A Guide to Auteur House for Recent Asian Immigrants

A certain type of punter is obvious the moment he ascends the stairs at Auteur House.  He is male, new to the city if not to western culture per se, and clearly looking to throw off the repressive shackles of state and religion that have hitherto undermined his entertainment pleasure.  He is the new Asian Hamiltonian looking for some good old fashioned pornography.

Now there is nothing wrong with this.  Whilst cognisant of the relevant feminist arguments that can be marshalled against stick vids you will find no moral indignation from this quarter.  For years I laboured in a mainstream shop (one that has subsequently gone to shit, but that’s another story) which serviced the adult market.  Ask Burton C Bogan if you don’t believe me: he had to chase horny little midgets out of the blue room all of the time, like some outtake from Herzog’s “Even Dwarfs Started Small”.

This said, Auteur House does not stock outright porn.  We feel that the inner city is well catered for on that score and it wouldn’t be consistent with our directorial orientation.  Our land lord is also a High Court judge and his morals need to be beyond reproach.

This then presents a problem.  What do you recommend to a potentially paying customer when all he wants is a bit of skin and erotic friction?  The art house porno, of course.

One or two of these particular titles I have detailed in this column before.  “The Beast”, for example, a weird European exercise in Freudian symbolism in which maidens masturbate with rose heads and make love to giant simians with plastic, perpetually spurting members.  Or “In the Realm of the Senses”, the true tale of an obsessive, masochistic affair in 1930s Japan which climaxes (so to speak) with a sharp edged form of penis envy as a young lady removes the carnal organ of her partner.

For those whose intimate enthusiasms are more aligned with Oswald Mosley or his Automobile Association son there is also “Salon Kitty”, an account of Nazi kinkiness featuring hunchbacks, dwarfs and the kind of clinical mass orgies that could only be conceived by warped fascist minds.

Much more in your face decadent is a new arrival at Auteur House, the uncut, 20th anniversary edition of “Caligula”.  Notorious for the underhand manner in which the Penthouse producer Bob Guccione shot and inserted hardcore sequences without the knowledge or approval of director Tinto Brass it has the distinction of having the best lit sapphic 69 of all time.