houten is holding her cheeks
open to the camera so that we can all get a close-up view of her asshole,
Very pretty Dorothy, but can you do the vacuum-cleaner trick like Desiree
Cousteau?
The scene shifts to a Western camp-fire where two lonesome cow-girls
(Danielle & Monique) are caught canoodling. Enter Dorothy packing a giant
dildo in her low-slung holster.
They turn. She faces them down. 'Don't give me those tender looks.' she
says, 'You want my pussy. Why don't you just say so?'
'We love the feel of fire.' the girls reply in a slow sing-song chant,
'The way it burns. We love to feel it all around, till all we can do is,
Breath and Fuck, Breath and Fuck. Hey! Look at the bush on her! I'll bet
she's real wet underneath. April showers bring May flowers.'
The orchestra cranks up to a moody version of Ring of Fire, and we're
right in the middle of an excellent three-way lesbian show.
Porno regular Danielle looks so young and sweet in this scene it's enough
to make your heart burst, and whatever happened to Monique? The climax
comes when the two girls kneel up side by side and Dorothy dildo-fucks
both of them into submission.
A moment later we're in a Bedouin tent. Four stoned Arabs sit round a
hookah, while in the foreground Dorothy lies naked on a rug, writhing in
frustration as she attempts to reach her G-spot with the mouthpiece of
another pipe. Two of the Arabs approach and replace the probing prosthetic
with their own throbbing dicks. No music, no talking, just slurping and
moaning as they put her first on her back then on her hands and knees, and
simply use her. One spunks in her mouth and the other on her arse, before
returning to their pipe and leaving Dorothy dozing peacefully, waiting
like the perfect harem slave to be used again and again.
Next there's a bathroom scene. A mysterious masked figure watches through
a crack in the door as Dorothy masturbates in front of a full-length
mirror. When she takes a large white vibrator from the drawer the
peeping-tom can stand it no longer. He throws her down across the toilet
and proceeds to shag her doggie-style.
This guy is no gent, as witness the fact that he keeps his bowler-hat on
throughout, and he really doesn't deserve that jaw-breaking blow-job
Dorothy gives him either. But then how few of us ever get what we really
deserve in this life? Not many thank heavens.
Fast-forward to the next fantasy, where Dorothy is preparing her
breakfast. 'I love my Creem O Wheat!' she says, 'It feels so good when it
goes down my throat.'
'Better eat it before it gets cold!' suggests the smiling Negro from off
the cereal packet, and Dorothy wastes no time in getting her ruby reds
wrapped round his polished mahogany shaft. In the background the radio
plays 'Old Man River', while a saxophonist dances around the kitchen in
his tights disguised as a slice of toast. Luis Bunuel, eat your heart out!
A jolly little scene all things considered, but mysteriously no come-shot.
What was the director trying to tell us? I mean if the black guy got a
droop, why didn't he bring on a stunt dick, or use an insert later? Read
my post-Freudian, neo-structuralist analysis in the next issue of Big Tits
Monthly.
A brief return to lucidity is followed by Mrs. Van Houten's descent into a
smoky sulphurous Hell, complete with the wailing voices of the eternally
damned, incandescent charcoal fires and the monotonous clanking of
infernal machines. It's obviously been a slow sort of day by local
standards, because the Devil (played as a whinging Charles Manson
look-alike) finds time to attend to the new arrival personally. Dorothy is
chained down over a rock, and Charlie orders his female slave (Loni
Sanders) to give her a good seeing-to with a very thick strap-on. But this
rough penetration is as nothing compared to that achieved by the Devil's
own two-pronged cunt-stretcher; one very large dildo and a six inch
anal-intruder nailed to the base of an old broom handle. The insertion
scene is a treat!
Having suffered the exquisite agonies of Hell, Dorothy ascends to a
Paradise drenched in the largactyl melodies of Eric Satie, and where Kevin
James is waiting for her with a hard-on you could use to punch holes in
masonry.
