The DVD:
Inga is a girl with issues. After spending her first cinematic experience in a never-ending quest to come of age, it's now three years later and she's suffering from after-adolescence regrets. Nineteen, flat broke and abandoned by the guy that she came to Stockholm to shack up with, Inga has no visible means of support – and that includes what she's wearing under her blouses. One day, a guy who tried to "screw" her in the first film gets her a job with an older man named Stig, a writer, and suddenly Inga has discretionary income out the whazzo. All she has to do to earn her paycheck is take dictation, proofread copy, and fornicate with her employer while wearing some other girl's gowns. Turns out, the wanton wardrobe belongs to Greta, and it's not long before she gets wind of Inga's garment-based overtime. A musician named Rolf is also hot to pluck Inga's eighth notes and tries everything – including writing her a sappy love ballad – to prove his prawniness. Well, Stig leaves town, Inga gets depressed, she goes to nightclubs a lot and has sex with Rolf. Then Greta drops the biological bomb on the Swedish simp. That fiction former Stig is HER STEPFATHER, and pseudo-Dad is quite the perv. Inga witnesses his ersatz-incestual leanings, gets even more depressed, has a weird lesbian tryst with Greta and runs away with Rolf. The End.

You know you're in trouble when the most enticing aspect of the Swedish softcore sex film you're about to watch is the fact that those mainstream meatballs from ABBA crafted the swinging fjords be-bopping pop theme song. That's right, the single most marketable aspect of The Seduction of Inga, a sequel of sorts to exploitation maven Joe Sarno's original Inga is the Benny Andersson/Bjorn Ulvaues title track. This rich bit of crazy chord change ear candy sticks in your head like a large railroad spike, resonating like a radar gun long after the rest of this ridiculous rot has piddled out your brain stem. Anyone who grew up in the 60s and 70s knows exactly what The Seduction of Inga is TRYING to be. Back in the days before certain facets of the human form – lets call them "pickles" and "beaver" - were allowed to be captured on camera, the local arthouse was the place to wear your raincoat and rejoice in the ability to see pseudo-sex. Foreign flicks featuring flesh and friskiness were above reproach from the puritanical paws of the local censorship boards, so naturally there was a massive market for such cosmopolitan carnality. Mavericks like Sarno saw an opportunity and jumped on the psycho-sexual-cerebral bandwagon. The result is something like Seduction, which is dreary, grim and just a little desperate. Sarno wants us to connect so deeply with his hapless heroine that he'll stop at almost nothing to juice up her general appeal.

But for everything he tries – the May/December angle, the father/daughter debasing, the prostitute posse in Inga's boarding house – the reality is that The Seduction of Inga sucks. No, not in the oral aspect way your dirty little mind is contemplating right now, but in the "I Can't Believe Someone Made This Mung" kind of failure. Now, it shouldn't be this way. Sarno was some manner of middling genius during the course of the 60s, carving out a creative niche in the suburban swinger film. Between remarkable masterpieces like Sin in the Suburbs and The Swap and How They Make It, to lesser, more pork based pictures like Flesh and Lace or Passion in Hot Hollows, his black and white wonders captured both the corruption and the freedom in the bored housewife/horny breadwinner dynamic. So it's a shame that something like The Seduction of Inga comes along to sully that craven canon. Sure, there will always be fans for this kind of slow burn sultriness, a style of proto-porn where the characters are so careful with their canoodling that you'd swear they were being judged on poise and etiquette as well as the erotic. But when measured against the kind of vicious sin Sarno was creating previously, Seduction feels like a languid, ribald rest stop at a not so naughty Norwegian hostel. This movie is so tasteful and tame you'd swear that, somewhere along the lines, the cold Norse weather froze the libidos of the cast, as well as the camera equipment.

It's not that The Seduction of Inga is without virtue (Heaven knows the title character's caliber is hanging on by a life's thread), it's just that this movie takes its own sweet time getting to a plot point. And then, it doesn't provide enough personal connection to the story to have us involved in the supposedly dire dilemmas. Indeed, we learn so little about Inga and her lot in life in this numbskulled narrative that the highlights are basic and overly broad. We learn that Inga is, apparently, some manner of man pariah. Every guy she hooks up with – her initial beau Karl, the older writer Stig, the rock and roller Rolf - ends up under some manner of motion picture deportation. The dudes just disappear from the saga for what the dialogue indicates is a specific, mandatory three-week vacation from Inga's sugar walls. Some never return (Karl) while others make the jaunt and then re-enter the scenarios (Stig) to further fudge up the facets. Then there is the mangy madam who runs whores out of the rooming house. She is so goddamn ugly that victims of massive facial scarring call her up so that they can feel better about themselves. And naturally, when she's not making girls give up the herring for the local fish lovers, she's staging lesbian sex acts in her living room for fun and profit. Stig is crafting a sure-fire bestseller about an older man infatuated with a younger girl. Stupid Inga has those familiar clouds in her coffee since she thinks that the story is about her. Turns out, our scribe has more than a paternalistic interest in his stepdaughter, catapulting the entire inspirational ideal onto its sick shameful head.

