The Reprobate issue 0

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THE PRIVATE COLLECTION
Taschen
Review: Bruce Barnard
My first encounter with the work of Berth
Milton- the grubby patriarch behind the
notorious Private pornography empire- came
during a youthful visit to Amsterdam in the
mid-eighties. What I found most shocking
about his magazine (beyond the compellingly
lurid photo sets) was the confusing bilingual
narrative which accompanied the gritty
visuals. Seemingly written in esoteric code,
not unlike the Nadsat droog speak in A
Clockwork Orange, the written content
always felt like it was authored by someone
with a profound case of pornographic
dyslexia. On revisiting the magazine, in the
form of this beautifully designed Taschen set,
my initial assessment still holds true. Over
its 960 pages there is much talk of ‘heavy
shag scenes’ and the joys of ‘punk cunt’, a
textual dynamic that makes the written content
appear more like experimental poetry then a
literal interpretation of the sexual gymnastics
happening on the page.
Luckily, this provides a degree of comic relief
which helps distract from Milton’s meat and
potatoes approach to documenting the myriad
of ways which humans can copulate. Younger
readers will no doubt be shocked by just how
raw the visuals around this time could be.
The girls have a lived in look that just doesn’t
exist in the smut production lines of today. It
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seems Milton wouldn’t give potential models a
second look unless they were carrying excess
weight, facial blemishes or caesarean scars
as thick as Cuban cigars; meaning that whilst
this collection proves useless as wank fodder,
it does provide a fascinating insight into the
aesthetics of European pornography at the
time. The sole exception to this rule being
a raunchy shoot from the 80’s that features
Scottish born tit queen Stacey Owen.
Each set contains five separate small format,
hard cover books that include eight photosets,
along with Milton’s ‘hey, let’s just fuck yeah’
editorials and vintage advertising. The design
quality, as always with Taschen, is fantastic
throughout. If nothing else you have to respect
the publisher for having the balls to deliver a
warts and all (quite literally in some cases)
package that is unlikely to appeal to any
mainstream audience. In this case the term
‘coffee table book’ is something of a misnomer
as only the most shameless pervert would
keep these on open view. Despite my raging
biblophillia I have no idea what to do with
mine. In fact I find myself hiding both sets at
the highest reaches of my book shelf. Mostly
because I’m struck by the fear that a casual
acquaintance might pick one them up and
be scarred for life by the sight of a leotard
clad, platinum blonde from Oslo getting soiled
by the watery secretions of a pack of overly
hirsute males.
Ultimately Milton should be praised for his
battles against censorious forces, but this
reader just wishes he had invested in some
hair trimmers, wet wipes and soft focus lens
gauzes before he started clicking away.
CULT CINEMA: AN ARROW VIDEO
COMPANION
Ed: Anthony Nield
Arrow
Review: David Flint
Over the last few years, Arrow Video have
established themselves as arguably the
leading label in cult film distribution in the
UK – with a seemingly endless supply of
classic titles, ranging from horror to erotica,
from Blaxploitation to the downright weird,
and with numerous big name releases in their
catalogue, they have built a reputation not
only for their titles, but also for sumptuous
packaging and extensive extras – even if
these have sometimes been of variable
quality (at their best, excellent; at their worst,
shockingly amateurish – but the worst stuff
seems thankfully behind them).
Perhaps overlooked in the grand scheme of
things have been the booklets that accompany
Arrow releases. Yet these have often been
extravagant affairs themselves. This new
book gathers together 25 essays from these
booklets – from a pretty representative crosssection
of titles – as a celebration of Arrow’s
work.
First: a disclaimer. My own work (on Tinto
Brass) is included here. For the sake of