Introduction
In May we went down to the Riviera to cover the Cannes Film Festival . Within days of our arrival in Cannes, the 3 page daily rag, the IT! , mysteriously began appearing on tables in the lobbies of the luxury hotels lining the Croisette, the long beachfront boulevard.
This is a selection of articles appearing in the IT! from May 3rd to May 17th, 1970.
King Hash Ish is passing through Cannes after having been deposed with the consent of the entire nation of Fribblestan. This apparently included himself. Now he is free to pursue his life's passion: movie watching. In addition to a continual round of TV shows, slide shows, dirty postcards, etc., King Ish normally screens 5 films a day. He may be the only monarch in history to have installed a floor to ceiling movie screen in his palace sauna. Rarely seen in public, he is said to have the shape of a plump vegetable.
The most talented of the 'new breed' of hard-line Marxist film-makers. Literally 'shoots' his films with a Kalashnikov. Only bonafide proles have any chance of finding parts in his films . As they become corrupted by luxury they are given the sack. Last seen camping out in a fox-hole on the beach.
The biggest slob in American cinema. PDG of Scream Films. Holds press conferences with his shirt hanging out and his thumb in his mouth. Is allergic to walking and must be carried everywhere. The most recent estimates of his weight put him at 25 stone. Being asked if he considered himself happy, he replied:"Uhhh ..... Duhhhhh .. Well .. Yah, Shuuuur .. Arhhhh .. " , one of his more eloquent utterances.
The attempted arrest of a busomy woman who showed off her breasts on the beach outside the Carlton Hotel, was a failure.
The affair, which appears to have been a publicity stunt, concerns the well-known actress, Myxnl Zgrbtz , the much belusted nymph of Swedish celluloid. Her film career began in 1965. Quote: "If I can't set the world on fire I vant to be alone."
It had been wildly rumored that the huge cleft which has delighted the many sex-mad skin flick buffs who rushed to see her in Fjord Fuck , had really been contrived by trick photography.
Armed with cameras the police were on the scene in a jiffy. They hesitated, torn between their duty as law officers and the powerful mamaric hypnosis that radiated from her busom. Finally a compromise was reached. She was released on the condition that, as long as she stays in Cannes, the little silver fishes will keep waving.
"The Hotel Majestic really deserves its name. I don't know anywhere else that gives you such a royal screw job. It's hard for me to believe that a glass of orange juice pressed from a scrawny month-old orange is worth 7 times a ripe Jaffa orange bought in the street, just because of the fabulous ambiance one is supposed to be getting on the terrace of the Majestic. The view really is ugly from there, let me assure you: nothing but a lot of wealthy old bags showing off their decrepit nudity around a swimming pool they don't even use. If you ask me, the Majestic ought to be paying people to tolerate that view."
At this elaborate buffet favorable coverage in the press is exchanged for so many pieces of roast beef, select crudités de jour , unlimited Rosé de Provence , and a genteel hour and a half of polite hypocrisy.
Just the other day this correspondent, representing both the Journal du Show Business and the IT! , was invited to help in spreading the British Miracle. He was put next to Jacques Delon, a reactionary realist . M. Delon pointed to his plate and explained : "This platter, heaped high with select viandes and choice legumes, is my reward for the articles I write about British cinema that appear every morning in Le Figaro ."
A hack from the English tabloids was much cruder about the whole thing: "On the salary the London Times pays me, I can't afford to pass up a free meal."
Half-way through this enervating Symposium on modern art and culture it was discovered that a young American journalist had neglected to send in his copy before the afternoon deadline. He was ejected in the midst of wolfing down his Salade Macedoine . This left more for others.
Between the heady conversation and the heavy food, all arose from the table so exhausted that it was hard to believe they'd be able to get any work done. One can be certain, however, that each will do his or her duty.
As the sophisticated world of Show Biz passes by in obscene livery it encounters a crude verbal barrage which, ( through transposition from the physical to the metaphorical ) , affects to cover its glittering pulchritude with wet shit.
We have noticed a certain self-assured individual with a literary bent who, perhaps from too intensive a study of the works of Tennessee Williams, walks like an iguana: splayed feet, bent knees, hands clasped behind his back with thumbs sticking out, head in the air. He traverses the length of the Holy Croissant, then re-circuits. This pattern is repeated over a period of 3 hours. He has not yet taken to dressing like an alligator.
We'd also singled out for scorn a number of young women attired in dresses of chain mail, perhaps fashioned from Wilkinson's razor blades. They may have been discovered by a chained male corresponding by chain mail. Our general sense is that all that medieval metal would have been put to better use fashioning chastity belts.
It's been observed that burlap is very much the rage this year. Old potato sacks are dyed in immodest hues, then draped about the midriff so as to fall just above the ass-crack. In this way a small oval area of gangrenous flesh is exposed at the small of the back. The effect is striking, given that the hem of the dress lies just below the ass-crack.
A graphic image may be in order here : if a drop of sperm were to be released down the vacuum in a shaft on a square-inch base, its' height determined by the total amount of sperm exuded at the Festical in a single day, with an initial velocity equal to the rate of increasing fucking it would, upon hitting the ground, go through the center of the earth, come out in the Pacific , and reach the moon before a space-ship sent up from Cape Canaveral at the moment of release.
