Nudity

Docs! More Another Hole in the Head reviews

Sue Vaughan
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Docs! More Another Hole in the Head reviews

More bloodthirsty coverage of the San Francisco IndieFest’s horror-fest offshoot, Another Hole in the Head, in this week’s Guardian.

Another Hole in the Head’s two documentary offerings concern themselves with the distinctly American roots of two related strains of genre filmmaking. Elijah Drenner’s American Grindhouse traces the history of exploitation film, with a particular focus on the grindhouse theater as a cultural institution. Narrator Robert Forster recounts the tendency of even the earliest films to cater to prurient interests, and how the establishment and eventual dissolution of the Motion Picture Production Code stimulated the development of exploitation subgenres. The featured film clips are impeccably selected, mixing titillation and shock with a healthy sense of humor about the over-the-top absurdity of films like Ilsa: She Wolf of the SS (1975). Surprisingly candid interviews with gore luminary Herschell Gordon Lewis and blaxploitation director Larry Cohen prevent the film from taking on a too-self-important tone — these folks knew they were making b-pictures, and were damn proud of it. One of the most charming aspects of the documentary is the juxtaposition of different attitudes, wherein one interviewee will sing the praises of a classic, followed in quick succession by another talking head declaring it to be trash. It feels like John Landis gets the most screen time of any subject, but his charisma as well as the breadth of his oeuvre make it seem appropriate.

Nightmares in Red, White, and Blue, on the other hand, focuses specifically on horror, and director Andrew Monument in turn delivers a harsher, more self-serious take on shocking cinema. Some interviewees cross over, but standouts here include John Carpenter and modern torture porn auteur Darren Lynn Bousman. The editing here is less edifying and more irritating, though since we’re dealing with horror films, sometimes the heavy-handedness works — case in point, a lengthy montage of nudity and sex from slasher films effectively communicates both the puerile interests and blunt moralizing of much of the genre. Nightmares is also more explicitly concerned with how horror films relate to America, with many interview subjects noting how each decade’s horror trends mirrored its political issues, hence the title’s direct allusion to the perversion of the American dream.

Both films provide a historical framework for films that, as Grindhouse insists, have become part of our modern mythology and mindset. Grindhouse is more watchable, but both are worth seeing for anyone who didn’t live through the long history of genre madness and brilliance.

ANOTHER HOLE IN THE HEAD FILM FESTIVAL
July 8–29, $11
Roxie, 3117 16th St, SF
Viz Cinema, New People, 1746 Post, SF
www.sfindie.com

Naked fun in the sun!

Jesse Hawthorne Ficks
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Naked fun in the sun!

Entertainer Wavy Gravy and Pentagon Papers leaker Daniel Ellsberg like Red Rock Beach; Marin Superior Court Commissioner Roy Chernus favors Bass Lake, and Marin County Sup. Steve Kinsey says he’s been naked at Red Rock, Bolinas, Hagmier Pond, and Mount Vision Pond.

“I’ve probably hit every nude beach in Marin,” says Kinsey, who has described his visits as “exhilarating and normal.” “My last dip was at Bass Lake last fall. It has beautiful, fresh water, and the swimming environment is wonderful. I look forward to the next opportunity.”

But on their next trips to the nude section of beautiful Muir Beach, visitors may notice something new: a warning sign is being erected by the county this summer to urge users to be “respectful” of each other and to notify authorities if there’s trouble.

The sign is the result of a compromise worked out by nudists, law enforcers, county officials, and local homeowners, some of whom wanted nudity stopped. Under the agreement, cops are making a few more visits than before. But through July 1, 2010, only four complaints about nudity and one citation for improper sexual conduct have occurred since January 1, 2009, and none since August 13, 2009, according to marin county sheriff’s office crime analyst Susan Medina. “We keep responding to complaints, but I can’t recall any recent citations,” says Lt. Cheryl Fisher, commander of the Marin County Sheriff’s Office’s West Marin Station. Fisher says the subjects are usually suited up by the time deputies arrive. “A deputy showed up on a very hot Sunday,” says regular visitor Michael Velkoff of Scotts Valley. “As soon as he left, everybody was naked again.”

“Of course, guys in spiked penis rings not parading themselves around also have helped,” says Sup. Kinsey, who, for now, has spiked his previous threat to fight back by starting an effort to make Muir and other beaches clothing-optional under a 1975 law giving Marin County the power to exempt areas from its anti-nudity provisions. “Sometimes the best thing we can do in government is to stay out of the way.”

Homeowners remain wary. One, who wants to remain anonymous, tells the Guardian: “We are optimistic” about being able to “coexist” with the naturists, “but we also remain very clear about what is legal and what will and won’t be tolerated.” And a former advocate of the ban told me that instead of not going to Muir Beach “a person wanting to use the beach nude might do it in a manner that doesn’t draw a lot of attention.”

As if the Marin mashup wasn’t enough, nervous naturists also got ready to do battle with state authorities, who they feared would eventually ban nudity at Devil’s Slide in San Mateo County and at Bonny Doon Beach near Santa Cruz, both of which are state beaches.

The jitters came in the wake of an October 2009 California high court ruling allowing a crackdown on nude sunbathing on state beaches, even in areas traditionally used for such activity. “All it takes now is an individual ranger with the desire to issue a citation,” warns R. Allen Baylis, a Huntington Beach attorney representing the Naturist Action Committee, the country’s biggest nudist lobbying group. “It could have a chilling effect [on nudity] on any state beach.”

“Our thin line of security has been overturned,” says Rich Pasco, head of the Bay Area Naturists, based in San Jose. “So let’s hope that in today’s economy, the thin level of state park staff has better things to do with their time than dealing with naturists.”

At press time, the NAC, along with BAN and 14 other nudist groups, were preparing, for the first time, to officially petition California to “designate clothing-optional areas” on one or more state beaches. Other efforts have, says Baylis, been “less formal.” “Do they really expect us to pack up and leave?” Baylis asks. “We’re going to fight back. This is our freedom they’re messing with!”

What’s the good news? Just like at Muir Beach, it doesn’t look like naturists have anything to worry about for now in Northern California. “In the short term, things at Bonny Doon are destined to continue the way they are,” says Kirk Lingenfelter, sector superintendent for Bonny Doon. He wants a better trail, stairs, and parking, but says the cash-starved state doesn’t have the budget to make even a preliminary plan or increase ranger visits. He said his staff have not issued any citations or warnings at the nude cove, which he calls one of the spots that “really give you the feeling of rugged, untouched majesty. It’s a very important feeling. Going to places like Bonny Doon helps you get recharged.”

And the Devil’s Slide police source, who wants to remain anonymous, told us: “Rangers aren’t going to be pursuing enforcement against nudity per se. Nothing’s changed.” Rangers will continue responding to complaints, he explained, but it usually means they arrive too late to do anything about them because cell phones don’t work on the beach. “We hear about it after the fact,” says another Devil’s Slide enforcer, Supervising State Park Ranger Michael Grant.

Want to contribute to the glad tidings? There’s still time for plenty of fun in the sun. You can donate your body to the record books, at least temporarily, by showing up Saturday, July 10 at the Sequoians Clothes Free Club (www.sequoians.com) in Castro Valley, when its annual attempt at setting a world skinny-dipping record, with 138 other nude locations, will be held. And if you’ve ever been dying to do a little light cleaning in the nude (no window-washing needed), here’s your chance: Your butt can be bare if you stop by Bonny Doon Sept. 18 to help fans pick up cigarette butts and other litter on the beach.

Speaking of good things, would you like to help improve our report? Please send brainstorms, your new beach “finds,” improved directions (especially road milepost numbers), and trip reports to garhan@aol.com or by snail mail to Gary Hanauer, c/o San Francisco Guardian, 135 Mississippi St., San Francisco CA 94107. Please include your phone number so we can verify that you’re not just another mirage in the nude beach sand.

>>BELOW ARE CAPSULE GUIDES TO POPULAR NUDE BEACHES. CLICK HERE FOR OUR COMPLETE GUIDE, INCLUDING MANY MORE

NORTH BAKER BEACH, SAN FRANCISCO

Things are really cooking at San Francisco’s long, narrow North Baker, which is in good shape this year, with plenty of sand and an influx of young people and more women than five years ago, even though the beach is still heavily male. “If you want to see naked chicks and guys, it’s the place to go,” says aficionado Paul Jung. Although beach regulars like himself welcome all the new nude volleyball players, “some of them seem to make up rules as they go along,” he laughs. Fun activities: Look for dolphins that occasionally surface in the water off shore. And in low tide only, walk around the big rocks at the north end of the beach to check out Baker’s “secret” tide pools.

Directions: Take the 29 Sunset bus or go north on 25th Avenue to Lincoln Boulevard. Turn right and take the second left onto Bowley Street. Follow Bowley to Gibson Road, turn right, and follow Gibson to the east parking lot. Head right on the beach to the nude area, which starts at the brown and yellow “Hazardous surf, undertow, swim at your own risk” sign. Some motorcycles in the lot have been vandalized, possibly by car owners angered by bikers parking in car spaces; to avoid trouble, motorcyclists should park in the motorcycle area near the cyclone fence.

 

LAND’S END BEACH, SAN FRANCISCO

Land’s End is just the beginning: it’s not just the ground that seems to “disappear” into the sunset at this little slice of paradise off Geary Boulevard. So do your clothes, if you want to be magically transported to another dimension, away from the cares of everyday constraints. Shorts, swimsuit, even work clothes during a quick lunch break — they all can be removed at this delightful cove, which features a mix of sand and rocks plus some of San Francisco’s best views. Better still, only a handful of people are usually present. Bring a windbreak for protection in case the weather changes.

Directions: Follow Geary Boulevard to the end, then park in the dirt lot up the road from the Cliff House. Take the trail at the far end of the lot. About 100 yards past a bench and some trash cans, the path narrows and bends, then rises and falls, eventually becoming the width of a road. Don’t take the road to the right, which leads to a golf course. Just past another bench, as the trail turns right, go left toward a group of dead trees where you will see a stairway and a “Dogs must be leashed” sign. Descend and head left to another stairway, which leads to a 100-foot walk to the cove. Or, instead, take the service road below the El Camino del Mar parking lot 1/4 mile until you reach a bench, then follow the trail there.

GOLDEN GATE BRIDGE BEACH, SAN FRANCISCO

Don’t come to Golden Gate Bridge Beach, also called Nasty Boy Beach, if you want privacy: dozens to hundreds of visitors show up on the hottest days at the site that some have likened to a “gay meat market.” Along with the guys, a smattering of women, straight couples, children and fishermen are spread out on the three adjoining rocky coves that make up the beach, whose stunning views of the Bridge will make you feel like you’re the star of your own postcard. “It’s really nice to walk in the water,” says a woman. “In low tide, you can sometimes go out 150 feet.”

Directions: Directions: from the toll booth area of Highway 101/1, take Lincoln Boulevard west about a half mile to Langdon Court. Turn right (west) on Langdon and look for space in the parking lots, across Lincoln from Fort Winfield Scott. Park and then take the new, improved beach trail, starting just west of the end of Langdon, down its more than 200 steps to Golden Gate Bridge Beach, also known as Marshall’s Beach.

 

FORT FUNSTON BEACH, SAN FRANCISCO

If you try to be naked here on weekends, you’ll be barking up the wrong tree. The main creatures who go nude at Fort Funston, south of Ocean Beach, are dogs, but that hasn’t stopped a small band of stark naked sunbathers from hiding away in some sand dunes when rangers aren’t in the area. Authorities usually issue several citations a year here. But if you don’t make a fuss and visit on a weekday, you probably won’t be busted. If anyone complains, put on your beach gear right away. Two more fun activities at “Fort Fun”: watching hang-gliders take off from the cliffs and checking out a seemingly endless passing parade of people and their pets.

Directions: From San Francisco, head west to Ocean Beach, then go south on the Great Highway. After Sloat Boulevard, the road goes uphill. From there, curve right onto Skyline Boulevard, go past one stoplight, and look for signs for Funston on the right. Turn into the public lot and find a space near the west side. At the southwest end, take the sandy steps to the beach, turn right, and walk to the dunes. Find a spot as far as possible from the parking lot. Do not go nude here on the weekends. And if you don’t like dogs, go elsewhere.

 

LAS TRAMPAS REGIONAL WILDERNESS, CASTRO VALLEY

Nudity’s banned in the East Bay Regional Park District, but if you tell that to the nude hikers who will be once again walking across park land July 23 and Aug. 22 — at night — they may moon you en masse. On America’s only naked “Full Moon Hikes,” participants leave the grounds of the Sequoians Naturist Club in Castro Valley fully clothed at dusk and walk through meadows and up hills until the moon rises, before heading back down the slopes with their clothes folded neatly into their backpacks. Says Dave Smith, of San Leandro: “It’s truly wonderful. Except for deer, we’re usually the only ones on the path.” Agrees James, of Fremont: “It’s one of the best experiences I’ve ever had. You’re walking in this silvery light. The moonlight is flooding everything. You feel like you’re in the middle of a beautiful dream.”

Directions: Contact the Sequoians Naturist Club (www.sequoians.com) or the Bay Area Naturists (www.bayareanaturists.org) for details on how to join a walk. Participants usually meet at and return to the Sequoians Club. To get there, take Highway 580 east to the Crow Canyon Road exit. Or follow 580 west to the first Castro Valley off-ramp. Take Crow Canyon Road toward San Ramon 0.75 mile to Cull Canyon Road. Then follow Cull Canyon Road around 6.5 miles to the end of the paved road. Take the dirt road on the right until the “Y” in the road and keep left. Shortly after, you’ll see the Sequoians sign. Proceed ahead for about another 0.75 mile to the Sequoians front gate.

 

DEVIL’S SLIDE, MONTARA

Will they be having a devil of a time in paradise? For the first time, rangers say they’ll begin enforcing state anti-nudity regulations if offended beachgoers complain about the nudists who visit Gray Whale Cove, which is commonly called Devil’s Slide. The good news: It’s a nonissue because cell phones (used to summon rangers) don’t work on the beach, so by the time cops arrive, the offenders have long since suited up or left. And the beach’s top enforcer told us he won’t be telling rangers to bust nudists they see. Most visitors love the long sandy shore, where nudies, about 20 percent of visitors, hang out on the north end.

Directions: Driving from San Francisco, take Highway 1 south through Pacifica. Three miles south of the Denny’s restaurant in Linda Mar, turn left (inland or east) on an unmarked road, which takes you to the beach’s parking lot and to a 146-step staircase leads to the sand. “The steps are in good shape,” Ron says. Coming from the south on Highway 1, look for a road on the right (east), 1.2 miles north of the Chart House restaurant in Montara.

