inserts

A holdover from the "porno-chic" trend that began and ended with 1972's Deep Throat, writer/director John Byrum's Inserts (1975) failed to connect with audiences at the time, even though it also rode the wave of Depression-era seventies cinema and starred Richard Dreyfuss hot off the success of Jaws and American Graffiti. Its shock tactics may be a bit on the nose, but the story of a failed director producing stag films to make living winds up eliciting some incredibly courageous performances, particularly from the female cast.

Dreyfuss plays the "Boy Wonder," a drunken has-been whose career tanked after the studios' transition to "talkies." His muse is a former starlet (Veronica Cartwright) reduced to screwing on film in exchange for a few hits of heroine from their producer, Big Mac (Bob Hoskins), who drops in one day with Cathy (Jessica Harper), an ingénue who turns out to be anything but.

When his actress suffers an accidental overdose, the Boy Wonder is convinced to use Cathy as a substitute to film the missing "inserts" - close-ups of the sex scenes that hadn't yet been filmed. But the tables are soon turned and Cathy becomes the driving force - sexually and psychologically - in kick starting both their careers.

Inserts is essentially a stage play, taking place in one location (the Boy Wonder's soon to be demolished home) shot in real time with a limited cast. Although Dreyfuss is the lead, it's Cartwright and Harper who are asked to carry the bulk of the film, most of it in various states of undress. Harper in particular pulls you in with her flapper style masking a more manipulative agenda, breaking down the Boy Wonder's emotional defenses like a season pro.

The film's references to old Hollywood royalty lurking on the outskirts of its seedy setting (Clark Gable is a constant off-screen presence) makes for a snug fit with product from other film school prodigies. But Inserts is inherently less cinematic and challenges viewers from the get-go with "smutty" dialogue and coarse characters. It might not be a pleasantly nostalgic trip down memory lane, but Byrum's pretentious little oddity has aged better than many of its contemporaries and deserves some critical reappraisal.

And Twilight Time's 3000-copy limited edition Blu-ray is sure to give it just that. Looking pretty much impeccable on high-definition, extra include an isolated music and effects track along with the original theatrical trailer.