Original subtitles

Downloaded from YTS.MX

Official YIFY movies site: YTS.MX

One man's poison is yet another man's meat.

These words, first written by an unknown 19th century poet,

ably reflect the mood of the film you are about to see.

You will indulge yourselves in a forbidden experience.

To the artist, a nude woman is but a tool of his trade,

but to the average businessman, a forbidden delicacy.

To the sexologist, pornography may be a study

of mankind, but to the novice,

a forbidden treasure of filth.

To the sexual deviant, rape may be a necessity,

while to the timid man,

a forbidden dream of concealed lust.

This is Los Angeles, California, a city

whose population explosion has caused

numerous unsolvable problems; smog, overcrowded freeways,

and a shocking increase in sex crimes to name only a few.

Newspapers constantly remind us of the pending dangers

that lurk in this gigantic metropolis.

No one is safe.

The lush female or escort, the grandmother,

even the infant fall prey

to unbalanced minds of sexual attackers.

Recently, however, an organization was formed

to take action against this growing menace.

They advertise their services in a most unusual manner.

You are now watching a motion picture

within a motion picture.

The footage you are now seeing was

actually produced some months ago

and was never intended for theatrical release.

It was obtained by our production unit

by somewhat devious means so that the world

could see what we feel to be one

of the sickest commercial advertising campaigns

ever perpetrated upon the American public.

It is not a nudie movie, nor is it a filmed commercial

for sexy, black-waist underwear.

It is in fact a commercial designed

to shock women into the reality that any unguarded female

is at all times subject to sexual attack.

Prior to our obtaining this footage for our film,

this picture was shown only to private women's clubs

in the Southern California area.

Due to the nudity displayed by these actresses,

men were forbidden to attend these performances.

Only in Los Angeles, the city Madison Avenue has tagged

as the wildest, most difficult market in the world,

only in Los Angeles would a business stoop

to advertise or literally exploit the rapist for money.

This film is actually a commercial

for a school for karate.

The message it brings to its female audiences

is to be prepared, and through a knowledge

of the deadly art of karate, a woman can defend herself

against even the boldest of sexual attackers.

This school is called the Nakamuri School

for Sexual Defense.

We interviewed the owner of the school,

Miss Naomi Nakamuri.

Miss Nakamuri, can you tell us a little

about the film we're now watching please.

It shows a rapist

who attacks these two young girls.

It was quite simply made and we meant to shock the audience

into the realization that no one, not even a woman

in her own home, can be safe from attack.

And do you really think

the film shocks the audience?

Yes.

Miss Nakamuri, was the nudity in this film,

in your opinion, absolutely necessary?

There is quite a bit of nudity, isn't there?

Yes, but the film is shown only to women,

and I think the nudity does provide a sense of realism.

Did you produce this film yourself?

Well, the film was produced

by an amateur producer at my instruction.

How much did the picture cost?

$7,000.

And do you feel that it has been successful?

Well, for years, my husband

and I had one karate school on Sunset Boulevard.

After he died, I decided to expand.

I changed the name of the school

to a School for Sexual Defense.

Automatically, business increased.

We then started showing this film to women's groups,

and an overwhelming number of the members

at each showing signed up for the school.

Now, we operate 14 of them in Southern California alone.

And I suppose all

the 14 are equally as successful.

Equally.

Thank you very much.

The raw naturalism

in which this film illustrates a sexual attack has

indeed shocked feminine audiences into a stunned awareness

of their helpless, unprotected, unprepared situation.

Although this film might appear amateurishly made,

it is one of the finest examples

of slickly subtle persuasion.

Its crude appearance has been calculated

to heighten its documentary effectiveness.

Its message is almost laughably simple.

A sexual deviant lurks in the dark

with his sweaty speculation,

waiting for only one unguarded moment.

If you are not prepared, this is what can happen.

The big pitch reaches the audience

after the gruesome climax with these words.

These women were lucky.