 

SAN GREGORIO NUDE BEACH, SAN GREGORIO

America’s oldest nude beach, near Half Moon Bay, offers two miles of soft sand and tide pools to explore, as well as a lagoon, lava tube, and, if you look closely enough on the cliffs, the remains of an old railroad line. Pets are allowed on weekdays. Up to 200 visitors may be present, but they’re usually so spread out, you may not even notice them. Gay men tend to hang out on the north side and in “sex condos” made of driftwood by visitors — a major annoyance to those who are easily offended. On the south end of the beach, there are sometimes dozens of straight couples and families, naked and clothed. For weather information, call (415) 765-7697.

Directions: Head south on Highway 1 past Half Moon Bay. Between mileposts 18 and 19, look on the right side of the road for telephone call box number SM 001 0195, at the intersection of Highway 1 and Stage Road and near an iron gate with trees on either side. From there, expect a drive of 1.1 miles to the entrance. At the Junction 84 highway sign, the beach’s driveway is just 0.1 mile away. Turn into a gravel driveway, passing through the iron gate mentioned above, which says 119429 on the gatepost. Drive past a grassy field to the parking lot, where you’ll be asked to pay an entrance fee. Take the long path from the lot to the sand; everything north of the trail’s end is clothing-optional.

 

BONNY DOON NUDE BEACH, BONNY DOON

Bonny Doon isn’t doomed. To the contrary, because the state has no plans to develop it or send rangers out to make anti-nudity patrols, it looks like it will remain Santa Cruz County’s prettiest nude beach, which should please the nudists who were on the edge of their towels wondering what would happen. Says Kirk Lingenfelter, sector superintendent for Bonny Doon and nearby state beaches: “Going to places like Bonny Doon helps you get recharged.” Naturists usually use the cove on the north end of the beach, which attracts more women and couples than most clothing-optional enclaves.

Directions: Head south on Highway 1 to the Bonny Doon parking lot at milepost 27.6 on the west side of the road, 2.4 miles north of Red, White, and Blue Beach, and some 11 miles north of Santa Cruz. From Santa Cruz, head north on Highway 1 until you see Bonny Doon Road, which veers sharply to the right just south of Davenport. The beach is right off the intersection. Park in the paved lot to the west of Highway 1; don’t park on Bonny Doon Road or the shoulder of Highway 1. If the lot is full, drive north on Highway 1, park at the next beach lot and walk back to the first lot. To get to the beach, climb the berm next to the railroad tracks adjacent to the Bonny Doon lot, cross the tracks, descend, and take the trail to the sand. Walk north past most of the beach to the cove on the north end.

 

2222, SANTA CRUZ

Size matters at 2222, which is the smallest nude beach in the U.S. — and probably smaller than your backyard. Not many people can fit into it and not many have heard about it, so not many are there, which is just fine with its mostly young crowd of local college students. Located across from 2222 West Cliff Drive, it’s a great place to sunbathe, read, relax, or even watch Neal the Juggler practice tossing balls, pins, and beanbags on the sand. But don’t attempt the very steep climb up and down the cliff unless you’re in good shape.

Directions: The beach is a few blocks west of Natural Bridges State Beach and about 2.5 miles north of the Santa Cruz Boardwalk. From either north or south of Santa Cruz, take Highway 1 to Swift Street. Drive 0.8 miles to the sea, then turn right on West Cliff Drive. 2222 is five blocks away. Past Auburn Avenue, look for 2222 West Cliff on the inland side of the street. Park in the nine-car lot next to the cliff. If it’s full, continue straight and park along Chico Avenue. Bay Area Naturists leader Rich Pasco suggests visitors use care and then follow the path on the side of the beach closest to downtown Santa Cruz and the Municipal Wharf.

 

PRIVATES BEACH, SANTA CRUZ

Privates Beach, at 4524 Opal Cliff Drive, north of the Capitola Pier, is so private that it has a locked gate, security guards, and, unless you’re too cheap to pay and want to try another option, a $100 per year fee (cash only). The two coves are exceptionally clean and you’re likely to see families, kids, and dogs on the shore.

Directions: 1) Some visitors walk north from Capitola Pier in low tide (not a good idea since at least four people have needed to be rescued after being trapped by rising water). 2) Others reach it in low tide via the stairs at the end of 41st Avenue, which lead to a surf spot called the Hook at the south end of a rocky shoreline known as Pleasure Point. 3) Surfers paddle on boards for a few minutes to Privates from Capitola or the Hook. 4) Most visitors buy a key to the beach gate at Freeline Design Surfboards (821 41st Ave., Santa Cruz, 831-476-2950) 1.5 blocks west of the beach. Others go with someone with a key or wait outside the gate until someone with a key goes in. “Most people will gladly hold the gate open for someone behind them whose hands are full,” says Bay Area Naturists leader Rich Pasco. The nude area is to the left of the bottom of the stairs.

 

MUIR NUDE BEACH, MUIR BEACH

The mellowness of marvelous Muir Beach was marred last year when some homeowners verbally clashed with nudists over use of the sand. After a few meetings, it was decided that while bare buns on the beach wouldn’t be banned, a warning sign stressing “respect” for everyone and listing a phone number for complaints will be erected, most likely in July, near the border of the nude and clothed sections of the shore. The nude spot is pretty and curved and usually has excellent swimming conditions and access. Instead of a trail, you just walk along the water from the public beach and go around and over some easy-to-cross rocks.

Directions: From San Francisco, take Highway 1 north to Muir Beach, to milepost 5.7. Turn left on Pacific Way and park in the Muir lot (to avoid tickets, don’t park on Pacific). Or park on the long street off Highway 1 across from Pacific and about 100 yards north. From the Muir lot, follow a path and boardwalk to the sand, and then walk north to a pile of rocks between the cliffs and the sea. You’ll need good hiking or walking shoes to cross; in very low tide, try to cross closer to the water. The nude area starts north of it.

 

RED ROCK BEACH, STINSON BEACH

Bay Area fan favorite Red Rock is still rocking with an improved trail, more sand than last summer, Ultimate Frisbee games that last as long as three hours, a shower where you can cool down on a hot day, and up to 75 people a day. “More rock climbers than ever are coming to the beach,” says the Rock’s “ambassador,” Fred Jaggi. “You can get more privacy there.” Three nude women who were perched on a terrace overlooking the cove in June were recently anointed as the Cheerleaders by members of the fun, highly social crowd below.

Directions: The easiest way to find the beach is to go north on Highway 1 from Mill Valley, following the signs to Stinson Beach. At the long line of mailboxes next to the Muir Beach cutoff point, start checking your odometer. Look for a dirt lot full of cars to the left (west) of the highway exactly 5.6 miles north of Muir and a smaller one on the right (east) side of the road. The lots are at milepost 11.3, one mile south of Stinson Beach. Limited parking is also available 150 yards to the south on the west side of Highway 1. Take the path to the beach that starts near the Dumpster next to the main parking lot. The trail’s doable but moderately long, steep, and slippery, so don’t wear flip-flops.

 

BASS LAKE, BOLINAS

If you’re sleepless in San Anselmo, a cure might be to bare your bottom at Bass in Bolinas. “If you want to visit an enchanted lake, Bass is it,” says Ryan, of the East Bay. “Tree branches reach over the water, forming a magical canopy, and huge bunches of calla lilies bloom on the shore.” Even walking to Bass, 45-60 minutes from the lot over 2.8 relatively easy miles, can be an adventure like none other. You may see people with backpacks but no pants on the trail. Rangers once stopped and cited a clad man who had an unleashed dog but let the nudists continue. Says Dave Smith, of San Leandro, who unusually walks naked: “I came around a corner and there was a mountain lion sitting like Egypt’s Great Sphinx of Giza 50 yards down the path.” Bring a heavy towel or tarp for sitting on a somewhat prickly meadow near the water.

Directions: From Stinson Beach, go north on Highway 1. Just north of Bolinas Lagoon, turn left on the often-unmarked exit to Bolinas. Follow the road as it curves along the lagoon and eventually ends at Olema-Bolinas Road; continue along Olema-Bolinas Road to the stop sign at Mesa Road. Turn right on Mesa and drive four miles until it becomes a dirt road and ends at a parking lot. On hot days the lot fills quickly. A sign at the trailhead next to the lot will guide you down scenic Palomarin Trail to the lake.

 

RCA BEACH, BOLINAS

Couples love RCA Beach near Bolinas, and so do singles who long for a ruggedly isolated shoreline that doesn’t take long to reach. This summer, there’s even more to enjoy: the beach is reported to be about four to six feet wider than last year. But it has more gravel this season. “A downside is that it’s very exposed to the wind,” says regular visitor Michael Velkoff. “There’s so much driftwood on the sand that many people build windbreaks or even whole forts. The last time I went, somebody built a 30-foot-tall dragon.” The breathtakingly beautiful beach seems even bigger than its one mile length because, Velkoff says, “you might only see eight people spread out on the sand. Everybody’s like 100 feet apart. It’s great.”

Directions: From Stinson Beach, take Highway 1 (Shoreline Highway) north toward Calle Del Mar for 4.5 miles. Turn left onto Olema Bolinas Road and follow it 1.8 miles to Mesa Road in Bolinas. Turn right and stay on Mesa until you see cars parked past some old transmission towers. Park and walk a 0.25 to the end of the pavement. Go left through the gap in the fence. The trail leads to a gravel road. Follow it until you see a path on your right, leading through a gate. Take it along the cliff top until it veers down to the beach. Or continue along Mesa until you come to a grove of eucalyptus trees. Enter through the gate here, then hike a 0.5 mile through a cow pasture on a path that will also bring you through thick brush. The second route is slippery and eroding, but less steep.

 

LIMANTOUR BEACH, OLEMA

You can tour long, lovely Limantour in Point Reyes National Seashore while wearing only your smile and some suntan lotion. Few visitors realize the narrow spit of sand is clothing-optional. But unless there are complaints or if you beach your bare body too close to a parking lot or the main entrance, you shouldn’t be hassled. The site is so big — about 2.5 miles long — you can wander for hours, checking out ducks and other waterfowl, shorebirds such as endangered snowy plovers, gray whales in the spring, and playful harbor seals (offshore and on the north side). Dogs are allowed on six-foot leashes on the south end. Directions: Follow Highway 101 north to the Sir Francis Drake Boulevard exit, then follow Sir Francis through San Anselmo and Lagunitas to Olema. At the intersection with Highway 1, turn right onto the highway. Just north of Olema, go left on Bear Valley Road. A mile after the turnoff for the Bear Valley Visitor Center, turn left (at the Limantour Beach sign) on Limantour Road and follow it 11 miles to the parking lot at the end. Walk north a 0.5 mile until you see some dunes about 50 yards east of the shore. Nudists usually prefer the valleys between the dunes for sunbathing. “One Sunday we had 200 yards to ourselves,” says a nudist. But lately, the dunes have been more crowded.

SCENE: Shannon and the Clams open up

Jesse Hawthorne Ficks
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SCENE: Shannon and the Clams open up

 

A long version of the interview in the current issue of SCENE:

If I’m going to stay up late and go as deep as I can into the night, so far that I’m just about lost and in trouble, I want the sounds of Shannon and the Clams with me. The Oakland group’s album I Wanna Go Home (1-2-3-4-Go! Records) is packed with songs that have been there and will shine a light to lead you back into the day, while letting you have a sip or two and an adventure or three along the way. This is rock ‘n’ roll music, electric-charged by bassist Shannon Shaw’s wild wonder of a voice, guitarist Cody Blanchard’s flair for classic crooning and crying, and drummer Ian Amberson’s fierce reliability. See Shannon and the Clams live. You will believe.

SFBG Shannon, when did you start to sing for fun? What singers did you love as a kid? What kind of stuff forms what you’ve called a “rage cage,” and does singing help you break out of it?
SHANNON SHAW I have been making up songs since I could talk at the ripe age of two. The first song I remember in full came about because I was cast off to spend time in my room for being bad. There, I formed a rage cage (rage cage: an explosion of anger you can’t escape from) and sang a song that lasted the duration of my time out. The lyrics were something like: ‘I’m really a princess, and my mom doesn’t know because she’s evil, and I’m a princess, and my gramma is my real mom who is a queen and she loves me and lives in a castle…my castle, I’m a princess, where’s my castle?” Very sophisticated, eh? I think I was 4ish at the time.
My favorite singers growing up were definitely Roy Orbison, Kermit the Frog, the Mouse Girl from An American Tale, Mrs. Brisby from The Secret of N.I.M.H., Eric Burdon, George Strait, Les Claypool, Ronnie Spector, Shelley Fabares, the Supremes, and Connie Francis. I know it’s a strange combo, but it’s true.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ndApsVCeM54

SFBG Did you all meet at California College of the Arts? What was that experience (meeting and being there) like?
CODY BLANCHARD Yeah, I met Ian and Shannon [during] my second year there. And me and Ian lived in a big house together with 5 people, but we were always really busy with school stuff, so we didn’t even hang out much. We used to have crazy gigantic parties there — that’s where Shannon and the Clams started playing as a band. I wasn’t in the band yet, but I would listen to them practice. 
IAN AMBERSON Cody and I used to live together, but we all joined forces by way of CCA. The music my peers introduced me to had a big impact on my knowledge and taste. CCA is so small that sometimes you form relationships and exchange ideas with people at a higher rate, just by your proximity to others in a context that attempts to promote creativity.

SFBG Cody, you sing an amazing song called “Warlock in the Woods.” Can you tell me a bit about the warlock?
CB The warlock was a child whose mother didn’t want him and ditched him in the forest and tied him up with tree roots. The roots started to grow around him and tell him their secrets and poison his mind. He sort of went into a cocoon of roots, then was released decades later, very mixed-up and manipulated by the dark spirits of the forest. He took a cave as his new home and was convinced that he must capture the hearts of young children and travelers in the woods and put them inside this amulet, which the trees had given him, in order to find his way home and to be free of the forest. In the end, he realizes that all the hundreds of hearts he has taken have done nothing for him and he was still living in a cave, lost in the woods, and that he was tricked by the evil forest into doing their bidding.
I like to write songs about fantastical stuff these days, weird little stories set to song. That’s my favorite kind of song; one that tells a tiny story that you are easily able to follow just by listening.

SFBG What is your favorite item of clothing right now?
CB A rope belt.
SS A ripped-up white Adam Ant V-neck T-shirt that Seth of Hunx and His Punx gave me. While I was on tour with them in France I saw him wearing it one day and said, “I love Adam Ant, I need your shirt.” He took it off of his back and handed it to me. What a good friend! He stood there, nearly naked as a jaybird, to give me the shirt of my dreams. I wear it every Friday night if you ever wanna see it.

