Virgin Hunters

When a whole film is not more than the sum of its individual parts, but even comes out as less, there is a very good chance that the name David DeCoteau will appear in the credits. In the hands of another director, Virgin Hunters could have turned out to be a very entertaining blend of Tomorrow I’ll Wake Up and Scald Myself with Tea, Some Like It Hot, Terminator, ’80s teen comedies and ’90s silicone softcore erotica. A better screenplay would also have helped the theoretical result a lot, where, for example, humour would not be based only on embarrassing jokes, but also on the fact that DeCoteau kills a lot of potential with his characteristically ultra-cheap production. The scenes are simply first takes (not necessarily good takes, as indicated by shots where the microphone occasionally falls into the picture) and are done in large long shots, instead of breaking them up and giving them the necessary dynamics. On the other hand, the master of direct-to-VHS trash knew very well that he did not need anything more sophisticated or higher-quality to succeed or cover costs. A few sticky dreams evoking softcore sequences of nudity and the one boudoir-lit bedroom scene were enough for the target audience of boys just entering puberty. As is customary in the category of subliminal sexist indoctrination flicks, any deviation from heteronormativity is strictly rejected, so that unlike porn, the nightly rendezvous of co-eds in sexy lingerie never cross the line and, unlike Some Like It Hot, any gay allusions are immediately condemned as disgusting. The gender-specific upbringing of boys (not only) in the United States involves the belief that ambitious career women are uptight and it suffices to awaken passion in them so that they will cast off their nonsense and get back to where every woman supposedly belongs, which is in the wet dreams of inexperienced virgins. (01/21/2021)