Synopsis
In San Francisco, there is an apartment known to only a few. I you have the key, a new world of sexuality is open to you... but there are some rules.
2006 Directed by Shine Louise Houston
In San Francisco, there is an apartment known to only a few. I you have the key, a new world of sexuality is open to you... but there are some rules.
Shine Louise Houston is an exceptional director.
Granted, as pornography goes, the Crash Pad has no storyline or overarching structure. The room is a literal container for disconnected sexual set-pieces which are presented, one after another, in modular fashion. (The keys to the Crash Pad, which are supposedly passed along, imply a kind of round-robin communitarianism that fits with the queer ethos that permeates the work. But like everything else it's just an implied idea, nothing strictly enforced.)
But the striking, truly revelatory aspect of Crash Pad, and Houston's directorial style, is in the framing and composition. It may seem silly or obvious, but until watching Crash Pad, I never recognized the extent to which most pornographers find vaginas visually…
I'm not the target audience for all this vaginal business, but Houston does a good job in making it cinematic and expressive. The sexuality on display here is holistic, finding statuesque grace in the bodies in between the more up-close and graphic frames of their intimacy. The threesome of the first scene has a beautiful image, of the girl in the middle spreading her legs, draping them over her partners on either side of her as their dildos poke out from underneath her. It's composed with a sensual gravitas that helps to make the porn a bit more watchable, from performers who seem enthused about what they're doing. I do wish the writing was more substantial though — the concept…