If you have a building on your property that acts as a makeshift shelter to house a shapely assortment of female sex slaves, and three of the young women you keep in there refuse to participate in your lucrative sex slavery ring, shouldn’t you get rid them? Failing that, wouldn’t it be prudent to at least quarantine them from the rest of the girls? I mean, even though a van chock-full of fresh “livestock” arrives at your secluded jungle compound at least once a week, the three troublemakers, especially the tall, sullen blonde, are infecting the other fledgeling sex slaves with their revolt-based rhetoric. And not only that, the aforementioned tall glass of gloomy lukewarm water has started to direct the actions of one of your employees. You’re absolutely right, it would be insane for someone to jeopardize their cushy job for a woman he can’t molest on a semi-regular basis (either the bars are too thick or your tongue is too small). However, the woman directing his actions is not just any woman, she’s a Brazilian woman. And if I have to explain why that makes a difference, than I’m afraid there’s not much hope for you. I don’t why I’m giving free advice to the deviants who run the untoward operation featured in Amazon Jail (a.k.a. Ausbruch der Pantherkatzen), Oswaldo de Oliveira’s logical follow up to the wonderfully abhorrent Bare Behind Bars, on how to better run their jungle sex slave workshop/milf appreciation emporium. But as I watched them slowly run their unseemly business into the ground, thanks to lax security, nepotism, corruption, sexual misconduct, and, of course, greed, I couldn’t help but think about how much better things would have been had I been in charge. I’m not saying I would ever manage a sex slave farm, I’m just saying things would have gone down differently if I had been at the helm.
First things first, don’t hire your smooth-talking nephew as a guard. The moment he spots an ample Brazilian booty that meets all his frightfully specific Brazilian booty needs, you can pretty much count him out when the obligatory shards of hypothetical fecal matter start to violently crash into the whirling blades of the fan that represents things when they spiral out of control, as his brain now answers to a higher booty, I mean, power, a higher power. And secondly, limit the amount of time your bi-curious ladyfriend spends with “the product.” Like your smooth-talking nephew, she also has a tendency to become attached to the women living in your glorified corral.
It wouldn’t kill you–yeah, you, the actual owner of this pathetic excuse for a slavery ring–to not be tempted to dip your pen in the company ink, as your amorous impulses are mucking things up as well. (Just to be clear, when I say, “pen,” I mean, “penis,” and when I say, “ink,” I mean, “vagina.”) You, like the majority of men in this squalid jungle hellhole, seem to prefer the brunette newcomer named Liz (Elys Cardoso), and there’s nothing wrong with that (she is the most alluring woman currently in stock). Nevertheless, I did object with the manner in which you made her writhe naked on your dining room table. Sure, she seemed more than willing to writhe naked (judging by the way her bronze skin twinkled, she was born to writhe in the nude), but it was still totally unprofessional on your part. This isn’t about gratifying your sick fantasies, or, in this case, gratifying your perfectly understandable fantasies (have I mentioned that Liz is beguiling as all get out?), this about satisfying the perverted whims and wants of your immoral clientele, and, of course, lining your pockets with copious amounts of their chromatic cash.
I do, however, have to give it up to the owner of this particular sex slave farm, whose name, by the way, is Edgar (Sérgio Hingst), for the way he lavished praise on his milf-tastic life partner, Helena (Elizabeth Hartmann), the not as sadistic as she could have been caretaker of Edgar’s illicit harem for wayward Brazilian girls.
Arriving via airplane, a group of “buyers” are driven through the thick jungle until they reach a palatial villa. What have these so-called “buyers” come all this way for? Well, if you were to listen to Edgar describe his product out of context, you’d think he was talking about something as banal as fertilizer or toilet brushes. Boasting about quality of his “merchandise,” you have to wonder, he can’t really be talking about people, can he? Don’t be so naive, of course he’s talking about people. But I’ll admit, for a second there, I thought he wasn’t. The mystery surrounding the exact nature of what he sells is solved once and for all when we enter “the corral,” the pen where Edgar and Helena keep their sex slaves locked up until they’re ready to be sold.
Opening the door to their bamboo prison, Helena, sporting a pair of high-waisted tan trousers (the shot of her leaving the corral reveals that she also wearing beige knee-high boots), instructs the women to bathe, because tonight’s the night they’re being auctioned off to the highest bidder. Wearing an annoyed expression on her face, Betty (Sandra Graffi), standing between her equally annoyed-looking friends Angel (Lígia de Paula) and a young woman with short dark hair, tells Helena that they’re not merchandise to be bought and sold. Good for her, I say. If only more people had the sense to reject a life of unending servitude. I guess the reason the other women in the cell are so enthusiastic about going up to the villa to be objectified is that they’re still under the impression that they have high paying jobs waiting for them in Europe. Whereas, Betty and friends know that is not the case. Anyway, as the rest of the girls put on garland thongs and shake their authentic Brazilian booty’s to the sound of equally authentic Brazilian bongo music for the benefit of a bunch of balding buyers, Betty is asking Edgar’s nephew to help her escape this hellish existence.
As Edgar and Helena watch their shapely wares jiggle the mashed up stuffing out of the contents of their overly aforementioned Brazilian booties for the amusement of the buyers, you get the impression that they both love what they do. I don’t know, there was just something about the grin lurking underneath Edgar’s comically hairy mustache and the manner in which Helena ate watermelon in a salmon-coloured muumuu that made me feel that way. Selling sexy people to decrepit people for a living obviously fills their hearts with joy. It’s too bad they have no idea their undoing is being sown down at the corral right this minute, as Edgar’s nephew desperately tries to lick Betty’s nipple through the space in the bamboo bars. It’s true, no matter how they tried, the surface of his tongue failed to make contact with her tit. But what makes you think he’s gonna let a little thing like that stop him from trying to lick it again?
