This movie is pretty bad. It is a very low-budget porno with appalling camerawork and bad sex. Some of the girls are pretty, but you don't get to see anything and
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By Jan Moir for the Daily Mail. John Wayne Bobbitt wants you to know this. He is a good man in a crisis. It certainly came to his aid on that terrible night, 25 years ago this summer, when he woke to find his wife Lorena sawing off his manhood with an eight-inch carving knife. Bobbitt is still, inevitably, remembered for the events of that night, which made headlines around the world, and which he now recalls in eye-watering detail. At first, the horror and the pain sent him into deep shock, he says.
The strange story of how one man lost a penis and became — fleetingly — a celebrity and porn star. Most of these films were, understandably, slipped out with little fanfare — few labels bothered with press coverage, even in adult mags. In fact, the idea seemed beyond the understanding of most labels — I remember once trying to explain the idea of review copies to one such label while at the Erotica Festival in London, a thankless task that just went around in circles as the label head could not get his head around the idea of anyone reviewing a film:. This went on for over five minutes before I gave up, said yes, I want to sell them, took his business card and wandered off in search of the bar. But a few labels understood the value of media coverage, especially if they had something outside the ordinary. Vision Video, which seemed to be primarily a gay label that had dabbled in sex education tapes, had picked up the UK rights to a couple of straight porn films that had been making headlines, and went out of their way to milk the publicity potential for all it was worth. But they gave it a good go. By the time I came into contact with them, they had already released Sunset and Divine , the Ron Jeremy-directed film starring Divine Brown, the LA prostitute who had her fifteen minutes of fame after being caught giving Hugh Grant a blow job. In the days before actual celebrity sex tapes, these films featuring nobodies who had become tabloid scandal sensations were all the rage.
If guilty, O. Simpson will simply be one more jealous bastard who gave into psychotic blood lust. Yet his story hangs over us with larger-than-life gloom, evoking our collective spiritual state — our grim voyeurism, our loss of faith — as surely as any event since the Kennedy assassination.