SFBG Whose sense of style do you admire?
CB The members of the Lollipop Guild — you know, from The Wizard of Oz. We represent the Lollipop Guild!
SS A really pleasant pie-baking mother of the ’50s, mixed with an ’80s skateboardin’ bad boy.

SFBG What do you like and not like about Oakland?
CB I love that’s it’s not too big or too busy, not overwhelming. All of the neighborhoods are really small and you can find a totally hip fancy neighborhood and then walk a few blocks and be in some scary warehouse district full of abandoned hot dog stands. I like that it’s kind of like San Francisco’s more relaxed little brother. Less freaks here, more quiet — less happening, but still tons of cool stuff. I like a place that doesn’t have too much going on.
I love that there is crazy scary Ghost Town and West Oakland, but then there’s also the Oakland hills with amazing parks like Tilden and Joaquin Miller. I generally wish there were more trees and foliage. I thrive on fauna, and I grew up in a very woodsy suburb. I love the Berkeley Bowl — I guess that’s in Berkeley.
One thing I’m on the fence about is gentrification. On one hand, I don’t like burned-out neighborhoods, but on the other, I hate really expensive stuff and excess and money as an oppressive force. And I know all that stuff is catering to people like me. It makes me feel mixed-up and bad. It sort of destroys the charm of a more naturally evolved neighborhood.
IA Oakland is just a great hub. It sort of feels like being in the middle of a giant cultural sample platter. Having places like Berkeley and San Francisco nearby is nice, while not having to live in those more demanding environments.

SFBG Where do you like to go out at night? 

CB I love movie theaters so much. Usually they’re too expensive, though. My favorite thing is when a theater plays an old movie. I’ve seen Blade Runner, El Topo, The Thing, Jurassic Park, Maximum Overdrive and a bunch of other stuff in the theater. I also love to go to the video store and rent movies. It’s way more fun than Netflix or something, because it’s impulsive and you’re not sure what to get and all these other movies or snacks can catch your eye. Or I love to be around a BBQ or a campfire. My parents have a fire pit. And if there can be fireworks too, then it’s my #1 dream. Or bicycling through the empty night. Or being in a car or a train going across the country, staring out the window.

SS If I had my choice, I would hang out in a wooded area by some railroad tracks with a boombox and a bike.I used to hand out at this old Sunsweet prune factory by train tracks in an old deserted part of downtown Napa. I loved it so much. It was super overgrown with weeds, and surrounded by foliage and abandoned factories. There was a little campfire area nearby and a perfect place to sip on a Friday night sneaky flask. I think I like the feeling of being kind of like a hobo, waiting to hop a train, or camping all hidden in the middle of town. I like having freedom and privacy outside. Part of why Oakland is so rad.

SFBG Shannon, your brothers were at one of your recent shows. What’s it like to have them in the audience?
SS Lucky for me they come to most of my shows. I like them a lot. They are giant and hilarious and love to shake it. They both walk around and seem to have these magic invisible love vests on at all times. It’s really nice to see them dancing around and making people happy.

SFBG Cody, why do think there have been so many great songs about crying?
CB Umm, well crying is something you do instinctively as a baby, and you do it all the time. I guess you laugh and shit and barf a lot too. But maybe when people think of crying it brings them back to that primal state — baby times. It’s a very powerful, uncontrollable emotion. People are drawn to powerful things like that, like when a song has so much power over you it brings you back to a time when you had no control, crying. It is attractive because it is so powerful and so rare. And we try not to cry, so when there’s a song that lets us feel as if we are crying, maybe we love it because we miss that feeling. Or maybe people just want to pretend they are babies. A song about crying might make you feel like a helpless baby, which can be fun. I like to do that. Like Muppet Babies.

SFBG How about death songs, doomed teenage romance or otherwise – do you have any favorites?
SS “Johnny Angel” by Shelley Fabares, “Earth Angel” by the Penguins, “Leader of the Pack” by the Shangri-Las, “Little Town Flirt” by Del Shannon, “I Think We’re Alone Now” by Tommy James and the Shondelles, “Last Kiss” by Ricky Nelson, “Patches” by Dickey Lee. So tragic. Listen to those lyrics — oh my!
CB I love “The Gypsy Cried” by Lou Christie as a doomed romance song. Mostly because the music is soooo great. But also because you don’t really get an answer in that song; the man goes to the gypsy to see what the future holds for his love, and the premonition is so sad and devastating that the gypsy can’t even speak, all she can do is cry.
“Snowman” by Diane Ray is awesome, it’s about building a snowman to replace your former lover. “Don’t Drag No More” by Susan Lynne includes death, and the hook and title are grammatically incorrect — that’s awesome.

SFBG Who are your favorite record producers, past and present?
CB I really love Joe Meek. Ian turned me on to him. Such a weirdo, and his stuff is so experimental for the time [when he was recording]. And he was crazy, which is double interesting, also gay and he couldn’t play any instruments or read notation. So I hear.
Also, Giorgio Moroder is incredible, both his crazy awesome stuff with Donna Summer and his solo stuff. I think he produced the theme for The Neverending Story.
Ennio Morricone is so awesome, such an experimental freak. Big influence. I so dearly love the music from Leon Schlesinger and Harman & Ising cartoons, MGM and Warner Bros. studios. Not sure who was in charge of the music.
Also, those Italian synth weirdos who did soundtracks for all those ’70s Lucio Fulci movies, like Fabio Frizzi and Claudio Simonetti.

SFBG Shannon, what were some of your wildest and favorite experiences on the road in Europe with Hunx and the Punkettes, and what were some of your favorite ones?
SS Probably full-group ghost hunting in underwear in Liege, Belgium, in this abandoned college where we had to sleep. Lots of screaming and giggling and inappropriate flashlight shining.
Also, maybe full-band nude sauna with King Khan and his wife and kids. Those Europeans are quite comfortable with nudity. ‘Twas hard for me, because I’m a former Mormon and a bit of a chunker if you haven’t noticed. In the end, no one gave a shit and it was fun! Glad I did it.
In Paris, we played along a canal that was basically a gypsy camp. Seth wore a banana hammock made of candy that broke at a very inconvenient time. Instead of helping him with his suddenly public family jewels, some demon of entertainment overtook me and made me tear the remaining candies off his bod and throw them to the audience. I think he thought it was funny.

SFBG If you could set up a dream bill packed with bands you’ve never played a show with, who would be on it? What place would be the venue?
SS Gene Pitney, Roy Oribson, Gem, Danzig, Lou Christie and the Tammys, and the Muppet Band.
CB Oh boy, Ennio Morricone, the Lollipop Guild, the Ramones, Devo, King Tuff, Best Coast, Mark Sultan, the Ooga Boogas, Pissed Jeans, the Seven Dwarves (from the Disney cartoon), Roger Miller, King Louie (from The Jungle Book), Motorhead, Jonathan Richman, the Monks and the Frogs.

SFBG Rollercoasters or haunted houses?

SS Haunted houses. Not the fake kind at fairs and stuff. Real ones.
IA Haunted houses. Our favorite is in the Enchanted Forest theme park in Salem, Oregon. It has lots of creepy automatons and surprisingly scary uses of compressed air to scar the crap out of ya.
CB Gosh, tough call. Haunted houses. They have more character and their creation and construction is a more nuanced art form I think. They’re longer and more entertaining and weird and freaky. Although I do love rollercoaster art more than almost anything. The glitter and lightbulbs and bold stripes and stuff. So wonderful, so American.

SFBG Hot dogs or hamburgers?
SS Hamdoggers, I think.
IA The process leading up to both is disgusting, but I really prefer a well-cooked brat over a patty of beef. Hot dogs are so much more mysterious, and have a pleasant snap to them.
CB Hamburger, no contest. Hamburgers are bigger and more filling and it’s easier to fit more cool toppings on them, like cheese and mayonnaise and avocado and pickles and onions and stuff. Although Pink’s Hot Dogs in LA makes me think twice about that statement. Also, vegetarian hot dogs taste like a garbage can, and vegetarian burgers come in all types of weird flavors and textures.

SFBG 45 record parties or drive-in double features?
SS Drive-in! I’ve never been to one. Somebody wanna give me a ride?
CB Drive-in for sure. I go to record parties all the time, but I never get to go to the drive-in because they are so rare these days. I love movies so much, and the drive-in is the ultimate movie experience. You’re outside in the magical summer night and you can do whatever you want in your car. It’s very nostalgic for me. I saw Honey, I Shrunk the Kids at a drive-in when it came out. I don’t think I’ve been to one since.

SFBG Have any of you ever had a curfew, and if so, did you break it? Do you like staying up late at night, and if so, why?
SS Our curfew system at both houses was crappy and confusing. My mom only had one if she was mad or awake, so most of the time me and my brothers would stay under the radar because she went to bed so early.
My little brother Paddy and I would sleep way deep out in our field with our dogs at night when it was hot in the summer. We would wait until we were sure Mom was passed out and then go sneak around in the country with sticks to hit stuff, or dig holes, or whatever hilbilly kids do. And at my dad’s house the curfew was always conveniently right before Are You Afraid of the Dark? came on Nickelodeon or X-Files started. He hates “scary stuff” so much. He didn’t want me and my bros exposed to it because he saw the original Mummy in the ’50s when he was little and is still scarred from it.
CB Yes, I had a curfew, and yes, I broke it constantly. I got grounded once because me and my neighbor friends camped in my backyard with a bunch of TVs and video games and Doritos and 2-liter Cokes and we got bored and snuck out of the yard and ran around the neighborhood, hid from cars, and climbed on the roof of the junior high. When we came back to go to sleep, my parents were waiting and came out with flashlights. A flashlight in your face is so disturbing. We got grounded from each other for a month.
I like the late night and early morning equally. The only thing I don’t like about the late night is that you will probably miss the early morning. Both times are really quiet and there are certain things that are off-limits, like calling people and going to the store. It limits your activity in a fun way. You have to find something weird to do. Someone once told me that there’s a theory that, since more people are asleep at night, there’s less “psychic energy” flying around at night, and so your mind feels different, quieter, more focused. I’m not sure, but I like to believe it.

SFBG It’s perfect that you’ve performed at the Stud. Etta James used to sing there, and  Shannon’s vocal on “Troublemaker” reminds me of her. Do either of you ever feel the presence of ghosts or artists or people you love when writing or performing a song? Who would you most like to join you on stage?
IA I think it would be really awesome to jam with Dick Dale or maybe the piano stylings of Zombies-era Rod Argent.
CB I don’t think think about songwriting enough to feel that. Or maybe I think about it too much. I like to think about Marc Bolan when I sing some new thing to myself. He seemed so enchanted and magical and possessed by some uncontrollable musical spirit. I like to think part of his ghost is inside me, like maybe just the ghost of his hair or something. Or I like to think at least that his ghost likes what I’m singing, and he can hear me through all the noise of the astral plane, because we are alike somehow. I would most like to share a stage with Marc Bolan. We would dress like psychedelic elves and do duets.
SS Roy Orbison is totally my #1, Gene Pitney is my #2, Frankie Valli is my #3, the Beach Boys are my #4, Danzig is my #5.
What would I give to do a show with Roy O.? I don’t think I coild ever have enough gold, doubloons, or talent to sign with him or his ghost. He was so special and unique and genuine. You can feel his troubles and pain like they’re yours when you listen. Earthshattering heartache and longing is his forte.

SFBG What are the Clams up to these days? Are you recording a new album? Can you tell me about some of your new songs?
IA We should be recording our new stuff soon, but soon might mean in several months. We are playing with the Pharmacy and Guantanamo Baywatch at Pissed Off Pete’s on 25th. That will be a show worth going to.
CB We’re getting a bunch of material ready for a new album. We have a 7″ of some really old awesome stuff coming out on Southpaw Records, it’s called “Paddy’s Birthday” and it’s so good.
We’re trying to lay off playing so much, we overwork and distract ourselves doing so many shows, although it seems like Oakland loves it when we play two parties a week. We love them!
We’re spending some money on recording equipment. The new stuff has some Buddy Holly-type poppy sparse hop jump fun songs and some dark scary Disney soundtrack haunted forest type stuff, like “Teddy Bear’s Picnic.” Also a lot of ballads like we’ve always done, but they’re vocally weirder, lots of weird doo-wop yelps, Muppet singing and Morricone primal yowling. We’re trying to finally perfect some powerful Everly Brothers/girl group-style harmonies. And we’re experimenting with some super-evil-sounding ’80s punk thrash stuff. I can’t wait to record ’em!


Love stories, politics, yodeling, and more: Frameline 34 short takes

Sue Vaughan
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Love stories, politics, yodeling, and more: Frameline 34 short takes

The Secret Diaries of Miss Anne Lister (James Kent, UK, 2010) A BBC production set in the northern English countryside of the early 19th century, James Kent’s The Secret Diaries of Miss Anne Lister depicts the amatory adventures of a gentlewoman landowner (Maxine Peake) in search of a “female companion” with whom to live out her days. The narrative is somewhat breathless, the seductions equally so and yet a bit anemic, and our strong-willed, fearless heroine is admirable without being entirely engaging. Still, besides tapping into the Jane Austen slash fiction demographic, this tale of pre-Victorian bodice ripping and skirt lifting among the female gentry offers the considerable thrill of being adapted from the actual secret diaries of the titular Miss Lister, decoded by a biographer 150 years after her death. A documentary in the festival, Matthew Hill’s The Real Anne Lister, offers a complementary version of her story. Thurs/17, 7 p.m., Castro. (Lynn Rapoport)

I Killed My Mother (Xavier Dolan, Canada, 2009) The title I Killed My Mother suggests a different kind of movie from what it actually is. But that’s OK: though not a crime thriller, the film is still a tightly wound, high stakes drama. Writer-director Xavier Dolan stars as Hubert, the angsty son of the titular mother. When you consider that Dolan’s script is autobiographical — and that he was only 20 when the film was made — his performance becomes all the more impressive. As the mother, Chantale, Anne Dorval is also a force to be reckoned with. Despite its presence as part of a queer film festival, I Killed My Mother is not all that “gay” in the traditional “gay movie” sense. Hubert’s relationship with Antonin (François Arnaud) is secondary — what’s important is how his refusal to share it with his mother affects her. That helps make the movie a refreshing alternative to many more mainstream offerings. Sat/19, 6:45 p.m., Castro. (Louis Peitzman)