They did not have to be prepared

to ward off this sexual attacker.

It was only a dream, or was it?

This is Naomi Nakamuri, the 24-year-old president

of the self defense chain.

With her is Brenda Farragut, the young wife

of one of Hollywood's most powerful film magnates.

Brenda is here for her private lesson with Naomi,

for which she pays $50 for one hour's tutorage.

Naomi weighs only 97 pounds, and Brenda is a slim 112.

These two girls represent the essence of femininity,

and yet Naomi and her star pupil are capable

of killing a man 73 different ways.

These are two of Naomi's more than 40 male instructors

which she personally tutors.

All of them are young.

All are handsome, and quite

by coincidence, all are unmarried.

Their hands are considered lethal weapons,

and if these women were to themselves attack someone,

they would be prosecuted as if they had fired a loaded gun.

Her pupils learn through real-life situations

involving simulated sexual attacks.

It is hoped that the only time any

of these students will be molested will be in the classroom,

but if that is not to be the case, they will be ready.

You are about to witness one of the most bizarre examples

of a parasite you will ever see.

This club is one of a new breed

of sensual relaxation spas specifically geared

for our Space Age.

It is a portable topless bar designed to be broken down

within moments so that it may be moved from place to place.

Tagged as a floating club, its portability is necessary

because of its clientele.

They are the men and women who work

on the new space projects and building sites located

in the far-off, desolate regions of the United States.

At this moment, the floating bar is located

on the fringe of a desert

in the southwestern part of America.

Except for this construction site, there is nothing

but sand and rugged mountains in any direction

for the next 100 miles.

The road project is deserted now.

The work has been finished for the day.

The machinery sits idle.

Less than two miles away, the workers now sit jammed

into the tiny floating club.

The idea for the floating bar is the brainchild

of 32-year-old George Rodman of San Antonio, Texas.

For years, the burly Westerner had worked

on crews like this, separated from family and civilization.

During that time, because of the loneliness he felt,

he gave birth to the floating club.

If the men could not come to the entertainment,

then George Rodman would bring the entertainment to them.

The idea was a smashing success,

and before the first year was out,

George Rodman had four clubs working the year round

and was grossing over $200,000 annually.

Their entourage is small, usually consisting

of two or three Lolita-like Watusi dancers,

a scrawny combo, and several haggard,

overworked people who toil behind the makeshift bar

or over the relentlessly whirling glass-washing machine.

This is a fast volume,

give it to them simple, type of business.

There is no pretension to subtlety here,

no seductive lighting, no soft-spoken waiters,

no violins, only beer, tired people, and raw whiskey.

♪ She won't be back ♪

George relentlessly moves his clubs

from state to state in an area

where local authority is flexible or he is able

to buy off the local police force.

His dancers perform completely in the nude.

In other states where the laws are more stringent,

they appear topless.

In still other parts, such as the Southwest,

where this club is now located, the local authority is

so strong that the girls must appear fully clothed.

The clubs breeze in on the wind,

snatching business while it's hot.

Then, as the crowds begin to dwindle,

they pack their trailers and roll up their tents,

and like the shifting sand, disappear without a trace.

But trailing close behind

at a safe distance are the prostitutes and muggers

who leech a perverted dollar from George Rodman's clubs.

These parasites camp in deserted shacks

or park in automobiles along the road, leading

directly to, but just beyond the sight

of, the portable clubs.

With promises of satisfaction, they lure the aroused

and drunken workers into their makeshift quarters.

Then, slipping them a drugged drink,

the muggers rob the laborers

and then dump them unconscious onto the road.

Like their sisters, the black widow spider,

these insects then change their location

and lie in wait for their next victim.

Ironically, these whorish women are cut off,

isolated by their parasitic game.

In a kind of bitter, twisted justice,

they have only themselves to turn to in order

to eke out some meager scrap of satisfaction.

♪ Someone to talk to ♪

♪ Someone to tell my troubles to ♪

And so it continues.

