Surely no one today can deny that Joe Sarno is an aesthete. His earlier movies are chiaroscuro compositions of shadows cut by radiant whites; his later movies, are candy-colored explosions of subdued meaning. All his films are dynamic odes to the beauty of the female body and to the complex mental workings of the beings inhabiting them. Each and all of Sarno's characters have depth, an history that demands viewer empathy. And the story on-screen is most vividly detailed when seen through his character's eyes; for they are the windows through which viewer expectations are juggled by the master trickster.
Case in point: SIN IN THE SUBURBS (1964). In less capable hands it would be just another boring story about bored housewives in search of a passion that can substitute for their absent working husbands, their escapades obsessively timed by the train schedule, the weather or the unexpected appearance of their daughter's boyfriend, tick-tocking down the slope that will eventualy lead them into a world of sex clubs and anonymous lovers. With Sarno holding the helm, it becomes a captivating study of social mores, loneliness and need. Among the couples whose stories we're invited to partake, Audrey Campbell (later famous for the OLGA series of films) gives a fascinating performance as a housewife and mother of a teenage girl, driven by loneliness and boredom to the arms of whomever happens to be at hand. These ephemeral substitutes, however, prove to be as boring as loneliness itself.
In an unrivaled moment of frustration, during one of the afternoon reunions in her home where she entertains a man (her lover) and another couple, and with this other couple already upstairs, she manifests to her lover the growing sense of frustration and routine that begins to tarnish their 'relationship'. While he remains nonchalant, she dares him to go watch the other couple's lovemaking. And there, standing near the bed, looking down on the lovemaking couple, on the steaming sex (conveyed through sound alone), we see in her eyes the need, the hunger, the desire, the great void that is consuming her. We sense that she is feasting upon their ardeur, rekindling a fire that burns intense and oh so fast.
And we keep watching her eyes although her lover is fleetingly touching her breasts...
... unbuttoning her dress...
... kissing her earlobe...
... her neck...
... removing her bra...
It's her eyes that held us, although her nipples are peeking from under her arms, it's her eyes, it's her look, as she shows us what's going down on the bed - hot, passionate lovemaking - that draws her like a moth to a flame, that draws her as her eyes draw us into her, until she finally joins the contorting bodies and we don't see her eyes anymore.
But we know she's happy, at least for a fleeting moment. And we rejoice with her, for through her, we've also made love to the couple on the bed, made love to her...
And we're left to always search for that look on a woman's eyes again.
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