The Coca−Cola Kid

Undoubtedly, it is a sad irony of Australian cinema that, despite New Australian Cinema (Australian New Wave) movement—unquestionably the country-cum-continent’s greatest era of cinema—being of a relatively ‘nationalistic’ persuasion (especially in comparison to the largely left-leaning movements in Europa during the 1960s-1980s), a number of the greatest Aussie films were directed by complete outsiders, including early masterpieces like Brit Nicolas Roeg’s Walkabout (1971) and Bulgarian-Canadian Ted Kotcheff’s Wake in Fright (1971) aka Outback. While not exactly as highly revered as Roeg and Kotcheff’s films, The Coca−Cola Kid (1985) directed by Serbian renegade auteur Dušan Makavejev (Man Is Not a Bird, Montenegro) is another Australian film that was directed by a foreign auteur that I sincerely believe is one of the greatest and most re-watchable Aussie films ever made. Indeed, while it might be the director’s most overtly commercial and accessible film, as well as a cinematic work that only demonstrates the most glaringly superficial understanding of Australia and Australian culture to the point of grotesque parody, Makavejev’s marvelous little movie is indubitably a dirty gem of absurdist (romantic)comedy that deserves the somewhat ludicrously lofty reputation that Crocodile Dundee (1986) maintains, not least of all because super sassy and sensual Aussie-guidette Greta Scacchi gives what is arguably one of the most erotically eccentric performances in all of cinema history.  Seemingly too patently preternatural for everyday lemming filmgoers and not artsy fartsy or overtly politically-charged enough for the typical insufferable art fag cinephile that suffers from moist panties while watching Jeanne Dielman, 23 Commerce Quay, 1080 Brussels (1975), The Coca-Cola Kid is undoubtedly a film that demands serious critical reevaluation.  Undoubtedly, if the film were not directed by the one-and-only Dušan Makavejev, it would probably be less harshly viewed, but such is the sorry fate of a mensch that makes a masterful avant-garde doc about a subject as unworthy as deranged kosher quack Wilhelm Reich.

 Admittedly, as a fan of the filmmaker’s previous more politically and carnally charged arthouse flicks, I was originally somewhat hesitant about watching a mainstream Hollywood Makavejev movie starring goofy male bimbo Eric Roberts, so naturally I was thoroughly delighted to find that the actor’s male bimboness was put to perfect use in the form of an outstandingly arrogant and lovably narcissistic hotshot ex-marine Coca-Cola marketing executive who rather ridiculously sees utilizing predatory advertising for unhealthy soda products as some sort of noble metaphysical quest of the quasi-patriotic sort. Based on short stories in The Americans, Baby: A Discontinuous Narrative of Stories and Fragments (1972) and The Electrical Experience: A Discontinuous Narrative (1974) by bisexual Aussie writer Frank Moorhouse, who also wrote the film’s screenplay, The Coca−Cola Kid was once described by Janet Maslin as “a corporate satire,” but that would be selling it too short and making it seem like something that would mostly appeal to limp-wristed leftist twats, pedantic film and sociology professors, and self-loathing bourgeois hipsters. Indeed, unlike many real commie filmmakers, anti-communist communist Makavejev assembled a sassy, sensual, and humorously surreal slapstick satire that would also appeal to true blue lumpenproles instead of simply pseudo-intellectual reds that frequent Starbucks.

Virulently mocking The Coca-Cola Company in a ironical fashion where one might assume it is Coke-porn piece were the film silent due to its many exceedingly aesthetically pleasing shots of Coke logos, signs, and even the beverage itself, one can only assume the bigwigs at the soda corporation had no clue what sort of film they were dealing with when they opted to not sue the distributor Cinecom Pictures into oblivion (notably, the film begins with a long disclaimer noting that the Coca-Cola Company had no involvement in the film, which almost seems improbable considering all the eclectic Coke swag that pleasantly pollutes the film). In a sometimes heavyhanded yet nonetheless effective way, Makavejev demonstrates the blood-colored parallels between Coca-Cola and communist movements in a playfully satirical fashion where the viewer feels thirsty for both Coke and nicely tanned goombah gal skin at the end.  Of course, not unlike pinko propaganda, Coke advertisements practically promise an otherworldly utopia, but both communism and soda oftentimes lead to poor health and a premature death.

