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A D R I A N N E M A R C U S Lines After Larkin: The Pornographic Movie Love saves us from nothing. The tumult, impossibility of adolescence becomes a fanciful marriage, and in time, civility. Passion’s embarrassing as we grow beyond it. There, on the giant screen, a young man and woman, naked, coupling. We sit down, amused at their fury; mean tangle of legs, parts, nothing hidden. Only their fixed smiles, their fused faces tell us it’s not real. Then, a stray shadow of a cameraman places it all in perspective. The light’s rigged. And we sigh, thankful, out of relief and all that. Appearances matter; we feel the years close about us, more flesh than we wish, and settle for subtlety, lights dimmed, the chance we won‘t be condemned to replay endless passion, failing by circumstance of which we’re the smallest part. Like those inarticulate actors up there: pumping and pawing reel after reel as the audience tries not to stare. 82 ❚ The 1970s ...

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