Arts and Manners

The Arrogant and the Ugly

For years I’ve been puzzled by the term “adult film.” The Progressive critics of America deem that accolade a considerable notch above an Oscar. They award it most gingerly, and almost never to a domestic film. Yet nobody has ever told us what it is that makes a film “adult.” And I, for one, was uncertain for years, but I am no longer. Having seen the most recent entry, The Proud and the Beautiful (a French production, of course, based on a story by, of course, Jean-Paul Sartre), I know: What makes a movie “adult” is a cameraman who can focus on cockroaches and a scriptwriter who uses words which, customarily, are chalked by nasty little boys on nasty drab walls.

WS

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William S. Schlamm

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The Arrogant and the Ugly

For years I’ve been puzzled by the term “adult film.” The Progressive critics of America deem that accolade a considerable notch above an Oscar. They award it most gingerly, and almost never to a domestic film. Yet nobody has ever told us what it is that makes a film “adult.” And I, for one, was uncertain for years, but I am no longer. Having seen the most recent entry, The Proud and the Beautiful (a French production, of course, based on a story by, of course, Jean-Paul Sartre), I know: What makes a movie “adult” is a cameraman who can focus on cockroaches and a scriptwriter who uses words which, customarily, are chalked by nasty little boys on nasty drab walls.