It’s certainly no accident that The Wrap’s Sharon Waxman found out about and reported onBrunoinitially receiving an NC-17 rating from the MPAA. After all, what raunchy docu-comedy wouldn’t want additional buzz focused on how “objectionable” some scenes were? Universal and Sacha Baron Cohen obviously pushed the envelope in order to both see how much they could get away with and to draw attention to themselves with a desired NC-17. Hasn’t anyone been following Hollywood the past 10 years? Here are a few benefits to both garnering the unacceptable rating and having news of that “unfortunate” rating leaked to all the fanboy bloggers:
Typical outrage over the MPAA’s dealings guarantee postings (including this one), which continue to give attention to the film.
Excitement over how hard the ultimate R-rating will likely be continues the interest from moviegoers interested in raunchy content. And if they’re upset that it won’t be as dirty as the original NC-17 version they can always…
…look forward to the Unrated DVD release, which will most definitely include the censored “objectionable” scenes either in the movie or as supplement material.
Of course, news of the ratings controversy does draw potentially unfair complaints regarding the MPAA’s reputation for typically having problems with homosexual themes. For once, though, the gay community can leave the ratings board alone on this one, since the studio and filmmakers most certainly wanted all of this. Of course, if you do decide to protest, make sure you mention the film title often. That will help the marketing, too.
And now some of the unnecessary complaints from my fellow internerds helping with the film’s buzz: …Read more
What is worse about the now-infamous Watchmen sex scene (watch it here), the distracting soundtrack or the explosive metaphor at the climax? Even if intended to be funny, and regardless of its (more-subtle) appearance in the graphic novel, the fire blast as stand-in for ejaculation is so cliché that it has no place in a story that means to shatter conventions. Plus, sexual metaphor is a little unnecessary in a film that already has a lot of nudity and a distinct moment of impotence. Especially at the end of a scene that is quite gratuitous compared to the comic’s depiction, that blast is more a symbol of how incorrectly handled Watchmen is than of the orgasms it’s intended to represent.
Between that shot in Watchmen and our recent list of sexiest non-sex scenes, we have had bad sex-scene clichés on the brain. So, to relieve us from the tension of list-making blue balls, we’ve decided to release this short burst of a list for discussion. Think we should have included saxophone-heavy soundtracks or any other cliché you’ve come to notice, let us know in the comments. …Read more
Watching Graphic Sexual Horror, Anna Lorentzon and Barbara Bell’s nonfiction look behind the rise and fall of heavy BDSM porn site Insex.com, the first thought that came to my mind was from my film critic’s perspective: “How’s this gonna play in Peoria?” And the second thought was inevitably from my submissive’s perspective: “Is this gonna give my lifestyle a bad name?”
There is no pat answer to either question, which is why I was so thrilled that co-director Lorentzon found time to let me pick her brain prior to the film’s East Coast premiere at this year’s CineKink Film Festival, on Friday, February 27th at 11:10 pm at Anthology Film Archives. (Full disclosure: Un Piede di Roman Polanski, an homage to Roman Polanski’s foot fetish by myself and Roxanne Kapitsa, will screen the following evening as part of the festival’s “Twisted Knickers” shorts program at 6:45 pm. Stop on by!)
But as I finally sat down to discuss the doc with director Lorentzon, who worked as a producer at Insex.com from 1999 until the site was strong-armed by Homeland Security into closing, I found I didn’t have any questions for her – merely some very strong reactions that I hoped she could shed some light on. So it actually took me by surprise to discover that the issues I was struggling with as an audience member were the same issues that prompted the filmmakers to make the film, and ones that they still struggle with to this day. Frustratingly, there are no answers to the ethical questions “torture porn” raises – only a Pandora’s Box of more questions. So I guess the best one can do is approximate that struggle in image and word.
I’ll never forget the first time I heard the Sinatra standard “My Way”, while sitting in the balcony of an art house in Denver, chain-smoking Benson & Hedges ultra-light menthols, staring nearly hypnotized by the sight of sexy Gary Oldman transforming himself into the swaggering embodiment of punk rock, tearing through both cover song and screen. Sid and Nancy (along with Howard Deutch’s Pretty In Pink which also came out in 1986, and Martha Coolidge’s 1983 Valley Girl) was nothing less than a revelation to this teenager with Aqua-netted hair, Doc Martins and ripped fishnets, because it actually portrayed “my people,” spoke to me in my own musical language.
