I met my husband [Michael Findlay] when I was at school, but I was too young to get married at sixteen, and then finally, we were married when I was eighteen. I was unconscious. I didn’t think. I’m not very emotionally grounded. I just do what comes along. I was sort of in love for a few weeks and he wanted to get married. His parents insisted, and my parents thought the world had ended — that marriage would end my career. My career had ended long before that. We got married and I was a teenage bride. My husband was ten years older than I was. I’d say he was a lapsed Catholic. Actually, he was studying to become a Priest and went to Catholic school here, to Cathedral University in New York, and then gave that up and matriculated to City College, which is where I met him. Interestingly, he was a film nut and was all about old films. He ran a program at the school that showed silent films and he needed a pianist to accompany the silent films. I volunteered and I was paid a little here and there. I always worked at the school and at the office. I worked as an accompanist for the Gilbert and Sullivan Society. I was living at home, of course. I’d never seen a silent film. I could have cared less, but I think we started with Birth of a Nation (1915) — what a nerve! I improvised a score based on all of the music I’d studied. I didn’t make up anything; these were just pieces that were famous compositions. I didn’t know what I was doing.
I played for about twenty-five films during that year. The music department was on my case that it was demeaning, and I was giving a bad name and reputation to the music department. They wanted me to stop. Martinets, is what they were, dogmatic martinets. They were refugees, actually, from Germany, and they ran the department. They didn’t find it cute or endearing. I kept playing. It was challenging and interesting, and then we ran a program in the East Village after we got out of school for silent films at a coffee house. I played again. This is the mid-late 1960s.
Grindhouse Theatre
Early into their careers, Michael was approached to refine the surrealistic S&M drug movie Judas City (later released as Satan’s Bed). After the picture was sold, sex scenes were incorporated into the short feature. Roberta made a brief appearance herself in the revamped film as a young woman (billed as Anna Riva) bound to a pool table. She is also listed in the credits as a lighting technician.
There was a film made in the mid-1960s in which we were not originally involved. The film was a very bad movie called Judas City that they had been trying to sell for years. Nobody would buy it because it was so terrible. Finally, my husband met somebody — I don’t know who he was at the time. I was a kid, but they bought the picture years later after it was made, in 1970, or something. My husband was asked to fix it up to make it into a sex picture. It was black and white — it was terrible. Afterwards, my husband went on to make a series of awful softcore porn films. I didn’t work with him — I know all of the websites say the two of us worked together. I think I’m even in a couple of them. I was in a couple of them.
Roberta appeared in select early softcore films using the stage name Anna Riva under the direction of her husband Michael. She wrote screenplays, provided narration, and taught herself the ropes of cinematography through an organic process. Michael (sometimes billed as actor Robert West) interjected himself into his own “grindhouse” productions (a term derived from the now defunct burlesque theatres on New York’s 42nd Street, before the conversion to adult movie houses where striptease acts were also known as “bump and grind” shows) that typified 1960s sexploitation pictures.
Michael (aka “Julian Marsh” when in the director’s chair: Roberta had fancied Warner Baxter who’d played the character Julian Marsh in the 1933 award-winning film 42nd Street. She suggested the stage name for her husband) was one of an eclectic group of filmmakers on the east coast during the mid-late 1960s whose artistic eccentricities transcended cinematic landscapes by uniquely combining sexuality, violence, gore, and S&M motifs. Michael’s first exploitation film was Body of a Female (1965), which incorporated the appearance of legendary Pin-Up girl, Bettie Page. Roberta had a minor debut role in the film as the Cuban stripper, Cindy. She is billed as Anna Riva.
Michael Findlay’s Take Me Naked, listed as a 1966 release, unveiled a very young and partially naked Roberta Findlay in a surreal and oddly compelling study blurring eloquence with the perverse. A delusional alcoholic/Peeping Tom overtakes and murders the teenage Elaine (Findlay) after a succession of sexually suggestive sequences engaging the victim in an intimated lesbian tryst. Shrouded within a narrated overlay, a female and male take turns reading erotic poetry written by Pierre Louÿs, even during the bizarre necrophilia segment.
