Webcam Girls!

Don't get me wrong: the Internet's great—you should see the pizza crust touched by Justin Timberlake that I just bought on eBay. Thing is, I associate the Web with work. Between writing this column and answering e-mail from starlets asking for any "tips" I might have to offer, I spend more time slaving over a hot computer than I do taking milky bong hits. (I'm speaking figuratively, of course.) Still, like I was telling some flunky editor the other day (screw the man!), I may not always remember to put cover sheets on my TPS reports, but I don't need a memo reminding me to masturbate to 10-second clips of chubby facials from worldsex.com. Or have my intern do it, at least.

This week, our selections explore a porn world fractured by the surfer's quixotic quest for instant gratification. I fondly remember my college days, when I relied on the dorm's firewall-free T1 to satisfy my disgusting appetites. Not everyone got off so easy. David Denby, snooty film critic for The New Yorker, recently wrote about kicking an addiction to online smut. I always thought the guy was a jerk-off, but I can see how the Web's worldwide but mostly shitty selection can stretch your surfing into the wee hours, especially when you're relying on freebies. Porn, deconstructed into fleeting clips or stills, brings out the smut lover's inner perfectionist: You search for the perfect look on her face, a certain bounce of the tits, arc of cum across the nose. Unless you're just looking for "Ugly Mud" movies. (Talk about dirty!)

Broken down by "fetish" (blowjob, anal, etc.) as they often are, DVDs splinter narrative almost as surely as Bang Bus previews. Its advertised breakdown menu—billed as "Remote Control Access" with "Screen Express"—notwithstanding, Web Cam Girls (VCA) aims to capture a seemingly opposite online phenomenon: the always-on Internet broadcast. Exhibitionism at its most banal, webcamming offers the viewer another quixotic quest for consummated titillation: Will she get up for a glass of juice, or squirt on the bedsheets? The usual porno pulp gets gulped here; the plot gives this a late-'90s spin, as if the Web-jizz bubble never burst. (By the way, as much as I regret tech outsourcing, I do look forward to Indian Web Cam Girls. Indiauncovered.com just ain't crackin'.)

In the opening scene, a bottle blond camouflaged in curlers and a robe sips juice at breakfast with her chief husband, who drones about the "Johnson proposal" he's working on. She smiles and nods, and as soon as he's out the door, lets down her hair, reveals her red-and-black lingerie, and plops in front of the computer. Cutting to her screen, we see the choppy image of her breasts, popping out from an underwire bra, broadcast alongside icons for her "diary" and "shopping list." We presume that every man but her husband has a johnson proposal for her.

The other women here, two of them refreshingly round and redheaded, also find gender-equalizing opportunity on the Internet. A stripper multiplies her income after hooking up with an online entrepreneur; a Web actress counsels a new colleague not to give in to the "pressure" of hardcore heads who e-mail in with kinky requests, then shoves an acrylic dildo in her friend's ass; and another gets fingered by her makeup artist. Even though one of the ladies unfortunately avows that her "boyfriend does all the technical stuff, so we can goof around in bikinis," our housewife heroine preserves her dignity after being found out by her skeezy surfer husband. He protests only feebly after she proves her earning power—"These are bank statements, right?"—then stars in her streaming of a combination fuck-footjob. These boots are made for walking ...

In Candy's Cock Show (VCA), my favorite teensy-breasted, bodunkadunk-booty starlet, Dana Vespoli, stars as the titular program's host, interviewing studs and showing clips. (Brittney Skye, a blond and big-titted vet, gets the cover even though she plays Candy's assistant.) Written and directed by Chloe, a starlet who also sucks and fucks here, this smut-valley Larry Sanders Show gives an explicit look at porn's exploitation of its ladies. Eric Masterson, less jocular with each leading role he takes, flatly plays Candy's douche-bag boss. "I'm not gonna beat around the bush," he says after calling her to his office and asking her to come by his apartment later. "Do you want to keep your job?" She does, and his cum winds up dribbling down her perfect, toast-brown thigh.

Candy doesn't escape unscathed, but she does quit, giving Eric a tongue-lashing—"I'm a talk-show host, not a fucking hooker!"—and taking up with Brittney, who gives her a hell of a tongue-fucking. Writer-director David Stanley also isolates sex-qua-sex in Pretty Girl (Vivid), giving covergal Briana Banks her turn, but focusing on his complex, semi-fictionalized obsession with Ashley Blue. (He's played by Masterson.) "I just wanna listen to the Cocteau Twins with her," he narrates at one point, in the midst of a bitter, wistful, naive voiceover that butts into fuck scenes and addresses true love, fake sex, AVN's porn-crit primacy, and the rewards of smut-making. Stanley, for all his wild Adaptation antics and unfocused energy, is the one true artist on his side of the DV cam. (Yeah, Joone—whatcha wanna do?) Ashley gives a better blowjob in Teen Land 9, to name the most recent example I can think of, but that movie's jaded producer, Pussyman, squanders the essential charisma that Stanley celebrates. Now if I could just find those Cocteau twins online ...

VCA, 9650 DeSoto Avenue, Chatsworth, CA 91311

Vivid, 15127 Califa Street, Van Nuys, CA 91411, vivid.com

 
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