The great Detroit poet Iggy Pop once sang, "I wish life could be Swedish magazines." Had Iggy seen the mouth-watering Close-Ups, the line might have been different.
But, if life can't be an Andrew Blake masterpiece, at least you can spend 118 minutes of your existence watching one, and this is the one to watch. Blake, one of the most evocative, sensual directors in porn, once again raises the class ante with his latest vision. Meaning, if you're looking for a video shot in some depressing motel room featuring a girl getting a Louisville Slugger shoved up her battered rectum, this ain't that.
Close-Ups is a stylized tour de porn, a languid, beautifully shot offering that dishes out the gorgeous fanta-sex in teasing, wordless dollops, accompanied only by an evocative soundtrack that recalls Roxy Music's moody Avalon album. Blake's women are all unattainable, runway-ripe goddesses, and they can't keep their hands off themselves. Who can blame them?
Much of the film is a passionate love letter to female masturbation, something Blake clearly knows like Vermeer knew light. Other than Jean Val Jean's turn with Nicole, the movie is an all-girl affair. Two stunning lovelies and a cigarette heat things up, hot-boxing each other's hot boxes. Jacqueline vogues vag on a marble staircase, Paola Rey gets downright wicked all on her lonesome, and well, there's just too much to list. Most scenes are bookended with luscious, blond Lorriane indulging in herself in glorious black and white, a deft touch from the master.
Pre-noms: Best Director - Film, Best Art Direction - Film and Best Editing - Film.