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“Tho thith ith gonna be…our…(long pause) honeymoon…suite.  Tho nahw we can fack n’ sack…all we want, an it’s LE-gal!”

So begins yet another lovingly restored unintentional comedy epic from our old pal Carlos Tobalina.  Opening on a pretty cool jazz-funk number by a Joe Rando (who later drops a funky bassline on y’all for good measure) and some stunningly vibrant shots of early 80’s San Francisco, the credits list our stars as Sheila Parks (the shockingly dumb, huge foreheaded, gatemouth toothed blonde who delivers the priceless opening lines above, emphases all over the map as if she were unfamiliar with the English language…and good lord, those picket fence teeth!) and similarly none too bright surfer dude Jesse Adams.  


Apparently, they just got married (meaning a whole kit of nauseating childish dialogue before the boffing starts), and he’s related to Joey “Severa” (Silvera), who’s in jail because his folks didn’t approve of his wife (who promptly turns around and cheats on him with a goofy looking tattooed James Hetfield lookalike).


After a “concerned citizen” (“never mind who this is!”) anonymously informs Silvera of the facts, our man Nassivera heads down to Roland’s (incidentally, the exact same joint which served as the “lesbian bar” in Mai Lin vs. Serena) to confront them, only to wind up accused of murder when an entirely unrelated guy shoots Hetfield from offscreen.  But it’s OK, he’s only locked in a cage in the middle of an office (just like Billy Dee and Don Fernando in Mai Lin Vs Serena, actually), and set free about a minute and a half later.  Seriously.  


There’s a whole bunch of uncredited extras getting a surprising amount of screentime, which is interesting considering their age (every one of them is old and grey, and there’s even a woman involved) and obvious lack of thespian training (you can actually see some of them struggling to remember a few simple lines).  At least they appear to have a good sense of humor about the whole thing…


In short order, Parks and Adams meet up with Silvera and his wife Wendy (apparently all’s forgiven, we must assume?) and everybody swaps partners.  Adams clearly gets the better end of the deal, as Wendy (whoever she is) is sort of a grumpier version of Vanity.  Never cracks a smile, barely says a word, but at least she’s easy on the eyes…

OK, one quick smirk, but this is literally all you get.

OK, one quick smirk, but this is literally all you get.

Whoops, Carlos must have realized we didn’t even crack the hour mark, so we get another scene between Silvera and Parks…

Herschel Savage drops in for a cameo, looking very David Hesslike, and some other Tobalina regulars like Jon Martin, Blair Harris and Serena (the latter of whom gets an actual headlining credit on the film, despite being onscreen for all of two minutes (being generous). 


There’s a trashy but cute new wave redhead prominently featured in the big costume party orgy all these folks take part in, and another jazzy soft rock number “stay with me” that keeps playing throughout, but it’s really just the gorgeous locations and one or two passable ladies (the mystery girl playing Wendy, the crimson tressed punkette) that make this one more than passably watchable.  Nothing much to complain about (beyond our speech impaired dim bulb of a star), but hardly hardcore of the first order.


More funky (if rather Stevie Wonderish) scoring can be found in the following year’s Flesh Pond, which stars Helman Tobalina (yes, you read that right…he’s resorted to casting his relatives now) and William Margold in a sordid tale of a swingers pad ($20 a head to take part!) subjected to a home invasion and, even worse, a tacky floorshow where a stripper wanders around the room telling ridiculous stories and getting it on with a blow up doll (!)


Very reminiscent of Brazilian pornochananda Violence and Flesh, Tobalina even subjects his brother (cousin?  Son?) to having (male) come shot in his hair.  Fake or not, it’s a bit much…


While there is a vague shell of a story, this is pretty much another excuse for Tobalina to film one orgy sequence after another…which is a statement that can be applied equally to many of his films.  We even get one of his patented onscreen cameos…


The leading lady (who may be the amusingly monikered “Sultry Drea”) is attractive enough for a leggy housewife sort, and the sequences are filmed in loving closeup, so it’s really not all that bad if you check your brain at the door and ignore a few rather skanky suburban housewife types who paid their way into the nonstop swingin’.


Tobalina has two speeds: pleasantly if unremarkably workmanlike and WTF off the charts crap film.  These two fall, to greater or lesser degree, more towards the former.  The visuals and locations on Anticipation almost make up for its bubbleheaded, snaggletoothed leading lady and her refusal to get off camera and let someone else take center stage for a few minutes, and Carlos’ obvious thing for filming orgies comes across in his rather raunchy up close and personal filming style in the bizarrely titled Flesh Pond.   Neither one is anything to write home about, but what in the Tobalina oeuvre really is?


Another pair of pristine restorations from Process Blue and Vinegar Syndrome…just realize, before you get too excited, that we’re still dealing with Tobalina here.  And while the label makes these things look better than half the junk they put out in theaters nowadays, that’s hardly comparable to the likes of Metzger, Lustig or Spinelli.  Pretty it up all you want, it’s bottom feeder porn of its era at best.