On stage, there's this real foxy babe (Rebecca Lord), see, and in perfect (subtitled) French, she tells this audience of zombie types that she just loves sex, and that she'll fuck just about anything that moves... but the one thing she can't stand, the one type of sex partner that really makes her spew is... mimes!  So, naturally, to a lovely background of Left Bank accordion music(!), the babe finds herself turned upside-down, her pussy and ass licked, her mouth stuffed with cock... and two guys (Tony Tedeschi, John Decker) in black leotards and grease painted faces plunge her vaginally and orally as she rocks on her knees between their outstretched cocks.  And at the end, one of the guys even mimes an orgasm.  Neo-classic!  Nom-worthy!  And that's just the sexual opener!

Welcome to Café Flesh 2, the more-than-worthy successor to the 15-year-old Café Flesh.  In fact, 2 beats the original on every count.

Director Antonio Passolini has crafted a real master-piece with this "film-look" video.  Almost everything about Café Flesh 2, from the script (with lines like "Somebody call Mr. Heimlich.  I'm all choked up."), to the art direction (check Jeanna Fine's "tribute" to Carmen Miranda by ace costumier September), to the should-minimalist music, to much of the sex, is worthy of award nominations.  And Passolini shoudl be at the top of the list for his consummate directorial vision.

But ignore, for the moment, the feature's messages, such as that there's something strange about "sex-negatives" (for whatever reason!) crowding into a small nightclub to watch people who can screw... and do.  Or that just being able to have sex in this sterile future world is the great equalizer.  Doesn't matter if you're old, ugly or insane; as long as you can get up and off, you're star material.

Concentrate instead on some scaldingly hot sex, delivered in scenarios that often out-weird VCA's more famous loony artiste, Michael Ninn.

As the story unfolds, Jeanna Fine has just bought the frozen body of debutante Stacy Valentine, whom she plans to have deflowered on the opening night of the revamped "Café Flesh."  Though Fine is one of the "sex-negatives" -- a worldwide radioactive plague centuries ago still causes most people to become violently ill when sexually aroused -- she dreams of herself dressed in black vinyl, being ravaged by studded stud Brian Sure-wood in the midst of a steel factory, accompanied by spark showers from the machinery.  Fine literally gnaws on Surewood's dickhead, then bends over an old shopping cart as he plunges her pussy from the rear.  May we have the envelope, please?

Even better, however, are the Sally Layd/Dave Hardman/Surewood serial d.p.'s in a room that'd be right at home in Modern Living... circa 1957.  And in-between the double-pens, watch Hardman's pompadour bounce as he plunges Layd's ass in a couple of positions, and Surewood never loses his Frank Sinatra hat as she rides his baloney pony, cowgirl style.  Can we hear another pre-nom, please?

Stacy Valentine's scenes are no slouches either.  A dream sequence has her in a hillside tryst (reverse cowgirl, doggie, mish) with now-dead boyfriend T.T. Boy, as computer-generated daisies drift earthward in the background.  Then, for contrast, Vince Voyeur plows her pussy in a dingy freight elevator, ending in one of Valentine's much-loved facials.

And then there's Raylene, the waif from the irradiated hinterlands who finds herself the new star of CaféFlesh... and the object of desire of raging bull (literally!) Billy Glide.  Dig his yawping groans of pleasure... and those dildo horns!

And don't forget some excellent characterizations. Simon Delo and Veronica Hart are both nom-worthy for their non-sex performances as, respectively, a sewer worker and a bag lady.

There's so much volcanic passion, artistic subtlety, psychedelic weirdness and balls-out fun in Café Flesh 2, there's no way we can do it justice in a few paragraphs.  What we do know, however, is that it'll fly off your sales and rental shelves for weeks to come.