You could totally tell that Edgar knows there’s something fishy going between his nephew and one of the defiant girls living in the corral. The only problem is, he’s so blinded by family loyalty, that his punishment (a mild verbal scolding) falls woefully short of curbing his nephew’s extracurricular activities. The forthright Helena is right to be worried that this so-called “family loyalty” is putting their business in serious jeopardy.
If you think Helena is the only one who is not tempted by the girly bouquet on display down at the corral, think again. When a fresh shipment of first-rate girl patty arrives, the fortyish slice of milfy perfection can barely contain her giddiness, as the smell of the new meat tickles her nostrils in a manner that causes her mouth to water. Sizing up the group while standing in the doorway, Helena can’t help but notice that Mary (Shirley Benny), a deceptively innocent cooze in a yellow dress, is touching her breasts in an erotic manner. Has Helena finally come across someone whose love for lesbianism is as strong as her own? Only time will tell. In meantime, the new girls are told to shower often, maintain a healthy diet, and, of course, remain active, as it keeps your muscles toned (the buyers don’t want girls who are sickly and out of shape).
Wait a minute. Showers? Healthy diet? Remain active? What kind of prison is this? Well, it’s not really a prison. Sure, the girls are confined to a room with bars, but it’s more like a poorly run health spa for prospective sex slaves.
Finding her milf-friendly frame standing, yet again, in the doorway of the corral, Helena, who, this time around, is wearing an orange tank-top, has been instructed to pick a girl so that Edgar may “inspect” the quality of the new merchandise. Since she’s already called dibs on Mary, it’s rather obvious, well, at least it was to me, who Helena was going to choose. Pointing at the woman fanning herself while sitting in one of the corral’s many hammocks, Helena tells Liz, a golden goddess with shimmering skin, to get her blemish-free body up to the villa at once.
Barely able to function in her presence, Edgar tells Liz to writhe about on his dinning table for his amusement. As Edgar begins to perform indecisive cunnilingus on Liz (the contents of his mouth stabbed at her lower extremities with a dithering brand of ineptitude), we can’t help but notice that Helena has grabbed herself a little underage midnight snack from the corral as well (think of the corral as a fully-stocked refrigerator for muff diving enthusiasts). Massaging Mary’s pert body with a passion rarely seen outside the competitive rub and tug circuit, it’s clear that Helena relishes the opportunity to explore the mysterious nooks and crannies of the female form.
This relish becomes somewhat sour later on when Helena learns that Mary is merely humouring her. Don’t get me wrong, the cooing sounds she made during the her vigorous massage were sincere, it’s just that there’s been a bit of a shift in loyalty since her noteworthy rubdown took place. You see, while Liz, Mary, and the other new girls have no problem being treated like cattle, Betty and her friends are vehemently opposed. In fact, Betty is so opposed to human trafficking, that she engages in a raucous shower fight (it’s the film’s only shower, so savour it, perverts) with Liz over it. However, attitudes change when word gets out that Angel was shot and killed while trying to escape. As outrage spreads through the corral, Team Betty, even though it lost a key figure in Angel, finds itself stronger than ever.
It’s a good thing Liz has hopped aboard Team Betty, as I was starting to grow tired of Betty’s flavourless, Gisele Bündchen-esque pout. While Betty is a self-absorbed brat–the kind of woman who marries a professional athlete and surprised that he rapes her every night after couscous and McMillan & Wife–Liz literally oozes sex appeal from every inch of her brownish frame. It’s no wonder all the Brazilian hillbillies who worked at that remote gold mine run by an effete pedophile wanted to fornicate with her, Liz, on top of dripping sex appeal, also exudes a certain indefinable charm. Obviously professional dancer when she’s not appearing in dreck, I mean, films like, Amazon Jail, Elys Cardoso utilizes her natural ability as a dancer at least five times over the course of the film. Hell, her character even gets a flashback sequence (a nightclub scene that shows Liz during her days as an exotic dancer). At any rate, doing her best work while covered in body paint, Elys deftly captures the playful essence of what it means to be Brazilian.
Understandably exhausted after finishing his sleazy masterpiece, Bare Behind Bars, writer-director Oswaldo de Oliveira, while still promoting his anti-lesbian agenda, has decided to go beyond the prison bars and explore the dangerous allure of the jungle. Lacking the over-the-top violence of his previous WiP film, Oswaldo seems more interested in exploring the ups and downs of a morally bankrupt couple who have an open relationship, than he is shocking the audience with tawdry thrills. While a sex slave farm in the middle of the Amazon is the last place you would expect to find a blossoming romance, but that’s exactly what transpires in Amazon Jail.
Now, you’d think the relationship I’m referring to would be the one that forms between Betty and Edgar’s nephew, but I’m actually talking about the kooky bond that Edgar and Helena share. Acutely aware that I’ve already alluded to it, I was blown away by Edgar’s obsession with Helena’s forty-plus body. Granted, a large portion of my stupefaction stems from the fact that Edgar repeatedly slithers back into the experienced folds of Helena’s pulpy flesh, even though he has a bevy of young torsos and limbs at his disposal twenty-four seven. Nonetheless, I was in absolute awe of his devotion to her. It’s too bad the film couldn’t have been more about them (the movie becomes a jungle survival film during its final third), as their misguided affinity for one another was the film’s most interesting aspect.
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