Miss Le May may not be in the same class as Desiree when it comes to anal
house-keeping duties, but she does star in another of my favourite
'reverse video' sequences, taken from Small Town Girls. It starts with
Dorothy spitting a rapist's spunk back into his dick with pin-point
accuracy. He moans and after some resistance gets Dorothy to let go off
his dick. He re-dresses her, untying her and letting her down from the
rotating wooden cross, then drags her backwards out of the warehouse and
into a car. She drives back to the parking-lot, and he ducks down behind
the seat while she goes back into the clothes store and returns all the
ghastly seventies fashions she'd bought earlier. Who said there were no
happy endings any more?
Duncan Richards also writes regular reviews for Caress Newsletter.
--
David Weldon [email protected]
Editor/Publisher tel: 01273 726281 ** int: +44 1273 726281
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Caress Magazine....the erotic experience
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169 “I can arrange all that.” Such Apaches as had not gone back on the war-path returned to the States with the troops; but there were five months more of the outrages of Geronimo and his kind. Then in the summer of the year another man, more fortunate and better fitted to deal with it all, perhaps,—with the tangle of lies and deceptions, cross purposes and trickery,—succeeded where Crook had failed and had been relieved of a task that was beyond him. Geronimo was captured, and was hurried off to a Florida prison with his band, as far as they well could be from the reservation they had refused to accept. And with them were sent other Indians, who had been the friends and helpers of the government for years, and who had run great risks to help or to obtain peace. But the memory and gratitude of governments is become a proverb. The southwest settled down to enjoy its safety. The troops rested upon the laurels they had won, the superseded general went on with his work in another field far away to the north. The new general, the saviour of the land, was heaped[Pg 305] with honor and praise, and the path of civilization was laid clear. Parliament met on the 10th of January, 1765. The resentment of the Americans had reached the ears of the Ministry and the king, yet both continued determined to proceed. In the interviews which Franklin and the other agents had with the Ministers, Grenville begged them to point to any other tax that would be more agreeable to the colonists than the stamp-duty; but they without any real legal grounds drew the line between levying custom and imposing an inland tax. Grenville paid no attention to these representations. Fifty-five resolutions, prepared by a committee of ways and means, were laid by him on the table of the House of Commons at an early day of the Session, imposing on America nearly the same stamp-duties as were already in practical operation in England. These resolutions being adopted, were embodied in a bill; and when it was introduced to the House, it was received with an apathy which betrayed on all hands the profoundest ignorance of its importance. Burke, who was a spectator of the debates in both Houses, in a speech some years afterwards, stated that he never heard a more languid debate than that in the Commons. Only two or three persons spoke against the measure and that with great composure. There was but one division in the whole progress of the Bill, and the minority did not reach to more than thirty-nine or forty. In the Lords, he said, there was, to the best of his recollection, neither division nor debate! His cheek paled for an instant as the thought obtruded that the man might resist and he have to really shoot him. "Good, the old man's goin' to take the grub out to 'em himself," thought the Deacon with relief. "He'll be easy to manage. No need o' shootin' him." "Them that we shot?" said Shorty carelessly, feeling around for his tobacco to refill his pipe. "Nothin'. I guess we've done enough for 'em already." John Dodd, twenty-seven years old, master, part of the third generation, arranged his chair carefully so that it faced the door of the Commons Room, letting the light from the great window illumine the back of his head. He clasped his hands in his lap in a single, nervous gesture, never noticing that the light gave him a faint saintlike halo about his feathery hair. His companion took another chair, set it at right angles to Dodd's and gave it long and thoughtful consideration, as if the act of sitting down were something new and untried. "Besides," Norma said desperately, "they're only rumors—" "Oh, I've found a way of gitting shut of them rootses—thought of it while I wur working at the trees. I'm going to blast 'em out." During the next ten years the farm went forward by strides. Reuben bought seven more acres of Boarzell in '59, and fourteen in '60. He also bought a horse-rake, and threshed by machinery. He was now a topic in every public-house from Northiam to Rye. His success and the scant trouble he took to conciliate those about him had made him disliked. Unprosperous farmers[Pg 124] spoke windily of "spoiling his liddle game." Ditch and Ginner even suggested to Vennal that they should club together and buy thirty acres or so of the Moor themselves, just to spite him. However, money was too precious to throw away even on such an object, especially as everyone felt sure that Backfield would sooner or later "bust himself" in his dealings with Boarzell. "Let's go home," she said faintly—"it's getting late."