High finance and porn are a match made in heaven. The fact that on the trading floor of your average banking institution there is nothing but cunts and pricks trying to fuck each other just makes it better.
There was a time in the 80s when hard cash was king. There was a total culture void, nobody knew what they really wanted, science promised the masses that in 10 years' time all their problems would be solved and we could all live forever in a level of comfort that couldn't even be imagined at that point in time. "Just hang in there and it will all be OK," they seemed to be saying.
For that reason, in a sense, time stood still for much of the world. While the thinkers pondered what to do in the interim and the philosophical implications of a species' 'evolution' being based around its ever increasing inability to do anything for itself, the smug little City boy retards who had no soul, no conscience and a total incapacity to empathise with anyone, set their efforts to making money. Shedloads of it.
It was greed-inspired subconscious social suicide but Mr A City Boy didn't care. As long as he had some cheap blow, a resting heartrate under 110bpm and some dumb chick to suck his cock because he was wearing a sharp suit, all was right in his world.
For that reason high finance and porn are a match made in heaven. The fact that on the trading floor of your average banking institution there is nothing but cunts and pricks trying to fuck each other just makes it better.
Now we have contextualised, let's get to the film proper. First things first: This movie is so of its time that it is hard to recognise it as a porn film. If this was made now it wouldn't be called Wanda Whips Wall Street.
It would be called something like Wanda Wanks Wall Street Then Sucks Its Cock Before Being Ass Fucked Till She Bleeds And Men Cum On Her Face. Number 17.
Today, Wanda Brandt wouldn't get within 10 feet of a porn set without someone screaming, "Damien!! Can someone sort out Wanda's tanline and get her some tits while you're at it!! In fact, no, fuck it, get me someone 20 years younger!!" But this is what desirable women looked like in the late 70s.
The film begins with Wanda leaving her job with Wanco Industries. Her colleagues see her off, waving and whooping and cheering as she loads her car to a backdrop of sombre music. The overall feel is reminiscent of David Banner hitchhiking his way out of town after another pea-soup-coloured flare-up.
As she drives, the road signs reveal that she's is making her way to the Big Apple, New York, while a trombone bastardisation of the riff from 'Buick MacKane' by T.Rex plays in the background.
Wanda ends up attending an interview at Tyler Industries, motto: 'Trust Us'. The interviewer has just one concern about Wanda: Why did she leave her last post where she was the owner of the company?
Wanda pulls out an ace and after asking why her predecessor left (Answer: "She wasn't putting out, er, I mean, she wasn't putting sufficient effort in") she gets her nipples out and rolls them between her finger and thumb. Then licks them. Then encourages the dirty old man to lick them. She laughs. He gets his cock out. They fuck. During the intercourse part of the interview she learns that the job is "a hands-on position" and that there are "fringe benefits". Ha-de-fucking-ha.
She must really, really want that job because wearing his washed-out lemon yellow shirt and looking like he has a constant wind problem, the prospect of fucking this guy must be about as appealing as going down on Bernard Manning's unwashed semi-on. But she does it all the same and gets the job. She probably also gets several STDs and semen that has been backed up for the best part of a decade. The only thing that is certain is that the guy is a deviant of some nature.
We next see Wanda on the phone to her lawyer telling him about her plan to bang like a screen door in a hurricane and then blackmail the people she's screwed until Tyler Industries is all hers.
Within seconds of Wanda arriving for her first day at work we get a stark reminder that this is the 80s when a computer the size of a deep freeze dominates the shot of Wanda walking into reception. She is introduced to her colleagues, who are by turn embittered, senile, comically homosexual, cliched, improbable and forgettable.
When she meets the Chairman of the Board he greets her with "Welcome a breast" and as she is introduced to the movers and shakers of Tyler Industries you'd be forgiven for thinking that you were watching the 'how not to' section of a compulsory sexual-harassment educational video made in whichever year of the 70s nothing of any interest happened.
On Wanda's desk there is a telephone the size of the current BT exchange for the whole of the South East. She gets busy shuffling papers and looking efficient and more than a little sneaky. She works late, steals some files, talks to her lawyer while he puffs on an unlit cigar pretending it is lit, sucks some cock and blackmails the man attached to the cock. She wants stocks and bonds in Tyler Industries from him. He does as he is told to save his marriage.
This is as good a point as any to bring up the subject of Wanda's nose. It is an ultra-odd hybrid of the noses of Buffy and Jodie Marsh. In the modern age of tolerance towards people with grotesque facial deformities she could probably have it sorted out for free. But this is the 80s and nobody cared about other people back then.
As the story is getting predictable and more than a little dull, even for a porn film, the scriptwriters send along Janey, Wanda's cocksucking tag-team buddy from back home. Janey agrees to help Wanda take control of the company.
Next to receive the dubious pleasure of inadvertently mistaking a quick fumble with the world's most expensive, and average, whore for run-of-the-mill casual sex is a guy called Wentworth.
