Before I begin this review, let's get the tricky part out of the way first. Please consider the following:

Cunt.

Now, if you're offended already, stop reading. No, really, I mean it. And in the name of all that's holy, don't pick up a copy of Blue Underground's DVD "Quiet Days in Clichy." All others, buckle up and read on.

Shortly after its release in 1970, "Quiet Days" became a big hit with European hippie audiences - but not too popular with U.S. customs officials, who labeled it obscene (though the ruling was appealed and later lifted). Long considered lost, this is the first release of an uncut English-language print in over three decades.

The source material is a combination of two sexually explicit (and semi-autobiographical) novels Henry Miller cranked out for a quick buck in the early ‘40s - stories he would later expand and combine for another publisher. Thanks to the publicity generated by the obscenity case surrounding "Tropic of Cancer" and other titles, the title would soon find itself at the top of the Publisher's Weekly bestseller list. This is by far the most notorious film adaptation of works from the author's porn-for-hire phase.

Armed with this historical knowledge, and the promise of steamy Euro-sex, I popped this one in, not knowing I was in for the shock of a lifetime. Not because it's daring, provocative or challenging. It isn't. Because it's so unbelievably, mind-numbingly goofy.

Our protagonists (for lack of a better word) are Joey (Paul Valjean), a pasty, balding dweeb ostensibly based on the author - although I'm certain the real Miller was considerably cooler - and his gangly Parisian roommate Carl (Wayne Rodda), who is a walking stereotype complete with ascot and muskrat-sized mustache. It is implied that both men are writers of some sort - Joey is seen pounding away at a typewriter for about four seconds - but this is only incidental to their main mission in life: humping everything with a pulse. And considering these guys look dorky as hell, they get more ass than an airport toilet seat.

Their quest for the almighty poontang takes us through endless episodes involving Joey, Carl, and a never-ending cavalcade of hookers, bar girls and other wacky wenches, leading to countless scenes of frantic boinking, usually shot with a hand-held camera. These scenes, all nipples and ass-hair, occasionally teeter on the edge of hardcore, but never quite take the dive. Repeat ad nauseam, and you have a "story" that reveals its origins in pornography while somehow managing to be about as erotic as finding a pubic hair on your toothbrush.

This is the first feature from Danish artist Jens Jorgen Thorsen (some of whose paintings can be seen hanging in Joey & Carl's flat), who apparently wanted to appeal to three different audiences: free-lovin' kids, avant-garde film buffs, and raincoat palm-pilots. Unfortunately, he seldom seems able to approach any one of these genres with any conviction.

Not that Thorsen's a complete hack. Many of his shot compositions are postcard-perfect (dirty or otherwise), reflecting his background as a painter, and there are a few inspired comic touches (such as onscreen captions illustrating Joey's pedantic thought processes), but these tend to succumb to overkill. Sadly, the most entertaining twist - a raunchy "Greek chorus" provided by Country Joe (minus The Fish) - is pretty much abandoned about two- thirds of the way through.

Granted, I admire any film that gleefully embraces the spirit of hedonism. I also toast any filmmaker who uses rampant vulgarity as a statement of creative freedom - a literal fuck-you to the status quo of "acceptable" entertainment - but only if they've got the balls to back up their convictions. With "Quiet Days," I wasn't really getting that vibe. I wasn't even convinced they just wanted to make a good old-fashioned fuckfest. Instead, I imagined Danish versions of Beavis and Butt-Head bursting into nervous laughter at seeing the word "cunt" in the titles.

Like I said before, if that's not a word you like to see or hear, I promise you'll be diving for the STOP button inside 5 minutes. On the flip side, one could feasibly devise a drinking game out of it (1 cunt = 1 shot), but I'm afraid the outcome would be similar to the "Scarface" game my college pals and I thought up, where we drank every time the word "fuck" was heard. (One of us had to have his blood replaced after that one.)

Well, although I think this film kinda misses the mark, I can't say the same for Blue Underground's usual dynamite DVD presentation. Unless this long-lost print was in remarkable shape to begin with - which I doubt - they did a bang-up job restoring it. Every ass-pimple, streetlight twinkle and scrotal wrinkle comes through with impeccable clarity - I'll let you decide if that's a good thing. The mono English track is clean and clear, which benefits Country Joe's naughty-folksy accompaniment, but also punches up the fact that the film was shot silent, with the actors' voices and all sound effects looped in later. This is not uncommon to European films of this period, but in less skilled hands, it can create a kind of unnatural audio vacuum.

Extras include an interview with Grove Publishing founder Barney Rosset, who recounts his history of championing Miller's erotic works, and the challenges posed by adapting them to film. There's also a fun interview with Country Joe, who recounts his musical involvement in the film from a social context; a gallery of on-set stills and promotional photos; a DVD-ROM file containing copies of court documents from the film's obscenity review; and an insert containing detailed liner notes about the story's journey to the screen.

I'll admit, with this historical background to put things in perspective, "Quiet Days in Clichy" may have something to say after all - even if it's only to illustrate Joey's vision of an ideal life: "A good meal, a good fuck - what better way to pass the day?"