Celebrity Nude Scenes 101

The film's best recommendation toward today's viewer is actually Brando's delivery, not the sexual content.

Two strangers meet while browsing an apartment-for-rent. After few words, 45-year-old Brando turns into a crude, brutish alpha-male and 'takes' 20-year-old Schneider without the least overt hint of her permission. Afterward, Schneider's expression makes plain that 'being taken' was exactly what she needed, something that Brando had clearly sensed. The rest is the slow reveal of who these two people really are, how they got that way, and why they are willing to continue to tryst in this brutish manner, in this same apartment, while knowing little else about one another, not even one other's names. Written and directed by the acclaimed Italian Bernardo Bertolucci, who stated the script's inspiration was born of his own sexual fantasy.

When I read of Maria Schneider's passing a few weeks ago - and her negative recollections of the production of this film that was her sole claim to fame - I figured it was time to advance "Tango" to the top of my queue. I had never seen it, despite the fact that it is such an infamous milestone in the history of cinema. When "Tango" released, I was working as a movie theatre usher. Remember those? I even carried a flashlight whilst I strolled up and down the aisles during the main feature, ensuring proper behavior of the patrons. But the theatre manager wouldn't let me work "Tango." It was X-rated, and I was too young for that.

Back then, there were only two opinions about "Tango," it was either cutting-edge art house cinema ... or it was blatant pornography being distributed under the pretense of art house cinema. Hindsight's 20-20, of course; it's really neither of these things.

These days, Hollywood releases cinema every week with saucier content than this, and with an R rating. Brando only once moons his (aging) bum and nothing more. There's several bits of full frontal delivered by Schneider, and they seem to involve serious merkin. The iconic "get me the butter" scene contains almost fully-clothed, and rather tepid, thrusting. Rather, it is the mere SUGGESTION of dairy product for such lubricating purpose that earned the MPAA's scorn. (Scorn re-affirmed in 1997 with an NC-17 decision.) Any viewer shopping here for cheap titillation will be grandly disappointed.

So what of the cutting edge art-house? It's certainly true that no major studio release had ever used this degree of sexual content to actually advance/develop the plotline of a film. "Tango" viewers reach their understanding of Brando and Schneider's psyches through observation of their bedroom antics. (Well, unfurnished-apartment-with-a-dirty-mattress-on-the-floor antics, actually.) The flip side is that, well, almost no other film has bothered to do so in the decades since. In fact, the only one that immediately comes to mind in this respect is "Lust, Caution" (2007). Since no other auteurs ever followed Bertolucci's lead, it can't really be called cutting-edge. And the film's opening scene is a rather routine cinematic gambit; the behavior of the two leads is so inexplicable, that the viewer is on the hook for three full acts waiting for the explanation. Accordingly, despite all the pretentious French chatter, the film is not nearly as art-house as it aspires to be.

Still the film does a very interesting art-house-like job with the slow reveal; the viewer stays engaged for the entire two hours, putting the pieces together as to what makes Brando and Schneider psychologically tick.

But what's really relevant here is Brando's delivery. It's good, even for Brando, and it subtly and increasingly improves as the film progresses, taking total control of the film by Act III. Plus Brando broaches quite the spectrum of roles as well: he's a cruel sadist, a bitter tormented soul, a worldly cynic, a thoughtful lover scrubbing the feet of his young mistress. And he switches from one to another as easily as though he were strolling across a row of rocks to cross a stream. And then he ices all that cake by convincingly reverting to just an ordinary Joe.

As said by many others, the Act III scene where Brando soliloquizes his wife's corpse is among the best dramatic acting ever put to celluloid. No viewer will doubt the efficacy of 'method acting' after seeing this film. And it's Brando's swan song to boot; he openly admitted that he only accepted serious money gigs after Tango wore him out.

To be fair, Schneider does well here with what would be a challenging role for anyone, but her age and lack of experience is simply dwarfed by the mere screen-presence of Brando.

I remember wondering back-then, in those usher days, why "The Godfather" would choose to be in "a dirty film." Now the answer is obvious: this film afforded Brando a tremendous opportunity to work his craft. And besides, the film just ain't that dirty.

Original avant-garde jazz sax score from Gato Barbieri.

RECOMMENDATION: Required viewing for aspiring actors and true cinema buffs. Well spent time for others that revel in careful observation of serious acting.

Neo-noir it is, but not anywhere near the hard-bit or shadowy styling that fans of the genre typically crave. This film's tributing the genre as it fades away, rather than actually recreating it. In parallel, it tributes its stellar leads whom, in terms of age at least, are here well into the twilight of their own careers.

And the plot parallels, revolving around a pack of Hollywood old-timers - a retired PI (Newman), his old pal (Garner) and two long-forgotten film stars (Hackman & Sarandon) - who find skeletons suddenly tumbling out of their closets in the evening of their lives. Skeletons that turn them all against one another.

