Private

Rating: THREE "Brown Bagging It At Chez Panisse" BUSTED NUTS

You can’t help but love these Private box sets. Cool slipcases, artwork that keeps making you feel like you lucked out in buying it, and neato gatefold DVD booklet that goes “flop, flop, flop, flop, flop, flop” when you open it. (That’s a flop per DVD in this set.) Still, there’s something not quite right about this particular one, PRIVATE TROPICAL BOX SET 2 (comprising Private Tropical movies 7-12).

KRISTINA BLONDE. 19 YEARS OLD. FROM PRAGUE. AND A BIG FAN OF BEING BEACHSIDE ON COCONUT ISLAND. WE KID YOU FUCKING NOT.

All the Private Tropical movies are shot on a glamourous island. I guess this is some people’s bag. Me? I can’t help but be concerned when I see the stuck-on sand creeping closer and closer to the area of action. Think it sucks when you have to scrape the part between your toes raw to get all the sand out? Ha, you ain’t seen nothin’ yet.

Part of the problem is that as hot as the girls are, the full rays of the sun is not as kind as, say, controlled room lighting. So everything’s right out there in the open. The fucking is on par with Private: no holes barred but as elegantly presented as that can be. So it’s kind of sterile. Indeed, the big star here seems to, in fact, be the fucking islands themselves, which are probably more cool if you’re actually THERE as opposed to in your jammies in front of your TV in San Francisco, where images of summer means “don’t wear anything less than a sweater or you’ll regret it.” But there’s something else. Something else... really odd about this series.

Wait. I just figured it out. For all the “exotic” locales – the Seychelles, The Bahamas, The Caribbean, etc... there isn’t a single goddamn indigenous, exotic woman to be found in any capacity. They’re all flown in from Eastern Europe. Now, don’t get me wrong. Eastern Euro babes are great, but flying all the way to a fantastic place to fuck girls from back home, so to speak, is like bringing a bag lunch to a five star restaurant.

Now, it IS a five star bag lunch, like in the final scene of CARIBBEAN AIRLINES, in which Italian rat boy GEORGE UHL chooses to fuck the woman who, if we had to pick just one of the throng that come on to him, we would have fucked, too.

But CARIBBEAN AIRLINES seems a whole lot like CORAL HONEYMOON, which isn’t too far off from COCONUT HOLIDAY. We’re getting the distinct feeling that Private flies in 10 girls and four guys at a time, shoots four and a half hours of movie time, and then goes home and cuts it up into three features that are exactly one hour and a half long. Weird.

So it’s cool, but don’t be expecting to catch any island fever. –- STEELY ROB

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