January 23, 2009 | Comments ()

By Dustin Rowles | Film | January 23, 2009 |


Ugh. I feel dirty having just watched Donkey Punch. God. What a miserable fucking excuse for a movie. What’s worse, too, is that I know I shouldn’t even bother reviewing it. I know it’ll just invite the assholes. I’m almost certain it will prompt a discussion on fucked-up sexual acts. That there’ll be a goddamn roll call on the many ways in which women can be denigrated. The Urban Dictionary will fetch another 500 page views. And then someone will boldly speak up, and suggest that it’s not really that funny, that the “angry pirate” (i.e., ejaculating into a woman’s eye) or the Dirty Sanchez isn’t particularly clever, unless you’re a juvenile Twatwaffle or a date-raping ass stain. And the person who spoke out will be mocked and ridiculed into silence, and the many people who agree with him or her will not bother speaking up because a couple of toolboxes are suggesting that that the offendee grow a sense of humor, because — of course — the toolboxes have tiny, tiny penises and combat their own Freudian insecurities by referring to the mythical time when they gave that chick a “chili dog.”

But then I remembered, we’re not Tucker Max. And we’re above the sort of contemptuous bullshit around these parts. Aren’t we?

For those of you blessedly unfamiliar with what a Donkey Punch is: Congratulations. You probably don’t hang out with a lot of people who refer to themselves as brohans. I’m guessing, also, that you’ll have absolutely no interest in seeing this movie, so you don’t really need to continue reading the review. But for the morbidly curious, and only because it plays central to the plot of Donkey Punch (it is, after all, right there in the witlessly idiotic title), a Donkey Punch refers to a sexual act in which the man, while fornicating with a woman from the rear position, punches her in the back of the head as he nears climax, which apparently heightens climax via muscle spasm. For him, only. For her: She gets a nasty welp on the back of her neck, knocked unconscious, or in the case of this particular movie, knocked into the afterlife.

Such is the narrative hook in Donkey Punch, which is about three college-aged party girls who decide, unwisely, to get on a yacht with four college-aged male strangers for a few drinks and a quick fuck. Unfortunately for one woman, one guy gets too overaggressive during their orgy and decides to show his manhood via Donkey Punch. I should also mention that the other participants in this orgy are video-taping the proceedings. The equation: Donkey Punch + Dead Woman + Video Tape = What the Fuck Are We Going to Do? The men, naturally, gravitate toward throwing the body overboard and concocting a story, while the two remaining women (one of whom holds the video-taped evidence) would prefer to reveal the truth and face the consequences.

Oh, what a tangled web. That Donkey Punch essentially turns into a game of survival out on the deep blue ocean is not unexpected, nor is the inevitable outcome. The only mystery that exist in Donkey Punch is the manner of undoing and whether they’ll manage to kill each other off before dying of brain-dead stupidity. There’s a sufficient amount of blood for slasher fans, and it is — at times — expertly done (a flare to the chest, for example), although it is all essentially wrapped around an idiotic gimmick designed to get the Alpha Kappa Lambda house into the theater where they can jerk each other off while contemplating where they’re going to get their next roofie. There’s very little suspense, either, in part because it’s impossible to give a shit about any of the characters, all who are nearly as revoltingly unpleasant as the film’s premise.

And though I’m not eager to coin another sexual act for the frattish masses, there is one particular form of fornication I would love to see the filmmakers engage in. It’s called the garbage disposal. It’s a simple act, really. Stick your dick in the sink and turn on the disposal. That’ll heighten your climax, brohan.

Dustin Rowles is the publisher of Pajiba. He lives withi his wife and son in Portland, Maine You can reach him via email, or leave a comment below.

donkeypunch.jpg
Yes. We're Talking about That Donkey Punch

Donkey Punch / Dustin Rowles

Film | January 23, 2009 | Comments ()



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