Nudity in the United States is an odd thing. We tend to love our nudity, yet are mostly ashamed of our love and try to hide it. Well, we try to hide what we determine is actual nudity while plastering near nudity everywhere we can.
From TV to magazines to print ads, on beaches, sidewalks and shopping malls, flesh reigns king. Skimpy bikinis, short skirts, tight shirts are all acceptable, admired and loved. Yet again, flash a nipple or pubic hair and there is an outcry from the same public that so adored the near nudity.
As a lad I could often get my mother to allow me to watch the newest Arnold Schwarzenegger action flick filled with bloody battles, but as soon as a movie showed a bit of nudity and it was off to play Monopoly.
The nudity didn’t even have to be sexual. A girl walking out of a shower was reason enough to turn it off. Strangely we could often get away with a film full of innuendo or engaging in physical nuances that hid the nudity.
I don’t want to knock my mother to hard here - certainly the culture she was raised in had a great deal to do with how she parented us. She tried her best to do the difficult job of guarding our television and movie viewing habits. A difficult job with no official rules to what is acceptable.
It also must be said that we often baited her and pressured her constantly to allow us to watch the newest action flick, while staying mostly mum about the nudity. As a kid I didn’t mind complaining that it was just fake violence and wouldn’t affect me, but there was no way I was going to beg for boobies, no matter how much I secretly longed for them.
Funny how some 12 years after I’ve left home I’m still worried about what my mother will say having watched and reviewed a picture such as Anatomy of Hell.
The film starts with a warning which looks like the typical FBI copyright warning but which reminds the viewer that film is not real, but an illusion and informs us that the most intimate moments do not belong to the main actress, but a stand in.
It then moves into two men involved in a little back alley oral action.
No kids, this isn’t going to be your typical night at the cinema.
The plot involves a woman (Amira Casar) on the verge – she is first seen in a nightclub where she promptly slits her wrists in the bathroom – and a young gay man (Rocco Siffredi) who rescues her from suicide.
Article comments
1 - Steve C.
I dunno, I thought this movie was poop. I've admired Catherine Breillat's work in the past, but this was nonsense, like a college freshman who's just discovered Andrea Dworkin or something.
2 - Mat Brewster
It certainly wasn't brilliant art, and I can see why a lot of people say it is utter crap, and maybe it is. But there seemed to be a few moments where it did manage to say something.