In honor of one pot calling the other kettle black [Hugo Chavez electing to call George Bush the devil], comes this re-visit to one of the great porn films of all time. The Devil in Miss Jones, available from Arrow Productions, www.arrowfreedom.com, stars Georgina Spelvin and reiterates the classic argument that they don’t make ’em like they used to. Especially when it comes to erotica.
Spelvin may not be the hottest-looking chick in the world, but she dignifies this film with class, demeanor, style and substance. Even harder to believe after you’ve seen The Devil in Miss Jones is realizing that Gerard Damiano besides writing and directing it, also made Deep Throat which is as trite as Miss Jones is cerebral. Unlike the Linda Lovelace character, Justine Jones has lived and died a virgin. No cocks have darkened her mouth, pussy or ass. And we have to assume it’s for this reason that she takes her life. The scene which illustrates her suicide is a bit grim, but much in the way the entire movie is carried off – is burnished with gauzy, amber-lit old world elements that are quite seductive. Jones’ life is assessed by a Mr. Abaca [John Clemens] and she realizes that despite a pure life her indiscretion leaves only one option. And if eternal damnation is the abiding consequence, Justine wishes to go out in style and have a life engulfed and consumed by lust.
She’s instructed to walk through a massive door whereupon she meets Harry Reems who’s to be her “Teacher.” Sticking a finger toy up her butt, Reems, not one to mince words, engender good fellowship or fuck around with homework assignments, has Justine sucking his dick and taking his cock in her ass in no time. A beautifully lubricated lesbo scene follows and Justine also learns the value of a good D.P. The fact that she also takes a live snake’s head in her mouth may be counterproductive to trying everything under the sun, but she’s a gamer. Running the sexual gauntlet with anonymous partners, basically earns Justine her rightful place for eternity; but Hell, like God, must have a sense of humor as well.
With the snake thrown in you’d have figured Samuel L. Jackson, but Justine winds up spending the after life cooped up in a room with Damiano who, curled up in a corner, rants incessantly about witches, goblins, rats and roaches. He’s crazier than Renfield in Dracula, and this is what Justine pretty much gets for espousing virginity.
A good movie to show any woman who tells you she’s saving it for the right guy.