Any film that manages to get liberal columnist Molly Ivins, porn star and performance artist Annie Sprinkle, and adult industry lobbyist Kat Sunlove into a film -- surrounded by dildos of enormous size -- is a film to watch.
"Dildo Diaries" is a humorous and straightforward documentary about anti-sex laws in Texas and, more generally but to a lesser degree, the United States. The film is billed as a look only at Texas, but its reach is actually much wider than that.
The film opens with an investigation --led by Ivins herself -- into the anti-sex toy legislation in the state of Texas. The hypocrisy, cynicism and ludicrous nature of these laws is astounding. Ivins travels to an "educational store" where these "education materials" -- for, you know, doing condom demonstrations and NOTHING ELSE, the law supposes -- are sold. But only in groups of five. And the vibrators can't look too real. But the dildos can, so long as they can't vibrate. This is one of the funniest passages in the film, as the store clerk stone-facedly discusses her wares in terms approved by the Texas legislature. Partly this is because dildos and vibrators have a "giggle factor" that just cracks up even most sex-positive audience. But the sheer idiocy of the Texas laws is patent. And, as several interviewees in the film point out, when the law attempts to regulate things that human beings simply will not allow to be regulated, then the law breeds cynicism. The Texas legislature has done more to break down the rule of law than to uphold it.
The film then gives the viewer a brief history of the dildo and vibrator, with an emphasis on the vibrator (did you know it was the fifth electrical device to be patented in the world?). That the Texas law is misogynist and rooted in a frigid, puritanical ethos is made clear, but the film digs deeper into the manipulation of the political process by far-right religious and power-hungry groups. There film shows how right-wing zealots in the Texas legislature distorted the political process to not only win a victory in the battle against "the terrible dildo" but also re-criminalized homosexuality.
One of the film's great sequences contains footage from the debates on the floor of the Texas House as an ultra-conservative representative from the far northern panhandle debates a moderate representative from Houston. This segment is so funny, you will have to watch the film at home and stifle your laughter so as not to miss any of the side-splitting comments by the conservative as he defends his bill. The footage is followed by Ivins relating an anecdote about the passage of the bill that had my theater roaring with laughter. Truth IS stranger than fiction!
Putting the Texas debacle in context is the point of the remainder of the film. The documentary looks at how such laws as the Texas anti-dildo statute are directed solely at the right to privacy. It is a sober counterpoint to the satirical and campy look at the Texas law. This segment is mostly talking heads, however, and lacks some of the visual and story-telling punch that the previous segment had. But then, that's the nature of the documentary beast.
The film also explores the dildo and vibrator manufacturing industry, which in some ways sidetracks the film's more central theme. This is fascinating footage, as I don't think anyone has ever looked inside the adult industry with the sort of neutral, matter-of-fact eye that this documentary does. There are extended discussions with Scott Tucker, the owner of Topco (one of the world's largest adult toy manufacturers). In an eye-opening segment, straight porn star Anton Michaels has his manhood cast in latex for a new dildo. The look at the adult toy manufacturing industry is oddly disconcerting, however. Most people approach their sex toys in a sexual mode. But the workers in these factories are so non-sexual in their approach to their jobs that a hidden truth of the sex industry is inadvertently revealed -- it's boring to do it all the time.
The film comes full circle by linking the problems faced by adult product companies with the sort of nonsense being legislated by the state of Texas. Again, this bit is comprised mostly of talking heads, and tends to be a weaker narrative than the visual images that preceeded it. In a way, it's frightening to see just how far the government has gone already. Perhaps that is the truest test of a good satirical documentary: You leave the theater laughing at the good parts, and think about the bad parts when you're home.
Don't walk out before the credits, though. Stay behind to hear a bare-breasted Annie Sprinkle sing "You Are My Dildo" (to the tune "You Are My Sunshine") and other ditties. Audience members almost fell into the aisle laughing!
As a whole, "Dildo Diaries" is a cutting look at the way that anti-sex legislation undermines respect for government and destroys the rule of law. While it makes its point through humor and satire, it never loses sight of the broader picture -- that the freedoms and liberties enjoyed by the average American are being slowly eaten away by the corrosive mix of religion and politics. (Pay close attention to the chilling footage of a Texas legislator openly advocating his intention to legislate the Bible into law.) Although the pacing of the film is weak at times, it never really stumbles. Some of the lighting and sound could have been better, but much of the film is shot on location -- and those are some of the most difficult conditions to film under.
One problem with the film, which general audience may not be aware of, is the film's tendency to focus on representatives from the Free Speech Coalition (FSC), the lobbying and legal arm of the adult film industry. Jeffrey Douglas is listed as a First Amendment and free-speech lawyer; in fact, he is legal counsel to the Free Speech Coalition. Bill Margold is listed as head of the FSC, but he is also a former (and legendary) adult video star. To viewers aware of who these and other individuals in the film are, this seems a little political sleight-of-hand that implies the film-makers might have something to hide (e.g., "this is only that evil porn industry again"). True, the advocates for sexual privacy tend to be self-selecting (that is, they often do come from the sex industry). Still, it might have been better to have confronted this specter head-on in the film. (You just know that conservatives are going to point this out and claim the film is illegitimate for "hiding" these affiliations.)
