Uncle Scoopy's world-weary musings about naked celebrities, sports, humor and other important, manly things.
It is still too early to do the voting, but it’s time to start assembling the nominees for the nude scene of the year. Here’s what I have so far. Please add any scenes I may have missed. (The usual reminder: we don’t want every nude scene on the list, just the best ones. Don’t add nominees unless you are prepared to vote for them as the scene of the year.)
Giovanna Lancellotti in Burning Betrayal
Clara Galle in Through My Window Across The Sea
Elena Martin in Creatura
Giordana Marengo in The Lying Life of Adults
Alexandra Cismondi in Escort Boys
Amandine Noworyta and Iris Jodorowsky in Entre Nous
Margherita Aresti in Noi siamo leggenda
Emma Corrin in A Murder at the End of the World
Sarah Shahi in season 2 of Sex/Life
Amber Goldfarb in season 2 of Sex/Life
Wallis Day in season 2 of Sex/Life
Alison Brie in Somebody I Used to Know
Lizzy Caplan in Fatal Attraction
Elizabeth Olson in Love and Death also here
Mayra Hermosillo in Que Viva Mexico
Laure Calamy in Two Tickets to Greece
Cecile de France in La Passagere
Parker Posey in Beau is Afraid
Lily-Rose Depp in The Idol (episode 1, episode 2, episode 3, episode 4)
Scarlett Johansson in Asteroid City (??)
Jennifer Lawrence in No Hard Feelings
Cynthia Nixon in And Just Like That
Virginie Efira in Other People’s Children
Heather Graham in Suitable Flesh
Aurora Giovinazzo in Nuovo Olimpo
Barbara Branco in Crime do Padre Amaro
Giorgia Spinelli in Suburraeterna
Natalie Portman in May December
Previously: Here is the Margherita Aresti and Beatrice Vendramin nudity in episodes 3 and 4 of Noi Siamo Leggenda
For no special reason other than to take it out of the comment section, here are the opening pages of “Trouble On My Agenda,” the final book in a long-forgotten 1930’s noir trilogy about the hard-boiled detective team of Rocky Fist and Big Dick Agenda. It completes the story established in the first two Fist-Agenda mysteries, “Forbidden Agenda” and “A Fistful of Knuckles.”
It was a cold night in a cold town. I was weary from the day and ready for a drink. I poured one, then another, and through a haze of cheap hooch, my glance turned to the name on the door. It still said “Agenda and Fist.” I smiled to myself, remembering that Rocky Fist’s real name was Chad Pfister. That doesn’t matter now because he’s taking a dirt nap, thanks to some cheap mug unloading a roscoe in his direction. There’s no more Pfister, no more Fist. The agency is just me, Dick Agenda.
I was alone in the office, as I always am now, when she walked in. The light isn’t good by the doorway, so I couldn’t see her face, but I could make out her shape, even in the dim light, and I got a whiff of her from clear across the room. She meant to show me she was a classy skirt.
“Mr. Fist, I need your help.”
“Fist can’t help you. He’s … retired. I’m Agenda, Dick Agenda.”
“I need help, Mr. Agenda. If you can do the job, I don’t care about your name.”
“That’s good, because I was thinking of changing it. What do you think of the name Sherlock?”
“Are you going to help me, or are you going to pretend to be witty?”
“Depends on what you need. If it’s too messy, I’ll go with the bad jokes.”
“My name is Hortense Troublé, and I think my father is trying to kill me. Is that too messy for you, Mr. Agenda?”
In my line of work I don’t meet a lot of dolls named Hortense. There are mostly a bunch of broads named after flowers and months, and maybe a Trixie or two. Hortense – I don’t know. But trouble – that I know when I see it. She may have pronounced it “Troo-BLAY,” like a fancy dame, but I knew she was just plain Trouble.
He is a weird European aristocrat
The NY Post article with some nudes
Melania’s girl-on-girl shoot (NY Post)
The full Ale de Basseville photoshoot at the photographer’s page page.
Some uncensored examples in relatively good quality:
Does her name sound familiar, but you can’t quite place her? That’s because she is less famous for her career than for being paid off indirectly by Trump, through a “catch and kill” exclusive with The National Enquirer.
Unlike Stormy Daniels, McDougal was in love with Trump, thought he loved her, and made love to him many, many times.
Like Stormy, McDougal had her fling with Trump in the period shortly after Barron’s birth.
The two affairs appear to have been contemporaneous.
