All language subtitles for Australia.After.Dark.1974

In this hot, dry country of Australia,
the land belongs to the sun-baked rock,

the lizard, the eternal flat landscape.

The Australian Aborigines survived for
thousands of years in a land hostile to

men.

They survived because they knew the way
of the water, the tracks of the animals,

the secret hiding places of the insects.

Now they live on the fringes.

exiles in their own country.

The white man came.

In less than two centuries, the
hard-drinking descendants of convicts

had transformed an empty continent into
a country with the fourth highest

standard of living in the world.

In our journey around this continent, we
will explore the weird, the pathetic,

the unknown, the erotic, the ugly, the
obscene, and the beautiful.

It won't all be beautiful.

But it is all true.

We do not see the dark side of the moon
and we do not often see the dark side of

life in the lucky country.

This film takes you to see that dark
side.

A strange and sometimes disturbing trip
around darkest Australia.

A high standard of living and a high
standard of dying.

The bridge.

A vast coat hanger arched over the
waters of Sydney Harbour.

It draws the eyes like a magnet.

And it draws the hopeless, the
despairing, the suicides who take their

last journey off the bridge.

There are over two and a half million
people living in Sydney.

Every year, one of them takes the long
drop.

King's Cross turns it back on the waters
of Sydney Harbour.

Sleazy, grubby, neon-lit, crowded after
dark with the curious, the wanderers,

the pleasure-seekers.

Ladies of the night, their customers,
pimps, brothel keepers.

Strippers taking off their clothes in
one club, putting them on again to go to

the next club, and then stripping again.

It takes a lot out of a girl's wardrobe.

But the cross looks tired, not so way
out anymore.

To find where the real action is now, we
must look behind the bright lights,

behind the blue and red spotlights of
the strip club for something darker,

older, more primitive.

We are in the salon of Madame Lash, a
lady disciple of the late Marquis de

Sade, who gave his name to sadism, and a
disciple of Leopold von Sacher-Masoch,

who gave his name to masochism, the
pleasure of receiving pain.

Nostalgia, tradition, going back to the
old days when men won men.

This one will do.

Take him up to the chamber and prepare
him. I'll be up in ten minutes.

Oh,

look at that rack.

You don't see craftsmanship like that
these days.

Fed up with the same old meals? Tired of
steak and oysters?

For the gourmet who has tried it all,
there's an ethnic restaurant on a Murray

River boat at Swan Hill.

For the tired palate, try witchetty
grub.

Plump and white, it grows to maturity
under the bark of a tree.

If you happen to catch a snake, Captain
Beatty will pay you for it at the rate

of a dollar a foot.

The trick is getting the skin off.

It's quite easy when you've got the
neck. The gleaming skin comes away like

black net stockings off a stripper's
thigh.

Like the missionary in a cannibal stew,
they wriggle a little, but not for long.

In ten seconds, they are dead, and they
make no noise about it.

In a few more seconds, they're ready to
serve.

But for the do-it-yourself cooks, here's
a recipe.

After dicing the skinned snake into
two-inch lengths, coat with flour and

place in a hot pan.

When it's brown, add chopped carrots,
potatoes, celery, onions, yabby tails,

and a clove of garlic.

Simmer for 15 minutes, then add one gill
of cream and two gills of Riesling.

Reduce the sauce until thick, and it's
ready to serve with a wedge of lemon.

Oh, well, Australians have always liked
their grub well cooked.

Mmm.

Appetizing.

Snakes and witchetty grubs are all very
well on holidays, but when you're back

in Sydney, you want the old familiar
food.

The eternal gravy, sodden pea, decorated
shirt, staining never to be equaled,

life-saving Australian pie and sauce.

Conveniently situated for the man about
town at the Calcutta end of

Woolloomooloo. Harry's Cafe de Wheels.

Australian painters are famous the world
over.

Nolan, Boyd, Percival, French, all
command enormous prices at art auctions.

For the Australian art connoisseur,
nothing is so creative, so relaxing as

getting out the brushes and paints at
the end of a hard day.

For the businessman, it brings the
pleasure of great art into the rough

world of commerce.

The brushwork is gentle, stimulating.

And of all the subjects for painting,
nothing is so satisfying and so

traditional. as painting the live model.

Here in Sydney at Tomboy Studios, for a
small fee, you can get yourself an

attractive model and enough paint to
indulge in your own private artistic

fantasies.

The subtle play of muscles under the
skin, the soft swelling curves of flesh,

all take on a new and vibrant life.

Even the model enjoys it.

