As a traditional five-scene feature, Doc Macock works precisely on the level in which it was intended. It provides slightly better-than-average sex, evenly divided by interstitial "comic" asides. Just as it's painful to watch porn players attempt drama where none exists, so it goes with humor. (We've come to accept the fact that all this bellyaching is so much pissing in the wind, but what they hell. That's why we get the big yucks.)

This mockumentary look inside an uninhibited sex clinic is hardly what we'd call masterful Johnson-slinging - but two scenes are worth the price of a straight jacket. The first features Manning and Hunter, who reveal a mutual attraction that goes beyond the confines of its two-ply script. Like every other scene, they get down to prerequisite ass-fucking, but somehow it feels more authentic. Same can be said for the Charming/Stone buggering; his throbbing backdoor knobbing makes her squirt (more like GUSH) like a goddamned broken fire plug.

Retailing: Squirters of the world, unite.