Plenty of nekkid women. No idea who any of them are.
But there are plenty of obscure sub-plots for sports geeks.
First, there’s the tale of Leon (Lee) Riley, father of the ultra-successful Lakers coach, Pat Riley. Lee’s story was really emblematic of an era in American sports that no longer exists. From the 19th century until about the 1960s, it was possible to be a career minor league ballplayer, thrilling small-town fans in the summer and working pedestrian jobs in the off-season. Lee Riley was such a man. His career got off to a promising start at age 20, when he found himself in single-A ball in his first year as a professional, by-passing all the lower levels except for a very brief stint (23 games) in class D. In his first full season in the tough Western League, he tore it up at the plate, batting .370 with tons of extra base hits. He was the league’s best hitter for several seasons, but developed a reputation as an inept glove man with a weak arm. As one observer put it, “He batted .375 but his fielding average was just about the same. He couldn’t field pumpkins if they were tied in a sack.” So he worked and worked on his fielding until he earned a well-deserved promotion to the Rochester Red Wings, the top farm club of the St. Louis Cardinals. His major league dream seemed within his grasp.
And then he ran smack into the Peter Principle, which suggests that each person rises until he reaches his level of incompetence. For Lee Riley that level was the International League. He batted only .276 with no power at Rochester, in an age when just about every major league outfielder batted .300 or better against actual major league pitching. It was especially difficult to break into the St. Louis Cardinals’ line-up. In 1930 the St. Louis Cardinals were the highest-scoring NL team of the 20th century. They had 13 players with 100 at bats or more, and twelve of them batted in the .300s. When Leon Riley went to Rochester, the Cardinals were the defending World Series champions, and it was soon obvious that Lee could not fit into their major league plans.
How did his performance drop so dramatically from class-A ball to AA? Lee himself said that it was because he couldn’t hit lefties at that level. That formed the basis for one of Tommy Lasorda’s best stories, as recounted in the L.A. Times, July 13, 1988:
When Tom Lasorda was pitching for Schenectady of the Canadian-American League in 1948, the manager was Lee Riley, father of Laker Coach Pat Riley.
“We were playing Gloversville, and I’ve got ‘em beat, 2-1, and it’s in the top of the ninth inning. As I go out to pitch, Riley, who was coaching third, came to the mound, picked up the ball to hand it to me and he says to me, ‘You’re in good shape. You’ve got three left-handed hitters in a row.’ And I was a left-handed pitcher, which meant things should be easy.
First left-hander doubles. Next left-hander triples. Next left-hander doubles. And now they’re winning, 3-2. And he comes to take me out, and as he starts to take the ball from my hand, he looks at me and he says, ‘Know why I couldn’t hit in the major leagues?’ I thought that was a very unusual question, but I said, ‘No, Skip. No, why?’ And he said, ‘Because I couldn’t hit left-handed pitchers. But if you’d been there, I’d have been a star.'”
An equally cogent explanation for Lee’s failure was given by sportswriter Whitney Martin. Lee could not hit the curve at that level.
Whatever the explanation, the Cards would soon assemble the famed Gas House Gang and win another championship – without Lee Riley, who would by then be playing in a C league.
That’s how his life went. He’d have a couple of good years, earn another promotion, then find himself back at a lower level than when he started. By the time 1938 rolled around, he was a 31-year-old veteran of 12 minor league seasons, but was in D ball with the 19 year olds, playing full-time while also acting as the team’s manager. He once again tore it up at the low levels, batting .365 and .372 in those two years in class D. That superlative performance temporarily stalled his managerial career, since his hot bat earned him yet another promotion to the International League as a player, this time with a Dodgers farm club. The result was even more disappointing than his first trip through that league. In 38 games he batted .212 with one homer. By then he must have understood that the majors were only a dream, but baseball was his job and he was no quitter, so he accepted another demotion and resolved in earnest to seek a managerial job. He found himself as a player/manager in a C league, where he had his best season to date, batting .391 with a league-leading 32 homers in the obscure Canadian-American League.
Given his track record, a solid performance at such a low level would not normally have led him back on a path to the majors, but fate intervened, in the form of Adolph Hitler. America needed able-bodied young men to fight in WW2, including young ballplayers. While the best and youngest major leaguers went to bat for Uncle Sam, the desperate major league teams were looking for bodies to fill out their depleted squads. This opened spots for older guys who would otherwise have retired, for a one-armed outfielder, for a 15-year-old pitcher, and especially for career minor leaguers desperate for a chance at the big show. That was Leon Riley’s cue. He was too old for combat and had a family to support, so he could not be drafted. The Philadelphia Phillies eventually offered him a spot on the roster in 1944. He was a 37-year-old major league rookie.