Sold as a double feature with Take Me Naked through Something Weird Video, Michael Findlay’s A Thousand Pleasures (1968) is a similar tale of misogyny and mayhem in which Michael portrays a man who murders his wife (Roberta Findlay) to infinitely silence her incessant badgering. “Peculiar” is a befitting word to describe the nature of much of Michael Findlay’s work, and although his craft might not necessarily appeal to mainstream movie goers, at the very least, one could argue that Findlay’s films dramatically and concisely mirror the nefarious cavities of the human mind.
Three cornerstone films directed by Michael Findlay, who had a starring role in each, are commonly known as The Flesh Trilogy. They consist of The Touch of Her Flesh (1967), followed by sequels The Curse of Her Flesh (1968), and The Kiss of Her Flesh (1968). The “Trilogy” series is characterized by fetish acts and exaggerated violence, generally directed toward strippers and prostitutes carried out in deviant, gory fashion predating the slasher/horror flicks that gained an enormous cult following in the 1970s. Roberta is credited in all three productions as cinematographer. She also provided voiceovers.
Michael made a series of demented — crazy — they’re psychotic movies. I mean, he should have been locked up. He took out his frustrations or whatever, in the films. It’s a good thing he never killed anybody. It was all about murdering women — that was his fantasy or desire or something, but he wasn’t like that at all. He was a sweet gentle soul. I grew to hate him, but it had nothing to do with the work. We were together for about seven years, I guess.
I thought he was the only one who was that demented. He made about a dozen titles of that nature, but he was generally the director/cameraman. Somehow, through osmosis I learned how to shoot. He didn’t teach me and I wasn’t particularly interested, but I started making cheap movies in New York for distributors that were hardcore. They were soft core in the beginning — somehow I learned how to shoot and edit. I don’t know how it came about. I just seemed to know. It was for money. I had no skills. I didn’t know what to do with myself. I should have gone to a normal type of job or something, but I never did — it sort of fell into my lap. I’m a better cameraman than I am a pianist. A couple of the distributors said to me, “Hey, do you want to make a film?” Of course, one of them was my boyfriend so he said, “I’ll give you a few thousand dollars so you can make a film.”
Findlay is referring to former film distributor and producer, Allan Shackleton, who became her collaborator after she eventually left Michael during the early 1970s.
I made a few for him early on. I guess they were soft core. Rosebud (released in1972) was one. The Altar of Lust (released in 1971), that was the second one.
The Altar of Lust (1971) showcased Harry Reems in a co-starring role just one year before he became famous for portraying a physician aiding a young woman (Linda Lovelace) with an abnormality in Gerard Damiano’s Deep Throat. The Altar of Lust is the story of Viveca (Erotica Lantern), a blonde patient seeking the advice of a psychiatrist Dr. Rogers (played by adult film director Fred Lincoln in appearance only). Vivica wishes to understand her newly awakened erogenous desires and responses toward men and to women. The limited feature is an effective representation of a “roughie,” as it embroiders the semblance of sexual tenderness and innocence between Lantern and Reems, within the tougher fabric of domination subsequent to a rape scene that opened the film. Roberta wrote
the screenplay and acted as narrator (as Viveca) throughout, piecing together the allegory, while Michael Findlay (uncredited) supplied narration for Dr. Rogers.
Snuffed out by an Angel
It was in 1973 or 1974 that we went to Argentina and shot Snuff (1976). Michael was the director, and he appeared in the thing. I was the cameraman. It was the first film I actually shot. It was a hand held, thirty-five — the film itself was based on the Manson gang. I shot it and it was all dubbed. There was no sound at all because everybody spoke Spanish and it was supposed to be an American film. I also directed the lighting, which my husband really didn’t know much about. The only things I shot outside of thirty-five millimeter were some things I filmed in sixteen for PBS [Public Broadcasting System], believe it or not. Everything I shot was thirty-five. You could shoot in sixteen, but you’d have to blow the negative up into thirty-five to make prints to show in theatres. It was fabulously expensive.
