After the sulphurous vapors of hyperbole begin to clear, all that Hellx has to offer, other than shameless self-promotion, is a squalid little lamb to sacrifice upon the altar of true anal worship.
In scene after repetitious scene, two (sometimes three) hooded figures in dime-store Halloween masks drag their female prey into the corner of a set which resembles Ed Wood's version of Dante's Inferno. Pentagrams are painted on their bellies; every once in a while hot wax is dripped on their nipples; and finally the ladies submit to a proctology exam from Hell.
Granted, Rippers delivers on its promise of non-stop anal action. There's a plethora of pile-drivers, d.p.'s and facials for even the most jaded raincoated Satanists. Yet it never really matters who is getting reamed by the minions of Beelzebub; any sense of cast chemistry is undone by the assembly line atmosphere. The rating is based solely on the strength of some dead-on camera work by Jake Jacobs.