In Kurt And Courtney, Heidi Fleiss: Hollywood Madam, and Aileen Wuornos: The Selling Of A Serial Killer, documentarian Nick Broomfield displayed an uncanny knack for penetrating closely guarded, unsavory worlds by playing dumb. Simply by acting unassuming, Broomfield prompted low-level manipulators to open themselves up to the camera, be they the drugged-out hangers-on of the Seattle music scene, members of the Hollywood sex trade, or those seeking to profit from the frenzy surrounding a tabloid-friendly crime spree. That approach doesn't work for him in Fetishes, a look inside an expensive New York dominatrix establishment known as Pandora's Box, but its failure helps make the film succeed. Rather than offhandedly deflating his subjects' claims that there's a therapeutic purpose to fulfilling their clients' fantasies of humiliation—whether they involve whipping, baby clothes, elaborate rubber suits, or something else—Broomfield and his film make a strong case in their favor. In a strange way, Broomfield himself takes on the role of a client: Instead of controlling the film and unmasking his subjects' pretensions, he becomes subject to them. That he could hardly ask for more compelling subjects doesn't hurt. In addition to the obvious voyeuristic interest Fetishes incites, the dominatrixes of Pandora's Box display a surprising professional commitment to and thoughtfulness about their trade. And, despite the fact that it shows them in calculatedly humiliating positions, Fetishes comes close to vindicating the customers, as well. There's something almost noble about their willingness to be so up-front about and in touch with their desires, and that helps make the film provocative. To achieve the results he typically achieves in his documentaries, Broomfield could have, given the subject matter, turned Fetishes into a sleazy exposé or sneering dismissal. That he doesn't is to his credit, and to his film's benefit.