Young Girl First Time Film Erotika

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Young Girl First Time Film Erotika

My Beautiful Laundrette (Stephen Frears, 1985)
Carry On Camping (Gerald Thomas, 1969)
Intimacy (Patrice Chéreau, 2001)
Black Narcissus (Michael Powell and Emeric Pressburger, 1947)
Deep End (Jerzy Skolimowski, 1970)
9 Songs (Michael Winterbottom, 2004)
Confessions of a Window Cleaner (Val Guest, 1974)
Sunday Bloody Sunday (John Schlesinger, 1971)
The Draughtsman’s Contract (Peter Greenaway, 1982)
Red Road (Andrea Arnold, 2006)

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Named after a rare butterfly, the extraordinary new film by Peter Strickland is also that lesser-spotted creature: a genuinely erotic British film. We survey 10 more titillating titles from these shores.
When Peter Strickland was asked about his influences on The Duke of Burgundy , he unsurprisingly trotted out a parade of what used to be called “continental” filmmakers: Walerian Borowczyk, Tinto Brass, Luis Buñuel, Claude Chabrol, Rainer Werner Fassbinder and Jesús Franco. Anything from Britain? Yes, the 1980s sitcom Terry and June, although decidedly not for its (nonexistent) erotic content.
François Truffaut notoriously suggested to Alfred Hitchcock that there is a certain incompatibility between the terms ‘British’ and ‘cinema’. This was obvious nonsense, but if you add the word ‘erotic’ to ‘cinema’ you create a proposition that’s harder to deny. Despite two of the stronger commercial genres in British cinema history being the 1950s naturist ‘documentary’ and the 1970s softcore sex comedy, it says much about the cultural repression of the time that anyone ever found them especially erotic.
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There are certainly major British filmmakers with unashamedly sensual imaginations, but can we describe the likes of Black Narcissus (1947), If…. (1968) and “Don’t Look Now” (1973) as ‘erotic films’ in themselves? And although they’re more overtly erotic, can we call the likes of Deep End (1970), Bitter Moon (1992), Breaking the Waves (1996) and Intimacy (2001) ‘British’ given complex co-production funding, multinational casts and directors hailing from Poland, France and Denmark? 
Should we define an ‘erotic film’ purely in terms of sexual explicitness, or something subtler and more sensual? Or indeed by the effect that it had on its audience? After all, it’s arguable that the appeal of 1940s Gainsborough melodramas was far more genuinely erotic than that of the inexplicably long-running Come Play with Me (1977) and its fusion of ancient music-hall routines with only very mildly titillating nudity.
There are no direct equivalents of Borowczyk, Brass, Franco or Radley Metzger in British cinema (the hardcore pornographer Ben Dover has different priorities), and serious British films about eroticism remain as rare as the more exotic butterflies on display in Strickland’s film, despite the considerable relaxation in censorship post-2000 – Michael Winterbottom ’s 9 Songs (2004) being the British film most notorious for taking full advantage of this. So the following 10 films are at least as much illustrations of social and historical trends as they are defining examples of cinematic eroticism in their own right. It’s safe to say that a French, Italian or Spanish list would be very different!
Lasting only a minute or so, this late Victorian film was also catalogued under the title Woman Undressing, which provides evidence that its primary purpose was to titillate, although (presumed) director Esmé Collings only lets his unidentified star strip down to her voluminous petticoat.
Given the lack of reliable background information, it’s impossible to say whether this coyness was intended to be erotic or whether a beady eye was being kept on obscenity laws so strict that the philosopher Bertrand Russell once complained that it was impossible to campaign against them without breaching them. It may of course have been a little of both.
British cinema’s oldest direct precursor to the Fifty Shades of Grey phenomenon was the Gainsborough studio’s 1943-47 cycle of costume melodramas, which were more or less explicitly marketed on the strength of their erotic appeal – specifically that of James Mason (often complete with riding crop and tight britches) treating Phyllis Calvert and Margaret Lockwood appallingly badly, but in such an irresistibly smouldering way that the films’ largely female audiences secretly longed for him to do the same to them. A contractually-tied Mason loathed the films, but this all too evident on-screen disdain only increased his fans’ ardour.