The Owls (Cheryl Dunye, USA, 2010) Expectations are high for The Owls: writer-director Cheryl Dunye again collaborates with Guinevere Turner, V.S. Brodie, and other notable queer performers — you can’t not think of classics like Go Fish (1994) and The Watermelon Woman (1996). The Owls isn’t quite at that level, but it’s a fairly thought-provoking piece. Four middle-aged lesbians — played by Dunye, Turner, Brodie, and Lisa Gornick — accidentally kill a younger lesbian and try to cover up the murder. Their ages are central: the fear of getting older is a major thematic concern. So, too, ideas of gender identity, with the introduction of androgynous Skye (Skyler Cooper). But Dunye breaks the fourth wall, staging her film as a pseudo-mockumentary with both the characters and the actors offering commentary. At just over an hour, The Owls can’t sustain all the back-and-forth, and too many intriguing ideas are left unfinished. Fri/18, 7 p.m., Castro. (Peitzman)

The Topp Twins: Untouchable Girls (Leanne Pooley, New Zealand, 2009) It’s hard to name an American equivalent of New Zealand’s Topp Twins — a folk-singing, comedy-slinging, cross-dressing duo who’re the biggest Kiwi stars you’ve never heard of (but may be just as beloved as, say, Peter Jackson in their homeland). Recent inductees in the New Zealand Music Hall of Fame, the fiftysomething Jools and Lynda, both lesbians, sing country-tinged tunes that slide easily from broad and goofy (with an array of costumed personas) to extremely political, sounding off on LGBT and Maori rights, among other topics. Even if you’re not a fan of their musical style, it’s undeniable that their identical voices make for some stirring harmonies, and their optimism, even when a serious illness strikes, is inspiring. This doc — which combines interviews, home movies, and performance footage — will surely earn them scores of new stateside fans. Sun/20, 3:45 p.m., Castro. (Cheryl Eddy)

Out of the Blue (Alain Tasma, France, 2007) Wearily preparing for a dinner party on a day they’ve both forgotten is their anniversary, Marion (Mireille Perrier) suddenly realizes her 22-year-marriage to Paul (Robin Renucci) is dead. Her decision to end it, however, comes as an infuriating surprise to him and a destabilizing one to their teenage daughter Justine (Chloé Coulloud). They all get quite a surprise when Marion’s new friendship with younger, flamenco-dancing female antiques dealer Claude (Rachida Brakni) turns into something more. This latest in a long line of very good French made-for-TV dramas at Frameline typically handles its complex load of familial and sexual issues with grace and intelligence, if with an occasional excess of high dramatics. Sun/20, 9:30 p.m., Roxie. (Dennis Harvey)

The Consul of Sodom (Sigfrid Monleón, Spain, 2009) Late Spanish poet Jaime Gil de Biedma was many things: an intellectual, aesthete, hedonist, bohemian, discotheque owner, Communist sympathizer (though the Party wouldn’t have him), publisher, more-or-less out gay man, and an occasional lover of flamboyant women like Bel (played by pop singer Bimba Bose). Sheltered by wealth and privilege — to the extent possible in Franco’s Spain — he dabbled in ghetto flesh, sometimes on trips abroad for his family’s tobacco family. As portrayed by actor Jordi Mollá and director Sigfrid Monleon, he’s a mixture of arrogance,
compassion, self-destruction, and shark-like perpetual motion. Seldom missing a chance to drop some full-frontal nudity or a kitschy period song (from 1950s to 80s), this biographical drama — which has been decried as overly sensationalized by some Spanish cultural watchdogs, including a few of the subject’s surviving cronies — is a shamelessly flamboyant and entertaining portrait of a life lived large. Sun/20, 9:30 p.m., Castro. (Harvey)

Dzi Croquettes (Tatiana Issa and Raphael Alvarez, Brazil, 2009) Whatever magic fairy dust fuelled the Cockettes’ glitter-covered hippy drag must’ve drifted down south to Brazil to inspire the similarly named Dzi Croquettes. Of course, that’s not the real origin of the equally colorful cabaret troupe, whose fantastic story is told in Raphael Alvarez and Tatiana Issa’s riveting and rollicking documentary. Blending Ziegfeld Follies-style glamour with agitprop, Dzi Croquettes were more polished and more overtly political than their North American sisters; something which frequently landed the group in hot water with José Sarney’s dictatorship. Finding an unlikely and unexpected advocate in Liza Minnelli, Dzi Croquettes fled their homeland in the mid 70s, becoming the unexpected toast of Europe until AIDS began to take its toll. Filled with delightful archival footage and insightful interviews with alumni, Dzi Croquettes is a joyful affirmation of the power of art (and a feathered boa or two) to effect positive change. Mon/21, 11 a.m., Castro. (Matt Sussman)

Brotherhood (Nicolo Donato, Denmark, 2009) It’s hard to feel much sympathy for neo-Nazis. Perhaps that goes without saying, but Danish film Brotherhood asks us to do just that: Lars (Thure Lindhardt) and Jimmy (David Dencik) meet in the service of Hitler’s ideals, then find themselves drawn to each other. As they struggle to come to terms with their attraction, we’re supposed to care. Fat chance. Although Lars initially disproves of the neo-Nazis, he becomes quickly (read: unrealistically) interested in their cause. Soon, he’s writing his own anti-Pakistani propaganda. And Jimmy is devoted to the movement from the get-go, even condemning “faggots” despite his own same-sex attraction. Maybe I’d feel differently if either Lars showed any sign of internal conflict. Neither displays a sense of regret over being a racist, xenophobic, anti-semitic asshole. They’re down with the gay but only in relation to each other. Who gives a crap if these two make it work? Mon/21, 9:30 p.m., Castro. (Peitzman)

Plan B (Marco Berger, Argentina, 2009) It’s the oldest story in the book: boy meets girl, boy loses girl, boy seduces girl’s new boyfriend. OK, maybe not, but the set-up isn’t entirely unheard of either. It’s a credit to Plan B’s sharp aesthetic and strong performances that it still feels fresh. The Argentinean export stars Manuel Vignau as Bruno. When his girlfriend Laura (Mercedes Quinteros) breaks up with him, he decides to get revenge by making his move on Laura’s supposedly bisexual boyfriend Pablo (Lucas Ferraro). If you’ve seen any romantic comedy ever, you know that what begins as a game for Bruno becomes true love. But Plan B doesn’t go the comedy route, and instead offers a compelling, somewhat subtle drama. The love affair is slow but well-paced, so that the inevitable conclusion feels earned and completely satisfying. Mon/21, 9:30 p.m., Elmwood; June 24, 6:30 p.m., Victoria. (Peitzman)

Undertow (Javier Fuentes-León, Peru, 2009) This sexy and delicate drama is a bisexual triangle that continues beyond the grave. In a Peruvian coastal hamlet, fisherman Miguel (Cristian Mercado) loves his pregnant wife and fellow church leader Mariela (Tatiana Astengo). But he’s also having a secret, passionate affair with Santiago (Manolo Cardona), an urbanite who moved there to paint the land- and seascapes, and who chafes at the restrictions Miguel places on their relationship. At a certain point one character dies, and writer-director Javier Fuentes-León seamlessly handles Undertow’s transition to magical realism. The leisurely story doesn’t go where one expects, ending on a perfect grace note of bittersweet acceptance. Tues/22, 7 p.m., Castro. (Harvey)

Children of God (Kareem J. Mortimer, Bahamas, 2009) Likely the first gay-themed film not just shot in but produced by the Bahamas, Kareem J. Mortimer’s first feature is an occasionally heavy-handed but consistently engrossing mix of romance, religion, and homophobia. Johnny (Johnny Ferro) is a withdrawn Nassau art student who’s a target of gay taunts and bashers. A teacher who says his paintings lack emotion gives him keys to her cottage on the “ultimate landscape” of isle Eleuthera, where he promptly meets the aggressively friendly and inquisitive Romeo (Stephen Tyrone Williams). Also headed here is Lena (Margaret Laurena Kemp), righteous wife of pastor Ralph (Ralph Ford), with whom she shares a strong penchant to publicly denounce the moral threat of “the gays.” She has, however, just left her husband after he furiously denied giving her VD — to confess might reveal that he is, in fact, playing around on the downlow. That’s just the starting point for a complicated, perhaps over-ambitious but sometimes powerfully sensual and poignant film that is definitely amongst this year’s Frameline highlights. June 23, 9:30 p.m., Castro. (Harvey)

Spring Fever (Lou Ye, China, 2009) Shot surreptitiously and chock full of gay sex, Chinese director Lou Ye’s latest film isn’t likely to earn him any additional slack from Chinese government censors (his 2006 film, Summer Palace, got him banned from filmmaking for five years after he failed to preview it before it screened at Cannes). Using hand-held cameras, public settings, and natural lighting, Lou follows Wang Ping (Wu Wei), who’s been having a passionate, messy affair with travel agent Jiang Cheng (Qin Hao). Things get more complicated when the snoop Wang’s wife hires to follow her closeted husband winds up pursuing the two men in ways he never imagined. What Spring Fever lacks in continuity and psychological depth, it makes up for with sexual candor and a genuine frisson of risk, given the secretive conditions under which it was made. That thrill doesn’t quite last through the film’s duration, but as a document of defiance Spring Fever is commendable. June 24, 9:30 p.m., Castro. (Sussman)

The String (Medhi Ben Attia, France/Belgium, 2010) The cross-cultural coming out drama is a perennial at LGBT film festivals, but Medhi Ben Attia’s assured debut feature presents a familiar tale in new surroundings with flashes of charm. Handsome architect Malik (Antonin Stahly) returns to his posh, Tunisian homestead from France to lay his father to rest, fully intent on coming out to his overly doting, oblivious mother (former Fellini muse Claudia Cardinale). But when he falls for hunky house-boy Bilal (Salim Kechiouche), he finds that the truth has a way of outing itself. Although Attia unspools his film’s titular metaphor rather quickly (having hid his true feelings for so long, Malik feels continuously “tied-up” by a piece of imaginary string), he deserves credit for his nuanced portrayal of gay life in the Maghreb and his inspired casting of Cardinale, who can’t help but radiate an Auntie Mame-ish joie de vivre even when the script calls for “disappointed” over “daffy.” June 25, 7 p.m., Victoria. (Sussman)

Hideaway (Francois Ozon, France, 2009) The very French insouciance with which Francois Ozon usually treats his characters and narratives sometimes makes a film seem perilously slight — yet more often than not he manages to pull off a surprising climactic resonance. Which is the case with this latest. When they both overdose on heroin, Mousse (Isabelle Carré) wakes up pregnant in the hospital — but her boyfriend doesn’t wake at all. Declining his mother’s offer to pay for an abortion, she retreats to a friend’s empty seaside chateau. There she gets an unexpected visitor in Raul (Louis-Ronan Choisy), her late lover’s surviving sibling. Their prickly interplay (and his affair with a local handyman) sometimes seems to be drifting pleasantly nowhere in particular — yet it does end up somewhere, rather poignantly. June 25, 9:30 p.m., Castro. (Harvey)

From Beginning to End (Aluízio Abranches, Brazil/Argentina/Spain, 2009) Just about the definition of upscale gay male softcore, this “big brother” fantasy has nothing to do with George Orwell. Its protagonists are inseparable Brazilian half-brothers (played as adults by Joao Gabriel Vasconcellos and Rafael Cardoso) whose bond caves in to the physical once parental boundaries are removed by mom’s death. This over-the-top kinship is tested when the younger bro is invited to train as a swimmer in the Olympics … in Russia. Near-plotless and borderline senseless, this shamelessly sexy tale from The Three Marias (2002) director Aluízio Abranches succeeds as a guilty pleasure on the sheer, convincing ardor he and his actors bring to their “taboo” love story. June 26, 6 p.m., Castro. (Harvey)

Howl (Rob Epstein and Jeffrey Friedman, USA, 2010) Beatniks get the Mad Men treatment — with a cast that includes that AMC hit’s Jon Hamm, playing the lawyer who defended the publisher of Allen Ginsberg’s quintessential rebel yell, Lawrence Ferlinghetti, against obscenity charges in San Francisco’s most celebrated trial of the 1950s. It’s fun to see that anally nostalgic aesthetic translated to ramshackle North Beach apartments and sophomoric, filthy-mouthed literary heroes. Not so much fun: the overly literal animation chosen by the directors (famed documentarians Rob Epstein and Jeffrey Friedman). Yes, parts of “Howl,” the poem, are animated — unfortunately in a style that calls to mind bad 1980s French Canadian pseudo-spiritual arthouse schlock. Still, this brief slice of beats is juicy, confined to the trial and the tale of Ginsberg’s poetic and sexual awakening. James Franco is wonderful as the young, self-obsessed, epically needy yet still irresistible crank. It was the first time I found myself wishing to see more of Ginsberg naked. June 27, 7:30 p.m., Castro. (Marke B.)

Frameline34: San Francisco International LGBT Film Festival
June 17-27, most shows $8-15
Castro, 429 Castro, SF; Roxie, 3117 16th St, SF; Victoria, 2961 16th St, SF; Rialto Cinemas Elmwood, 2966 College, Berk
www.frameline.org

The Daily Blurgh: Poisoned fruit cocktails, tipsy crafts

Jesse Hawthorne Ficks
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The Daily Blurgh: Poisoned fruit cocktails, tipsy crafts

Curiosities, quirks, oddites, and items from around the Bay and beyond

The moral imperative of the BP oil spill: Drive 20 percent less.

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Former gourmet chocolatier goes vegan.

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The crafting potential of the mini bar is limited only by your imagination/liver.

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Local punks clean up on Broadway’s big night

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What makes that children’s juice drink so delicious? Lead!

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Apple isn’t into (male) cartoon nudity or gay sexiness. What prudes.

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Wanna be the Greyson Chance of the art world? Then get to work! The Guggenheim is scouting Youtube for the next Ryan Trecartin. How democratic.

More on the new cuddle porn: Jesse from “I Want Your Love”

Jesse Hawthorne Ficks
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More on the new cuddle porn: Jesse from “I Want Your Love”

A while back, I spoke to filmmaker Travis Mathews about his feature-length project, I Want Your Love. (While tha film is still in development, a demo clip is available for online viewing). In an effort to get another perspective on I Want Your Love, I spoke to Jesse, who appears in the film and in Travis’ other ongoing project, In Their Room. Jesse offered candid reflections and insight into pornography, sex in film, and staying hard throughout a shoot. Spoiler alert: “penis drugs.”

SF Bay Guardian: Before I Want Your Love, you worked with Travis on the intimate In Their Room project. How did you first get together?

Jesse: Travis asked me to do In Their Room, basically because we knew each other through a mutual friend. I remember he approached me and said he was looking for people who were just comfortable getting super expose about themselves in their own space. I’m a performance maker, anyway—it’s what I do. So I guess he just assumed that I would be comfortable with that.

SFBG: When he asked you to do I Want Your Love, were you at all apprehensive or was it something you wanted to do right away? It’s obviously a lot more explicit than In Their Room.

