"The censors called her movies dirty, but no one could say that Argentine sex bomb Isabel Sarli wasn't the cleanest woman in international cinema. She certainly bathed enough: in the ocean, a lake, a stream, a waterfall, a swimming pool, the shower, a wash basin in a whorehouse bedroom. Never missing a curve or a crevice in her ablutions, she would devote special care to her overflowing breasts, caressing and kneading them, the camera as attentive as she to their contours. And in the darkened theaters that showed Spanish-language movies, a million men took urgent notice."This weekend, in one of the great "huh!?" moments of high-low culture, the Film Society of Lincoln Center is paying tribute to Sarli, in the summer of her 75th birthday, with a retrospective titled "Fuego: The Films of Isabel 'Coca' Sarli." (The actress's nickname comes either from her Coke-bottle-shaped figure, which is not doing Sarli anything like justice, or from her addiction to the Yanqui soft drink.) Curated by two women, as if to mute cries of sexism, the series offers five Sarli feature films plus Diego Curubeto's career-spanning documentary Carne Sobre Carne: Intimidades de Isabel Sarli.
Netflix? Well, probably not. Perhaps the documentary. Really, is there such a thing as a sex bomb anymore? I mean, in a film? I am underwhelmed by their contemporary example--some Paraguayan model cum YouTube sensation--and long for the days when a sex bomb can also be called "the cleanest woman in international cinema."
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