Long before porn went new wave and LA had its plastic-slick assembly line of stepmom smut, there was Behind the Green Door — the film that kicked in the door (green or otherwise) and let hardcore slip into the American mainstream like a cumshot in slow motion. (Literally like a cumshot in slow motion.)

It was 1972. Nixon was busy lying, Deep Throat was more than a movie title, and the San Francisco porn underground was about to go supernova. Behind the Green Door wasn’t the first adult film to show real penetration, but it was the first to do it with style. And the stars aligned — right along with a 22-year-old ex-beauty queen with cheekbones like switchblades.

Enter Marilyn Chambers.

America knew her as the wholesome blonde on the box of Ivory Snow detergent — “99 and 44/100% pure,” said the tagline, with little Marilyn cradling a baby like the virgin mother of laundry soap. What they didn’t know was that same girl was about to go balls-deep into a hallucinatory orgy on 16mm film with the big black cock of Johnnie Keyes.

The Mitchell Brothers — Jim and Artie — found her at a casting call. She was eager, gorgeous, and hungry to break into acting. They knew instantly they had lightning in a bottle — if that bottle were covered in KY and set to funk music.

In the film, Chambers plays Gloria, a silent, wide-eyed woman kidnapped (sort of?) and brought to a mysterious sex club where she’s put on display. What follows is an increasingly surreal — and shockingly interracial — orgy where Marilyn, eyes glazed, moans through an unscripted sexual awakening like she’s being fucked into enlightenment.

There was no dialogue. Just moaning, panting, and psychedelia. Some people called it art. Others called it obscenity. Everyone watched it.

When the film hit theaters, nobody expected what came next. Some eagle-eyed pervert recognized the starlet from the soap box in their laundry room. Ivory Snow had unwittingly made a porn star their national mascot.

Proctor & Gamble pulled the boxes. Middle America clutched its pearls. But the Mitchell Brothers? They leaned the hell in. They started advertising Marilyn as “the Ivory Soap girl” in all the promos. It was marketing genius. Behind the Green Door raked in millions — all independently, no studio, no middlemen. It made Marilyn Chambers a star, the Mitchell Brothers rich, and the FBI very interested.

SCREW, of course, loved it. Not just because it was hot — but because it felt dangerous. This was pornography kicking down the gates of the country club, dropping its pants, and doing the hustle on the shag carpet.

Jim and Artie Mitchell weren’t your average pornographers. They were part beat poet, part biker gang, and all balls. They ran the O’Farrell Theatre in San Francisco like it was a filthy Vatican — live shows, movie nights, and full-contact insanity. They fought censorship in the courts and fistfights in the lobby. They filmed, produced, and distributed their own shit before anyone else figured out how to monetize wet dreams.

But it wasn’t all brotherly love. The Mitchells had a falling out in the ’90s — Artie spiraled, Jim got sober. It ended in tragedy when Jim shot Artie dead in 1991. The trial was a media circus. Jim claimed self-defense. He got six years. The industry lost one of its pioneers. The other sat in prison. San Francisco lost its last true porn palace. Behind the Green Door became a eulogy.

Behind the Green Door isn’t just a relic — it’s a revolution in celluloid. It proved porn could have aesthetics, ambition, sound design. It helped crack open the door for the “porno chic” era. And Marilyn Chambers? She rode that green wave to legend status, forever sealed as America’s first “accidental” adult icon.

SCREW gave the film a raw-dog 4.5 out of 5 on the PeterMeter. Not perfect — but goddamn close. It would’ve been a 5 if the last scene didn’t get so weirdly interpretive. But hey, we respect ambition.

Watch it here.

—P.

Phil Italiano

Publisher, Visionary, Provocateur

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