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One thing is certain, I need to see more sultry sin-ema produced by Swiss mogul Erwin C. Dietrich. I’ve been impressed with his Jesus Franco collaborations and his rotating stable of buxom ladies. He always managed to spend the bucks on the camera department too, this time Alain Hardy (TENDER AND PERVERSE EMMANUELLE), which is always a plus for us dumpster divers. It’s probably a written law to have top-shelf cinematography in Switzerland. I can’t back that up with facts, just know it to be true. For CONESSIONS OF THE SEX SLAVES, Dietrich hands the reigns over to French director, Jack Guy (screenwriter of HITLER’S LAST TRAIN), who wore many hats for him under his real name Guy Gilbert. Either way, they’re both pretty bitchin’ names. Here he’s Jack Guy.
We begin in Mondo style cuts transporting us all over the world for an overview of human sex trafficking. Narration, from the DRAGNET school of voice overs, hips us squares to the plight of these poor white educated women. Eventually we ease up on the beautiful 70s bush montage and take a wild stab towards a cohesive plot. Seems abductors in Zurich are shipping gals to ribald Amsterdam with a lady working for the United Nations trying to uncover the fiendish plot. When her friend Helga (Gina Janssen from SADOMANIA) disappears, she flies to Switzerland and begins a hands-on investigation with the aid of Helga’s married lover. Is he really trying to find his mistress or gain a new one? What does his wife do? Oh, who cares?
The action unspools at the famous Moulin Rogue with mafia shenanigans, striptease entertainment and doped-up sex. These scenes lasso the majority of the running time. There’s no serious expose on human trafficking – it’s all about the titillation. Jack Guy seems to be an ass man, lingering on the lower backside region more than most directors of the era. Well, outside of Brazil. I’m not sure if Guy had a say in the casting, his wife Josyane Gibert (LOVERS OF DEVIL’S ISLAND) does appear, but there is definitely a specific shape of exercise deprived gluteus maximus on display. I ain’t body shaming dead folks, it’s just obvious they called 1-800 Sir Mix-a-Lot. Also on the plus side, the picture flickers with a hefty amount of frantic groping which progresses into unintentional comedy. It’s a riot. Every mound of flesh is obsessively fondled the same way I approach a bucket of fried chicken – preferably from Price’s Chicken Coop in Charlotte, North Carolina but that’s a filthier story.
CONFESSIONS OF THE SEX SLAVES is a poorly cut mess with uninspired burlesque choreography, repellent sex scenes, recycled footage and lethargic fight sequences. It’s all pretty endearing. Where this motion picture really shines is the hilariously sleazy dubbing and “over the top” antics of Karate Jack (Erick Falk from WANDA THE WICKED WARDEN, BARBED WIRE DOLLS). In every scene he occupies, Jack is doing something illegal with maniacal glee. He runs weapons, stashes cocaine into retail shoes, shoots women with smack, stuffs girls into wicker baskets and humps passed out lasses with fervor. Karate Jack cackles and grins – living the dream. Hell, he makes it look like so much fun to be evil, I wanted a job application. If Erick Falk had been given a few more scenes, this flick would make for an informative corporate orientation video. Unfortunately, his comeuppance, while selling women to Camel drivers in Tangier, is an ineptly handled non-climax. You see, Karate Jack’s kung-fu is pretty lousy. Must be one of those ironic nicknames. Walter Baumgartner’s (LOVE CAMP) score is serviceable – hitting his best marks with a saxophone during the strip shows. Is it worth the trouble of stalking Amazon’s European stores, international postage and owning a multi-region DVD player? Probably not. Would I watch it again? Yeah. There’s enough zippy exploitation yuks and big butts shot on 35mm film.