Sarandon's the femme fatale; Channing's the police sergeant chewing yet respecting Newman. Witherspoon's the bratty daughter; her career not yet established, she was surely humbled in such company.

Pacing is slow, characterization is shallow and dialogue isn't sparring exposition, starkly contrasting the genre being honored. Rather the film is intentionally haunted by references to age and past. As such, the viewer is being invited to gently savor what this mature genre was, to admire how aged talented actors ably and easily slip into their roles, to behold how much accomplishment such a twilight can hold.

The camera drifts nostalgically over an LA gone by - Santa Monica Pier, Hollywood Regency lamps, all-night newsstands, Mid-Century architecture - all subtly displayed as also well past their own primes, a part of some long-lost Golden Age.

All of the basic noir elements are here, but they do not entertain, nor were they intended to do so. Instead, the film's not unlike a long quiet moment spent taking in the sunset the title implies - a sunset upon a certain part of Hollywood's past, its talent and one of its most admired genres.

RECOMMENDATION: For film buffs, well spent meditation.

An all-round solid piece of neo-noir work, recommended for fans of such - as well as anyone looking for soft but steamy late-night-cable stuff.

An appropriately sweltering Texas dustbowl town is the neo-noir setting into which grifter/drifter Johnson wanders for a quick Lone Star at a topless honky-tonk. The look-see inspires Johnson to fast-talk his way into dealing junkers off an unpaved car lot, a vantage point from which he can case out the town proper.

Soon enough, he's wedged in tight between fresh-off-the-farm ingenue Jennifer Connelly and the golddigger wife of the lot's owner (Madsen) who's manipulative, libidinous and drawling on like Blanche DuBois while wallowing about the halls (and bedrooms) of her empty, gilded mansion-cage. Wedged so tight that he just can't seem to make that bank job he's scheming fit quite as neatly as he'd like.

Stir one scummy jealous lover into this brew and you can be sure this is one deal where somebody's going to be drawing a real short straw. Place your bets and saddle up for the ride.

The film's sort of a sleeper, but as sexy, twisty neo-noir goes it's done very well, easily comparable to "Palmetto," if not better. Of the constantly sweat-drenched trio, it's Madsen's performance that stands tallest, undeniably defining her as true talent. Her performance ensnares the viewer within her sexed-up black widow's web as easily as it does Johnson.

Connelly, barely-of-age, and holding only her role as the child dancer in "Once Upon a Time in America" as a major credit, had to yield director Dennis Hopper an extended topless shot to get/stay on the playing field, but she wears her entire role very well, clearly demonstrating tremendous future promise.

As for Johnson, his role's a natural fit.

RECOMMENDATION: In my personal library & more-than-one-spin recommended.

The reason this film isn't titled "Mimi Rogers Naked" is that it would border on false advertising. Rogers IS naked throughout most of the film, but most of that is her laying face-down on a massage table or a couch or whatever.

On the bright side, there's extensive unimpeded displaying of Rogers' breasts and bottom throughout, but there's not one drop of Rogers in full frontal. [ There's also a good bit of additional nudity - including a wee bit of full frontal and sexual activities - when Brown has flashbacks regarding his own great lost love.] Rogers has a rather established history of titillation, nudity and sexual activity in her mainstream film roles, so SHE'S not the reason this film is lacking her in that regard. Rather, those scraps of celluloid were probably left on the Showtime cutting-room floor.

Still, this isn't just any-old run-of-the-mill low-budget soft-core production for late-night Showtime broadcast. Nope, this comes from Aussie director Nicholas Roeg, best known for the industry-respected products "Walkabout" (1971), "Don't Look Now" (1973) & "The Man Who Fell To Earth" (1976).

Despite its most obvious shortcoming, the sound, look & feel of the film is entirely uptown. Classy piano jazz suitable for martini-sipping wafts through the entire production, compliments of the prolific film-scorer Harry Gregson-Williams. The vast majority of the shoot was done inside a über-swank mansion, bursting with bad pretentious artwork, somewhere up in the L.A. hills. Financially successful Rogers drives a Mercedes coupe; the far more austere Brown arrives in an old Volvo ... but not just ANY old Volvo, mind you, a 1970ish limited edition two-tone Bertone 262C Volvo coupe.

Sometimes the film's upscale strivings are just too much the stretch. The film is peppered with inter-title cards carrying lines of exotic poetry. The film gazes repeatedly at a triptych containing lines from Francis Thompson's "The Kingdom of God." Brown opines to great extent on the transcendental philosophy, and/or the Roman history, of massage. And the film is otherwise dripping gallons of pretentious high-brow conversation that is just way too reminiscent of dialogue courtesy of Eric Rohmer.

