The Lickerish Quarteti is one of those cvasi-pornos from the 70s, back when "sex" consisted of strangely stiff, shockingly unnatural rubbing together of plank-straight weirdos. It's basically softcore shot by retards. I... really, I can't explain it in non-clinical terms. What supposedly compos mentis, mentally together, normally developed human adults imagined the fuck they're doing with that shit... it defies any sort explanation really. It's something like if all the films from the 50s featured "cars" sliding back and forth on skis, no wheels (or snow) anywhere in sight ; or if all the films from the 60s featured square umbrellas, notwithstanding they can't be opened or closed like that. We know for an absolute fact people fucked in the 70s just the same exact way we do and everyone ever did (seeing how the species didn't end, there's no suspicious shortage of 1970s born cocksuckers or anything), but apparently they never happened to catch a glimpse in a mirror or anything ? It's really incomprehensible, and therefore inexplicable, and that's all that can be said about it.
Besides the... technical problems of intercourse, let's say, the broad structure's that the old woman's a whore in denial, which is a trope common to the point of utter trititude or however you call triteness. Tritity ? Anyways, and the young woman's eagerly (or at the very least readily) open, which is kinda how the polarity stood back then (it reverses periodically). But, the idea is, these frame into each other, the original couple watches a film of an original couple and becomes a film of an original couple, time-telescoped into itself like that. It's not a bad cinematic metaphor of the very nature of both cinema and metaphor, not to mention the natural result of their interplay (and therefore causative agent of both interplay as well as the things interplaying) : culture.
Thing should be re-shot with better fucktoysii. Until that happens, it's not really worth watching in itselfiii ; though your own harem if available can readily compensate for a lot of warts in the material.———
- 1970, by Radley Metzger, with Silvana Venturelli (whose career it pretty much ended, unless you count the occasional Playboy junket) and some inept fuck who drowned himself in his Hilton-provided bathtub afterwards, so (rightfully) ashamed was he of his misperofmance here. [↩]
- The treatment could well benefit from a re-write as well, especially the young colt's dialogue, and the "provocative" portions in general. What the fuck, "I don't have to read them, I own them", "your virginity and her virility" blablabla, seriously wtf. The usual rules apply : nobody forces anyone to discuss things they're utterly innocent of, be it prostitution or bisexuality or polyamory or anything else. [↩]
- Unless you're writing a paper on the failure of the 60s "revolution" from the perspective of the 1970s bankruptcy of the notion of "mixing" art films and softcore (in a sense of "mixing" limited beyond crumbling meaninglessness, it doesn't even qualify as "trying out the sea with a finger"), or something like that. Seems oddly specific ; but even if you are spending your time with reconstructed prints of Succubus and whatnot : the only possible conclusion of your efforts, slowly becoming ever more ineluctable (and by the time you're done with Camille 2000's shrieking banshees outright unavoidable) is that nothing's really worth saying on the topic. It was irrelevant to itself back then, not to mention irrelevant to the larger thing that it was trying to be relevant to that in itself was socially-irrelevant to a society itself utterly irrelevant -- the 60s did exactly nothing and mattered exactly not at all. If you think otherwise, it's only because you were there, neither of which circumstances is excusable. [↩]