I expected some piece of fluff along the lines of "Emanuele" but this goes farther, alighting somewhere on the border of soft-core and hard porn.
It's the story of Francesco Casale, a handsome young professor of literature, and his wife, Katarina Vasilissa, and his rivalry with his bed-ridden father, Raffaella Offidani. Its from a story by Alberto Moravia and it carries with it plenty of Freudian overtones. Casale's wife has left him and is having an affair with another man. The other man turns out to be his own father. Casale begs Vasilissa to occupy a room with him where they can be alone and she agrees to return to him but only if they move into his father's apartment. Something like that.
Not that the plot matters. The whole movie is ridden with sex. The nudity and simulated intercourse in "Emmanuelle" were peanuts compared to this. Every male has an erection, even if it's a plastic prosthesis. Even the Chinese waiters in the restaurants pretend to drop a napkin for a chance to peek up someone's skirt. When was the last time you met a salacious Chinese waiter? The women are naked at least as often as the men, and they're good looking too. Vasilissa looks a lot like Tiger Wood's wife. And the servant, Fausta, is extremely careless about her dress. Tinto Brass never fails to take advantage to interrupt a piece of dialog by inserting a shot down the front of Fausta's blouse or Vasilissa's plump rear end as she bends over.
Frontal nudity abounds. The women don't shave, so Casale is able to describe his wife's hirsuite pundendum as "the hackles of a wildcat" and "the crest of a rooster." Sometimes Brass goes to far as to give the audience a glimpse of what Casale describes as "the pale and pink seashell," borrowing the line from Stefane Mallarme, the French poet.
It falls just short of hard core pornography because there are no money shots, as they're called, and no close ups of organs at work. The Washington Monument does not meet the Holland Tunnel on screen.
Well, it may approach hard core but it never scores a touchdown. The story itself is always hovering in the background and isn't itself uninteresting. And the performers make an attempt at acting. Casale himself isn't bad, a sympatico figure. Vasilissa, with her generous bosom and hefty rear, might be more comfortable inside the covers of Playboy. I haven't read Moravia's story but I doubt that Offidani, as the older patient with the broken leg, is supposed to be quite as obnoxious as he's played.
The sex is a problem because it's so blatant that it overwhelms a story that might be involving. It's distracting. There probably should have been more of it -- more explicit -- or just the suggestion of it. As it stands, it diverts the attention without informing the narrative. I mean, after all, as grown ups we KNOW what's going on. We don't need to be shown it. And if we ARE to be shown it, well then let's see it.
It's the story of Francesco Casale, a handsome young professor of literature, and his wife, Katarina Vasilissa, and his rivalry with his bed-ridden father, Raffaella Offidani. Its from a story by Alberto Moravia and it carries with it plenty of Freudian overtones. Casale's wife has left him and is having an affair with another man. The other man turns out to be his own father. Casale begs Vasilissa to occupy a room with him where they can be alone and she agrees to return to him but only if they move into his father's apartment. Something like that.
Not that the plot matters. The whole movie is ridden with sex. The nudity and simulated intercourse in "Emmanuelle" were peanuts compared to this. Every male has an erection, even if it's a plastic prosthesis. Even the Chinese waiters in the restaurants pretend to drop a napkin for a chance to peek up someone's skirt. When was the last time you met a salacious Chinese waiter? The women are naked at least as often as the men, and they're good looking too. Vasilissa looks a lot like Tiger Wood's wife. And the servant, Fausta, is extremely careless about her dress. Tinto Brass never fails to take advantage to interrupt a piece of dialog by inserting a shot down the front of Fausta's blouse or Vasilissa's plump rear end as she bends over.
Frontal nudity abounds. The women don't shave, so Casale is able to describe his wife's hirsuite pundendum as "the hackles of a wildcat" and "the crest of a rooster." Sometimes Brass goes to far as to give the audience a glimpse of what Casale describes as "the pale and pink seashell," borrowing the line from Stefane Mallarme, the French poet.
It falls just short of hard core pornography because there are no money shots, as they're called, and no close ups of organs at work. The Washington Monument does not meet the Holland Tunnel on screen.
Well, it may approach hard core but it never scores a touchdown. The story itself is always hovering in the background and isn't itself uninteresting. And the performers make an attempt at acting. Casale himself isn't bad, a sympatico figure. Vasilissa, with her generous bosom and hefty rear, might be more comfortable inside the covers of Playboy. I haven't read Moravia's story but I doubt that Offidani, as the older patient with the broken leg, is supposed to be quite as obnoxious as he's played.
The sex is a problem because it's so blatant that it overwhelms a story that might be involving. It's distracting. There probably should have been more of it -- more explicit -- or just the suggestion of it. As it stands, it diverts the attention without informing the narrative. I mean, after all, as grown ups we KNOW what's going on. We don't need to be shown it. And if we ARE to be shown it, well then let's see it.