Fluctuations

One of the stranger films of the pre-hardcore era, Fluctuations is a unique collusion of underground art sensibilities and crass smut appetites. Non-narrative sex films aren't entirely unusual, but this baffling softcore feature doesn't appear to be a patchwork of outtakes like more cynical exercises, so perhaps director/screenwriter Leo J. Rhewdnal had a method to his madness. Fluctuations flits from one strange image to the next, occasionally capturing a physically alluring moment, but more often simply gaping at the strangely passionless clutches of two, three, or more writhing bodies. The photography isn't entirely flattering to its subjects; stretch marks, cavernous pores, and tummy rolls figure in nearly every frame, as the decidedly ordinary cast casually simulates a variety of positions, obsessions, and kinks. Scab fondling, simulated "water sports," and shaving cream warfare figure in the bizarre displays, with occasional interruptions from a kung fu demonstration in someone's living room. Fluctuations' out-of-sync soundtrack, filled with raspy, distorted panting and scatological dirty talk, helps plunge some of the sillier scenes into an eerier place, turning two nude, giggling young people into figures from some disturbing wet dream. Perhaps this is a bold, honest attempt at boiling the skin flick down to its basest elements, discarding silly stories, cardboard characters, and other filler for a stream of sexually provocative acts. Most likely there's something more pretentious at work in Rhewdnal's concept, but luckily whatever it all means has been lost to time. Fluctuations is probably too abstract for most viewers to stay interested for its entire 69-minute run, but there's no other film quite like it, and that's high praise indeed. — Fred Beldin