This week's New York devotes two articles (nearly 3,000 words combined) to Inside Deep Throat, the new documentary about the pioneering skin flick.

First, Ken Tucker weighs in with the review, stating "Inside Deep Throat s flaws are few."

Next comes Dave Itzkoff, who profiles Deep Throat star Harry Reems, and seems to revel in that film's endearing flaws:

To contemporary eyes, Deep Throat is almost charming in its lack of technique, with its grainy film stock, crude editing, and extreme close-ups of pasty bodies.


Yuck. He also quotes Reems as saying, It wasn t uncommon to see people sweating profusely in the sex scenes because of the lighting... Plus, you have a handheld camera two inches away from your genitals. Not the easiest of conditions to have a successful sexual encounter.

Yeah, we bet.

Say what you will for New York's re-vamped Culture Pages, at least they found the right writer to cover this subject. As Itzkoff wrote in his bildungsmaxim, Lads:

I don't mean to brag, but I can masturbate to anything. There is simply no set of stimuli that my brain is not capable of construing as an image intended to induce arousal, no form that cannot be contorted and manipulated in my mind until it triggers that familiar message from my brain to my crotch, the one that creates the oppressive bulge in my pants that will not relent until I deal with it in the only way I know how. Pornography was most frequently the culprit when such material was still novel to me, but ever since they took the plotlines and the production value out of smut, who's to say I know it when I see it anymore?


Anything, Dave? Have you tried Amy Sohn's column?
The Afterlife of a Porn Star [NYM]
Porn, Again [NYM]
Inside Deep Throat [Official Site]