It's a war of food vs. sex as Mexicali Rose and Fantasy Video slug it out in the courts.

by Mike Gibson

On a quiet Sunday evening, Papermill Road's beleaguered Fantasy Video hardly seems worthy of the attention it has drawn of late—attention in the unwelcome form of imperiling legal maneuvers launched by both the city of Knoxville and the store's disapproving fellow building tenant, the Mexicali Rose Mexican restaurant.

But the mainspring of the pending litigation isn't the cluster of densely-stocked movie shelves that greet customers upon entering the clean, drab little rental hall, but rather the verboten video treasures that lie behind the ceiling-high dual partitions that separate the general audience portion of the store from its extensive selection of "adult" fare.

According to city spokesman Craig Griffith, the Fantasy Video (AKA Entertainment Resources LLC) saga began in June when brothers Vincent and Jeffrey Bohannon, Entertainment Resources partners and owners of three other video stores in Nashville and Columbia, Tenn., tried to open a rental operation in North Knoxville off Bruhin Road.

The siblings were rebuffed by the city on the grounds that their chosen location, in close proximity to the Inskip public pool as well as a number of homes and apartments, would put them in violation of an ordinance governing the location of adult-oriented businesses. The ordinance stipulates, among other things, that adult bookstores, video halls, and other such vendors of the risqué cannot operate within 1,000 feet of a residential area, recreational facility, or any establishment that sells alcohol.

Undaunted, the brothers opened Fantasy Video in August at 6422 Papermill Road, in a small building that is also home to Mexicali Rose, the city's oldest operational Mexican eatery (and an establishment that serves both beer and mixed drinks). But the new location has only served to escalate hostilities, as the restaurant has joined the city in filing suit against the store, alleging that the video store's less-than-wholesome image has wrought havoc with business. Fantasy, meanwhile, has filed its own claim against the city, charging that the ordinance is unconstitutional, rife with vague language and sweeping caveats.

The furor surrounds Fantasy's carnal array of titillating video product. None of the offending tapes are visible upon entering the store; on a quiet Sunday evening (a night when Mexicali, as luck would have it, is closed), three friendly middle-aged gentlemen standing behind the rental counter earnestly offer assistance in navigating either the tamer front-room section or the larger "adult" gallery in the rear, demarcated only by the aforementioned partitions and an imposing yellow sign to ward off under-age patrons. (Another, smaller sign, saucily-worded, warns patrons not to park too far toward the Mexicali side of the front lot, lest their autos be usurped by the "parking monster." One of the men is heard to mutter that the Rose proprietor is "always over there," keeping a watchful eye, even when the restaurant sits dark and dormant.)

Once past the barrier, Fantasy presents a stunningly broad selection of randily-adorned video boxes, thoughtfully arranged according to subject matter ("Bondage and Domination," "Fetish and Specialty," "Alternative Male," ...). Titles include classics like "Fresh Flesh" and "Bunghole Adventures" and "Between the Cheeks" and an infinite variety of clever double-entendres involving the verb "lick"...

The adult section is well hidden from even the store's "general audience" customers, however, and is bereft of window displays, peep show booths, explicit magazines, sexual gimcracks, and other hallmarks of seedier adult-oriented business. (On this particular Sunday evening, the only visitors are a nosy reporter and a ball-capped young man in his mid-twenties, his girlfriend left to sit in sheepish silence in the passenger's seat of his subcompact car.)

According to Griffith, the Bohannons can presumably remove the business from "adult" classification by reducing their inventory of sexually explicit films, such that the adult section no longer comprises a "substantial" portion of its collection. Therein lies one of several points of contention.

Fantasy Video attorney David Eldridge maintains the business has reduced its number of adult selections, and that the taboo section of the video store now contains no more than 30 to 40 percent of its total inventory. (Based on a visual survey, the estimate seems a bit overstated, although the percentage is difficult to assess due to the wider spacing granted the adult rentals.) But from opening day, the city has policed Fantasy's taboo quotient by sending the inspection bureau of the Knoxville Police Department on regular sojourns to the video store (sojourns which since Nov. 4 have resulted in 35 fines levied against the business for violation of the ordinance, fines that total more than $3,000 when the $50 reproof is figured in with a standard $40 court fee.)

In an affidavit, Vincent Bohannon alleges that the store has sought, through the city attorney's office, advice on how best to comply with the ordinance, in terms of both product percentage and store location, but that the city has refused to answer either query, advising that the only sure means of compliance entails closing the video store outright. In an interview, Eldridge notes that "there are definitional issues. Just what is a 'significant' reduction? We haven't found out. It's also very difficult to find any place that isn't 1,000 feet from one of the areas specified in the ordinance."

Griffith was uncertain as to the specific guidelines and had not yet spoken with city attorney Mark Hartsoe, Knoxville's point man on the Fantasy case, as of Monday afternoon. He acknowledges, however, that the city is waging a campaign against Fantasy and its vending of adult-oriented viewing material, and admits that "the courts have given little guidance as to what 'substantial' is or isn't."

In the meantime, the Rose is pursuing, via its own lawsuit, a court-ordered closing of the video store. Proprietor Robert E. Kurth, a retired Los Angeles police captain, blames the rental hut for all manner of misfortune, alleging that the business's arrival has fueled a spate of loitering, littering, drunken disturbance, and even a couple of recent burglaries. His strongly-worded affidavit avers that "time-honored, weekly customers" have discontinued their patronage of Mexicali Rose, and that "if the current trend continues, (the restaurant) will be forced out of business..."

In response, the Bohannons claim that such riff-raffery has no connection to their business, and that neither their employees nor the Mexicali diners have made any note of loiterers or other undesirables. (Vincent Bohannon says the restaurant has complained of video visitors "parking in spaces (it) believes are reserved for its patrons," thus prompting the aforementioned sign.) They have volunteered to hire security personnel on a nightly basis to ensure that incidents of questionable conduct remain infrequent.

Viewed in passing on an average night, nestled in that sedate section of Papermill between the 1-40 overpass and the bustle of Kingston Pike, neither establishment seems capable of provoking the level of discord currently swirling around the reality of their coexistence. And none of the parties involved are at liberty to address the brouhaha in any detail, given that all of the court actions are still pending.

To date, the city has filed suit in Chancery Court, a claim that Kurth and Mexicali joined at a November hearing presided over by Chancellor Daryl Fansler. Fansler also authorized an emergency inspection of the store by city officials.

In the meantime, Fantasy and the Bohannons failed in an effort to gain a temporary injunction against the city, an action that, at least for now, would have stemmed the flow of citations. They await a March hearing on the constitutionality of the city ordinance, and are seeking to have the city's action combined with the countersuit in the federal arena.

And at 6422 Papermill, the happily unwitting clientele of both establishments maintain their nightly patronage (choosing either massage tapes or margaritas, depending on their preference) as if nothing ever happened.