At the time of its release more than thirty-five years ago, Snuff (originally titled Slaughter), centering on a tough female biker gang, was considered one of the more controversial cult pictures in contemporary film as it was hyped to contain an actual murder or “snuff” content on camera. Compared to today’s world of hi-tech wizardry, the scene in Snuff depicting the homicide of a young woman, is dubious and obviously faked, yet various self-interest groups protested the graphic content of the film when it played in New York theatres. The debate continues today about the authenticity of the “snuff” genre, in general. That being said, it is unanimously agreed Michael Findlay was a guru in the sphere of filmmaking.
Michael’s interests actually lay in optics and the science of optics. After I left, he developed a 3-D system that was patented by his benefactor. — It is the system now being used. It’s a portable, two lens, filming system that was a huge set-up for three cameras and was used in the 1950s by Hollywood. You had three cameras to shoot 3-D, which is the same portable system Michael had developed. I had nothing to do with it, but it’s used today. I don’t know who owns the patent now.
Michael was actually killed taking this device, the prototype, to Cannes Film Festival. He was on the roof of the Pan Am building in New York to take a helicopter to the airport. I don’t know why because he was terrified of flying, but the helicopter fell apart and killed a bunch of people on the roof and on the street. He was sort of cut in half by a rotor of the plane. He never got on the helicopter.
Michael Findlay passed away on May 16, 1977.
I had run away with another guy and Michael was devastated. He was a mess. What could I do? I was a very flighty and ungrounded creature. I do whatever sort of comes along. I worked as a filmmaker for the distributor who was my boyfriend. Towards the end, I made a film called Angel #9 (1974), and I think when it was resold, it was re-titled Angel on Fire. It was hardcore. When he saw it he said, “Oh my god, I’ll be arrested” which is ridiculous because this was long after Deep Throat.
Roberta Findlay wrote, directed, produced, and edited (under the name “Anna Riva”) Angel on Fire combining entertainment value with ethereal set designs and a hefty slice of retribution. Released in 1976, Angel on Fire is the story of Steven, an abusive, egocentric boyfriend who gets run over by a van. After a brief stopover in heaven, Steven is returned to earth as a woman renamed Stephanie (Darby Lloyd Rains) by the lovely Angel #9 (Jennifer Jordan). While dwelling in a feminine body, “Stephanie” is about to experience heartache and the sensitivities of being female, when “she” falls in love with Jeff (Jamie Gillis) a photographer and self-serving misogynist. When they first meet, Jeff gives Stephanie the royal treatment, but changes gears when he grows tired of her and begins to indiscreetly screw other women. He becomes abusive and downright mean after Stephanie informs him she’s pregnant — a ploy designed to snag Jeff for keeps, but backfires once he correctly surmises Stephanie purposely stopped taking contraceptives. Jeff shouts, “I don’t care if you raise it yourself or get an abortion, but get the fuck out my life!” and means it. Stunned, and a little too co-dependent for her own good, Steven/Stephanie gets a taste of his own medicine and finds it hard to swallow (pun intended) the same treatment in female form that he doled out when he was male. Finally, Stephanie reaches her breaking point and is returned to heaven; restored as Steven and rewarded for his/her painful enlightenment by Angel #9. In the closing frame, the two heavenly beings proceed to celebrate the carnal benefits of celestial freedom. Eric Edwards co-stars as Angel #10, and Marc Stevens is the first of Stephanie’s earthly sexual conquests.
They really weren’t busting that many films at that time, although I’ve made a few films that have been busted. [Shackleton] got scared so he sold Angel on Fire. Then I took up with another guy, and that was the end of him.
Human Tripod
Findlay said the final straw with Allan Shackleton (who passed away at age forty from heart problems) occurred when he refused to pay her for a film she’d shot for him. After Shackleton socked her in the eye, Roberta’s attorney informed Shackleton that if he paid Findlay the twelve thousand dollars he owed her to make the picture she would drop the battery charges. Ironically, Roberta hadn’t actually brought charges against Shackleton, but her attorney correctly ascertained a threat would be an effective way to strong arm Shackelton into making good on his promise, which he did.
