by Addison DeWitt

Though it foreshadowed 1980's Can't Stop the Music (that dreadful musical directed by Nancy Walker that starred The Village People, Steve Guttenberg and Bruce Jenner), The Boys of Venice is the real deal when it comes to disco, roller skating and gay culture in the late 70's.

From the opening sequence of random shots of some positively gorgeous hippie/surfer dudes, couples roller-disco-dancing (yes Virginia, there really was such a thing as roller-disco-dancing) and the "far out" look of Venice Beach California circa 1978 all scored to a disco version of "Whiter Shade of Pale"; The Boys of Venice is a brilliant, sunny, sex soaked look back on a time when our hair was long, our music was rated in Beats Per Minute, our clothes tight, and our morals loose.

After the prolonged opening sequence (director William Higgins was the master of really capturing a time and place by shooting authentic crowd scenes while finding luscious young men amidst the rank and file for his camera to ogle), Eric Ryan (he of the sensuous lips and seeming insatiable sex drive) roller skates into frame and welcomes us to Venice Beach, California where he tells us, "The last hold out of 60's counter-culture is alive and well."

Ryan then skates off and shows us some of his roller-boogie moves until he has a collision with another skate wearing fool (Derrick Stanton) and the two fall rather clumsily onto the boardwalk.

Once the boys are back on their feet they make their way back to Stanton's apartment to take a look see at the damage done. Well of course it does not take long for an innocent glance at Stanton's thigh to turn into a grope for his balls, and as soon as Ryan goes for the gold all thoughts about sprains and bruises are out the window and the boys are going at each other.

What starts as a pretty run-of-the-mill suck and fuck scene transcends the norm when Ryan mounts Stanton from behind and proceeds to fuck his brains out...did I mention that both guys are still on roller skates? I especially enjoyed the fact that much of this scene is shot in the tiny bathroom mirror so that the sweaty faces of Ryan and Stanton are revealed as they copulate. What's even more interesting is that they never lose balance. I mean, have you ever fucked in roller skates? I imagine it takes some type of special skill.

From here we are introduced to Scott Taylor, a photographer, who sets up his studio with several automated cameras so he can catch himself in the act of masturbating. Taylor is a real beauty with a head of unkempt curly hair and sad, sloe eyes. He also has a magnificent tool that he strokes to an impressive cum shot while strobes flash and the omnipresent disco music plays relentlessly in the background. Once we are done spying on our horny shutterbug, Ryan takes us on another tour of the Venice Beach boardwalk and for a few minutes William Higgins' camera randomly shoots people having a midday meal in a cafe.

Once more, it bears mentioning that these scenes are quite good as the viewer is never really aware of who is actually a cast member of the film and who just happened to be at the restaurant the day Higgins chose to shoot. From the restaurant we follow a couple of patrons who go home for some afternoon delights, and then we meet Clay Russell who is hitchhiking his way to San Francisco. Russell was another of the stunning men of this era, though his scene with the truck driver who picks him up is pretty tame; the highlight comes when he enters the man's truck and we hear the chorus to the song on the radio: "Ain't nothing like the love of a hard driving cowboy man..." Indeed.

Later we are back with Taylor who is talking to Emmanuelle Bravos, a tall swarthy Greek god poured into the tightest pair of satin shorts known to man. You'll have a very difficult time watching the goings on as your eye may very well be drown to Bravos' package, which seems to be big enough to qualify for its own zip code.

In any case, Bravos tells Taylor about his recent night out and the cute blond guy he just met.

Welcome to the greatest scene in The Boys of Venice: Bravos is shown with a young woman entering a crowded disco, and when he and his gal hit the floor they are dancing behind another couple. The male in that twosome is the Prince of 70's porn, the one and only, Kip Noll.

Noll was probably one of the hottest little guttersnipes to ever make a name for himself in the world of adult entertainment. Short, not classically handsome, and cursed with a mouthful of chipped teeth, Noll got by on the fact that he was a white trash sex machine who cleaned up nicely.

Be that as it may, the guys are dancing with their girls to the pulsating disco music. Actually, they are pretty good at shaking their groove things but it's the girls who really give it their all. Pay special attention to the woman dancing with Noll. At one point she actually lifts her dress over her head and throws her head back laughing manically. I wish I knew who she is. She deserves more recognition for her brief but memorable moment in the sun.

The dancing continues until finally, the boys back up into each other and turn around. Once they lay eyes on the other the music stops and everyone else is gone from the club. In a moment much like the infamous scene in West Side Story when Tony sees Maria across the crowded gym, these boys only have eyes for each other.

In a surprisingly tender moment, soft music begins to play and the guys momentarily dance together slowly, gazing gently into each other's eyes until they finally kiss. Then they began exploring the other's body just as tenderly all the while never taking their eyes off the other. It is so sensuous and refreshing to see something like this in a skin flick.

Through some cinematic trickery the guys are now naked and get down to business with Noll servicing Bravos' tool, first on the dance floor and then wedged between a couple of pinball machines. And as the music starts to percolate again we find them on a pool table where Noll is giving Bravos a fuck that surely must have made him see God. What's better is that a few moments later Bravos is returning the favor, plowing Noll into kingdom come. As hot as all of this is the guys take time to kiss as much as possible and their savage act comes off as authentically as any ever seen in a fuck flick.

The scene is topped off by a dual cum shot filmed in slow motion. And then, bam! We are back to reality with the guys staring dumbly at each other on the crowded dance floor. They both turn back to their dates and continue their boogie night as the scene fades to black.

Now we are back on the boardwalk and it is evening. Ryan and his pal Guy DeSilvia are drunkenly making their way back to the arcade where, we are told via voice over, Ryan's buddy and wife run a souvenir stand.

Inside we are greeted by the site of DeSilvia's wife, who sort of looks like Joan Collins in her Dynasty days. Played by Darla Lee, the wronged wife is probably one of the most hysterical characters in this film. When she finds her husband and Ryan stumbling in drunk to the back room of her office she howls shrilly in a rather nasal tone, "We were supposed to be at my mother's hours ago, you Italian GIGILO!" She then tops off this tirade with the classic exit line, "My own husband, a GODDAMN HOMO!"

If you can stop laughing after this over the top performance, you can catch one more decent sex scene between Ryan and DeSilvia. The boys really go at it on a small sofa with Ryan topping and bottoming with great gusto.

Once the scene has ended we are back on the boardwalk with more shots of anonymous pretty boys, as well as some pretty colorful characters, until Eric Ryan rolls back into frame and wishes us well by reminding us that if we show up to Venice Beach, "Don't forget your skates!"

The Boys of Venice is the real Boogie Nights; a time capsule of an era that has long since passed. Thankfully films like this survive so that once more we can look back on those halcyon days of unfettered sensuality and think to ourselves that while we might have been having an awful lot of sex in those days, our wardrobes and tastes in music were pretty terrible.

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