Adventures in the skin trade 

Eugenie de Sade
Blue Underground

Back in the '70s, the Catholic Church drew up a shit-list filled with directors who made dirty movies. It's no wonder Marquis de Sade fan Jesús Franco placed well on said list..

Here, comely cult actress Soledad Miranda is Eugenie, a teen temptress living at home with her stepdad, who's a writer of erotic novels. Can you see where this is going?

One day, Dad catches daughter reading a "forbidden" book so he turns her on to one of his own and it sparks a sexual attraction for dear ol' pop. Soon the two are sharing Dad's darker fantasy — that is ... committing a murder. Eugenie gives a whole new meaning to "the family that plays together," but, truthfully, the flick's tame by today's standards but we still get nudity, fetishes and voyeurism. Mid-20th century design hags will love the mod attire and furniture, and erotica heads can dig into the plot that sees more than just debauchery ... Franco's incestuous father-daughter coupling is the impetus for the director to mock elitism and censorship. Now that it's 2009, Catholic and non-Catholics can watch it in the privacy of their homes. And you aren't going to go to hell for it either. We promise. —Paul Knoll


Papaya: Love Goddess of the Cannibals
Severin Films

Ah, the soothing sounds of '70s porn music. You know what we mean. Those delightful boom-chicka-chicka-bow-wow-boom-chicka-chicka sonic treats that defined a whole decade of porn-flick chic. It's but one of the perverse pleasures of the genre-bending Papaya: Love Goddess of the Cannibals (yes, dear, that's really the title), directed by Aristide Massaccesi (aka Joe D'Amato). This Italian director never met an exploitation genre he didn't dig — blaxploitation, sexploitation, spaghetti Western or sword and sorcery. But with Papaya, Massaccesi created something truly original — an erotic cannibal flick with a social conscience. Huh?

In the sunny Dominican Republic, a native cannibal tribe is being relocated to make way for a nuclear reactor. This doesn't sit well with the exotic leader, Papaya, who, as the title suggests, wields a sexual power that no dude or chick can resist. Hence, she lures in the unsuspecting engineers and disposes of them to halt construction of the radioactive eyesore.

Why not just sue? 'Cause then there'd be no reason for the gratuitous nude action, sensual lesbo lovin' and a bizarre pagan orgy set to Caribbean disco music. Nobody's going to confuse this flick with An Inconvenient Truth, but the message about displacing local citizens is a clear finger-pistol to the evils of colonialism and capitalism. Besides, what better way to get the message across than with sex, violence and a little boom-chicka-chicka-bow-wow? —Paul Knoll

Maid in Sweden
Impulse Pictures

There are many things for which we should be thanking Sweden. Our homes are more beautiful because of Ikea. Pop music wouldn't be so pop without the great ABBA. And in the '60s and '70s, Sweden gave us lots of libido-challenging erotica, including the hooplarific I Am Curious (Yellow). But in 1971, Maid in Sweden gave cult-film fans buxom, doe-eyed cutie Christina Lindberg, who could, you'll note, be the best Scandinavian export since lingonberries. No shit.

Lindberg wasn't your stereotypical Amazonian blond Swede with blue eyes. Maid in Sweden was her first film, a dull and dreary affair in which her assets show more emotion than she does. Lindberg plays Inga, a shy country girl who goes for a long weekend visit to Stockholm, where her sister lives. Her big-city foray goes something like this:

Day 1: Inga is tormented by dreams of being gang raped and fondled by a lesbian.

Day 2: She is raped and kind of likes it.

Day 3: She falls in love with her rapist.

Day 4: She sleeps with her sister's jerk of a boyfriend before taking the train back home to mom and pop.

The male-defined plot feels ripped out of a Misogyny 101 pamphlet, if there is such a thing. Worse, there's no eroticism. But don't go blaming Sweden, 'cause this film's a stateside co-production, so Cannon Pictures is the real villain — see Missing in Action I, II and III). It's a Chuck Norris kinda world, after all. Case closed. —Paul Knoll


Black Ass Master 2
Jules Jordan Video

Director Alexander Devoe gives Afro-keester fans exactly what they want, keeping the well-shot HD action suitably filthy, but let's face it: Without the talent, who really cares about directors in porn? And speaking of talent, Jazmine Cashmere, Melrose Fozzz, Marie Luv, Sydnee Capri, Candace Nicole and Jada Fire comprise the panty-stretching stable of ebony babes that make BAM2 a must-see.

And there's plenty to see in this two-disc set (more than four hours, not including 23 minutes of behind-the-scenes stuff, plus a climax recap, in case you missed anything). Standout scenes include huge-behinded Sydness Capri taking on some monster white meat (as do all the gals), and the always-arousing trouper Jada Fire, a woman with a body that could stop traffic, and a mouth on her that, well, does she use that same voice when she's praying? Damn. But there's truly not a bad scene in the batch, so help further race relations and let BAM2 reveal exactly how we can all just get along. —Fern LaBott

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