|
 Long
ago, on an ordinary island, atop an ordinary television set sat a most
mystical object; a push button cable box that on its face was printed a
letter “J.” For children brave enough to risk certain parental
punishment, clicking on Manhattan Cable-hosted Channel J during specific
late nights of the week ensured transportation to a bacchanal of strange
sights and raging hormones called Midnight Blue. One of the
sponsors of this predecessor of all the filth shown on pay-per-view in
today’s digital world was a social club of sorts that catered to a very
specific clientele.
Co-directed by Jon Hart and
Matthew Kaufman, American Swing captures the rise and fall of the
notorious Manhattan sex club, Plato’s Retreat, and its outrageous owner
Larry Levenson. Levenson, a butcher’s son from the outer boroughs, was
a married father of two children when he took an interest in swinging;
getting together with consenting adult couples to have sex. One divorce
later and after one big shift in morality thanks to the permissive,
sleazy nature of New York City in the 1970’s, Levenson decided to create
a private members-only club where the like-minded could meet and indulge
in deep-thinking conversation. As Manhattan is actually quite a small
island, word got around quickly, and suddenly Plato’s Retreat was a
sexual adventurer’s Studio 54. As Plato’s dubious fame grew, Levenson,
caught up in the hype of the world he created, made mistakes: He
trusted the wrong people, forgot a little matter called taxes, couldn’t
tell the difference between his club and a brothel and finally an awful
little bug arrived uninvited to the scene and suddenly the party was
over. The man who was once revered and notorious as “The King of
Swing,” ended his life as a New York City cabdriver.
Promising all sorts of lurid
thrills, American Swing does make good to an extent. The treasure trove
of pornographic archival footage filmed inside the club is more likely
to nauseate than titillate, depending on where you sit; particularly the
squirming rug of wall-to-wall bodies in Plato’s infamous Orgy room.
It’s a sexual snapshot of the times, pre-AIDS, pre- progressive
grooming habits, with the scent of est in the air. In one of many truly
funny anecdotes during the film’s interviews, actor and writer of The
Graduate, Buck Henry, relates how tiresome it became to visit the club
night after night at the behest of out-of-town friends who just wanted
to gawp. Ironically, part of the decline of Plato’s came about because
of its own fame and the constant invasion by tourists who just wanted
look around and say they’d been to Plato’s.
Interviews with some of the
club’s regulars reveal a group of middle aged or elderly swingers who
for the most part, don’t regret their time in Plato’s Retreat. One
patron describes the confidence she found as a large woman with an
imperfect body who achieved acceptance in the club she had nowhere else
in life, being sought after by both men and women. There is a nagging
sense of disparity when you view the Plato’s footage and realise however
free some of these women may have felt in their adventures, Plato’s was
an ardently chauvinistic kingdom; in this haven of “free” love,
lesbianism was just ducky, but even in these years before the AIDS
epidemic, man-on-man love was strictly prohibited. There is balance
missing to the piece and that is the lack of report by those whose lives
weren’t enriched by the experience. I suppose the heavier slant on the
positive was inevitable because if anyone did have a bad time because
they joined a sex club, would they really want to discuss it 30 years
later? The only person who is seen as having lost anything emotionally
for their involvement with the enterprise is Larry Levenson’s girlfriend
and business partner, Mary, who cracks under the pressure of watching
the man she loves fornicate with dozens of random women every night.
The vivacious Levenson is upbeat about his future and stumps for his
club even in jailhouse interviews after he’s convicted for tax evasion
and even seems to have accepted his fall from the throne as King of the
Swingers to common New York cab driver with incomprehensible Zen-like
grace.
While the first and second
acts of American Swing are full of ribald fun and nicely paced, the last
act becomes a bit smoggier as it’s not really clear what exactly
happened to end Plato’s run. We’re not sure what exactly was the fate
of “Queen” Mary, who is introduced as such a significant part of Larry’s
life and instrumental to the success of Plato’s. Plato’s experienced
more legal troubles as prostitution entered the club around the same
time that the AIDS threat saw closings of New York City gay bathhouses
and any club proven to house unsafe sexual practices. The muddling of
those dual factors, along with the explanation that the club had become
a tourist trap, make it unclear what really caused the death of Plato’s
Retreat.
I asked co-director Jon Hart
if during his research, he discovered any type of common bond amongst
Plato’s Retreat club members besides access to the swinger lifestyle.
Hart responded, “I think they wanted to make a connection.” I wish I
had seen more of that thoughtfulness in the documentary with regard to
the psychology of the swingers or even of Larry Levenson himself. I
felt like I had more questions about what made these people tick after
watching the film than before. Kaufman and Hart are skilful enough
directors to have paced their film with enough laughs and
eyebrow-raising footage so one doesn’t ponder those questions too long.
Despite its small flaws,
American Swing is a worthy, entertaining, oddly affectionate portrait of
Larry Levenson, and a brash, grainy warts–and-all Polaroid of an era of
sexual history.
~ The Lady Miz Diva
March 26th, 2009
PS: American Swing
opens in New York City on March 27th at the Quad Cinema.
Then film opens in LA on April 3rd at the Sunset 5.
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