To me, the oddest instutition in Hollywood is the body double. I can understand if an actress, for various reasons, doesn't want to do nudity. But then why let someone else do it for her? If everyone thinks those are your tits, then in some sense they are your tits. I guess a body double simply saves an actress the embarrassment of being ogled by the key grip and the best boy all day. But what the big deal is about showing tits I don't know, unless they aren't such great tits. Which is, of course, a perfectly valid reason for modesty. Of course I know — we all do — that all breasts are different. But it’s very rare to be faced with 100 topless women and given the opportunity to see exactly how different breasts can be. I can imagine my own breasts slotted into the grid. No better, no worse than any of the others. Just… different. Bare Reality has completely transformed me,” Laura went on. “I have always liked women, but now I feel so tender about the female experience, and I like myself more as a woman. I have photographed 100 women and I know there is no such thing as ‘perfection’— I like my breasts more. I hope that Bare Reality can help transform other people. I would like it to help people reconsider how they think and feel about their bodies and those of the women in their lives.” Such a filthy movie: exploding retractable jaws; acidic body fluids; a severed droid head whose mouth issued lewd taunts ("perfect organism!") along with a strange milky effluent; a man who gave birth. That birth—is there a more violent, violating moment in filmdom? As Hurt bayed in pain, my dear, sweet, credulous brother, sitting beside me, began to whimper. Oh, no. Oh, no. Oh, no. When the spawn emerged from Hurt's chest, spraying gore and squealing triumphantly, he promptly pissed himself—then fled the theater.

There is one brilliant reason not to show them, and that is to increase the value of showing them eventually. Halle Berry was rumored to have demanded a six-figure deal for baring nipple in Swordfish, though she denies it. But she was well paid for this box-office-stimulating flash. (I would also deny being paid a premium for nipple exposure. In fact, I do deny it.) Timing is everything, however. Meg Ryan never showed 'em, and then was counting on a surprise appearance of her mammies in In the Cut to uplift her sagging career. Alas, it was too little too late. They popped up near the end, after the last human standing—Sigourney Weaver's character, Ripley—had blown up the mother ship and escaped in the shuttle. Safe at last, she began to relax. Off came the clothes. Some cinematic breasts are to be gazed at lustily, and some bespeak the heaving glory of incipient or recent birthing. And yet others are meant to evoke awe and pity. They're beautiful but doom-laden, like a high fever or Robert Kennedy.

It is over as suddenly as it began. She shoves him away roughly; the cardigan is restuffed. Warm biology becomes angora-clad architecture once more. She is all business now, closing up shop, reminding him of his initial purpose: a Nazionale. She hands him one for free. "Un regalo [a present]," she says, with no trace of affection in her voice. Best not to dwell on the size of the tiny baton. He takes it and walks to the iron gate. Spent, he cannot budge it. She lifts it effortlessly and pushes him out into the night. Titta protests, saying he can lift eighty kilos, can even lift his father. "What do you weigh?" he asks. "I could lift you, too." On July 3rd, 2007, Body Building Forums [1] member ilikebeer submitted a thread asking for more photographs of the girl in the demotivational image. On September 11th, BodyBuilding Forums [2] member axour posted a thread titled "Epic Boob Girl Revealed," containing several additional photos of Bromley (shown below). On November 15th, 2008, Volkszone Forums [3] member Calamity Al posted another thread containing photographs of Bromley. I became fascinated with the dichotomy between how breasts are presented for public consumption versus how we feel about them privately,” Laura told me. “I felt compelled to look past the cultural mirror which had so long encircled me. What do women think about growing up? What do women think about sex? How do women feel about motherhood? Breastfeeding? What is our experience of health, body image, ageing? It is clear to me that Bare Reality was a search to find out what it means to be a woman. Now, Alien worked on the principle that what can't be seen is always more vivid than what can. (Glimpses of the creature were fleeting at best.) So it was that Ripley's breasts remained sheathed. Whereas the alien had its exoskeletal armor, Ripley had that skimpy white tank top, thin as cheesecloth, which only made her seem more human, more vulnerable. So palpably natural, those breasts, utterly unbuoyed and uninflated. They even seemed a bit forlorn—bewildered little patties blinking and withering in the harsh fluorescent light of the shuttle. The nipples, however, were another story; they'd gone as hard as ski-pole tips. It was both the earthliest and the sexiest image of a woman I had ever seen, and by way of contrast it created the film's most disorienting moment.

Ah si?" she asks, bored. She takes off her apron, slams down the iron gate, and turns to him, sizing him up. Why not? she must be thinking. Everyone in town is looking for something to break up the monotony. "Vediamo," she dares him. I was 12 years old then. I'd already learned to pair id with dread; I knew well the horror of others banging on the bathroom door as I...took my time. Yet I had never had—and never again would have—the third-rail force of my own sexual desire so vividly and soul-scarringly converted into fear. None more so than Sharon Tate's in_ Valley of the Dolls_. Playing Jennifer, blond and big-eyed and hushed of voice, she attracts the eye of Tony, a singer whom she'll marry and be impregnated by, only to find out too late that he has an incurable disease. Jennifer resorts to appearing in nudies to foot Tony's sanitarium bill. She decides to abort. And then—as if this pileup of tragic incidents weren't already enough to guarantee the film a homosexual fan base—Jennifer learns that she has breast cancer.Actually, there's a decent chance this film did pervert me. I mean, the mistress was working to assassinate a world leader—and she was the light of my life. Let's face it: We were all rooting for the assassins, especially the naked one. It was like spotting the Olsen twins in the Zapruder film: Nothing good could come of it. Still, I'm grateful that my first cinematic breast didn't belong to a murdered girl on a slab or something, because you never know where that's going to lead.