"Sweet Prudence & the Erotic Adventure of Bigfoot" (2011) d/ William Burke

Then, on the other hand, you've got this one, a softcore SOV throwback to obscure Bigfoot porn of the seventies, from the guy who previously brought you a couple of episodes of Creepy Canada. With delectable dishes like Angie Bates, Albina Nahar, and Lynzey Patterson among others, all willing to get out of those cumbersome clothes and right down to the softcore nitty gritty for the camera lens with men, each other, and monsters, all in high def, mind you,  you may be willing to overlook the production values, wonky CGI, and acting that's often stiffer than the wild man of the woods' interminable wood, which you'll also get to see here, in case you happened to be wondering.


"Do you think Audrey Hepburn started like this?"
After a late night lesbo lake tryst is interrupted by a peep tommin' cryptid, Prudence (Angie Bates) decides that snapping the definitive Momo photo will land her the degree in Cryptozoology (ha!) she's been striving for. Then it's off to the ...ahem... nudist colony where the mythical beast has been spotted for Prudence and her friends Veruca (Albina Nahar) and Mike (Michael Slade) for some sex-soaked squatchin' of the frequent order, which lo and behold, seems to draw the horny hominid out of hiding more effectively than, say, banging a drum and calling out, "Ook! Old buck friend, Ook!" or hanging salmon from fishing line up a tree, or some such shit. The titular, sorry, Prudence is as sweet, as promised, afterall, as evidenced by her mid-day diddle on a blanket under the warming rays of the sun, with a small vibrator she keeps in her thermos(!), sweet enough to keep a pair of avid monster hunters from noticing the low rent lake monster momentarily relieving itself of its inherent shyness behind them. That's sweet, alright.
 

"Ohhh baby, pretend to give it to me...just like that!"
At the Cottontail resort, a hippie named Flower (Heather O'Donnell) who runs the joint/someone's backyard,  aids our aspiring adventurers by pairing them up with her assistant Ginger (Lynzey Patterson), the dame we'd already seen all of when she saw the 'squatch at the outset, which leads to several more pairings, these of a more personal flesh-slappin' nature. While the amorous almasty looks on from the wings/treeline, he heists electronic equipment from the group while they grope, and eventually develops a connection with our lead heroine, who comes to an understanding about the hairy brute and his origins. But mainly she just comes. A lot. With guys, with other girls, by herself. It doesn't matter. By the time the end credits roll, you'll appreciate her obsession with involuntary pelvic contractions nearly as much as she does. Is it that time already?


Somewhere, just off-camera, the fluff girl had a heart attack.
Sure, the suit is half a step up from the expensive wall at Party City in October and none of the jokes or gags could pull a snicker out of me while twin brunettes tickled my ass with a feather , but if you're going into this one looking for realism or comedy, you're barking up the wrong tree, Fido. It's all about the naked nubiles on display, and maybe I was just zooted balls, but these ladies' natural assets looked especially good to me, God damn. A refreshing change of pace from the plastic, artificial Barbie look the adult industry seems to favor these days. If they had the courage to bypass the softie crowd and make a hardcore feature, I'd have been hard pressed to slap another Wop upon this puppy, for sure (and head for the nearest box of tissues, knowing my appetites). As it stands, though, Prudence earns a deuce for its eye candy, and it's worth a look just for that.


"Yeah, I see your tits. What about those wimpies you promised to make me?"

"The Geek" (1971) d/ ?, "Erika's Hot Summer" (1972) d/ Gary Graver

Tonight, I figured we'd gaze upon a double dip of exploitative shorts from the seventies, one's a forty-seven minute Bigfoot porn from San Francisco, the other's a sixty-five minute showcase of buxom brunette bombshell Erica Gavin, of Russ Meyer (Vixen, Beyond the Valley of the Dolls) fame, courtesy of Gary Graver, the cinematographer-turned-porn-director (as Robert McCallum) who supplied such carnal classics as 3 AM (1975) and The Ecstasy Girls(1979). Neither of tonight's films is particularly effective or well-executed, but Erica's monumental assets are always easy on the eyes, under any circumstances. And to call The Geek a bad movie is tantamount to calling Sophia Loren good-looking, retaining a nanoparticle of entertainment value with it's cheap, laughable fun.


"Oof! I can't tell where your dirty nipple ends and the carbuncle begins..."
After some cunt with a posh British accent provides us with a half-baked sasquatch (or, as he's also known for this particular stag loop's intent and purpose, and nowhere else, "The Geek") back story narrative, three pairs of unsavory-looking couples (Ric Lutze, porn performer and longtime partner of sex queen Rene Bond, is in there somewhere) pull up in a white Volkswagen mini bus, backpacking over flat, rolling hills (and flat stock music), looking for Bigfoot and not afraid to whip their ugly hippie junk out on camera and have graphic sex that's as unsexy as it is repugnant to behold. As if the smell couldn't have gotten any worse, the titular horny Geek makes the scene, only he's less sasquatch than he is lanky hillbilly moonshiner in a fur coat with shoe polish on his face, hands, and feet. Of course, that doesn't stop him from fumblingly showing a couple of the hippie broads the joys of interspecies rear penetration. Not even Bigfoot can maintain an erection in this mess. And if you thought the sex sucked, wait 'til you get a load of the climactic fight scene between hippie menfolk and a three-times-horny Geek that makes a vintage Santo punch up look like Drunken Master II. "Someday I'm going to get that filthy animal!", exclaims one of the wounded campers, no less a filthy animal, himself.


What an autographed copy of La Sexorcisto might have cost for a White Zombie groupie back in '71.

and our second feature...

During the intermission, where the ordinary lumber off to the concession stand for greasy snacks, watered down soft drinks, and those glow-in-the-dark footballs for late night sporto/meathead fun on the beach that they sold back when Kojak was king, and the extraordinary would be tagging into backseat dibs on bong packin'/sixer crackin'/honeydip mackin' action during the second feature, I just figured I'd take the opportunity to tell you that we offer zero of the aforementioned distractions of yesteryear here, as a movie review blogsite, and not an actual seventies style drive-in theater. Just to avoid any confusion...


Nevermind chuckling at the checkers, Wop'd drop the dimples between those swollen pimples.
The cooling calm of the ocean's rushing tide often inspires Erika (Erica Gavin) to strip naked and stretch her ample-assed curves in the sun, to the strains of a poor man's Bobby Gouldsboro, crooning a folky guitar tune about the brunette with epic ba-zooms. Then there's the resident cocksmith/erotic photographer named Steve (Walt Phillips) whose boobs out-style leads to several loose Lucys easily seduced into giving up the caboose, with hilarious X-rated piped-in pillow talk, to boot. When Erika socks it to him, though, her earthy pussy nearly blows the cat's mind, leaving his stable of go-go gals-on-the-side feeling less than appreciated, under the circumstances. The whole groove gets abruptly disturbed before the credits can roll, by a trademark seventies downer ending.


With those natural buoys, aquaphobia was only a fear ongoing to Erika's lovers.