One is, let it be well understood, speaking only of the gross physical act of fucking. If one were to add into this all of the fucking being done by hotels, shopkeepers, restaurants, producers, distributors, directors, etc., on their clients, not even a CRAY computer would have the capacity to process the data.
An aged Empress tried to knock him down, but was forced to put her hands up to her ears through the production of Curdler effects.
The photographers along the Croissant refused to talk to his balloon. Only their little tigers, rendered docile through being drugs, were charmed by the plaintive mating-calls of the balloon and tried to tear themselves away from the arms of their captors and follow him down the street.
As he walked past the Bar du Festival the noises from his balloon made the wine in the glasses swirl about and slop over their rims. But the biggest commotion was created in front of the Palais du Festival . Here gaggles of fans were gathered to goggle the stars coming out of the Grand Salle. They suspected that the balloon man might be a famous personage in his own right, and that perhaps they ought to be listening to his balloon speech , which was not at all flattering to them. They lacked even the sagacity of the Carlton's hookers who had, with more accuracy, labeled him as 'pauve malade mentale '!
With their experience in handling representatives of AP, UP and NBC, Mississippi's redneck sheriffs would know how to deal with these photographers. The editors of the IT! suggests that, in addition, they be drafted into the American Army and shipped off to Vietnam. As they ride through the jungle in a tank, someone could open the hatch and throw in an LSD-drugged adult tiger. Later Little Black Sambo can collect all the pancake batter.
In any case - the next time you feel like biting a Cannes street photographer - don't feel guilty.
Mr. Bermans is the largest costume manufacturer in the world. He should expect to be overwhelmed with orders for bags, the more expensive the better: hippies not only 'do' their bag, they also live in it. Levi's of San Francisco has dispatched a shipment of cashmere and velvet jeans, while army surplus stores everywhere are being ransacked to find khakis strong enough to withstand the weight of thousands of gold sequins.
The IT! was unable to confirm if the police will be on hand to make sure that nobody wearing a tuxedo gets into the building. The editors of the IT! feel that they, and all security personnel , should themselves be obliged to attend the opening of Woodstock in the nude.
Imagine it ! Black gun belt strapped around sagging midriff, badge pinned on left nipple, club held vertically in one hand, erectile cock in the other, as the conscientious cop hustles out a man in cocktail attire, ( whom, for all we know, may be doing his bag ! ) Indeed, it is somewhat unfair to prohibit evening dress, since the only bags appropriate to most of the audience will be those of pimps and hookers.
Yet there are bound to be problems for those for whom 'hippy dress' means a display in the nude. At what point does the Woodstock world begin and the Cannes world end ? Shouldn't there be a special decree stating that nudity will be permitted only within the IBM auditorium , and only during the 3 hours of screening , and will not be permitted, under threat of grim retribution , along the Cannes Croissant ? ( cf. the case of Mxynl Zgrbtz , IT! , May 3rd)
Should the uptight citizenry of Cannes really be expected to tolerate an invasion by all sorts of weirdos and freaks? Most of those who would like to strip will either not have the guts to do so, or will be dissuaded by the sound business sense that tells them that having their deformed bodies, covered with teethmarks from a hundred producers, exposed to public viewing, will spell the end of their movie career .
Once protected by the darkness of the auditorium, one suspects that people will be allowed, more or les, to do their own thing. If this turns out to be a reflection of the content of today's cinema , the convocation will quickly degenerate into gang rape, ritual cannibalism, gruesome executions, eye gougings and so on. As for good old honest ' love-making', this will occur, if at all, in obscure corners. Those who attempt it will be so conditioned by having to act it over and over again, that they will make a balls of it.
Go into the bar-lounges of the Carlton, Majestic, Grand, Miramar, etc., and you will find them lined up against the walls like the stock of a doll store. The market rate is a flat 50 francs for 15 minutes. This quarter hour should be interpreted in a manner analogous to the famous psychiatrist's " 50 minute hour". Estimate a maximum of 5 minutes for the real business.
A good professional can pick up $120 in an afternoon. Allowing for the rake-offs to the hotel and their mackerels, this leaves her with enough for a meal in a posh restaurant, a movie at the Festical and a new dress once in awhile.
Cautionary Note : If you want to pick up a whore at one of its bars, luxury hotels require that you wear a jacket of some sort. Here is a glossary for American johns:
He's recently entered, then abandoned, secret negotiations with MGM to buy out the Pentagon and put John Wayne in the White House.
His latest project: a porno film starring Woody Allen and Barbara Streisand : The Briss . It already has the blessing of the chief rabbi of New York City.
Another rumor : C.M.A. is thinking of diversifying into napalm, medieval castles, vibrators, tabloid journalism and Venice Beach. Freddie Fields, whose over-riding ambition is to obtain a 50% controlling interest in the planet is, in real life, a very modest man. He will always be the man behind the scenes, even when President Bob Hope sends us all out to war.