The scene where Janey seduces him starts with a POV shot from underneath a glass table so all we see is Janey's ass pressed up against the glass and trust me it is not a pleasant sight.
Once the sex is over and it comes to sealing the deal, as it were, the smug little over-sexed pup that is Wentworth tells her that he and his wife are "inveterate swingers" and he will be signing nothing.
Next a board meeting has been called where the Chairman tells his collected money-men that they are losing control of the company, to an as-yet-unidentified third party, so they are bringing in a special securities investigator to find out what the bejesus is going on. His name is Lou Perrini and he is the best in the business, they are told.
Why everyone gasps is a mystery, unless they are all doing the same as Wanda, but one person takes it particularly badly, and has what we later learn is his sixth heart attack in two years. Someone just happens to have some amyl nitrate to throw in his direction (it always seemed like that kind of place) and he pulls through but ends up in hospital. Which is where we next see Wanda.
She bluffs her way past his distraught wife by telling her she needs him to sign something relating to his will. As you've probably already guessed, unless you are terminally thick (or work in catering, if they aren't one and the same), she makes him sign over some stocks and then scarpers like the cold-hearted little hussy that she is.
Next there is a beautiful moment where Wanda talks to a woman sitting at a desk. As she leans forward her handbag slips off her shoulder and slams against the desk. The fact that they didn't re-shoot even though there is a nano-second where the cast anticipate someone shouting 'cut!' just reiterates that, in case you had forgotten, this is pornographic high finance on a Lidl shopper's grocery budget.
This is further illustrated by the next scene where Wanda tries to illegally sell Tyler shares in order to destabilise them further. To gain entry to the trading floor she has to get a uniform and ID from some nerd and, to cut a long story short, she tricks him into thinking they are going to have sex then leaves him in just his pants repeating the phrase, "Potatah? Sweet potatah...? Potatah?" (No, I haven't got a fucking clue why either.)
She is aided by a woman called Lisa Rogers. Whether the person we all think of as the Lisa Rogers is actually called something else and took her name from this feminist icon from Wall Street is unknown. At the time of going to press Lisa Rogers' 'people' had neither denied nor confirmed it. Possibly because I didn't ask them but it may be true all the same.
The film trundles on like a runaway train with a cargo of AIDS-infected needles that is only going at jogging speed but nobody can stop. I have a vivid mental image of this train with a town's folk following it to their county line, perplexed by where it came from, but simply waving it goodbye as it leaves their land and not giving a fuck where it is heading.
The next stop for the Lame Porno Express is another board meeting. Mr Tyler has a headache, which Wanda is more than happy to help him get rid of. As the rest of the company frown at what they see as blatant brown-nosing she gives him something for the pain (were you thinking it was a sloppy blowjob or some slow, low-impact sex? Me too, but it's actually some aspirin).
A piss-poor edit makes it seem as though Mr Tyler neighs like a horse for a couple of seconds before we find ourselves transported to the back seat of a horse-drawn carriage creeping slowly through Central Park.
Wanda is snuggling up to Lou Perrini. They swap bland chit-chat before we cut to Wanda talking to her lawyer about how she now owns 50 per cent of the company.
Next stop is a party in some NY avant-garde, pretentious hellhole frequented by City boy wankers and social leeches. One of them can be overheard explaining the company he works for has just lost millions but he couldn't give a flying fuck for some reason I didn't catch.
An ugly man called Biff cheats on his equally ugly wife with another ugly but, crucially, slutty woman. Mrs Ugly Biff is wailing about how when Mr Ugly Biff nailed her she thought it was for life. Someone who looks like he is part of a Village People rapists-only tribute band walks past and tells her that there is something that will make her feel better and takes her by the hand. She is probably expecting a nice warm drink and a shoulder to cry on. He is probably thinking something very similar but at the same time altogether different.
In between all this happening there is a totally incongruous 14 seconds where a man sits next to a woman and their conversation consists of this:
MAN: "What do you do for a living?"
WOMAN: "I made my fortune in weasel pellets." Her lips might say "I made my fortune in weasel pellets" but her facial expression and rapidly dilating pupils say (to me anyway): "I am about to morph into something totally fucked up and gnaw your face clean off." Should you want to view this for yourself or make a series of T-shirts to sell at Camden Lock for a tenner, giving me an absolute minimum of 20 per cent of your net profits, then the exact time that it happens is 39 minutes and 26 seconds in. Back to Mrs Ugly Biff, who is enjoying a post-coital reminiscence about her marriage that failed all of about three minutes ago. It is obviously something she has to work through but the man doesn't and he walks out leaving a crushed (and very ugly) woman in his wake. Did I mention that Mrs Ugly Biff looks like a cross between Diane Ingram and Herman Munster's stunt double?
Well, she does.
Campy, cheesy, badly edited, horribly scripted, overlly cliche-ridden: this is the ultimate porn to accompy your Wall Street DVD. Ghastly.
Wanda Whips Wall Street: APPROVED!!
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