365 Days (R) Directors: Barbara Bialowas, Tomasz Mandes Stars: Michele Marrone, Anna Maria Sieklucka, Bronislaw Wroclawski Sexiest moment: A car driving into a road tunnel towards the end. Rating: 0.5/5 Bugs
Sorry it’s taken so long to review this controversial Netflix offering but the missus only yesterday headed up to Brisbane to see family.
Which meant I finally got a chance to take in 365 Days, a pump-action bottle of Vaseline Intensive Care Body Lotion Aloe Soothe by my side. Hey, steady on! It is winter and my hands and feet have become very dry and itchy of late.
The flick has caused a storm of controversy over its soft-core sex scenes and kidnap/rape/hostage/bondage themes that have earned it comparisons with the 50 Fades of Grey franchise that, clearly, I never bothered taking in.
Look, let’s firstly get the movie’s storyline out of the way.
Now that that’s done, just how naughty is this Polish production?
I believe that refers to the country and not the regular polish that Mafia boss Massimo (Michele Morrone) enjoys during the film’s running time. Talk about fifty lashes with the Robert Young!
Massimo kidnaps the beautiful Laura (Anna-Maria Sieklucka) – and I just know I’m going to get into trouble for saying this – Anna-Maria has an acting ability more or less equal to her bra cup size.
But as Laura, she does boast a tusche of a quality you don’t always come across, so you can understand Massimo’s red-hot desire for her.
So seeing the above-mentioned storyline has been unfolded and totally flattened before your choc top has turned to a white top, 365 Days – so named because that’s how long it feels it takes to watch it – is really just a series of banal sex scenes that have about as much heat to them as a drawer full of flat AAA batteries.
I’ve watched some Pauline Hanson TV media interview that had more animal passion to them than what we see as our two stars show off a handful of positions from the Karma Sutra.
These scenes are interspersed with extended and boring sequences of body/face/hair makeovers and clothes-trying-on padding that pay homage to Mrs Doubtfire and Pretty Woman or any other film that has run out of puff faster that Scott Morrison climbing a hill.
The producers also seemed hellbent on starting each scene with some really shitty modern techno crap, pop crap, electro crap, rap crap, crap crap that made this reviewer glad he was born long enough ago to have loved The Beatles in their prime.
But let’s get back to what you all want to know about!
Despite my criticisms, are there any redeeming features to all the horizontal folkdancing scenes? Some titilation, at least, for tall those lonely souls among us?
On the male clitoris side of things, there might be a quick glimpse of something the hostie – sorry, flight attendant – sorry, cabin manager – is holding as she enjoys a mid-flight meal with Massimo but it could just easily have been a sculptured turnip rather than a tumescent tadger.
Considering how many gratuitous dick shots this reviewer has spotted recently even on free-to-air channels, Michele Morrone was obviously not confident enough to give us even a full frontal flaccid shot to match the one Harvey Keitel happily displayed at the start of Bad Lieutenant, that scene that had men the world suspecting and hoping he gave it a solid fiddling with before the camera rolled.
Nor does our 365 Days star show anything like the half-mongrel we spied from Michael Douglas’s double in that memorable underwater scene from a flick 33 years ago – Fatal Attraction maybe? – or was it Basic Instinct?
BI was the show five years later where Courier-Mail reviewer Des Partridge still swears he saw something a little pink bittish when Sharon Stone uncrossed her legs for those drooling coppers.
I’ll be dashed if I saw any gash myself on numerous DVD replays but something sure as hell fogged up Des’s glasses.
And on the female side of things, I can assure you all that no labia plays any role – either minor or major, fake or full-blooded – in this supposedly outrageously sexually explicit production.
And I doubt whether too many women are going to be overawed by Massimo’s rather wham-bam, thank-you-mam, cervix-crushing approach to love-making. Massimo’s version of foreplay is the time it takes to apply a dob of spit to his orifice du jour.
Late in the movie, he does dine briefly at the Y, but there’s no real sign he’s ever likely to be a seafood aficianado.
Watching 365 Days makes you realise there’s something almost decent and admirable and refreshingly honest about hard-core movies.
They deliver what they promise – the pink bits are stiff and or sticky as nature intended in sexual congress and in plain view, and there are plenty of women the world over who still seem to get an inordinate and inexplicable pleasure from having their faces whitewashed with baby batter* for the money shot.
*courtesy There’s Something About Mary