 While legendary American auteur Robert Altman failed big time with O.C. and Stiggs (1987) in his somewhat valiant attempt to create a decent goofy teenage comedy aimed at the mindless masses, Makavejev demonstrated with The Coca−Cola Kid—a cinematic work that apparently languished in pre-production for about a decade—that he is completely capable of making a film that appeals to both hardened cinephiles and normal people that consider movies to be nothing more than the aesthetic equivalent of cheap sugary soda. Indeed, while I would not go so far as to say that the film is superior to his classics like W.R.: Mysteries of the Organism (1971) and Sweet Movie (1974), it is certainly more re-watchable and addicting. While indubitably one of the great Australian films of the 1980s, it somewhat makes a mockery of Australia in its seemingly superficial and stereotypical depiction of the Outback. In fact, as Neil Rattigan noted in his book Images of Australia: 100 Films of the New Australian Cinema (1991) regarding the film, “There seems little doubt that some of the conspicuous appearances of obvious Australian cultural symbols (kangaroos, didgeridoos, ‘Waltzing Matilda’) in THE COCA-COLA KID are a direct consequence of the director’s unfamiliarity with Australia or the effect of its novelty. The COCA-COLA KID does not achieve quite the mirror of amazement that Roeg’s WALKABOUT reflects, but its narrative is structured around a two-way clash of cultures, one internal to Australian and one external.” Undoubtedly, when it comes down to it, Makavejev's film ultimately says more about the United States (and the viruses known as ‘Americanism’ and ‘globalization’) than the Down Under, but of course that is one of its many charming little novelties from a filmmaker that is the master of charming (and sometimes not-so-charming) little novelties. 

 The eponymous quasi-protagonist of The Coca-Cola Kid is a straightshooting troubleshooting American neo-cowboy with the Germanic surname Becker (Eric Roberts in one of his greatest and most underrated roles) who somewhat absurdly has a “MBA in Business and Theology from Harvard Business School” and believes “Money is god’s muscle.”  Undoubtedly, as a young and handsome Anglo-Saxon go-getter with a mindless devotion to puritanism that suffers from serious sexual hangups, has nil interest in other cultures, and has a profound arrogance towards and intolerance of any beliefs or customs that are not his own, Becker is surely symbolic of Makavejev's view of America as a whole. As The Coca-Cola Company's foremost “First rate point-of-sale man,” Becker is sent to the corporation headquarters in Australia to troubleshoot seemingly imaginary problems in the Outback. A man with a misguided mission that seems to have missed his true calling as a Southern Baptist preacher or wealthy televangelist, Becker immediately baffles the employees of the Australian Coke headquarters, including the head boss Frank Hunter (Max Gillies), who receives a somewhat curious fax from the company in regard to the protagonist reading, “Listen to him. Don’t get angry. Don’t get scared either . . . And do not be surprised.”

While most of the other Coke employees are either disturbed or annoyed by Becker’s absurdly aggressive and quasi-metaphysical approach to advertising, dirty blonde secretary Terri (Greta Scacchi of Robert Altman’s The Player (1992) in arguably the sexiest role of her career)—a divorced single mother who humorously pays her ex-husband alimony each month for their daughter—clearly wants to fuck his brains out as demonstrated by the fact that she is constantly ogling him while her delectable legs are conspicuously spread wide open in front of him. In fact, Terri soon becomes so frustrated by Becker’s blatant disregard for her rather inviting sensual gestures that she nonchalantly accuses him of being a closet homo, stating, “Maybe you’re just not interested in women.” Of course, poor idiosyncratic alpha-male weirdo Becker—a proud ex-marine that seems to have nil interest in premium grade pussy—does not even seem to be aware that Terri is accusing him of being a poofter, as he has his head so far up on his own ass that he cannot be bothered to even acknowledge the fairly overtly aggressive flirting of such a supremely sexy slut single mother. As the viewer soon realizes, one of Becker’s greatest charms is his sort of closest shyness when it comes to exceptionally gorgeous women that want to sit on his babyface and grid their clits into in his flesh. 

