Review

Whoopee! It’s a fabulous day when Bjorn brings out another title, and Dreamers: An Erotic Journey is no exception. Instead of concentrating on specific locations and the guys that populate them (be it Brazil, Australia, Eastern Europe) this time he’s gone all out and gathered a United Nations of studs and shoved them all in one place! Is this a wise move on his part, an evolution, or is he just running out of steam and air miles?

First the bad: Shame about the box cover. My roommate looked at it and said in his best Lily Von Schtupp, “Oh, how ow-din-wy”. I was more shocked to see an old co-worker of mine in this film, who obviously gave up any thoughts of being a serious actor. (He was in one of my ‘art’ films. Do I have a curse on all actors?)

Still, your hottest dreams are about to come true. Bjorn is my second favorite director, surpassed only by Cadinot. Oh, and my cheap half-sister Chi Chi La Rue. Csaba Borbély is up there too.

Dreamers opens as hairyish Duranza dreams that his home has been invaded by Rico and boyish Castaneda. In a moment of dream-reality Duranza wakes and finds they are really there. (Hell, I got so confused.) Instead of grabbing a shotgun and chasing them down the driveway Castaneda’s huge uncut salami fires his loins and all three get down to the serious stuff. As usual, there are multiple orgasms, flip-flopping, multiple fucking and tons of sweat. A fab daisy chain sees Duranza fucking Rico whilst being fucked by Casteneda, and anyone who can take him deserves a medal. As if to acknowledge his bravery (or maybe just to be polite) Casty gives the guys his booty to pump, precariously positioned on a rocking chair. Hell, works for me.

Next we have black uber-hunk Peligro spying as a group of friends frolic in a private swimming pool. He whips out his ‘gift’ for the guys and Montero bravely takes up the bait, before all hell breaks loose in the shape of a big orgy. Peligro gets topped by Rosselli, Powell by the heavily tattooed Magalhaes and Murphy by Montero. It’s hard keeping tabs on who’s screwing who as pretty soon the screen is reduced to a sea of writhing hot flesh. Rosselli flip-flops whilst limey Powell (Ok, he’s the one I used to work with – and his real name is Brian) valiantly tries to suck two cocks at once. Bless his little heart.

Turns out its all Peligro’s dream, but not to worry. Allende and Andros are on hand to give a great reality check. Cute boyish Andros dives straight down swallowing these two super-sized-super-sizers. Size queens will need to drop a Valium before this scene start. Peligro fucks rough-pretty Allende whilst sucking on Andros’ (I kid you not) Nessie shaped prick. Eventually everyone’s fucking everyone in Bjorn’s pose-de-specialitie bent forwards over the back of a sofa, with Allende playing Malcolm in the Middle.

The next scene - which is available only in the mail-order verison - has Blanc (sexy in that oo-la-lah Gaelic way – read, big hooter) waking on what I first took to be snow. Turns out it’s sand and I guess Bjorn hadn’t set the white balance on his camera correctly. He cruises Lazaro and Chavez messing about in the ocean before they all end up in the shower together. Throbbing cocks released and deep throated, Chavez being first on the dancefloor, so to speak. Ahh hell, you can guess what happens with the rest of the scene. Hot hot hot!

Last but not least we end on the Bjorn-standard romantic twosome. Petrovich wanders through a market (Freud symbolism?) before donkey taxi driver (the Pacino-esque Pastore) gives him a lift back to his hotel. In a bizarre scene they both take a piss outside (marking their territory?) that leads to blowjobs. Now, I hope they shook after they pissed because there is nothing worse than going down on a foreskinned guy and tasting pee. Shudder.

Petrovich’s meat is worshipped by Pastores before the two romantically take turns to, ahem, fuck the living shit out of each other. Great scene that goes on forever, and Latino skin against Caucasian looks great in the light! (I guess dreams do come true. In that case I’ll have David Duchovny, Ed Norton, Ross from Friends and a tub of Crisco, please.)

Dreamers is not Bjorn’s best. But even his “worst” stands head and shoulders above the usual half-baked cow shit we have to sit through. But Mr Bjorn - be careful. Artists must constantly evolve, lest they get left behind. Dreamers still receives four stars because it’s totally without fault, hot and just plain lip-smacking-tikkity boo.

 -- Froufrou A. Gogo