Perhaps she dreams that one day she will
hang on the National Gallery.

Now that's what I call a living work of
art.

Arnhem Land.

400 miles inland.

The oldest art gallery in the continent.

Where else but in Australia are there
art galleries where the paintings are 30

,000 years old?

Once this whole area was an inland sea.

The sea receded, leaving behind
seashells and marine fossils.

The rocks are a natural palette, with
holes for mixing the paints made from

the ochres of the desert earth.

Inside the caves, the pictures show the
history of the aboriginal people, what

they saw and ate and hunted.

Here is an ocean fish, frozen by the
hand of a black artist who lived long

before the pyramids were built, and a
giant kangaroo, the totem of the tribe.

Somebody put his outstretched hand
against the surface of the rock wall,

filled his mouth with ochre and water,
sprayed the hand, and left an eternal

handprint.

And here's a picture of a great hunt,
celebrating the killing and eating, the

survival skills which kept them alive
millennia ago.

Life is movement, from the aboriginal
corroboree to the dance of the hours.

Wes Penderthy, a classical artist, turns
his painting studio into a dance floor.

The dancers are covered with paint, and
the paint releases their inhibitions.

Their nakedness stirs memories deep in
their consciousness, memories of folk

dances, of tribal dances when painted
bodies made free offerings of themselves

to the spirits of the dance.

As their bodies turn, they flatten
themselves lovingly against the wall or

on the floor.

Their movement is transferred into a
painted mural.

The mural is a live representation of
the dance, its movements trapped in

color and lines.

Remember kindergarten finger paintings?

Dabbling your hands into the oozing
paint?

Well, this is grown-up finger painting.

Painting with a whole body.

Kindergarten was never like this.

Wes works hard poking his brush at the
surface. But for the girls, it's all joy

and fun and movement.

Afterwards, home to the suburbs.

In the 1880s, there was a boom.

A boom in the hanging industry.

These gallows, now still and silent in
the old Melbourne jail, were the most

important piece of machinery in
Melbourne town.

The man in charge of them was no
ordinary public servant. He never kept

his customers waiting. His rope was
always in perfect order, never lost in

the filing system.

Even the hangman died.

This is the death mask of hangman Henry
Jones.

But he didn't put the rope around his
own neck.

A quick, deep stroke with an open razor
slit his throat.

No long drop for him. He committed
suicide rather than hang Mrs. Frances

Knorr, a nice motherly soul who, for a
trifling fee of five pounds, would adopt

unwanted children.

She then showed the kids just how
unwanted they were by murdering them and

pocketing the fee.

This macabre gallery of murderers make
the waxworks look like children's toys.

The moment the prisoner had been hanged
by the neck and the doctor had certified

that the operation had been successful,
a plaster of Paris impression was made

of the face.

The Italian surgeon Cesare Lombrosa
developed the theory that you could

study the faces of criminals and decide
what sort of facial characteristics

indicated criminal tendencies.

Charles John Hall.

He drowned his pregnant wife in the bath
and then claimed she had committed

suicide.

They didn't believe him.

Emma Williams, born 1868, executed
October 1895.

She killed her child by throwing the
infant into what was then known as the

Albert Park Lagoon.

Now, there's a serene face.

An archbishop?

A saint?

A learned professor?

No, but a national hero just the same.

The greatest of the bushrangers, Ned
Kelly.

Those warm and generous lips had
scarcely finished delivering his famous

last words.

As the rope was put around his neck, he
shrugged and said, Such is life.

Such is life indeed.

Martha Needle.

Lucretia Borgia and arsenic and old lace
in person.

She got through her husband and three
children.

And when her second husband died so
surprisingly, they exhumed his body and

found traces of arsenic.

And there are no prizes for guessing
what the authorities found when they dug

her first husband up.

Now, here's an interesting face.

Businessman, cabinet minister, Frederick
Bailey Deeming, English migrant.

The neighbors complained about a smell
coming from under his house.

Rats from the drains.

The rotting corpse of his murdered wife.

He was suspected of being the original
Jack the Ripper, leaving the old country

to make a fresh start in the murder
business in sunny Australia.

In drought-stricken Australia, everyone
has water on the brain, particularly in

the Northern Territory, though they
don't drink much water.

In Alice Springs, they think it is
unfair that they can't have a regatta

like the Henley Regatta.

and all because of the trifling problem
of having no water in the local river.

So, at Henley-on-Todd, they do have a
regatta, a dehydrated regatta.

Instant boat races, and you don't even
have to add water.