Which is worse, never to get a chance to prove what you can do, like Moonlight Graham, or to get a chance after two decades of trying, only to prove that you really couldn’t do it, like Leon Riley? Facing only the diluted wartime pitching of 1944, he batted an embarrassing .083 before the Phils demoted him to the Utica Blue Sox, roughly the American equivalent of being sent to Siberia. The next year he found himself back in D ball yet again, playing against kids who could be his children, starting from the lowest player-manager level for the third time in his career, hoping once again to move up the managerial ladder. He was not a man who gave up easily, so he stubbornly lasted five more years in the low minors as a player/manager in the Phillies’ farm system. As a player, he would never again reach as high as single-A, the level where he had played in his very first year, nearly a quarter of a century earlier.
When he finally stopped playing, he stayed in the Phillies’ organization as a full-time minor league manager, and was awarded some promotions until he was finally back in class A, as manager of the Phillies’ Eastern League teams in 1950 and 1951. The Phillies did a bit of manager-swapping in 1952, and Riley found himself managing the Wilmington Blue Rocks, who posed a respectable 72-66 record in the Interstate League. Unfortunately, the economic realities of baseball were changing. The Wilmington Blue Rocks went belly up. The entire Interstate League collapsed. Facing a dwindling bottom line, the Phillies announced after the 1952 season that they were trimming their farm system from 12 teams to 9. Along with many others, Leon Riley lost his job that day, his baseball odyssey complete after 11 years as a manager, and a playing career that spanned 22 summers. He had accumulated more than 2,400 hits in pro baseball, including about 900 for extra bases, in the process of compiling a .314 lifetime average. At various times he had led minor leagues in doubles, triples, home runs, walks, RBI and batting average. He had once managed a team to a pennant. He had always done what was asked of him, having played D ball at age 20, then again at age 30, and finally at age 39. Despite his loyalty and hard work, he found himself unemployed at 46, with no non-baseball job skills. Feeling betrayed and abandoned, he went up to his attic and discarded all of his memorabilia dating back to the mid-20s, symbolically casting baseball out of his life, as documented by the eyewitness testimony of his son, the future Lakers coach.
This explains why the Pat Riley character in Winning Time walks around with his dad’s fire-damaged bat. The implication is that the dad tried to burn it and the son rescued it from the fire.
The second obscure tale involves another fella, name o’ Jack McKinney. You may not remember him, but he was once the Lakers head coach – for a grand total of 14 games! Obviously, he did not achieve the level of fame of Pat Riley, Jerry West or Phil Jackson, but he was important to the franchise. Through 1978-79, the Lakers had been playing a very slow, very traditional type of ball, using the usual man-to-man defense, and an offense that consisted of getting it to Kareem and letting the big man do his thing. When McKinney took over from the disgruntled West in 1979-80, he found himself working with a new owner open to change, and a slick rookie named Magic Johnson, who would prove to be one of the greatest players in history. McKinney decided to institute a running offense and a controversial zone defense, technically illegal at the time, that would remake the Lakers, bringing them an immediate championship, and becoming the hallmark of their play in the subsequent years.
So why don’t you remember him? Those 14 games were his entire Lakers career. Shortly after the season began, he went out to ride his bike one day and took a near-fatal spill. A head injury resulted in a coma. By the time McKinney was ready to return, the Lakers owner no longer wanted him back, and he ended up coaching the Indiana Pacers. He did get picked as coach of the year in his first year with the Pacers, when he took the team to the NBA playoffs for the first time, but it was all downhill from there. The head injury had taken its toll on him. His players told the local media that McKinney had had memory lapses while coaching.
His Wikipedia entry sums up his contribution to the Lakers: “Pat Riley won four titles with the team and became the coach most synonymous with the Showtime Lakers. However, Norm Nixon credited McKinney with creating Showtime. ‘That should never be forgotten,’ said Nixon. According to Riley, McKinney ‘might have won five or six titles for the Lakers in the ’80s’ were it not for his accident. McKinney was deferential. ‘I just put in some ideas that were accepted, and the rest was up to Paul and Pat and some great players.'”
