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Good Friday- Remembering Ass Clowns 3

Rob Black in an interview with reasononline states the following:

Black: “When they raided our office, they seized five movies. But then they only indicted us on three. So either the grand jury said those two other movies weren’t obscene, or the government didn’t present those movies to the grand jury. And one of those movies was Ass Clowns #3, where Jesus comes off the cross after being crucified and rapes an angel. So now my question is, why is the rape in Ass Clowns all right, but the rape in Forced Entry isn’t?

Good question, and rrom the “Good Friday” Gene files 3/29/02 we have the following:

[Good Friday] is a day when kids have off from school; penitents kneel on dried pees for three hours, the truly devout eat tuna fish sandwiches and Rod Fontana elects not to work in sex scenes. [True] Good Friday means many things to many people. To the astrologically inclined, it’s always the first Friday of the spring full moon. It’s a casual reminder that next weekend marks the start of Daylight Saving Time [at least when this was written, it was.]

Describing them as folksy movies about disaffected screwballs could be a broad description applicable to the comedic work of Preston Sturges. But when you put that seemingly benign capsulization into the hands of director Tom Zupko is when all hell breaks loose and the powers of evil unleash themselves upon the land. In that context Ass Clowns 3 is the devil’s dance- a ripsnorting melee of anal sex and improv theatre versatility where darkness and decay are the brightest specks of optimism in the tunnel of fear. Claudio as the eponymous clown is the side show barker [ably assisted by Veronica Caine] whose tone of mockery is a grim and jarring reminder that what we are about to see is the true core of human nature stripped of its casual pretensions.

The gateway to hell opens with Drew Lynn getting positively annihilated.. Lynn’s scene, which when all is said and done will probably wind up being one of Extreme’s all-time classics, finds her lost in the woods- a bride sorely in need of a wedding. Not at the moment, mind you, because she’s obviously fled one; but, after what is done to Lynn over the next few magically edited minutes, a marriage, even of eternal misery, is far more enticing.

Lynn, in her satiny whites, settles in a barn whose cuddly adornments are straight out of a Zupko rumpus room nightmare. There’s menacing shadows, a shit-filled toilet, a ratty mattress, pig trough and a dead dog swinging from a noose. With nothing to eat but a discarded tomato, Lynn takes a healthy chomp. Which, under the circumstances, isn’t the most advisable of choices. Faster than you can say Heinz 57 varieties, the retarded tomato brothers, Brian Surewood and Valentino, pounce on her under the impression that Lynn’s just finished off their parents. It’s the Dukes of Hazard on steroids, and ripping off her expensive frock is the least of Lynn’s concerns as Surewood forces some oral copulation upon her, first using a squash with a carved out mouth as target practice.

Sufficiently primed with smacking and choking, Lynn’s naked body lands upside down in the trough as she’s then fucked in the ass rather indelicately. Hee-Haw. Just ram it in son with a hilt-driven poke in her bee-hind. The butthole hoedown has some really powerful camera angles going for it, and when Lynn’s propped up for a bracing rear entry from the standing position with some pig swill dumped on her for lubrication, whoa, Nelly. Married life even one with a bum has got to be a far better proposition.

The next musical question to be asked is, can the ultimate freak of nature be possibly glamorous? In a scene that’s a model of restraint compared to the rest of this ensemble, Bree Brook is truly delectable as Valentino, with an air of Cabaret-inspired surrealism, urges her to attend to the cock of The Elephant Man [Mr. Pete in incredible makeup.] In what amounts to a pretty straightforward anal sortie after the lavish opening build up, Pete rearranges Bree’s spinal column with a pounding reverse cowgirl anal insertion that spins to a cowgirl, then to logical a spoon climax.

What Brian Surewood has in common with actors such as Peter O’Toole, Willem Dafoe, Max Von Sydow, Chris Sarandon [and now Jim Caviezel] is what Zupko has with directors Luis Bunuel, Martin Scorsese, Jean Luc Godard [and now Mel Gibson]. All of whom have either played Christ or directed movies about him.

But none so flippant titled as the next scene in which Surewood gets his cock sucked while hanging on a cross. In fact, parts of this scenario in which Surewood buttfucks fallen angel Dannica Grey [wings and all] may be considered so controversial, so sacrilegious, so banned in Boston, they may never end up in general video distribution. Which means you’ll probably have to get the director’s cut only available through Club Extreme.

Disturbing doesn’t even begin to describe this vignette in which Mr. Pete plays God with a flurry of eyeball heavy handedness generally reserved for blind men in C. B. DeMille silent epics. The ancient of days ‘fesses up to Grey, who’s bent out of shape because of the death of her mother, that it’s all been a scam – much like Santa Claus and the Easter Bunny. “I’ve fucked your ass for 2,000 years, and you all fell for it,” cackles Pete giving her the biggest letdown since Geraldo opened Al Capone’s vault. A fact that pretty much puts her in the same boat with Christ who had similar notions about betrayal and abandonment one fateful afternoon.

A good blowjob generally serves that kind of angst, but JC’s in for the full ride as Grey flaps, pivots and lands her heavenly asshole on his one active member enough to qualify for a plenary indulgence. Gliding in and out of Dannica’s ass more like Fred Astaire than the stairway to heaven, Surewood nails his earth angel in four modes, but, after all is said and done, the scene ending shot of Grey chillingly says it all.

A startling, multi-faceted performance is Jennifer Steele’s in the next vignette which has her morphing from a snake [remember the scene from Conan The Barbarian] into a slithery danseuse of easy virtue. Steele’s ability to accept considerable cock in her tight, trim ass has already been field tested and proven in Zupko’s Sarajevo so you pretty much know what to expect when snake charmer Brian Surewood brings her to life in a rhythmic text of human congress that transcends the casual situation of boy meets snake.

Which paves the way for possibly the ultimate statement on unyielding confrontational intensity, Middle Eastern-style, when Veronica Caine, as a news reporter, employs a virtuosic collage of mannerisms and motivation familiar to us all after the events of September 11. It’s not even enough to say the scene is brilliant for its dead-on parody with Valentino playing Osama Bin Laden, and Mr. Pete and Brian Surewood as his lieutenants. Caine is captured by Pete and brought to Bin Laden’s cave where the commonly accepted notion of a young boy’s arse being the main bill of faire is quickly dispelled. All in the name of Allah, to be sure as Bin Laden is quick to point out in subtitle.

Caine first is raped with a corkscrew dildo even as she attempts to conduct an interview with her captors then is given a good taste of Osama’s cock and balls. Wedging her mouth with his Al Qaedan ball slime, Bin Laden proceeds in a manner more descriptive of western culture as he takes her anally in the spoon position for starters then turns the interrogation over to Pete who sticks his man microphone up Caine’s ass. After Osama and Pete have shot one for Mecca on her face, Surewood gets his licks in, but his anal exaltations are short-lived when the special forces guys- Dick Nasty and Brett Rockman- show up on the scene. Again, kudos to the editing and special effects that pull off Osama’s beheading with convincing realism. Not to forget, Caine reminds Nasty and Rockman as her ass is revitalized for a butt quickie, that there’s a matter of a 25 million dollar bounty which her liberators are quick to translate in terms of a flurry of world currency. Funny stuff.



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