The boats have no bottoms.

Why didn't we all think of that?

It makes them unsinkable.

The river is a dried-up creek bed.

Though some of the spectators maintain
there's enough beer drunk at the regatta

to float a battleship, Who's going to
waste beer to float things on?

It's not quite the Oxford and Cambridge
boat race.

The result is much less predictable
depending on how much amber fluid the

rowers have got inside them.

A beauty contest for the queen of the
regatta.

No, there were that many queens in the
Northern Territory.

Did I say float a battleship?

They do just that. The sea battle with
flower bombs and beer can artillery.

There's even a Viking ship.

You never know where those Vikings will
turn up next.

At any

Australian festival, even a waterless
regatta, there will be gambling.

Australians will bet on anything that
moves.

Horses, dogs, goats, kangaroos,
political elections, flies on the

ceiling or cockroaches on the floor.

Come in, spinner.

The center is set. The guts is set. But
the side hasn't been set. There's a man

over here with $50.

But the thing they most like to bet on
is the national game of two up.

Simple rules, high stakes.

The coins fly in the air spinning and
come down onto the blanket.

$1,000 changes hands in as many seconds.

How much can I buy these heads? Ten.

Ten on the head. I've got twenty. Twenty
you do. You've got twenty?

Okay, you've got twenty. Right.

Righto. Right.

And the Talbot holds the money again.

Right. What would you like? Ten on the
head.

Ten on the head. You hold the money.
Talbot holds the money.

Hang on to that one. Fifty on his head.
Fifty.

I like these fifty dollar bets. They're
beautiful.

I'll take that any time.

Hello. We've got a cover already.

Two hundred in the guts.

A hundred for a head. A hundred for a
head. Ten on the side. Ten on the side.

Ten on the side. Ten on the side. Ten on
the side. Ten on the side. Ten on the

side. Ten on the side. Ten on the side.
Ten on the side. Ten on the side. Ten on

the side. Ten on the side.

Ten on the side.

Ten on the side. Ten on the side. Ten on
the side. Ten on the

side. Ten on the side.

Ten

on

the side.

$270. $280. $290.

It's a big country.

You can be a member of the jet set
without ever leaving Australia.

When the wind blows cold in the south,
the jet setters fly up to the warm north

like migrating birds.

It's the birds they're looking at, too,
here on the Gold Coast, the 20 miles of

beaches which are Australia's
playground, the home of a bikini.

It was on the beaches of Surfer's
Paradise that the bikini first found

acceptance.

Yes, very acceptable.

Here in this shop is Mr. Barry Goodwill,
the man with a job everyone else in

Australia wants.

Who wants to be Prime Minister when you
can make a good living designing and

custom-fitting bikinis?

When you're making something so small,
it has got to be good.

You need the skill of a watchmaker and
the eyes of a birdwatcher.

Every bikini is different.

Sometimes they roll along, sometimes
they're firm and tight, sometimes

they're fighting a losing battle to stay
on.

But as surfers, who cares if they lose
the battle?

This customer knows what she wants.

It's his business to see if she gets
him.

Thank you.

Observe the practiced hand of the
craftsman-like skill of his fingers, his

dedication to his work.

In a world where craftsmanship is dying,
it's good to see a man putting all he's

got into his job.

It's a competitive country.

Every beach tries to do a little better
and show a little more enterprise.

A thousand miles north of the Gold
Coast, Daydream Island on the Barrier

Reef. The right name.

You've never seen such eye-popping
daydreams as this, or nightdreams

either.

For formal wear, the girls put on
bikinis.

For swimming or just lazing in the sun,
it doesn't do to be overdressed.

Nude bathing is perfectly legal on these
beaches.

Daydream Island looks like the Garden of
Eden with a hundred eaves and a few

happy atoms.

And there aren't any snakes to ruin this
garden.

The girls come up to get a tan on those
white patches their bikinis made at

Surfers.

Hard work, girls.

All of a tan needs discipline and oil
and sun and salt water and more oil and

more sun.

See that one?

She's a mermaid.

Came straight off the reef.

Swim around, see what her tail looks
like.

Even after dark, there's not much point
in dressing for dinner.

And there's not much point in wearing a
bikini when no one will see it.

Deep in the heart of Arnhem Land, the
haunting sound of the didgeridoo.

Up here, the average life expectancy of
the adult male aboriginal is 43 years.

A lot of them don't make it. They die as
babies.

The infant mortality rate is higher than
the poorest areas of India.

My friend, I can see that you love me.

Divinely.

