I first encountered tonight's review in a VHS bootleg catalog, of all places, back in the early nineties when my thirst for new cult/horror/exploitation was ravenous and increasingly difficult to slake, even with regular road trips in all directions to seek out and score new genre stimuli. Though I'm not gonna glorify the fly-by-night media brigands who offered the title, since we run a legit cabin cruiser of ill repute upon the seas of creativity here at the Wop, I will admit to ordering it through them back then, my curiosity precipitated by a brief typewritten sentence or two describing the ...ahem....plot of the eighteen minute long effort, directed by avant garde artist, Denni Lugli. Of course, when I finally got the tape, threw it in, and watched past the snow at the outset, I'd been given a copy of something else entirely, and not at all what I'd ordered months earlier. Oh yeah, did I mention that it took that long for my order to arrive, besides being wrong? That's what I get for fucking around with bootlegs, right? Fuck you. Then about fifteen years later...
Sembra legittimo e securo...provatelo!
After some brief grainy video titles and a Buttgereit-esque synth score, we meet a couple (Paul St. Pauli, Rrose Selavy) lounging out and watching television (...of the gonorrhea conspiracy variety, no less) while smoking cigarettes and drinking what looks like scotch. He momentarily ponders using a small vial of titular "Sexplosion" while she starts to get frisky... but no. They then decide to hook up the clunky, eighties-style Panasonic video camera and film themselves going horizontal. An affluence of titties, birthmarks, and hairy bush follows, married to a brief cunnilingus sequence and a longer fellatial bout, which leaves him sleeping unresponsive next to her, as she tries to awaken him for another more satisfying round of sesso, but to no avail.
"Il mio cazzo e' morbido come gelato!"
At this point, the unfulfilled minx sneaks off and fills a syringe with the aforementioned "Sexplosion", then fixes his sleeping ass up with it, before cuddling up to his naked form in anticipation of the hip-bucking hijinks to follow. Only, this stuff has suddenly transformed him into a slathering fuck fiend, complete with latex rubber facial appliances, bubblegum vending machine fake teeth, and a sizable phony cock that drips blood and semen alternately. He chases her into the bathroom, looking like a horny mountain variant Jerry Seinfeld while crucifying her tongue to the toilet lid with a pair of scissors, then taking her from behind with his new faux endowment, piped in grunts and screams abound. Then his dick falls off. Finally, we're treated to more video bars, tracking problems, titles, and synth.
"Ammirare l'artigianato di questo coperchio di toletta!"
The poor girl seen here appears under the pseudonym Rrose Selavy, which also happened to be the female alter ego of artist Marcel Duchamp, a sort of play on the French words for "Eros, that's life." How quaint. The guy appears as Paul St Pauli, not much of a nod to art, but twice as goofy sounding. According to Lugli's website which hasn't been updated in quite a while, he served as an assistant to Italian FX wizard Sergio Stivaletti on films like Demoni 2 (1986), Spettri (1986), and Opera (1987), though he's got no imdb credits on any of those movies. One look at his effects work here tells me he must've been more of an espresso gopher than a latex stirrer, if anything. Despite being little more than grainy Z-grade porn with some insultingly cheap and amateurish gore thrown in for whatever reason, it's just sleazy enough (and eighteen minutes is thankfully brief) to work as a rare trash oddity that you might pull a chuckle out of, under the optimum circumstances, with optimum in this instance meaning "well-drugged". The standard deuce.