There is this wonderful scene at the beginning when Annie Sprinkle walks with her trolley case across the summer grounds of Kampnagel to the rehearsals and Margarita Tsomou starts a discussion about the term “sex worker”. Sprinkle wants to know whether she would also use this term for herself. Tsomou struggles because she does not want to adopt the term, but Sprinkle advocates not only restricting it to the field of prostitution, but also widening it, and allowing many areas of erotic and sexual work under the guise of “sex work” subsume: “We need some hardcore movement for this war on whore”. The more sex workers there are, the greater the movement. The first whores are already waiting in the rehearsal room. Sprinkle, the loving mother of the young whores, welcomes her and once again radiates her joy and pride. Preparations can begin.

Then another wonderful scene later, when a photographer, with the gesture and language of a high-end fashion photographer, gave instructions to Annie Sprinkle, the woman who had been self-directed for decades, and told her how to look. Zimmermann and Richarz accompany Sprinkle here in the style of Direct Cinema, i.e. as quasi invisible observers, capturing very intimate and often funny moments that precede the great performance, far away from the stage sets.

Then sprinkle again in front of an audience: “We have some incredible whores here who will try to create some whore magic for us tonight”. Enthusiastic calls and rustling applause follow. The camera is more agile this time, takes us into the circle of whores who start their ritual holding hands, and watches the performers curiously as they go. The statements are directed against colonization, discrimination, illegalization and violence against sex workers. The field is as far as the performances are different: there is dancing, rubbing oil, meditating, masturbating and fisting. In the end a bow, a collective circle behind the scenes. The ritual, recorded in the film as an encounter and event forever, has ended, but: a whore’s work is never done. The struggles and rituals must continue, as must Annie Sprinkle’s activism and metamorphoses.