Adventures with NuvaRing

A NuvaRing vaginal ring that delivers etonogestrel and ethinyl estradiol

The photo: A NuvaRing vaginal ring hormone delivery device. NuvaRing is flexible, transparent, and colorless to almost colorless ring, with an outer diameter of 54 mm and a cross-sectional diameter of 4 mm. NuvaRing contains 11.7 mg etonogestrel and 2.7 mg ethinyl estradiol. The ring releases etonogestrel and ethinyl estradiol at an average amount of 0.120 mg and 0.015 mg respectively per 24 hours, over a period of 3 weeks. After three weeks the old ring is removed and the user inserts a new one after a seven day hormone free interval. The progestin is the same one used in the single rod implant Nexplanon.

Adolph gets a live-in teen: Adolph’s eighteen y/o niece, Andrea, will be staying with him for a while. He said she was expelled from a Swiss finishing school after being caught fucking the Head Master who claimed she seduced him. It might have been hushed up but for the fact that it was his wife with their three month old daughter who caught him humping her on his desk with her calves on his shoulders.

She arrived while we were in Davos and I met her this past Wednesday. He wants me to kit her out with what he calls “the usual female pelvic equipment and shoes” Fortunately she is a swimmer and has taken eight years of pointe having gotten her first pair of pointes when she was ten. She wears Schachtner, and has kept using them. I’m putting her in Gaynors as she is going to use them primarily for seducing men in the venues at Naughty Pleasures and for ballet-sex not that they both aren’t closely related. The only down side is that Andrea has been, inexplicably (in my view) using the vaginal ring, NuvaRing, for contraception. Not that it isn’t effective, it is. However, it can easily be pulled out by a partner’s corona or fall out during sex or worse is easily sabotaged by exchanging the good one for a counterfeit or an old ring that has been worn and emptied of its deliverable hormones. While she has lovely Vaganova technique she lacks stamina but putting her on a training regimen and she should be up to speed with my wards an several months.

Andrea’s VA: I accompanied her through her routine Gyn workup with Chris, our male Gyn. A complete pelvic, full STI panel, urine and serum pregnancy tests then an ultra sound and found she was 6 weeks preggers. I had so hoped this was going to be simple… Sigh! She claimed she didn’t know, but when she tested positive she didn’t seem surprised so she at least expected she might be. It seems she had forgotten to insert a new ring after her ring-free week and was four days late when she remembered, meaning she was eleven days w/o hormones so she ovulated and one of the faculty or the Head Master impregnated her. She was a very popular girl with the faculty and has no idea which of the five was the father.

Fortunately Her Mom, Adolph’s half-sister, has given him legal authority to make medical decisions on her behalf, but at 18 she is considered an adult in the U.S. so her mom didn’t have to be notified when she had the vacuum aspiration on Thursday. A stringless GyneFix copper IUD was inserted immediately after the termination and she has been put on a regimen of antibiotics. She was told not to have sex for two weeks, but I think the best we are going to be able to do is keep her out of the pool for two weeks and hope that the meds she is on keep her from getting PID. We are going to have her sexual partners, all screened escort candidates, wear condoms to minimize the introduction of her partner’s bacteria into her reproductive tract while she is healing.

Andrea’s kitting out continues: I had her up and out early on Friday. She’s on the antibiotic every 12 hours and on 800 mg of ibuprofen every 8 to minimize the discomfort if she cramps. She isn’t bleeding which I thought amazing so we are hoping that her uterus will recover quickly. I took her to Gepettos for fitting of her ballet-boots and had the Gaynor Minden rep stop by to fit her with hard shank GMs in her size. Fortunately she has a mid-size female foot so her size was in stock and we started with three pairs and put another 6 on hold until we are certain what size she may need when her cycles resume and she retains fluid during her menses.  We went by my Divemaster’s SCUBA shop and bought her an OTS Guardian FFM in a small like mine and a Scubapro back inflated Ladyhawk BC.  And we stopped by Fasteners, our casinos BDSM boutique, and got her several sets of Pyrex and surgical stainless steel Ben Wa Balls and a large Pyrex dildo. We went to Neiman Marcus and I bought her a Coach cosmetic case to use as a slit kit and began filling it with a selection of male and female condoms and10ml prefilled disposable vaginal applicators of DiveGel+ and other pelvic needs.

