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Released: Mar 01st, 1999
Running Time: 140
Director: Dale Jordan
Company: Elegant Angel Productions
Cast: Tawny Ocean, Mr. Marcus, Dakota (I), Roxanne Hall, Sean Michaels, Tyce Bune, Obsession, Candy Hill, Elle DeVyne, Pat Myne
Critical Rating: AAA 1/2
Get this into your customer\'s hands. Malcolm X-style (i.e., by whatever means necessary).
One of the hardest things to explain to people who don't work with porn on a day-to-day basis is how little actual libido and libido by-product figures in the vast majority of what is trotted out under the rubric "pornography."
Still less of anything having anything to do with genuine desire graces the reviewer's screen in the typical 30-day stretch. We see fornication a-plenty. Lots of tab-A to slob-B sheet wrinkling. A little sweaty coitus. Maybe even a bit of transgressive kink now and again. Sadly, though, the overwhelming impression one takes from any stack of 20-30 smut epics is a whole lotta clock-punching.
And then, every once in a while, you get hit in the face with smut like this and your faith in pornography is reaffirmed for a while. All that's best about BHH4 is personified by the performer who emerges as its hands-down star, the sublime Dakota. Back when willful Greek and Roman gals used to run off into the hills to drink wine and eat raw mean and rut ecstatic in the sanctuary of Bacchus, you can be sure there was a woman of Dakota's type sprawled invitingly across the main altar. Dakota is walking, talking libido -- all of those delicious appetites which make life worth living, made wonderfully flesh. She's captured at her best here in an oh-so-anal threesome with Alex Sanders and Candy Hill; it's a magnum opus round of colon coitus, a torrid little triad garnished with a bunch of ass-to-mouth action. And if the a-2-m feels a little forced and out of rhythm with the rest of the proceedings, it's only because the rest of the bruising butt-fucking on tap here is so obviously purely desire-driven. Dakota takes one kidney-jarring reaming after another, all the time with a post-coital seraph's dreamy depravity written across her flushed visage. Hill keeps pace wonderfully, and Sanders fucks away like the seasoned A-list woodsman he is. Heap on any and all appropriate pre-noms.
Each and every scene here is a scorching keeper, and director Dale Jordan is to be praised roundly and loudly.