And my feeling of identification probably was not unlike that experienced by a certain segment of the movie-going public 31 years before Alex Cox paid tribute to the junkie romance of Sid Vicious and Nancy Spungen, who witnessed another tale of fucked-up love, possible homicide, and enduring heroin chic. Heartthrob Frank Sinatra would not sing “My Way” in Otto Preminger’s groundbreaking 1955 The Man With The Golden Arm, but he would play the fictional Frankie Machine, another lean and hungry musician of dubious talent weighed down by both a needy blonde and a monkey on his back.
Most vampire movies suck like most porn, the pleasures of the flesh drained of all life. Fortunately there’s Daughters of Darkness, starring the intoxicating Delphine Seyrig as the blonde, femme fatale Countess Elizabeth Bathory. Harry Kümel’s very-70s flick is a sexy roundelay akin to Radley Metzger’s 1973 soft-core Score, only in this case the hungry horny couple are the blood lusty Countess and her secretary/lover/protégé Ilona Harczy played by Andrea Rau (with lips to rival Angelina Jolie’s – someone get Brangelina a vampire movie already!), looking like a knockoff Lulu with her flapper haircut. The objects of their carnal obsession, newlyweds Stefan (John Karlen, resembling a cross between Michael J. Fox and Andrew McCarthy but, alas, born a decade too early for a John Hughes film) and Valerie (Danielle Ouimet — think Elke Sommer with a French accent) may be unwitting, but Stefan especially is far from innocent. Which gives the standard vampire set up of Daughters of Darkness a compelling mystery twist.
People often say that the only things certain in life are death and taxes. But what if the government, along with a vast majority of the population, were suddenly obliterated? What are the certainties of life in a post-apocalyptic world? Death keeps its hold, but in a desert world scorched by nuclear holocaust or a zombie plague, death has a new partner in inevitability: sex.
Sure, sex is already as ubiquitous as taxes, but plenty of post-apocalyptic movies point out that sex gains a renewed importance in a world devoid of order. Even in films that are not specifically about sexuality after the implosion of society, sex is still an important linchpin. In the modern-day zombie classic 28 Days Later (mild spoilers follow), our heroes-on-the-run, Jim, Selena, and Hannah, find relative safety in a mansion fortified by a small band of soldiers. Before long, the all male band of troops begin making not-so-subtle overtures to the two young women. Their captain, in a futile attempt to persuade Jim to disregard the well-being of his friends, pleads, “But I promised them women!” Jim’s refusal to condone this flesh trade nearly gets him killed, but the potency of the zombie plague has a poetic way of enacting revenge on his behalf.
After the jump, “carnal desire” gains a whole new meaning…
In the 9/21 edition of The NY Times Magazine, Randy Cohen, a.k.a. “The Ethicist,” responding to a writer inquiring about the morality of a professor patronizing a strip club, offered this little admonishment, “Nobody should attend strip clubs, those purveyors of sexism as entertainment. Strip shows are to gender what minstrel shows are to race. But while I endorse your conclusion about these sad displays…”
To which I respond, Oh, brother. (Yes, who better an expert on female strippers than a gay guy who pens a column for The Grey Lady?) Between this sweeping, condescending – not to mention unethical – judgment of “gentlemen’s clubs,” and the latest crackdown on NYC’s houses of domination (which sent the NY Post into a “slap-happy” tizzy) I needed an uplifting, sex-positive view of the industry ASAP. So what better time to Netflix over to London to try out Irina Palm?
Sam Garbarski’s lovely gem of a film starring Marianne Faithfull as a grandmother who chooses prostitution to pay for travel expenses to Australia for a last-ditch operation for her sick grandson, is really a journey to self-empowerment, as Faithfull’s Maggie saves both her grandson and herself through the discovery of her own sexuality. Faithfull’s portrayal of a working class widow forced to take matters into her own hands (or rather “palm”) for the first time in her life is as honest and nuanced as anything the royal acting dames of England have done in recent years. Even in her sixties, Faithfull – Mick Jagger’s ex and the great-great-niece of “Venus in Furs” author Leopold von Sacher-Masoch – knows she has eroticism in her blood, which she smartly downplays in favor of her maternal side, letting her natural sexiness merely peek out from beneath a frumpy winter coat and dowdy hairdo.