I can’t have her fitted for Penetrator and sports plugs and I can’t fit her for a latex Reflexions flat spring rim diaphragm until her cervix recovers from the cannula insertion for the termination. It shouldn’t make much difference as there had been no cervical enfacement nor vaginal stretching, but it’s best to wait a few weeks and let her pelvic anatomy return to its normal state before fitting her for a flood insurance barrier. I just need to keep her from having sex in a pool.

Pressure from Adolph: He is after me to take Andrea into my home as the fifth of my Wards. I don’t really want to be responsible for guidance of another hypersexual teen, but I have the room and she gets along well with Bea, Willow and the Swan twins, especially Odile because they are both quite dominant so view the world of men through the same lens. Realistically it would be much more convenient having her live with my wards and me and there is no one better equipped than I am to guide her through Courtesan College which she wants to attend while she is taking classes at UNLV.

On the plus side her father is an extremely wealthy aristocrat and industrialist and her mom is famous for her BDSM parties. So taking Andrea in hand as a favor to her parents (They’ve been in touch with me after I told Adolph no for the third time) could pay off big time. Tanaquil has supplied escorts for a number of Andrea’s mom’s parties and said her Mom is an amazing Domme who I would enjoy meeting.

Andrea’s one vice is her passion for men; their hair, muscles, scent, taste, looks – she has this thing about men with cleft chins - and the feel of them rock hard plunging into her trying with every thrust to push her cervix up into her throat.  I have a great deal of sympathy for that sort of obsession as I was that way at her age and still am twenty plus years later. I just need to train her to harness her obsession, be a bit more cautious and ride it safely for her pleasure rather than letting it control her.

Extreme training for Black Swan

A pair of Natalie’s pointe shoes worn during filming Black Swan

Yahoo Movies
MOVIE TALK
by Erin Carlson
September 2, 2010

Natalie Portman Trained To The Extreme For Ballet Drama 'Black Swan'

Natalie Portman is earning early raves - and Oscar buzz - for her role as an unhinged ballerina in the upcoming psycho-drama "Black Swan". The 29-year-old actor fully immersed herself in the part, which required hours upon hours of extreme training.

Portman, who studied dance until she 13 years old, got a jump on her preparation for the film.

"Physically, I trained starting a year ahead of time, and then the six months prior to [shooting] the film, went into a sort of hyper training, where I was doing five hours a day of both ballet and cross training with swimming," she told reporters at a press conference at the Venice Film Festival, where "Black Swan" debuted to glowing reviews Wednesday night.

The much-talked-about film, directed by Darren Aronofsky, opens in theaters December 1, just in time for Oscar consideration. Portman portrays Nina, a repressed star ballerina whose devotion to her art takes a wild turn when a talented rival (Mila Kunis) enters her life and throws her life off balance.

Portman began learning the choreography several months before filming began last December. "It was very extreme, and the mindset during the film was just sort of extreme discipline and focus and obsession ... which was fantastic," she said.

The grueling sessions paid off in other ways: The dance lessons sparked a romance between Portman and Benjamin Millepied, a principal dancer for the New York City Ballet, who helped choreograph scenes for "Black Swan." According to an interview with Details magazine, he can't resist texting his "girlfriend" and "Swan" co-star (he also has a small part in the movie).

But back to the movie itself: The images in the promotional material and trailer are dark, haunting, and terrifying. Portman, who has already been praised by various critics for leaving her comfort zone and taking risks in an edgier role, is shown in several scenes with bloodshot red eyes and stark white makeup.

It's not the first time she's undergone a radical makeover for a role. The pixie-ish actor - renowned for her beauty - shaved her head near-bald for the politically charged movie "V for Vendetta."

But with "Black Swan," Portman's acting immersion might pay off with something that has eluded her slender grasp: an Oscar. She was previously nominated for a supporting role in 2004's "Closer," in which she portrayed a gentleman's club dancer (who wore a really cool pink wig).

After a mini career slump ("New York, I Love You," anyone?), she seems to have lined up a series of parts in buzzier projects. She landed the "Black Swan" gig and other high-profile roles, spanning from blockbuster ("Thor") to highbrow ("Pride and Prejudice and Zombies"). With "Black Swan," she has doubtlessly bridged the gap between both.

