Documentary gets to the naked truth about swinging couples

It's a twice-dated term — evoking both Frank Sinatra's 1950s insouciance and "Saturday Night Live's" wild and crazy guys — but apparently there are still plenty of "swingers" out there: i.e., couples who swap partners and engage in sexual experimentation on a regular basis.

In "Sex With Strangers," a 2-year-old documentary by Joe and Harry Gantz (creators of HBO's "Taxicab Confessions"), we meet three such couples, two from the Northwest, in various states of togetherness.

The healthiest couple appears to be James and Theresa. He's got a thick Southern accent and a blunt, friendly manner. She's redheaded, vivacious, bisexual, and the bait they use to reel in other couples as they cruise the clubs, swinging or otherwise, in their motorhome.

Midway through the picture, she even decides to have her breasts enlarged because, in her mid-30s, she feels she needs that "extra edge." James pushes her toward the larger size and then crows, "About this time next week there'll be two more pounds of love! Ha!"

These two communicate well, regularly performing what he calls a "postgame show" the morning after swinging.

The same can't be said for the other couples. Shannon and Gerard fall into "the lifestyle" (as it's known) because a marriage counselor thought it might save their marriage. Unfortunately, Shannon is a reluctant participant, and during the course of the documentary we see her change from a tough-talking Southern gal to a blubbering housewife. It's not pretty.

But it's nothing next to what happens to Calvin and Sara. Another woman, Julie, gets involved, and both fight over the manipulative Calvin, who, though dark-eyed, is more like Chris Kattan than Andy Garcia. As Sara is gradually pushed aside, the mopier and whinier (and thus less sympathetic) she becomes; yet we still view the crushing of her spirit with a kind of horror.

"Sex With Strangers" runs a bit long, and the arguments between the couples — particularly since they sound like our own arguments — grow dull quickly.

But there's an unbelievable frankness here — emotional more than sexual.

Ultimately the documentary makes a strong case for monogamy. Despite the open sexuality of swinging clubs and hot-tub parties, awkwardness and phoniness still reign there. Hurt feelings are magnified (scorned women, pouty men). Then there's all that unappetizing flesh.

Couples titillated by the possibility of swinging will probably leave the theater gripping each other's hands a little more tightly.

Erik Lundegaard: elundegaard@earthlink.net.