The Sex Thief Blu-ray offers decent video and mediocre audio in this mediocre Blu-ray release
Casino Royale director Martin Campbell's first film was a low-budget sex romp called The Sex Thief, intended as an homage to the James Bond series. Irresistible to women, the roguish title character (David Warbeck) channels his inner Connery, muttering witty double entendres, relishing the danger of his secret mission, forever sidetracked by beautiful women.
There's nothing quite like a bawdy low-budget 1970's British sex comedy. More cheeky than explicit, goofy with innuendo-laced humor, and filled with
comely birds baring (nearly) all, the genre seems quaint and almost innocent now, when the most disturbing pornography imaginable is but a few
keystrokes and mouse-clicks away. These were softcore delights for a simpler time. Yes, they're typically male fantasies that feel baldly misogynistic
today, and sure, they're hokey and about as far from genuinely erotic as you can get. But there's something loveably pure about the English blue
movies from this period, especially compared to the nudie-cuties and rougher exploitation films being released concurrently in America. Maybe it's
because England has a longer history of joking about sex—have you ever seen a traditional pantomime?—while the U.S. has always been more
restrained by its puritan roots. Who knows?
The Sex Thief is a prototypical example of this kind of wink-wink English filmmaking, and it's become a footnote in the history of the genre for
being the first feature by Martin Campbell, a New Zealander who emigrated to London in the early '70s. If Campbell's name sounds familiar, it's
because—among other things—he's since directed two James Bond movies, GoldenEye and Casino Royale. What's funny about this is
that The Sex Thief is very much inspired by the Sean Connery Bond films, and its lead actor—David Warbeck—was once seriously considered to
replace Connery as 007. It never happened, of course, but Warbeck does get to swagger around here, dropping one-liners like a boss and effortlessly
wooing a series of impossibly receptive women. He'd later go on to star in several low-budget Italian horror movies, including Lucio Fulci's The
Beyond and The Black Cat. I've always thought he looks a bit like he could be Russell Brand's father.
Warbeck plays Grant Henry, a novelist of paperback thrillers who moonlights as a cat burglar, complete with hokey black velvet mask. When the film
opens, he's sneaking into the home of a wealthy couple—while the husband is away—but he's caught in the act by a bored and sexy young housewife.
"I should scream," she says, to which he replies, "Later," more of an orgasmic promise than a threat. And soon enough, he's nibbling her neck and
they're off to bed, where they tumble and flop in a softcore scene that nearly outdoes Showgirls for frantic coital ridiculousness. This is Grant's
modus operandi—he lurks into a residence unannounced, charms the panties off of the all-alone female inhabitant, and then makes off with her fully-
insured jewelry. It's a win-win. He gets sex and diamonds, they get sex and the insurance payouts. The "victims," such as they are, seem keen on
being burgled again—Grant is a master in the sack—so they give the cops wildly inaccurate descriptions of the culprit, who "could disguise himself as a
clubfooted colored midget one week and a 6'6" Russian with a harelip the next."
There is some slight semblance of a plot here. Scotland Yard Inspector Robert Smith (Terence Edmond) and his horny underling Sergeant Plinth (co-
writer Michael Armstrong) are on the case, working alongside Judy Martin (Diane Keen), a fetching insurance claims agent who—and I'm not making
this up—is also a black belt in karate. In an attempt to catch the crook, they sell a fake diamond necklace at Sotheby's, with Judy posing as the buyer.
Certain that the thief would've caught wind of the sale, Judy goes home alone and waits for him to show up. Which, inevitably, he does. I wouldn't
want to spoil what happens next, but I'm sure you can venture a reasonably accurate guess.
