Starring Adam Elliot Davis and all the naked girls in Portland, Oregon.
"...just a buncha junk..."
If, like myself, you sat there in the theater watching Will Smith in I Am Legend and thought to yourself, "What this movie needs is more ass", than you are in luck. First-time director Skelding's low-budget one-man show is actually pretty faithful to Smith's $50 million dollar time-waster, only instead of CGI man-beasties, Skeldings post-apoc Portland, Oregon is overrun with naked, vampiric Suicide Girls. Oh, and instead of a German Shepard, this dude has a Bassett Hound. Otherwise, same deal.
The story takes place three years after some Romero-esque plague has decimated the world's population. Anyone still walking is either a sex-vampire or Ron Jeremy. Adam Elliot Davis stars as Robby, the neatly-dressed, Topher Grace-esque spawn of religious fanatics. Robby's parents managed to brainwash their offspring into waiting-until-marriage before dipping his wick into any of the local talent. Unfortunately, the world ended before he found the right girl, and now he's not only the last man - well, the last non-infected man on Earth- he's also the world's last virgin.
Robby spends his days like most last-men-on-Earth do - grocery store raids, a visit to the cinema (All Convoy, all the time), then back home before dark to play Chess with a blow-up alien fuck doll, Vlog to no one, and then quietly masturbate himself to sleep.
Somewhere in that busy day he also creeps around town in his SUV, looking for survivors. All he finds, however, are undead, sex-mad, tattooed she-wolves who paw away at each other like extras in a Misty Mundae movie until they notice Robby ogling them in the shadows. Then they make chase, offering/demanding to suck and fuck him into manhood. Luckily for Robby, he's wily enough to escape their clutches and remain human...at least for now. For the first 1,000 or so days that this bullshit has gone on, the vampire-sluts have remained in the dark; lately they've been sneaking ever closer to his hideout and using "tools" (AKA dildos-on-a-stick). What will happen to our hapless virgin when Satan's sluts figure out how to use sunblock? And really, what's the harm in fucking a vampire anyway?
These questions - and a few others, including 'What the fuck is Ron Jeremy doing here?', are all summarily explained as I Am Virgin unspools to its dramatic stripclub-bound umm...climax.
Here's the important thing to know about this film: I Am Virgin is not what you think it is. It is not a splattery scuzzball horror-com, although that may have been Skelding's intention. Instead, it's something more along the lines of a latter period Jim Wynorski or Fred Olen Ray faux-fuck flick, or even a heavily cut Joanna Angel tattooed alt-babe bang-a-thon. There are half a dozen softcore sex scenes liberally sprinkled throughout the film, and while they are shot with a decent amount of gonzo punk-porn vigor, they don't actually serve the plot at all. In fact, Robbie is just a tangential observer for most of them, and doesn't really interact with the girls until the final reel. Certainly, there's lesbian-centric softcore has its legions (ahem) of fans, and if you're among 'em, I Am Virgin will scratch your particular itch. But if you're looking for something along the lines of Zombie Strippers - which is the way this film has been marketed - you'll most likely be disappointed.
That being said, I Am Virgin is technically impressive. Skelding's production design - the empty streets, burned-out cars, abandoned buildings and mummified corpses - is a fully realized vision, and a great example of just how much you can do with just the barest of essentials. Half of Skelding's doomsday is achieved with balled-up newspapers, and it's as effective as many similar productions with a hundred times the budget. There's also an assload of naked girls to soak in - albeit all of 'em of inked n' pierced neo-punkettes - and Davis's acting is much stronger than you might expect.
All in all, above par for a softcore spoof. It's just a shame it's not much more than that.
- Ken McIntyre