 Since Becker has been brought to Australia to troubleshoot and he is quite good at his job, it does not take long for him to realize that there is a rural Outback town named Anderson Valley where not a single person drinks Coca-Cola because they are virtually enslaved by the owner of a local brew. Indeed, Anderson Valley is more or less a soft dictatorship run by a tastelessly charming old fart named T. George McDowell (Bill Kerr of Peter Weir’s Gallipoli (1981)), who started his own soda company in 1924 and refuses to sell out to anyone as he has too much pride to submit to the competition, even if said competition could effortlessly crush his absurdly outmoded operation into oblivion. Unbeknownst to Becker, T. George McDowell is Terri’s estranged daughter. Indeed, in terms of employment, Terri is figuratively sleeping with the enemy (and, of course, later she literally sleeps with the enemy), which makes sense when one considers her seemingly schizophrenic pedigree and bizarre family history. While her father owns his own rival soda company, Terri’s mother was a Coca-Cola model who opted to eventually kill herself because she could not bear her hotheaded hubby T. George’s obsession with his work, namely his fetish for ice. Undoubtedly, Terri is, at the very least, partly attracted to Becker because he reminds her of her cutthroat capitalist father in terms of hardheadedness and alpha-male tenaciousness.  While Becker does not realize it until towards the end of the film, it is ultimately up to him to break Terri's family's curse.  Indeed, only if Becker stops being such an unhinged workaholic will he have what it takes to be Terri's lover lest her end up a perennially lonely, bitter, and disgruntled old man like T. George.

 As if on some sort of important one-man military mission, Becker gets into Marine Corps mode and heads to Anderson Valley in a rented Jeep to spy on T. George McDowell's quite literally antiquated soda operation and see if he can buy the old man out. Rather humorously, Becker almost beats up a butch babe pilot named Juliana (Kris McQuade) when she dares to scare him by flying her plane too close to his Jeep. Luckily, Becker’s heart melts when he finds a wounded kangaroo named ‘Duncan’ and Juliana’s elderly aunt Mrs. Haversham (Colleen Clifford) sitting inside the plane and helps carry them to his Jeep. In fact, Juliana even soon forgets that Becker was about to attack her and compliments him while he is carrying her elderly aunt by stating, “You’re pretty strong for someone so cute.” Needless to say, as a man on a mission with seemingly nil interest in the opposite sex, Becker is hardly enticed by Juliana’s flirting and thus continues his journey to Anderson Valley where he is met with rejection upon rejection after attempting to get in contact with the great enigmatic T. George McDowell. When Becker dares to spy on and take photos of the old man’s lavish, if rather archaic, soda plantation-cum-factory, T. George slyly attempts to shoot him with a shotgun.

Upon escaping the plantation and heading back to the local hotel where he is staying, Becker becomes exceedingly enraged when he discovers that T. George has got him kicked out of his room, so he is forced to sleep outside on the edge of a dangerous cliff where he is greeted the next day by a boorish police constable on a camel who politely serves him tea but then passive-aggressively states to him, “Far away from home? I can’t understand people who can’t stay home. Looking for trouble, taking risks they don’t need.” When the constable whips out a pistol, Becker opts to beat his ass, hogtie him, and then attach his bound body to the end of his Jeep, which he subsequently drives to T. George McDowell's plantation. Rather impressed that Becker has brutally beaten and tortured his best law man, T. George warmly invites the protagonist to see his vintage soda operation, stating, “I like a tenacious man. Come. I’ll show you the plant.” Despite being a rather primitive soda operation that uses ice instead of refrigerators to cool its products, Becker is quite impressed with T. George’s factory and the two rivals get along rather swimmingly, which is really no great surprise as they are more or less kindred spirits. In fact, T. George even gets rather personal and tells Becker about his dead Coca-Cola model wife, though he eventually gets upset and angrily states regarding his belated beloved, “She never understood . . . ice. She bore me a child and soon afterwards kill herself . . . and I’ve never forgiven her.” 