When the British Board of Film Censors (as was) agreed to pass a serious documentary about naturism in the mid-1950s, this gave an immediate green light to numerous similar “documentaries’ by shamelessly opportunist producers who took care to adhere to BBFC guidelines (“Breasts and buttocks, but not genitalia [would be accepted] provided that the setting was recognisable as a nudist camp or nature reserve”).  
This effort by photographer-turned-filmmaker George Harrison Marks came relatively late in the cycle, but retains a fond following thanks to its catchy title and a genuinely charming performance by model-turned-actor Pamela Green .
Two D.H. Lawrence creations bookended the 1960s: the obscenity trial of Lady Chatterley’s Lover in 1963 (the year in which Philip Larkin alleged that sexual intercourse began) and the international hit that Ken Russell made of Women in Love , thanks not least to one of the most notorious scenes in all British cinema, in which Alan Bates and Oliver Reed engage in full-frontally naked wrestling on a rug in front of an open fire to underscore their characters’ latent homoeroticism. But there was also a powerful sensuality emanating from Glenda Jackson ’s Oscar-winning performance as the wayward Gudrun.
A (slight) relaxation of censorship at the turn of the 1970s triggered a decade where the softcore sex comedy was one of the few surefire commercial bets for British cinema. Most were neither sexy nor funny, and this one isn’t particularly erotic either, but it does cast a keenly satirical eye on how the sex-film business was run at the time, with wide-eyed ingénues on both sides of the camera and a plot that contrives multiple adaptations of the notoriously filthy poem to please different backers: hardcore porn, a gay western, a kung-fu musical and a family-friendly compromise.
The martyrdom of Saint Sebastian had been a key erotic symbol in western art for many centuries before Derek Jarman and Paul Humfress ’s cinematic take. One of the most sexually explicit films then made in Britain, it begins with an aggressively symbolic dance performed by Lindsay Kemp’s troupe wearing giant phalluses before decamping to a remote garrison where various Roman soldiers either suppress or give in to their various homosexual urges. The amount of frontal male nudity was unprecedented in British cinema for the time: a blatant erection slipped past the BBFC thanks to cunning framing subterfuge during the official inspection.
Nicolas Roeg has consistently demonstrated one of the most powerfully erotic imaginations in all British cinema: Performance, Walkabout (both 1970), “Don’t Look Now” (1973) and The Man Who Fell to Earth (1976) all provide ample evidence, as does the more recent Puffball (2006), with its show-stopping glimpse inside the protagonist’s vagina at the moment of orgasm. But the Roeg film most completely bound up in the erotic is this often intensely disturbing psychological drama about the obsessive affair between Art Garfunkel ’s psychiatrist and Theresa Russell ’s married client. As a by-product of an unusually intense shoot, Roeg married his leading lady.
“I’m obviously interested in pornography”, Peter Greenaway admitted in 1985, and 10 years later he made his most overtly erotic film, loosely inspired by the famous ‘pillow book’ by 10th/11th-century Japanese lady-in-waiting Sei Shōnagon.
Thanks to her unusual upbringing, Nagiko ( Vivian Wu ) fetishises not just the elegance of calligraphy in general but the process of writing directly on her own skin, ideally at the hands of a potential lover – a notion that allows Greenaway to explore verbal as well as visual eroticism. Ewan McGregor is the translator who turns out to be ideally equipped (in every sense) to fulfil Nagiko’s desires.
In the early 2000s, Hanif Kureishi wrote two British films that paid unusually close attention to the distinction between straightforward physical intimacy and its knottier emotional component. If Intimacy (2001) garnered most of the column inches for its unsimulated fellatio scene, it was The Mother that offered the most complex take on its subject, as its middle-aged grandmother May ( Anne Reid in a memorably fearless performance) tries to conquer bereavement-triggered grief through an affair with her daughter’s boyfriend ( Daniel Craig ).
Three years later, a Speedo-clad Craig would be globally promoted as an image of erotic allure via the publicity for Casino Royale (2006).
