STRIPPED: Greg Friedler's Naked Las Vegas (2010) Review

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(More customer reviews)I caught this documentary on Showtime and couldn't change the channel. I've been to Vegas about twenty times and, admittedly, I haven't given much thought to the people who actually live there. WOW.
When in Vegas, I'm usually so caught up in my own pleasure (and then regretful pain), I have no reason to shed brain cells on anything but gambling and partying. What I didn't realize is there is a motley population of people who call that place home: people with hopeless dreams of stardom; seemingly happy people with 9-5 jobs; people who are running away from something; people who would give anything to run somewhere else.
Artist Greg Friedler makes Las Vegas the destination where he completes the final book in his "Naked" series: "Naked Las Vegas." Filmmaker David Palmer documents Friedler's journey. I don't know much about this book series, but what Friedler did was photograph approximately 150 people with their clothes on and then completely nude. This is where the documentary gets so intoxicating. Once these random people take their clothes off in front the camera, they feek obligated to divulge the most intimate details of their bizarre lives... to a total stranger! So, with every nude body that we see, we get another glimpse into the desperate, tragic, yet often times hopeful lives of these Vegas locals. Initially, the expectation of more nudity kept me glued to the screen, but with each nude body came another intimate story, and eventually, like an addict, I was sucked into these people's remarkable lives.
This documentary captured the human condition in a way I've never seen before. Bravo.

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Monamour Review

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(More customer reviews)Tinto Brass' latest US release, 'Monamour', is actually from 2005 (why does it take so long for us to get our sexploitation kicks stateside?), starring Anna Jimskaia, and is a sexual homage to the female form, like many of his films, this time even more so, and Anna is an even greater exhibitionist than any of his other actresses, bless her heart.
The story concerns itself with a newly married couple, Marta and Dario, whose love life seems to have stagnated since they got married only six months ago. Marta chronicles the sordid details in her diary, and Dario is too busy with his work to notice her sexual drifting. While away at a publisher's convention in the beautiful city of Mantua with her husband, Marta meets a Frenchman while looking at ancient frescos in a museum, and he pursues her aggressively and sexually right there. Soon, her adultery, born out of neglect, boredom and frustration, is in full swing, and she's encouraged by a female friend of hers who's also at the convention with her younger lover.
The two women attend a day spa and trade tales of their escapades while being pampered by two Eurovixens employed at the spa, conjuring up all kinds of fantasies for us to ponder over as the women are oiled-up and erotically massaged as though being devoured by their masseuses. Marta is now having sexual dreams and fantasies in addition to her carnal activities, engaging in a variety of increasingly perverse pleasures with Leon, the French lover, and naturally, hubbie Dario finds the diary she explicitly details her affairs in. Now things go from steaming hot to boiling over...it's one of those times when being a perv is a truly wonderful thing.
These are women, not girls, and they flaunt their sexuality proudly, libidinous creatures who have not just been around the block a few times, but have frequented the sewers as well. They are lewd, sometimes vulgar, their appetites voracious and lusts almost limitless. Looking slutty, talking dirty, behaving salaciously - what's not to love? Hang on a second, I'm getting weepy... OK, I'm back.
There's nary a 30 second frame within the film when we don't have our heads thrust into the breasts, asses, legs, back or nether regions of some delectable Eurovixen's form - this is a voyeur's pastry buffet table, a Lazy Susan of rotating sexual smorgasbords that's guaranteed to delight the demented appetites of undying degenerates everywhere. Tinto Brass knows how to let the camera linger over a woman's form the way Salvador Dali knew surrealism, the way Einstein knew equations, the way Monet knew waterlillies. Uncensored, unflinching, uncut, unyielding, this flick is mandatory viewing for all men who appreciate the female anatomy more than a night of ESPN. Do your self a flavor and savor the juices of 'MonAmour'.


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