Still, if it had been played out by a collection of interesting or quirky characters, individuals up to the task of making us care what happens, The Seduction of Inga would succeed. Too bad then that Sarno decided to provide every person here with the same solitary, stilted dimension – call it 'abject blankness'. Inga is a void as vixen, a sex kitten completely lacking in animal magnetism. Rolf is a member of the Nordic City Rollers just waiting for Tiger Beat to call his coiffed number. Greta is that standard slut as skank psycho who's been made mean mad by all that faux-father drama. But even then, her fits of rage are more like the briny belches one experiences after too many helpings of kalops at the local smorgasbord. And let's not forget Stig, our miscreant older man. He tends to play every scene as if he is simply waiting for his temples to gray to give him the aura of wisdom his atrocious actions obviously fail to inspire. This quartet of loads, plus some stupid ancillary characters dulling around the edges, makes The Seduction of Inga a chore to endure, a belabored lesson in the law of even less than diminishing returns. With no one to hang our hope on, and a story that is less about seduction and more about sleep stimulation, we are left wondering what to focus on. Sadly, Sarno gives us no clue either. He just inserts several silly sex set pieces, moments so mild that they resemble the carnal couplings of mercury poisoned cod collapsing along the riverbank, and hopes we find it all tastefully lustful. In reality, it's like cinematic hypnosis, almost instantly rendering you impotent and disinterested in continuing on with life.

Certainly, there will be those enticed by the temptation of the title and realize that this critic is probably nuttier than a Stuckey's foot-long pecan log. Without a doubt, fans of Sarno's Swedish period will find all the above adversity just the typical misunderstanding of a man who was looking for more in his foreign arthouse softcore smut than a comely lass, her passionate if polite friends and a small smattering of baneful biological boffing, to turn up the tawdriness. And they would be right. It's just that Sarno is capable of so much more. His early monochrome masterworks were skillfully seedy social commentaries, taking the upper middle class to task for doing what they regularly denounced the counter culture for wallowing in. But The Seduction of Inga has none of that bite, no attempt to be anything other than a passive, civil semi-sizzling flesh feast. Anyone with a hankering for harder him-on-her histrionics (or even she-on-she satisfaction) will view this ABBA meets aardvarking acrimony with a jaundiced, decidedly non-aroused eye. Yet the right spectators might belly up to this wanton winter hinterland and find the fleecing facets as satisfying as a spritz in an Oslo sauna. A tad too docile for a modern mindset raised on basic cable pulchritude and an overall sensibility that sees sex in everything, but equally destined to please the purists out there, The Seduction of Inga may not be the stupefying signal for sensual cessation this critic makes it out to be. But it sure is one dismal drawn out drone of a drama.

The Video:
There are two version of The Seduction of Inga available for viewing on this 2 DVD set (one on each disc) and between the pair, the "grindhouse" version is much better – if only from a visual standpoint. The difference in both print quality and editorial elements is remarkable. The "grindhouse" version has wonderful color correction, a nice balance of flesh tone to shadow, and an overall appearance of far better preserved source material. But it also contains several inserted sex scenes, filmed after the initial shoot and failing to match even the basics of the actors involved in the film. There is no continuity to the additional carnality (nightgowns, hairstyles and body types change drastically) and you can always sense when a new sequence is arriving. Sarno's careful craft suddenly turns ham-fisted, the camera crashing in to avoid the look-alikes while keeping the sin in frame. The standard version (the MAIN offering here) looks horrible, frankly. The colors posterize and solarize and the tints tend to fade whenever the movie moves outdoors. While it represents Sarno's preferred cut (he can't stand the bonus bonking) it also symbolizes the shoddy treatment of this title. The odd, awkward letterboxing (let's call it 1.44:1) is non-anamorphic (not that this would matter – it's practically full screen to begin with) and riddled with defects and dirt. For a limited edition collector's version of a much sought-after title, The Seduction of Inga is given a less than luxurious presentation.

The Audio:
Since Sarno wanted to impose some rock and pop atmosphere into his film, there is a lot of pre-ABBA Andersson and Ulvaues on the soundtrack, a veritable cornucopia of sonic styles (everything from torrid ballads to blues-based jams). But be warned – even in tinny, distorting, overmodulated Dolby Digital Mono, the far too merry theme song will ear worm its way into your everyday whistling medley. As for the other aural aspects, the dialogue is dubbed into English and, for the most part, remains passable. There is very little depth to the sound design (thanks to all the post-production voice-over) and there is a tendency for sequences to turn shrill for absolutely no reason. Again, like the video above, the treatment of this title by Retro-Seduction Cinema is less than respectful. Maybe the horrid sonic situation was all they had to work with, but they really didn't make many improvements.

