An erotic story about a woman, the assistant of an art gallery, who gets involved in an impersonal affair with a man. She barely knows about his life, only about the sex games they play, so... See full summary »
An erotic story about a woman, the assistant of an art gallery, who gets involved in an impersonal affair with a man. She barely knows about his life, only about the sex games they play, so the relationship begins to get complicated. Written by
Michel Rudoy <firstname.lastname@example.org>
Before John unbuttons Elizabeth's blouse, she puts her arms behind her head. But as he's unbuttoning, her arms are at her side. When the camera pans back to her face, her arms are behind her head again. See more »
Every time I see you, you're buying a chicken.
Every time I see you, you're smiling at me.
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Liz is a graceful beauty who deals in modern art. John is a guy with money, which he makes from some vague financial dealing. They are both lonely New Yorkers, and both ready for an affair.
The central idea of the film (if 'idea' is the correct word) is that a woman is best wooed by engaging her senses. The movie purports to show how John 'educates' Liz into enjoying sex through sensuality. There is an edge of danger in everything that John does (stopping the ferris wheel at its highest point, feeding the blindfolded Liz a chilli pepper) and the nervous, insecure Liz has to learn to embrace the risks in order to augment the thrills.
That's the theory. What we get is Basploitation, with Kim Basinger having her nipples and bikini line rubbed with ice cubes. Lacking the imagination to treat its subject seriously, the flim shows us scene after scene of Mickey Rourke shovelling food into Basinger's mouth. Rourke's character is meant to be mysterious and alluring, but he is mostly just plain irritating. Basinger's Liz is supposedly being titillated, but the titillation is aimed at the viewer, not the girl (molasses poured on a thigh LOOKS sexy, but actually FEELS yucky). John, the guru of sensuality, can think of nothing more original than continually blindfolding Liz.
The film desperately wants to be a badass New York movie-with-attitude. We are shown traffic and garbage trucks, and smart alec art critics at dinner parties. Puddles compete with smoky, dark restaurants in Chinatown in a bid to convince us that this is all gritty and real. John takes Liz to an eathouse where hoodlums were once killed. Molly is a funny-and-sassy-but-vulnerable-jewish-New-Yorker who bashes the trunks of taxis which displease her. The flower delivery boy bops to the rhythm of his walkman because this is New York and he's a crazy dude. The more the film strives after image, the more it descends into cliche. This isn't New York, it's a stereotype of New York concocted by West Coast film-makers.
Details which are intended to persuade us that this affair is a wild, romantic fling simply don't work, for the simple reason that they are grindingly mundane (throwing Liz's hat into the air, a 'quickie' in the clock tower). Rourke lacks the gravitas of a Don Juan. He is supposed to be a wonderful cook, but all we ever see him doing is cracking raw eggs.
Aspects of the film which tax our credulity include the fight with the street thugs, which John and Liz win so easily, the copulation under a downspout of freezing New York rainwater and the leg-spreading game on the department store bed.
Is it fair that pretty blonde actresses are expected to get their kit off in this way? Well, one imagines that there are plenty more pretty blonde actresses in work than plain ones, and the pretty ones don't seem to be complaining. Basinger may rail against it all now, but she took the chance of stardom when it came her way. In one scene, Liz crawls reluctantly across the floor, picking up money. Maybe that is a metaphor.
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