Co-produced by James Franco, the documentary Kink goes behind the scenes of Kink.com, purportedly the Internet’s hottest spot for BDSM content. Don’t know what that alphabet-soup of a phrase stands for? Then the movie and the site are not for you.
Director Christina Voros plops us deep in the bowels of a former armory that now serves as the HQ for the XXX provider founded by Peter Acworth, a jolly Brit who initially doubles as our tour guide. He’s unfazed when the tour is halted temporarily because of an in-progress gang bang. Other than tortured moans, we don’t witness the group activity; instead, Voros leapfrogs into darker territory of bound-and-gagged men and women having various orifices violated by terrifying dildos attached to far more terrifying pneumatic machinery of intimidating speeds.
“You ever come that many times in a row?” one dominant asks his hanging-from-her-feet submissive, who manages to form an answer even with all the blood pooling in her head: “Uh … not upside down.”
For 80 cold and clinical minutes, Voros lets the scenes play out without commenting on them or taking a side; her camera simply acts as an all-access observer, à la a fly on the wall — different kind of fly, mind you. The proper color of straitjacket is discussed; a glory hole is constructed; house director Maitresse Madeline teaches the fine art of slapping and stepping on an erect penis without harm. (Nope! Not buying it!)
Another shot-caller preps a fresh piece of talent for the willing punishment about to be unleashed: “You’re not gonna get nailed for four hours straight,” she says. “There are breaks.” (Whew! Praise be, Samuel Gompers!)
Despite Voros’ detachment, one young woman’s screams in Kink’s final scenes register disturbingly higher than volume allows, ringing with sadness, echoing down dungeon-like halls as hollow as, we presume, her soul. —Rod Lott