The Extras:
If there is one place where this DVD excels, it's in the added content concept. Over the course of two full discs, we get the original movie, a "grindhouse" version, another slice of Sarno Swede sultriness - 1969's The Indelicate Balance - a commentary for said film, a series of trailers, a music video for the Inga title song, a booklet featuring liner notes and two documentaries on the making of the Inga films. These fact-filled featurettes are very interesting, loaded with behind the scene information on how the Sarno's made their Swedish films. "Innocence Lost: The Story of Inga" features Joe and Peggy as well as star Marie Liljedahl. Just getting the chance to witness the transformation over time of our leading lady (she's gone from sweet ingénue to blousy quasi-dominatrix) is fascinating, and the Sarno's come across as mildly arrogant, self-assured auteurs. Producer Vernon P. Becker's "Memories of Inga" featurette is also very appealing. Presented in an audio-only format (there are scenes from the film playing behind the patter), Becker reads from a prepared script and offers many intricate facets of the filming. Both bonuses are excellent, bringing out subtle aspects of the movie that fans may have missed the first time around.

But the major added attraction here is the discovery and presentation of 1969's The Indelicate Balance. This tawdry family fracas revolves around a tight knit clan of sexual freaks. Harald, a semi-successful artist, has returned home after four years away, and he's brought his new bride Karin along for the angst. Mom is ecstatic with her favorite son's return. Sister Ingrid is none to pleased to see her brother. Apparently, there is a great deal of understated incest in this tribe, with mother hankering to hump Harald and Ingrid dying to diddle...well, practically anyone, it seems. Turns out that both female family members have experienced the pleasure of Hal's hormones and want to restart the ribaldry. When Karin finds out, she goes Sapphic and something sinister starts brewing. Harald gets more and more maniacal and it looks like he'll add murder to his repugnant resume. Luckily a painting destined for The Night Gallery saves the day, kind of. As a film, The Indelicate Balance is 45 minutes of suppressed sexual tension followed by 40 more minutes of morning-after regrets. If you haven't figured it out by now, that means there is a huge slab of sex missing from the movie, obvious elements removed to make the story more palatable to a mainstream audience. Sometimes engaging, but mostly a middling disappointment, The Indelicate Balance is like a bad Broadway play married to a pulp airport porn novel. Unfortunately, it has all the dirty parts blacked out.

Considered one of Sarno's lost gems, The Indelicate Balance gets a commentary track featuring Peggy Sarno, Retro-Seduction Cinema's David Fine and Gary Huggins, who actually found this copy of the film. Fine acts as quizmaster throughout the track, asking Sarno about various aspects of both this movie, her relationship with Joe and the overall exploitation/ grindhouse/ arthouse scene of the 60s and 70s. Peggy is a wealth of information, providing insight into how they made these movies, the difference between Swedish and American production companies and the importance of story development, even in a sex film. She also enjoys providing a little gossip about the personalities in and around the independent scene during the time. It's a casual, energetic affair and adds a great deal of understanding to the entire Sarno legacy. Indeed, this entire presentation is a limited-edition love letter to Joe and Peggy, an attempt to elevate their art to a new level of appreciation. In that aspect alone, this DVD is a success. It's just too bad the films included are so flimsy.

Final Thoughts:
The Seduction of Inga is the kind of passive porn that let our father's feel less seedy about traveling to dive-like downtown theaters to see some forbidden skin. It fancies up the fornicating with soft focus foolishness and adds in enough wistful, pensive looks to make Goth guys and gals jealous regarding their own shoe-gazing gloominess. In his transformation from urban smut peddler to white collar scholar to foreign teen queen erotica master, writer/director Joe Sarno has built up a considerable catalog of unbelievably uneven films. Some of his movies are so shocking in their sloppiness that you wonder how the same mindset can produce those awe-inspiring craven classics. The Seduction of Inga is a clear illustration of this issue. Buried within the boring, blasé tale of a sexually inert girl is a potentially potent case of carnality. But instead of pushing the illicit envelope, Sarno maintains his nice guy personality and gives us a lot of derivative depression. If it doesn't kill your proclivity for pseudo-sex, then you're made of more tenacious material than most. The Seduction of Inga does signal a shift in personal perception. If you buy into this calm, cold coupling, you're welcome to the entire genre of flaccid faux flesh films. But if you, like Bill G., thought this movie was a mind-numbing bore, you can rest assured that it has probably pushed you over your libido limits. They can make a pill to cure your future "performance anxiety". But they'll never invent a salve for how disinterested this film will leave you. Welcome to the death of debauchery. It's name is The Seduction of Inga.

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