love in the afternoon: last tango in paris

"no names here."

the other week a friend of mine asked me to name my favorite sex scene in film. you would think the answer would upchuck almost immediately, but i seriously had to stew on this one for a while. what qualifies as a great sex scene? nudity? situational context? attractiveness of the actors? type of sex? and most importantly, is it a narrative tool in advancing the plot or exposing something about the characters or is it just titillation for the always flesh hungry audience? at any rate, i settled on the first moment of sex between paul (marlon brando) and jeanne (maria schneider) in bernado bertolucci's "last tango in paris." the movie is phenomenal on many levels, with its overt and at times aberrant and cold sexuality that allows the audience to be seduced into the claustrophobic and sadomasochistic world of a dilapidated parisian apartment that serves as a meeting place for a troubled man and a pouty-lipped woman willing to play his game of sexual and personal degradation.

unfortunately, the folks at youtube couldn't provide us with this scene, so it's up to yours truly to provide the details on what makes this scene so unique and unforgettable.

the scene opens with jeanne inspecting an old parisian apartment on rue jules verne. she sports a white knee length coat trimmed in some kind of fur with a mustard-hued micro-mini peasant dress that skims her soft thighs and full breasts and brown leather boots. her hair is up in a disheveled french twist under a violet adorned wide rimmed chocolate colored hat. her lips are nude but her eyes are smudged in dark eyeliner and shadowed as well (so french and so hot). she is the embodiment of a sexy gypsy courtesan. much to her surprise when she opens the windows, the light pours in and divulges the appearance of her soon-to-be tormented lover, paul, who is tucked away in the shadows of a nearby corner. a simple grey sweater and knee length camel coat drape on paul with an effortless ease. the walls are cracked and stained, the carpet rolled in spots, and the faded paint drips off the wall in flakes. this is no bother to either of them as they engage in brief but banal dialogue. paul addresses jeanne with a short, laconic temperament as they move into the next room where he mystifies her by fumbling with aged lamp shades and sheets covering left behind furniture. jeanne, confused by this stranger's behavior, exalts a "oh la la!" and heads for the bathroom where she uses the facilities. the ring of a telephone interrupts her and begs for her to come back into the main room. it's paul on the other end, who soon hangs up the phone and advances towards jeanne. paul approaches jeanne, but slams the front door shut with the clap of his palm. he returns to jeanne and swoops her up in his arms in one swift movement. i've always thought her reaction was really interesting and surprising. i'm not sure how many women would so quickly give into a haggard, quiet man who just so happens to be lurking about in your future living space, but perhaps jeanne senses a spark. she has met her match. she is bored by her filmmaker fiance and craves something more intimate and demanding, thus she clutches her hands around paul's shoulders and anticipates his next move.

from here on, the majority of the scene is done in one take. bertolucci doesn't want us to miss a second between paul and jeanne. if we are to observe them, then we must see them in real time as real humans. they're both complicated and sexual creatures, who communicate with their lust for each other and sharing themselves in a world that has otherwise disappointed and ruined them. cinematographer vittorio storaro's subtle camera work places them on the left side of the frame and incorporates the faded walls and frayed curtain in the other two thirds of the frame, implicating the environment in this unexpected interlude as much as the participants fornicating in the foreground. most sex scenes care very little about the tension between foreground and background and chop it up with distracting editing that the release between the two characters is never as raw and open as paul and jeanne. however, the scene is not over and only gets that much better.

paul brings jeanne over to the wall where they first met minutes ago. he presses her up against one of the windows and begins to kiss her. they kiss as if they're hungry for each other's mouths. it's hard and uncompromising. he holds her tight as she wraps her knee length boot-clad legs around him as they begin to have sex. he quietly thrusts her as her brow becomes furrowed and mouth agape in pleasure. they still have their clothes on at this point, but paul viscously rips jeanne's nude stockings away from her legs. at a point she straddles him, but they move to the floor. she screams in excited pleasure and kisses paul harder and more intensely. the frayed gossamer curtain shields them for a brief moment, but as their act reaches a climax they roll away from the curtain. the camera at this point begins to slowly back away from the characters and expose a very neutral toned plane of browns and creams (the color of the lover's boots, the floor, the walls, the windows). paul removes himself from jeanne in a quick, exhausted movement. jeanne literally rolls away from paul, exposing her pubic hair and torn hosiery. her heavy breathes are filled with such delight and pain, you think she coming down from some drug induced high. i guess if you have just been fucked by marlon brando, you'd feel the same way too.

no dialogue has been exchanged at this point, except for the darts of hot breaths they release from the rush of their post-coital ridden bodies. they lay on the floor, full of confused but turned on emotions. she is engaged and his wife has recently committed suicide. paul omits an "oh, god." before the scene cuts to the lovers leaving their haven of sin and redemption. they're clouded by the textured glass and iron bars of the front door of the apartment. paul opens the door with a wry look of contentment washing over his face, but jeanne quietly rushes out of the door feeling shamed but hot for paul. she tightly wraps her coat around her, hiding any trace of sex she just randomly and joyously engaged in.

the audience feels as guilty and excited by what we have just as seen as much as the characters are feeling. bertolucci's vision of sex isn't pornographic or sensationalistic, but an honest appreciation of sex and communication. two people have little use for words as a result of where it has gotten them thus far, so naturally they turn to their bodies to express themselves. they need each other's bodies to express the pain and torment they have endured in their otherwise fractured relationships in the other outside world. their empty and depressed apartment is a space for them to convey the feelings that are too intense and too honest for the rest of the world. it's a utopia of sorts, but less saccharine and more defined. names and past history are not necessary. bertolucci crafts an interior that values trust and honesty. that's not to say, that this will eventually be the downfall of these characters, but for about four minutes in an abandoned parisian apartment, that willingness to go to a place unknown and not corrupted by the vast complications of the man-made world outside of those walls, the trust is a pleasure to watch.