J: Well, it’s funny. It falls on two sides. On the one hand, I was not at all hesitant, because the project itself and the way it was pitched to me and the way Travis has been thinking about this project, is like a whole set of theories around the way sex operates in film that I’m super behind. Travis has this whole kind of sociosexual idea about their being a savvy and discerning audience that’s ready to see sex integrated naturally into the narratives that they see in film. You can see that more in European avant garde filmmaking, but not so much in the States for all sorts of systemic reasons. The reason why Travis set out to do this project was really interesting and fascinating to me, and I actually thought the story sounded really beautiful. The story of the feature is kind of this person who takes this big, intense, emotional inventory of his life in San Francisco because he’s forced to leave for any number of reasons. And that resonates with me. I’ve moved around a lot and I have a really sentimental connection to place. Place is a really big thing for me. So all that stuff was really great.

In terms of being hesitant about it being more explicit, the jury’s still out. I don’t think I really have a concept of what it means for me to be having sex on film. As a performing artist—I’m a choreographer in San Francisco, and my work is very curious about bodies and curious about bodily functions and responses and fatigue and posture and all these raw physical states. And so I work with nudity fairly frequently. So this to me is just one step further, in a sense. It’s just another exploration of the physical state. And I think I see it as that. But what I’m learning, especially with the release of the trailer for I Want Your Love, is that the way that I make something and that how it’s received by all these people who are seeing this are two very different things. And I think I might find reason to be worried in the future, but so far, I’m just kind of, deer in headlights. I don’t think I really have a concept of what it means for me to be doing this kind of work. I’ve never done it before.

Jesse from I Want Your Love

SFBG: You touched on a few things I wanted to talk about. But before we go into sex in film, I wanted to just focus on porn. What’s your take on the current state of pornography?

J: I have a lot of respect for an industry that employs as many people as it does and that, in a lot of ways, is transgressive and sex-positive. I think, especially in San Francisco, there are a lot of porn companies who are doing things that are not just about getting off, that are actually reshaping the way people think about sex. I mean, Kink.com has incredible politics. There are a lot of companies that have really great politics. But at the same time, I say I have a lot of respect for them because truthfully I don’t know a whole lot about the infrastructure of porn companies.

In terms of what I see when I’m watching porn and how it relates to Travis’ work, I don’t know if there’s a need for Travis’ work as pornography. I don’t know whether people want to keep their porn dirty and their films deep. I’m not really sure what people’s response to that will be. Apparently there’s been a response from a lot of people that I Want Your Love is like a very different and more full-bodied turn-on for them, because there’s something familiar and humble and flawed about the whole thing. But as it relates to contemporary porn, I don’t know. I’ve always just kind of seen porn as what it is, and it’s kind of like a fantasy place. I’ve never really wanted porn to be more realistic than it is for me, as a voyeur of porn. I guess it is what it is. I feel like my sexual relationships and my sexual partners and the world I’ve created there is very satisfying for me, in terms of reality. So I don’t really seek out reality. But there is a weird thing where people are projecting a lot of reality onto I Want Your Love. A lot of the comments on Butt are like, “Oh, it’s just so real. It’s like I know them. I’m in love with them.” It’s funny because, stylistically I understand that this is a little bit of a trick to make it seem more real. But there’s nothing more real about I Want Your Love than any other porn that you see, although I don’t know if we’re calling it porn.

Jesse and Brenden in I Want Your Love

SFBG: You talked about being new to this kind of exposure. What kind of response have you gotten? Between I Want Your Love and In Their Room, are you getting recognized by any strangers?

J: I mean, this probably touches on a lot of my personally psychology and insecurity, but I’ve had a really weird shadowy presence on both of these projects, which is very interesting to me. I was fascinated because on In Their Room, I received less attention or shout-outs or comments than almost anyone else in the film. I wouldn’t go so far as to say that’s a reflection of me being, like, a not attractive or not desirable figure in the movie, but there were a couple things I was curious about. One is that I had a much more sexually explicit scene than anyone else in the film. And I wondered if it was this kind of archaic idea of giving it up too soon, that I was damaged goods or something. Because it’s really interesting. I did receive notably less press or attention than almost anyone else in the film, which is funny.

And then the same goes for I Want Your Love. I mean, my scene partner in I Want Your Love, I think is a very cute, very prototypically attractive guy. For both of these films, I’ve actually been able to kind of—I don’t know if it’s a curse or a blessing. I don’t know if I should feel ugly, or how I’m supposed to feel. [laughs] But I have not actually been approached, talked about, blogged about really individually all that much. It’s always the other guys. I seem to be very neutral or unexciting. I don’t know. I just go into the studio and do what Travis asks me to do. But according to the discerning public, it’s always the others that are more interesting. [laughs]

SFBG: Let’s talk about your co-star a bit. Where do you begin building that rapport and chemistry when you’re filming an unsimulated sex scene with someone?

J: With Brenden, Brenden was someone that I was already having sex with. There was a really great, excited, very honeymoon-y chemistry between us. It was very distinctively sexually. We weren’t dating or anything like this. … Every time we would sit down and talk about new guys, it would be like, “Yeah, but honestly, I could fuck Brenden’s brains out right now and be thrilled about it.” There’s very raw, obvious chemistry. We already wanted to fuck—really, really badly.

SFBG: Well, do you think that adds to the realism people are talking about? Could they be picking up on the history between you guys?

J: Yeah, I guess so. Which makes me think about real porn and how they walk into a studio having never met their partner, and they have to just have it ready. Which then, brings up the idea of the penis drugs. Because Brenden and I, we totally have boners for each other, but then we took the penis drugs, because for a shoot, you have to do extraordinary things with your penis that you’ve never had to do in your entire life. And so, I wonder if it had been someone else, maybe I just could’ve taken a penis drug and I would have been fine.

SFBG: I wanted to touch back on the point you were making about sex in film and how that’s something you see more in European productions. Do you think American audiences are ready for this? Is it going to take more independent movies like Travis’ to push them in that direction?

J: I would say it’s difficult to comment on a question like that in the incubator that is San Francisco. We’re so colored by what the reality of the pervasive national idea is. That said, I think that we are moving toward being more ready for it. I think people need to see specific social cues of independent filmmaking in order to feel comfortable with this. I think if you hold their hand and show them things that make them feel like they’re watching—I can’t even think of an example right now. But if you give them little social cues in this work that remind them that they’re watching something that they would see at the Embarcadero Center or at YBCA—you know, people like to feel like they’re watching art. They like to feel like they’re there and they’re experiencing this thing, and they were a witness to this piece of art. So if you provide little ways for them to feel this way, I think they’ll swallow the medicine a little easier. A spoonful of sugar kind of thing.

To thrill is divine

Jesse Hawthorne Ficks
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0
To thrill is divine

arts@sfbg.com

THEATER It’s been a different kind of thrill down at the Hypnodrome as Thrillpeddlers enters the 11th month of extensions for its runaway smash hit, The Cockettes’ musical Pearls Over Shanghai. One hundred performances strong (as of May 1) and with no end in sight, Thrillpeddlers has slyly redefined its brand of thrills to embrace a wholly different genre besides the Grand Guignol revivalism for which it is best known; setting aside its usual quotient of twisted naturalism and splattered gore for the rambunctious, over-the-top glitter and glam of Theatre of the Ridiculous.

But the two art forms are not entirely unrelated. After all, a staple of Grand Guignol was the steamy sex farce, a fitting description for the ecstatic nudity, cross-dressing, masturbation, and defloration running wild throughout Pearls. And just as the endangered-species quality of Grand Guignol first prompted Thrillpeddlers artistic director Russell Blackwood to begin mounting performances of it in 1991, so too did the precarious posterity of Theatre of the Ridiculous spark a similar interest.

“I didn’t want it to become a footnote in theatre history, or just something you read about,” Blackwood explains. “It turned me on — the fact that it was as marginalized and as conceivably to be forgotten in the way I was concerned Grand Guignol might be.” In 2008, Thrillpeddlers took the slapstick scripts of Theodora, She-Bitch of Byzantium by Charles Busch and Charles Ludlum’s Jack and the Beanstalk and mounted its first “Theatre of the Ridiculous” festival, eventually taking the whole show on the road — along with an hour-long rendition of Pearls Over Shanghai — to the HOWL festival in New York City’s East Village.

“It went really, really great,” Blackwood said. “We had two full separate bills that played in repertory with each other. And afterward, seeing a videotape of that made me realize just what to do with Pearls.”

Of course it wasn’t just Blackwood’s vision that made the Pearls revival possible; it was also the ongoing collaboration with musical director and original Cockette Scrumbly Koldewyn, who painstakingly brought together songs and scripting from multiple versions of the show despite having scarce archived material — save memories and a few recordings — to work from. Koldewyn also has been an instrumental force behind the upcoming revival of Hot Greeks, the only other “book” musical from the original Cockettes repertoire, (opening at the Hypnodrome May 2). He also accompanies the shows nightly on the piano.

One particularly interesting aspect about Pearls is the way it has brought together multiple generations worth of queer performance fixtures: the original founder of Theatre Rhinoceros, Lanny Baugniet, who performs an opium freakout clad in skintight silver lamé; Jef Valentine, whose Madame Gin Sling drips with Frank N. Furter juice and alternates with original Cockette Rumi Missabau; the eternally robust Steven Satyricon as a rosy-cheeked Naval Captain with a mysterious past; and the role of Russian VIP escort Petrushka, serially portrayed by no fewer than four drag Grand Dames.

But by no means is Theatre of the Ridiculous meant to be viewed solely through a queer lens. Blackwood estimates that slightly less 50 percent of the cast is queer-identified. And the myriad Thrillpeddlers core company members, who started off as ghoulish Grand Guignolians, mesh well with their gaily glittering counterparts.

“What struck me (about Theatre of the Ridiculous) was that it’s a decidedly queer art form, yet always seems to have involved men and women, gays and straights,” Blackwood said. “It’s also a wholly American movement, which you can almost look at as a triangle that goes from New York’s Playhouse of the Ridiculous, to John Waters in Baltimore, and the Cockettes out here.” From French horror-show to all-American glam, Thrillpeddlers has seamlessly expanded its niche: resurrection.

PEARLS OVER SHANGHAI

Through Aug. 1

Through June 26: Fri.–Sat., 8 p.m.; July 10.-Aug. 1: Sat. 8 p.m.; Sun. 7 p.m.

$30–$69

Hot Greeks

May 2– June 27 (Thurs., 8 p.m.; Sun., 7 p.m.), $30–$69

Hypnodrome

575 10th St., SF

www.thrillpeddlers.com

Park it here: an alterna-Dolores six pack

Andrew Lam
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Park it here: an alterna-Dolores six pack

The other day, sharing the scrap of blanket space I was able to hustle between 1,000 of my Vitamin D deprived brethren, I spotted:

1. A green parrot. On a man’s shoulder.

2. A green python. Ditto, shoulders.

3. An LED light filled, fixed gear frame.

All in a ten foot radius. Freaky! Unique! Not very relaxing! Conclusion: I need a break from Dolo. 

Luckily, I made a serendipitous discovery: there are other parks in San Francisco! Many, in fact. Here are some green spaces that are sunny, green, and relatively free of studied self imagery:

Alamo Square

Okay, so perhaps this won’t provide much respite from those hip cats and their big snakes — on a sunny day, Alamo is almost as flush with BBQs and irony as it’s neighbor in the Mission down South. But Alamo’s got the most iconic view in the city (if your icons, as mine, are based on early ‘90s sitcoms) and a really cool shoe garden by the public bathrooms.

Walk in at: Steiner & Hayes

 

Lafayette Square

One of the most intelligent ideas our city planners had was to put a park on nearly every peak in our city. Head up to Lafayette Square, deep in the heart of tony Pac Heights, and you can see their brillance manifested for yourself — a panoramic view of urban valleys, green hills. This park is where all the little old rich ladies go with their little old rich dogs, and its pristine lawns is aching for a little more infiltration by the prols.

Walk in at: Sacramento & Laguna, SF


Alta Plaza

One hill over, Alta Plaza is Lafayette’s only slightly less ritzy cousin. Most of the lawn space is on a terraced slant, perfect for when the sun is in the southern end of the sky. And should you get the yen to rise up and do something, Alta’s got superb tennis and basketball courts that are rarely occupied on weekdays.

Walk in at: Clay & Steiner, SF


Ocean Beach

Did you know that the western side of the city is lined by the Pacific Ocean? It’s true! And while Ocean Beach no longer features the amusement parks and boho repurposed streetcar villages, it’s still one of the coolest things about living here. Pick a sunny day (or a tempestuous one if you dig watching storm action in a solid coating of Gore-Tex) and post up between a couple dunes, where you chill in a little wind sheltered, clothing optional cove of your own. [note: nudity not really legal]

Walk in at: Judah & Great Highway, SF


Misson Creek Park

With all the UCSF construction in the neighborhood to the south, who knows how long it’ll stay this way, but for now, Mission Creek Park reminds me the river we used to escape to when I was in high school; a spot where we could swim that was still close enough to the city to be doable on a half day off. Don’t swim in Mission Creek (actually, do it! That’d be hilarious!). But you get what I mean, here’s a place to hang, eat, read, smoke that J — next to a river. Bliss.

Walk in at: Channel & 4th St.


Fillmore Center

Am I really blowing up the spot on this little oasis? Dang, I’m taking this whole journalism thing seriously.  Consider yourself in on the greenest little patch of lawn in Western Addition — enter in through the snazzy plaza, and head straight past all the old people on benches to the wall of cascading water in back, which has a tranquil little pool and all the empty lawn space you need. All this solitude does come at a price though: BYO tamales and ganja treats.

Walk in at: Fillmore & O’Farrell

Hey kids! It’s Panique time!

Jesse Hawthorne Ficks
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Hey kids! It’s Panique time!

CULT DVD Alejandro Jodorowsky and Fernando Arrabal have overlapped their whole lives. The Chilean Jodorowsky and Spanish Arrabal arrived in Paris is the mid-1950s, eventually cofounding (with late, lesser remembered artist French artist Roland Topor) the Mouvement Panique — a post-surreallist group named after the god Pan and dedicated to “terror, humor, simultaneity.” The two initially focused on theatrical performance and have in subsequent decades created massive bodies of plays, poetry, novels, visual art (paintings for Arrabal, comic books for Jodorowsky), and more. Internationally, they’ve been most widely experienced as filmmakers of some notoriety whose sporadic work in that medium was busiest during the wide-open late 1960s and early ’70s.

Jodorowsky, of course, rates high on any cineaste’s list of cult idols for the blood-soaked spaghetti western Christ parable El Topo (1970) and mystical-baroque colossus The Holy Mountain (1973), both recently freed from decades of legal trouble for legitimate DVD release. Arrabal’s films have been even harder to see and have fallen into comparative obscurity, partly because they’re less “fun” despite sharing much in the way of striking, shocking, and frequently blasphemous imagery.

