The misfits, the outcasts, the marginalized, the abnormal, the underground. These are all terms that can describe counterculture and the identity of people associated with the alternative to ‘normal’. Queer culture maintains some, if not all, of these aspects, but the feeling of not belonging, or being an outlier, of wanting something different from marriage, kids and death is also a mindset prevalent in the art scene. Specifically, underground film and video have been outlets for those exploring their identity, sexual or cultural. For example, pornography has been used in experimenting with sexual identity, arousal and desire. A few nights ago, I saw an Italian softcore porn film called Blow Job. The film follows a heterosexual couple as they witness the suicide of a girl and use the opportunity to run out on their hotel bill. Short on funds, they run into a woman who, in exchange for a ride back to her house, gives them the winning horse at a racetrack. They win the money and take the woman back to her house where they stay the night. The rest turns into a surrealist dream of naked dancing, fucking and warped identities. Made in the midst of 70s psychedelic drug culture, the film emulates hallucinogens in it’s camera angles, but also explores queer forms of desire by incorporating lesbian sexual encounters.
Rarely screened, Blow Job was programmed as part of a retrospective of Alberto Cavallone films titled STRANGE BEDFELLOWS at the DIY, collective-run film space, Spectacle Theater. By DIY I mean there are no corporate sponsors or patrons, advertisements or really oversight of any kind — the theater operates on it’s own ticket sales and is run by a group of volunteer coordinators, programmers & film lovers. DIY culture in general is about an alternative to corporatized, consumer driven culture and Spectacle is very much apart of subverting that and the Hollywood version of filmmaking. The theater exclusively shows independent/art/experimental cinema and video projects. Located in the heart of Williamsburg, off Bedford and S 3rd St, the venue seats about forty people with tickets costing 5 dollars. Additionally, Spectacle sells volunteer-made posters, tote bags and an annual zine to promote the theater and the films programmed. The space itself is a storefront that was converted to a theater by installing movable seats, a projector and a screen, while blacking out the front windows and hooking up a computer with a sound system. There’s chipped paint, tiny space heaters in the winter and you can bring in alcohol and food, so it’s kind of like being in someone’s living room, but instead of watching Netflix, you are seeing and supporting obscure art films.
In the interest of full disclosure, I am one of the aforementioned volunteers, so I was working the booth that night, which just means I cue up the trailers and film, give a small introduction and watch the film from the booth in the back. I also contribute to their online and social media presence, which is where the majority of the targeted promotion of the space happens. More than anything Spectacle is promoted by word of mouth — it’s part of an underground cinema culture and the people who are into that know about the theater and tell their friends. Anyway, this couple shared their beers with me and I lowered the lights for the trailers, which gave a glimpse at some of the other March programming, like South Korean filmmakers program and the Raul Ruiz retrospective. Throughout the film, the couple (and I) giggled at the low production values, the slightly cheesy dialogue and the now-stereotypical girl-on-girl make out scenes. When the film was over, all of us proclaimed that we liked it’s surrealist vibes and voodoo-ish spiritual abstraction! That said it’s definitely a very heterosexual representation of queer desire. The women involved are first and foremost sexual objects, as is all porn created with a male gaze.
Porn as a cultural artifact is a display of how humans view their own sexuality. Hardcore pornography, or films that feature actual penetration, are somewhat a means to an end and has an expressed purpose of providing the viewer with an orgasm. However, softcore porn features only glimpses and snippets of genitalia and secondary sexual characteristics. Due to the missing end result in softcore porn, it becomes more about framing desire and sexual appeal so that the viewer is titillated by the film. Examining the term softcore in this way allows for a nuanced reading of the film, Blow Job — not the Andy Warhol short film, but the Italian softcore porn film made by Alberto Cavallone in 1980. Cavallone is somewhat of a cult figure in Italian cinema; his most famous film being Blue Movie, another film that uses camp and eroticism to critique Italian culture in the 70s. His entire filmography shows special attention to sexuality being directly connected to the metaphysical, but specifically in Blow Job, the relationships between women take on a hyper-sexualized, philosophical role. While the depiction of lesbian desire and sexuality is sex positive, this film depicts a male interpretation of that desire and ultimately, the man is in the place of power. It is just what Barbara Hammer works against when she talks about lesbian filmmaking as “self-birth” in her book, Hammer!. As I was watching the film, the clearly singular nature of same sex touching was to titillate the viewer, expressly not to examine the role of self and identity within lesbian sexuality. The fact is, to the filmmaker, these women have little identity other than to be attractive on camera for male viewers.
In conclusion, viewing this low-budget slightly explicit film within the context of a DIY venue like Spectacle, with a nice couple who were just out for a fun movie night made the screening pleasant evening. Subversive, challenging and dense? No, but it was a fun look back at the porn of yesteryears — and to experience first hand the vision that Barbara Hammer was so vehemently fighting against with her film works. Especially viewing in the casual setting, with a beer and some open-minded people, it became more of a comedy than a serious film experience. The whole scenario is so far fetched, with voodoo chants and an eye-patched woman, seen 35 years later, the tropes are cheesy and repetitive. However, that doesn’t stop it from being a small bit of fun on a rainy Wednesday night.
Works Cited:
Hammer, B. (2010). Lesbian Filmmaking: Self-Birth. In Hammer!: Making movies out of life and sex (pp. 98–105). New York: Feminist Press at the City University of New York.
