BONNY & CLIDE
Bluebird Films
Directed by Nicholas Steele
GAMS
Natasha Marley, Madelyn Marie, Dylan Ryder, Phoenix Marie, Madison Fox, Sadie West, Alexis Texas, Celeste Star, Amber Rayne, Hannah West, Kaci Starr, Riley Evans, Julia Ann, Jenny Hendrix, Dani Jensen, Jessica Bangkok, Kerry Louise, India Summer, Justice Young, Angelina Armani, Kiara Diane, Lily Labeau, Kylee Reese, Capri Cavalli, Rachel Roxxx, Bobbi Starr, Krissy Lynn, Jamey Jame, Andy San Dimas
GUNS
Paul Chaplin, Tommy Gunn, Dale Dabone, Billy Glide, Will Powers, Anthony Rosano, Chris Johnson, Jazy Berlin, Seth Gamble, Mr. Pete, Rocco Reed, Johnny Castle
You remember that scene in Bonny & Clyde when Clyde shows a certain reluctance to bang Bonny? And it calls into question what exactly they’ve been doing with each other all along? All Bonny wants is a dick in her ass to back up all the law-breaking, murderous ruthlessness Clyd’s exposed her to? And he won’t do it? And suddenly Clyde’s character is much deeper and twice as nuanced as before?
Just pretend that scene never happened and Clyde, or Clide, in this iteration, is no deeper than Bonny’s pussy. And that he’s very, very well acquainted with that pussy. And hundreds of others. Let’s pretend Bonny & Clide has the emotional range of… well… a porno. And pretend that the early part of the 20th century in the south was pretty much a constant orgy with really bad accents.
And… go!
Oh, wait, let’s also pretend that rather than actually robbing banks and going on murderous sprees across America, the main characters instead fuck their way across the nation, leaving trails of bodily fluids and exhausted bodies in their wake. And they’re really into group sex. I mean really into group sex. So into group sex that they pretty much exclusively get it on with large groups of people. A threesome and an orgy all in the first hour? I love outlaws.
But I have to admit, I wish there’d been a bit more outlawing in this movie. Bluebird Films usually measures out its sex with its plots, and I felt like Bonny and Clide didn’t have much holding them together except Clide’s cock. Which was nice and all, but after some of their other outings, I felt like Bluebird might have slipped a little on the pacing and storyline here. But then again, I feel a bit silly complaining after having watched a carpet of copulating porn stars for the past four hours, so I’ll keep my griping to a minimum. And far be it from me to denigrate a movie in which, after a particularly athletic and eye-pleasing threesome, the lead character quips, “You’ve just been stuck up by Clyde Barrow hisself.” That’s damn funny.
But… well… let me just say that I’m a fan of guys vocalizing during sex scenes. I like to know they’re not just big-dicked robots and they’re actually enjoying themselves, and all. But Paul Chaplin… Do you think you could keep the weight-lifting-style grunts down a bit? It sounds as if you’re trying to lever a 300-lb barbell off the bench, but the girl bouncing on your cock doesn’t look that heavy. And she’s doing all the work anyway. If nothing else, it does sound like you’re about to blow your load the WHOLE scene, which seems confusing for the girls you’re fucking, who keep taking “load taking” positions for an orgasm that isn’t quite there yet. And when it finally DOES blow everywhere, there’s hardly any fanfare. You don’t even scream. All that grunting and straining for the first thirty minutes of your scene for a pop shot so quiet and restrained I didn’t even know it happened until I turned around and saw them cum-swapping? What gives? You can construct a well-paced movie with a decent plot and even persuade a lot of your actors to try their hands at real performances, but you can’t make your load the most exciting part of the scene? C’mon. Something is amiss here. I recommend you work on rectifying this situation.
But then again, you did fuck your way through giant swaths of America’s heartland in a sick-ass old school car, shedding costumes that weren’t exactly 100% authentic but were pretty damn good, humping your heart out in beautiful lighting and lavish sets draped with the naked bodies of dozens of porn stars, in an homage to one of America’s most classic crime duos and an even more classic film. You may have grunted a little more than I liked, and, ok, the sound editing was terrible. (I mean, you can throw a few camera crews into an orgy but you can’t seem to provide them with more than one microphone? Why? You end up with close-ups on people who are obviously making lots of noise while screwing, but it sounds as if they’re the whole way across the room? Why work so hard on costumes and sets and lighting but be so shoddy with the sound?) But Bonnie & Clide was nothing if not a riotous, raunchy, and roundly tension-relieving romp that left me feeling slippery-fingered and satisfied. Thumbs way up!
—Miss Lagsalot