You have to tolerate a ton of chutzpah to watch the videos of one David Stanley, enfant terrible for both Vivid Video and Wicked Pictures. As I pass the halfway mark in assessing his 100-plus directorial efforts it's become apparent that his talent and obsessions do not adequately dovetail with his chosen profession as pornographer.
It's hardly a mystery why he chose this form of expression: despite some clever turns of phrase in his dialog and a serious interest in metaphysical questions, Stanley's scripts were never quite ready for Prime Time. Even now when so many pointless "indie" movies get made (if barely seen, even if big backers like Netflix are involved) it's difficult to imagine a Stanley project being funded other than to capitalize on a promised five or six XXX scenes featuring name talent humping away.
I'll be brief about the failings of "Harlequin", which on paper at least seems to be a deeply felt tale of unrequited love and the umpteenth iteration of a pathetic, sad clown's plight. Evan Stone gives an empathetic performance as Gary the failed clown, whose life was saved by Jaye, well-played by Wicked contract star Kaylani Lei. They are roommates, but Gary cannot bring himself to profess his love for Jaye, latter involved sexually with her boyfriend Charley (Chris Cannon).
Stanley's characters are lovable, but for some reason, seemingly just to be experimental or like our current incompetent prexy, arbitrarily disruptive, he undermines his film at every turn. Nauseatingly sentimental library music mickey-mouses the emotion of every scene and the amount of bathos and Job-like misfortune levied upon Gary becomes overwhelming.
But the biggest flaw of "Harlequin" is Stanley's casting himself in a leading role, playing on his hospital death bed Gary's mentor and best friend, dying clown Pogo. In a performance worthy of a couple of Razzie awards, Stanley grumbles his way through cliched and tongue-twisting dialog (that he wrote himself! Gee Whiz!). His life was ruined by losing his love, an aerialist played by Nicole Sheridan, as he opted instead for another woman, The Harlequin, personified in white face by Eve Laurence.
For practical reasons but ultimately most distracting and confusing, in the XXX flashbacks Stanley's Pogo is played by Voodoo, the better to have explicit sex with his real-life wife Nicole. Laurence has a dual role, also appearing as the busty lover of Muffler shop owner Tony Tedeschi. That's for an ultimately bathetic scene of Gary losing his crummy job of poster-board advertisement guy on the street for the Muffler shop, after he's caught being a voyeur looking at Tony's balls while TT makes love to Eve.
Why not have Voodoo play Pogo, period? No, David has to foist himself on his presumably adoring public even though his acting is p*ss poor, and he couldn't resist giving Eve the two disparate roles for no good reason. Rayveness is affecting as a bar owner who pities (with a f*ck) clown Gary and gives good advice to anyone who'll take it. But another stupid indulgence has fellow barfly clowns (John Santos and Cyrus) hamming it up as a Road Company pair of droogies from "A Clockwork Orange", humiliating Gary as further piling on.
It's hardly a mystery why he chose this form of expression: despite some clever turns of phrase in his dialog and a serious interest in metaphysical questions, Stanley's scripts were never quite ready for Prime Time. Even now when so many pointless "indie" movies get made (if barely seen, even if big backers like Netflix are involved) it's difficult to imagine a Stanley project being funded other than to capitalize on a promised five or six XXX scenes featuring name talent humping away.
I'll be brief about the failings of "Harlequin", which on paper at least seems to be a deeply felt tale of unrequited love and the umpteenth iteration of a pathetic, sad clown's plight. Evan Stone gives an empathetic performance as Gary the failed clown, whose life was saved by Jaye, well-played by Wicked contract star Kaylani Lei. They are roommates, but Gary cannot bring himself to profess his love for Jaye, latter involved sexually with her boyfriend Charley (Chris Cannon).
Stanley's characters are lovable, but for some reason, seemingly just to be experimental or like our current incompetent prexy, arbitrarily disruptive, he undermines his film at every turn. Nauseatingly sentimental library music mickey-mouses the emotion of every scene and the amount of bathos and Job-like misfortune levied upon Gary becomes overwhelming.
But the biggest flaw of "Harlequin" is Stanley's casting himself in a leading role, playing on his hospital death bed Gary's mentor and best friend, dying clown Pogo. In a performance worthy of a couple of Razzie awards, Stanley grumbles his way through cliched and tongue-twisting dialog (that he wrote himself! Gee Whiz!). His life was ruined by losing his love, an aerialist played by Nicole Sheridan, as he opted instead for another woman, The Harlequin, personified in white face by Eve Laurence.
For practical reasons but ultimately most distracting and confusing, in the XXX flashbacks Stanley's Pogo is played by Voodoo, the better to have explicit sex with his real-life wife Nicole. Laurence has a dual role, also appearing as the busty lover of Muffler shop owner Tony Tedeschi. That's for an ultimately bathetic scene of Gary losing his crummy job of poster-board advertisement guy on the street for the Muffler shop, after he's caught being a voyeur looking at Tony's balls while TT makes love to Eve.
Why not have Voodoo play Pogo, period? No, David has to foist himself on his presumably adoring public even though his acting is p*ss poor, and he couldn't resist giving Eve the two disparate roles for no good reason. Rayveness is affecting as a bar owner who pities (with a f*ck) clown Gary and gives good advice to anyone who'll take it. But another stupid indulgence has fellow barfly clowns (John Santos and Cyrus) hamming it up as a Road Company pair of droogies from "A Clockwork Orange", humiliating Gary as further piling on.