The producers don't understand that what they are doing is a threat to the legitimate indecency trade going full blast on the rue d' Antibes . We were there just the other night , talking to two pédés slurping their pastas at a table in the back room of the Majestic restaurant:
" Man!" one of them exclaimed , " You breeze into town offering a bit of cock, but you find that all the cocking is being done on the movie screens. Why, I've had to masturbate almost every night since I've been here. Let me tell you, that doesn't keep the paté de foie gras in the cupboard ! The best asshole I've seen here was a certain slob sitting at the Bar du Festival , one of them porn producers you betcha , the kind that gets his kicks from screwing the public. We male whores have just got to organize our own Jacquerie and smash those movie cameras! It's our livelihood that's at stake! "
His friend shared his commiseration: "Queers can't decide whether to take a chance with us at 50 francs a crack, or go see The Notorious Cleopatra for nothing. We're even offering them a special double whammy blow-job , but they'd rather go watch The Minx . After that they're so bored with sex that they all want to enter monasteries!
"Buggery is all we know how to do, and we're proud of our profession. But these movies have so degraded public taste and morals that we can't possibly keep up. You should hear some of the things they're asking for these days! Somebody told me that Max Raab's End of the Road has a scene in which he has an old geezer screwing a chicken! You can't get lower than that! "
Further inquiries on the rue d' Antibes among the practitioners of the world's oldest profession revealed similar grievances:
" They talk a lot about sexual freedom and human rights in these films, but what about freedom of economic opportunity?" Said to us from a charming lady who normally hangs out at the Petit Carlton café , and has recently been finding herself hanging out all night long.
" Those bozos who strip in front of the cameras don't know the first thing about screwing. We go to those films ourselves sometimes just for laughs. The unfortunate part of it is that the general public takes them seriously, and that debases the standards of our trade.
"You just won't believe this, but there are men now who want us to remove our sweaters and stick their dirty fingernails up our cunts. Hey, look! We do what we're paid to do. I for one am not going to submit to colonies of vermin crawling around inside me."
Zabriskie Point is a case in point. For us it was a disaster! Now they all want us to be shaggy and stupid, cuddling up in teams of half a dozen or more, submitting to things that would have outraged the Marquis de Sade."
Wilbur And The Baby Factory ( Hollywood) :
Imagine a man who graduates college, only to discover that he is not trained to do anything. Through a long spiral of descent he ends up peddling dirty pictures on the sidewalks of Manhattan. He attacks a policeman, is arrested, and sentenced to jail for 10 years. Placed in solitary confinement he uses up the time masturbating twice a day.
When he is released he discovers that he does have a profession after all: porn film producer. His first film would look very much like Wilbur and the Baby Factory .
A blasé flick, Art Nouveau, self-consciously camp, about two male Lesbians and a female pederast in New York, later joined by a Mother Superior. They fuck around more than they fuck. It is the time to bring out your Oscar Wilde jade toothpick, just to have something to suck on while you're watching. Later on we assist in the drugging of two little children. Obviously, the director did not want us to think they fell asleep from boredom.
In general, when it comes to fornication, society should mind its own business. However, once a certain threshold of boredom is crossed it ought to be deemed a felony.
A charming bit of Midrash about a lovable yenta who has eyes for a young schlemiel working in a home for alte cockers. But this goniff of a maydel sees his schvantz , she likes it, and they go off to have a mitzvah. So naturally the old yenta tells him to go hock a tshainick . But in the end they all become friends: Hey! At least the goil's not a shiksa !
Produced by Max Raab. From the novel of John Barth. Could also be entitled " I Hear America Vomit" . If you don't already know what America's vomit looks like, go see this film. VietNam is a trivial corollary. It must have something to do with what we eat: Grape-Nuts for breakfast , hot-dogs and Coca-Cola for lunch, TV dinners . One's imagination balks at contemplating what the throw-up of a typical American would do to an innocent observer.
Lest one assume otherwise, this is a favorable review.
Can you believe it? A Swedish film with minimal display of hairy crotch! There a has to be at least one hairy crotch in any Swedish film : eventually we do see the pubis of the hero's mother , the very sight of which is enough to cause him to attempt suicide with sleeping pills! The actress who plays his mother was no doubt cast in the role because she does in fact have a sleek, warm, photogenic, hairy crotch.
The rest of the film is about Harry Munter himself, an adolescent born 1955 years after his time. Our objections to the crotch stem from the fact they the producers went out of their way to insist that the crotch be included though it has nothing to do with the plot. It's not a bad film.
The attempt to dump the British flop-around Monique on the Italian market is a case in point. It's about a shabby businessman who ends up sleeping with his wife and his maid in the same bed. All of the permutations are depressingly elaborated.
Until last year it could not legally be screened in Italy without removing its more provocative scenes. Although the censored version would not have received so much as a rude nod from the public, the uncut original could have been be clandestinely showed at inflated prices all over Italy. The combined receipts from cut and uncut versions would have been much greater than if there had been no censorship laws. Because Italy is in the process of relaxing these laws, the porn film industry faces economic disaster.
The triple-X rated movie houses have been hard put to find films that will continue to offend modern-day censors. Everywhere in Cannes today one hears the cry : " Censorship! Censorship! Why isn't there more censorship ! "