Personal comment: Playing Nina, a corps member given an opportunity to be first cast in an iconic role we should hope the Natalie developed a hardbody for the role! If she took ballet until she was 13 perhaps she had several years of pointe.

."It was very extreme, and the mindset during the film was just sort of extreme discipline and focus and obsession”

Ohhh? Welcome to the world of a professional ballet dancer! Coming back to pointe after 15 years out of pointe shoes must have been an experience, but far better tolerated with professional trainers and adult muscles and bone structure and the motivation of a staring role than as an adolescent with so many other calls on her time. I hope the role of Nina will be one in which Natalie can influence young women to take up ballet as an adult exercise for the challenges and thrills working en pointe can bring.

Pointe shoes as an obsession

Dead pointe shoes heavily scented with estrogenic sweat

Pay-back fantasies: For those members who want a ballet fantasy with their intimate encounter Splash offers T-Gs clad in a thong back tutus (for ease of penetration from the rear) in small private ballet studios with mirror and barre to help the client work out his frustrations. This is the environment that Gigi excels in since she has so much ballet training and the pelvic muscles of her velvet vice are already becoming so well known that repeat clients now think of her as ‘pussy en pointe’. She loves helping them through energetic intimate ballet workouts to expel their mental demons and exhaust their sexual frustrations even if the relief is only temporary.

So many men seem to have an amazing amount of anger they have been carrying for ages, often from their teen years when they couldn’t get the girl they wanted. You know the one I mean. The girl with the long, long legs, in the sheer tights, the thong bottom tutu and Capezio toe-shoes, who was student body president and who danced the Dying Swan at a school program that had every boy 14 or older trying to conceal a boner after watching her bourrées and développés. The girl he lusted after so badly he got blue balls in history class just from sitting in the same room with her. You know the sort of girl I mean, the one who dated the captain of the football team and was on the pill since she was 15 so her partners didn’t have to wear a condom. The one who didn’t know he was alive even though (in his mind) he had tried to talk to her but was so in awe of her he could hardly say his name much less carry on a conversation. If you asked he would tell you he tried to think of a way to steal one of her used tampons then found she used pads as well on her heavy days to prevent leaks during the exertion of pointe class. So he raided the girl’s bathroom and scrounged through the sanitary napkin bin, but never could tell which of the bloody pads and tampons was hers. If you asked when he was drunk he would tell you that he ended up taking them all and the blood and mucus stank unbelievably for a few weeks as it rotted in the pads and absorbent cotton plugs in his room at home and his mom wanted to know what the stench was and he told her it was a science experiment, which in a weird way I suppose it was.

Portrait of an obsession: He was so obsessed by the girl he wanted so badly and couldn’t have that he finally had to settle for dumpster diving to recover something he could be certain had belonged to her and he found it, a dead pair of her Capezio Contempora pointes from her ballet school’s dumpster. He was fortunate then to find that the pair were tied together by their ribbons and had her name in ballpoint on the soles so he knew they were hers. If asked he would tell you that he remembered finding that pair of her toe-shoes 20 years ago as though it happened yesterday. He would tell you that pair of her Capezios were still damp and smelled of her sweat, liniment, rosin and perfume. They still had the ribbons and elastics on them and the soles, platforms and backs were covered with stage grime and powdered rosin. The satin on the blocks had been cut away for traction and the canvas, paper and paste of the platforms were shredded and soft from wear and they were the most beautiful thing he had ever seen! But to him the most amazing thing of all was that there was still the cotton padding in the toe boxes and the cotton in the right shoe was stained brown with her dried blood! If asked he would remember marveling at that thinking no one as lovely and accomplished as that girl could possibly bleed, though he had heard that pointe work was painful and sometimes a dancer’s toes bled.

Pointe worship: And so, for the next 20 years those pink satin Capezios the satin now badly faded had formed the centerpiece of an altar to the goddess of dance, Terpsichore, at which he worshiped and would pay homage to her shoes which he had come to see as the epitome of female erotica because they combined beauty of design as well as the best aspects of bondage having her feet bound with wide satin ribbons into shoes that were very painful when the woman was en pointe (or so he fantasized) while showing the wearer’s feet and legs to their best advantage and tightening her pelvic muscles so that en pointe she was unbelievably tight during sexual intercourse. In homage to such erotic footwear he would masturbate in their presence least once a day when he wasn’t traveling.