In 2005 Cult Epics brought out a collection comprising his first three features: Viva la muerte (1970) and The Guernica Tree (1975), two violently grotesque fantasias about the Spanish Civil War whose dead included his own assassinated painter father, a loyal Republican; plus I Will Walk Like a Crazy Horse (1972), a no-less surreal yet strangely touching love story of sorts between an urban playboy on the run and the three-foot-tall male desert hermit.

Given their penchant for full-frontal nudity, antifascist politics, desecration of religious iconography, and other MPAA-unratable themes, perhaps the weirdest overlap between the two most famous “Panique” insurrectionists is that each once strayed into the alien realm of family entertainment. (They no doubt seized this inapt moment as a respite from perpetual funding woes, which famously scuttled Jodorowsky’s ready-to-go Dune and his El Topo sequel.)

Unsurprisingly, the results did not send Disney into a market-dominance panique. In fact, Jodorowsky’s 1978 for-hire project Tusk was, at least until recently. one of the most infamously unseen movies ever made, a literally and figuratively elephantine India adventure deemed unwatchable for any audience. Check out the cruddy French-language dupe with Spanish subtitles on YouTube and see how far curiosity gets you.

Arrabal’s kid flick wasn’t quite so fully buried, but it too has remained an obscure object of completist desire. Fortunately his second and final DVD collection from Cult Epics just arrived to fill that need. Nominally released in 1982, French-Canadian coproduction The Emperor of Peru stars Mickey Rooney — there goes the scenery in one big chew — as a wuvvable wheelchair-bound eccentric found living in the forest by three children on summer holiday. A former steam train engineer, he teaches them to run an abandoned locomotive so they can take their Cambodian-refugee friend back home to his parents. Never mind that there’s probably not much rail linking the South of France and Phnom Penh, let alone that in 1982 the Khmer Rouge remained very active.

How many children’s films would have dialogue like “Father’s in a concentration camp”? Emperor‘s real raison d’être, in any case, is its myriad fantasy sequences, sprung from the childish imagination of Toby (Jonathan Starr). In his daydreams he’s a firefighter or astronaut whose heroic deeds are applauded by such bystanders as Napoleon Bonaparte. Amid the goofy, mostly innocuous proceedings are stray moments of unmistakable Arrabal — as when Rooney, in full Arabian Nights regalia, is surrounded at imperial court by dwarf attendants. (Arrabal has a thing for little people.)

The new collection also includes Car Cemetery, a 1983 New Wave “punk” pose fest with Gallic pop king Alain Bashing as a postapocalyptic rock star Christ (ouch indeed). Among other rarities are Arrabal’s delightful hour-long 1992 video Farewell, Babylon!, a collage of past works, impish narrative, and sampled New Yorkers including Spike Lee and Melvin Van Peebles.

Breast intentions

Jesse Hawthorne Ficks
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1
Breast intentions

CULT CINEMA The 2010 Academy Awards ceremony did indeed mark historic
firsts. Oh, not just the fact that a woman finally won Best Director.
I mean somebody (Alec Baldwin? Steve Martin? I forget) saying
"vagina" live to a bazillion people worldwide, some of them no doubt way short of both voting age and bedtime. Of course you can say fuckwad, fuckhole, and fuckety fuckelstein on cable. But this was network, and the Oscars besides. How community standards do change.

Turn the clock back 50 years or so, and you couldn’t even say "pregnant" — when Lucy Ricardo was "expecting" on I Love Lucy, no euphemism was quite delicate enough. Before audience-restrictive MPAA ratings arrived a few years later, big-screen movies had to be pretty circumspect too, no matter that fully clothed Jayne Mansfield was more obscenely suggestive than the plain old medical-grade v-word could ever be. (FYI, Best Use of the Term in a Porn Title: Big Trouble in Little Vagina.)

That was in the mainstream, where actual public nudity was as yet unthinkable. A few rungs down the cultural ladder, however, things were gradually loosening up. Art and smut conveniently blurred from the late 1940s onward, as certain European filmmakers (Ingmar Bergman among them) began pushing toward greater sexual frankness. This delighted U.S. grindhouse distributors, who wasted little time buying exploitable features, then cutting the offending hell out of them even as their ads promised shocking, adults-only content.

Such was the case with Night of Lust, a 1962 production by Casablanca-born French producer-director-scenarist Jose Bénazéraf. In 1965 American entrepreneur R. Lee Frost announced this feature, purportedly "BANNED all over the world!," could "at last be seen in the U.S. uncut, after three years in court!" He neglected to mention he’d trimmed nearly 20 minutes from it himself.

What remained in the barely-hour-long version playing the Red Vic this week was a lurid jumble that makes it difficult to figure out Bénazéraf’s original intentions, let alone why some then considered him an important Nouvelle Vague figure. (Critics abandoned him once he went into straight-up porn.) But with its continuity gaps, moralizing narrator, atrocious dubbed dialogue, and positively Freudian camera fixation on myriad bared breasts, this supposedly true crime story torn from "Interpol File 218" is campy fun, at least.

This isn’t the Paris of lovers, but Sicilians vs. Frogs fighting over millions in heroin, plus strippers, stranglers, kidnappings, and catfights. Not adding any romance either is an original free-jazz-combo score by no less than Chet Baker — his trumpet playing sometimes mimed by a musically inclined mob boss — who was then living his own European heroin crime saga. It would get him imprisoned in Italy, then deported from England and Germany. Whether those events too were sprinkled with random sightings of jiggling mammaries, we’ll never know. (Dennis Harvey)

NIGHT OF LUST

Wed/17-Thurs/18, 7:15 and 9:30 p.m. (also Wed/17, 2 p.m.), $6–$10

Red Vic

1727 Haight, SF

(415) 668-3994

www.redvicmoviehouse.com

Take off your clothes! World Naked Bike Ride, spring edition

Jesse Hawthorne Ficks
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Take off your clothes! World Naked Bike Ride, spring edition

Strap on your helmet and strip down to your skin— it’s time to ride bikes in the buff. San Francisco regularly participates in the ‘Northern Hemisphere’ World Naked Bike Ride each summer, but Saturday (3/13) marks the city’s first inclusion in the Southern Hemisphere’s jaunt. Spring or summer, the ride aims to expose the dangers bicyclists and pedestrians face in a car-dominated culture and to protest against “indecent exposure to vehicle emissions.”  

Bay Area bicyclists will join pedaling nudes in Sydney, Cape Town, Lima, and other Southern parts of the globe this weekend, flashing their junk on two wheels for a “critical mass with a lenient dress code.” The crowd will cruise from Justin Herman Plaza to Golden Gate Park, stopping at City Hall for a photo shoot. Because this is the virgin spring fling, the group may be small, but definitely not shy.

Interested in joining but feeling a little insecure about disrobing? Here a few tit-bits of advice from bare-skinned veteran, George Davis.

1. Wear sunscreen— sunburned genitalia isn’t sexy or fun.
2. Wear a bike helmet; decorate it and the rest of your exposed self.
3. Think of your unclothed body as freedom from speed-slowing textiles.
4. Revel in the thumbs up from police and bask in the rock star status you’ll receive while cruising through Fisherman’s Wharf.
5. You are “natural gas powered”— to hell with oil dependency.

And a few more sensitive items to consider:

1. Shoes are good. Pedals are rough on bare toes.
2. Smile! People may photograph you. Be proud and confident. Slouching is never flattering.
3. If you’re hesitant about putting your pussy on the seat or getting your long schlong caught in the chain, wear some cute undies.
4. Children are allowed— non-sexualized nudity is not harmful to young eyes.
5. Worried you’re not ‘hot enough’ to bare all? Damn Gina, everyone looks good when they’re riding green.

Southern Hemisphere Naked Bike Ride
Sat/13, Noon
Meet at Justin Herman Plaza, just North of the huge fountain with all the cubic shapes
(Market and Steuart)
www.SFBikeRide.org


 

All about Amazon Eve

Jesse Hawthorne Ficks
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16
All about Amazon Eve

culture@sfbg.com

SEX Leg, leg, and more leg — the 6-foot, 8-inch model Amazon Eve is one tall glass of water who’s become the drink of choice for an entire population of men. Thirsting for a romp with the busty blonde, Amazon fetish lovers beg Eve to throw them around, hold them like a baby, and dominate their puny bodies. There’s no sex and no nudity, just some good ol’ fashioned rough-housing with a giant, hot chick.

“I pick up guys for a living — it’s the oddest job in the world. And I love it,” she says.

Originally from Oakland and currently in the midst of a worldwide tour packed with interviews, photo shoots, and client visits that leave her exhausted, bruised, and totally stoked, the imposing Eve met me at the San Francisco Museum of Modern Art for a quick tour of the gallery — and an explanation of what it means to be an Amazon woman.

I immediately spotted her at a table in the back of the museum’s cafe. Her elongated arm reached out and to my surprise, offered one of those dainty-lady, totally limp handshakes. All that talk about warriors and power must be reserved for impressing dudes. But then she stood up, immediately grabbing the attention of patrons and towering over my 5’6″ frame. She pointed at her feet. “I finally got a pair of Uggs! I could never find my size until I went to Australia,” she gushes, beaming. People, this Amazon wears a size 14.

We cruised through SFMOMA’s extensive “75 Years of Looking Forward” anniversary exhibit, her shoulders nearly grazing the tops of several large sculptures, and eventually found a bench in a room full of 1950s typewriters to sit on and talk. A strange place for a chat with this kind of working girl, but Eve paid no mind and busted out the November 2009 issue of Australia’s Zoo Weekly. In a feat of obvious yet still striking incongruity, she’s featured on the cover next to a 5-foot, 1-inch model. With huge perky breasts, flat abs, and those neverending limbs, Eve looks like an oversized Playboy cardboard cutout any Midwestern man would love to have in his garage.

“I’m owning the fact that I’m no longer an ugly duckling,” she said, flipping her long hair over her broad shoulders.

amazon eve

Amazon, with art. Photo by Amber Schadewald

After majoring in theater in college, Eve worked as a paralegal, but the position drained her creativity and added the pounds. Looking for a way out, she started an ambitious workout regime, telling herself, “Supermodel or bust!” Quickly, however, she grasped that she would never achieve runway-thin frailty. “I can never be small and I can never be weak,” she said.

So she became a personal trainer. At the gym, she was introduced to a woman working as a pro domme. She tried it herself, “But I quickly realized that I didn’t want to wear that skimpy leather costume. I don’t like floggers, whips, and cuffs. So I started taking martial arts and wrestling classes and finding my own fetish niche.”

Now, 80 percent of Eve’s sessions are spent lifting and carrying her male clients, or performing a series of height comparisons. The other 20 percent are played out with wrestling, boxing, and physical domination. Typically her clients are “small” guys (less than 5-feet, 8 inches) who are educated, professional, and located all over the world. They often pay for her to fly to them. When she walks into the room, they bow. “Amazon women like me are rare, and the guys who like us are plentiful. It’s like a built-in celebrity.”

Most often her sessions revolve around a theme, from the naughty schoolgirl to the cowgirl who knows how to hogtie. She’s held a powerful oil executive in her arms while he muttered “Mommy, mommy!” She’s wrestled with her legs tied together with a paralyzed Danish man. And her next hurdle: wrestling a 465-pound professional wrestler in Dallas. “I need to start training immediately,” she said. “He wants me to perform a very particular scissor move, so it’s my job to figure out how to get my legs around him.”

At $400 per hour, it seems crazy that guys would spend such a large amount of cash without the promise of a “big finish.” But Eve reminds me that fetishes aren’t necessarily sexual: “Fetish is about a heightened sense of awareness and sexual stimuli, not necessarily sexual acts themselves.”

Our tour of the museum is cut short so Eve can make it to a session with a new client. She pulled me in for a hug, my face pressed directly into her soft breasts. I immediately understand why little guys like Eve.

And off to work she goes — extra-large schoolgirl outfit in her purse.

10 sexy books published in 2009

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10 sexy books published in 2009

As the aughts, a decade fondly described by many to be the worst decade ever, mercifully makes way to the grave, an uncharacteristically optimistic blogosphere is abuzz with requisite “best of the decade” lists, signaling that even the grimmest times come with small condolences. These “best of the decade” lists are — for all their neat hierarchies, pithy generalizations, and annoying assumption of authority — quite fun to read. And, as a rare opportunity to recycle old news as relevant content, they are also fun to write.

Among the many “best ofs” floating about at the moment, I find myself gravitating toward the literary. For all their Anglo-centric, sexist, dead white male undertones, and despite the occasional mentions of Malcolm Gladwell or Dan Brown, these “best books” lists seem far less depressing than their pop-cultural (like hipster of the decade) or political counterparts (like top political scandals of the decade). And as I peruse the many books deemed by many opinions to be the best of the year or, grander yet, best of the decade, I find myself compiling a modest, literary list of my own: 10 Sexy Books Published in 2009. Having been all of 14-years-old in the year 2000, I don’t really have the authority to create a “best of the decade list” regarding anything sexual.

However, I have certainly read some very sexy books this past year.

If sexy is to be taken by its dictionary definition as “sexually interesting or exciting,” then the following ten decidedly qualify. Some are sexy for their potent ability to raise readerly temperatures, others, for their intellectually seductive, mentally stimulating faculties. Despite a somewhat disparate array of themes and subjects, each book is capable of producing the feeling that compels readers to, as my aunt puts it, “close their legs and open a book”: the ecstasy of reading.

10. Confessions of an Ivy League Pornographer, by Sam Benjamin. Ahh, Ivy Leaguers, drawn, as moths are to a flame, to porn careers which are subsequently turned into quarter-life memoirs. Or not. Mind you, this career trajectory is not something I fault a college graduate, or anyone at all, from pursuing. In an economy in which a college graduate is lucky to find a job doing anything, partying with porn stars sounds like the glittering reward at the end of a Horatio Alger (himself an Ivy League grad) tale. With the dreaded spring semester looming ahead, soon-to-be-graduates are advised to find inspiration where they can. Hint: Benjamin’s book.

9. Over Here, a volume of poems by Frank Sherlock. Having won a coveted Sexiest Poem of 2009 award, from CAConrad’s “Sexiest Poem Award” blog, Sherlock is a shoo-in for a spot on this list. “Over Here” is, without a doubt, a sexy poem — though it’s not a poem about sex. What makes Sherlock’s poem sexy is, in CAConrad’s words, its “tenacious defiance for culture’s endless forms of violence to our fellow humans, other animals and the environment.” Hmm… tenacious defiance…

8. Live Nude Girl: My Life as an Object, by Kathleen Rooney. In the beginning, there was irony: Rooney began working as a nude model after being fired from her cafe job because she refused to sleep with her boss. Her experiences as an art model are the inspiration and subject of her book. Rooney is a talented writer whose honesty, conviction, and obvious poetic gifts underline her ambitious theoretical observations. In this contemplative book, Rooney ruminates on working in the buff and, in the process, finds something to say about Roland Barthes, Judeo-Christianity, and the Terra Cotta warriors of China. Somehow, she succeeds in making such declarations convincing; Rooney did earn money being naked, but her memoir cloaks that nudity in layers of meaning.

