Details for this torrent 


Photography-Naked_World-HBO-Spencer_Tunick-DVDRip
Type:
Video > Movies
Files:
1329
Size:
1.14 GB

Info:
IMDB
Spoken language(s):
English
Quality:
+1 / -0 (+1)

Uploaded:
Jan 28, 2011
By:
das_wookie



http://www.nakedworlddoc.com/naked_world.html

Product Description
A globally scaled follow-up to April 2001's highly rated Naked States: America Undercover, this documentary follows the celebrated and controversial artist Spencer Tunick on his latest, most ambitious project: a one-year trek to all seven continents to take photographs of naked people, individually and in groups, against various man-made and natural backdrops. Over the course of one year, all seven continents (including Antarctica - BRRRRR!) and nine countries (Canada, France, Great Britain, Ireland, Russia, Australia, Japan, South Africa and Brazil), Tunick and his crew map out an ambitious agenda that says as much about the cultures he encounters as it does about the subjects and landmarks he photographs. The film questions what nakedness means to people in different countries and climates, both geographic and political, and underscores just how volatile the debate about nudity as a legitimate art form can be. 

Actors: Spencer Tunick, Ron Kuby, Jonathan Porcelli, Alec Von Bargen
Directors: Arlene Nelson
Producers: Arlene Nelson, Dave Linstrom, David Nelson, Heather Ross, Helen Hood Scheer
Studio: Hbo Home Video
DVD Release Date: February 21, 2006
Run Time: 76 minutes
ASIN: B000BBOU9U
Amazon Bestsellers Rank: #48,644 in Movies & TV
    #73 in Movies & TV > Documentary > Series & Studios > HBO Documentary



Review from http://www.american-buddha.com/spencer.nakedworldreview.htm:

Is it sexual? This question keeps being asked in "Naked World," an HBO documentary about the life-work of Spencer Tunick, the man behind the mass nude photo shoots that Tunick insists are not. Sexual, that is. Nude they certainly are. Like the child who insisted that the Emperor was naked, the authorities of virtually all nations have worked hard to silence him. But he has confederates everywhere, apparently, and they are all prepared to wield the weapon of their nudity at his command. You can see the conspiratorial glee in their faces as they do it, what they can't do, have never done, and have been programmed to resist even thinking about -- letting other people see the surface of their body without obstruction.

Tunick cascades bodies over the turf, down the banks of the river, until they are like a wave spilling into the water. He clusters and masses his subjects, working with crowds of people looking as fresh as peeled bananas. They perform feats of endurance for him, braving cold, rain, and the chilly embrace of cobblestones and pavement, in pursuit of Tunick's artistic vision. A Russian woman, the Director of the Russian Museum, displays a body that she apologizes, is not aesthetically at its peak, in the service of art. The Russian men who pose are resolute, earnest, committed, as if a lifetime of deferred freedom of expression were at last bearing a crop of small, personal triumphs. In countries where the social sanction against public nudity precluded mass displays of human epidermis, Tunick found a few stalwarts. A breath-taking dark-haired Pariesienne lies on her side, facing the camera, the Eiffel Tower behind her, backlit by the colorful clouds of dawn. In an inspired bit of posing, Tunick has the girl flip the viewer the bird. Her upraised finger echoes the phallic steel construction jutting up behind her. We are drawn, repelled, and compelled, all at once. Sometimes a crowd isn't needed to make the point that the tender human body is informed with a will of steel.

Counterposing naked flesh, living and pulsing with sensitivity, against the gritty urbanscape of filthy streets and cold concrete, it's as if all civilization had been discarded briefly like a pile of clothes. What would our world look like, he seems to invite us to ask, if we were naked all the time? Would our buildings and streets be so hard and sharp? When Tunick carpets streets and parking lots with living humans, he arrests the flow of traffic, reminding us without saying a word, that it takes a miracle to move cars out of the way long enough to take one picture. And then we know, it's all back to normal -- cabs, SUVs, buses, motorcycles.

Without every saying "politics," Tunick's quest to create mass nude events is necessarily a political exercise. Each time he does an event, the issue is joined, the question is raised, the opposition rallies, and Tunick's artistic pose is given another workout. It's not sexual, he repeats like a mantra, but I agreed with the Russian guy who explained to the Russian Museum director who revealed her over-the-hill body for Tunick's lens -- in America, you can't say it's sexual.

Which brings us to the next topic illuminated by Tunick -- the compulsory hypocrisy of social life, that forces us to act as if we were ashamed of ourselves, our appearance, our nipples, penises, pubic hair, and butt cheeks. As the shoot is wrapped up, Tunick's subjects shout in pride and joy, sounding like conquerors, becoming a victorious crowd of people who have pierced the shell of ordinariness that surrounds them, and have received approval for it.

So anti-skin is our modern society that we don't even call ourselves our selves when we are referring to our bodies. We call them our bodies, as if our mind were our identity, and our bodies an embarrassing phenomenon that we have to cover up. When Tunick reverses the polarity of social approval, the result is electrifying -- people and their bodies become one, and the division between being human and being physical is dissolved. In that moment, his subjects appear to fulfill the deep need we all have to exist, to be seen as who we are, and to see others the same way. There is beauty all around in humanity. There is pride in our beauty. There is proof of our vulnerability, our delicacy, and a reminder that however this world of social norms and rigid forms came into being, for many it is a confining suit that we deeply desire to escape.