Tristan Taormino's Reality Porn!

I'll be honest with you here: I thought Tristan Taormino, my fellow columnist (that is, a person I appeared with in print a few years back. Remember those times, Tristan? The memories! Hey, we should get together over coffee sometime, reminisce about the old days. You've got a column due? No, it's cool . . . I should probably post to the blog anyhow. Just saw a pretty sweet . . . oh, OK--you get to it. I know, print deadlines--killer. Call me?), was actually starring in her new movie House of Ass (Adam & Eve), not directing it. I seriously believed I'd be watching someone I know personally . . . met once . . . IM with . . . emailed repeatedly and never heard back from . . . once spotted in a cab that splashed a puddle on me . . . get down on camera. Wouldn't you be psyched to see the cutie in the cubicle next to you or your sexily forbidding boss mama or the lunch lady have real actual intercourse on your laptop (assuming it's not actually your dick co-worker literally plowing her on top of your laptop, although of course you'll make exceptions)? It would be like a celebrity sex tape, but somehow creepier/hotter.

Tristan has given us her own spin on the celebrity sex tape. (And you thought I couldn't segue out of that morass!) Let's turn to the back of the box, shall we? “Sexual fantasy meets reality when a group of porn stars spend the weekend at a remote house, indulge their sexual appetites, and the cameras never stop rolling.” Before I tell you why this is my kind of movie, let me state for the record that although I thirst for validation from respected sex columnists (and hope to be invited to the next gathering at a remote house that Tristan hosts--don't worry, TR, I'll bring my own supply of Valtrex!), I watched this movie the way I watch 'em all: dick in hand, finger on fast forward. (Sometimes I switch it up so there's a thumb in my ass.) With all the scandals plaguing journalism (I'm not naming any names . . . Park Slope Reader!), the last thing this industry needs is news that Johnny Maldoro's actually watching an entire movie just because a colleague of his directed it.

So. Here's why this is my kind of movie: It's essentially a creative gonzo, and only as realistic as serves the masturbating viewer. There's no plot, just a framework that provides for charged sex encounters. And I have to say I liked the reality-show talking-head recaps, where Joanna Angel (pic) , for instance, talks about why exactly Scott Nails turns her on (she always wanted to fuck jocks in high school despite being a feminist punk, big surprise there), and Scott Nails mentions without being didactic about not being turned on by hurting women (this is a light feminist touch, proof that a little responsibility won't make anyone limp). The cast is great, though not noticeably different than that if any mainstream porn, the uniformly decent-looking dudes--Nails, Mr. Marcus, “Talon”--aside. Sarah Blake (pic) and Justine Joli (pic) are smoking, pert-breasted skinny chicks; Saana (pic) is a smoking, pert-breasted, skinny Euro chick with white-blond hair (real, I think); and Keeani Lei (pic) is a smoking, pert-breasted, skinny Asian chick. I won't give away any details because I'm too lazy, but suffice it to say everyone sluts it up royally, all over the house, in many of the conceivable combinations (you do the math). Joanna--dun dun dun--fucks a black guy for the first time, and he's not even a hipster. (And don't think that because Tristan gives lectures on dildos and enjoying sex and stuff that the fucking isn't dirty--it's so dirty one scene has to happen in a bath.) Tristan: Nicely done. Call me?

Upcoming Events

 


Sponsor Content

Newsletters

All-access pass to the top stories, events and offers around town.

  • Top Stories
    Send:

Newsletters

All-access pass to top stories, events and offers around town.

Sign Up >

No Thanks!

Remind Me Later >