Stripped (2001)

     The title of this 2001 film is rather straightforward, and discussing in depth the life of a stripper is a tantalizing prospect for any film viewer already admitting to their scopophilic intentions.  The director, Jill Morley, becomes a stripper to gain unprecedented access into the backstage world and mindset of the controversial profession.
    The filmmaker, an aspiring actress, stars front and center from the beginning of her film.  Her voice-over tries just a little to hard to sound sincere and interesting and instead passes into pleading and unwarranted.  She would have done better letting her subjects, and friends, speak for themselves.  Add to this her own personal confessions, akin to half of YouTube’s uploads, and we have a film that seems garnered to promoting its creator.   We could discuss the poor sound quality and handheld camera work that feels misplaced and unpracticed and we have a film that so screams amateur it is hard to get into the story itself.
    This is where the film really misses the mark.  It would be wildly appropriate for the dancers themselves, all girls and women who understand the profession they practice with such refined pondering that they articulate the psychology behind it, to tell the story.  Rather, Morley jumps into the dressing room stuffs a camera in their faces.  The fact that she too is a stripper warranted a sense of companionship; they do not see one another as competition but as friends.  But the story could be told much better without the filmmakers voice coming from behind or in front of the camera.  It is hard not to see it as a self-promoting product.
    We can, however, still absorb a bit of what is happening in this world.  The girls examine themselves, both physically and emotionally, in the context of how they make money.  They make no attempt to hide the fact that they make very good money by working their customers.  It is a game, a routine, a performance where the single dollar bill never leaves their mind; only he who has it matters.  Many recount years later how their sense of self-confidence and power is escalated with years of dancing.  For some, these years bear emotional scars, for others they are shrugged off.
    It is a bit difficult to decide whether the film exploits its subjects.  (Of course, the entire profession is exploitative. Thus the cinematic process of capturing this could be considered exploitation.)  There is not shortage of backstage and onstage nudity, girls discussing their bodies; essentially free shows with no payment to the dancers.  Perhaps a bit counter intuitive, this film could easily be made without ever showing the act itself.  It seems the film only has little more respect for the girls than the men who inhabit the dark and dingy bars.  The film is indeed interesting but misses too much.