7. Obsession: An Erotic Tale, by Gloria Vanderbilt. I wrote about Vanderbilt’s erotica earlier this year. Vanderbilt, who will be entering her 86th year in 2010, has a habit of becoming hugely successful in endeavors that should reasonably predict the exact opposite. Like that time in the ’80s when she lent her name a line of high-waisted mom jeans… for women and men. The famous socialite’s new career as a writer of BDSM erotica has impressed even Salman Rushdie, who acknowledged, “Writing about work and writing about sex are probably the two hardest things. If I’m still doing it when I’m 85, I’ll be very grateful.”

6. Roberto Bolle: An Athlete in Tights, photographed by Bruce Weber. Men are lucky. Men are not confronted nearly to the degree that women are by images of bodily perfection. Can you imagine what would happen if half the advertisements featuring undressed women, from Victoria’s Secret to American Apparel to PETA, were to be replaced with one of Weber’s strapping Adonises? For my benefit, can we conduct an informal experiment using Weber’s images of Roberto Bolle?

5. Best Women’s Erotica 2010, edited by SF’s own Violent Blue. As a genre, erotica is tarnished with a sorry reputation, so it is a truth universally acknowledged that a writer in possession of good erotica-writing abilities must be in want of a literary champion. Anais Nin had Henry Miller; these women writers have Violet Blue. Like the other “Best Women’s Erotica” collections Ms. Blue edits, her latest will not disappoint her readers and fans.

4. Important Artifacts and Personal Property from the Collection of Lenore Doolan and Harold Morris, Including Books, Street Fashion, and Jewelry, by Leanne Shapton. To any degree that a break-up can be sexy, this one is, perhaps because, in reading Shapton’s book (an experiment of form that is part story, part photo essay, part auction catalogue) we can’t help but recall the intensity and sadness of our own past relationships. Through ingeniously chosen ephemera, vibrant “artifacts” Shapton employs to bring her characters to life, the otherwise cloying artifice of a fictional auction becomes believably real. As this is a story of a break-up, it makes perfect sense that we should see nothing of Lenore and Harold themselves. Like our own ex-lovers, their identies are marked by absence outlined in memory, as invisible fingerprints tracing the objects they leave behind.

adderall-diaries0110.jpg

3. The Adderall Diaries: A Memoir of Moods, Masochism, and Murder, by local writer Stephen Elliott. Granted, neither murder nor Adderall is sexy. Then again, this isn’t a book about murder or Adderall. Like most of Elliott’s work, The Adderall Diaries is about Stephen Elliott and, true to form, his latest effort contains (in addition to good writing and a dark backstory that readers familiar with Elliott’s work will recognize as one that could only have happened in this author’s universe) a healthy dose of stolid sexual confessionism. Judging from the behavior of some of Elliott’s fans, as gathered from his own reports and my own firsthand observations of several local readings, Stephen Elliott is a subject that some women do find sexy indeed.

2. We Did Porn: Memoir and Drawings by local writer/artist/pornographer Zak Smith, a tome that helped SFBG‘s D. Scot Miller overcome his “fear and predjudice of hipsters.” Given that Smith looks like a combination between Devon Sawa’s character in SLC Punk and a guy I had a crush on in high school who drew pentagrams on his fingernails with a White Out pen, we shouldn’t understate the accomplishment. In any case, it was the art that swayed D. Scot, who contends that despite being a “artsty-fartsy, probably spoiled, uber-talented white boy artist,” Smith’s “artwork is impeccable. There is tenderness, daring, heat in his pieces. With a Nan Goldin compassion, he captures an intimacy and inclustion that is often lacking in the movies he and his comrades made.” Seconded.

1. Don’t Cry, by Mary Gaitskill. Mary Gaitskill is, in my opinion, the sexiest writer currently working in the English language. I’ve been an overzealous fan since I discovered, at an impressionable age, her short story “Secretary,” a BDSM-themed story of a young secretary’s affair with her boss (that later inspired the Gyllenhaal/Spader movie of the same name). Gaitskill is unafraid to tackle grand themes in small spaces, and it’s her short stories — oozing as they are in love, sex, and grief — that her formidable abilities are most obvious. She lends an intelligence, devastating accuracy, and unmatched bravery of sentiment to topics otherwise reducable as merely “perverse”. In “Folk Song,” Gaitskill creates a female character who decides to have sex with a thousand men in a row. A 43-year-old woman, in “Old Virgin,” lends her anatomy to Gaitskill’s precisely honed scalpel. My favorite of the collection, “Mirror Ball,” reveals the theft of a soul, literally, as something that a beautiful young Mephistopheles collects from his trail of lovers. Like the sex that Gaitskill is so adept at describing, the stories in this collection are first brutal, then revealing — and necessarily in that order.

Tish Tang

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Rating: C

The only nude beach in Northern California where you can drive right onto a riverbank, park, get out, and start sunbathing and swimming naked, is located at Tish Tang, some 45 minutes from the coast.  “It’s so cool that you can take a vehicle and do this,” says Alex Towery, who usually goes to the Trinity River site at least once a summer.  The beach, which is reached via a nearby campground, offers nearly a mile of fun in the sun.  And seniors and New Agers have been coming to Tish Tang for years to try its waters, which some Hoopa Indians allege have the power to heal.  But the beach has more gravel than sand.  And here’s a tip: stop by on a weekday instead of a weekend.  It can be loud on weekends, when suited families, mixed with teens and partiers, sometimes bring their boom boxes.  “Some people even set up barbecues on the sand,” says Towery.  A few persons have reportedly injured themselves using a rope swing that’s about 100 feet off the ground; the beach has several rope swings.

Legal status:

Property of the Hoopa Valley Indian Reservation, whose residents have complained about nudists in the past. Hoopa Valley is the largest reservation in California. According to an order issued by President U.S. Grant in 1976, the reservation encompasses 89,572 acres. The reservation is about 50 miles inland from the Pacific Ocean, and 300 miles north of San Francisco.

How to find it:

Head to Willow Creek (see above), then drive 7.9 miles north on Highway 96 toward Hoopa. “Highway 96 winds through a fantastic river canyon, along some of the best blacktop in California,” tells Jerry White, of San Leandro. Driving time is approximately 30 minutes from Arcata to Willow Creek and then another 10-15 minutes to Tish Tang. The road follows the river in Six Rivers National Forest, just south of the Hoopa Valley Indian Reservation. Look for the Tish Tang campground and from there, drive onto the beach, being careful to stay on the smoothest, most well-worn stones.

The beach:

The best area is south around the bend. You can also canoe to Tish Tang. Water depth and speed depends on whether a dam along the Trinity is open, causing high levels, or closed.

The crowd:

Canoeists, tube riders, families, and a few skinny-dippers. Towery has observed 5-20 people present, with up to 25 percent going nude.

Problems:

Rocky river bottom; cold water; may be noisy on weekends; some objections to nudity; during high water years, drownings have happened.

South College Cove

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Recommended!

Rating: A

For the most dependable warm weather, the best time to skinny-dip at the two adjoining beaches in Trinidad known as College Cove is mid-summer through fall.  Hopefully, you won’t be disappointed.  “It’s definitely a fun place,” says Jessica, a former student at nearby Humboldt State College.  “Agrees reader Jack:  “It has gorgeous clear water and great wind protection.”  Many clothed visitors also use the beach.

Legal status:

State property. Years ago, deputies raided the beach and handed out anti-nudity citations.

How to find it:

From Eureka, go north on Highway 101 and take the Trinidad turnoff. At the first intersection, instead of turning right onto Patrick’s Point Drive, keep going straight. Says reader “North Coast Mike”: “about two blocks past a grocery store, turn right at Stage Coach Road and follow it a quarter mile to a dirt parking lot on the left.  Look for the Trinidad State Beach sign.” Follow Stage Coach Road a quarter mile to a dirt parking lot on the left.  “If you end up at the lighthouse, you missed it, so turn around at the bottom of the hill,” adds Mike.  Follow the trail at the south end of the parking lot.

Here’s a map of College Cove

The beach:

A half-moon-shaped cove with around a quarter mile of sand.

The crowd:

Mainly young singles, most of them students. Expect around 50 visitors a day, with use equally divided between nudes and prudes.

Problems:

Icy water; eroding trail; gawkers; occasional fog; law enforcement raids in the past.

 

Elsewhere on Big River

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To try four other clothing-optional riverbanks on Big River, walk downstream to a series of fun swimming holes.  Some of the spots are “maybe waist deep,” says regular visitor Brian.  But with increased winter rains, he reports that “at a few spots, you can even jump into the water.” However, due to the rocks in the river, total nudity isn’t recommended.  Suggests Bill Johnson, of San Francisco:  “Bring some old shoes you can wear for wading.” We call these beaches Two Bends, Three Bends, Five Bends, and Six Bends.

 

Legal status:

Part of the Big River unit of Mendocino Headlands State Park.

 

How to find it:

Follow directions to Lilies, then walk two, three, five, and six bends downstream along the river, which at times resembles a creek.

 

The beach:

Little riverbank sand shoals with cool water that may be shallow or moderately deep.

 

The crowd:

Probably just you.

 

Problems:

Rocky river bottom; needs better directions; anti-nudity regulations may be enforced by state rangers in the future.

Boyles Swimming Hole

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Rating: C

Also as Dead Man’s Hole, Boyles mostly draws suited swimmers to a site that’s further up Big River from Lilies Beach and just east of Mendocino Woodlands State Park. But a few skinny-dippers also hike or bike to Boyles, which even has a great rope swing. Take the trail that begins at Lilies. The crowd here is a little noisier and more social than the more laid-back types found at Lilies.

One nagging problem is that although access is blocked to recreational vehicles by fallen trees, “motorcycles are still an issue,” says Stephanie Anderson, park manager of the nearby Mendocino Woodlands Camp Association. “Motorcyclists are finding a way through any inch [of road] they can.”

 

Legal status:

Part of the Big River unit of Mendocino Headlands State Park. A park plan says that swimming at Boyles is “currently not restricted,” a possible indication that nudity may be allowed to continue.

 

How to find it:

Follow directions to Lilies Beach. Park where the dirt road ends at Big River and, turning left, parking where you see other cars pulled over. “When you exit your vehicle, you’ll be facing a yellow gate with a bridge viewable behind it,” tells Brian, a local resident. “Take the trail that starts there and stay on it until you arrive at Boyles.” For most walkers, the hike from the Lilies area and the Mendocino Woodlands Camp property will be quick. “I can walk there in 10 minutes,” says Anderson. Boyles is east and slightly south of Lilies. For location, see the right side of this map or go here.

 

The beach:

A nice deep swimming hole with a rope swing.

 

The crowd:

Most of the several to dozen or so visitors on an average day will probably be suited. And on some days, the scene is downright crowded. “There’s been a ton of people down at Boyles,” said Anderson. “There’s more beer drinking and more trash there than at Lilies,” says Jeanne Coleman, education director of the Mendocino Woodlands Camp Association. On days when Boyles isn’t busy, a few skinny-dippers can be found plunging into the cool, invigorating water.


Problems:

Same as Lilies, plus motorcycles on trail (see above) and a rowdier crowd.

 

Lilies Beach

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Rating: A

Mendocino’s Lilies Beach, one of Northern California’s top swimming holes, has more water than the last few years. “And,” adds Jeanne Coleman, the affable education director of the nearby Mendocino Woodlands Camp Association, “people can’t drive to it because of a fallen bay tree, so it’s never crowded.” Coleman’s never seen more than 30 people there, and that group was on a field trip from the Woodlands. “I’m looking forward to going there right now,” she told us last summer. “I like it because it keeps getting sunlight late into the day and has a nice gravel sand bar.” Plus, when we spoke with her, Lilies’ stream orchids were in full bloom.

Lilies is great to visit in summer or early fall, when temperatures often rise into the 80’s, even though it may be only in the 50’s just down the street in nearby Mendocino village. Depending on the previous winter’s storms, roads leading from Little Lake Road near Highway 1 in Mendo may be rutted, but usually passable. Expect a nice, fairly mellow crowd with a mix of men and women with up to half of them nude, a drop from 10 years ago. There’s usually a sprinkling of youths, who deputies sometimes cite for underage drinking. In the past, some visitors have complained about trash and noise from adjacent homeless camps, but the campers have only occasionally been spotted in recent years. “Nobody cares whether you have clothes on,” adds Coleman. “And it gets less traffic and trash than anywhere else nearby. I often see people stop off who have been mountain biking.” 

 

Legal status:

Part of the Big River unit of Mendocino Headlands State Park. According to a park planning document, the hole at Lilies is considered a “local gathering spot” and swimming there is “currently not restricted,” a sign that nudity may be permitted to continue.

 

How to find it:

From Albion, take Highway 1 north to Mendocino, then turn right on Little Lake Road, the first right turn past the main Mendocino turnoff sign. Drive four or five miles east on Little Lake until you see a sign for Mendocino Woodlands. Follow the dirt road that starts there for about three miles. When you see the Woodlands retreat, go right about .3 miles, until the dirt road ends next to Big River. Park just off the road, where you see other cars pulled over. Follow the trail that begins there a quarter mile to the beach. Or, to save 1.5 miles, from Mendocino drive 3.5 miles east on Little Lake until you spot a dirt road with a yellow Forest Service gate. Follow the road to a second yellow gate. Just past the gate, at the juncture of several roads, turn right and take the dirt road to the parking area.  The walk from the Woodlands only takes about 20 minutes.


The beach:

Are you ready to enjoy a beautiful forest riverbank with nice water for swimming? If so, then you’ll probably like Lilies. Bring flip-flops or old shoes to wear in the rock-strewn creek. To reach the beach from the path, wade across the water to a site that’s part sand and also has some gravel.  


The crowd:

Anywhere from a few (more the norm) to 20 people can usually be found at Lilies, depending on the time of year and weather, according to frequent visitor Henry. That’s quite a plunge from the crowds that came in the ’80s and ’90s, when some 50 to 200 users would appear on hot summer days, nine out of 10 of them usually going nude. Nudists, including small groups and families who often come in the summer, enjoy the town’s favorite swimming hole along with swimsuit-wearing teens and adults.

