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"FacebookPinterest\n\nFast Times at Ridgemont High\n\n By Chris Norris\n\nShe rises from the depths like the Venus of the San Fernando Valley\u2014slicked hair glistening, water dripping from her smiling lips, dark eyes glittering with libidinal mischief. Then\u2014in a scene that will forever grant an otherwise incomprehensible erotic aura to the Cars\u2014the new-wave chestnut \"Moving in Stereo\" kicks in as Phoebe Cates begins her slo-mo poolside strut. And boy, do they move in stereo, those pert, secondary sexual characteristics of teenage Phoebe Cates, as\u2014in one breathtaking gesture\u2014she frees her frisky buds from their front-fastening red bikini top to quiver in the balletic perfection of Judge Reinhold's furtive spank dream. The boob shot would soon become stock-in-trade of the Porky's epoch, but it would never be used to such weighty narrative effect. Here, hooters star in a compressed version of the male adolescent's tragic arc: from the soaring heights of erotic fantasia to the bleak depths of sexual humiliation, as the sleek naiad of Reinhold's imaginings actually walks in on him log-flogging to her image. The cable arts channel Bravo included this scene in its Sexiest Moments in Film\u2014in which the model-pundit Roshumba Williams helpfully explained, \"In the male world, boobs are huge.\"\n\nThe Day of the Jackal\n\n By Marshall Sella\n\nThere's a rather grand school of thought\u2014peddled, in the main, by former film stars in their sixties and seventies\u2014that \"It's far sexier to see less than more\" Tell this to a few 11-year-old boys and they will brutally laugh, if not actually beat you down. By the age of 11, I'd had my mind blown by dozens of Playboys, but I had yet to behold the miracle of a celluloid mammary. That would come in Fred Zinnemann's The Day of the Jackal. The film follows an enigmatic assassin (Edward Fox) trying to kill Charles de Gaulle; there's an indiscreet cabinet official who natters away to his mistress (an agent of the assassins) about the progress of the Jackal manhunt.\n\nWhile seeing the film, I was having as good a time as an 11-year-old ever has. Fox was ruthless and sophisticated; he wore cool disguises and strangled unsavory people. He drove an Alfa Romeo and painted it between murders. He hid a rifle in a crutch. So my plate was full. I hadn't counted on a mammary-related Big Moment\u2014but I got one. In the scene, it was night. The mistress-mole was slipping furtively out of bed to make a call. This was something I'd seen before, movie characters using telephones. But then the unthinkable happened: The sheet dropped. It was impossible, and it was glorious. We saw areola, we saw\u2014was this happening?\u2014nipple. Then we saw it again. This is what the Lumi\u00E8re brothers, also French, should have filmed with that very first camera of theirs instead of the fucking train rolling into the station. (What could those guys have been thinking? A train. Look at the train, 11-year-old boy! Here comes the train. Jesus.)\n\nI am fairly certain that women shed their clothes before 1973, though I can only judge this from easy-to-doctor still photographs. In Jackal, I was suddenly viewing solid film evidence that females were willing and able to walk around, even slink around, without clothes. Billions of electrical impulses exploded across the synapses of my brain. From that moment alone, I might easily have been doomed to a life of seedy clubs, hookers, and a grim, spiraling sexual addiction. That breast, that redhead's breast\u2014it was right there, available to the deeply spiritual part of me that could float out of my body, as a pure soul departs the flesh, then screw her.\n\nActually, there's a decent chance this film did pervert me. I mean, the mistress was working to assassinate a world leader\u2014and 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.\n\nAll that said, if I could have, I gladly would have leapt into The Day of the Jackal and given my all for the de Gaulle conspiracy. That's how powerful, how atomic, the moment was. Anything to cross that last tactile frontier. My chance to murder de Gaulle has passed (which is sad, really\u2014unlike others, I learned from Edward Fox's mistakes). And for all I know, the nude redheads of my cinematic youth are now a brood of 67-year-old screeching hags living in Dallas\u2014women I'd beg to keep a fierce grip on the sheets, for all our sakes. I probably wouldn't chase down their breasts right now. I wouldn't get grabby. These days, I can get a better assassin-tit fix off Milla Jovovich."^^<http://www.w3.org/2001/XMLSchema#string>
<http://www.gq.com/story/movie-breasts-fast-times-at-ridgemont-high>