Feeding an obsession: A man affected that way needs a periodic shoe fix and often if he can dates dancers for their shoes because pointes bought new, unless he has someone to break them in for him, have only potential and no real character – or so he thinks – because they haven’t been sweated and bled in and have no signs of loving customization that makes worn pointes an extension of the dancer herself. He will beg, buy or steal them if necessary from the women he dates. And, occasionally he will find a dancer who didn’t think him too weird when he asked her to balance en pointe bent over a table or the practice barre in her apartment so he could penetrate her doggie style. Every few weeks he needs additional recently worn pointes to get the scent of a woman’s feet, her sweat and perhaps there is just the tiniest whiff of her ballet partner’s semen if she is a professional dancer and likes her partner to cum in her shoes (for good luck) before the first performance of each new role she dances.

Periodic release: My psychiatrist says a man does not get over that sort of an obsession. He says it feeds his emotions and colors his thinking for the rest of his life. And that is the very sort of men who are drawn to and frequent Splash. They are obsessive in the extreme, sometimes delusional and often extremely rough if not brutal during a sexual encounter with a partner costumed as a ballet dancer. A Towel-Girl often is - in her client’s mind - the high school girl or profession ballerina he lusted after, but could never have. And so his fantasies and years of frustration and rage run wild while with a very young Towel-Girl at Splash. On the plus side, if the T-G survives the encounter that sort of man is usually a very generous tipper.

Night Fights and obsession

Her mouthpiece torn out during a night fight

An insemination project: Jacques was in Bavaria on a project for a week after the first of the year. He is in demand as a sire for much of the reproductive age European aristocracy who need an acceptable sperm donor. The mission he agreed to accept was to inseminate a 28 y/o German Countess, Katrina, whose husband was emasculated during a saber duel over her. Her husband’s doctors assured him there was nothing to worry about and that with micro-surgery everything would be just fine after an interval of recovery, but that’s not what happened. He could get an erection but his sperm count was extremely low so that for all practical purposes he shoots blanks. As often as he fucked her – several times a day while she was fertile - she didn’t conceive, so she decided on an approved donor and since she loves to swim decided to have his sperm deposited hard against her cervix the natural way, during dive-sex in the castle pool.

Stalked: Katrina was Jacques sixth European aristocratic client and she was a difficult one because she is headstrong and has always gotten her way. The Count is in Africa on safari and would be away for several months so she lacked the affection she badly needed. One common side effect of having such an intimate insemination is an emotional attachment between the woman and her donor and that’s what happened. She developed an emotional attachment to Jacques so strong that she began to stalk him while he was still in Europe on business. He thought he had managed to lose her, but she had followed him back to Vegas and unbeknownst to us - since I’m his primary lover - she had targeted me thinking if she could get rid of me she could have Jacques. That sort of thinking is pure fantasy I know, but I think that is how she saw her chance to possess Jacques. Jacques had no idea she was in Vegas and I didn’t know she existed when we accepted an invitation from another casino owner to a Night Fight party at his home in the hills. He is a rubber fetishist and diver and enjoys dive-sex and occasionally invited a few likeminded couples to a get-together for an orgy of partner swapping and dive-sex in his 40 foot deep pool with most of the lights turned off. Jacques and I had been to one of his Night Fights in December and enjoyed it so we thought another near-rape experience would be fun.

Envy, lust and adrenaline: None of the women knew one another, or so I thought, and we all wore very similar 2 mm neoprene SwimSkins with crotch zippers, hoods, gloves, booties and flippers so the men couldn’t tell us apart with our masks on and regulators in our mouths. While we were still in the ladies dressing room I asked if everyone was wearing a gas guard and they all said or nodded yes so we were all protected to that extent. The ‘Rules’ of a Night Fight are that there are no rules other than it’s considered cheating to drown an opponent. Women can fight women for a man. Men can fight each other for a woman. Men and women can fight to prevent one going with a different partner or being raped so there is an amazing amount of adrenaline fueled by envy, lust or fear released in a relatively small space. SCUBA gear for all is wetsuits, masks and regulators (no FFMs) so that it’s easier to flood an opponent’s or lover’s mask or pull his or her regulator from a mouth. All of the women wore twin-hose regs so we could see better w/o having to look through our bubbles and one wore a dive-knife which I thought was strange.

