Smoota

In most still-photo erotica, as exemplified by the Playboy centerfold, the composition is well-balanced. The sexual object is perfectly framed. The face, the torso, the crotch are centered. The object of desire is laid bare - there is no obscurity in what the viewer sees.

One reason erotica is so important is to give us this unobscured view of bodies - a view we so rarely get in real life. Even with a fully-nude lover, lights are often dim.

But this perfectionism to much erotica is what makes it so often seem clinical and unerotic. Unless you're a gynecologist or a bodybuilder, you rarely see bodies so well lit and well-framed in all their glory. It's the dim light, the obscured view, the accidental glance, the quick flash that arouses us in real life. 

German painter Johannes Kahrs shows how the unbalanced frame creates more sexual tension than the centerfold. It's the combination of what we can and can't see that drives us wild.

This is why the peeping tom has more fun than the gynecologist.

It is always enlightening to analyze human sexual behavior through another form (e.g., Fritz the Cat and other R. Crumb comix), so I'm grateful to my friend Margaux for telling me about these strange wooden sculptures by the great Man Ray, one of the most sensual of all 20th Century artists. Made in 1947, these figurines give new meaning to the term sex toys, and like the most effective sex toys, these are simple and elegant and innocent enough to not be recognized for what they are by your grandmother.

Keep in mind these figurines are married - Man Ray named them Mr. And Mrs. Woodman.

Putting a woman on a pedestal is never the best strategy for winning her long-lasting devotion, but gazing at her often as if she belongs on a pedestal is rarely a wasted act.

For guidance, check the gaze of this man in Larry Fink's 1977 photo inside New York City's Club Cornish.





 

The art of eroticism lies in deciding how much not to show. Swedish photographer Eva Stenram plays with this concept in her wonderful recent series Drape, in which she Photoshops the drapes used in vintage erotic photos to cover most of each model's figure. The result is a fetishist's dream and an interior decorator's nightmare - disembodied limbs that focus the sexual gaze equally on the erotic and the macabre. Luis Buñuel would love it. 











From Ensayo de un crimen / The Criminal Life of Archibaldo de la Cruz (1955, Luis Buñuel):


 

Dressed to Kill is a typically hysterical film by Brian De Palma with one of the great opening scenes in movies. To survive unpleasant, unsatisfying sex with her husband, Angie Dickinson fantasizes about touching herself in the shower while gazing upon a hunk shaving in the bathroom mirror. As she builds to climax, a rapist grabs her from behind, her shaving hunk unaware of the violence behind the shower door. 

De Palma was never a master of dialogue, but his camera work is usually striking and his close-ups in this scene make it more erotic than Hollywood usually allows. In fact, he was forced to cut a few below-the-waist shots to avoid an X rating - something he fought against passionately but lost. 

The DVD has a bonus clip splitscreen of the theatrical R rated version underneath the original version, pubic hair and all. It's enlightening in all the right ways, and the splitscreen is somehow more erotic than the individual clips because you don't know what to focus on (a sensation often experienced at orgies). 

For the benefit of humanity, I've posted it - where do your eyes fall?

Dressed To Kill Unrated vs RRated from Dave Smoota Smith on Vimeo.

Angie Dickinson was 48 when Dressed to Kill was filmed, and she is the best part of the movie. It was exposed that Dickinson used a body double in the shower scene (playmate Victoria Johnson), but that doesn't diminish her striking portrayal of a strong 48 year old female sex drive. If more movies were this honest, getting older wouldn't seem so bad.