There is a heavy make-out session happening on a couch. Boobs are grabbed. Butts are pawed. Moans are moaned. There is a flash of penis. These are the sights and sounds of third base. A phone rings, and the girl picks it up breathlessly, “I’m sorry, but the doctor is with a patient right now.”
She giggles. Somehow, she is not repulsed by this mealy pear masquerading as a man.
“You’re such a good doctor.”
“You’re such a good patient.”
And hey, look at this, she’s also the nurse!
Dr. Chris Leeder and his fiancé Cynthia (who is not the nurse, cough cough) stumble upon an antique shop that looks like an Old West saloon. Chris finds a dusty book shoved deep in a bookcase. It’s called The Notes of Dr. Jekyll and it looks sufficiently old timey enough to be legitimate. Dr. Leeder flips through a book and puts it back. But then later that night, he returns to buy it. I’m sympathetic to that. Once I picked up a bag of Doritos at the grocery store but put it back because I felt guilty. And then all night I regretted putting it back — what was I thinking? I sat in bed fighting an overwhelming desire for powdered nacho cheese. It was what the people call “a rough night.” Anyway the antique dealer refuses to sell the book because it’s closing time and does not care about making a buck. This is quite refreshing take on life I must say, but Dr. Leeder isn’t happy about that. So he takes matters into his own hands. Meaning he strangles the guy with his own hands.
“Oh God what have I done?”
Well, for starters, you just killed a man.
Dr. Leeder reads from the book: “‘The human personality has two sides. . . . I will free the other side.'”
The doctor follows directions to make a potion. It is a magical potion. I think we can all agree that all potions are magical. If the potion is not magical, then it is no potion at all. It is juice. Dr. Leeder drinks it and then wails in agony. His insides are dying.
Suddenly he is transported back into time. He is wearing a top hat and a wool houndstooth cape and he is walking around a Tudor village in what might be Belgium. I’ve been to Brussels. That’s all I have to say about Belgium really. That and waffles. The good doctor’s face is heavily jaundiced, thanks to some CVS-grade make-up. He picks up a courtesan and she undresses him. This takes a while for some reason. Because buttons. But then he whips her unconscious. There is penis.
Two detectives find the strangled antique dealer. They say the perp is a “medical man.” Not sure how they know that, but clearly they are very good at their jobs. They get a lead on a local “medical man.”
Meanwhile, Dr. Leeder drinks more of the potion. He writhes and wretches. He hacks and chokes. He spits and sputters. He is emphysematic, choleric, and colicky.
And then suddenly, boobs!
Distressingly rigid, handball-sized boobs. A buxom blonde is staring at herself in the mirror! She is confused by her own body. That’s right, the dude turned into a lady! And whenever dudes turn into ladies the first thing they do is strip and play with their new boobs. They thoroughly examine themselves, just stopping short of a Pap smear. I think that if a lady turned into a dude, very little would happen. Maybe there’d be a small feeling of relief that there’s no line for the bathroom. That and getting paid more for the same job.
The Adult Version of Jekyll & Hide is a pleasing sleazebag filled with gratuitous nudity, a paper-thin plot, entertaining sexual violence, and jiggly man-butt. Director Lee Raymond commits to the outlandish plot and plays it straight, but there’s still a good-natured spirit. It’s far less silly and outrageous than Dracula, The Dirty Old Man, but there’s a similar sense of fun. You get the feeling that everyone is having a good, naughty time in this movie, relishing the dramatic scenes just as much as the smutty ones. So, there’s no choice but to have fun as you watch Jane Tsentas wriggle sensually onscreen and try to ignore the scars from her implants. Plus, there’s a bedspread made out of a bear costume, the penis of a sailor, and jazz flute. There’s also death by clubbing, death by window, and death by things up the pee-hole. It is everything you can ask for – a classic sexploitation of a tired classic.