Survival: As soon as everyone was suited up the lights were turned off and the women went into the pool first. And when we were spread out then the men entered the water. I noticed right away that another woman, the chick with the dive knife, was in my space, far too close and behind me and so I swam to the bottom and backed against a wall so no one could get behind or below me and looked up. From the bottom it was easier to see the divers silhouetted against the dim surface lighting. I watched the shadows of the other players and a man started down toward me, but before he could get to me the woman invading my space was back and she grabbed my right hose and tried to yank my mouthpiece out. She might have been successful if I hadn’t had my spit-strap fastened. When that didn’t work she brought her right leg up and unsheathed her dive knife. I was trying to push her away when she grabbed my air hose – the right one that supplied fresh gas - again and tried to cut it. The titanium mesh in the corrugated hoses prevented her from puncturing much less severing it and gave me time to react. I jerked the mouthpiece out of her mouth just as she was inhaling and she swallowed a lot of water and was never able to recover. I broke the wrist of her knife hand and she dropped her knife and began to vomit which was a bad sign for her because there is no way to clear a submerged vomiting diver’s throat so she either inhales vomit or water when she tries to inflate her lungs. She suddenly stopped struggling and was unresponsive, not a good sign but it made it easier to get her to the surface

Wetsuit mascarriage: At that point I knew the fight was over and I found myself trying to prevent her drowning. I dropped both our weight belts and the buoyancy of our wetsuits floated us in an uncontrolled ascent to the surface. We hadn’t been down more than a few minutes so I took a chance that neither of us would get DCS and fortunately we didn’t. When I got her to the surface I pulled out my mouthpiece and yelled for the EMTs. The EMT crew that was on standby pulled her out of the pool and took over. Jacques had noticed a diver in trouble and come to help though not recognizing me in my equipment until I got to the surface and my face was no longer obscured by my mask and reg. As soon as the EMT pulled off the unresponsive diver’s mask and hood Jacques recognized her as the German Countess who had been stalking him and told the doctor in charge that she might be pregnant. Her heart had stopped but they managed to get it started again with a defibrillator Then they placed a tracheal intubation tube and tried to suction out some of the vomit and water and then placed her on oxygen in a portable ventilator.. Jacques said she nearly drowned. I think it’s more correct to say she drowned and they nearly brought her back to life. When the EMTs cut her wetsuit off they found blood and fetal tissue in her vagina where she had spontaneously aborted the baby Jacques had given her.

Clouded judgment: Neither Jacques nor I can explain why a diver with her experience would dive while pregnant or not have her spit-strap fastened if she intended to get into an underwater fight. Unless she was so obsessed with Jacques and therefore hated me so intensely that her determination to rid herself of the woman who she thought stood between her and Jacques clouded her judgment. I’m not sure that me pulling the reg out of her mouth so she inhaled all that water caused her to vomit or if it was because of the effects of water pressure on her pregnancy. No one will ever know for sure. When they got her back to the private hospital that the fetish community uses for this sort of accident they put her on a larger respirator which is breathing for her and her heart is circulating blood but the brain wave monitor they connected her to shows there is no brain wave activity so she is brain dead. The Dowager Countess is trying to find her son in Africa to tell him that his wife died during a swimming accident while vacationing in the U.S. The hospital will need the family’s permission to pull the plug on the ventilator. Meanwhile her lovely body is in a permanently vegetative state. The hospital orderlies look at a patient in her situation as being a freebie because they can mount her and finish inside her with no fear of pregnancy or anyone complaining. Afterward they just need to suction out the semen and change the sheets.

The Red Shoes - Part II

Title from the 1948 film

The New York Times
November 8, 2009
Op-Ed Columnist

Ballet’s Mean Streets

By MAUREEN DOWD

Some movies you have to watch whenever they’re on.

One of those, for me, is “The Red Shoes.” Like its doomed heroine, I’m pulled inexorably along by the bewitched crimson ballet slippers into a lush, swirling landscape that turns into an inescapable, bloody hell.

There are many great works of art about obsession, from Heathcliff’s wailing to Ahab’s whaling, but this is surely the most gorgeously haunting. The destructive obsession portrayed here is not with a lover or outside object of desire. It’s about the tyranny of creativity.

As the white-skinned, blue-blooded ballerina Vicky Page, Moira Shearer dons the red slippers and is forced to choose between love and art.