Being left behind You loved her so much

Loved her only And now you smile Cannot

hide the tears In your mind

Memories come floating at night

And loneliness knocks at your door.

Oh, but if you had your way, you would
turn back the time.

Stone age men, stoned on alcohol, rushed
into the 20th century.

This is a Darwin bottle shop.

We're told it has the highest sale of
any bottle shop in Australia.

Life is short and seldom merry.

It's payday here in Darwin. The bottle
shop can't keep up with the demand.

When you're black, you have lost your
tribal lands. When you're black and

you've lost the folkways of your
ancestors.

When you're black and you have money,
but money is not part of your tribal

culture. What do you do?

You drink and forget the memories of the
dream time.

The dream time has turned into a
nightmare.

There's always someone waiting to sell
you a bottle of self-destruction.

After all, you're Australian now.

You've got the right to drink.

There's a pub on every corner in
Australia, and every man, woman, and

child in the country drinks around 20
gallons every year.

And some of them steal the children's
rations.

Beer drinking is a way of life.

The empties lie in heaps stretching from
Darwin to Adelaide and Perth to

Brisbane.

When the archaeologists of 3000 AD start
to dig up our remains, they will think

that Australians worshipped a god shaped
in the form of a bottle.

Though the heaviest beer drinkers in the
world are said to be the Germans and the

English, one particular area stands out
above all others.

In the Northern Territory of Australia,
the annual intake has been estimated as

being as high as 52 gallons per person.

The Society for the Prevention of
Alcoholism in Darwin had to be disbanded

in 1966 for lack of support.

The Mildura Working Men's Club is the
general motors of the beer industry.

Beer drinking has been turned into a
production line.

This is the longest bar in the world,
listed in the Guinness Book of Records,

in case you think we made that up after
spending too long at the club.

In the Guinness Book of Records, this
man, known to his friends as the

Whippet, once held the world beer
drinking record.

It shows.

He now weighs 28 stone.

Like all great champions, he has to keep
in training. One day, he'll have another

shot at the record.

Through nearly 2,000 years of history,
more murders,

rapes, torture of human victims have

been committed.

by Christianity and religions who
believe in

a single deity than in any form of
witchcraft together.

Witches practice magic.

They attempt to use supernatural powers
by appealing to the spirits which are

everywhere in the world.

Eddie Pielke is a male witch who uses
his powers for good rather than evil to

practice white magic, not black magic,
to have access to the spirits of a world

older than any religion we know.

Our ceremonies are designed to free the
human

mind from this prison which a Christian
society has brainwashed them

into.

They are also designed to make use of
the individual and

the group power of mind in order to
achieve what you can

do in natural metaphysics, which society
in true

hostility will call witchcraft.

Directed towards the targets.

Of the covenant.

And in combined effort.

We shall make it.

True.

When God looks in the mirror. He sees
himself reversed.

He sees the devil.

Where there is a god, there is a devil.

Where there is a priest, there is a
witch.

Black witchcraft ceremonies are weird
and frightening.

We witnessed such a ceremony in the
middle of a forest not far from

Melbourne.

What you are now seeing has seldom been
photographed, and there was much more

that we were not permitted to
photograph.

The ceremonies release the inhibitions
of the devotees.

They take these Australians back into
the remotest past, back into the unknown

dark, the prehistoric darkness long
before the bright lights of the 1970s.

The rituals are the reverse of the
Christian practice.

It is not a man on the cross, it is a
woman, and the cross is upside down.

She is undergoing the frightening ordeal
of initiation into the coven.

The old gods are knocking at the door of
20th century men and women frightened by

the evil of what they see in the world.

The mindless, threatening violence,
terrified of the future, discontented

with the present.

The witch believes that the answer is
somewhere in the past.

In the spirits of good and evil, in
ecstatic self-knowledge, ideas which

have haunted the imagination through the
centuries.

Just a few hundred years ago, they would
have been burned at the stake for

performing this ceremony.

The last witch was executed in England
less than 300 years ago, in 1684.

In Australia, after dark, they still
call on the dark spirits.

And few of us can be sure whether the
spirits answer them.

The ceremony is over.

The ritual completed.

On the far side of Australia, lapped by
the warm waters of the Indian Ocean, is

Perth. A far out city.

Far out in every way.

It's a cheerful, bright, sunny place.

Broad streets and elegant buildings. A
gay city.

A very gay city. Homosexual capital of
the country.

Perth, it seems, has a higher proportion
of homosexuals than any other city in

Australia.

Male homosexuals have come out of the
dark.