While it has its moments of wink-wink verbal comedy and absurd sight gags—see the car crash that sends multiple reels of X-rated Danish films
unspooling in the street—the story is doled out with porno-like perfunctoriness, serving only to string together Grant's after-dark dalliances. Not that
this is necessarily a bad thing. The sex scenes are hilarious in that oh-so-1970s-softcore way; perhaps as a substitute for explicit in-out-in-out action,
the characters paw and pinch and scratch each other, and generally writhe about spasmodically in some grotesque parody of lovemaking. In one scene,
Grant and his secretary take turns rubbing each other down with "The Stimulator," a vibrating head massager; in another—the footage comically sped-
up as an homage to the time-lapse sex sequence in A Clockwork Orange—he tires himself out doing a washed-up, attention-seeking Hollywood
starlet seven times in a row, quite literally screwing her cross-eyed. It's all meant to be more comically bawdy than authentically titillating—a good
humored romp, and not some seedy trench-coat-and-tissue-paper spectacle. In that sense, it's semi-successful, although it hardly qualifies as good
filmmaking. Who could've predicted, based on The Sex Thief alone, that it's director would go on to make the sleekly elegant Casino
Royale? If nothing else, the film is a potent reminder that in the movie business, everyone has to start somewhere.
The Thief steals onto Blu-ray with a 1080p/AVC-encoded transfer of a beat-up print that's essentially presented as-is. (What, did you expect an
expensive frame-by-frame restoration for a low-budget sexploitation film? Yeah, that ain't happening any time soon.) The 35mm image is marred
frequently by chunky white specks, small scratches, and errant bits of debris, but that said, The Thief looks better here than it ever has on home
video, simply by the merit of being in high definition. I'm not going to say the picture is sharp—that certainly isn't the case—but the added
resolution is easily apparent in better refined facial and clothing features. Color is as good as can be expected for this caliber of film, and contrast seems
balanced, with bright-enough highlights and black levels that never unnecessarily oppress shadow detail. The main boon of Kino-Lorber's "raw" approach
is that the picture looks completely natural and true-to-source—no digital noise reduction or edge enhancement here—almost as if you were watching
the film in some dingy grindhouse theater. Watch that spot on the floor; I wouldn't step there if I were you.
Much like the picture, the film's sound quality is subject to a good bit of source damage—a low hiss in most scenes, some harshness in the high-end,
occasional pops and crackles, noticeable volume fluctuations in dialogue—but the disc's uncompressed DTS-HD Master Audio mono track is listenable
enough. Mostly. In the sequence with the washed-up Hollywood starlet, the low hiss rises to a distracting buzz that lasts for at least two or three
minutes. It's almost bad enough to make you want to turn the volume all the way down until the scene is over. It would've been nice if this buzz—and
some of the other audio quirks—could've been attenuated somewhat, but it is what it is. Dialogue, at least, remains fairly easy to understand, which is
good considering that Kino have once again neglected to include any subtitle options. I do have to say—I kind of love the film's music, which is a mix of
the stereotypically 1970s bow-chick-a-bow-wow porno fare with very British, very twee instrumentation—flutes and quietly strummed guitars and pitter-
patter drums. Imagine Belle & Sebastian scoring a blue movie.
It's hard to believe the guy who directed The Sex Thief is now best known for helming Casino Royale, but hey, everyone has to get their
start somewhere. Martin Campbell's first film is a cheeky—and I mean literally cheeky—romp, a sex comedy with more awkward, ridiculously unrealistic
guy-on-girl flopping than Showgirls. You'd never say it's a good film, but for this type of movie it's fun and hokey and good for
an ironic laugh. It's more of a curiosity than anything, so I can't say I wholeheartedly recommend Kino's Blu-ray release for a purchase—especially
considering the absolute lack of bonus material—but those jonesing for more bawdy 1970s fare in high definition may want to give The Sex
Thief a go.
The Salvation Group, creator of the Redemption, Sacrament, Jezebel, and Purgatory film labels, is planning to bring to Blu-ray a number of cult films in the coming months, including Martin Campbell's The Sex Thief (1974), Jean Rollin's Zombie Lake (1981), and Jess ...
Independent film distributor Kino Lorber has issued its Blu-ray slate for January 2013. Releases are arranged through Kino Classics, Kino Lorber, Horizon Movies, and the Jesebel sublabel. Kino Lorber will release films by Victor Halperin, Martin Campbell, and ...
