Neither a last-minute contraceptive nor a hit song from The Poseidon Adventure, this Morning After is just an early '70s relic that would've happily decomposed in its film can had it not be for a dubious digital resurrection. We doubt if even the most diligent porn historians will even remember this obscure production (starring minor league performers even in their heyday).

The expository-laden story concerns the brother of a stripper who's personally investigating his sister's brutal murder. Told in flashback, we see the daughter of an abusive alcoholic arrive in Manhattan and proceed to fuck her way to the top of the sex club circuit, only to be done in by - that would be telling.

It's clearly no secret why The Morning After has remained incognito all these years. Aside from atrocious - take your pick - plot/acting/production values/ultra-grainy print, etc., the sex is just plain awful! The cameraman captures hardcore whenever it suits him; i.e. when the performers face his general direction - which isn't often, rendering the action to the level of documentary copulation footage. Just as well, since the chemistry is nonexistent.

Retailing: Nostalgic curiosity, drunken bachelor parties.