Calling Leonard Kirtman controversial would suggest that someone out there actually likes him ! The subject of many a '70s skin flick starlet's horror story, he may indeed be the most universally despised figure in all of adult. Still, there's just no getting around the fact that Kirtman's something of a cornerstone in skin flick history, supplying much '60s sexploitation stuff through Kirt Films, keeping Distribpix in dough throughout the decade. He notoriously frightened then fledgling Veronica Hart almost right back out of the business when he unceremoniously "stepped in" for an inconveniently flaccid Zebedy Colt on the set of TARA. He would also prove instrumental in said superstar Seka's separation from husband Ken Yontz, at whose behest she agreed to cooperate with the middle-aged wannabe movie mogul. .
Taking his public persona out of the equation, Kirtman's forte as a filmmaker springs from a similar single-mindedness, eschewing the niceties of production that increasingly embellished erotica to concentrate on the sex instead. With Lenny, there's no room for excuses. Plots are perfunctory and any cameraman's greatest concern is to stay in focus and throw in lots of extreme close-ups, resulting in his trademark style which his multitude of detractors would claim as an absence thereof, a rudimentary brand of carnality appealing mostly to the rain-coater demographic, the Dirty Mac brigade which always appeared to make up at least half the theatrical audience way back when porn was still a communal experience. Piling up the pretty girls was another tactic he frequently resorted to and, although some of the more fastidious hardcore historians casually dismiss this as another brain-dead attention-grabbing apparatus, fans were not complaining. Know thy audience indeed. He may not have been the best movie maker that has ever graced the business, to coin an understatement, but he proved one hell of a salesman.
FEMALE ATHLETES qualifies as his best overall work. A veritable smörgåsbord for the seasoned star spotter, it's also a great place to start for newbies wishing to acquaint themselves with some of the more prolific and popular performers as well as a heaping helping of unsung cult favorites. As per usual, the flimsiest of pretexts puts the loins in motion. Annette Haven's roving reporter Linda Hamilton, eager to divert her imminent dismissal at Sports Life Magazine by zooming in on the increase in female participation in a field traditionally ruled by men, even gaining the upper hand in some disciplines. Now this of course wouldn't have a snowball's chance in hell of happening in football, or indeed any of the "real" sports as the type of macho purist so gently spoofed by Richard Pacheco and John Seeman's trash-talking duo might consider them, but does occur in fencing, swimming, pool and martial arts which the movie's generally well done sexual vignettes proceed to illustrate. The always awesome Annette gets the ball rolling by instructing the kid from the mail room (David Morris in wide-eyed gee whiz mode) in the finer points of female pleasure before flashing back to her first line of defense in the face of danger as her employer (Paul Thomas) feels forced to let her go unless... Special chemistry defuses a potentially poor taste set-up, paving the way for the hearts and flowers conclusion as PT proposes in the wake of an uncharacteristically aesthetic roll on the deck of a luxury yacht.
Racking her brain while jogging in the rain, Annette hits pay dirt when a chance encounter with fellow jogger Jesse Adams (adult's quintessential blond surfer dude) puts her in the right direction. A trip to the fencing academy has her witnessing teacher John Holmes's clumsy defeat at the hands of Desiree Cousteau who comes on to her in the steam room for an outstanding Sapphic initiation until the King joins in to make it a killer threesome. The martial arts mêlée gets off to a rocky start with dusky diva Desiree West unfairly relegated to the sidelines by sputtering single credit stud Jim Brown as Crystal Dawn (an early video vixen) picks up the slack by parting her butt cheeks to husky Michael Morrison's mighty member. An even better rectal, underwater no less, comes courtesy of adult's amazon queen Chris Cassidy allowing rear entrance to the stalwart Seeman with the splendid Jesie St. James and Pacheco (solid thespians both, considering what little elbow room they're allotted) as their cheering section. Dizzy Dorothy LeMay and seldom seen TJ Carson (featured in former actress Clair Dia's affable SCREWPLES) play a pair of pool hall hustlers, parting Jon Martin and Carl Regal (forever the befuddled coach from schoolgirl classic LITTLE GIRLS BLUE) with a wad of their hard-earned, then hitting the velvet to repay them in kind. PT's plans to make an honest woman out of Annette prompt the orgy finale where you'll need a road map to keep track of who's doing what to whom. This proves particularly unfortunate when you consider that the exquisite Bonnie Holiday performs a fleeting DP but I can't for the life of me tell you who's in front and back.