The ingenious floating topless bars following the lonely men.

Giving them profitable, but worthwhile service.

Only to have themselves in turn,

plagued by an infected parasite that lurks in the shadows

not far behind.

Paris at night, Paris after the rain.

How different is the capital of love

from the outpost we've just visited.

Yet it is from Paris, from the romantic Pigalle district,

that George Rodmand found the first model

for his floating topless clubs.

Stationed in Paris during the liberation,

Rodmand met, fell in love with, and married

a dancer from this night spot,

who later became his first tap dancer.

In these clubs, the most beautiful women in the world

perform before the wealthy

in sumptuously appointed atmospheres.

It is not unusual for the dancers to wear costumes

which cost $500 or more to create.

The best lighting designers in Europe

take great care in presenting each of the painstakingly

developed acts in the most caressing manner.

And each entertainer, more than likely,

is backed up by an orchestra of at least 12 pieces.

The acts here in the Pigalle are truly topless

and leave nothing to be desired.

Either in the excellence of the dance,

or in the uncovering of the sensuous lines

of the female body.

Indeed, the clubs in Pigalle are so plush,

they often scare American tourists away,

for fear that they would be fleeced

to their last dollar in one of them.

Yet, the admission to this club is only 50 cents.

In George Rodman's floating bars,

the worker's pay $2.50.

Drinks in this beautifully appointed night spot

cost 35 cents on the average.

And the portable club, a dollar and a half for beer.

$2.00 for mixed drinks.

Believe it or not, the average customer

in George Rodman's bars,

can save enough for a first class air ticket to Paris

in less than a year from the difference he is paying.

People flock like lambs to the slaughter

in George Rodman's bars, simply because it looks cheaper

and in the end, they miss something of real value,

simply because they are afraid.

An irony of life exposed.

Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned.

This line spoken by a player in Shakespeare's comedy,

the Taming of the Shrew,

is a classic in describing the wrath a woman can present

when she has been jilted by her lover.

We now take our cameras to Stockholm, Sweden,

for the recreating of one of the most macabre

cases of jealousy in the annals of modern criminology.

Well Francoise, you're a free woman now.

You're such a hypocrite.

You're the one who wanted to be free.

What do you intend to do now?

I will try to go back to work and to forget.

Look.

If you have any problems of any kind, just call.

Oh, we've had enough problems don't you think?

You haven't been a lot of help in solving them to now.

Are you still seeing that girl?

To suffer to be beautiful.

To suffer because one no longer is,

a woman growing old, abandoned,

provides the most anguishing and pitiful

of spectacles known to life.

What is she going to do?

Kill him?

Kill them both?

Kill herself?

A man would choose a gun.

The third woman,

classic eternal triangle.

The stage is set.

The curtain has risen.

On this woman, depends the outcome of the play.

To what lengths will her fevered imagination drive her?

Jealousy.

As the dictionary defines it, unpleasant fear,

suspicion of the faithfulness of a husband, wife, or lover.

Only those persons who avoid causing jealousy

are worthy of inspiring it.

Professional jealousy, rivalry between persons

in the same profession.

Jealousy, uneasiness caused others by a prince's power.

A jealousy, a garden flower.

The common crowned lickness.

Jealousy, term used in construction.

A wooden or iron trellis, through which one can see

without being seen.

Jealousy water, holy water which was given to a woman

suspected of infidelity.

Certain words were pronounced as it was drunk,

causing if the suspicions were grounded,

the death of the adulteress.

Theater, The Jealousy of the Barbouillé,

a comedy attributed to Molière.

Jealous, zealously devoted to, strongly attached to.

Hounded by jealousy,

this pathetic woman, resolved a tragic situation

in the simplest way possible.

In the only way she knew how.

Brussels, the city of the 1958 world's fair.

Here in the heart of Europe's most fertile farm country,

it is difficult to believe that it is also the home

of some of the continents most erotic nightclub acts.