Ashley Horner ’s celebration of erotic obsession sees young lovers Noon (Nancy Trotter Landry) and Manchester (Liam Browne) not only indulging in a great deal of graphic sex but also trying to preserve their sexual feelings through photography and a recorded ‘orgasm diary’, scenes depicted with an unselfconscious spontaneity that’s unusual for a low-budget British film.
But when Manchester exhibits Noon’s nude self-portraits in a gallery without her knowledge, the film explores thornier questions about exploitation and objectification that apply to almost anyone tackling similar subject matter, at least if they do it as a collaborative enterprise.
To our list above, you voted to add these great erotic British films…
Lots of interesting additions came in this week, with the Hanif Kureishi-scripted gay love story My Beautiful Laundrette topping the votes. With the cheeky antics of Carry On Camping, the boundary-pushing explicitness of 9 Songs, and Black Narcissus’s nuns in the Himalayas all vying for space in the top 10 this week, it goes to show that the erotic British film comes in many different forms. There were, however, dissenting voices, with @SteveHills among them…
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Being a teenager is hard enough, but once the hormones start raging, all bets are off. These films will help you get through it (or remember it semi-fondly).
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Risky and risqué, indie films have always been a home for bold, honest, and controversial visions of teens’ sexuality . Eliza Hittman’s “ Beach Rats ,” opening this week after bowing at Sundance in January, is another notch in the belt of the sub-genre, a sensitive and often shocking look inside the coming-of-age of a young Brooklyn teen.
Like the best of these films, it’s not all about hormones; it builds on questions about identity and desire. But that’s there too, in sensitively crafted scenes that don’t skimp on reality. Punctuated by some bad choices and an unnerving final act, “Beach Rats” embraces the full spectrum of teen sexuality, even when it’s not exactly alluring.
Here are eight indie films that engage with the subject matter in appropriately intimate ways.
While “Beach Rats” isn’t an official sequel to Hittman’s previous film, “It Felt Like Love,” the filmmaker explores similar themes and structures and both, told from seemingly opposite vantage points. Set during another languorous Brooklyn summer, Hittman’s debut follows 14-year-old Lila (a fearless Gina Piersanti), awkwardly and constantly exposed to the sexual exploits of her older friend Chiara (Giovanna Salimeni), who goes through boyfriends and experiences with the kind of ease that Lila can scarcely imagine. Lila’s desire to be, well, desirable , finds her fixating on a local boy Sammy (Ronen Rubinstein) with a reputation, whom she doggedly pursues in hopes of striking up a relationship. Lila’s emotional immaturity constantly butts up against her deep physical desires, leading her into increasingly fraught situations she’s not equipped to handle. Like “Beach Rats,” Hittman slowly spoons out important revelations, but its the smallest details that hurt — and hit — the most.
Abdellatif Kechiche’s rigorously erotic three-hour romance initially spawned Cannes walkouts before picking up the Palme d’Or, split three ways between Kechiche and his stars Adele Exarchopoulos and Lea Seydoux, proof of the level of dedication all three of them poured into a wild (read: maybe even nightmarish) shoot. While “Blue” earned big buzz because of the obvious — its long-form sex scenes, alternately hot and totally exhausting — that only obscures the finer points that Kechiche and his ladies put on the ill-fated romance between Adele and Emma. Hormonally speaking, it’s essential that the film opens when Exarchopoulos’ Adele is still slogging through high school, all burning desires and deep boredom, the perfect time for her to meet and fall obsessively in love with the slightly older Emma. There’s no love quite like the first, and while Adele’s awakening isn’t just about sex, but also her sexuality, that her most formative of experiences comes at the hands of another woman is simply one facet of a highly relatable love story. Sure, audiences may still flock to the film for its unbridled sex sequences, but there’s no scene more telling than Adele, stuffing her sauce-stained face full of spaghetti, bursting with new desires that have to be redirected somewhere . 