As a filmmaker, Findlay seemed to hit her stride when she connected with her eventual lifelong partner, Walter Sear. Prior to Findley’s break up with Shackleton, she and Walter met in Shackleton’s office where Walter handed her his business card. Sensing an obvious connection between Findlay and Sear, Shackleton took Walter’s card and tore it up, but Roberta had memorized his address and telephone number. Although Sear was legally married the thirty years that he and Findlay were a couple, he did not divorce his wife, and he and Roberta maintained their own residences. After their meeting, Findlay and Sear began producing a succession of hardcore movies — many of which incorporated humorous scenarios and considerable dialogue. On more than one occasion, the couple hired actors that would garner them the greatest financial return on their investments while shooting several scenes for different films simultaneously, much to the chagrin of some of the hired talent. Findlay became very adept as a cameraman and confidently extended her intrinsic talents wherever she was needed.
Cameras are heavy, even the old Arriflex which is what we used. It’s called the “wild camera” and you couldn’t tape sound with it at that time. Loaded with film, it weighed about twenty pounds, I guess. I’m not very big physically so when I shot with a hand held camera, I looked like a tripod because I couldn’t move the damn thing was so heavy. Then we graduated to heavier cameras — to thirty-five — to forty- pound cameras that you could hardly balance. In the horror films we used a heavier camera [a Panaflex], which was better balanced, but with all of the handhelds, I was like a tripod. I could barely hold a camera, but because I could, it saved us a lot of money. Instead of setting up elaborate shots and so on, I could just move. I was a human tripod — everybody knew about that.
I got used to it, but after some years, I developed a lump on my breast where the motor sat right on that spot. I went to the surgeon and they said they’d have to remove the lump. I knew exactly what it was, and of course, I was right. It was a cyst, a lump, but it had grown there because of the camera motor. They took it out and there was nothing there. I’d break every camera cable because they were not meant for females. Every camera cable motor would hit the side of a woman’s breast, so the cable motor would get bent. As I was shooting, I’d be bending it and it would break.
We could make movies very, very cheaply because we did all of the work. Walter Sear, whose name is on the studio Sear Sound — the two of us did all of the post-production at the old studio. I was the cameraman, director, producer, editor, and he was the Prop Manager. All of it was done by us. It didn’t cost anything. We bought film stock and hired the actors. I enjoyed shooting dialogue scenes.
I w
as in the editing room with the old movieolas on a picture that I made with two guys that was actually good. It was cheap and it was called Fantasex (1976). It made a lot of money in this country, but I cleverly sold out before it was released. I wrote and edited that one and directed it. It was kind of unique. I think it was made around 1978. I don’t know — it’s all a great blur. I directed the scenes through the camera. I wandered around holding a thirty-five millimeter camera.
Fantasex is indeed a creative, atypical production. As employees of a publisher of dirty novels, the sex obsessed, but timid Bernard (Jeffrey Hurst) and his secret, equally shy admirer Jane (Terri Hall) voyage through several fantastical episodes together exploring their sexual desires unrestrained and free. Cleverly, the tale continually blurs the bridge between reality and delusion utilizing unique costumes and sets, as it adeptly demonstrates the crossover from the concrete into the surreal.
Several other films identified by Findlay’s trademark for blending comicality and sex were produced in close proximity to one another, and starred some of the well known classic adult stars of the era. Anyone, but My Husband (1975), Sweet, Sweet Freedom (aka Hot Nurses, 1976), Sweet Punkin’ I Love You (1976), Dear Pam (1976), and New York City Woman (1980) all contained strokes of wit and humor. C. J. Laing (who often played a lost soul seeking sexual treats), Eric Edwards, John Holmes, Jennifer Jordan, Tony Perez, Darby Lloyd Raines, Crystal Sync, and Marlene Willoughby were cast repeatedly — in part, because Findlay would shoot many storylines simultaneously.
GOLDEN GODDESSES: 25 LEGENDARY WOMEN OF CLASSIC EROTIC CINEMA, 1968-1985 Page 17