When they come out, they claim all the
rights of straight society.

In a time of changing sexual habits,
they demand the same rights for their

kind of love.

They want to take their union seriously.

And they have found the Reverend Mario
Schoonmaker, who is willing to sanctify

their kind of marriage with a marriage
service.

Our friends, David and Philip, having
found in each other the reflection of

divine love.

and to the end that their love for one
another may be more perfectly fulfilled,

have come before God and in our presence
to be consecrated in that love which

they have for one another and to be
united in this covenant.

David, will you take Philip as your
companion in this covenant of love?

Will you love him, comfort him, honor
and keep him?

in sickness and in health, and be
faithful to him.

Oh.

Philip, will you take David as your
companion in this covenant of love?

Will you love him, comfort him, honor
and keep him, in sickness and in health,

and be faithful to him?

I do.

I call upon these persons here present I
call upon these persons here present to

witness that I, Philip, to witness that
I, Philip, to take you, David,

to be my loving companion in accordance
with God's holy will to heaven to

hold from this day forward for better,
for worse, for richer and poorer

in sickness and in health to love and to
cherish and to this end

I pledge my word.

Bless and hallow this ring, O Christ,
Lord of love, that they who wear it may

ever keep true faith to this covenant
and so abiding in your peace and in

conformity with your holy will may live
in love unchanging.

With this ring,

I pledge myself to you in this covenant
of love. With my body I

reverence you.

With my heart I enfold you.

With my strength I protect you.

And with my love I surround you.

Amen.

I pledge myself to you in this covenant
of love. With my

body I reverence you.

With my heart I enfold you. With my
strength I protect you.

And with my love I surround you.

Amen.

David and Philip have declared before
God and their friends gathered here.

that they will live together in this
holy covenant of love.

They have made sacred promises to each
other.

They have symbolized this by joining
hands and receiving a ring.

I, the Reverend Mario Schoenmaker, by
the authority given unto me, pronounce

them therefore to be joined together in
this holy covenant in the name of the

Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit.

They are now assuredly accepted before
God, and what God has joined together,

Men must never separate.

Here in Perth a wedding between two
people of the same sex is frowned upon

but not illegal.

And so they go off on their honeymoon,
the bride picking the confetti out of

his wedding outfit, testing what we used
to call the love that dare not say its

name.

Good luck, David and Philip, you'll need
it.

All married couples need it.

No, not just another script.

She makes the same moves and the same
removals, the art form pioneered by

Gypsy Rose Lee.

But watch her carefully.

What sort of a woman is she?

Is she a woman?

Or is she something in between, a
woman's nature trapped in a man's body,

caught between two sexual worlds not
knowing which way to turn?

But she is a man.

At least, some of her is a man.

Under the hot red lights, the sexy
thrust of the music, the body waits for

a sex change operation.

Look at it carefully, as if you
wouldn't.

Observe the final revelation, the
seventh veil, the climax, and make your

own decision.

New Guinea masks and carvings.

They represent gods who traditionally
came out of the sky.

The belts, the helmets, the rivets, all
suggest spacesuits.

For the New Guineans, there is no doubt,
these are the masks of creatures who

stepped out of the chariots of the gods.

In the north Queensland town of Tully,
it rains by the yard.

Which may be the reason why creatures
from outer space keep landing there to

fill the radiators of their flying
saucers. Mrs. Claire Noble, a very

ordinary, sensible lady, has recorded
many sightings and traces of landings.

But the tally sightings in 65 started, I
would say, in the November period.

And then in the 1966, 67, 68 was really
an invasion.

Many of the tally saucer lights have
been seen coming in from the east.

crossing across the cane fields and
heading along the foothills of Mount

Mackay, which you can see in the
distance there, then following along

across the valley and up to the back of
a certain part of the Mount Tyson area.

There have been other markings found in
the area, some in the cane fields, some

up the Tully River Gorge, some just
outside of the town area.

taking off from cane fields, hovering
low above the cane at the

early morning and dusk as well.

These crafts have been different sizes.
It's very hard to tell, of course.

We've had trains followed and people in
cars followed and very much frightened

too. They put their big beam light down,
which has been down in many parts of the

town.

The meaning of the flying saucers in our
atmosphere is simply that the Elder

Brothers in charge of them, many levels
of consciousness above us, they are here

for two purposes.

One, now that we've got atomic power, a
third world war breaks out and gets out

of control, we would, from the risk of
destroying the planet.

