House Calls

Falling into the category of "what did I do to deserve this", "House Calls" is another of those dreadful Digital Playground "series" that taxes one's patience and harms one's soul. It's so carelessly shot, sloppily slapped together and mindlessly stupid as to beggar belief.

Add to all its shortcomings attributable to hack director Robby D., who must have blackmail-worthy stuff stashed away in a vault somewhere incriminating the schmoes who run DP for him to keep working at the label for 15 years and surviving a sale some 6 years back, we're stuck with that unfunny stand-up comic turned porn creep Tommy Pistol hamming it up for 3 hours.

He's Dr. Nick, servicing Beverly Hills patients who require discretion, because they're basically up to no good and need a personal physician to stop over. Like previous Digital Playground junkers, it's divided into separate chapters (for streaming on the website) and that gives the label license to keep repeating footage. It takes five minutes of "highlights" and logos before the show actually begins. And to top it off, only the final episode five has credits displayed, pertaining only to that segment's cast members, so most of the players are unidentified on screen. So you gotta check the DVD liner, where Van Wylde is credited but never shows up, and Karlo Karrera is omitted yet clearly humps away for our listening pleasure.

Sloppiest element has Tommy Pistol with full beard in most of the scenes and in the series' interstitial material, yet is clean shaven at other times. A pair of shots even shows him sequentially bare & hairy and then back again as Robby slops it up. In a NoSex Role as a swinger with two beauties pawing at him, I think it is the great Robby himself cheaply doing some "acting" but he didn't earn a credit so I'm not going to give him one in IMDb.

Pistol talks endlessly to the camera and smirks a lot, somehow thinking he's amusing but instead merely annoying. No script credit, and no script means he'll be winging it and most scenes unfold so clumsily you can almost hear Robby scream "let's get to the sex!". A typically awkward scene has Tommy stopping Casey Calvert in a parking lot, she's dressed like a nurse, and hiring her on the spot to be his co-star and stooge (Abbott to his Costello?).

The five scenes are heavy on the big busts, biggest of which belonging to one Brooke Tyler who I had previously watched in one of those Digital Sin's "I Love My Mom's Big Tits" videos. Tyler never got the memo that clearly pointed out that Natural is in, Silicone is out, and her old as the hills visage (closer to the Robert Redford school of leathery skin not becoming a star) also violates current preference for jail-bait.

More appealing are the natural boobs of Luna Star, and giving the sultry brunette a run for her money we have cast two more identical types: Missy Martinez and Romi Rain. Lost in the shuffle is the label's No. 1 (or maybe No. 2 behind Eva Lovia) Aria Alexander, killing time as 1/3 of a threesome opposite naturally bosomy Valentina Nappi and good old Tommy filling in for their man (perhaps Robby D.). This finale has Tommy depositing his spunk on their hands for them to lick - could porn's favorite "the facial" be going out of date?