Because Brussels is within driving distance of Paris,

it has become a city where the mademoiselles

of Pigalle audition and nurture their acts,

prior to opening in Paris.

Today, Brussels is to Paris,

what Boston and Philadelphia is to our Broadway.

The citizens of this tiny European country

have grown wealthy from their holdings

in the Belgian Congo.

There is very little poverty.

The people have little to worry about.

If something they want is against the law,

they merely find new ways to make it legal.

On the streets, one can find mile after mile of shops

that specialize in imported goods from red China.

Discretely marked, made in Hong Kong.

Row upon row of hardcore pornography

is sold on bookshelves under the name of High Styled Art.

And so strip acts such as these,

are performed under the guise of artists models exhibitions.

Geneva, Switzerland, home of the banking world

and symbol of peace and prosperity.

Yet it is here that we take you

into a private lesbian club.

This and other clubs of similar motivation

have much room to cross this tiny country in recent years

to the consternation of both her police

and her sociologists.

For several centuries, Switzerland has enjoyed

the benefits of neutrality.

While other nations have fought wars or tangled

themselves within the ties of destiny,

she has gone on her peaceful way.

But the easy life has also become boring.

Suicide has sky rocketed,

divorce becomes commonplace,

where people having grown tired of the ordinary

forms of enjoyment, have turned to clubs like this one

in order to find relief from their bland existence.

All of the applicants to the club,

are carefully screened as to their willingness

and qualifications.

Only the most dedicated and worthy of the applicants

reach the point you are now witnessing, the initiation.

They must have a history of at least five years

of full lesbian existence and must be able to prove it.

But after the intense screening the applicant receives,

they profit fully from the unusual fringe benefits

that the clubs provide.

For instance, the club performs marriage ceremonies

and even reluctant divorce actions between members.

They also arrange for adoption of children

for the more worthy of their members.

And they have their own credit union

which finances their brethren in business ventures.

These are the clubs newest pledges.

For the first time in the history of the twilight world

of the sexual deviant, a motion picture company

was given permission to film this perverted ritual.

These two girls have never met prior to the initiation.

During this ceremony, they will perform a lesbian

exhibition before the other members.

On their ability to convince the fellow membership

of their lesbian tendencies lies the fate

of their own membership.

It is interesting that both of the girls you are watching

turned out to be femmes.

That is girl halves of the lesbian man-woman relationship.

Which added an unusual flavor to the initiation ceremony.

Prior to this performance, we were able to interview

one of these girls.

Tell me does the fact that you are about

to perform a sex act in front of a group of people,

does it bother or embarrass you in any way?

In a way I guess it does.

But that sort of adds to the excitement of it all.

I think there are many people who might like to do this.

But I think so much about what other people think.

If you don't care about other people,

you enjoy life more.

Have you ever had relations with a man?

Oh, yes.

But men don't really know how to love a woman.

A woman knows how to excite another woman

because she herself has the same feelings.

I'm sure it's the same thing between two men.

In our club, anything goes.

Whatever pleases you, you do.

No one ever tries to stop you or hold you back.

It's true freedom.

In America, well in America there's no freedom.

But in Switzerland, the individual can do

anything he wishes, as long as he harms no one else.

My making love in front of an audience will harm no one.

And if my performance is interesting,

it may even do them a lot of good.

Our cameramen however, were asked to leave

immediately after the ceremony.

The club's president was most polite

and considerate in her motives.

We were told that after they went through the initiation,

the girls would be officially welcomed into the club

as new members by being hosted to a delicious orgy.

Is Los Angeles, California, the sunset strip

is peaceful this Sunday morning.

The aftermath of a terrifying night.

Once this glittering street that winds through

two and a half miles of America's most expensive

real estate, was a meeting place of movie stars,

politicians and business tycoons.

World famous restaurants and night clubs

such as Ciro's, the Crescendo, and the Plymouth Palace

were crammed with tourists and natives

who hoped to catch a glimpse of Cary Cooper,

Marilyn Monroe, or even Clark Gable.

