MAGNET contributing writer Jud Cost is sharing some of the wealth of classic films he’s been lucky enough to see over the past 40 years. Trolling the backwaters of cinema, he has worked up a list of more than 500 titles—from the silent era through the ’90s—that you may have missed. A new selection, all currently available on DVD, appears every week.
Sex, Lies, And Videotape (1989, 99 minutes)
Steven Soderbergh’s frank treatment of a sexually repressed young woman, her cheating husband and an unusual fetish of his college friend is credited with triggering a bountiful new wave of independent films from the 1990s.
To their friends, it might seem like the perfect marriage. It isn’t. Ann Bishop Mullany (Andie MacDowell) is in therapy over sexual issues with her husband, a Baton Rouge, La., attorney. “Are you still keeping things from John?” asks Ann’s therapist. Painfully shy at discussing private matters, she ducks the question. “I’m really angry with him right now,” she says. “He’s invited this old college friend to stay at our house, and he didn’t even ask me.”
Ann does reluctantly volunteer, “I’ve been going through this thing where I don’t want John to touch me. The few times I have felt like being touched, I was by myself.” The doctor asks the obvious follow-up: “Did you do anything about it?” “What do you mean?” asks Ann, murmuring “Oh … oh … oh,” and blushing visibly once she gets his drift.
John (Peter Gallagher) cancels an afternoon appointment to swing by the home of local bartender Cynthia Bishop (Laura San Giacomo) and brings her a small succulent plant as a gift. Half an hour later, as he begins to put on his undershirt, John says, “I’ve gotta get back to the office.” Mildly disappointed, Cynthia replies, “I only get one today? Look, John, If you want to leave, leave. Don’t flatter yourself. My life doesn’t revolve around these little get-togethers.” He laughs, “Hey, Cyn, tell me how you really feel.” He informs her he has a college friend visiting, and they’d better cool it for awhile. Cynthia muses, “You know, I’d like to do it at your house sometime. I must admit, the thought of doing it in my sister’s bed gives me a perverse thrill.”
Stubbing out a Pall Mall into the overflowing ashtray of his white convertible, John’s college pal (James Spader) pulls into the driveway and unloads all his worldly possessions, stuffed into an army-surplus dufflebag. “Ma’am, I’m Graham Dalton,” he says to Ann, surprised at his scruffy appearance. “May I use your bathroom?” he asks, then has to inquire “Where is it?” before she gives directions. “Do you like strawberries?” he says, handing her a brown paper bag. “Oh, thank you, that’s real sweet,” she says, sighing audibly before he’s out of earshot.
The next day, Ann and Graham, in the middle of an all-day apartment search for him, at John’s insistence, have stopped for lunch. “Can I tell you something personal?” asks Ann, sipping a glass of chardonnay. “It’s up to you,” says the soft-spoken Graham. With the coast clear, John makes a phone call: “Cindy, John. Meet me at my house in exactly one hour.” “You are scum,” she says. “I’ll be there.”
