SMOKIN' JOE

I'm going to make an assumption. You've probably never heard of Joe Dallesandro.

He's an actor who spent much of his youth naked in front of the camera for director Paul Morrissey and producer Andy Warhol. You've heard of the latter, I am sure.

Likewise you've probably never heard of Geri Miller, another protege of the Warhol Factory. A cute young woman who was, frankly, a poster child for the coquettish and vapid starlet of the late sixties, or at least that's what she portrayed on screen.

They are interesting because both of these actors contributed to what must be one of the most bizarre and unerotic scenes in film history: the first ten minutes of the Morrisey film TRASH.

I first saw this film in college in a class called, yes, SEX IN CINEMA, and the class was an eye-opener in many ways. First, that a major university offered such a course, and second that the class featured more than a dozen highly erotic films which were reviewed and broken down. It genuinely was a sociogical cinema class, rather than a simple and titillating couple of hours two days a week.

(I watched this film and several others sandwiched between the girlfriends of two of my best buddies. Not by design, but because they had decide to take the class with each other, unaware I'd signed up too. It made for some interesting conversations, though anybody who has read this column before knows they were probably more along

the conversational lines of "how to" than "I can't believes". These two women - and my friends in general - were open and direct about anything sexual,

as were most of my friends at the time.) (As you'd expect, I boned up a few times in that class. Had it not been for my friends' girlfriends being there I probably wouldn't have...weird, but it made it something more daring to have these two women with me and aware I was hard, even if we all knew it wouldn't go anywhere. It was an erotic situation and I was in my early twenties with raging hormones.)

(I'm drifting.)

The movie TRASH starts with Miller trying to give Dallesandro a blowjob but he's not responding. You know right off that this is something different because Joe's ass is center screen, and it's pock-marked with zits and other red blemishes. Joe's a gorgeous guy, but this close up even his ass is unappealing. And I think that's the point. Similarly, when Miller's character decides t

o try a strip tease to get him up, her dance work (and singing) is singularly deflating. It has to be the weirdest and most unerotic strip in the history of film, though she goes the Full Monty with gusto. But it's no wonder Joe's cock remains limp, despite her obvious charms.

The scene ends with the two of them fully nude sitting on the couch doing everything other than having sex.

It was a revelatory scene in my mind, and probably carries a lot more weight than I'm giving it. The sex, while attempted, is gone by the end of the scene, replaced by a mild wandering conversation by two people who just happen to be nude.

Dallesandro also appears in two other Warhol-produced films, FLESH and HEAT. In FLESH he spends roughly his first twenty minutes of screentime fully nude - an early precurser to CFNM (Clothed Female, Naked Male). As he lays in bed talking to a woman he is alternately soft and at-times aroused. But it's not the focus of the conversation nor the scene. He's simply nude and in various states of excitement. Unusual for the time - or any other time - in that his nudity is simply part of the scene, and it's not set up as foreplay. Yes, there's a little sex play, but there's no payoff. It never devolves into direct sex, and the movie moves on from there.

Dallesandro later made his way into the mainstream film community and established himself as a well-known character actor. One of the "I know that guy" players opposite the name-brand stars.

But look up his older stuff. It's not necessarily erotic, though he did do some very poor quality porn (the video q

uality...it's up to you if the fucking is good). But it's the freedom and seeming casualness
of his Morrissey/Warhol days which gets my attention and admiration. In a way it reminds me of my own attitudes during my sexual prime: casual nudity, experimental bisexuality and frank conversations with friends.

(And more than a little blow, if I'm honest here - oddly enough cocaine's main influence on me was to make me take off my clothes. Not sure why, but it wasn't too far a stretch under any circumstances).

Not everything led to sex for me, but everything was tinged with a sexual overtone. Posing nude for my girlfriend and her friends in art classes or dorm rooms...casual nudity around the dorm...sitting between friends' girlfriends in the Sex in Cinema class...strip poker and other games...etc.

Dallesandro is a completely different person, of course, but I see echoes of a day and life that I look back on fondly. And maybe that's the appeal.

Or not.