Army of Lovers

Don’t ask, don’t tell—but honey, do dive, with legs akimbo, on Man-Driller (Pacific Sun Entertainment, Inc.)! The subtitled "film by Csaba Borbely" has a batallion of flesh-torpedo-packing soldiers continually peeling off their fatigues and combat boots to valiantly win the war against celibacy. Whether they’re doing push-ups in a field, playing chess in the barracks, or cleaning the latrine, these guys always end up naked and fucking, sucking, or rimming—and their higher-ups don’t just condone this behavior, they invariably pucker up and join in! There are so many feverish group scenes, in fact, that you start to wonder how incredibly effective this busy batch of army buddies might be if they ever devoted themselves to their official duties. But they’re effective enough as a sleaze unit, one consisting of so many studly guys even I’m considering enlisting into the nearest branch of, you got it, service.

The film is acted in a Middle European–sounding tongue that’s totally Greek to me, but who cares about dialogue when plowing away is a universal language? Another caveat: The guys have clearly been directed to moan and groan nonstop, making for a relentless cacophony of overenthusiasm that threatens to puncture your eardrums and topple your hard-on. But chances are you’ll join in the squeals when you behold the amazing shots of soldiers ejaculating right onto the camera. Things may get a little blurry after that, but some temporary spooge clouds are a small price to pay for this much joy.

Sex taking place where people say it shouldn’t—which is just about everywhere—is such a hot premise it’s no wonder directors keep coming back to it as if it were Horny Goatweed. Gino Colbert’s four-years-in-the-making Porn Fiction (IMD)—a quartet of vignettes that echoes the episodic format of Colbert’s Three Brothers—doesn’t have any butt-holing in the barracks, but it does offer a Secret Service man putting two studs through a sexual drill in anticipation of the president’s arrival. (You heard me, the president.) On top of that, there are no less than two segments with married guys getting fucked by men, and another in which a soap star’s old high school buddy coaxes him out of the closet with his giant schlong. ("Feels good, superstar," coos the bud, Vince Rockland, as Drew Andrews works on his manhood. "I’d like to picture that on the TV fucking Guide!")

What distinguishes Porn Fiction-which has nothing to do with Quentin Tarantino, I don’t think—is that each segment is elaborately infused with dialogue, character development, and other features that are generally as absent from porn as cameos by Julie Andrews. What’s more, each filmette ends with an O. Henry (or maybe blow Henry) type twist that shows careful consideration went into the construction, not just the penetration, ensuring that, plotwise, there are no holes—and if there are, they’re promptly filled, thank you. In the process, there’s plenty of sex too, so it’s not like you’re just caught up in some highfalutin literary exercise. In fact, my butt still hurts just from watching the dildo scene!

The dialogue in Jet Set Diary (Jet Set Productions, Inc.) won’t win any awards, but it’s kind of classic in its own kooky way. At one point, the blond diarist of the title (a character named Dante, played by someone aptly named Dante) says of his new personal assistant, "He really can take care of my personal affairs . . . I can’t wait for him to take care of my personal affairs." The next thing we see, numbingly enough, is Dante telling the assistant, "Tony, I’m really counting on you to take care of my personal affairs," to which Tony replies—everybody now—"Dante . . . I’ll take care of your personal affairs." All right already, take care of his fucking personal affairs! Just shut up—or at least talk in some Middle European–sounding tongue!

No, this isn’t The Diary of Anne Frank or even Bridget Jones’s Diary—it's a total suck-and-fuck fest with nothing on its mind and everything up its behind, and that’s actually OK with me, once you get past the lack of irony levels. The flick starts with the naked Dante writing an infernal diary entry about how his new hired help fucked some friends of his. Dante’s actually thrilled as he relates these encounters, prompting various cum-drenched flashbacks that clearly give his ding-dong a tingle. And at least Dante himself finally scores in the last segment, when his new masseur goes to work on way more than just his back and shoulders. He truly takes care of his personal affairs!

All diaried out, I hoped the same company’s Rear Window (Jet Set Productions, Inc.) would put the cock back into Hitchcock, but alas, the flick is laden with similarly banal dialogue, replete with endless chants of "Fuck that tight ass," "Your cock is so big," and "Feels awesome!" If these guys were artists, they’d be emitting witticisms like, "Ooh yeah, I’m gonna paint that hot painting, baby." If they were pilots, they’d coo shit like, "Oh yes, I’m piloting that big, fucking plane!" But I guess one can’t expect an overabundance of wit from most man-drillers—and at least this opus has the Peeping Tom theme to sustain it, as a horny toad played by the beefy, tattooed Gauge plays with himself while looking out his window at the parade of sexaholics traipsing into the house across the way to fuck and suck. Split screens abound as we watch the action, as well as the voyeur watching the action—so basically we out-perv the peeper. Eventually the guys notice Gauge peering at them and roll their eyes—but funny, the second he finally hauls his schlong to their doorstep, they say "Get your ass in here" and start servicing away. Witty? No. Fun? Yes.

By the way, the film’s most innovative touch may be the unexpected Middle Eastern theme music, though I have a feeling it was just available. So am I.