Vixen - Little Caprice - Taking Control ★ Working
That pause is the thesis of the scene. By denying immediate gratification, she re-centers the narrative on her own curiosity rather than his anticipation. Control, in this context, is the ability to say "not yet." Cinema scholar Laura Mulvey famously coined the term "male gaze" to describe how visual media traditionally frames women as objects of male desire. Taking Control attempts a cinematic reversal. The camera does not leer at Caprice; it follows her lead. When Blanco touches her, the camera focuses on her facial expressions—her slight smirk, the flutter of her eyelids, the way she bites her lower lip. We are not watching her be desired; we are watching her desire.
That philosophy is evident in every frame. When she finally takes the lead position, it is not framed as a spectacle for the viewer, but as a moment of mutual revelation. Her rhythm is not for the camera; it is for herself. The scene’s climax—pun unintended—is not a single act, but the prolonged moment of eye contact where Blanco silently asks for permission, and she grants it with a nod. Consent, here, is not a contract signed off-camera; it is the central erotic act. Taking Control was released in 2019, but its resonance has only grown in the post-#MeToo era. It arrived at a cultural moment where conversations about agency, enthusiastic consent, and the male gaze were entering mainstream living rooms. While mainstream Hollywood struggled to depict sex realistically, here was a five-minute scene from an adult studio that accomplished what Oscar-nominated dramas could not: it showed that female dominance is not about emulating male aggression, but about reclaiming patience. Vixen - Little Caprice - Taking Control
For viewers accustomed to the frantic pace of traditional adult content, Taking Control may feel almost uncomfortable in its stillness. But that stillness is the point. In a world that often tells women to be acted upon, watching a woman act—with patience, with intelligence, and with undeniable charisma—is the most subversive thing of all. That pause is the thesis of the scene
The scene is a masterclass in pacing. Where typical scenes rush toward a mechanical conclusion, Taking Control luxuriates in the "before." Caprice spends nearly four minutes of screen time simply undressing Blanco—not with hurried efficiency, but with deliberate, almost meditative focus. She removes his shirt button by button, trailing her fingertips across his collarbone. When she reaches his belt, she pauses. She smiles. She walks away. Taking Control attempts a cinematic reversal
At first glance, the title seems straightforward. But for fans of the Czech-born star Little Caprice (real name Markéta Štroblová), this scene is not merely another performance; it is a manifesto. It marks a departure from the passive muse archetype and plants Caprice firmly in the driver’s seat—not just of the action, but of the gaze itself. To understand the scene, one must first understand the Vixen aesthetic. Director Greg Lansky’s signature style avoids the garish sets and aggressive pacing of traditional adult content. Instead, Taking Control opens with a slow, sun-drenched wide shot. The setting is a minimalist, high-end loft—neutral linens, soft shadows, afternoon light filtering through sheer curtains. This is not a "casting couch" or a sterile set; it is a sanctuary.
One particularly striking sequence involves Caprice guiding Blanco’s hands. She places his palms on her hips, then removes them. She places them on her breasts, then shakes her head "no" with a playful grin. She is teaching him how to touch her in real time. The vulnerability traditionally assigned to the female performer is shifted onto the male, who follows her cues with attentive humility. He is not the conqueror; he is the student. What elevates Taking Control from a well-directed scene to a signature piece is Little Caprice’s dual role. Off-camera, Caprice is also a producer and director through her own studio, Caprice Dreams . She has spoken extensively about the industry’s historical tendency to script female pleasure as a reaction to male action.