A Little Part of Me

Poor casting and dreadful writing sink this porn romance from New Sensations' series (which seems to have been discontinued in favor of more gonzo-oriented "Tales from the Edge"). Usually reliable James Avalon is stuck with a tough assignment to pull off successfully.

Before writing this review I noted the feature's bevy of AVN nominations, some of them ludicrous (best actress, best screenplay for starters). Fact is that Bobbi Starr as Linda, the forlorn heroine of the piece, does a terrible job of acting, shown up by virtually all her co-stars. She wanders through the film like a limp dishrag, dead weight until her inevitable XXX performance in the final reels. I've liked Starr in other vehicles, notably title role of Ernest Greene's BDMS epic THE TRUTH ABOUT O, but if all you had to go on was this performance, a casting director's verdict on her would have to be "stick to gonzo".

Corny rom-com storyline deals with the suggestion by her flower shop co- workers (Kimberly Kane, Zoe Voss and Allie Haze) that Bobbi should hunt down the organ recipients who received transplants from her dead lover Max, to see how Max's posthumous largesse had impacted their lives. Supposedly this will break her out of depressive funk.

Film's working title was BODY PARTS, a moniker wisely dropped since it instantly suggests crappy horror movie. But the premise immediately had me thinking -hey, this is porn so why not include the lucky recipient Max's dick? Sure enough, this idiotic notion of mine was rewarded by a tasteless verbal joke from Mark Davis (a porn star of the last century who has not been aging gracefully), quipping in the final reel that he had Max's member donated to a guy, after she recites the dumb line: "It's not Max's body I miss, it's his spirit". Yeah, give the untalented "Crystal Dear" an award for penning that script.

Awkwardly (to say the least) constructed screenplay has Bobbi, with help of Max's best buddy Davis, finding each of the organ recipients (heart, eyes, etc.) and promptly fixing each one up with her co-workers who get to hump them. This clumsy approach reduces the intended "Romance" to mere sex movie, but the talents of Voss, Kane and Haze save the day in the sack. When I watch misfires like this I come to better understand how the industry's performers can so easily go back and forth from gonzo to storyline features, as in so many cases the difference is razor-thin.

Given Davis's over-the-hill status (I'm not being cruel, but certain stars like he and Nina Hartley need to realize there's a time to hang 'em up before overstaying one's welcome), the final Starr/Davis sex scene is an anticlimax, underscored by his meager, infinitesimal money shot on her belly, followed by final inane banter including: "Are you hungry? "You work up an appetite." "It's my romantic dinner". If any of this is award-worthy then 2011 must have been the worst year for porn in history.