3D Sex and Zen – The Review



So yeah, 3D Sex and Zen exists. As hardened (steady) cineastes, we’d be remiss here at Cigarette Burns if we didn’t at least acknowledge it’s upcoming debut on British shores, as it is probably the first genuine cinematic milestone to arrive here since…well, Avatar. But did Avatar spend any of its $1 trillion budget on throwing any giant disembodied cocks at you? Didn’t think so. So until James Cameron rectifies this in Avatar 2 you’ll have to make do with 3D Sex and Zen, if not the world’s first ever 3D erotic film, then the most notable one since Blonde Emmanuelle in 1978, and certainly the first one to come anywhere close to cracking the Western mainstream. In Hong Kong, meanwhile, it’s become the highest grossing film of all time, beating Titanic and – yes – Avatar. Sigh…I wish I lived in Hong Kong.

Anyway, we sent Colm McAuliffe down to Soho with a disconcertingly smudged pair of 3D glasses, a dirty mac, a door number and instructions to ‘ask for Babs’. He came back with this review:

3D Sex and Zen: Extreme Ecstasy is a marketing person’s dream. After years of mutual indifference, the dual forces of pornography and cutting-edge 3D have finally come together, aided and abetted by some tantalising costume drama based foreplay and arresting scenes of post-coital pleasure, taking the heart-warming combination of endless nude bodies, metal plates and flying daggers to their natural conclusion.

It certainly had me sold. Instead of spending my Tuesday evening languishing in abject introspection on the Victoria Line to Brixton, I instead began to envisage this film being the key to a truly decadent and debauched phase of my life. ‘What could this mean?!’ I gasped in joy, reading the press release over and over again, imagining redemption and liberation from an existence of vexed incomprehension.





Of course, the reality hit home when I realised I was merely spending an evening in a Soho screening room, watching this 3D porn flick with, mainly, fellow males. But therein lies the problem – why should pornography penetrate the mainstream? Many of the stars of 3D Sex and Zen are full-time hardcore porn stars, and it’s not overtly difficult to track them down via the internet and, crucially, for free. So, what’s the point?

Well, firstly, this (theoretically) isn’t a standalone montage of sex scenes interspersed with sparse dialogue indicating some sort of vague plot. Set in the saucy 1600s, the film is an adaptation of the novel The Carnal Prayer Mat, although how it’s debatable as to how faithful this interpretation really is. And as for the story itself? Well, it’s that well-worn chestnut concerning a young scholar who fails to satisfy his breathtakingly beautiful wife and is taken under the wing of the local sex god who introduces our flaccid hero to a non-stop carnival of sexual delights where he discovers how to make love for entire days. Phew. However, his new found prowess goes straight to his head and crotch as he repeatedly betrays his long-suffering wife and replaces his microscopic member with that of a donkey’s. Honestly, it could happen to any of us.

3D Sex and Zen is a positively lavish affair throughout. The orgiastic gorefests take place in vast cavernous proto-Playboy Mansions supplanted with the sporadic 3D effects ensuring various phallic symbols and the occasional stray, luscious breast is thrust at the audience. The sex scenes initially are generally of the soft-pornography kind albeit interspersed with the odd moment of casual rape – one memorable scene sees someone literally fucked to death.

Indeed, a more linguistically advanced colleague of mine has referred to the film as being a little too rapey – the sex does get progressively more violent, barebacking becomes the norm and an increasing number of implements are used in support of each conquest. Does this make it one of the most offensive commercial films ever released? Not really – no one could surely take any of this seriously. The film rises above the bog-standard porn movie due to its superior production standards and the occasional moments of humour. But the subtitles are dreadful or maybe it’s just the dialogue – either way, neither amount to very much.



The film certainly deludes itself with notions of ‘high art’ throughout – there are heartfelt odes to the poeticism of love punctuating the porn – but these seem feeble and forced. Who needs wistful moments of Romanticism when you are soon faced with a pansexual Shaman, capable of extraordinary sexual tricks, and replete with an enormous penis-like appendage attached to his/her thigh which is then used to pummel men’s faces into an unrecognisable pulp?

To its credit, the savage screwing is varied in length and tone and never outstays its welcome. But I can’t see this film heralding a whole new era for pornography. Instead, this is simply glossy, unsophisticated and unintentionally funny adult vewing. But most worryingly, this is the work of a father-son screenwriting team, Stephen Shiu and Stephen Shiu Jr., which begs the question: what could Mrs. Shiu possibly think?

So there you go. A frankly insane looking mix of extreme violence and fortuitous nakedness, a heady combination not unlike that found in Japanese cinema’s legendary ‘pink’ genre. Now if only there were some sort of pinky retrospective triple bill we could all go and watch in a couple of weeks…

Advertisements

Guillermo del Toro and Julia’s Eyes

With Spanish horror, Julia’s Eyes in cinemas now, Colm McAuliffe wonders if Guillermo del Toro should be viewed as the man with the golden touch, or just a patron saint.


