Director Ron Sullivan showed talent from the outset, indicated in this debut film about decadent Manhattan types and the dangers of being too trusting. It's a time capsule movie, one of the better offerings from Distribpix (which threatens to reissue it themselves in a gala edition).
I got to interview Ron in the '80s, when his nom de film Henri Pachard had become a household name among porn fans. He lived to direct well over 300 film or video features, putting him way ahead of the count registered by now-revered European masters of porn, like Franco and D'Amato.
Opening firmly establishes the film in the late '60s gray area of underground art/porn (typified by the Findlays and the Amero Bros.), as pretentious poetry is voiced over the MOS action, with a flute solo accompaniment.
Without warning we see a softcore sex scene on a couch, viewed by a shutterbug voyeur outside the window. A young couple is bamboozled into attending an event, concocted by society sadists. They become captives for deadly experiments in pleasure & pain -sure sounds like a formula for porn! Film utilizes the same library suspense music used by the Findlays in their "Flesh" series. Besides plenty of s&m and b&d action, the film escalates to murder for kicks. This is all captured by Sullivan in a cold, "heartless" manner.
Most surprising element is a brunette dancer in see-through panties which transparently reveal her bush -full frontal nudity was a no-no in 1967, but apparently this was legal, skirting the issue so to speak. Film includes an explicit lesbian rubdown scene, but hints of homosexuality are just left implied.
As common with many, many of these revived black & white porn films, the DVD has exterior scenes often whited out, either a lab problem or merely a function of deterioration through aging. This hurts the final reel where suddenly "We're going to the ocean now" cues the usual Fellini-esque attempt to add some significance. Unfortunately, the return of voiced-over poetry and a morbid final shot of doomed lovers in the surf plays merely like a spoof of art-house cinema.
Kudos to Sullivan for an interesting first effort.
