“You look like a strong boy. Do you think you could help me with my luggage when we arrive?”
Boarding School, 1978 (Nastassja Kinski), Atlantic Releasing
The first image of 1978’s Boarding School (renamed from the more snooty The Passion Flower Hotel for smutty U.S. audiences) shows a young woman’s flaccid, flat nipple slowly becoming erect when exposed to a poster of Marlon Brando as he appeared in his iconic The Wild One. The other girls count off how long it takes before the fleshy pearls become rigid – like a contest? It’s an unusual qualification for entry into womanhood, or at the very least hetero-normative womanhood. What if Brando doesn’t rock your world? What if you’re a Bogart girl? Saint Clara’s School for Girls, 1956 is a hotbed of libidinous tarts; as in Barbarella, it becomes a vehicle for feminine empowerment, but is ultimately nothing more than dirty old men ogling jail-bait.
We join American girl Deborah Collins (Nastassja Kinski) en route to Saint Clara’s in a train occupied by clergy. Who was Saint Clara? Patron saint of hot and horny young women? Actually, no. There doesn’t seem to be a Saint Clara, but there was a Saint Clare. Canonized two years after her death, Clare was the patron Saint of among many other things, eye disease, laundry, and television. Huh? Anyway, Deborah arrives and, almost immediately, starts influencing the girls in the ways of love and sex (although she was originally assigned by the headmistress to keep the girls in check). Tall and imposing, but with a look not dissimilar to Ingrid Bergman, Kinski’s gum-chewing strumpet quickly sizes up her authority figures, and we are left to wonder if Europeans presume “Americans” to be nothing more than sex-obsessed misfits.
I’m not sure what to make of the girls in Boarding School, except to say upon entering high school, I knew not one girl who behaved in this way. They were neither oversexed nor undersexed. They existed as entities with breasts with suspicious, darting eyes and long hair. Some girls were more developed than others (as with boys) but none of them looked like Nastassja Kinski! If I must get intellectual on your collective ass, I would say the repression of the parochial authoritarian as represented by the headmistress, her staff, and the various members of the clergy wandering about in juxtaposition to the “latest American craze”, the rock and/or roll music the kids love creates an intriguing sociological groundswell. In other words, if the kids like to dance, they’ll also enjoy screwing.
In a minor departure from the source material, the best-selling book, The Passion Flower Hotel by Rosalind Erskine (a revelatory pseudonym for Roger Erskine Longrigg), the girls plot to lose their virginity to the boys in the private school across the lake. In the book, however, the story becomes an exercise in capitalism as the girls sell their services to the boys. They have a product, and it’s a seller’s market, if you know what I mean! While the idea of prostitution is debated, the fulfillment of their sexual needs is paramount. I love the idea of the girls working out a “tier” system of services and specific pricing. This movie is proof-positive women belong in the workplace. Sorry. At least in management and production.
I wonder if there is a place in the world of film today for a movie like Boarding School. I think the trivialization of such a hot-button issue as underage sex and willful prostitution would trigger (hate to use that word) massive protests and outrage. If a movie like this were being made today, the material would have to be handled with sensitivity and sympathy, which would drain all the life out of it. Think of Boarding School as a reverse-gender variation on Screwballs, except, you know, good. In fact, the only issue I have with the film is the hideous dubbing on the American version. I would love to see a cleaned-up European version of the movie. Erotic movies of this nature received endless play on cable television, specifically The Movie Channel, but because of their pedigree being produced and distributed overseas, they often attained higher notoriety than domestic fare.
Our first cable box was a non-descript metal contraption with a rotary dial and unlimited potential (with no brand name – weird). We flipped it on, and the first thing we noticed was that the reception was crystal-clear; no ghosting, no snow, no fuzzy images. We had the premium package: HBO, Cinemax, The Movie Channel, MTV, Nickelodeon, CNN, The Disney Channel, and the local network affiliates. About $25-$30 a month. Each week (and sometimes twice a week!), “Vintage Cable Box” explores the wonderful world of premium Cable TV of the early eighties.