Olly Blackburn’s sexy thriller Donkey Punch premiered at Sundance earlier this year, and we caught it as part of Fantastic Fest, where it was paired with a “Hipsters Overboard!” Donkey Punch Boat Party on Town Lake in Austin, which sadly did not involve the actually tossing overboard of any hipsters. Austin has tight jean, rakish-angle hat-wearing party rats coming out of the woodwork, and it probably would have been a benefit if some had slipped into the dark water, never to be seen again.
The film is what you would get if you mashed Dead Calm and Open Water 2 together and sprinkled it liberally with heavy doses of ecstasy and trance club music. I know that it probably doesn’t instill a lot of confidence in a review when you reference Open Water 2: Adrift in the second paragraph, but that film should have had a title of its own and not been a sequel, because it’s not a bad Saturday afternoon thriller itself. Plus, it also involves a gaggle of young hipsters who shouldn’t be out on a luxury yacht.
Documentaries and socially-relevant foreign films are sexy, too! Here are my picks for five international hotties who, no matter the plot, create a private porn of their own.
Who is Lior Ashkenazi? I have no idea. What I do know is that finally getting around to watching American-born Israeli director Eytan Fox’s 2004 Walk On Water, starring the incredible Israeli hunk Ashkenazi as a Mossad agent who finds himself intertwined in the lives of the grandson and granddaughter of a fugitive Nazi he’s assigned to capture, I realized I haven’t wanted to lay a movie star this bad since I first laid eyes on Daniel Craig’s 007. The sturdy-bodied, raven-haired Marlboro Man with magnetic eyes and a chin both chiseled and Travolta dimpled is so mesmerizing I can’t get his image out of my head – like a catchy techno tune stuck on endless repeat. The film itself is a fascinating character study for the first hour – until the characters leave the Holy Land for Berlin, wherein the plot descends into ludicrous soap opera melodrama complete with Deutsche drag queens and Jean-Claude Van Damme damage (and Bruce
Springsteen’s annoying “Tunnel of Love” stuck on endless repeat). But none of this really matters because it’s also got – Lior Ashkenazi! (And just to make me more hot and bothered he even gets naked, the camera caressing his hirsute chest – before he soaps up another man. And the character is straight. Continue reading while I take a cold shower.)
Queen of Bad Sex Catherine Breillat could learn a thing or two from Woody Allen. Not only is his latest celluloid psychotherapy session Vicky Cristina Barcelona a phenomenal work of intellectual porn, but it also happens to contain one of the sexiest, most hysterical and poignant portrayals of polyamory to come along in a long, long time. Allen actually gets that those of us who choose to live outside of hetero monogamy are not voracious sex addicts lacking in morality – on the contrary, we simply abide by a different set of desires and ethics than that of the mainstream.
Watching the sexual roundelay involving Diane Keaton/Mia Farrow substitute muse Scarlett Johansson and Allen stand-in Rebecca Hall as the American tourists Cristina and Vicky, who become sucked into the fiery passionate and oftentimes downright dangerous world of Barcelona artists Juan Antonio and his ex-wife Maria Elena, played by Javier Bardem and Penelope Cruz (for my money the two sexiest European stars to grace the screen since Mastroianni and Sophia Loren), I realized it was the first time I’d ever wanted to jerk off to a Woody Allen film. This is the master of neuroses on Viagra. Spain seems to have reinvigorated Allen, and it’s a joyous thrill to behold. Simply put, the director’s upped the endorphin factor, leaving me hot and bothered and hysterically laughing all at the same time. …Read more
In celebration of my latest hero Max Mosley, son of Britain’s prewar fascist leader and head of Formula One racing, who refused to passively be set up in a “Nazi orgy” sting operation by the shameful “The News of the World,” who bravely took his invasion of privacy battle to court where he proudly invoked his inalienable S&M right to be spanked – and won! – I say, here’s to you, my fellow perv. And the next time you’re in the States the caning’s on the house (of domination. But feel free to tip a portion of that 120 grand in damages awarded).
So with that case now out of the way, let’s revisit the original British, S&M sex Scandal.
In a piece at The House Next Door subtitled “More Valuable Than Sex,” Andrew Johnston talks about the 80s teen movie that taught him that “a real, intimate connection with someone you can turn to in your darkest hour is more valuable than mere sex — a downright subversive notion in an era loaded with movies about hormone-crazed maniacs desperate to lose their virginity by any means necessary.” And what film was this? You’ll have to click through, but here’s a hint: it’s vaguely related to the item below.
