Hot Line #1
Shannon Tweed is, arguably, the Queen of Softcore. When they finally break ground on the Softcore Hall of Fame in Cooperstown (2013, hopefully?), there will be a statue of her in the foyer. I doubt she’s even the hardest-working lady in softcore if you were to chart it out. But, when you think softcore, “TWEED” blazes across your brain in giant neon letters.So, of course, the makers of the program “Hot Line” (shouldn’t that be one word?) probably leaned on that notoriety when they cast her as the de facto Serling of the show. As Rebecca, the host of some unnamed radio show on a radio station called KIIS – but, we assume, not the KIIS – she takes calls from folks who describe their wildest sexual experiences. It’s like Loveline, except way sexier, and less syphilitic and abuse-y.
(As an aside: the radio call-in show is a tried-and-true scenario in the world of the softcore anthology. Between this and brothels, you’ve got about 85% of the late night Cinemax programming covered.)
In this episode, Becks takes a call from Stephanie, who tells Radioland that she needed a “jolt” in her marriage. We fade into a lovely, gauze-filtered title sequence, apparently, for the episode itself, entitled “Voyeur.” I wonder what this will involve?We cut to Steph’s condo, where her husband, Lunkhead McGee, is poring over several stacks of financial papers (that you take about as seriously as The Dude’s “business papers”). Steph, a not-unattractive late-model blonde, comes down the stairs dressed in white lingerie and garters. Hubby beckons her, asking her “to feel something.” Just as you hope for an awful double entendre, he places her hands upon a spreadsheet and brags about an “11% return.” Yeah, I lost my boner, too. I hope for at least 15%. I don’t know what I’m talking about.
Steph wanders away dejected, and the next day, she vacuums the living room in hot pants, because, well, it’s hot, and you need to wear pants. Wardrobe explained. The AC is out, and her cleaning lady called out that day. Woe is the life of an accountant’s trophy wife. But, she looks out the window, and is transfixed by the new neighbor. He’s (theoretically) a brawny, bodybuilder type, but he really looks more like if John C. Reilly half-assed some free weights.
Ladies, feast!
As is par for this course, a woman arrives and mounts him, and Steph watches away. I don’t think I’ve ever believed voyeurism was a healthy activity, but “Hot Line” posits that everyone should spy on their neighbors fucking at least once in their lives. It’s like the measles; best to get it out of the way early.
That night (another night?), Hubby comes home, and Steph has made him dinner on the floor of their living room. You know, special occasion, with the fine china and the fine blanket. Food = sex in Softcornia, so they get to it post-dessert. “Tonight, you’re working on me,” she says, and he does. However, midway through, he interrupts her mid-coitus, opens his briefcase, and jots down a note about something. She gets pissed, and he doesn’t understand why, because he’s retarded. “I’m trying to make partner!” he exclaims, because you can’t make partner without disappointing your wife sexually while reminding yourself of another deduction that your clients can make.
Back to the window for Steph, as John D. Reilly gets one of those “special” midnight massages. Soon, shiatsu turns to intercourse, like the turning of the fall leaves, and he’s humping another random chick in time to the worst pan flute score I’ve ever heard. Seriously, it was a dude playing a pan flute like a kazoo. This continues, then – shock and dismay! – John D. locks eyes with Steph. She panics and splits the scene, but things like peeping toms don’t throw John D. off his stroke.
The next day, Rosa’s returned to work. Rosa is a lithe black woman, also in hot pants, listening to headphones while Windexing. She doesn’t have any lines, she’s just there to prove Steph’s not imagining her. Steph dismisses Rosa when she sees John D. again, then goes upstairs to lay out the several pieces of expensive lingerie she seems to have bought. You do that when you’re just staring at someone, right? Then a knock at the door, Steph goes to open it, and at her doorstep? John D.!
“I hear you have trouble with the thermostat,” he says in a vaguely Australian or South African accent. He’s the fuckin’ super! This thing just went into second gear!
I'm here to fix eine thermostat...
He attempts to fix the thermostat, but apparently, it’s not the thermostat, it’s the breaker box. I think this was one of the plotlines in Crash. The difference, though, is that in Crash, a little girl almost dies, but in this show, intercourse occurs. Both works are of equal quality.
“Where is the main box?”
“In the bedroom.”
And so forth. After a lame one of those “he needs her to hold something while he gets behind her and reaches through” situations, he heads off, promising to finish the job tomorrow. That’s what she – never mind.
That night, we see the marriage in ruins. They sit at the dinner table silently, barely looking at each other, shown in a series of fade-out cuts that looks like a Chanel commercial from ’92. Hubby goes to bed, she puts on a low-cut top, and stares at John D’s condo as it rains. Loud thunder claps, and, like a cat, she scurries away, scared… outside to the courtyard, where it is pissing rain while she wears her underwear and a low-cut top. It’s like a fucking Michael Bay video. Not a movie, there are no explosions.
Meat Loaf was scared of explosions.
She runs into the arms of John D., then returns home to Hubby, and informs him that she’s staying at her sister’s. Hubby couldn’t care less. I mean, physically and emotionally couldn’t care less. It’s the most exact portrayal of “Meh” ever.
Well, “her sister’s” is code for “John D’s,” and when she arrives, she calls Hubby, and tells her everything’s fine at “her sister’s.” Thank god this is 1995, and Caller ID doesn’t exist, or this whole enterprise would be over. She’s nervous about being at John D’s, because it’s really stupid to cheat on your husband across the fucking courtyard from your own condo, but John D. puts her at ease with a simple nothing. But he’s got a plan, you see.
Cut to Hubby, forlorn and with scotch, looking across the courtyard at John D’s window, when he arrives with another woman, with a short black bob and sunglas – WAIT A MINUTE! It’s Steph, playing dress-up, and as she commits adultery while her husband watches, Hubby starts getting into it behind the drapes. You get to see his O-face. I dare not describe that. Find any random passage from Lovecraft and you’ll understand the horror involved.
The next morning, Steph returns home from “her shitty alibi,” and Hubby waits for her. He seems serious, and at first she’s worried, but then he apologizes to her for being such a dick, and starts mounting her. He halts the proceedings for a moment, and just as Steph is about to blow her top, he opens the living room drapes, and continues on. Fade out. Exuent dramatis personae.
LESSONS LEARNED:
- If you want to teach your husband a lesson, sleep with another guy:
- Hubby: I’m sorry you slept with another man.
- Steph: I accept your apology.
- I think John D. was South Australian.
- “Hot Line” wins the “Cheapest and Shittiest Title Screen” award:
I can do this in my sleep, with a head injury.
Peace out.
