As I watched Shaun Costello's early 1970s scrotum oscillate as a direct result of the pelvic thrusts he was hurling effervescently towards the hirsute quagmire festering between Jutta's David's tantalizing thighs, I thought to myself: They had better change positions soon, or else I'm going to have to get a restraining order against his woebegone testicles. In other words, get your junk out of my face, Shaun, I'm trying to get a glimpse of Jutta David's ample backside. And it's obvious, from where I'm sitting anyway, that your swinging ball-sack is one of the leading causes for the complete and utter lack of Jutta David booty in my life. Now, you could say, it's not his fault his nuts are obstructing Jutta's tangible thickness. But you know why you can't say that? It's because Shaun Costello (a.k.a. Helmuth Richler) is the one directing this bad boy. Meaning, he's in charge of dictating the positions. So, Shaun, baby, buddy, pal, honey cakes, bubala, let's get your greasy taint off the screen. Thanks a bunch. When Jutta David does finally climb on top of Shaun's pole, I was like: It's about time. And you know who else was relieved to finally get a look-see at Jutta's masterpiece of an ass? Everyone's favourite deranged Vietnam vet turned gas station attendant/serial rapist/serial killer, that's who.
That's right, if I can find solace in Shaun Costello's enema classic Waterpower (come for the sleazy, authentic 42nd Street atmosphere, stay for the lukewarm, taupe-coloured, rectal-flavoured water spewing all over Jamie Gillis' cock), I can find some motherfuckin' solace in Forced Entry, the film that has the distinction of being not only one of the roughest fuck films of the burgeoning porno chic era, but one of the first to exploit the Vietnam Vet as a movie villain.
When most people think of films that feature mentally disturbed Vietnam vets, they usually think of Taxi Driver. Well, Joe (Harry Reems)–I'm assuming he's the "Joe" in "Joe's Friendly Service," a gas station in West Greenwich Village–is way more out to lunch than Travis Bickle. For starters, Joe has no desire to clean up the streets. He seems simply wants chicks with nice bums to massage his penis with their mouths, is that too much to ask? What's that? I'm being told that is too much to ask.
Given that the freewheeling, free love vibe/stench of the late 1960s is still floating around out there, Joe probably could get his genitals serviced via conventional means. But I'm afraid his time in Vietnam has completely ruined his social skills. Though, I must say, his ability to acquire the personal information of the people, particularly the young, attractive women who roll into his station, is pretty first-rate. It's too bad this ability of his is only used to foster his two favourite hobbies: Rape and murder.
I would have liked to have added breaking and entering to his list of hobbies. But then again, as the first rape and murder scene clearly shows, Joe isn't all that adept when it comes to forcing his way inside the places of residence belonging to the ladies he plans on raping and murdering.
Unsure how to break into the apartment belonging to David (Shaun Costello) and his wife, oh, let's call her, Beatrice (Jutta David), Joe lingers on the fire escape for what seems like an eternity. Granted, he was probably waiting for David to unleash his moist load all over Beatrice's humdinger of a poop chute. But still, get in there, man.
It's obvious right off the bat that this isn't going to be your average porno flick. Opening with a wall of text that explains the definition of the term "Vietnam vet" and a quote from American psychiatrist and author Robert Lifton, those wanting to masturbate with any level of comfort better start thinking about looking elsewhere to find cinematic satisfaction.
Granted, you might be able to induce a self-administered climax with the help of the film's opening sex scene. But only after you have viewed it once already. Why? It's simple, really. When you watch David and Beatrice going at it the first time, you never know when Joe, who, like I said, is lurking on the fire escape, might decide to break in and chop both their heads off with that huge knife he's waving around. This makes it impossible for you to relax. Hence, ruining your chances of attaining a stress-free orgasm.
Sure, there are plenty of sick twists out there who can pretty much masturbate to anything. But most normal people will find Joe's presence to be too distracting. That's not to say your second viewing will be any easier. As I mentioned before, the sight of David's untoned pouch of scrotum skin knocking violently against Beatrice's anus is the only thing on the screen for what seems like forever. And this, no matter what context it's shown, will cause some audience members to remain flaccid for the scene's duration.
Lingering testes aside, the scene also features graphic footage from the Vietnam War, eerie music, light jazz, the sound of helicopters flying over head, Harry Reems in an oil-stained shirt acting like a lunatic and police sirens wailing the background. Oh, how I would have loved to have seen the raincoaters squirming in their seats when this film played on 42nd Street.
Of course, Joe isn't really terrible at breaking and entering, he was just waiting for David to leave, so he can have Beatrice all to himself. Holding a knife to her throat, Joe forces Beatrice to give him head. To make matters worse, this scene is spliced together with footage of dead children. If this scene didn't cause the raincoaters to run for the exits back in the day, then I have clearly underestimated their desperate need to see naked women on film.
After dispatching the cherub-faced goddess with the butt that doesn't know the meaning of the word quit, Joe goes back to the gas station. Like clockwork, another woman, let's call her, Judy (Laura Cannon), shows up, this time asking for directions. Writing down the address she was looking for on a piece of paper seconds after she drives off, Joe is on the move again.
Not messing around this time, Joe grabs Judy from the shower, and throws her on the bed. If you thought the scene with Beatrice was rough, you ain't seen nothing yet.
While the throat slitting effect was okay in terms of realism, the stabbing effect was downright horrific. It also helped that actress being stabbed was so committed to the scene. Hell, I'll just come right out and say it: Laura Cannon is an amazing actress. You really get the sense that she is being raped and murdered somewhere in Queens by a psychotic Vietnam Vet.
In an ironic twist, Joe's meets his match in the form of two aloof hippie chicks (played by the ultra-annoying Nina Fawcett and Ruby Runhouse). Employing the same credit card scam he used on Beatrice, Joe shows up at their house unannounced (I know, how rude) and tries to rape and murder these two "scummy hippies" who have just finishing dyking out on a ratty-looking mattress. The key word there being "tries." Proving that Joe feeds off his victim's fear, what happens when he attempts to rape and murder someone who doesn't behave in a manner that he's used to? And just like the raincoaters in the audience, Joe becomes bewildered when faced with events that deviant from the norm.
Despite all the unpleasantness, Forced Entry is a surprisingly compelling slab of early 1970s sleaze. Shot on location in New York City, the film features top-notch acting, highly effective gore and clever editing. If you enjoyed Waterpower, do all of us a favour and get your head examined immediately. Just kidding. Seriously, if you like your cinema gritty and nasty, you can't get any grittier or nastier than this film.