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pantryslutWhen I was 21, I had a girlfriend who lived in a household full of queers and arty eccentrics. She was my first girlfriend, actually. As is the tradition of my family, I went on to marry her. As is not the tradition in my family, we broke up very soon thereafter. But I digress.*
Every once in a while, me and my girlfriend and the extended household -- of which I was not a part except on sleepover nights, and follow-up breakfasts of eggs or microwaved baked potatoes and sour cream -- would get it into our heads to rent a porno tape. Because we were all queer and young and edgy and into sex, and porno was all queer and edgy and sexy, too.
This process involved not only renting the tape, but renting the VCR, too. And that required a credit card, for deposit. I think we used mine, that is, my parents'. This felt all risky and dangerous and queer.
The place that we always rented from was called The Bookmark. I can't remember what side of Lansing it was on, but it involved a drive. I can't remember why we chose the Bookmark. Maybe because from the outside, it didn't look so bad. Flourescent lighting, no salacious advertising, a nice big parking lot.
On the inside, it was flourescent lit, but otherwise your typical adult bookstore/video store.
We would pick titles almost at random, because we had no idea what we were looking for, beyond good sex. Often, we defaulted to gay porn because a) one of the household members was the kind of gay man who was icked out by girl parts**, b) some of us were icked out be the hyperfemininity of straight porn stars, and c) some of us were big girlfags anyway, and already knew it.
I don't remember most of the movies we rented. We only did it two or three times total, because the process was such a big production.
The one movie I do remember was Nights in Black Leather, starring some guy called Peter Berlin.
I'm sure we picked the video out because of its name. Some of us also knew already that we were big leathersex perverts, too, you see. I think we were expecting clone-type daddies with facial hair getting it on together, roughly.
What we got was a lean German man with a sort of blonde Dutch bob haircut, wandering the streets of San Francisco having all sorts of casual sex, from a hippie romp in Golden Gate Park and a casual blowjob down near Bayshore, to some heavier stuff behind closed doors.
Peter Berlin was a completely compelling erotic figure for me from the moment he appeared on the screen. Maybe I'm just a sucker for that androgynous yet undeniably masculine vibe he had (very 70's). Maybe I am just a sucker for the proud and unashamed exhibitionist. (My future choice of boyfriends would in no way corroborate this, no way no how.) Maybe I am just a Germanophile and a San Franciscophile. Whatever. This movie, I remembered. And I remembered its star.
Really, you should check out www.peter-berlin.com for an idea of what I'm talking about. (Probably not work-safe; I haven't checked because, well, I'm at work.)
What I didn't know then was that Nights in Black Leather was considered an early gay porn masterpiece, and that very few films would stand up to it.
I never saw (and still haven't seen) Peter Berlin's only other full-length movie, That Boy. But it's now available on DVD, so it won't be long. I have a VHS copy of Nights in Black Leather, but it's out of print. The filmmakers last night said that Mr. Berlin's own copy is missing 20 minutes, and they're looking for a better-quality print.
So that's the preamble, the long explanation of why I wanted to stay up until midnight on a school night to watch a documentary about an elusive yet iconic gay porn star from the 70's.
There were at least a dozen other women in the audience (a packed Castro Theater), I swear :) I wonder how many of them knew about Mr. Berlin before they attended, though. The one gal at the Q&A said she did not.
Mr. Berlin was at the Q&A, btw. He's lived for several decades in San Francisco, and once I saw him up on stage, I realized that I've seen him around town. Like most porn stars, he looks smaller in person.
That Man: Peter Berlin is a very affectionate documentary. You can tell that the filmmakers fell in love with their subject and his story, and who can blame them? He is utterly charming, and he has that mix of arrogance and vulnerability -- especially now, as an older gay man who was once so iconic -- that is so seductive.
The documentary's affection is also its flaw. But it's a flaw that I obviously share, so I'm OK with that.
I am glad that I went, for it reminded me, in some ways, of my roots, and also of how far I have come. How much I have blossomed, to extend the metaphor a bit.
I have no idea if I would be able to express to Mr. Berlin how meaningful his first film was to me. I mean, I'm a girl (sort of). "Hi, I'm a genderqueer fag girl who saw your movie nearly 20 years after it was made, and it had this weird formative effect on my sexuality, and I wanted to thank you"?! I don't think so.
But I'm glad that he's still around, and I'm glad that the moviemakers went to the trouble to document his life in and after porn. Peter Berlin's story is not what you'd expect, and yet it's so tied in with the history of our queer community, especially in San Francisco. Remember, he's one of the rare survivors of the pre-AIDS era. (Being an exhibitionist is the safest kind of sex, it seems.) He wasn't sad when he said from the stage, "all my friends are dead." He was just matter of fact.
His friends are dead, but his fans aren't, to judge from the huge and enthusiastic crowd. I realized on the way home that this is the only time I felt like a true, unalloyed fan girl about anything. I am totally uncritical when it comes to Peter Berlin. And that's saying something.
*Which means I have to leave out the part about eventually getting a restraining order on my gf's behalf against the most, um, colorful of those household residents, for example.
