Written and Directed by Fenton Bailey and Randy Barbato

Watching the documentary Inside Deep Throat, while vastly entertaining, is also an unnerving and depressing experience. Not because stud-in-arms Harry Reems is now a born-again Christian living in Utah, or that Linda Lovelace died on a lonely stretch of Colorado highway after years of claiming she was raped and forced to endure humiliation at the hands of Deep Throat's director Jerry Damiano. No, Inside Deep Throat is bound to make all rational human beings sick to their stomachs because in the 33 years that have passed since that film's release, American attitudes regarding sexuality and free speech haven't changed one iota. In fact, they've gotten worse. In ways that future historians may never really sort out, the Bush era of repression, denial, and un-Constitutional infringements on civil liberties sinks even lower than the age of Nixon. Hell, John Mitchell might have been a scumbag, but even he refrained from covering up marble breasts at the Justice Department.

After all, the government report on the societal impact of pornography was, in Nixon's time, a statistical and scientific document, even if it was ignored by officials who weren't thrilled with its findings. Today, as with the Meese Report of the Reagan era, "studies" focus almost exclusively on anecdotal data and bullshit assumptions. In other words, feelings trump hard fact. It's enough that pornography be deemed valueless and dangerous by a group of hypocritical white old men, despite the overwhelming evidence to the contrary. Then, as now, strong female sexuality (where women suck cock without apology and actually insist on pleasure) is an assault on "traditional values," which, if defined with full honesty, are little more than ways to ensure male supremacy in the workplace and the bedroom.

Deep Throat made a big splash in 1972 not because it was great cinema (in fact, it's an embarrassing piece of shit, defined by poor acting and ridiculous dialogue), but rather due to its popularity among the mainstream. Celebrities were seen at screenings from coast to coast, and the lines around the block spoke to an acceptance that had been waiting to spring forth. I have no doubt that most people went because it was trendy and the thing to do, but the film became fodder for talk show hosts, columnists, and even the usually humorless world of politics. And this was far from a regional or "elite" pleasure. If you were an American, you were expected to attend and discuss the revolutionary impact of oral sex on screen. Finally, the overcoat crowd could share a cup of coffee with the suits. The hipsters and the squares could mingle together for one of the few times in our history.

Although a great deal of skepticism should be applied to the final box office tally of $600 million, it is a fact that an initial $25,000 investment turned into a juggernaut of quick cash. Most of the profits went to the mob of course, with the filmmakers and actors seeing little for their hard work. And when we meet Lovelace as an older, bitter woman, we come to understand (though she would deny it) that her rage stems not from being exploited in a sexual manner, but rather a financial one. In other words, she would have been the film's grand champion had she made money from the project. Instead, Lovelace lived in poverty, faced constant scrutiny and termination, and eventually, near the end of her days, cynically used her name to make a little cash. She had a right to be pissed, of course, but her moral crusade only made her look foolish. Somehow I think she would have chosen a six-figure cashier's check over Jesus.

The film gracefully takes us back to those days of yore, using interviews to coax memories from an impressive list of pop culture icons: Helen Gurley Brown, Carl Bernstein, Dick Cavett, Larry Flynt, Al Goldstein, Hugh Hefner, Camille Paglia, Bill Maher, Erica Jong, Norman Mailer, and Alan Dershowitz. Each adds to the overall context and sense of joy they (and much of the country) felt during this time of transition, although they also bring us back to reality, as it was soon realized that getting rid of Tricky Dick had little to do with remaining sexually liberated. Democrats, it was soon demonstrated, could be just as hostile to the display of the sexual act. And when Harry Reems was actually put on trial for his role in Deep Throat, a chill went across the American landscape--"artists" (even those as untalented as Mr. Reems) could be punished for their "art." A successful prosecution could prevent the release of books, articles, paintings, and animation; anything that could be used to transmit erotic material to the masses.

Still, despite the constant war being fought between those who seek to treat adults like children and those who believe in the sanctity of the human mind, we have taken porn from the back alleys to the front of the class. Mammoth conventions are an annual event, adult film stars are themselves pop stars of a sort, and nearly everyone--whether they admit it or not--has seen a so-called "dirty movie." That's not to say we can kick back and take porn's existence for granted, but the now multi-billion-dollar industry does have a reach that transcends mere perversion and "sickness." Few need to walk in shame from the adult video racks, and masturbation, while still treated with furry-palmed contempt by a wide swath of Christian fascists, is more a source of laughs and nervous jitters than condemnation and hellfire. However, no sooner do I finish that sentence than I am reminded of the FCC's reign of terror in recent years, and the near riot conditions that existed after Janet Jackson's nipple allegedly offended white trash beer guzzlers who have no qualms about beating their compliant wives while the young ones remain within earshot. So perhaps we've changed (some of us, anyway), but the forces that can slap us in jail or inflict brutal fines still bathe in puritanical loathing and self-righteous judgment. Nixon, Clinton, or Bush--same shit all around.

And I was glad to see old Flynt nemesis Charles Keating make an appearance, still unaware that he threw away his moral authority the day he bilked taxpayers out of billions for his financial crimes. But the crooks and felons who happen to wear white collars will always point to the genitals, for few things have the power to distract us from true moral rot than the shocking idea that people engage in sex for reasons other than procreation. Somehow, we're still at the stage where fraud, embezzlement, and outright theft don't have the power to appall in quite the same way as consenting adults getting sweaty for a few moments. And that's the essential power of Inside Deep Throat--we're laughing at the madness of it all, but deep down there's a rage that can never really go away. We've been hoodwinked and bamboozled and yet, despite knowing the score, we keep falling for the same song and dance time and time again. No one in full possession of their faculties could argue that pornography harms a living soul, yet we seem to accept the idea that too much sex--even if only visually expressed without actual participation--creates generations of hateful, amoral zombies, wholly incapable of healthy relationships. Research you say? Who needs it? So-called morality, as currently defined and expressed in American culture, is nothing more than the triumph of superstition over intellect. It's more about posturing, then, than anything resembling actual behavior.

Inside Deep Throat might not convince anyone that porn is a flourishing art form, but expression need not have the backing of talent to warrant protection. From a strict legal standpoint, the guttural rages of some two-bit performance artist are the equivalent of Henry James or Van Gogh. Educated criticism and friendly debate will sort out the "good" from the "bad," but these labels are only opinions that help guide consumers and aficionados, not stamps of approval from a legislative body. And yet, 2005 might as well be 1972 for all we've (not) learned on the matter. And when creeps like Reems convert to the madness of religion, it only feeds the ever-hungry forces of darkness that gleefully point to the "proof" that pornography is something to be rescued from, rather than escaped into. Producer Brian Grazer and his talented group of filmmakers have given us the first real conversation piece of the movie season; a way to remember, yes, but also a dire vision of our present and future course. Inside Deep Throat is a peek inside that all-American passion for suppression, omission, and evasion; a world without heroes and yet, defiantly, a never-ending supply of rank opportunists.

Review Posted: 2.25.05