The first time you meet Romy, you hear her before you see her, moaning in ecstasy as she sits astride her naked husband. The camera pans over her strawberry-blonde hair, her smooth forehead, her open mouth. A skilled aesthetician has clearly had a hand here, and so it’s hard to guess how old she is. Forty-five, maybe? Fifty? The moaning reaches a crescendo, and Romy collapses next to her husband, who tells her he loves her.
“I love you,” she says back.
Read Full Article »