A taboo-smasher of the late '60s, featuring interracial affairs, anti-Vietnam statements, violence versus sex. Take a whirlwind trip with a married woman whose journey through the ...
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In 1940s Venice, after twenty years of marriage, a Professor and his younger wife witness the passion wane. Now, all that remains is to confess the rousing thoughts to an elaborate diary hoping to break free from ties and inhibitions.
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A taboo-smasher of the late '60s, featuring interracial affairs, anti-Vietnam statements, violence versus sex. Take a whirlwind trip with a married woman whose journey through the psychedelic English youth scene awakens her to the carnal offerings of an African-American man, all set to a searing soundtrack by Freedom, a tripped-out group formed from the remnants of Procol Harum.
I usually enjoy this sort of thing, and did somewhat enjoy the other two early Tinto Brass psychedelic relics recently released to DVD, "The Howl" and "Deadly Sweet." But this is just aimless and annoying.
The non-story follows a vaguely dissatisfied, big-haired young wife (the rather grim Anita Sanders) as she wanders around London for a day, followed by an handsome black admirer (Terry Carter) whom she fantasizes about shagging but never actually does. Meanwhile, her supposed stream-of-consciousness viewpoint (a concept stretched well past the breaking point) makes room for then-typical montages of contemporary news/historic atrocity footage, plenty of body-painted naked hippies, reality-vs.-illusion nonsense, empty splitscreen/editorial flashiness, et al.
The ending is kinda cool, and I liked the way in which British rock band Freedom is woven in throughout--playing their (just OK) songs wherever our heroine goes, even from tree branches when she's in a park.
But the teasing lure of then-shocking "black on white" (the original title translation) sexual relations proves a cheat; nothing of character, story or even genuine aesthetic interest emerges; and like the worst films of the era it pretends to be making a statement about turbulent times by simply name-checking hot button issues. (Quite literally, as an occasional BBC-type disembodied voice keeps saying things like "And whot about...Martin Luther King? ...Che Guevara?...Love?...Hate?...." ad nauseum.)
As previously noted, I usually love this kind of dated counterculture obscurity. But "Nerosubianco" is one of those movies best experienced on a screen you're go-go dancing in front of, not one you're actually paying attention to. I'm glad Tinto Brass had a period of faddishly wresting with the era's radical currents before turning to stylish softcore. But this movie makes it clear he never had the intellectual or even instinctual depth to grasp any theme larger than "Oooh...she's sexy." Which theme dates back to time immemorial...but usually isn't hogtied to pretentious non-statements about the Vietnam War, miscegenation, and so forth.
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