 

Problems:

Increased ticketing of off-road drivers and underage drinkers reported; bumpy, rutted roads after heavy winter rains; trash near parking area; poison oak may be present; rocky river bottom; cold water; long walk to beach.

Upper Russian River

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Rating: C

If you’re frustrated by Sonoma County’s harsh anti-nudity laws, then take heart: a quiet, clothing-optional riverbank that’s just three miles over the county line in Mendocino County, not far from Cloverdale. Seldom visited and protected from the wind by a canyon, this site off Comminsky Station Road also can’t be seen by passing drivers. Says a July 2010 visitor: “it has friendly people, spectacular scenery, and relatively easy access.”

 

Legal status:

Unknown.

 

How to find it:

From San Francisco, follow Highway 101 north, past Santa Rosa and Cloverdale. When you cross into Mendocino County, check your odometer and drive 2.9 miles north. Exit onto Comminsky Station Road and take it west to the end. Park and walk down a short path to the beach.


The beach:

The river curves here, leaving a ribbon of fine sand for sunning along its banks.


The crowd:

The sandbank is visited by a few nudists and non-nudists, depending on the time of year.


Problems:

Unknown legal status; needs better directions.

Las Trampas

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Rating: C

Want to go walking around nude at night outside without being hauled off to jail?  Imagine hiking naked guided only by your flashlight in the East Bay Hills, with the trail silhouetted by a full moon and small herds of horses coming up to greet you.

“It’s absolutely surreal,” says Jurek Zarzycki.  “The horses come within inches of you, so close you can feel their breath.  It’s like being on a moonscape with aliens.  You may be a little afraid at first, but the horses are very friendly.”

America’s only nude “Full Moon Hikes” have been taking place on summer full moon nights in Castro Valley for more than seven years.  The next ones will be held July 29, August 31 (arrive by 6 p.m.), and September 28 (starting at 5:15 p.m.) 

“We start early so that we have the full moon already risen by the time the sun sets,” says San Leandro’s Dave Smith, who leads most of the hikes.  “Then we hike up the trail around sunset.”

Coordinated by a partnership between The Sequoians Naturist Club and the Bay Area Naturists, based in San Jose, walkers leave the property of The Sequoians fully clothed at dusk and walk through meadows and up hills until the moon rises, before heading back down the slopes completely nude, with their clothes folded neatly into their backpacks.

Some people walk partially nude, especially near the top of the main ridge used by the hikers, where, says Zarzycki, “there can be very cold winds.”  Adds Smith: “We make about a 1,200 foot ascent up ridges and trails to the Las Trampas Ridge. “We usually pause long enough to drink some water and take in the views of the sun settling over the bay and even Mount Tamalpais, on the coast, plus the moon rising south of Mount Diablo.  Then we keep walking.  Soon, the coastal air just starts pouring over the hilltop.  And the wind begins howling.”  Once on the peak, almost everyone dons a windbreaker. 

“Whether you are clothed or not, participating in the Full Moon Hike is a big treat,” adds Zarzycki, who suggests hikers bring good hiking shoes, a flashlight (“Most of the time you won’t need it, because of the moonlight”), and bug spray.  “And don’t forget to have some baby carrots with you to give to the horses.”

“It’s truly wonderful,” says Smith. “We’re usually the only ones on the path.” 

Agrees Zarzycki: “It’s one of the best experiences I’ve ever had. The fields look absolutely shimmering on the way up.  And then when you’re coming back down, the path is lit only by the moon, so you’re walking in this silvery light.  You’re in nature, the moonlight is flooding everything, and then suddenly there’s this big horse silhouette coming out of nowhere. You feel like you’re in the middle of a beautiful dream.”

As for the horses, they’re real enough — in fact, they usually beg for snacks. 

The hike isn’t easy.  Some parts of the walk are “mountain-goatish,” tells Smith.   One time, the path was so slippery that hikers crawled along it on all fours, while grasping for bushes hidden by the darkening sky.  Everyone in the group fell down on their butts at least once in the most slippery spots, but they helped each other and continued down the ridge.

The route downhill usually takes the nighttime naturists past a field of wild sage, which smell great after dark.

After the walk, most hikers shower at the Sequoians Naturist Club, and, for a fee of $5, take a dip in the 86-degree pool there and enjoy a plunge in the facility’s hot tub.  “It was fabulous,” says Zarzycki about an earlier trek.  “I pitched my tent right there at the Sequoians and then slept under the sky.”

Legal status:  

Las Trampas Regional Wilderness, where nudity is prohibited.

How to find it:

Contact the Sequoians Naturist Club at http://www.sequoians.com or BAN at http://www.bayareanaturists.org or Dave Smith at dsfingers@sbcglobal.net for details on how to join a walk. Participants usually meet at and return to the Sequoians, in Castro Valley. “We usually meet about two hours before sunset at the Sequoians Recretation Hall for a quick pot luck,” says Smith. To get there, take Highway 580 east to the Crow Canyon Road exit. Or follow 580 west to the first Castro Valley offramp. Take Crow Canyon Road toward San Ramon .75 mile to Cull Canyon Road. Then follow Cull Canyon Road around 6.5 miles to the end of the paved road. Take the dirt road, on the right, until the “Y” in the road and keep left. Shortly thereafter, you’ll see the Sequoians sign. Proceed ahead for about another .75 mile to the Sequoians front gate.

The crowd:

Expect five to 20 participants.

Problems:

Must go as part of a guided group; pay fee for pool/hot tub; visibility limited so bring a flashlight; use of bug repellent advised; some of the trail is steep and slippery; walk only held two to four times a year.

Upper Cache Creek

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Rating: C

Located somewhat further from the bridge, Upper Cache is a little more “private” than nearby Lower Cache Creek Beach, which is downstream and described above.Tip: hike up the creek from Lower Cache for several minutes until you come upon some skinny-dippers.

Legal status:

Private property marked with “Do Not Trespass” signs.

How to find it:

Follow directions to Lower Cache Creek (see above), but walk a short distance upstream to the clothing-optional area. The beach usually draws fewer visitors than Lower Cache.

The beach:

Usually has a little less sand than Lower Cache.

The crowd:

Nudity evaporates on weekends, but a few skinny-dippers visit on weekdays. If you come during the week, it’s likely you’ll be the only person present.

Problems:

Not much weekend nude use; less sand than at Lower Cache; Do Not Trespass signs; visits by police.

Odd Fellow’s Beach

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Rating: C

Odd Fellow’s Beach has an odd problem: a family is trying to keep naked people off what they say is their land. But rebuffing those who sunbathe in the buff isn’t the only issue. The spot is also said to be private property.  

At last report, the dispute was underway between naturists who were hoping to start a nude beachhead on one side of a bridge and a family that claimed to own the property on the other side. Despite the county’s anti-nudity laws and the efforts of the family that reports it’s owned property along the water since 1853, the visitors haven’t given up.  

According to posts on the Nudist-Resorts.org bulletin board, small numbers of single people, couples, and families have been sunbathing naked at a beach near Odd Fellows Bridge, between Guerneville and Sunset Beach, on the Russian River. The site is just east of Korbel Winery and a little downstream and to the west of the bridge.

One writer says he’s “been frequenting this hidden little beach” for four years “and it has become one of my favorites.” He says that the “road is closed during winter, the bridge is removed in October, and replaced in May or June. Because of this, the beach area is rarely occupied.” But, he adds, on warm spring weekends before the road is reopened, it isn’t unusual to see “several couples and even families go nude there.” Once summer arrives, though, more clothed people, traffic, and canoeists converge here. He describes what it was like to camp nude on the beach: “I felt so privileged. I had the beach pretty much to myself. The two couples that came through went nude also. Had a very peaceful time. The weather was perfect, and so was the water.”

Lately, a visitor who calls himself Redbeard has been grooming the site. He says he’s cleared the area of debris, cut some steps into the bank, and cleaned up “more spots” in the area. Redbeard said he’d found at least four locations on the sand that are big and soft enough to hold a blanket. Rains washed away a small edge of the beach, but they also caused even more foliage, including some willow trees, to grow, which has been helping shield the site from passing canoeists.

Meanwhile, a person representing the family says “Odd Fellows Beach is private property.” The family apparently puts up “No Trespassing” signs, but, adds the family member, “every year folks tear (it) down … litter, camp, and show no respect for the river or the land.”

Legal status:

Unknown. Claimed to be private property, but, as is the case at some of the Russian River sites, portions may be public access area of private property. A “No Trespassing” sign has reportedly been erected on a nearby trail. See Lower Wohler Bridge for law enforcement policy.

How to find it:

From Santa Rosa, go north on Highway 101 to River Road. Then follow River Road west, passing Wohler Road and Sunset Avenue, in the Hacienda District. After Sunset, River Road winds until it eventually curves past Korbel Winery. Check for Odd Fellows Park Road, which, if you’re headed west, is the last street on the left before Korbel. Turn left onto Odd Fellows. Take it to Odd Fellows Bridge and park. If the bridge is not in place (it’s there in late spring and summer), park at the end of the road. Walk to the last “Do Not Park” sign on your right. Follow the little trail that begins there as it goes up the embankment, staying on it as it heads to the right and takes you to the beach, which is said to be on the western, downstream side of the bridge.

The beach:

The beach curves and has a grove of willows that help keep it obscured from the view of passing canoeists or gawkers. In May or June, after the bridge is put back in place and traffic increases, clothing-optional visitors sometimes move to a nearby site, about .25 mile upstream, for more secluded tanning. “For the adventurous types, there is a clearing and meadow, big enough for Frisbee, on a private lot above,” says Redbeard.

The crowd:

Probably just you, but there may be a few other visitors.

Problems:

Family that says it owns the site is asking naturists to stay away; see Wohler Bridge for anti-nudity enforcement policy. Due to increased traffic and canoeists, may be difficult to sunbathe nude here in the summer.

 

Upper Wohler Bridge

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Rating: C

For five years, a clothing-optional riverbank has been slowly taking hold just upstream from Lower Wohler Bridge.  Says a poster on a naturist Internet message board:  “It’s worth checking out.  It gets good sun throughout the day, yet is very secluded.”

Legal status:

Wohler Bridge Regional Park, consisting of Sonoma County Water Agency land. See Lower Wohler Bridge for anti-nudity enforcement policy.

How to find it:

From San Francisco, take Highway 101 north past Santa Rosa to River Road, then go west for 10 minutes to Wohler Road. Turn right onto Wohler and drive 1.4 miles to the bridge, continue across it, and, from October through mid-May, look for $6 per vehicle parking at 9765 Wohler Road.  The site has a parking lot, chemical toilet, and boat ramp.  Parking’s almost impossible to find on Wohler or River the rest of the year, but you can still walk or bicycle to Wohler. On the south side of the bridge, look for a steel fence and go through a green gate with a large Keep Clear sign. Continue past the water facility. An all-weather gravel trail to the nude beach and beyond starts here. The Water Agency does not hassle bikers or hikers on the path. The walk from the gate to the nude beach is easy and takes maybe 15-20 minutes, with the path sloping down through a redwood forest next to the river. Where the trees end, you’ll see a fork in the road. At the fork in the road, bear left. Take the path down and up, through some bay trees, until you arrive at a pump station. The trail to the newest Wohler Bridge Beach starts near a clump of bamboo at the northwest end of the pumphouse “mound.” Follow it through the willows until it ends at a long, curved gravel beach. The main nude sunning area is to the right, with the best sand located at the downstream end of the beach.

The beach:

Either end of the beach is good for suitless sunbathing, but the preferred mix of gravel and sand is on the downstream side, where a regular visitor has cleared and leveled some nice spots. To find them, follow the trail next to the riverbank. “It’s a nice secluded cove surrounded by willows,” says a user.

The crowd:

A few visitors have been showing up, now that the word is out about the beach. But the site is often deserted. Gay cruising and a few incidents of public sex have been reported here.

Problems:

Same as Lower Wohler Bridge, plus a longer walk; some public sex reported.

Lower Wohler Beach

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Rating: C

Despite obstacles, a few die-hard nudists continue to defy Sonoma’s stringent anti-nudity law.  Even more amazing:  an end to most parking from June-September hasn’t halted naturists from biking or walking to Lower Wohler Beach. But use has been reduced to a few dozen people on the hottest days.  Visits by deputies only take place when complaints are received, according to Diana Nolan, of the Guerneville substation of the Sonoma Sheriff’s Department.  “We don’t have a patrol (for anti-nudity),” she says.  Visitors walk upstream along a trail lined by trees and other vegetation to a small clearing used mainly by gays, plus a few others.  “I see hikers, bikes, couples, and mixed singles,” says Tom, a regular visitor.

Legal status:

Wohler Bridge Regional Park, consisting of Sonoma County Water Agency land purchased from the family of the late actor Fred MacMurray in 1996

How to find it:

From San Francisco, take Highway 101 north past Santa Rosa to River Road, then go west for 10 minutes to Wohler Road. Turn right onto Wohler and drive 1.4 miles to the bridge, continue across it, and, from October through mid-May, look for $6 per vehicle parking at 9765 Wohler Road.  The site has a parking lot, chemical toilet, and boat ramp.  Parking’s almost impossible to find on Wohler or River the rest of the year, but you can still walk or bicycle to Wohler. On the south side of the bridge, look for a steel fence and go through a green gate with a large Keep Clear sign. Walk or ride past the water facility. An all-weather gravel trail to the nude beach and beyond starts there. The Water Agency doesn’t hassle bikers or hikers on the path. The walk from the gate to the nude beach is easy and takes maybe 15-20 minutes, with the path sloping down through a redwood forest next to the river. Where the trees end, you’ll see a fork in the road. Follow the right fork to the meadow being used by nudists. A path there also leads down to a little beach. If you come to a water collection pumping area, it means you’ve gone too far on the trail and should turn around, retrace your steps, and look for the clearing.

The beach:

“There is a good beach and nice private areas for sunning,” reported a Guardian reader. “The trails are better and the meadow is still getting use.  If you bike in, it takes about five minutes from the last No Parking sign.” Wohler’s eighth-to-quarter-mile-long ribbon of flat, soft sand and river gravel is fun for sunbathing. Although boats, floats, and canoes are frequently passing the site, a few visitors occasionally wade in the water or set up a net and play naked volleyball in the clearing. However, the riverbank is eroding, so some nudists are now visiting Upper Wohler Bridge, another beach that is just upstream.

The crowd:

Many visitors are nude gay males. Expect several dozen users on the hottest weekend days, but usually just a few visitors.

Problems:

Eroding beach; area subject to raids based on complaints; proximity of canoeists and other water craft users; path may be muddy following rainfall; garbage; no summer vehicle parking available; long walk from the parking area; possible poison oak if you don’t stay on the trail and within clearing; complaints of gay cruising in meadow area.

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