Schnick Schnack Schnuck (2015)

reconsider what loyalty, desire and permission actually mean. The two wandering storylines eventually converge at a party, where the title’s children’s game is repurposed so that whoever loses must perform an increasingly sexual task. From there, every tidy assumption about monogamy starts wobbling. Director Maike Brochhaus treats all this as a deliberately scruffy homage to the plot-heavy porn comedies of the 1970s, complete with lens flares, fake film grime, rewind effects, animation and on-screen message chats. The amateur performers occasionally deliver dialogue with all the natural grace of people reading aloud in class, yet that stiffness is also part of the film’s oddball charm: these look and behave like actual students and flatmates rather than waxed professionals clocking in for a shift. Once the sex begins, the awkward acting gives way to something more spontaneous and convincingly mutual. The film genuinely wants to discuss open relationships, jealousy, trust, bisexual curiosity and partner swapping, although it sometimes pauses the fun to explain its sex-positive credentials a little too earnestly. It is not especially deep, and its characters could use more development, but the combination of sincerity, cheek and cheerful nakedness makes it far more personable than factory-made pornography.

Made in the middle of the 2010s but dressed in the sun-dappled colours and knowingly cheesy tricks of the 1970s, the film captures a particular slice of young Cologne counterculture: shared flats, bicycles, casual hookups, vegan snacks, smartphones and earnest conversations about alternative relationships. It was shot around Cologne in September 2014, using the city’s leafy Stadtwald, roomy communal apartments and bar-and-club spaces rather than postcard landmarks. The scenery is therefore less cathedral-and-Rhine grandeur and more warm urban daylight, untidy bedrooms and the relaxed geography of a weekend sliding pleasantly off the rails. Its vibe is playful, low-budget and homemade, with the performers’ visible amusement frequently outweighing the technical rough edges. Think student comedy crossed with an old German sex farce, only more consensual, less plastic and considerably more interested in whether everyone is enjoying themselves.

Jana Sue Zuckerberg gives Emmi a nicely ordinary, initially buttoned-down appeal, while Lotta Habmut’s Magda supplies the bolder, knowing sexuality that draws her out of her shell. Dana and Jenz, as Steffi and Anke, bring a similarly assertive spark, turning the usual porn setup on its head by making the women the confident seducers and the men the slightly bewildered prey. None of them are presented as airbrushed fantasy dolls; their attraction comes from natural bodies, real reactions and the sense that they are exploring rather than mechanically performing. Make no mistake, though: this is hardcore, not coy European erotica. The nudity is extensive and the sex fully explicit, including clearly visible penetration and same-sex play, but Brochhaus avoids the joyless, aggressive routine of mainstream porn. The result is saucy, clumsy, intimate and often genuinely arousing—not polished, perhaps, but very much alive.

Felix plans to spend the weekend at a music festival in Amsterdam with his buddy Kai. Meanwhile his girlfriend Emmi ought to stay home and grade papers. But commitment is not exactly Kai’s strongest suit and then suddenly Emmi’s high school friend Magda shows up and shows it all. So of course things get a little out of hand and in the end everybody is naked.

Then again, it is nothing like regular mainstream porn. What I like about it: This is porn that I can relate to. You see regular people, not porn actors. In fact, they are not even actors at all. Average students. No dumb porn cliche’s. You see natural smart modern and open-minded young people, like you can meet at university.

Good looking people, great locations, good sex and Fun Vibe!!