Based on the 1979 film written by Anton Diether and Clarke Reynolds and directed by Roger Vaidm. It starred Cindy Pickett, Barry Primus and Joanna Cassidy.
I had never heard of this film before coming across the novelization, and after tracking the film down and watching it, it turns out that there was a reason for that. It is not a good movie. I am not even sure that the screenplay had the makings of a good movie. Whatever drew everyone to this project, it does not come across in the final product. Vadim complained that the producers recut the movie after he was done with it, which possibly accounts for the final result. Maybe. Parts of it are certainly better than others, but aside for a couple of things, the movie is utterly forgettable. The acting by all involved is poor, although I am not sure who could have made the dialogue believable.
The plot: A woman that suffers from PTSD due to a rape cannot be intimate with her husband. While he is away, she starts to fantasize about having sex with a mysterious masked stranger late at night. Or are they fantasies? When someone breaks in and tries to rape her again, the mysterious stranger turns out to be the drunken author who was also staying at her house. (It's a big house.) The author sends the would-be rapist packing. The entire ordeal—late-night sex and attempted rape—cured her of her PTSD.
The only interesting things about the film are that it stars Cindy Pickett, the creepy actor who played the killer in 10 TO MIDNIGHT (1983) plays a creepy rapist, and the music score.
Cindy Pickett is perhaps best known for playing Ferris Bueller's mother in FERRIS BUELLER'S DAY OFF (1986). She also was on St. Elsewhere and a fair amount of television work. Nothing else in her filmography was as overtly sexual as this role. Gene Davis was pretty effective as the nude killer in 10 TO MIDNIGHT. He is less effective here, but is still creepy.
Somehow they got the great John Barry to write the music. What works in the film works because of his music. It almost makes it worthwhile watching. Almost. The soundtrack for the film has these titles on it: Descent into Decadence, The Lesbian Tango, The Wet Spot, Phantom of the Orgasm. Seriously, the music is good, which makes one or two of the sequences work almost decently.
The novelization is much expanded over the film. It throws a lot more melodrama and sex into the proceedings that are way more effective than anything in the movie. It's not good exactly, but it's certainly much better than the movie. So, win?
Excerpt (best read with the lush music of John Barry in the background):
Dreamily, half-knowing what she did, she opened unfocused eyes and stared into the mirror. Then a slow smile, implicit with the luxury of triumph, spread over her face. For he was there as she had known he would be. The demonic feathered features gazed over her shoulder, and the mouth that she could barely see in the shadowed light, smiled into the mirror. Her own smile deepened in return. It was the smile of a woman who knows she can call her mate to her at her will, for he desires her and her alone.
Her blood was raging in her veins, demanding his touch, but when it came it was as soft as a whisper---just the lightest finger placed against her shoulder and run gently down to her wrist. Light as it was she felt as if he had seared her.
With his every caress a fork of fire seemed to shoot through her. He had come close to her now, his breast leaning gently against her back. Like her, he was naked except for a long dark cloak clasped about his neck. She felt his hands come round her waist, sliding downwards over her satiny skin until they touched the tops of her thighs and rested there. A tremor ran through her and she moaned in sweet agony.
She threw her head back against his shoulder while her hands grasped his. At first he tried to draw them away but she would not be resisted and pulled his hands inwards to the depths of her, leaning against him as if she would collapse.
With a convulsive movement she released his hands and turned to face him. Her eyes tried to pierce the mask, but only his mouth was visible, and that was in shadow. No matter, she knew Jason's mouth. It was on hers now, all else blotted out as she felt herself drawn towards him in an embrace that enveloped her under the cloak. She was vanishing into darkness as the cloak was wrapped around her, swallowing her up. But this was how she wanted to be swallowed up---in this whirlpool of feeling that left no room for any sensation but sensuous joy and rapture.
His body was hard and smooth against hers. His hand in the small of her back was pressing her imperiously towards him so that she could feel his desire as powerful as her own. And then the hand was gone, an arm tightened under her shoulders and she felt herself held high in his arms. She had one last look at his face blazing above her with the pride of conquest. The sight was too much for her. She flung an arm round his neck and buried her fade against his breast as he carried her out of the studio and started up the stairs. . .
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