Porn Inspired by Courtney Love!

Is there anything Courtney Love wouldn't do for attention? My guess is that she wouldn't hook herself up to an enema kit while nude on the roof of a Manhattan building, then approach the edge and squirt the water onto the heads of pedestrians--if only because the pedestrians wouldn't know that it was her enema raining down on them. Killing Courtney Luv's titular character, on the other hand, does exactly this, and then flips off the man who shouts about getting splashed. Directed as it was by our old D.I.Y. friend and Black Mirror impresario Joe Gallant, I'm going to call this scene realer than real. While the outraged man on the sidewalk may have been a plant, or even edited in, somewhere in New York City, dirty water hit the sidewalk, and the sullied name of Courtney Love was somehow made to seem more respectable (scandalous accusations aside).

Gallant, the no-budget, no-morals Hell's Kitchen pornographer and Cassavettes admirer, has become a media darling and industry star in the couple years since he introduced the butt bong to the world. Killing Courtney Luv, distributed by VCA, proves that he has not "sold out," as the so-punk-they're-dead kids say. (Although I should tell you that the aforementioned squirted enema is clear, not chunky. In the past, he has forbidden use of the pre-shoot enemas standard in porn. There's also no human turd on a plate with incense stuck in it, an image from one of his flicks that has stuck with me, as if to the bottom of my shoe.) The provocative premise, obsessing over anuses, use of not conventionally attractive non-actors, incidental farting--all these are hallmarks of Gallant's early style. (Though I have yet to see any of his actors read their lines off sheets of paper, as happens in one scene.) To them he has added pretentious big ideas and slightly wacky intertextual cinematic references: The movie, which concerns itself (the way a boy concerns himself with his dad's porn, tearing out the centerfold and making pages stick together) with the question of whether or not people who are not on television "exist," is based on Taxi Driver. In addition to being about a bitchy bleach-blonde rock star named Courtney Luv. All of which simply means Gallant is finally taking some L.A. liberties.

Despite the fact that she doesn't have one tit in the grave, the charismatic and aloof Phoebe Lux makes a good enough Courtney, if not a very good Iris. Her solo ass-squirt scene is one of the greatest expressions of debauched self-love that I've witnessed outside of Courtney Love's deliberate public melt-downs. Still, she's merely cute fucking the taxi driver at movie's end. I preferred the scene featuring newbie Mariah Lynn (who plays Luv's manager; most of the movie is devoted to these extraneous characters, and their extraneous actions), a tall and solid redhead with a no-nonsense, squinty kind of prettiness. As in the other scenes, she endures a marathon anal session and a facial followed by her partner slurping off some of the cum and spitting it back onto her mouth. But she's the only one who seems at all put out by the depravity, sometimes squirming and wincing. Which, if we're concerning ourselves with the battered, gaping spirit of Courtney Love here, makes her this movie's true, winking star.


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