Consequently, our Elder Brothers are
going to see that we do not destroy the

planet. And the other reason that
they're here, to conduct the

transmutation of this planet into the
new heaven and the new earth as

predicted in the Bible.

So you come up against all this
different variety of space beings, but

you're dealing with interdimensional and
interplanetary beings.

Many different types have been seen,
from the very big tall men of nine feet,

seven feet.

Over the last few years, the three to
four feet.

I have come into the picture more so.

And these are the little humanoid types.

And they've been seen taking in
boulders, sand, plants, clippings and

grass, leaves, flowers, the whole works.

And they have a different facial
structure, slanted eyes and sometimes no

lips, the very big bulbous head and
phenomenal strength.

They've been...

Very hairy too.

I think that it's more than time that
people sat up and took notice of the

whole flying saucer business.

In this last year, every hour there have
been 32 sightings reported around the

world. But think also of the number of
sightings that are not reported in,

which would cover a very big amount.

You don't have to leave the city to find
an alternative lifestyle.

Now here's a man seeking the simple,
clean life.

See him at the end of a hard day of
working in the office, keeping the

secretaries busy, an exhausting business
lunch, a bottle of red.

When you live under these pressures, you
need something to relax your tired

nerves.

Slip behind the wheel of a white
Mercedes, switch on the air

conditioning, the power steering, the
hydraulic windows, the quadraphonic

cassette player.

and drive down to the businessman's
club.

This one, called the Daily Planet, is in
Melbourne.

There he is, getting it all out of the
system in the sunken Roman bath, heated

to just the right temperature.

That'll get the stiffness out of some of
his joints.

A busy man like our friend here needs
and deserves the loving care of two

personal handmaidens to help him forget
completely the worry and the strain of

the office.

Probably, at the moment, the work back
at the office is the last thing on his

mind.

A businessman has to keep himself in
shape.

In his daily job, the pace is killing.

After all, he has only one pair of
hands, so it's only right and proper

that he needs the soothing assistance of
two pairs of women's hands, sensually

smoothing the skin that contains so much
commercial genius.

It all goes down on expenses, too. The
firm can claim it as a tax deduction.

Sunup, a hundred miles north of Perth.

We all want to get away from it all.

Some do.

This group has.

They've gone back to the country and set
up an alternative community.

These 80 adults and 15 children have
dropped out of the rat race.

They live on the natural vegetarian
foods they grow themselves.

The life is simple.

Their guide and philosopher is this
86-year-old guru whose gentle persuasion

holds the group together.

He is their prophet and the center of
their communal affection and love.

The reason or the cause of the
generation gap.

This all has to do with physical bodies,
animal and human physical bodies.

Now then, of modern times, we've come to
the generation gap.

There's the constitution of the average
man of the old human race.

Even Bertrand Russell only had the
concrete mental body, which was why he

could get no positive proof of a
personal God.

Here you've got the abstract spiritual
mental body. And with the generation gap

all over the world, with every nation,
wherever you go, you'll find the young

people coming up now, the babies.

have all got the abstract spiritual
mental body.

They are able to sift the true from the
false, the good from the bad, the

beautiful from the ugly,
instantaneously.

There will be no possibility of
deceiving them because they will have

such acute perceptives.

The young people of this generation are
divided into two groups, the destroyers

and the builders.

We have been concentrating on the
builders.

who must finalize this work that we have
done in bringing the brotherhood and the

way of life to a finality whereby there
can be no possible argument.

As for the future where the brotherhood
is concerned, we have established the

brotherhood of man under the fatherhood
of God as a way of life which the

children, our elder brothers, and the
Christ for the millennium That is the

normal way of life, producing happy,
healthy people.

To demonstrate to every interested
person just exactly what the end result

is of cooperating with our elder
brothers and with the Christ.

This is the purpose of Quran and the
Shalem and the universal brotherhood and

the new land that we are going on to, to
expand this principle.

We have now got the principle operating.

And we're going to demonstrate to the
world.

Are they crazy or are we?

It is said that Frenchmen will follow an
elegant pair of legs for miles.

That Italians pant after blondes like a
dog on heat.

that Englishmen fancy schoolmistresses
who will cane them.

What about Australians?

What turns them on?

Do they prefer beer to bird?

The evidence of our camera is that many
Australians are sexually omnivorous.

They are general practitioners.

But there are also many specialists.

There are leg men, breast men, and how
shall I put it? Well, there are men who

like to see women walking away from
them.

They focus their attentive eyes on the
posterior, bottom, backside, rump, butt,

sit upon, nape, rubius maximus, the bum.

