“You think the world is being governed by a giant asshole?” That’s one of the handful of questions some pompous jag-bag ponders in the opening scene. Talking to us like we’re some kindhearted soul who just came over to check on our “artist” friend’s well-being. I have no answer for that question. But I can tell you that Gorgasm hits like a far too sensual massage from your elderly next door neighbor Bill.
In an oddball Illinois populated mostly by kinky perverts (so….Illinois), a sexy call girl is offering the next level of sexual pleasure to those willing to pay. “The Ultimate Climax” as she calls it involves a little dancing, a little stripping and a whole lot of murdering. Eventually this brings us to the wood paneled basement…I’m sorry…wood paneled police headquarters of some understaffed precinct. A police officer trapped behind a desk with dreams of being a detective is thrown a bone by his sergeant and given the case (well at least until a real detective is available.)
All he has to go on is a mysterious ad in some underground porno magazine. There’s no number or address, just a nude woman advertising Gorgasm.
Using his detective skills, he traces the ad back to its publisher and learns how to contact Gorgasm. While he’s detecting, Tara (that’s our psychotic call girl) has been keeping busy murdering various lonely perverts. It all traces back to her husband who had a thing for being beat and hung up in the garage and mysteriously (not really) died a few years back. That’s some fine reasoning for becoming a murder-hooker.
Detective dipshit takes out an ad in the magazine and in no time at all the trap is set and the final confrontation fast approaches. There will be boobs, a severed hand and a gun blast straight to the old baby maker.
Sleazy and sadistic in all the right places, Hugh Gallagher’s opening act of his “Gore Trilogy” is a fine trashy time for us SOV weirdos. He had yet to tap into the batshit vibes that were fast approaching but he still manages to bring the psychotic charm necessary for backyard budgeted horror.
There’s a cool ass soundtrack, stiff line reading, porno stores and a death by weed-whacker. This is one hell of a improvement of Gallagher’s Dead Silence. It runs just a bit too long but already has enough going for it that it’s easy to overlook the eventual dragging. 7/10