A messily afro’ed Eric Edwards and his stunning then-wife Arcadia Lake are having a trial separation.
While Lake goes for some lesbo comfort with scary NYC cable vet Robin Byrd (really?!? She can’t do better than that?!?), Edwards discovers he can’t even open canned vegetables on his own.
Meantime private investigator Paul Thomas, posing as a hot dog vendor, is sticking his schlong in buns for customers Nick the Dick style (any Bachelor Party fans out there?) and very obviously spying on a Velma lookalike (Marcia Minor) working johns in parked cars.
When he meets up with old schoolmate Edwards in a local bar, the two head up to Thomas’ ritzy spread, where doofy skank Crystal Day, and the blackmailed Minor, await.
Then deadbeat roomie Lake finds herself in contention with Byrd’s main squeeze Samantha Fox, who turns out to be Thomas’ wife (and also yet another lesbi-friend to Day…sheesh, for a married woman, this girl sure loves to munch carpet…). After returning home, catching hubby in flagrante delicto with Velma (zoinks!) and throwing a poorly acted hissy fit, of course our pal Fox joins right in for a three way.
Turns out this is the kinky couple’s whole schtick, and the next night’s treat is to invite Lake and Byrd (who are busy snorting lines…an unfortunate scene, given Lake’s addiction and death related thereto) to join in for one big hen party. After the expected rug munching nonsense, the boys drop in, Edwards and Lake have a surprise reunion and it all ends on a lame borscht belt joke.
While there’s definite mood and atmosphere to be found herein, there’s probably a reason you’ve never heard of director Victor Bertini. The direction and cinematography are acceptable but unspectacular, and the music (“by Goldenrod”) is goofy as shit.
The biggest problem with all of this lay in what passes for a plot. The core conceit is horribly flawed, in that with wives as hot as Lake and Fox, why the hell are these guys screwing around in the first place? And are we supposed to believe that Edwards and Thomas are so inadequate as partners that these two ladies need to look for side action with ugly skanks like Byrd and Day? Sorry, but I’m not buying it.
Next up, another no name director (even Carter Stevens mentions not knowing who the hell this guy was, and he worked on the film!) by the name of Alexander Kubelka gives us Bella, the story of an odd looking if vaguely Pat Benatar-meets-Zane Buzby-ish late teen (Tracy Adams) whose homely mother (Diana Sloan) is balling Eric Edwards on the side.
No surprise, really, given her extremely aged husband (Jake Teague, one of the most geriatric males I’ve had the misfortune to view in action in an adult film), but apparently peeping on this (and listening to her parents do the deed) gets her interested in garnering some experience of her own. Naturally, she goes straight to Edwards for the job, which makes things weird…
When schoolmate Arcadia Lake reports to Bella’s mom and rival that she’s been skipping out on school, she decides to punish both her and Edwards by…forcing them to get it on with her and each other at gunpoint?!?
Then it gets much, much worse, when first Mrs. Fugly gets all homicidal with the threats, then Bella pushes matters straight into lifetime in therapy sessions territory. Blech!
Pardon me while I try to quell my rising gorge…seriously, I just had an actual wave of nausea writing this. No exaggeration.
At least the houses are gorgeous, and some of the cinematography of exteriors and such is rather aesthetic…too bad nothing else here (bar the brief appearance of Lake) is!
There’s a 7 minute interview with Bella cinematographer Carter Stevens, who tells of how he was hired by and primarily working in tandem with none other than Anchor Bay and Blue Underground’s Bill Lustig (in his “Billy Bagg” days), whom Stevens argues should have been credited as producer on the film.
Fans of the always reliable Edwards, the stunning Lake and the not too shabby Fox should be well chuffed to see these obscurities out on the market.
But prospective viewers should also be warned of the many fuglies (and stomach churning scenarios) to be found alongside them herein.