Striking the iron while it's hot, and realizing full well that pretty soon she probably wouldn't give him the time of day, Kirtman rushed three Desiree Cousteau projects into production (apart from this and INSIDE, there's also DEEP RUB) in close conjunction of one another, employing the same technical team which seems to have fallen off the radar since. This goes for producer Harold Adams, DoP John Simolowitz (showing superior sophistication to Lenny's habitual lens-men) and composer John N. Michael who would also pop up on his EROTIC ADVENTURES OF LOLITA though without the benefit of songstress "Fanny Arr" whose vocal stylings add a unique haunting quality to the Cousteau combo.
Taking his public persona out of the equation, Kirtman's forte as a filmmaker springs from a similar single-mindedness, eschewing the niceties of production that increasingly embellished erotica to concentrate on the sex instead. With Lenny, there's no room for excuses. Plots are perfunctory and any cameraman's greatest concern is to stay in focus and throw in lots of extreme close-ups, resulting in his trademark style which his multitude of detractors would claim as an absence thereof, a rudimentary brand of carnality appealing mostly to the rain-coater demographic, the Dirty Mac brigade which always appeared to make up at least half the theatrical audience way back when porn was still a communal experience. Piling up the pretty girls was another tactic he frequently resorted to and, although some of the more fastidious hardcore historians casually dismiss this as another brain-dead attention-grabbing apparatus, fans were not complaining. Know thy audience indeed. He may not have been the best movie maker that has ever graced the business, to coin an understatement, but he proved one hell of a salesman.
FEMALE ATHLETES qualifies as his best overall work. A veritable smörgåsbord for the seasoned star spotter, it's also a great place to start for newbies wishing to acquaint themselves with some of the more prolific and popular performers as well as a heaping helping of unsung cult favorites. As per usual, the flimsiest of pretexts puts the loins in motion. Annette Haven's roving reporter Linda Hamilton, eager to divert her imminent dismissal at Sports Life Magazine by zooming in on the increase in female participation in a field traditionally ruled by men, even gaining the upper hand in some disciplines. Now this of course wouldn't have a snowball's chance in hell of happening in football, or indeed any of the "real" sports as the type of macho purist so gently spoofed by Richard Pacheco and John Seeman's trash-talking duo might consider them, but does occur in fencing, swimming, pool and martial arts which the movie's generally well done sexual vignettes proceed to illustrate. The always awesome Annette gets the ball rolling by instructing the kid from the mail room (David Morris in wide-eyed gee whiz mode) in the finer points of female pleasure before flashing back to her first line of defense in the face of danger as her employer (Paul Thomas) feels forced to let her go unless... Special chemistry defuses a potentially poor taste set-up, paving the way for the hearts and flowers conclusion as PT proposes in the wake of an uncharacteristically aesthetic roll on the deck of a luxury yacht.
Racking her brain while jogging in the rain, Annette hits pay dirt when a chance encounter with fellow jogger Jesse Adams (adult's quintessential blond surfer dude) puts her in the right direction. A trip to the fencing academy has her witnessing teacher John Holmes's clumsy defeat at the hands of Desiree Cousteau who comes on to her in the steam room for an outstanding Sapphic initiation until the King joins in to make it a killer threesome. The martial arts mêlée gets off to a rocky start with dusky diva Desiree West unfairly relegated to the sidelines by sputtering single credit stud Jim Brown as Crystal Dawn (an early video vixen) picks up the slack by parting her butt cheeks to husky Michael Morrison's mighty member. An even better rectal, underwater no less, comes courtesy of adult's amazon queen Chris Cassidy allowing rear entrance to the stalwart Seeman with the splendid Jesie St. James and Pacheco (solid thespians both, considering what little elbow room they're allotted) as their cheering section. Dizzy Dorothy LeMay and seldom seen TJ Carson (featured in former actress Clair Dia's affable SCREWPLES) play a pair of pool hall hustlers, parting Jon Martin and Carl Regal (forever the befuddled coach from schoolgirl classic LITTLE GIRLS BLUE) with a wad of their hard-earned, then hitting the velvet to repay them in kind. PT's plans to make an honest woman out of Annette prompt the orgy finale where you'll need a road map to keep track of who's doing what to whom. This proves particularly unfortunate when you consider that the exquisite Bonnie Holiday performs a fleeting DP but I can't for the life of me tell you who's in front and back.
Striking the iron while it's hot, and realizing full well that pretty soon she probably wouldn't give him the time of day, Kirtman rushed three Desiree Cousteau projects into production (apart from this and INSIDE, there's also DEEP RUB) in close conjunction of one another, employing the same technical team which seems to have fallen off the radar since. This goes for producer Harold Adams, DoP John Simolowitz (showing superior sophistication to Lenny's habitual lens-men) and composer John N. Michael who would also pop up on his EROTIC ADVENTURES OF LOLITA though without the benefit of songstress "Fanny Arr" whose vocal stylings add a unique haunting quality to the Cousteau combo.