As well as being a director of some renown, Guillermo del Toro has more recently fashioned a niche for himself as a the saviour of the Spanish indie horror genre, swooping in to attach his name as producer to films which otherwise would have difficulty in securing distribution. With del Toro on board, films such as 2008’s The Orphanage and now, Julia’s Eyes, attain an immediate gravitas, the name alone providing the necessary cachet to penetrate the markets.
Remarking that ‘studio infiltration into specialty films was the worst thing that could have happened…. [but] this is a ripe time now for retaking the fort’, del Toro could well be referring to his inaugural major studio experience, 1997’s Mimic which was plagued by interference from that notorious despot Bob Weinstein, resulting in a potentially thrilling horror being reduced to rather anemic anonymity. Del Toro’s career since can be viewed through the prism of this initial experience and he appears to be flourishing in his role as a self-styled cinematic polymath. His intuition for the macabre has rapidly filtered into the zeitgeist, propelling him into the public sphere and he currently appears to have a whopping eleven projects on the go, ranging from The Hobbit to Pinocchio and even stretching to the video game Insane.

Aside from adhering to del Toro’s own unique brand of grotesque beauty, del Toro’s actual role in his film productions is questionable. He differentiates from the evil movie moguls in viewing his role as being the arch-protector of the indie underdog from financial partners needless meddling, a move which certainly worked in terms of The Orphanage (del Toro also claimed minor credit for some of the film’s more frightening moments).The massive success of this, both in Spain and internationally, ensured praise was showered upon him for his apparent hands off approach. Similarly, del Toro’s name was all over the film’s marketing push. He was not simply the producer but he also chose to ‘present’ the film – so far so very Hitchcockian.

The breadth and uniqueness of del Toro’s filmmaking is so well-defined, it has made his name into a genre of its very own which, of course, in with his decision to ‘present’ these films. His stylistic touchstones of magic realism, fairytale fantasy and the grotesque recur throughout his own films from The Devil’s Backbone through Hellboy and his mainstream breakthrough Pan’s Labyrinth, ensuring that the Del Toro brand is a surefire signpost to a carnivalesque miasma of supernatural mythos and high-octane horror.
Julia’s Eyes, the latest ‘Guillermo del Toro presents…’, is again directed and co-written by a newcomer, Guillem Morales, and re-unites much of the team behind The Orphanage. While the latter film essentially centred around a re-telling of a ghost story, using classic horror talismans such as mysterious caves, lighthouses and cellars for suspense, Julia’s Eyes is also fundamentally conventional in its approach, devoting itself to the ‘extremely hot blind woman in peril’ genre.
Belen Rueda plays the dual role of two sisters, one of whom hangs herself in her basement in the opening scene while the other spends the remainder of the film heaving her wondrous bosom while being hounded by an enigmatic individual. Both sisters have been afflicted by a degenerative disease which ultimately leads them to blindness and the symmetry of the movie is provided by the antagonistic characters – a woman losing her sight versus a man who never wishes to be seen.

Amidst the sporadic bursts of tension and crime solving, Guillem Morales has crafted a reasonable homage to the classic Italian Giallo films of the 1970s without ever fully resorting to psychological profiles of his characters. Our enigmatic stalker is masked in mystery and while we occasionally see through his eyes, these fleeting insights are never enough to sustain our interest (the film clocks in at an over-long two hours). During the last half hour, Morales decides to change tack entirely and Julia’s Eyes reveals itself as a straightforward horror, replete with pinched eyeballs, mindless killing and the unmasking of our stalker. This slide into sub-Almodovarian camp provides a rather unsatisfactory ending as the loose threads are tied up in a roundabout fashion with some predictable ‘revelations’ coming to light.
This is to all intents and purposes a Spanish production but Julia’s Eyes ultimately has more in common with overblown, bombastic American remakes of the genre. The cinematography is impressive but workmanlike, under-utilising the theme of blindness and only sparingly uses moments of reduced vision to capture Julia’s descent into darkness.

While del Toro’s heart still beats for Spanish indie horror, Julia’s Eyes is perhaps one beat his heart could have skipped. Take our indie hero out of the equation and you have left a passable horror flick. Morales does manage to punctuate his film with moments of genuine tension – particularly the potentially gruesome scene whereby Julia eavesdrops upon a conversation between some vindictive former friends of her sister at a centre for the blind – but the film is more of sign of Morales potential as a director rather than indicative of any current prowess.
As for del Toro claiming to ‘retake the fort’ for indie cinema, ironically, a more hands-on approach as producer may have catapulted this from so-so horror to impressive psycho-drama. However, by virtue of having del Toro as a mentor, Morales has furthered his position as a filmmaker with potential while del Toro himself can carry on regardless, safe in his role as the saving grace of indie cinema. Let’s just hope the lines are not being blurred between his hands-off approach and a genuine need for some creative direction. Sometimes a little bit of compromise is not necessarily a bad thing.