 While T. George ultimately refuses to submit and sell his company, Becker still cannot help but have great respect for the stubborn old man and states to his boss when he gets back to Coca-Cola headquarters, “You know, Frank, he’s got a real class operation up there though. It’s like stepping back into the goddamn 1920s.” As for Frank, he is shocked that Becker was even able to get T. George “flushed out” and congratulates the protagonist on his singular accomplishment. After only talking for a couple minutes, T. George unexpectedly arrives at the office with an entourage of glaringly homely young female singers and proposes to Becker a merger with his company and Coca-Cola called ‘McCoke.’ A master of old school showmanship, T. George even has a skywriter write ‘McCoke’ in the sky to impress Becker and his comrades. Meanwhile, Terri completely infuriates Becker by hiding inside a soda cooler inside the protagonist’s office because, as she meekly states, “I’m hiding from my past” and does not want to be seen by her estranged father T. George. When Becker finally pulls her out of the fridge, Terri tries in vain to explains herself, but he cuts her off, calls her a “half-wit,” and demands that she quit her job voluntarily lest she be officially fired and left with a tarnished employment record. Despite firing her, Terri leaves Becker a specially wrapped present from her daughter ‘DMZ’ (Rebecca Smart) made for him that contains various special presents, including a homemade card, seashells, and a copy of The Americans, Baby by Frank Moorhouse featuring Scacchi naked on the cover and draped in an American flag. A couple days before, DMZ—a little girl who proudly describes the origin of her nickname being as follows, “That’s what my parents call me. It means demilitarized zone. When they throw things at each other . . . I’m off-limits”—met Becker at the office and was impressed when he told her, “You can call me the Coca-Cola Kid.” Despite the fact that Becker had to beat up her father Kim (Chris Haywood) for causing a huge scene and physically assaulting both him and Terri in the Coca-Cola office, DMZ seems to want the protagonist to be her new daddy. Unlike with her mom and most other women, Becker also seems to rather like DMZ, thus underscoring the protagonist's rather childlike mentality. 

 Despite the fact he fired her hot little ass in a rather rude and heartless fashion, Terri does not stop in her bold quest to bone Becker, who categorically refuses to even have a simple drink with her, even after she takes the effort to chase him down and spy on him. Indeed, when Becker hires a band, including an elderly aboriginal man named ‘Mr. Joe’ (Steve Dodd of Fred Schepisi’s The Chant of Jimmie Blacksmith (1978)), to create a Coca-Cola sing with a supposed authentic “Australian sound,” Terri lurks around the recording studio and admires the protagonist as he dictates over the insufferably hokey hired hack musicians. Unbeknownst to Becker, Terri is friends with some of the band members and manages to convince them into having the protagonist attend a hip drug-fueled party at her apartment. To play a somewhat sick trick against her would-be-beau, Terri even coerces one of her gay male friends into dressing in drag and kissing Becker, who seems incapable of spotting a tranny, including one that clearly resembles a gawky man. Ultimately, Becker is so hopelessly embarrassed after being caught kissing a man that he sobs like a little girl and has to be consoled by Terri’s daughter, who he complains to in a hilariously vulnerable fashion, “This is so embarrassing. I’m so embarrassed.” In a rare moment where he reveals that he may indeed have some interest in Terri, Becker states to DMZ, “She’s a dangerous woman, your mother” and she replies, “She’s an unhappy woman.” When Becker attempts to break up a fight between Terri and her ex-husband Kim, he soon is knocked out cold after the former breaks a bottle over his head. Somewhat strangely, Becker spends the rest of the night getting drunk on the street with Kim, who states of his ex Terri that, “She is an incurable star-fucker” and “The woman we’re both in love with.” Needless to say, Becker denies he is in love with Terri, but that does not stop Kim from attempting to persuade the romantically hapless protagonist to hookup with her.  Indeed, Kim clearly still loves Terri, but he seems to realize that Becker is simply the better and more attractive man.

 In a somewhat quirky attempt to buyout T. George since the Coca-Cola Company is clearly not interested in the old man's idea of a merger, Becker has about a dozen or so Coke trucks driven to his factory by drivers sporting extra tacky Santa Claus outfits. Unbeknownst to all parties involved, one of the Santas is Terri dressed in drag. Indeed, big titty Terri dons Santa drag in a desperate attempt to both seduce Becker and prevent him and T. George from killing each other. Needless to say, T. George takes the new Coca-Cola fleet as a major insult to his giant ego and demands that the trucks be immediately removed from his factory, thus sparking a short but sweet brawl between the employees of the rival companies that involves sweaty rednecks fighting dudes in Santa costumes. After subsequently having Becker as the quest of honor at a rather festive rotary dance, T. George decides to go out in a literal blaze out glory instead of simply fading away by submitting to Coke and losing his antiquated soda empire, so he conspires to blow up himself and the protagonist inside his factory during a late night meeting. Luckily, instead of meeting up with T. George that night and being unwittingly blownup in an old fart’s factory, Becker is finally seduced by Terri, who proves in more ways than one that sometimes love does conquer all.