If humanity is ever enslaved and placed in zoos by a superior alien race, the more humane of our captors will allow us to roam free in a natural habitat. For supermodels their cages will consist of yachts, balconies and swanky bullshit events.
“Sexy models Candice Swanepoel, Doutzen Kroes and Joan Smalls party in bikinis aboard a yacht in Mykonos together!”
Some examples:
Full gallery here
I called them supermodels above, but I’m not sure whether these are supermodels or regular-grade models. When I was a young’un we didn’t have superstars or supermodels or even super-soakers. We had garden hoses to soak one another, and we got wet enough, dammit. Mantle, Mays and Musial were stars. Lauren Hutton and Suzy Parker were models. The only “super” thing we knew of was Superman, and we would never confuse him with a supermodel.
Except for that one time when Luthor exposed Supes to pink kryptonite, and the less said of that, the better.
Also naked in the film: Louisa Moritz.
Thoughts on the film:
(more…)
Once again Brainscan takes a deep dive into a forgotten chapter in the history of film nudity: the grindhouse era. Brainscan alone created all the commentary and collages, as well as the myriad of film clips that accompany this article in the members’ version of the Fun House.
Nudie Cuties dominated grindhouse cinema in the early 1960s, and chief among them were movies about nudists, or people who pretended to be for a few hours. Coming in a close second were movies that attempted to tap into the existing market for print nudes by showing how it was all done, sometimes with photographers and other times with artists.
Art School for Nudists (1965) was a two-for-one deal, then. The women who played nudists for a day were
Christy Foushee,
Darlene Bennett
and the good-enough-to-eat Gigi Darlene
plus a couple of unknowns.
These nudists play a game that only vaguely resembles volleyball – more like catch it and throw it ball – and they wear bikini bottoms while doing so. I suppose they are to nudists what people who eat fish are to vegans, the pescatarians of nudism.
——
Then there is Artist Studio Secrets (1964), in which the only secret is the artist’s phobia for painting unclothed women. His hang-up fails to stop his models from undressing in the studio or at home.
Four women play models, two of which I could not identify.
Here is one.
The other appeared with Marlene Eck (read on for more of Marlene)
The two I could identify were the vastly under-rated Marlene Eck
and, once again, the goddess Gigi Darlene.
Let me stop here for a moment and say a word about Gigi. She emigrated from Germany in her late teens and spent some time modeling, both fashion and glamour, before hitting the motion pictures. After three and a half years and 25 appearances, Gigi got married and disappeared from movies. She was so popular that everyone in gindhouse mourned her absence. One director even filmed a scene with a message on a graffiti-filled wall that read, Where In The World is Gigi Darlene? This will not be the last time I send in pictures and clips of her.
——
Bunny Yeager’s Nude Camera (1963) and Calendar Pinup Girls (1965) take a much more direct approach to showing off partially clothed women and dispense with plot or dialogue or anything that might be called a story. I grabbed the trailers for the two from some disk and found:
Christy Foushee again,
plus Dolores Carlos
and Sandy Sinclair in Calendar Pinup;
——
and Allison Louis Downe
and Davey Decker in Bunny Yeager.
——
Ran that same play – grabbed the trailer and captured some images – for 1963’s Gentlemen Prefer Nature Girls, which starred (so to speak)
Joan Bamford
and Sandy Sinclair.
The plot is a familiar one, with Ms. Bamford playing an outsider who cannot imagine nudism as a lifestyle until she gets to a camp and throws herself right into the mix. Let the celebration begin.
Part 1 of this series, The Immoral Mr. Teas, can be found here
To be continued …
If you enjoy Brainscan’s work, here are the other series that can be found on Other Crap:
Part 1, The Sixties, can be found here.
Part 2, Hicksploitation, is here.
Part 3, The Seventies, is here.
Part 4, The Models in Print (and in his films), is here
Part 1: 1932. Peak Pre-Code Talkies.
Part 2: 1929-1934. The Other Pre-Code Talkies.
Part 3: 1927. The Swan Song of the Silents.
Part 4: 1900-1926. The Silent Era.
Part 5: 1935-1951. The Dry Years.
Part 6: 1952-1959. Europe to the Rescue
The same articles, with the added bonus of all of Brainscan’s film clips, can be found in the members’s version of the Fun House, along with the many thousands of other collages, clips and commentaries that Brainscan has created in the past two decades. (And his contributions represent only a tiny fraction of the content in the back issues, since the Fun House has been updated every day, seven days a week, for the past 27 years, except for one month in 2023.)
