Talk Dirty to Me (Anthony Spinelli / U.S., 1980):

The format is the buddy-movie from the Ď70s, Little Fauss and Big Halsy especially: The queer undertones stay buried even in this porn version, though Anthony Spinelli makes up for it by putting the charming players through their paces. Male braggadocio (John Leslie) and dimness (Jonathan Pacheco) are united in friendship, "broads" come and return their sexual energy with varying degrees of resistance. Cris Cassidy at the clinic is an example of the horny-dervish-under-plain-exterior routine done right: her hair and make-up carry a nice hint of late-Ď60s California, the head turned away from Leslieís patter ("I promise youíll walk with a constant quiver for a week") yields naturally to glistening eyes at his unzipped pants. The title is the request made by Jesie St. James, whose carnal voracity belies her satiny coolness ("I donít want to be looked at! I want to be touched"). Her husband (Aaron Stuart) canít bring himself to even say "tits," so Leslie spots her on the beach and starts the seduction -- binoculars from across the street, handiwork in the garden, James Stewart impressions. Spinelliís mellow handling allows the cast to bloom: Juliet Andersonís predatory grace is such a perfect match for Leslieís swagger that, right after their romp, the two can only collapse in laughter. One gag posits a salacious Tashlin juxtaposition ("Nice carpet," the client says as the pantiesless realtor lifts her skirt), another sends the fellas away so Sharon Kane and Dorothy Lemay, interrupted mid-strip, can discuss the lost art of grooming pubic hair. Despite the eponymous promise of raunch, itís a sunny and vulnerable picture, with enough easy wit to walk the virginal Pacheco through his first stab at cunningulus ("Like that?" he asks with his mouth full). With Carl Regal, and Holly McCall.

--- Fernando F. Croce

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