 Indeed, in what proves to be a truly festive unexpected present that he eventually personally unwraps, Becker comes back to his hotel room to find Terri lying on his bed in a Santa outfit. While Becker initially plays hard-to-get in his sort of passive-aggressive male bimbo way and attempts to throw her out, he finds himself being unable to argue with Terri when she states, “If we got sex out of the way, we could relax,” so the two passionately fuck while pillow feathers cover their flesh in what is indubitably a truly iconic Makavejevian fuck scene. Rather curiously, it is only when Terri is dressed in drag in a Coca-Cola-colored Santa outfit that Becker finally becomes aroused enough to bone her, but luckily the protagonist is not scared away by her delectable dago curves.  Needless to say, T. George gets the surprise of a lifetime when he arrives at Becker’s hotel room to yell at the protagonist for not keeping his appointment from the night before and unexpectedly discovers his estranged daughter, who he has not seen in over seven years, completely naked in the room. While T. George naturally accuses Becker of hitting him “below the belt,” Terri comes to his defense and states, “Leave him alone, Dad. I came of my own accord . . . to save you from him. Or him from you. I don’t know which anymore.”

 When T. George succumbs to a pathetic pity-party and complains, “The child owes no natural affection to the parent,” Terri retorts, “I’ve always loved you . . . in spite of everything,” though she subsequently leaves Anderson Valley for good, thus giving her daddy all the reasoning he needs to go ahead with his big plans in regarding to blowing himself up. When T. George actually goes through with his big explosive plans and commits suicide by blowing himself up in his own factory, Becker becomes so disillusioned with his job and even his own entire Weltanschauung that he immediately quits his prestigious position at Coca-Cola and decides to dedicate his life to Terri and her daughter DMZ.  Indeed, without looking back, Becker makes the biggest mistake of his life by hooking up with a mentally unstable single mother of the quasi-nymphomaniacal and sometimes quite physically violent sort.  Luckily, a mentally deranged hotel bellboy believes Becker is some sort of secret agent and gives him $50,000, so the protagonist has a nice gift to give to his new family. While The Coca-Cola Kid concludes on an absurdly happy note, auteur Makavejev demonstrates his wonderfully warped sense of humor by ending the film with a completely random apocalyptic inter-title that reads, “A week later . . . while cherries blossomed in Japan the next World War began.” Indeed, as far as a jovial cultural pessimistic like Makavejev is concerned, even if you fix your life for the better and rid yourself of all your negative and/or otherwise repellent personality traits and devout yourself to selfless love, you still might be killed in some sort of nuclear apocalypse.  Needless to say, we can only assume that Makavejev is not a fan of Ronnie Reagan or Ronald McDonald.

 Notably, in an interview with Cahiers du Cinéma, frog literary theorist, philosopher, and alpha-semiotician Roland Barthes—a man that hardly be described as a cinephile, even though he sometimes wrote about the artistic medium—somewhat strangely argued, “What I ask myself now is if there aren’t arts which are more or less reactionary by their very natures and techniques. I believe that of literature; I don’t believe a literature of the left would be possible. A problematic literature, yes—that is, a literature of suspended meaning: an art which provokes responses but doesn’t supply them. I think literature is that in the best of cases. As for cinema, I have the impression that, in this respect, it’s very close to literature, and because of its structure and material, it’s a lot better prepared than theatre is for a certain responsibility for forms that I’ve called the technique of suspended meaning. I think cinema has trouble supplying clear meanings and that, in its present state, this shouldn’t be done. The best films (for me) are those that suspend meaning the most . . . an extremely difficult operation, requiring at once great technique and total intellectual honesty. For that means disentangling oneself from all the parasite meanings.” While Barthes generally makes me want to barf and represents pretty much everything I loathe about French intellectuals, his somewhat preternatural theory of cinema certainly applies to the films of Makavejev, including his most mainstream effort The Coca-Cola Kid which, although expressing certain strong political and metapolitical sentiments, is largely meaningless, but of course that is one of the things that makes it so great as a piece of oftentimes unpredictable absurdist rom-com of the rather anarchic and iconoclastic sort. Indeed, cinema history’s greatest (and only) anti-Coke absurdist romantic-comedy, Makavejev’s exercise in sardonic Aussie slapstick surrealism is pure frolicsome iconoclasm that manages to mock both Coca-Cola and Lenin, as well as nationalism and internationalism, with outstanding eccentric ease.  Indeed, one must certainly salute a filmmaker with the talent to offend both Reaganites and Trotskyites alike while employing a hodgepodge of aesthetic waste from both old school commies and contemporary corporations.

