![]() ![]() Here in a 4K Ultra form scanned from the original negative, which is how experts such as Robert A. ![]() So: Alligator, directed by Lewis Teague, starring Robert Forster, written by John Sayles, released 1980. Ever since then I’ve pondered the question of how old a movie has to get before it can legitimately be considered old. While not a math whiz, I made some mental calculations and pointed out that Anderson and the Antonioni film were precisely the same age (OK, Blow-Up was maybe a year older). “A lot of old movies on this list,” he said, citing Blow-Up as the main offender. As the segment started, Cooper, in his amiable way, laid into me. A little later, when the Formerly Violent Homosexual was through, they corralled me upstairs. Kind of rude, but it was the first thing that came into my head, and such was my mood anyway. “How’s that working out for you?” I asked. “I was a homosexual…a violent homosexual…I had sex with strangers in public restrooms…I did drugs…” Impressed, I said to the screen, “ Dude…” And the woman on the couch snapped, “That’s my husband.” The guy on the screen was detailing the depredations of the homosexual lifestyle. On the couch sat a young woman with a blonde bouffant hairdo wearing something not unlike a prom dress. I stood there in the green room lounge watching the segment with a skeptically cocked eyebrow. Anderson’s guest before me was this big beefy dude who was talking about how conversion therapy changed his life. I got there, got made up, and went to the green room with a complimentary can of Diet Coke. On the plus side, the studio was just a short walk from the office. I was feeling fat, and I couldn’t put together an outfit that would accommodate a tie, and I just didn’t want to go. The magazine’s media booker put me on whatever show Anderson Cooper was hosting on CNN at the time to bang the drum for the piece and the magazine in general. Equipment: Sony UBp-X800 multi-region 4K player, Sony KD50X690E display, Yamaha RXV-385 A/V receiver.īack in the early 2000s, my colleagues at Premiere thought it would be a good idea to entrust a feature on the Ten Greatest Sex Scenes in Cinema to me and me alone, and since at the time I was still addicted to my own cleverness, such as it was, I put the David Hemmings/Veruschka photo shoot scene from Blow-Up, in which no actual sex, simulated or not simulated, occurs, at the top spot.
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