I was feeling sorta amorous one Friday evening in 1993, and found myself at the local video store looking through that section.
Not the Triple-X section located near the back and closed off by some mismatched curtains. Nope, the hardcore stuff is for Saturday night!
I said this was a Friday.
The section of videos through which I was browsing housed the sensual, artsy flicks. The kind Mrs. Film Geek digs. Which makes me dig them, too.
I stumbled upon one that looked interesting. I hadn't heard much buzz about it, but the cover seemed, well, sensual.
The title, Boxing Helena, was unusual. But, I figured, artsy flicks are quirky. A nearly naked chick in a rectangle-shaped box is still a nearly naked chick.
I decided I'd make it work.
I dimmed the lights, snuggled up close on the love seat and hit "play." The mood was set perfectly. Now, all that remained was for Boxing Helena to work her mojo.
There's something off-putting about a film in which an obsessed surgeon keeps a woman in his home and systematically amputates her legs and her arms. It's a deal breaker when the imprisoned and mutilated woman later returns his affection, as if what's been done to her was simply an annoyance she can forgive.
Boxing Helena...so bad, I didn't need a cold shower.
I'm still haunted by it.