Though he's never personally visited Breastwick, Appellate Judge Rob Lineberger hears the skiing is great. Breast put on a sweater, though, 'cause it's a tit bit nipply there—and it's not getting any hooter.
Our review of Witches of Breastwick / Witches of Breastwick 2, published March 9th, 2012, is also available.
When all else fails, show naked breasts!
As a full-grown parent, husband, and white-collar manager with all the austerity of a depraved 12-year-old, I've seen my fair share of softcore sex romps. Average softcore acts like hardcore but lacks its chief selling point. In other words, your average softcore film is an underplotted, poorly executed, awfully acted affair of listless simulated sex. So why watch softcore at all? Because the good ones operate under the "less is more" tenet of filmmaking, which engages your mind and actually becomes more erotic. Softcore gives you men and women who wouldn't be caught dead in a hardcore film, which elicits a certain guilty thrill. And sometimes, softcore is simply more fun.
Witches of Breastwick is in the average group, but it's the best example of average softcore I've seen. Most of the actresses are hardcore talents with such large silicone implants that their backs actually bow under the strain. The plot comes in such sporadic and tiny doses that it matters not at all. And acting? Forget about it. But everyone involved in Witches of Breastwick seems to be having a great time, and it is absolutely devoid of pretense. That gives it points in my book. This movie is concerned only with naked torsos and random couplings, and pretends nothing else.
The story, such as it is, presents an intrepid couple, David and Tiffany (played by Matt Dalpiaz and Monique Parent), trying to cure David of his pesky nightmare problem. Every night he dreams of three lusty witches writhing around him near a bonfire. Lo and behold (to the great joy of the low octave on the synthesizer keyboard), David and Tiffany encounter three women (played by Glori-Anne Gilbert, Julie K. Smith, and Stormy Daniels) endowed with the same charms David has dreamt about. To rid himself of the dreams, David must boff each witch in private, while the remaining two witches boff his wife in the hot tub. Eventually he must face the queen witch, LaCaCanya, who should have been named TaTaCanyons to preserve this film's integrity. Don't get too wrapped up in plot, though. At one point a dusky woman shows up in David's bedroom, beckons him to her, and spends the next 15 minutes in softcore bliss. Yet her first spoken line is something to the effect of "there's no time to explain, but you are in grave danger!" No time to explain? What's with all the sex, then?
For those of you intrigued by Witches of Breastwick's "erotic horror" genre blend, let's dispel the notion immediately. The only horror in this film comes from low piano notes, dancing flames, and a curvy silver dagger. Other that that, the flick consists of naked breasts bobbing in a hot tub like overinflated beach balls. At risk of overanalyzing the subthemes, the witches in this film have massive artificial breasts while the good gals have reasonably sized natural ones. Could this be a hint of social commentary, or am I reaching too much?
Witches of Breastwick has a breast for all tastes. Like super funbags? Gotcha covered. Petite natural breasts? Check. Ironically, director "H.R. Blueberry" seems uncertain what to do with this bounty of gifts, except to point the camera at them early and often. Despite the abject lack of sexual tension, two scenes manage to become erotic. One is a sizzling striptease on a boardroom table by Australian export Jodie Moore, the other an extended, and rather expressive, boink in the woods between David and Tiffany.
Seduction Cinema serves this dark tale of supernatural seduction on a silver platter. The disc sports a feature-length commentary by director and starlet. The track is a surreal blend of traditional commentary fodder (set design, casting, shot selection) and porn insider banter. Mr. Blueberry wryly discusses some of the constraints he faced making the film while Glori-Anne Gilbert injects enthusiasm and critiques of the performances. The track is actually interesting and not just a throwaway.
But wait, there's more! The full-length Vampire Callgirls is included, warts and all. It makes Witches of Breastwick seem like Macbeth, but offers an extended scene of banana fellation that is moderately steamy. In comparison to Witches of Breastwick's glossy anamorphic widescreen presentation, Vampire Callgirls's video-sourced, washed out, fullscreen disaster of a transfer is modest at best. There is simply no way to avoid fast-forwarding through the bulk of this movie if you want to preserve your sanity.
Vampire Callgirls does offer more nudity, though, and that's what the extras on this disc are all about. Next up is a Marilyn Monroe clone doing a black-and-white striptease in the "Peep Show" sampler, like an early answer to Photoshopped celebrity fakes. Finally, we have a trailer vault that uploads brief snapshots of nudity directly into your visual cortex. All told, the collective Witches of Breastwick experience is a carefree romp of naked, bobbing breasts enveloped in a slightly Halloweeny mise-en-scène.
Witches of Breastwick knows what it brings to the table and plays to those strengths. Personally, I require some hint of tension or intellectual engagement to enjoy films like these. If you need no such thing, get ready for 12-barreled breast assault that wastes no time with unnecessary plot development.
Can there be any other verdict? Burn them at the stake!
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Scales of Justice
Studio: Seduction Cinema
• Commentary with Director H.R. Blueberry and Actress Glori-Anne Gilbert
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