These names, these places are now gone.

They have been replaced by the long-haired,

the unwashed, the rebellious.

This building was once the Los Angeles

conservatory of music.

It is now

the Whiskey A Go Go.

This used to be an exclusive night spot

called the Golden Violin,

where diners were serenaded by soft violins.

It has now been changed by the same owner

into the Galaxy, an 18 and over Watusi Palace.

The sunset strip is filled with names like the Door,

Iron Butterfly, Loving Spoonful, and Smokestack Lightning.

♪ Now if you don't have a guy ♪

Here, a camera pauses on the...

It started innocently enough.

Teenagers met, necking in public,

oblivious to their surroundings.

Soon however, they began to get restless.

The 10 o'clock curfew was approaching.

They did not want to go home.

After all, it was Saturday night.

What did it matter if they were only 13?

A few at first, began moving restlessly about

in the heat-drenched night.

They were looking for something to do.

The action.

10 o'clock came, 10 o'clock went.

The Los Angeles Police Department began to enforce

the curfew, picking up the most obvious offenders.

In protest, the marchers began

and the attention they received from newsmen

and bystanders spurred them on.

Soon the police department gave up

trying to enforce the curfew.

The crowds were getting too big.

Orders went out to avoid at any cost, aggressive action.

Before the night was out,

they would learn how great that cost would be.

A rally began and the scattered clusters

merged to a central meeting place in front of Pandora's Box,

a teenage night club.

Protestors over the 10 o'clock curfew, Vietnam,

the racial issue, fanned the flames

of the already excited listeners.

The mob became more and more agitated.

Traffic began to slow down on the strip

as people began to clog the street.

Finally, it stopped altogether.

Then, it happened.

The first shove, the first fist thrown.

It would matter little for the next five hours

who was responsible.

As a last resort, the mayor asked the Los Angeles

County Sheriff's Department to aid the police

in calming the riot.

They moved in quickly, using tear gas

and Billy clubs to push back and break up the mob.

155 members of the Los Angeles PD were used.

In addition, 79 sheriff's deputies were called in to help.

Cost of the operation to the Los Angeles

tax payers, $257,000.

Damage and personal property destroyed, $1,338,000.

More than 8% of those arrested were under 21.

Three quarters of those were less than 16.

Parents protested vigorously about alleged police brutality.

Most of these stated that their children

were innocent bystanders and should not have been arrested.

Some parents bitterly denied that

their children were even there.

Even after the police had awakened them

in the middle of the night to notify them

that their children were in police custody.

Five hours later, official statements were issued.

The riot was now finally under control.

There would be no more problems of this nature

on the sunset strip, things would be different.

But tonight, except for the absence of violence,

nothing has changed.

London,

the hub of a strip world.

Within this vast European city

there are over 1,000 clubs catering

to every taste imaginable,

from those which headlined female impersonators,

to a small night spot in Soho that claims

to feature only virgins.

It is in this intimate club that our camera paused.

Here, backstage, one can savor the bare,

unrehearsed flavor of a truly original and unique club.

We were told by the owner, who takes great pride

in his club's reputation for its authentic virgin strippers,

that he personally inspects each of his girls

on a regular basis to ensure

against any change in their status.

The names and themes of the acts presented

are consistent with the club's policy,

Bridal Night and Rape of a Virgin,

are but two of the more than half dozen acts

that perform before packed audiences nightly.

The girls have gratefully returned the affection

their audience has displayed by taking

great pains in preparing themselves for the uncovering.

It is not unusual for these women to come into the club

three hours before they are scheduled to go on.

Just so they might spend this time slowly

and fastidiously, grooming their faces and bodies.

A dramatic contrast to the strippers

that work the clubs in the United States,

who rush in 15 minutes prior to the curtain

and go through the motions of their acts

in a bored and extremely tired manner.

Perhaps the difference is due to the respect

these performers have in their private lives.

