Just as Rocky appeared to make the definitive statement on the zen of taking one-too-many theatrical punches to the kisser, Rocky 2, while sneaking in a gallimaufry of secondary characters, an extra row home, here; a more defined scowl from Burgess Meredith, there; or a fatter lip from Carl Weathers, spit for all intents and purposes into the same ring bucket. With one mild exception. Rocky wins the second time around.
Michael Ninn's Sex 2 is a referee's decision, and it's no surprise in light of the story's development. What we have, essentially, is Sex with all its penny arcade sunsets and internal rhapsodizing riding once again like Zorro to battle the Alcalde.
This time it's Sunset Thomas, Gerry Pike's girlfriend going to the big bad city (a place even Batman should avoid) in search of Gerry who fell into the gloppity-glop machine of brittle, urban insouciance. Along the journey, Sunset sells out to the highest bidder. She becomes Debi Diamond's love doll (a spit-drenched asshole/strap-on scene); goes uptown to become Tyffany Million's love doll (a pube-spanking, asshole tonguing/strap-on session); morphs, literally, into a scowling rendition of her role model who could play a female Burgess Meredith with one hand tied behind her back; and, as proof of her "love" for Million offers her "virgin ass" to Zach Thomas for exacting penetration. But I'm getting ahead of myself. Generous flashbacks from Sex are incorporated quite nattily into the fabric of Sunset's story but it leaves an armchair accountant with the glaring reality, that, minus the filler material, Sunset's voyage of discovery runs little more than the average length of a "Matlock" episode. But when it borrows, Sex 2 is obviously in debt to one of the greatest adult films ever conceived, and for viewers who haven't viewed Sex, this is a more-than-subtle marketing reminder to make a trip to their local video store and grab a copy.
One can only appreciate the extent of Jon Dough's blistering presence in Sex by the nodding acquaintance made to his character in the sequel. Basically it's Million's ride, Dough getting off at the next station after a re-enactment of the faux dickjob Pike gives him in Part 1, and a swirl of Chasey Lain flashbacks in which Dough fucks Million's lying bitch ass, missionary-style.
Blow jobs also come fast and furious in Sex 2, the women displaying rhythm of wrist pro bowlers would envy; the men, thickness of cock a California redwood would aspire to, Sunset gets enough b.j. time that one would suspect her pumped-up forearm girth would up exceeding the USDA standards of butchers and bodybuilders after all was said and done. Her opening salvo with Gerry has more subliminal activity going on in it than your average propaganda leaflet, and a rapid fire succession of erotic imagery makes this one of the most dizzying contrived sex scenes modern editing has to offer.
At one point early on, motorist Shayla LaVeaux shows up at Pike's gas station (the fallen Pike looking like someone out of Mayberry RFD). Shayla appears a little lost, a little confused - as though she were looking for Kylie Ireland at the AVN awards show. Gerry, like Peter Frampton, shows her the way, plowing her with a standing doggie, giving her the ultimate 21-point lubrication service.
As we ride off into one of those glorious and poetic Michael Ninn sunsets, we at least harbor the suspicion that Gerry's postcard from the edge has nastier things to say the second time around. Sex 2 certainly reflects that, making this a must-see. Now we just have to wait for Sunset to play "Come Back Little Sheba."