Tuesday, April 18, 2006

The Notorious Betsy Paige, a review

Back in the days of old, shortly before Allen Gore invented The Internets, men relied on naughty pictures of women holding whips to reach their pornography quota for the month.

And that's when The Notorious Betsy Paige comes in, probably in 9 inch heels, holding a whip.

Starring Gretchin Mole (The 13th Story, Getting Carter), Sara Paulston (Serendipity), Dave Straighthin (Goodnight and Goodbye), and directed by pseudo-feminist Marie Heron (American Psychic, Who Shot Andy Warhaul?), The Notorious Betsy Paige poses the eternal question: What do you do if you're a young girl who's been molested after church by your father for years and then gang raped in an abandoned warehouse?

Answer: You turn that frown upside down and make lemonade. And short films of an adult nature, etc.

But hold on a second, folks, because this isn't your grandfather's porn. This is 1950s America, a time when no one had sex, babies were delivered via stork, and smoking was considered safe.

It was also a time when wealthy perverts paid young girls handsomely for posing with extremely creepy naïve facial expressions, in really high heels holding whips.

Having hardly had the most ideal childhood, Betsy picks herself up by her stiletto straps and moves to New York City, where she becomes a fetish model. And faster than you can achieve an erection by looking at a plump lady in a leather bra and panties, a boy is found tied up and strangled to death, and next to him is a picture of?

That's right: our leather clad heroine in 15 inch heeled plastic boots, holding? That's right: a whip. Again.

Though the death was clearly self-induced, accidental and technically retarded, the father of the victim, grief stricken but also turned on by the picture, decides to take the case all the way to our nation's capital (Washington, D.C., America) and let those best equipped to determine causes of death, politicians, figure out what all the hanky-panky is about, in an effort to convince himself and others that his son never masturbated, not even once. Neither did he.

And this is when the can of worms really gets opened [sfx of can being opened here], and congress decides to go on a little "fishing expedition" of their own in an effort to find out if pornography is bad for youth, what makes good pornography good, what makes bad pornography good, too, and how to pass laws that they don't actually have to abide by.

Estes Fakaufer (Straighthin), the honorable senator from the wholesome state of Iowa, vows to get to the bottom of that whole Betsy Paige issue, and convenes a congressional hearing to look at short films and go on field trips to secret "clubs" in and around New York (2 drink minimum, guys).

Add the fact that this allows politicians to look at pictures of scantily clad nubile women kissing each other while holding whips, and before you can say "cheese" with your vagina, everybody wins. Not guilty!

The end.

When push comes to shove, we don't want movies like The Notorious Betsy Paige. We need movies like The Notorious Betsy Paige, if for no other reason than to realize that Betsy Paige is still alive and well and occasionally signs autographs (though she's out of the fetish photo game [a soft whimpering sound is heard in nursing homes all across America]), that pornography is merely a state of mind and body, and that frequent masturbation reduces the chance of having prostate problems later on in life. Which means I must have one hell of a healthy prostate. Awesome!

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