These women are treated as performers

instead of garbage that has to resort

to stripping for lack of any other skill.

Their dances are considered skillful representations

instead of cheap morally depraved acts

worthy of viewing only by the most base of men.

These women are often seen with the best of company,

are actually regarded as ladies of the theater.

Their standard of living is considerably higher

than women in the same profession

in other parts of the world.

So much so in fact, that most of these girls retire

with a substantial amount of money within a few years,

often ending up as successful business women

in entirely different fields.

Others find their prince charming

while displaying their wares and marry important

men in the financial world,

or even lords of the realm.

Regardless of what the outcome is,

successful business woman or happy housewife

married to her prince charming,

one thing is evident, the life of the London strip girl,

is certainly more than what it's cracked up to be.

The girls are now in the final stages

of preparation for their acts.

The lovely to the left is Bridal Night.

This beauty portrays the horror of a rape of a virgin

with such intensity, that she has received

many offers to act on the legitimate stage

and on British television.

This girl is the pièce de résistance.

She is the club's top act.

One which you will soon be feasting your eyes upon.

Bridal Night, is halfway through her act.

It is at this point in her story,

that she has retired with her husband

to their nuptial bedroom and she is about

to give herself to him.

Too soon for the audience,

her act is over.

These performances average less than 10 minutes

in duration, and for two acts a night,

less than 30 minutes of work,

these girls receive more than $200.

And now for the Widowed Virgin,

the club's top act.

This story told in pantomime relates the tragic tale

of a bride widowed on her wedding night,

who must face the lonely years ahead

in a constant, agonizing stage of frustration.

It is indeed an act of unparalleled sensualness and torture.

We are now in the skid row area of a large

eastern city of the United States.

In this converted theater, there exists a school

of the most unusual nature.

This woman, whose face we have censored

at her request, is having sexual problems with her husband.

She is a member of one of the city's most prominent families

and has come to this other woman, Rose Calder,

to try and learn the art of romance.

She is in desperate need to recapture the romance

in her marriage and spark interest in her

apathetic husband, who is spending more

and more time away from home on so-called business trips.

For years, Rose ran a school for strippers.

Then one day, a socialite stumbled upon the school.

She was having difficulty with her husband

and was desperate.

She begged Rose to help her.

Rose thought enough of the idea to try it.

The socialite began spending more

and more time at the school.

And her husbands business trips

became nothing more than a faint memory of the past.

Soon, other women in trouble began to follow

in the footsteps of the first, attending the strippers

school in order to recapture the lost romance

in their marriages.

The women who frequented Rose Calder's classes,

never qualified as strippers.

Nor did they gain the formula for some secret

love potion which they used to enrapture

their apathetic husbands.

In the end, it was simply that the cause

to these women's problems were themselves.

They were inhibited.

They felt unnatural about their own bodies.

Rose came to the rescue.

She gave the women back their pride in being a female.

And even being sexually aggressive.

That was the beginning of what today,

is a $30,000 a year operation

that caters to the finest clientele.

Of course, still, strictly confidential.

Only the French could understand the dear price

that's often paid for love.

Only the French then can so gladly pay it.

This is a small cemetery just outside of Paris

where this woman has just buried her husband.

What you are about to witness is a reenactment of one of

the most fantastic murder for love cases in French history.

Roger and I were very close friends.

If you ever need anything, let me know.

Thank you, thank you.

You can count on me.

Need I say, Roger was my friend.

If you ever need something, call me.

Are you going back to Mexico?

Yes, I am.

I came back here only because of Roger's funeral.

And so, after the funeral of his best friend,

Jacques took the plane back to Mexico that same night.

A few days later however, it landed once more

to, for the next part of our story.

It's incredible.

Roger and now Francois.

To lose our two best friends this way,

in the space of a week.

If you stay in Paris, you'll come to the house, huh?

Thanks a lot,

but I don't have time, Armand.

I'm catching the plane back tonight.

