What Are YOU Doing After The Orgy?

If the title question was being directed at the beautiful Christine Lindberg, it's a fair one, and the answer would have been: "Plenty."

This, Lindberg's first film, was followed by close to 22 others including Thriller - A Cruel Picture ('74) and Norifumi Suzuki's amazing Sex and Fury ('73).

Known as Rotmanad ('70) in Sweden, What Are You Doing After The Orgy? is not a film I have a clear memory of.

It is a title I have never forgotten.

Mary Millington was publisher David Sullivan's pornographic "It" girl. Millington was immensely popular in British flesh mags, so her transition to film seemed natural. Unfortunately, her movies, though successful, were busts, and she faded quickly.

Due to the harshness of British censorship at the time, the only pornographic thing about Come Play With Me were the centerfolds Mary did to promote the flick.

From the director of Scarface, Carlito's Way, and Dressed To Kill.

Yes, Brian De Palma made this in '72 after Hi, Mom.

Although it played at Melbourne's premier porn palace, it is not, in fact, a sex movie at all, even though it is very sexy.

Orson Welles appears as a tap dancer (!)


Light-hearted, mildly erotic sex comedy that played in one Melbourne venue, the Roma, for an extraordinary two years.

Again, a fair question, and I don't have any answers.

From the director of The Vampire Happening.

I can't argue with the claim that Janine Reynaud (pictured) was a "luscious beauty".

I love this -- "A macabre tryst with death and hell's bloody speedway".

After the success of Bedroom Mazurka, the Swedish softcore pipe opened up.

Danish director John Hilbard died in 2001; he left a string of good-spirited sex flicks.

If anybody can help me identify this film, I'd appreciate it.

It could be a retitling of The Bizarre Life of Dominas ('69) or Henri Pachard's The Bizarre Ones ('68) or neither. Pachard's film is a fairly brutal roughie, so I'm unconvinced that this is that film -- especially since it is aimed at those who enjoyed Case of the Smiling Stiffs, a retitled, early Sean Cunningham sex comedy.


'65 thriller with a little tension.

"Bed her late than never!" Love it.

Euro title is Le Voyageur.

The star, Marie-France Broquet, was a stunningly beautiful woman who had a short career in "Continental Films".

Agnar Mykle, a Norwegian, had a fascinating life, as did this novel.

In '58, Mykle and his publisher were charged with publishing obscene and immoral material after 'Song of the Red Ruby', a semi-autobiographical -- and beautiful -- novel, was published.

Mykle's career was ruined by the controversy that surrounded this case. He became a recluse and co-wrote a book about puppet theater, Dukketeater. It is revered in in its native country.

Now, his books are considered classics of Norwegian literature, and he is credited with being a major influence on the liberalization of sexuality and censorship in Scandinavia in the late 50's and into the 60's.

The film borrows elements of the novel, but it errs on the side of mild farce (with sex).

Mykle's book celebrates sexuality and nature; the film does possess a gentleness and honesty about its subject that Mykle might have appreciated.

Not Suitable For Children

"What the Swedes are doing sexually today is so far advanced it makes the rest of the world look positively inadequate," the ad mat declared.

Wow! What the heck were these Swedes doing? And what's a Swede? I asked myself back in 1970. I wanted to know. I wanted to find out as much as I could about these "Swedish sexual practices". Perhaps I could learn how to make the world feel inadequate, too.

There was just one problem (no, make that two): I was only 8 years old, and I didn't know what "inadequate" meant yet.

But that didn't stop me from being curious. These ad mats were my first exposure to the birds and the bees. They were my pornography, my secret stash, and they were delivered every Thursday in my father's newspaper. I had only to cut them out after my mother had read the Death Notices and checked the Weather.

The Times was Greater Union's venue of choice for softcore porn from Europe; probably derived its name from Times Square. Made sense. It was a tiny little theatre that wasn't associated with Melbourne's official porno theatres, The Star and The Barrel. It had a legitimacy that allowed punters to duck in and duck out and not worry about being seen by a neighbor or co-workers. It filled a need and did so discreetly.

It's interesting to note that the listings for Melbourne's city cinemas would often feature a "Hurry Last Weeks" line, a gentle reminder to punters that their opportunity to see said movie was running out.

The Times did not operate on Sunday, an indicator that its customers were office workers.

'Nudist Paradise' had me in a spin. It was filmed in "Nudiscope" for heaven's sakes, and "nature color".

