July 8 marks the first-year anniversary of this blog. My fervent thanks to its many readers, including the (to date) 108 followers who are kind enough to subscribe to it.
When I started the blog, I stated at the outset that I was no hard-core film expert, and the many movie blogs to which I have since subscribed have proven me right. There are so many great blogs I follow which put my knowledge of some of my favorite categories (silent film, movie comedy, etc.) to shame. But I also stated that I have very definite opinions about the movies that I have seen, and I hope you’ve enjoyed reading those.
Like (I suspect) most of my fellow bloggers, I didn’t expect to get rich and famous from writing a movie blog, but I was hoping to get a following of sorts — and I have, and I’m satisfied with it. Yet, for all of my impassioned writing about classic films, would you like to hazard a guess as to what has gotten my blog its most attention?
Years ago, I saw a 1984 movie of hers titled They’re Playing with Fire. I won’t go into detail about it here, because frankly, it’s a pretty crappy movie (click on the movie’s title, above, if you want to read my review of it).
But the movie does have one amazing asset: a sex scene in which Sybil really gives her all. Usually, when some big-name (or even sorta-big-name) star does a sex scene, the movie usually cuts away just as things start to get interesting. Not this one. It unflinchingly shows buxom, nude Sybil on top of an insufficiently grateful college student, doing what she presumably does best.
As I stated, the rest of the movie is really awful, so I wrote a tongue-in-cheek review of the movie for this blog, emphasizing the qualities of the sex scene and the dreariness of the rest of the movie. Well, the joke was on me. To date, that review has received 376 views since I posted it four months ago, and when you Google the movie’s title, my review is the fifth entry that pops up.
On the one hand, I suppose I should be grateful for anything that brings attention to my blog. However, assuming that anyone ever reads this thing after I’ve bought the farm, it sobers me to think that my critique of Sybil Danning shtupping some kid in his twenties is the piece of writing for which I’ll be best remembered.
I guess that where my blog is concerned, metaphorically speaking, it’s just the opposite of what T.S. Eliot wrote. My world will end, not with a whimper, but with a bang.
POSTSCRIPT, JULY 25, 2015: On Twitter, I recently “tweeted” Sybil Danning about the “phenomenon” mentioned above, and the following exchange occurred: