22 February 2016 | lor_
Lesser PT porn, horsing around with horror genre
Ostensibly just another Vivid vehicle for superstar Tori Welles, Paul Thomas's "Out for Blood" is poorly done, a slapdash, haphazard effort as indicated by its 71-minute running time. Lack of pretension would be laudable if the result were more entertaining.
To calibrate, this was made at a time when Paul cranked out the quality precursor to his all-time greatest hit for Vivid "The Masseuse", Hyapatia edition. So by comparison it's a loser.
Welles, even misspelled "Wells" in the sloppy opening & end credits, is physically appealing, but she's surrounded by sludge. Premise is that she's half a vampire, daughter of Nick Random and Tantala, an unholy marriage by definition. Tantala has (she tells us but it's not enacted) gone to a witch to get a spell cast whereby coming-of-age Welles will become all human once she falls in love with the right guy. That notion is pretty much lost in the shuffle as Thomas lampoons the comedy/horror genre lamely.
Rash of murders in Hollywood by a vampire indicates Tori has not been cured of her inherited tendencies, and police detective Randy Spears is on the case. Of course we know he'll be the man of her dreams, but plot is hard to come by in this feature. The only moment barely approaching creativity was a snatch of the classic low-down instrumental "Night Train" playing during a sex scene.
Instead we have a very poorly done burlesque of Bela Lugosi by Random, normally a fine porno character actor but pure ham this time. Even Kevin Spacey, Lord Hamm of Hamms, would have been better in this role, and since Tantala is perfectly cast it's a shame PT didn't do more positive with the couple. Similarly, Spears is dreadful as a tough guy detective, a role he has essayed numerous times and much better (see even the Bat Bitch videos for example).
Vivid had been in business for five years already when this was issued, but it is still so old that sex scenes are not "safe" but done bareback. Film proper plays like one long anti-climax, because a hippie era prologue set in 1968 is far, far better thanks to the perfect body of Raquel Darian, a superstar now under-appreciated so many years after. She's paired as usual with Derek Lane, but this lame video fails to list the young male humpers in its credits.