"Nudiscope?" Was that better than "Cinemascope" and "Technoscope?" Had to be. When my eyes fell upon this enticing ad mat and started to bug out, I convinced myself that in order to film people nude, you needed a Nudiscope camera to do it. That was why 'Nudist Paradise' was filmed with such cameras, right? It made complete sense.

The baffling aspect of the ad mat, however, was that the film was rated "M" (for Mature audiences). It baffled me because I was allowed to watch M-rated films if my parents accompanied me; but if 'Nudist Paradise' was really as full of nudity as my 10 year old mind imagined, how could I be allowed to see it? Had they made a mistake with the rating? Whatever they'd done, I had to see the film before someone got wise to their mistake.

I approached my mother and asked her if I could see a new film that was playing in the city.

"What film?" she asked me.

"Just a film," I replied.

"What is it?"

"It's an M-rated film," I said.

"Well, I don't know about that," she continued. "Who's going to take you?"

"You can. Or dad can."

"We'll see."

Later that night, after I dried the dishes with my mother, she brought me the newspaper and asked me to point to the film I wanted to see.

Where the ad mat had once been there was now a neat, square hole.

I was somewhat busted.

"Oh, I think it ripped off and it's in my room," I explained.

"Go and get it."

I disappeared and returned with my massive ad mat scrapbook. I placed it in front of my mother and, using two hands to open the thick, cardboard cover, flipped forward to where I'd pasted in 'Nudist Paradise'. Sheepishly, I pointed to it.

"What's that?" she asked, as if she was seeing double.

"That's the film," I said.

"THAT'S the film?" She shook her head in disgust. "I don't think you'll be seeing that rot." She emphasized "rot" and gave me a look of deep disappointment that haunted me for months. "Why would anybody go to see that?"

I had no answers.

"And what kind of theatre is that?" she said, pointing to the 'Star Adult Cinema' logo.

"Kids go there, too," I insisted

She grunted and glared at me. "Not my kids."

I paused and closed the book. "It's only rated M."

"It's not suitable for little boys. Or anybody."

I paused the pause of a semi-defeated man. I nodded, as if to agree with my mum's assessment of the film's unsuitability. I hoped that that would soften her up for what I blurted out next: "Mum, maybe dad's going to see it. I could see it with him."

My blurt got me a look that killed and this: "Your dad's not interested in things like that. Now go to bed."

Maybe I was wrong about the magazines I'd found in the garage while I was nailing carpet to the seat of my Billy Cart. Maybe they belonged to somebody else.

Anyway, that was that.

My attempt to see 'Nudist Paradise' failed, as had my attempt to see 'Born Losers'.

I had two strikes against me, but I wasn't out yet.

As for 'Nudiscope'? It was a process that found no supporters in our house.

Today, almost four decades later, The Star, the first and greatest of Melbourne's porno cinemas, still remains in operation. Renamed The Crazy Horse, it continues to serve loyal punters at 34 Elizabeth St., Melbourne. Just don't roll up expecting horse porn from Brazil.

The cinema can be found at: h***://www.crazyhorsecinema.com/ (replace ***'s with "ttp")

The "Sex in the Office" ad mat , a '71 film, was pasted forever into my beloved scrapbook before my father even got a chance to open the newspaper that morning. It was Gold! I took out an entire section of the paper so there would be no perfect square holes for my father to query. I stuffed it into my schoolbag and threw it from the bus window on the way to school.

As you can see, it's quite a find. My first question was: Has she been using that drill on her breasts? This was followed by: Wouldn't that hurt? It annoyed me that "Don't miss it" was plastered across the bloody damage, but I was grateful also because my young mind was not yet ready for sex of this nature. And certainly not sex and violence.

My father owned a printing company that had offices. Did this kind of thing go on in his offices? My brother and I had worked for him on our school holidays, but we'd never witnessed anybody drilling their breasts. They didn't even have drills at my father's factory. They had girls, though, and most of them had breasts.

Back in the good old days, Village's East End cinema complex, which had three screens, projected a diverse catalog of European softcore pornography. All the big chains screened lots of Euro softcore in the 70's. It was terribly cut, of course, by the prudish Australian censor, but it was plentiful.

To a young lad like myself, the ad mats were the movie, and when I caught up with many of these titles years later, most disappointed.

When I finally learned that 'Nudist Paradise' was a drab documentary that had been produced in 1959, and was as tame as a one-legged dog on Prozac , I was crushed. I stopped believing in "Nudiscope" a couple of years after I stopped believing in Santa.