"Dildo Diaries" is a humorous and straightforward documentary about anti-sex laws in Texas and, more generally but to a lesser degree, the United States. The film is billed as a look only at Texas, but its reach is actually much wider than that.
The film opens with an investigation --led by Ivins herself -- into the anti-sex toy legislation in the state of Texas. The hypocrisy, cynicism and ludicrous nature of these laws is astounding. Ivins travels to an "educational store" where these "education materials" -- for, you know, doing condom demonstrations and NOTHING ELSE, the law supposes -- are sold. But only in groups of five. And the vibrators can't look too real. But the dildos can, so long as they can't vibrate. This is one of the funniest passages in the film, as the store clerk stone-facedly discusses her wares in terms approved by the Texas legislature. Partly this is because dildos and vibrators have a "giggle factor" that just cracks up even most sex-positive audience. But the sheer idiocy of the Texas laws is patent. And, as several interviewees in the film point out, when the law attempts to regulate things that human beings simply will not allow to be regulated, then the law breeds cynicism. The Texas legislature has done more to break down the rule of law than to uphold it.
The film then gives the viewer a brief history of the dildo and vibrator, with an emphasis on the vibrator (did you know it was the fifth electrical device to be patented in the world?). That the Texas law is misogynist and rooted in a frigid, puritanical ethos is made clear, but the film digs deeper into the manipulation of the political process by far-right religious and power-hungry groups. There film shows how right-wing zealots in the Texas legislature distorted the political process to not only win a victory in the battle against "the terrible dildo" but also re-criminalized homosexuality.
One of the film's great sequences contains footage from the debates on the floor of the Texas House as an ultra-conservative representative from the far northern panhandle debates a moderate representative from Houston. This segment is so funny, you will have to watch the film at home and stifle your laughter so as not to miss any of the side-splitting comments by the conservative as he defends his bill. The footage is followed by Ivins relating an anecdote about the passage of the bill that had my theater roaring with laughter. Truth IS stranger than fiction!
Putting the Texas debacle in context is the point of the remainder of the film. The documentary looks at how such laws as the Texas anti-dildo statute are directed solely at the right to privacy. It is a sober counterpoint to the satirical and campy look at the Texas law. This segment is mostly talking heads, however, and lacks some of the visual and story-telling punch that the previous segment had. But then, that's the nature of the documentary beast.
The film also explores the dildo and vibrator manufacturing industry, which in some ways sidetracks the film's more central theme. This is fascinating footage, as I don't think anyone has ever looked inside the adult industry with the sort of neutral, matter-of-fact eye that this documentary does. There are extended discussions with Scott Tucker, the owner of Topco (one of the world's largest adult toy manufacturers). In an eye-opening segment, straight porn star Anton Michaels has his manhood cast in latex for a new dildo. The look at the adult toy manufacturing industry is oddly disconcerting, however. Most people approach their sex toys in a sexual mode. But the workers in these factories are so non-sexual in their approach to their jobs that a hidden truth of the sex industry is inadvertently revealed -- it's boring to do it all the time.
The film comes full circle by linking the problems faced by adult product companies with the sort of nonsense being legislated by the state of Texas. Again, this bit is comprised mostly of talking heads, and tends to be a weaker narrative than the visual images that preceeded it. In a way, it's frightening to see just how far the government has gone already. Perhaps that is the truest test of a good satirical documentary: You leave the theater laughing at the good parts, and think about the bad parts when you're home.
Don't walk out before the credits, though. Stay behind to hear a bare-breasted Annie Sprinkle sing "You Are My Dildo" (to the tune "You Are My Sunshine") and other ditties. Audience members almost fell into the aisle laughing!
As a whole, "Dildo Diaries" is a cutting look at the way that anti-sex legislation undermines respect for government and destroys the rule of law. While it makes its point through humor and satire, it never loses sight of the broader picture -- that the freedoms and liberties enjoyed by the average American are being slowly eaten away by the corrosive mix of religion and politics. (Pay close attention to the chilling footage of a Texas legislator openly advocating his intention to legislate the Bible into law.) Although the pacing of the film is weak at times, it never really stumbles. Some of the lighting and sound could have been better, but much of the film is shot on location -- and those are some of the most difficult conditions to film under.
One problem with the film, which general audience may not be aware of, is the film's tendency to focus on representatives from the Free Speech Coalition (FSC), the lobbying and legal arm of the adult film industry. Jeffrey Douglas is listed as a First Amendment and free-speech lawyer; in fact, he is legal counsel to the Free Speech Coalition. Bill Margold is listed as head of the FSC, but he is also a former (and legendary) adult video star. To viewers aware of who these and other individuals in the film are, this seems a little political sleight-of-hand that implies the film-makers might have something to hide (e.g., "this is only that evil porn industry again"). True, the advocates for sexual privacy tend to be self-selecting (that is, they often do come from the sex industry). Still, it might have been better to have confronted this specter head-on in the film. (You just know that conservatives are going to point this out and claim the film is illegitimate for "hiding" these affiliations.)