** This household resident, in fact.
Every once in a while, me and my girlfriend and the extended household -- of which I was not a part except on sleepover nights, and follow-up breakfasts of eggs or microwaved baked potatoes and sour cream -- would get it into our heads to rent a porno tape. Because we were all queer and young and edgy and into sex, and porno was all queer and edgy and sexy, too.
This process involved not only renting the tape, but renting the VCR, too. And that required a credit card, for deposit. I think we used mine, that is, my parents'. This felt all risky and dangerous and queer.
The place that we always rented from was called The Bookmark. I can't remember what side of Lansing it was on, but it involved a drive. I can't remember why we chose the Bookmark. Maybe because from the outside, it didn't look so bad. Flourescent lighting, no salacious advertising, a nice big parking lot.
On the inside, it was flourescent lit, but otherwise your typical adult bookstore/video store.
We would pick titles almost at random, because we had no idea what we were looking for, beyond good sex. Often, we defaulted to gay porn because a) one of the household members was the kind of gay man who was icked out by girl parts**, b) some of us were icked out be the hyperfemininity of straight porn stars, and c) some of us were big girlfags anyway, and already knew it.
I don't remember most of the movies we rented. We only did it two or three times total, because the process was such a big production.
The one movie I do remember was Nights in Black Leather, starring some guy called Peter Berlin.
I'm sure we picked the video out because of its name. Some of us also knew already that we were big leathersex perverts, too, you see. I think we were expecting clone-type daddies with facial hair getting it on together, roughly.
What we got was a lean German man with a sort of blonde Dutch bob haircut, wandering the streets of San Francisco having all sorts of casual sex, from a hippie romp in Golden Gate Park and a casual blowjob down near Bayshore, to some heavier stuff behind closed doors.
Peter Berlin was a completely compelling erotic figure for me from the moment he appeared on the screen. Maybe I'm just a sucker for that androgynous yet undeniably masculine vibe he had (very 70's). Maybe I am just a sucker for the proud and unashamed exhibitionist. (My future choice of boyfriends would in no way corroborate this, no way no how.) Maybe I am just a Germanophile and a San Franciscophile. Whatever. This movie, I remembered. And I remembered its star.
Really, you should check out www.peter-berlin.com for an idea of what I'm talking about. (Probably not work-safe; I haven't checked because, well, I'm at work.)
What I didn't know then was that Nights in Black Leather was considered an early gay porn masterpiece, and that very few films would stand up to it.
I never saw (and still haven't seen) Peter Berlin's only other full-length movie, That Boy. But it's now available on DVD, so it won't be long. I have a VHS copy of Nights in Black Leather, but it's out of print. The filmmakers last night said that Mr. Berlin's own copy is missing 20 minutes, and they're looking for a better-quality print.
So that's the preamble, the long explanation of why I wanted to stay up until midnight on a school night to watch a documentary about an elusive yet iconic gay porn star from the 70's.
There were at least a dozen other women in the audience (a packed Castro Theater), I swear :) I wonder how many of them knew about Mr. Berlin before they attended, though. The one gal at the Q&A said she did not.
Mr. Berlin was at the Q&A, btw. He's lived for several decades in San Francisco, and once I saw him up on stage, I realized that I've seen him around town. Like most porn stars, he looks smaller in person.
That Man: Peter Berlin is a very affectionate documentary. You can tell that the filmmakers fell in love with their subject and his story, and who can blame them? He is utterly charming, and he has that mix of arrogance and vulnerability -- especially now, as an older gay man who was once so iconic -- that is so seductive.
The documentary's affection is also its flaw. But it's a flaw that I obviously share, so I'm OK with that.
I am glad that I went, for it reminded me, in some ways, of my roots, and also of how far I have come. How much I have blossomed, to extend the metaphor a bit.
I have no idea if I would be able to express to Mr. Berlin how meaningful his first film was to me. I mean, I'm a girl (sort of). "Hi, I'm a genderqueer fag girl who saw your movie nearly 20 years after it was made, and it had this weird formative effect on my sexuality, and I wanted to thank you"?! I don't think so.
But I'm glad that he's still around, and I'm glad that the moviemakers went to the trouble to document his life in and after porn. Peter Berlin's story is not what you'd expect, and yet it's so tied in with the history of our queer community, especially in San Francisco. Remember, he's one of the rare survivors of the pre-AIDS era. (Being an exhibitionist is the safest kind of sex, it seems.) He wasn't sad when he said from the stage, "all my friends are dead." He was just matter of fact.
His friends are dead, but his fans aren't, to judge from the huge and enthusiastic crowd. I realized on the way home that this is the only time I felt like a true, unalloyed fan girl about anything. I am totally uncritical when it comes to Peter Berlin. And that's saying something.
*Which means I have to leave out the part about eventually getting a restraining order on my gf's behalf against the most, um, colorful of those household residents, for example.
** This household resident, in fact.
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no subject
Date: 2005-06-24 06:54 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-06-24 07:10 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-06-24 07:17 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-06-24 08:19 pm (UTC)Okay, but what about this quote?
"He is utterly charming, and he has that mix of arrogance and vulnerability -- especially now, as an older gay man who was once so iconic -- that is so seductive."
:)
no subject
Date: 2005-06-24 08:25 pm (UTC)