Destricted

If anybody takes a brief look at the filmographies of the persons who directed the segments of "Destrictred", he or she will discover that only a few of them are full-time directors. Marco Brambilla, for example, made a couple of movies in the 1990s, while others had never directed a film. So it comes to no surprise that this is a worst-than-irregular film, and that there is little elaboration and sometimes no originality at all in the string of segments that pretend "to illuminate the points where art meets sexuality". Gaspar Noé and Larry Clark are probably the best known directors of the lot, but it is experimental artist Matthew Barney who in my opinion has made a visually striking erotic film piece (that deserves a much higher rating than the 2 points I have given to the whole film), that has little to do with narcissistic penetrations, oral somersaults and other jaded depictions of sex. His art works have already dealt with the matter on the table, and maybe he knows best. Not a good film if you ask me, and a little on the "waste-of-your-time" side.

Destricted - an experimental collection of shorts by artists and film-makers exploring the subjects of sex, sexuality and pornography - didn't cause as much of a fuss as the creatives behind it were probably hoping for upon its release in 2006. While this is one of the most extreme films ever to be passed by the BBFC, it had to resort to an exploitative tactic when released on DVD by wrapping the box in a black seal as if what was inside was too explicit to be seen by anyone passing the art-house section of their local HMV. Truth be told, Destricted is no more shocking than late-night Babestation, and probably has just as much to say on our attitudes to sex.

The UK release featured a different line-up of films to the one released in the US, so I'll point out that I'm reviewing the UK version, which consists of seven shorts, the longest being 38 minutes and the shortest just over 2. I started with Larry Clark's Impaled, possible the most interesting film of the bunch. Clark interviews a roster of 18-23 year old males for a porn movie, and asks them about their sexual preferences. In an age where porn is readily available to anybody, it comes as no surprise that the interviewees prefer rough sex and ejaculating onto their partner's face. Shrewdly, Clark chooses the most softly-spoken and sweetest of the bunch, Daniel, who chooses older porn star Nancy to be his on- screen partner. Watching Nancy eat him alive has a strange poignancy to it.

Next up I saw Marina Abramovic's Balkan Erotic Epic, a strange and genuinely funny tale of pagan rituals told by the stern-looking Abramovic who struggles to speak English. The sight of naked men humping the ground and a group of women dancing and occasionally exposing their genitalia in the rain is bizarre and almost Pythonesque, and certainly raised my mood despite how cheap it looked. Richard Prince's House Call is a 13 minute re- contextualisation of an old porn scene, in which a busty young woman is visited by a well-hung doctor, who proceed to have ugly, hairy sex in a pleasantly aggression-free manner. Prince adds an eerie soundtrack and distorts the colour so much that the sexual organs on show looks like disgusting, slug-like creatures.

Marco Brambilla's Sync is a relief at just over 2 minutes, rapidly editing together hundreds of porn scenes to a drum-solo score. It's an interesting experiment, reminding us of the repetitive and formulaic nature of porn. Strangest of all the films on show is Matthew Barney's Hoist, which places a black actor with a gourd up his a**e underneath a five-ton struck, who proceeds to rub his erect penis on the lubricated drive-shaft of the vehicle. It is supposed to be a commentary on primitive man's relationship with machinery, but at almost 15 minutes long, it long outstays its welcome. By this point, I had seen enough flatulent and erect penises to last me a lifetime, which made the next film all the more painful. Sam Taylor- Wood's (now Taylor-Johnson) Death Valley has a man masturbate alone in the desert. For eight incredibly long minutes.

While I thought I was saving the best for last, I was actually saving the worst. Gaspar Noe's We F**k Alone feels like the cinematic equivalent of the director telling us that he's had a shitty day. Shot Irreversible-style and complete with constant strobe effects, the film has a man and a woman masturbate to same porn movie in two separate rooms. One enjoys a oversized teddy bear while the other face-f***s a blow-up doll with a gun. It's a terrible, hateful, and utterly pointless exercise, which, much like Destricted as a whole, has nothing interesting to say about sex and pornography. Porn can be formulaic, seedy, expressive and shamefully titillating. But anybody who has ever masturbated before will surely know this already, and won't have to put themselves through almost two hours of arty nonsense to come to this realisation.

Most of the films in this collection are simply silly. One is at least artistic in the old, wan sense of visual oddity.

There is one interesting one, though. Larry Clark's "Impaled." Its rather clever: young men seeking to get into the "business" are interviewed. All of them are sad losers and that saddest sack of the bunch is selected. He then interviews several women to select the one he wants to screw. They are all pros, and their stories and manner are every bit as sad, but posthope instead.

He selects the oldest; she obviously tries the hardest to entice him. She's 40 and desperate to appear alluring. If we had nothing but her manner, we'd have enough to damn.

He's most excited about anal sex. He ends up getting defecated on, but they soldier on until the end.

Its a great take on the ugly behind of the industry.

Ted's Evaluation -- 3 of 3: Worth watching.

I just watched this film at Sundance. Clearly the most challenging portion of this film for the audience was Gasper Noe's use of strobe for his part of the film titled We F--- Alone. A good fifth of the audience cleared out during We F--- because they were bothered by the strobing. During the Q&A following the film when asked why he used the effect Noe replied, "Because it looks better." The style used in We F--- Alone may not appeal to most audiences, but the premise of the film promised shorts by director's giving their impression of the world of porn and We F--- Alone was obviously Gasper Noe's take on the world of porn.

Other engaging portions of the film included Matthew Barney's Hoist, which involved a man having sex with a industrial machine lifted a dozen feet off the ground; Larry Clarks Doc/ Porn, hosting try outs for young men willing to satisfy their dreams of being a porn star; Marco Brambilla's amazing short splicing together frames from his own porn collection. The rest of the other shorts mixed in seemed to lack depth and were rather bland with the exception of Marina Abramovic's vignettes on superstitious Balkan sexual behavior which was very funny.

The movie is all that is promised and is an absorbing take on porn from these artistic talents. This isn't something to watch on a television and should be experienced in the theater environment.

Certainly politically correct, that is a danger sign in any film. Politically correct by focusing mostly on men and porn. This film was almost just like any other porn film. The tiny difference being the "art". Strobe light was the "art" in We f...ck alone (it was way too long. I got the "message" after 5 minutes). The "art" in Death Valley was none what so ever. Just a guy masturbating outdoors. I read on IMDb that the "art" was the fact it was shot in that particular valley. If you use your imagination, you can see art in everything. That is wonderful. Hoist was least like a porn, but 15 minutes of a man rubbing his penis to a machine shaft was OK ("art" and everything) for 5 minutes. In the film Impaled we saw the audition room instead of the "bed". It was amusing to see the young guys expressing their sexual desires. The "art" in Impaled was the bad lighting. I would have chosen the virgin. I went to the film expecting nothing, and I got nothing. A man cannot ask for more on a night at the movies.