From [email protected] Thu Dec 8 22:29:31 EST 1994
Article: 41113 of alt.sex.movies
Newsgroups: alt.sex.movies
From: [email protected] (Blowfish)
Subject: Re: Review Wanted: M.Ninn's "Sex"
Message-ID:
Organization: Blowfish Mail-Order
References: <[email protected]>
Date: Thu, 8 Dec 1994 03:54:20 GMT
Lines: 45
Status: RO
You know, we'd really love to say that SEX is a splendid movie, a
wonderful movie, that it deserves everyone one of the accolades heaped
upon it, etc., etc. We'd especially love to say that because it's
a very expensive movie, and we've been selling a ton of them.
But, we do try to be honest fish.
BLOWFISH REVIEW: SEX Plot, 2 puffs out of 4
Production, 2 puffs out of 4
Sex, 2 puffs out of 4
MTV is probably the worst thing that ever happened to adult movies, and
this movie continues a particularly bad trend. There's nothing wrong
with making a good, solid B movie. It's an honor, a quite respectable
line of work. However, making one of mind-numbling exercises in
jump-cutting and trying to pass it off as a Masterpiece is just dumb.
The plot, such as it is, surrounds a male model? rock star? something
famous who gets sucked up into the machine and has his life destroyed
even though he has tons of money and great clothes and looks fabulous
and gets to have sex with a zillion great-looking women in vinyl
garments with lots of zippers. This, shall we say, did not quite click
with us as being a terribly sympathetic situation, so any attempt a
character identification was lost. It was inadvertently hilarous to
hear him go on and on about how great his talent was and how he was
being abused, while clearly displaying his very limited acting range
... The whole thing *might* have been intended ironically, but somehow
we doubt it.
SEX is shot in a very jerky, uncoordinated jump-cut-intensive fashion,
even worse than Andrew Blake's most intense migraine. This film has
the attention span of a kitten on speed. The grand, semi-climactic sex
scene (the film goes on for quite some time after that, for no obvious
reason) managed to just about squander all of the money spent on it by
cutting away from the action about every five seconds to focus on
something, anything else.
It's not a disaster, but c'mon, what in the world was Ninn thinking?
We saw it here at the fish tank back to back with FIONA ON FIRE, and
*that* reminded us of what a porn flick with higher aspirations can be
like.
--
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169 “I can arrange all that.” Such Apaches as had not gone back on the war-path returned to the States with the troops; but there were five months more of the outrages of Geronimo and his kind. Then in the summer of the year another man, more fortunate and better fitted to deal with it all, perhaps,—with the tangle of lies and deceptions, cross purposes and trickery,—succeeded where Crook had failed and had been relieved of a task that was beyond him. Geronimo was captured, and was hurried off to a Florida prison with his band, as far as they well could be from the reservation they had refused to accept. And with them were sent other Indians, who had been the friends and helpers of the government for years, and who had run great risks to help or to obtain peace. But the memory and gratitude of governments is become a proverb. The southwest settled down to enjoy its safety. The troops rested upon the laurels they had won, the superseded general went on with his work in another field far away to the north. The new general, the saviour of the land, was heaped[Pg 305] with honor and praise, and the path of civilization was laid clear. Parliament met on the 10th of January, 1765. The resentment of the Americans had reached the ears of the Ministry and the king, yet both continued determined to proceed. In the interviews which Franklin and the other agents had with the Ministers, Grenville begged them to point to any other tax that would be more agreeable to the colonists than the stamp-duty; but they without any real legal grounds drew the line between levying custom and imposing an inland tax. Grenville paid no attention to these representations. Fifty-five resolutions, prepared by a committee of ways and means, were laid by him on the table of the House of Commons at an early day of the Session, imposing on America nearly the same stamp-duties as were already in practical operation in England. These resolutions being adopted, were embodied in a bill; and when it was introduced to the House, it was received with an apathy which betrayed on all hands the profoundest ignorance of its importance. Burke, who was a spectator of the debates in both Houses, in a speech some years afterwards, stated that he never heard a more languid debate than that in the Commons. Only two or three persons spoke against the measure and that with great composure. There was but one division in the whole progress of the Bill, and the minority did not reach to more than thirty-nine or forty. In the Lords, he said, there was, to the best of his recollection, neither division nor debate! His cheek paled for an instant as the thought obtruded that the man might resist and he have to really shoot him. "Good, the old man's goin' to take the grub out to 'em himself," thought the Deacon with relief. "He'll be easy to manage. No need o' shootin' him." "Them that we shot?" said Shorty carelessly, feeling around for his tobacco to refill his pipe. "Nothin'. I guess we've done enough for 'em already." John Dodd, twenty-seven years old, master, part of the third generation, arranged his chair carefully so that it faced the door of the Commons Room, letting the light from the great window illumine the back of his head. He clasped his hands in his lap in a single, nervous gesture, never noticing that the light gave him a faint saintlike halo about his feathery hair. His companion took another chair, set it at right angles to Dodd's and gave it long and thoughtful consideration, as if the act of sitting down were something new and untried. "Besides," Norma said desperately, "they're only rumors—" "Oh, I've found a way of gitting shut of them rootses—thought of it while I wur working at the trees. I'm going to blast 'em out." During the next ten years the farm went forward by strides. Reuben bought seven more acres of Boarzell in '59, and fourteen in '60. He also bought a horse-rake, and threshed by machinery. He was now a topic in every public-house from Northiam to Rye. His success and the scant trouble he took to conciliate those about him had made him disliked. Unprosperous farmers[Pg 124] spoke windily of "spoiling his liddle game." Ditch and Ginner even suggested to Vennal that they should club together and buy thirty acres or so of the Moor themselves, just to spite him. However, money was too precious to throw away even on such an object, especially as everyone felt sure that Backfield would sooner or later "bust himself" in his dealings with Boarzell. "Let's go home," she said faintly—"it's getting late."