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It wasn’t that I pretended to a sophistication that I did not possess; I certainly had not done, seen or read about every sexual variation in the history of the earth.And it was true that I carried as heavy a cargo of sexual repression out of the fifties and the Catholic Church as anyone else from my background, and might have used these movies as a kind of therapy.
It was about a quarter full, mostly men scattered alone through the theater, with occasional couples (by the end of the show about ten women were in the theater).The color was good, the camerawork competent, the editing professional (because of the restrictive rules of the movie unions most young movie kids are breaking in by making skin flicks).There were exteriors shot along Collins Avenue in Miami Beach, and at a variety of Miami private homes and motel swimming pools; the score was smooth (and an interesting parody on the ludicrous current practice of sticking a moody young rock ballad on top of the titles of films, in hopes of an extra payoff from record sales).Most of the men were middle-aged; I saw no bald heads and no raincoats.The film itself was as good technically as most second-grade movies you will see these days.Suppose you walked out of one of those places and bumped into Mario Procaccino? But this was an evening when everyone we knew was out of town, and the city seemed an empty silent place.
It was an evening for tasting something new: a rose petal on the tongue, the tapdancers at the Music Hall, or, hey, how about a skin flick?
For me a sex film , because you don’t really care much about the characters, because its humor seems to mock itself (a satire of a horror film is about the form itself, not horror) is not consistently stimulating, at least for me.
I can’t say what it did for the other people in the audience, but that is their business, not mine, and certainly not the state’s.
The whole issue is now before the United States Supreme Court, which must decide whether a judge alone can see a film and decide it is obscene without giving the theater owner a hearing.
All of which is absurd, wasteful and somehow bizarre.
The young girl’s problem is that her clitoris isn’t where it should be: it is, in fact, in her throat.