Amor Emanuelle (2023), directed by Nicole D’Angelo and Gregory Hatanaka, is the third entry in Cinema Epoch’s Emanuelle series, and it’s a film that defies conventional storytelling in ways both maddening and oddly compelling. The story centers on Emmy (Kali Kiyasumac), a young escort whose life takes an unexpected turn when she is approached by CQ (Allie Perez), a mysterious and magnetic woman offering her a position in an elite business that promises wealth and intrigue. At first, the opportunity seems seductive, but Emmy quickly realizes that CQ’s motives are cryptic, and her new world is far stranger than anything she has encountered. From making out with CQ and her assistant to witnessing bizarre speeches to potential investors, Emmy’s journey is one of curiosity, confusion, and cautious ambition.
Visually, the film is a patchwork of contrasting styles and technical inconsistencies. Scenes swing from bright, almost overexposed lighting to dark, shadowy frames, and the editing frequently leaps between present events and flashbacks with little indication of transition. The footage is sometimes mismatched in color and even frame rate, giving the impression of a rough cut stitched together without final polishing. Stock footage appears sporadically, further emphasizing the film’s experimental, almost collage-like approach. While these elements would typically frustrate a viewer, here they contribute to a strange hypnotic quality: the chaos becomes part of the film’s personality, a chaotic energy that keeps one watching despite the narrative confusion.
Performance-wise, Kiyasumac brings sincerity and curiosity to Emmy, grounding the film in a relatable center. Allie Perez as CQ exudes a commanding presence, though her character’s intentions remain opaque, which can be both intriguing and irritating. The supporting cast, including Elizabeth Bird as Emmy’s friend and occasional pimp Annie, Louis DeStefano, and others, populate this strange world convincingly, even if the script gives them little to do beyond reacting to the bizarre circumstances around them.
One of the film’s most perplexing but memorable sequences involves Emmy entering a hotel room where she has been hired by a Pac-Man AI trapped in an unplugged laptop—a scene never revisited yet emblematic of the film’s off-kilter, surreal style. There’s also a thread of social commentary embedded in CQ’s speeches to investors, which at times echo hardline conservative talking points, creating a jarring but fascinating contrast with the otherwise sexually charged underworld narrative.
While Amor Emanuelle may disappoint purists expecting the erotic intensity traditionally associated with the Emanuelle name, it offers its own brand of chaotic entertainment. It’s a technically messy, narratively disjointed, and occasionally baffling work, but it is also audacious, unpredictable, and strangely watchable. The film’s incoherence, rather than completely undermining it, becomes part of its charm, creating a surreal cinematic experience that is hard to look away from. For fans of the unusual, the experimental, or even the “so-bad-it’s-good” variety of low-budget cinema, Amor Emanuelle delivers a curiosity-fueled ride, leaving viewers simultaneously puzzled, amused, and intrigued. It may not hit all the notes of a traditional Emanuelle story, but it stakes a bold claim as a unique, if flawed, vision—and it leaves one eager to see what surprises the next installments in the series will bring.
Jessie Hobson