Rockford Files, winter sports, horrible movie

So I am slowly working my way through "The Rockford Files," courtesy of Netflix. and every so often Jimbo is wearing a sack jacket. He wears it well, much better than the darted, twin-vented things with the five-inch lapels and the loud checks.

He's also a bit of a cad, something that didn't register when I watched these as a kid. In one episode, he begins by kissing his lawyer/main squeeze Beth Davenport, but ends up sucking face with Linda Evans. Not that I blame him, but...

We had lots of snow Friday night, Feb. 8, into Saturday morning. Not nearly as much as the coastal areas, but enough that the Salisbury Winter Sports Association had to cancel and/or delay a lot of events on this, their big weekend of the year.

On the style front, this is where LL Bean really comes in handy. Especially for great big thick warm wool pants. These come with suspender buttons, only they don't sew them in very well, so I had to reinforce them. Yes, I know how to sew on a button, and I cook for myself, too.

Filson wool sport shirt, with a buttondown collar, which is a little unusual (they usually come in plain point collar).

Tending the fire this afternoon was this eccentric fellow, and sometimes the only reasonable thing to do is paint your face, dress up like a Viking, and enter a human dogsled race.

You might suspect it's a Jean Rollin flick on account of the poster for a Rollin flick on the wall, filmed in exciting Slant-O-Vision.

Never drink cheap vodka, because you'll wind up doing something embarrassing. Oh wait, that's Smirnoff.  Never mind.

What do you do with a spy from the evil cult? Make a big dogpile, that's what!

Reason # 18 to be a Leader of an Evil Sex Cult: When you say "Suck my toes," the girl says "Which ones?"

The Great Jean Rollin Quest rolls on, with a viewing of the long version of Bachanales Sexuelles from the aptly named Synapse Films. (Apt because I ruined a few during the hour and a half of this turkey.)

The flick is blamed— er, credited to Michel Gentil, but even the drunkest viewer can't help but notice the posters for Rollin's other epics on the walls of the apartment.

See, Valerie is apartment-sitting for her cousin, and she gets a little jittery, so she calles up Sophie. They drink vodka and have sex. 

Lost in post-erotic langour, Valerie doesn't notice that two refugees from the very obscure Marcel Marceau-Jacques Cousteau collaboration, Le Danse Aquatique, have snuck into the apartment.

But Sophie does, and calls her male friend whose name I can't remember to come over. Before he arrives, however, the intruders have snatched Sophie, and there's a joke here that I am not going to make.

So the Dude has sex with Valerie instead.

Next day they have sex, and then this girl comes over and says she's the maid, which she proves by having sex with them. But then another maid shows up, but it's time to go to the lair of the evil cult leader, who looks like Botox was maybe around in 1974.

And have sex there. Also toe-sucking, which, if you're the leader of an evil sex cult, you get to enjoy pretty much whenever you want.

There is a lot of sex in this movie. In fact, there is more sex than plot, which, given the screenplay, is a good thing. 

And if you have been wondering about things that two women and one man could get up to, well, here's your chance to see a demonstration.

The only thing that doesn't make this a pornographic film is...

Nothing. This is a porno flick with some plot attached. 

Because of its limitations, it is actually a better film than the other, "legitimate" offerings I have seen from this auteur.

But the sex scenes get tedious, so I give this a modest two coils.

(This guy knows a lot more about it than me.)

Edit: Ye Gods, I just realized that Jean Rollin directed the immortal Zombie Lake, an Iron Coil nominee.