On top of that, this encounter really doesn't even look like massage in any traditional sense. The duo wander through the house, then alight on a piece of furniture long enough for Rogers to do something odd such as rest her feet on a pair of magnets in order to draw out negative energy. Then they take a gab-fest break and then they move somewhere else. Also be prepared to suspend your disbelief in that your basic in-house massage now involves amulets, Hopi Indian blessings, burning of magic rope, crystals, shaman rituals, kombucha mushroom tea, swapping out different colors of light bulbs and other Zen-like activities and accessories. There so little actual deep Swedish or deep tissue action going on here, it only serves to make the film less believable.

Anyway all that swag, over-the-top or not, absolutely qualifies the film as "classy" soft-core viewing, with the likely on-target audience being 40+ single women.

This film's so far out-of-print, it's almost as though it never existed. Your choices are bootleg Region 0 DVDs on eBay or the part-ed version uploaded to YouTube.

RECOMMENDATION: If those bits hadn't ended up on the cutting room floor, this film could have ended up with a respectable legacy/reputation, similar to "Lake Consequence," "Two Moon Junction," other Zalman King productions, et. al. As it stands, however, a once-over via YouTube is all it really deserves.

Don't overestimate the potential entertainment value of Kelly Preston's two whole seconds of full frontal; can you spell merkin?

Just the same, this generally-overlooked, nostalgic, cutesy gander at 1950s teenage romance, sex and bad boys IS worth viewing - even though every single cliche scene and phrase you could ever possibly imagine or remember on those topics has been cobbled together to become this script. The James Dean / Natalie Wood 'chicken' car dare from "Rebel Without A Cause" is shamelessly ripped off.

Still, the film basically works. Mostly because director Damski had the insight to pour his budget into incredibly realistic & detailed set pieces and props, quality camera-work, sharp color - and a no-corners-cut soundtrack.

There's likely not another film that looks more like days and nights at 1956 MidwestBurg High School that this one; in that sense it even gives "American Graffiti" a real run for the money. Everything from malted glasses to costumes to cars (even a moving van) are, visually, amazingly authentic - and well filmed.

The 1950ish town square seen actually still exists in the condition filmed here, less a few props, at the center of Nelsonville, Ohio. You'll wish you could pull right up to a speaker and order fries at Jerry's pink-'n-sky-blue-neon drive-in.

With remaining funds, Damski employed a quintet of then-budding actors you've-sort-of-heard-of, all of whom do really good work, especially considering the lines they've been dealt. At fin, Jami Gertz has never looked lovelier.

The kids (and you) get to groove to Fats Domino, Elvis, Buddy Holly, The Platters, Little Richard, and other top-notchers, including a few true jewels you might have forgotten.

RECOMMENDATION: If you liked "American Graffiti," "Grease," "Happy Days" et. al., it's a pretty safe wager you'll be-bop to this one too.

Jessica Biel as fully-sexed-up exotic dancer? Hmmph. Two fairly-uninspiring, over-choreographed bikini dances (minutes 17 and 35). Uncredited body-double work and nine topless seconds in the third (minute 68), that intentionally minimized via camera-angle-work and what is supposedly hot wax. Two more shadowy topless seconds later on, coupled with a body-double derriere shot. No full-frontal.

Still, Biel was smart to play this career card - while she still can. Biel's bit proves writer/director LinhBui learned well in film school that such irrelevant bait ensures steady DVD cashflow - regardless of actual product quality. Stashing the naughtiest bit in Act III is his lame attempt to force-feed viewers his entire effort.

But what OF the rest of that effort? LinhBui further proves himself the student (not teacher) by shamelessly/heavily borrowing the motif/theme done oh-so-well in "Magnolia" to zig-zag viewers through a quartet of eventually-intertwined individuals, each at a bleak, depressing crossroad searching for redemption. Here force majeure finally falls, but not from frogs - but does that really matter?

"Magnolia" is a tough-to-beat under any circumstance, and this film doesn't come all that close. That shortfall is characterization. In "Magnolia," characters get slow-and-detailed reveal of flaws, sufferings, mistakes and regrets, giving actors ample clay to mold, earning viewer sympathy/interest. Here the characters are simplistic, cliche, fully known out-of-the-gate, so there's simply no drama/interest on deck.

There's well-established, name-brand talent in play (Liotta, Whitaker, Kudrow, Swayze) plus Biel and newbie Redmayne, all far surpassing the thin characters they're dealt. Still, it's not quite enough.

Nevertheless, viewers enamored with "Magnolia" should queue it, this being a sort-of-dose-of-more. As for LinhBui, his heavy reliance here on sexual gimmickry and intellectual embezzlement doesn't yield much hope for future directorial promise.

RECOMMENDATION: If "Magnolia" seriously worked for you, yes. If you're in for Jessica Biel peek-a-boo, no.