Having buried the second

of his three best friends, Jacques returned immediately

to Mexico, convinced that he would not

be seeing France again for many months.

But within a few days, the Mexico-Paris jet

brought him back once more to the city airport.

This makes the third.

It's all finished.

At least I hope so.

You'll be all alone in Paris from now on.

There's still one thing that mystifies me.

I admit coincidences can happen but,

my three closest friends.

To bury them all in two weeks.

There has to be an explanation.

Goodbye, Father Paul.

Will you stay a while in Paris?

No, it's impossible.

All that would make me come back to France

would be the death of a friend like Armand, but now.

The odyssey was ended.

His three best friends were dead.

He had no further reason to return to France.

And yet.

I confess to the three crimes cited

and further attest these statements

were made in a sound state of mind.

Paris 28th, April, 1966.

Here you are, madam.

Just sign these at the bottom of each page.

Fine.

So you wanted to get it off your chest,

and you show up here at almost midnight.

A bit thick, huh?

No, okay.

Why all three?

Three murders.

It's not possible to explain to you.

I wanted to make someone come back from Mexico.

You see, I'm-- His mistress?

I love him.

Wasn't there some other way you could see him

without murdering three people?

Jacques had begun a new life in Mexico,

and only if someone he loved very deeply died,

would he ever have returned to France.

He told me that one day.

So I had to kill my husband.

And I cabled Jacques to come back.

But he left again then for Mexico.

I wanted him back at any price.

So I had to kill another friend of his.

Jacques returned.

And I saw him but he,

he didn't get the point.

After the funeral, he returned to Mexico again.

And so, I was once more forced to kill one of his friends.

I killed the last of his friends.

I know, but the police didn't suspect anything.

So why have you confessed?

Because I hope to see him yet another time.

When I am brought to trial.

Three murders.

Three friends buried.

Three trips from Mexico.

So one woman could see a man.

Blue Beard couldn't have improved it.

But then he was only a man.

In the movies, you would never have believed it.

Our cameras are now moving through the Berlin Wall.

In this city, deep behind the iron curtain

in East Germany, the strip act has taken on

political overtones.

These are authentic photographs taken of Adolf Hitler

during his regime.

Today in this sector of Europe, there is still

a great deal of sympathy for his fallen cause.

The number of Nazi party members active at this moment

is in excess of 100,000.

In order to combat this tide,

the communist government has invaded the nightclubs.

What western man has come to regard as a relaxing,

erotic divergence, has become for the pathetic

people trapped behind the fist of oppression,

just another form of propaganda,

on which to ridicule the past

and by this action, exalt the present government.

In the act you are watching,

this woman portrays Hitler's mistress.

It is because of this mistress's Russian heritage,

so the story is told, that Hitler turns his back on England

when he had her on her knees and seeks revenge on Russia.

This woman is every man's sexual dream.

Completely insatiable.

Yet, the story reveals that it is because

Hitler spent himself on her that he lost the war.

After all, he had little time for anything else.

How different are the nights in West Berlin.

There's an ease, a prosperity, a satisfaction

and an achievement on this side of the iron curtain.

And so the performances here, are of a more conventional

and erotic nature.

There is an air of perfume here instead of social purpose.

A firmness of flesh rather than of cause.

A casual caressing touch of femininity

replacing the choking grip of state control.

Yet, east or west, big city

or on the remote stretches of desert,

it is the woman that is sought out.

Her caressing arms, the warm breadth of her body,

the deep lustiness of her being, are both

the cradle and the substance of man.

To many, it is a forbidden world where ones thoughts

and actions are closely scrutinized by others.

But to a chosen, selected few who have decided

for themselves to act as individuals

and throw existing social standards to the wind,

the world might seem to be an island of pleasure,

whose gates are open to everyone interested

in shedding the moral obligations of our time.

Let us however, remember our responsibility to mankind

and leave forever forbidden, those pleasures

which are ruled objectionable

by the societies in which we live.