 Despite being innately anti-Coca-Cola in terms of sentiment, The Coca−Cola Kid manages to depict the soda itself in a strangely sexy fashion in multiple scenes, as if the sugary bubbly liquid was the magical vaginal fluids of an immaculately beauteous Greek goddess like Aphrodite or Eros. In that sense, the film is like Makavejev’s previous cinematic works in that it breaks down and deconstructs aesthetic meaning in an oftentimes tongue-in-cheek, if not just plain shamelessly anarchistic, fashion. Undoubtedly, the filmmaker’s singularly provocative philosophy towards manipulating politically-charged cinematic aesthetics is made quite clear in a December 2000 interview with Ray Privett where he stated, “I am very fond of TRIUMPH OF THE WILL. It is one of my favorite films of all time. In THE FALL OF BERLIN I was absolutely surprised to discover that Mikhail Chiaureli, the director, who was one of Stalin’s favorite directors, was directly inspired by two sequences of TRIUMPH OF THE WILL. This was one of Stalin’s top films, about the victory over Germany, but still he gets inspiration from TRIUMPH OF THE WILL, though it is never credited. And this inspiration is not ironic, it is used for heroic, pathetic portions of the film. It’s unbelievable. One example is of Stalin coming down from the sky, which is right out of the beginning of TRIUMPH OF THE WILL, when Hitler comes down out of the sky. And the other part is this fantastic meeting in Nuremberg where people say where they’re from. But this type of public performance in TRIUMPH OF THE WILL was itself stolen by the Nazis from the Communist street theatre.” When Privett then proposed that Makavejev stole from yet, at the same time, made fun of Stalin, Chiaureli, Hitler, Riefenstahl, and the early ‘Russian’ communists, the auteur retorted, “You can say that, but you can also say I was inspired by and paid homage to them. They were the best propagandists of their own (horrible) countries. Being in movies, we are all in the same country – the country of movies. You can say it was Russian or German, but in movies it is all the same country. It’s a country of dreams. So I was treating them as uncles and aunts I was borrowing from. Perhaps they were uncles and aunts who I didn’t particularly like. But they still let me borrow the car.”  Indeed, in a rather bizarre fashion, Makavejev undoubtedly pays winking homage to the Coca-Cola aesthetic in The Coca−Cola Kid, but that is one of the reasons he is a great filmmaker as an auteur that is, relatively speaking, aesthetically apolitical, even when attempting to make some sort of political statement.

 Quite notably, in his celluloid swansong, the autobiographical documentary Rupa u dusi (1994) aka Hole in the Soul, auteur Makavejev demonstrates his happy-go-lucky contempt for Coca-Cola by hanging out with a large dapperly dressed pig in a movie theater and asking someone if the animal enjoys the rather popular tooth-decaying soft drink. Of course, as a (ex)Yugoslavian Serb that has lived all around the world, Makavejev is no stereotypical feeble-brained white liberal bourgeois philistine and his distaste for Coca-Cola is quite cultivated, as he did much in-depth research on the company in preparation for the film. In fact, Makavejev was not just trying to be quirky when he opted to make the film’s protagonist a sort of Evangelical salesman as indicated when he stated to art critic Alan G. Artner, “I did incredible research on Coca-Cola and discovered a kind of religious background. Coca-Cola started in the South, after the Civil War, in a time of depression and nervosity. It was a soothing drink, calming people down. They really wanted mankind to be happy. They also had this great democratic idea that kings and presidents and proletarians all drank the same thing. Strangely enough, this gets in touch with some of the dreams of Lenin, you know, a society in which everybody is satisfied.” Indeed, while The Coca-Cola Kid can be simply viewed as a “light comedy” (which was Makavejev’s self-admitted intention), it is also a shockingly subtextual work where the deep bizarre truths it reveals are ironically hidden inside the most absurdly humorous and improbable of scenarios. Of course, one of the great truths that the film also reveals is that Greta Scacchi is unequivocally one of the most effortlessly sexy and sensual bitches of cinema history.  Indeed, one single ass, beaver, or tit shot of Scacchi in undoubtedly more sexually potent than a thousand fuck flicks.

-Ty E