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Lovers

Lovers

Released Mar 01st, 1994
Running Time 70
Director R C Horsch
Company Femme Distribution
Cast Sydney (I), Ray (I), Tasha Voux
Critical Rating AA
Genre Feature

Rating


Reviews

Just this once, I'd like to borrow the limp dick icon from another magazine's rating format. It's the only way to illustrate how an hour's exposure to the scrotum-shriveling emanations of Lovers truly affects the male member; both as an organ and as a species. From the perniciously P.C. preamble by Candida Royalle, which advocates that great sex is done "consensually, responsibly, compassionately and with sensitivity", one doesn't have to be a rocket scientist to figure out that this vid may be just for women and wimps.

Interesting for perhaps a skin-flashing microsecond, this is the kind of Learning Channel documentary one surfs over on the way to ESPN. The problem is appeal. I don't believe the average guy wants to know why his dick gets hard, any more than he wants to know how that big-ass trout got in the stream, or how slower-brewing hops make better beer. Fish are for fishing, beer is for drinking, and dicks are for dunking. To director R.C. Horsch, however, relationships are for examining — every minutiae-dissecting moment.

The talking-heads syndrome is given full reign as Sydney, an attractive brunette, and her partner Ray relate their initial blind date and subsequent romantic wooing, as an ever-obvious heartbeat on the soundtrack throbs a happy tune. She likes big cocks ("don't believe that bullshit about size not mattering") and he gets off on her fermenting odors. Hey — give me Shalimar and Summer's Eve any day.

Though the chatter leads to their "first time" doing the horizontal inambo, no recreation is attempted, just a fellatio-interruptus (though a later and far more pro­fessional b.j. reaches a wet climax). When Sydney's not in the mood, she submits to "mercy fucks"; coolly reading the newspaper while poor Ray mounts her like a dog might hump the kitchen table leg.

The various sex acts show a bit of hardcore penetration and a few of the fantasies are mildly titillating. Sydney plays a hooker, giving it up in a bathroom; she ties Ray up while she and guest star Tasha Voux put on a girl/girl show; she shaves her rusty pubes, etc. The one truly passionate encounter is (we reiterate: a fantasy) rape scene, where the two struggle aggressively, Sydney's eyes rolling up into her skull as sweat-drenched Ray plows her into ecstasy — a sequence as intense as any seen in mainstream adult fare but only permissible in a politically correct environment such as Lovers. Which is not to say that rape is what gets real men off... the scene is simply the hottest on the video, period.

With the redundancy of a tax form, psychoanalyzing from both parties permeates the vid in the form of endless voice-overs; but do we ever learn anything valuable about the couple? Not much. The fascinating gap between their ages (Ray's twenty five years her senior) is given short shrift in favor of platitudes like "It's important to take it one day at a time." Ultimately, these two lovebirds aren't even sure of their commitment to each other, but boy howdy, don't they just love that warm secure feeling of sleeping close.

Lovers offers little even in the way of sustained hope for the P.C. audience. For all its navel-gaz­ing pretentions, Lovers is an anomaly — it can't affirm the advantages of monogamy, and it sure as hell ain't a jerk-off vid.           



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