These twin spheres of rounded flesh,
big, medium, small, dimple, rolling,

rocking, bumping and grinding,
undulating, tight and sagging.

Fertile garden of Eden bursting with
bottoms like grapefruit, pawpaws or

melons.

The psychologists think they know your
secret passions.

Bun fanciers, they say, are a backward
lot.

Secret homosexuals.

If we didn't know what a humorless lot
they were, we might imagine they were

talking tongue-in-cheek.

At stag parties, footballers' booze-ups,
rorty parties in the suburbs, club

smokers, wherever they're determined to
have a good time, the first thing to get

after you've ordered the cake is a
couple of porn movies.

George Schwartz exists to fill this
market.

He makes porn movies.

Good, straight porn.

His clients want it straight. He's a
specialist and expert.

He has to know what the market wants to
predict the latest fashions and consumer

tastes, whether the audience is into
whipping, bondage, or lesbianism.

But the basic bread-and-butter porn is
straight lovemaking.

Camera off.

Okay, carry plate.

You know your action. Fair enough. Roll
three, take one. Uh, slate one, take

two.

Oh,

it's gonna be some birthday party.

I'm just so happy for this birthday
party.

I just can't wait for this birthday
party to begin.

It's hard work making a porn movie.

Hard on the actors, too.

As soon as they start enjoying their
work, the director shouts,

Get out of here once for a moment. I
want to show you.

You see, the next thing is, when you get
into... You see, I want that John can

see. You're going to fuck to music, and
it will be this kind of music, something

like that.

You see, and then I want you to get into
here and go exactly to the music.

You get the idea?

Oh, yeah, yeah, I can do that. Right,
that is the touch.

So that's what I want from you this
time. I haven't got any other music that

I will do for the time being.

So that's what we want. So we'll shoot
that now.

Okay. Right?

Sure. Shoot.

Action.

But George Schwartz, it's a job of work.

He jokes with the performers to relax
them and get a better performance.

There has always been erotic art.

The form and curves of women have
fascinated artists since the Stone Age.

Two and a half thousand years ago, in
the rock tombs of Etruscan kings and

princes, they cheered the dead with
erotic paintings.

In the city of Pompeii, buried under the
ash of Mount Vesuvius in 79 AD, you can

still see on the excavated pavement an
incised penis pointing the way to one of

the many brothels of the city.

In the sumptuous house of the Vetti
brothers, wealthy merchants who knew how

to enjoy the money they spent, one room
is completely covered with erotic

paintings. They show in loving detail
all the positions, all the permutations

and combinations of lovers through the
ages.

Erotic art, whether it is ancient
paintings or modern photographs,

satisfies a human hunger for the beauty,
the gentleness, and the savagery of

caresses. It is a free expression of the
joy of tumbled bodies.

The ancient Greeks, the Romans, the
Indians, all had a strong liking for

erotic works of art.

So perhaps we here in Australia should
admit unashamedly that we enjoy it

immensely too.

When Og the caveman ripped the bearskin
pants from the thighs of Og the

cavewoman, he did not know he was a
fetishist.

But we do.

The sexual desire of the fetishist
fastens on some special aspect of women.

The navel, the armpits, the toes, or
something she wears, her stockings,

brassiere, or panties.

The fetishist is not content with
nudity.

His passion is for what covers up the
nude body.

A hundred magazines cater for his needs.

The models tease his imagination with
contrast of white flesh and black

stockings. The clinging froth of
underwear which outline the curve of the

pedenda thrusting against the thin
fabric.

The suspender belt, that thin and
circling strip of

material letting down and holding up the
elastic straining at the black

stockings.

The fetishist likes the erogenous zones,
the breast, crutch, thighs and calves,

to be covered, yet half revealed.

He wants to be titillated.

teased with a promise of what lies
underneath.

He works with his imagination, his
senses sharp to the labyrinth of silk

which contains the mysterious source of
pleasure.

He is trapped by the concealed mystery
of woman straining to reveal herself

under the cover of a wisp of this or
that, half revealing, advancing and

retreating, drawing him onward and
upward.

If she takes it all off, he loses
interest.

Women know their power to excite.

They pamper their bodies, always
striving to make their skins more

perfect, whiter, smoother, more
feminine.

At spas throughout the world since the
time of the Romans, the health-giving

and beautifying properties of mud have
been known.

This girl plunges into the mud,
sensually rubbing and squeezing it,

abandoning herself to the clinging
intimacy of the mud.

Why does she do it?

Is it just to make herself more
beautiful, or is it some psychological

desire to get back to the warm, moist,
enveloping womb of the mother who

carried her in her body for nine months?

