Preventing "This Ain't Antichrist XXX"

At the Ponante home we have several cherished date movies we screen when the paramedics take the hookers away, the tarp has been pulled up, and the carpets steamed. Off the top of my head I can think of “In the Bedroom” (favorite line: “Sometimes I can’t even bear to look at you”), “Last Exit to Brooklyn,” and, of course, Lars von Trier’s rollicking he said/she said strangulation romp “Antichrist.”

It is because “Antichrist” says something so sweet, tender, and true about the relationships between men and Satan’s personifications of the fury of nature (or, as von Trier calls them, “women”), that I’d rather not see it corrupted by a porn adaptation.

While it’s true that I would bring the necessary gravitas and therapeutic indifference to Willem Dafoe’s character, He, and Kimberly Kane would provide a juicier version of the tree-root masturbating, baby-shoe misidentifying, blood-jerking, wood-thumping “She” (played in the movie by Charlotte Gainsbourg) I fear that porn moguls wouldn’t know what to do with the talking foxes, dead baby, and stillborn ass-deer.

Plus, they don’t know about the rigid standards of Gonzo 95.

Better to adapt von Trier’s “Riget” as a haunted porn hospital. Think of the stiff competition and squirting capabilities of the pair of retarded dishwashers! Or maybe Sophie Dee as Bess in a Gazzman-directed porn version of “Breaking the Waves”? Either would be preferable to “This Ain’t Antichrist XXX,” even if porn is all about female empowerment.