Awkward, horny teens eager for sexual satisfaction are hardly underrepresented in the entertainment world — hello, sex comedies — but films that center on teenage girls and their kinkiest desires are still outliers. Jannicke Systad Jacobsen’s Norwegian festival favorite doesn’t shy away from showing off just how gross, weird, and yes, horny as hell girls can be, too, all filtered through the experience of indomitable Alma (Helene Bergsholm). When the film opens, Alma’s sexual awakening is already chugging right along, though it’s about as tragically amusing as it gets, punctuated by routine calls to a phone sex line and a mother who just doesn’t get it. Alma’s life gets both worse and better when a popular peer pokes her with his penis at a casual gathering (romance!), and she refuses to let him live it down, alternately turned out and a little freaked out. Her isolation grows (turns out, high school kids are awful), but her libido won’t be tamed — a strange mix that adds up to a risky, funny feature topped off by some big truths.
Dee Rees’ lauded feature debut (based on her short of the same name) is a revelatory look inside the fraught coming-of-age of Brooklyn teen Alike (Adepero Oduye), as she conceals her sexual desires — and, in many ways, her entire identity — as outside forces push her to be honest about what she wants. That’s a hard enough concept for even the most well-adjusted of teens to face, but for Alike, trapped by a restrictive family and pushed to conceal everything from her wardrobe to her taste in music, it feels nearly impossible. Rees peppers in moments of Alike embracing her true feelings, brief flashes of freedom that hint at who she could be if she didn’t need to hide, but they also live alongside nerve-wracking reveals that drive home just how trapped she is. For Alike, her sexual awakening comes hand and hand with her personal growth, and neither will be the same by the film’s moving conclusion. She is not running, she is choosing. 
David Wnendt’s 2013 German drama goes there. And also there, there, and there, right around there, over there, and down there. If there’s an orifice for leading lady Carla Juri to probe in pursuit of pleasure (and maybe even some pain), she’s going to do it. Possibly also with a vegetable. The most out-there, oh-wow coming-of-age story of the century, a movie that makes the pie-loving of “American Pie” look embarrassingly infantile and “Blue Is the Warmest Color” seem suitable for family consumption, “Wetlands” is a riot of sounds and sights that run the gamut between dreamy and nightmarish. But for all its gross-out humor, “Wetlands” also packs an emotional punch, all of it hinging on Juri’s wild-eyed work as the wholly unique Helen, on the cusp of the rest of her life (and super-horny for it).
Marielle Heller’s 2015 Sundance hit “The Diary of a Teenage Girl” is not your average coming-of-age story. Based on Phoebe Gloeckner’s graphic novel 2002 “The Diary of a Teenage Girl: An Account in Words and Pictures,” the film bravely and brazenly turns its taboo subject matter — the sexual awakening of a teenage girl — into a funny, smart, and honest story that entertains as much as it educates. Bel Powley stars as Minnie Goetze, a precocious 15-year-old muddling her way through the swinging scene of seventies-era San Francisco. Like many girls her age, Minnie is struggling to find her place in the world, a journey made all the more difficult by her seemingly unstoppable hormones. As Minnie taps into her burgeoning sexual desires, her life takes a turn — straight into the arms of Monroe (Alexander Skarsgard), her mother’s boyfriend. Heller deftly navigates questions of consent and issues of age, and Minnie makes it clear that she’s making her own decisions, even if they’re probably bad ones.
James Ponsoldt’s 2013 adaptation of the Tim Tharp novel of the same name (beautifully written for the screen by Scott Neustadter and Michael H. Weber) has often been hailed for its sensitive depiction of addiction and its fresh spin on the classic teen romance, but it also takes on sexual awakening in a moving way. Inexperienced Aimee (Shailene Woodley) is seemingly no match for the confident Sutter (Miles Teller), but when the pair fall into a hazy relationship, she bravely embraces the possibility that they could have something real. Inevitably, that includes Aimee losing her virginity to Sutter, in an achingly real sequence that sees Woodley assuming control and guiding the pair into one of the most relatable and emotional love scenes in recent memory. That it also handily deals with issues of consent and doesn’t try to be salacious just for the hell of it makes it even better, and further illustrates the different ways in which both Aimee and Sutter are coming into themselves, with sexuality as just one face of that maturation.
Tucked inside Julia Ducournau’s midnight movie
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