There was never a screen pairing more magical than Moira and Technicolor. The flame-haired Scottish dancer is so radiant in the Criterion DVD of the 1948 classic directed by Michael Powell and Emeric Pressburger that it’s impossible to believe she could glow more brightly. But in the lovingly polished version of the British movie that debuted at Cannes and is now showing at Film Forum in New York, Moira is even more incandescent.

The original backers of the movie had so little confidence that a stylized tragic ballet film could do well that they didn’t even give it an official London premiere.

Now Martin Scorsese calls “The Red Shoes” “one of the true miracles of film history.” He long ago began an obsessive campaign to restore Powell’s reputation. His Film Foundation and the UCLA Film and Television Archive have taken the lead in digitally alchemizing the movie from cracked, shrunk, moldy negatives.

Scorsese fell in love with the movies of Powell and Pressburger when he was an asthmatic kid living in a four-room tenement apartment in New York, watching “Million Dollar Movie” on TV and going to theaters with his dad.

“They have a flair and flamboyance you don’t usually find in films being made at that time,” he told me. “And a fearlessness about emotion. They create worlds that take no prisoners.”

In “Black Narcissus,” their 1947 movie about a lustful nun in the Himalayas, played by Deborah Kerr — they seemed drawn to redheads for Technicolor — the sister faints from sexual desire and the screen goes orange. “That’s such a wonderful way to express desire,” Scorsese marveled.

In a letter to Kerr in the early ’40s, Pressburger laid out their manifesto, including: “No artist believes in escapism. And we secretly believe that no audience does. We have proved, at any rate, that they will pay to see the truth, for no other reason than her nakedness.”

In the early ’70s, Scorsese tracked down the broke and discredited Powell in London and took him to a pub.

“Michael was very surprised to hear that his films had thrilled a younger audience and given fuel to the imagination of myself and Brian De Palma and Francis Coppola,” Scorsese once recalled. “He went home that night and recorded in his diary that he felt his blood course through his veins again after meeting us in the bar.”

In 1980, Coppola invited Powell to become a consultant at Zoetrope Studios. He moved to America and married Scorsese’s film editor, Thelma Schoonmaker.

It is interesting that Powell twice counseled Scorsese against the color red. He didn’t like the red boxing gloves in the early rushes of “Raging Bull” and urged Scorsese to switch to a black-and-white film. (He did.) Powell told him “Mean Streets” had too much red lighting and he should take some out. (He didn’t.)

“The Red Shoes” is based on a Hans Christian Andersen fairy tale of the same name about a little girl who becomes vain about her red shoes and gets confused about her priorities. As in the movie, the shoes force the girl to dance day and night, and then she dies. But the fable has an even grimmer coda: The girl asks an executioner to cut off her feet.

The shimmering Moira Shearer could never take off the red shoes, either.

“To be constantly associated with that one film is really quite dismaying,” she once said. “It’s as though I’d done nothing else in my life. I mean, it’s odd, when you’re 61, to be haunted by something you’ve done when you were 21!”

She resisted doing the movie, finding the script “silly and banal”; she feared it would deflect her from a classical ballet career. And when she died at 80 in 2006, her husband dismissively called her film work “a bit of a distraction.”

Shearer said she faced hostility when she returned to the ballet world from some who considered her overnight movie fame frivolous. She always worried that she was succeeding more for her looks than her dancing.

She was eclipsed by Margot Fonteyn, married, had four children and receded. She wrote a book about her experiences with George Balanchine. As Clive Barnes wrote in Dance Magazine, “She had a disappointing and disappointed dance career.”

In later years, Shearer was asked to give her occupation in “Who’s Who.”

“Writer,” she replied.

Personal comment: It would be interesting to know what Shearer’s career would have been like in classical ballet if she had not done the film. Dame Nanette de Valois the founder of Sadler’s Wells Ballet as the company was known at the time of the film could be every bit as emperious as Boris Lermontov and Margot Fonteyn was the star. Many incredably talented women languished in Fonteyn’s shadow during her too long career with de Valois’s companies. When the company toured the U.S. after The Red Shoes became a huge hit in America everyone wanted to see Shearer dance rather than Fonteyn and management, and one presumes Fonteyn, were not happy. Here is The Red Shoes trailer from the un-restored original film.