Much of Shaun Costello's early work seems motivated by boredom: stuck with the task of working long, hard (pun intended) hours as a pornographer/sex performer he sought to keep himself awake, if not the audience, by injecting dumb in-jokes and attempts at wit. COME AND BE PURIFIED is among his most childish insults.
The requisite amount of explicit sex footage is delivered here, but accompanied by inane would-be satire, as Jamie Gillis with affected speaking voice sort of acts the role of a New Age cum Catholic preacher, with nude Costello as his aide de camp, leading a meager flock through sexual exercises. Gillis' poor performance is actually beyond criticism, since it is fake on so many levels, including the plot device revealing him in the final reel cornily as a fraud.
The pseudo-religious babbling by Jamie, Shaun and particularly their lead parishioner Valerie Marron is not funny, and the chintzy, poorly lit (shadows looming) nondescript room for their service on the level of a home movie. The auteur's intended irreverence if not shock value (his sexual content here is not as outrageous as in much of his BDSM oriented work) is puerile, almost as if the finished product was not aimed at some Mafia-owned porn theater but rather to be seen at frat houses.
Being prollfic has somehow become a badge of quality in today's revisionist view of filmmaking from prior periods but I would tag Costello, Sarno, D'Amato and Franco (just to stick to the "o's" crowd) with negative points for each clunker in their quiver, reducing each one's net total to the minus column.
The requisite amount of explicit sex footage is delivered here, but accompanied by inane would-be satire, as Jamie Gillis with affected speaking voice sort of acts the role of a New Age cum Catholic preacher, with nude Costello as his aide de camp, leading a meager flock through sexual exercises. Gillis' poor performance is actually beyond criticism, since it is fake on so many levels, including the plot device revealing him in the final reel cornily as a fraud.
The pseudo-religious babbling by Jamie, Shaun and particularly their lead parishioner Valerie Marron is not funny, and the chintzy, poorly lit (shadows looming) nondescript room for their service on the level of a home movie. The auteur's intended irreverence if not shock value (his sexual content here is not as outrageous as in much of his BDSM oriented work) is puerile, almost as if the finished product was not aimed at some Mafia-owned porn theater but rather to be seen at frat houses.
Being prollfic has somehow become a badge of quality in today's revisionist view of filmmaking from prior periods but I would tag Costello, Sarno, D'Amato and Franco (just to stick to the "o's" crowd) with negative points for each clunker in their quiver, reducing each one's net total to the minus column.