There's a broad range of quality in every realm of cinema...
...take the western genre, for instance. You've got classics like SHANE and RIO BRAVO, and plenty of junk like DESERT MESA and THE TERROR OF TINY TOWN. Great musicals such as SINGIN' IN THE RAIN have antipodes like THE APPLE, and for every masterstroke of comedy like DUCK SOUP or THIS IS SPINAL TAP, you have a GIGLI or IT'S PAT at the ass-end. I think it's safe to say that the horror genre's good/bad ratio gets a bit more skewed toward the negative. Then, of course...there's porn...
Can we critique both mainstream and adult films using the same obiter-dicta? Of course we can't, though there's clearly a similar spectrum of quality. In the case of porn, however, for every OPENING OF MISTY BEETHOVEN, there's at least a thousand TEENAGE CYCLE SLUTS. Be that as it may, most folks would probably agree that pretty much any old pornography is able to serve its intended purpose...
...except, maybe, for one...
BAT PUSSY was whipped-up circa 1970 by an as-yet unidentified personnel, and I don't foresee anyone stepping forward to atone for this magnolious coup-de-maître any time soon. The single known print moldered for decades in the musty back-room of a long-standing porn theater, where it was ultimately rediscovered in situ by mere chance. Now that it's been unleashed upon the world, this impossibly unarousing gutterball sinks the opposition for WORST PORNO OF ALL TIME accolades, a sash which it will undoubtedly wear for many years to come. Unsightly old cretins exchange spit-and-vinegar bellicosities while loitering drunkenly in loose-fitting birthday suits...that, friends, is the fatal thrust of BAT PUSSY, a stultifying avalanche of graveolent unerotica which will not only deter you from touching your nasty pudendum-virile, it will motivate you to saw the damn thing off with a steak knife. Watch in frozen terror as a gelatinous hambeast with a four-story beehive and world-weary, shoe gazing milk-bags goes down on a pugnacious old bogan so scuzzy that a Bangkok call girl would refuse to scrub his back. Her face is crimped in sour disinclination as she spit-shines his fetid, wilting knurl with all the tantric artistry of a dog eating peanut butter. He reciprocates with equal inertia, administering a lethargic consecution of flicks and nibbles with such cowering disrelish that you'd think he was defusing a bomb with his tongue. Never in the history of blue cinema has the "beast with two backs" been quite so repellent...but I reckon that's to be expected when the participants despise each other and look like they should be ringing a bell in a tower.
On a slightly more positive note, there's the titular superheroine...she's three zip-codes away from hot, but I suppose she might do in a "last call" pinch. You'd expect her outfit to be skintight and sexy, with a whiff of Emma Peel fetishism, right? Pffft...she sports a lumpy dime-store Halloween costume, bobbing about town on a huge rubber sit-and-bounce ball. The aforementioned characters eventually merge for an appetite suppressing menage-a-trois, replete with jiggling flab, erectile dysfunction, and conjoint lack of interest. To top things off, it's crudely shot on grainy, cut-rate filmstock which makes the Zapruder footage look hi-def by comparison.
There's a cringeworthy otherness innate to this smutty side-show which is as strangely compelling as it is potently miasmic. It compounds the interpersonal animus of SHUT UP, LITTLE MAN, the mirror-shattering visual pestilence of GUMMO, and a rancorous surrealism resonant of early John Waters projects. If it spurs any stiffness in your tonk, chalk it up to rigor-mortis.
5/10. In summary, BAT PUSSY is utterly rebarbative adult entertainment with the Plutonian sapor of a Diane Arbus photo, and it's wrought with less artistic refinement than a snuff loop from El Salvador. Hold your nose and dive in.
...take the western genre, for instance. You've got classics like SHANE and RIO BRAVO, and plenty of junk like DESERT MESA and THE TERROR OF TINY TOWN. Great musicals such as SINGIN' IN THE RAIN have antipodes like THE APPLE, and for every masterstroke of comedy like DUCK SOUP or THIS IS SPINAL TAP, you have a GIGLI or IT'S PAT at the ass-end. I think it's safe to say that the horror genre's good/bad ratio gets a bit more skewed toward the negative. Then, of course...there's porn...
Can we critique both mainstream and adult films using the same obiter-dicta? Of course we can't, though there's clearly a similar spectrum of quality. In the case of porn, however, for every OPENING OF MISTY BEETHOVEN, there's at least a thousand TEENAGE CYCLE SLUTS. Be that as it may, most folks would probably agree that pretty much any old pornography is able to serve its intended purpose...
...except, maybe, for one...
BAT PUSSY was whipped-up circa 1970 by an as-yet unidentified personnel, and I don't foresee anyone stepping forward to atone for this magnolious coup-de-maître any time soon. The single known print moldered for decades in the musty back-room of a long-standing porn theater, where it was ultimately rediscovered in situ by mere chance. Now that it's been unleashed upon the world, this impossibly unarousing gutterball sinks the opposition for WORST PORNO OF ALL TIME accolades, a sash which it will undoubtedly wear for many years to come. Unsightly old cretins exchange spit-and-vinegar bellicosities while loitering drunkenly in loose-fitting birthday suits...that, friends, is the fatal thrust of BAT PUSSY, a stultifying avalanche of graveolent unerotica which will not only deter you from touching your nasty pudendum-virile, it will motivate you to saw the damn thing off with a steak knife. Watch in frozen terror as a gelatinous hambeast with a four-story beehive and world-weary, shoe gazing milk-bags goes down on a pugnacious old bogan so scuzzy that a Bangkok call girl would refuse to scrub his back. Her face is crimped in sour disinclination as she spit-shines his fetid, wilting knurl with all the tantric artistry of a dog eating peanut butter. He reciprocates with equal inertia, administering a lethargic consecution of flicks and nibbles with such cowering disrelish that you'd think he was defusing a bomb with his tongue. Never in the history of blue cinema has the "beast with two backs" been quite so repellent...but I reckon that's to be expected when the participants despise each other and look like they should be ringing a bell in a tower.
On a slightly more positive note, there's the titular superheroine...she's three zip-codes away from hot, but I suppose she might do in a "last call" pinch. You'd expect her outfit to be skintight and sexy, with a whiff of Emma Peel fetishism, right? Pffft...she sports a lumpy dime-store Halloween costume, bobbing about town on a huge rubber sit-and-bounce ball. The aforementioned characters eventually merge for an appetite suppressing menage-a-trois, replete with jiggling flab, erectile dysfunction, and conjoint lack of interest. To top things off, it's crudely shot on grainy, cut-rate filmstock which makes the Zapruder footage look hi-def by comparison.
There's a cringeworthy otherness innate to this smutty side-show which is as strangely compelling as it is potently miasmic. It compounds the interpersonal animus of SHUT UP, LITTLE MAN, the mirror-shattering visual pestilence of GUMMO, and a rancorous surrealism resonant of early John Waters projects. If it spurs any stiffness in your tonk, chalk it up to rigor-mortis.
5/10. In summary, BAT PUSSY is utterly rebarbative adult entertainment with the Plutonian sapor of a Diane Arbus photo, and it's wrought with less artistic refinement than a snuff loop from El Salvador. Hold your nose and dive in.