For weeks I’d been raving to anyone and everyone that the recent re-release of Chaplin’s controversial 1947 Monsieur Verdoux, in which the Tramp sheds moustache and cane to become a gold digging serial killer of wealthy widows, is one of the finest films of the year. So I wasn’t surprised when an actress/comedienne friend of mine on the west coast emailed to say she’d just rented and laugh-out-loud adored it. What did give me pause was her follow-up, “That scene where he woos the rich woman in the parlor at the beginning, and also the one where he’s in the flower shop ordering roses…is it wrong for me to have the hots for a clown? Chaplin is so fuckin’ sexy!”
My answer: not only is it not wrong, but Chaplin wouldn’t have been believable mesmerizing his prey in Monsieur Verdoux if he hadn’t finally allowed his natural sexual charisma to shine through. For his entire career up until then Chaplin had been masking his virility beneath a shabby overcoat like a drag queen packing away her package. Monsieur Verdoux is perhaps the closest character to the real, really-young-women loving, multiple wed Hollywood legend than any other role he ever undertook. Verdoux’s seducing and serial killing of old coots seems like a screen-friendly substitute for Chaplin’s real-life seduction and serial impregnation of teenage girls.
How often do you get Barbet Schroeder, Gerard Depardieu and Nestor Almendros together to shoot a film about a burglar who ends up falling in love with the dominatrix whose dungeon he’s unwittingly tried to rob? In a scene at the very beginning of Schroeder’s exquisitely paced, beautifully executed Maitresse the tone is brilliantly set for the relationship – and thus the film itself – through Almendros’ meticulously composed images. His camera captures Depardieu’s fair Olivier and his dark-haired partner-in-crime (whose bad idea it was to burglarize the “downstairs apartment”) in a hornet’s nest of their own making, caught in the act by Bulle Ogier’s “Maitresse” Ariane, and subsequently handcuffed to her radiator and guarded by a vicious Doberman named Texas.
But wait––if this doesn’t sound like a setup straight from the twisted mind of David Lynch I don’t know what does. Indeed, what’s most striking about the erotically charged scene that follows is how closely the psychological power dynamics of Schroeder’s Maitresse parallel the infamous “Bobby Peru seduces Lula” scene from Wild at Heart. In both cases no actual sex takes place. Instead there’s a steamy sadist/predator (Bobby Peru, Ariane) sinking his/her teeth into a piece of lost prey (Lula, Olivier). Both Lula and Olivier are turned on against their will, psychologically “raped,” so stunned at losing control that they’re not even fully aware of the situation they’re in, let alone how to escape it. The difference lies in the relationship between the characters. Lula is rendered helpless until Bobby releases her when he’s “gotta get going.” She’s just a toy for Bobby to kill time with in the afternoon, whereas Ariane plays for keeps – a spider whose web encompasses. Ariane takes over her “victims” wholly, completely and unapologetically. And like Bobby knowing enough to drop in on Lula unannounced – ensuring her defenses will be down – Ariane takes advantage of the element of surprise (burglars dropping in unannounced – how convenient!), wielding it like a stun gun before the attack.
Friday at LAFF brought back-to-back screenings of two very different documentaries about how sexual politics and policies within two individual communities come to define these worlds-apart spaces. Sarah Friedman and Esy Casey’s Thing With No Namefollows two women in sub-Saharan African villages as they controversially begin a program of anti-retroviral drugs after having been diagnosed with full-blown AIDS. Undeniably beautiful to look at and powerfully poetic in its depiction of a community of women stricken with poverty and sick with a virus that they don’t fully understand, the film ironically and sadly fails at its propagandist mission when tragedies of timing and fate intervene. Meanwhile, Trinidad offers a portrait of the titular “sex change capitol of the world,” a frontier town in Colorado where a male-to-female post-op transsexual rockstar surgeon named Marci is pioneering the art and science of genital reassignment surgery. In tone and content these films couldn’t be more different, but they still constitute a sort of double feature of films about real people living lives impacted by scientific attempts to customize fate.
We’ve had a bit of trouble getting this episode to go through the iTunes feed, so we hope this re-post will fix the problem. The original post, with episode description and embedded player, is here.
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