Are women much more primitive than men?

Does she have some folk memory which
draws her back to the primeval ooze of

the warm swamp mud at the edge of the
ocean, the life-giving mud our ultimate

ancestors swam into when they left the
salt sea to make their way up the

evolutionary ladder from fishes to
humans?

Don't ask her, she doesn't know. But she
knows it feels good. She knows what it

means to her skin and body.

She's enjoying herself.

Another memory.

The warm milk of childhood becomes the
milk bath of adulthood.

The wives of Roman emperors bathed in
asses' milk.

Even the government tells you to drink a
pint of milk a day.

Now you know why dairy farmers are
called cow cockies.

How do you turn your wife on when you
both know your lovemaking too well?

Here in Australia, like anywhere else,
familiarity breeds boredom.

Get rid of those dreary white cotton
sheets. Put on crisp, sliding, sexy

satin sheets.

And get out your recipe books.

Take three pints of thick cream.

Whip it up. Put it in an icing bag.

Squeeze it over the cake.

Sorry, cheesecake.

following the lines of the body,
tracking along the nerves that lead to

the erogenous zones.

Decorate with fresh strawberries.

Frozen strawberries lead to frigidity.

Slowly, lingeringly, watching to see how
much your cooking is appreciated.

Then perhaps add honey.

You know how many thousand lovers the
queen bee has.

Slowly pouring it over the surface of
the dish, flicking at it with your

tongue.

Mmm.

And we suggest you serve with chilled
champagne.

One thing leads to another, one appetite
creates another.

And when you've both enjoyed the meal,
there's one great compensation.

No dirty dishes to wash up.

Close your mouth and open your

heart.

Nicholas Copernicus, the 15th century
Polish priest and astronomer, propounded

the revolutionary theory that the sun
was the center of the universe and the

earth moved around the sun.

People thought he was mad.

20th century Australia has its own
Copernicus.

Count Copernicus. is the most
beautifully confused entertainer in

Australia today.

But out of this confusion, there seems
to grow a colorful madness that almost

borders on sanity.

A few years back, he would not have been
allowed to roam free in our society.

Beautiful schoolgirls remind me of sexy
nuns.

Now listen here.

I'm a big man.

You understand?

I'm a big man.

Mankind is going through a...

Strange transition at the moment, known
esoterically as Kali Yuga.

So, we've got to be a little cool.

This is about the second coming.

But it has absolutely nothing to do with
orgasm.

Or does it?

I am a delicately wrapped... Full cream,
delicious caramel-scented, chocolate

-coated, protein-enriched, new Messiah.

I really love math, though.

I wish I was a ginger cat with a name
like Marmalade.

No little bird, no mouse or rat would
need to be afraid.

The Count abhors violence.

He feels there are better things to be
done in this world than killing or

fighting.

If we must fight, it must be a
non-violent fight for good and love and

understanding.

Instead of gaining gratification from
violence, we should get our satisfaction

from love.

Now, isn't that food for thought?

Instead of thinking violent thoughts,
perhaps we should all concentrate our

studies on the Kama Sutra.

What a better world that would be.

Anybody who thinks that sex is obscene
should read the Kama Sutra.

If they still think it's obscene, they
should get into television advertising.

If we can live through our animal
fantasies, we can transcend them.

And in the end, it's just you and the
one you love.

We must put our shoulder to the wheel,
best foot forward,

chest out, stiff upper lip, nose to the

grindstone, and together we shall march
on into the unknown.

I'm dancing with tears in my eyes.

Cause the girl in my arms is a boy.

Gina Allen lives on a barrier reef.

She's deeply concerned about
conservation. She loves the fishes and

the whole multicolored moving world of
underwater.

Like a sea nymph, she gives herself to
the water.

No need to wear anything but the
essentials.

The mask, flippers, breathing apparatus
which allow her to be a citizen of the

sea.

She plays with the fish, lets the
current take her, the reef is her home.

Gina Allen is another Australian going
back through millions of years.

Back to the time when all of life was
marine life.

To the great creating sea we all come
from.

Where the waters supported the moving
body and all of life was gliding through

the great sea.

The mother sea which gave us all life.

We have taken you on a journey through
the strange byways of Australia after

dark.

But after the dark comes the dawn of a
new and lovely day.

And Gina Allen is a beautiful way to
watch the new day.

don't turn off keep watching for further
movie previews

Everything we show in this film is fact.

The London studio of Britain's top
glamour and porno photographer.