After the magazine he works for is taken over by a sex-obsessed American, a shy astrology columnist is ordered to spice up his column by writing about having sex with a woman from each star...
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After the magazine he works for is taken over by a sex-obsessed American, a shy astrology columnist is ordered to spice up his column by writing about having sex with a woman from each star sign. Unsure of himself at first, he begins gaining confidence after a few successes, but he still has to rush to complete all 12 columns before his deadline. Written by
Jean-Marc Rocher <firstname.lastname@example.org>
This film has shaped so many parts of my life, that I can't imagine anyone fielding negative comments about it. From the haunting melody of Pierre Bachelet's Emmanuelle-esque opening and end-credit song, to the splendidly delicious natural (un-enhanced) content, this film is eternally memorable. No advanced special-effects trickery here. (or surgical for that matter.) - just kismet. Not a day goes by where I don't revisit the imagery and happily hum or whistle that tune - and that's saying something, as I haven't viewed this film in over 20 years. Doesn't anyone appreciate a straightforward, trend-topical European astro-sexual romp anymore? The bath tub? The Rolls limo in the parking garage? The entire Zodiac? The Boss' wife??? - I guess you had to be there. And was that a Smith Galaxis he was typing on? I can understand the waning public opinion of Astrological veracity in the late 70's turning the subject matter into fodder for satire by physical production of this film, but the blend, tone and stamina of audio and visual impressions left by this piece mark it, in my mind, truly timeless. Movies are not merely meant to be viewed as pictures that move, but as pictures that move the viewer. .and so it goes for Sex With the Stars. MB
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