Blue Money (1971)

Blue Money tells the story of a man named Jim who directs adult-oriented movies in early-70s California, a time and place where it is still illegal to make pornography. As such, Jim is perpetually looking over his shoulder while filming, as the threat of police raids is omnipresent. The mother of his child urges him to get out of the business, as she sees the pornographic art form as, rather poignantly, "dead space." Meanwhile, Jim's working on restoring an old houseboat in hopes of getting away to the sea in his life after porn. Oh, and he's also pursuing an extramarital affair with a European woman who's recently made her debut in his movies. Apparently, she's attracted to his quasi-European, French-Canadian sensibilities (Jim is French-Canadian, for whatever reason). 

The movie is terrible, as can be expected of a Crown International release. Alain Patrick, the actor playing Jim, delivers his lines in a muttered, off-hand fashion often resembling that of Tommy Wiseau in The Room. Although Patrick's French-Canadian background makes these difficulties with English forgivable, some of the lines are ludicrously misspoken, e.g. his demand that his crew "pipe it down." You puzzle over the fact that Blue Money's director didn't demand a retake to make "pipe down" happen, until you find out that Patrick was also the director (again, like Wiseau). It's surprising that producer Robert Chinn didn't show a little more investment in getting Blue Money into a more polished form, especially since the film is effectively telling Chinn's life-story. Chinn is perhaps best known as friend and frequent director of choice for pornographic legend John Holmes. No doubt, Chinn and Holmes dealt with the ever-looming threat of police raids as they made their films. But only fragments of that angst and desperation show through in Blue Money.

The film is still interesting, however, as a cinematic ethnography of early-70s sexuality. In this era, pornography existed on a grey market, and audiences could still be impressed by relatively innocent depictions of sexuality on camera. A softcore flick such as Blue Money no doubt looked titillating to much of its 1971 audience, who (unless they'd been hippies), were coming out of a comparably buttoned-down 60s, and were still a year shy of 1972's Deep Throat, which made hardcore pornography mainstream and "theatrical," in some sense. Porn lurked in the shadows, and for that reason even softcore depictions of its hidden culture and ostensibly liberated ethos would have enthralled audiences. And although a hardcore version of Blue Money does exist, even the Crown International version's softcore sequences would have been compelling to the 1971 crowd. I think, for instance, of the scene where Jim pulls his European paramour into a motel room shower fully clothed, gradually taking off her garments to reveal some brief nudity. This doubtlessly looked like libertine behavior to half the people in the audience for this film. You can almost hear the viewers' thought process: imagine it—pulling a fully-clothed girl into a shower. Wild! Perhaps we might liken early 70s cinematic sexuality to the public's first encounter with video games in the later 70s and early 80s. At first, it must have been rapturous to move around blocks on TV screens with the turn of a dial. In that regard, a film like Blue Money is sexual Pong. Bare breasts in a shower were likely enough to make this poorly scripted, shoddily directed film a memorable viewing experience.

But the directorial effort is not entirely awful. Later in the film, Jim is forced to remove his work-in-progress boat from the location near the marina where he's been shoring it up. At this point, Patrick includes a shot of a mother cat determinedly carrying a kitten by the scruff of its neck to the frames on which the boat rested. Apparently, the mother cat had nested her newborn litter in or around the boat, presumably not in a diegetic mode. I guess the incidental image impacted Patrick enough that he felt he had to include it in the final cut. And I suppose the image does parallel that of his significant other perpetually carrying their child in the domestic scenes. But the image struck me as irreducibly agonizing. I hate to be the bearer of darkness, but litters rarely survive in their entirety, and that's the case even when they live in relatively secure environs like farms or loving households. Being out in the no-man's-land of the marina, those kittens would have had even less of a chance, to say nothing of the mother. And those that do survive these kind of environs probably aren't going to amount to much more than alley cats, fighting for every scrap they ever get in their brief and tumultuous lives. And yet nature and instinct dictate that this mother has to parent with determination, no matter the odds against her and the litter. We hear that a hitter in baseball is an all-star if he fails seven out of ten times, but in all honesty, a mother cat is a hall-of-famer if she manages to keep 20% of her litter alive for more than a few months. We know that hers is a losing battle and a lost cause and all those other stock phrases, but still the mother feline goes full bore. (I wish I could take such an approach with my writing.) In that sense, the mother cat is also working in a "dead space." As with the pornographer and porn performers, little will come of the mother cat's efforts. She produces things that last a few months and then are gone and forgotten. It all serves a brief issuance of sperm and then is done. Though it leaves me crestfallen, I appreciate that Patrick took the time to film that cat scurrying with her young. With that second or two of footage, he acknowledged the perpetually unacknowledged, remembering what's inevitably forgotten. This is the only lasting image in Blue Money.

Forget the bare breasts and the sex, softcore or hard—it's the picture of the mother cat that endures in its capacity to compel. Watch Blue Money, then, if only to see these two or three seconds that provide a thematic fulcrum for an otherwise banal and ham-fisted picture. That single image saves this film from becoming The Room.