Tony Marsiglia is an astonishingly talented director who has yet to make a film that uniformly testifies to that fact. On reflection, Dr. Jekyll and Mistress Hyde‘s heady eroticism flirts mighty close. But this, Seduction Cinema’s most anticipated release of the year, and also Mr. Marsiglia’s latest, is an artfully photographed, earnestly acted mess. Maybe CineSchlocker idol Misty Mundae can clarify:
"Tony’s take on Dracula is definitely, uh, unique. I play Mina. Dracula’s love interest and, um, I’m married to Julian Wells who I’m under the influence somehow or another that she’s my husband. We’re trying to conceive a child and I really just can’t seem to grasp why I’m unable to bare children with my husband Julian. Of course, Dracula comes and saves the day. And there’s all this underlying plot as well where I’m kind of being manipulated and under the haze of some type of drug-induced something or another, which is also never clearly explained.
Right. Well, that’s confusing even after SEEING the flick! It also doesn’t decode a second pseudo-sapphic love triangle involving CineSchlocker fave Andrea Davis (who’s recently pierced both Tootsie Pops) and, gulp, sisters Casey and Shelly Jones. Mr. Marsiglia’s commentary with producer Mike Raso smartly sidesteps the "This doesn’t make a lick of sense" issue by hailing the flick’s art-house allure. Wait! If a picture’s ponderous or downright incomprehensible, it’s automatically art!?!
Even if that were true, in some bizarro world, it’d still be far from entertaining. (Beyond nearly 30 MINUTES of erotic eye candy, naturally.) At least B-goddess Darian Caine finally got to play Dracula!!! Twice, in fact. CineSchlockers will recall she also fang’d up earlier this year in The Sexy Adventures of Van Helsing.
Notables: 12 breasts. Six corpses. Finger slurping. Advanced lesbian tongue rasslin. Face licking. Chalkboard screeching. Graveyard stalking. Rampant gender bending. Gratuitous stigmata. Bomb-Pop fellating. Carrot brandishing. Pill popping. Crucifix gulping. Quasi-gynecological closeups. Metaphorical rape.
Quotable: Huzzah to buxom newcomer Shelly Jones for sprinting naked along a catwalk, whilst wielding a gigundous wooden stake, and managing to deliver this groaner without giggling: "YOU WILL NOT WIN MY SOUL!!!"