A walk through the controversial Czech photographer's new gallery off Old Town Square is like a graphic public-service announcement for the country's raunchy porn industry. The walls are lined with shots he has taken over the past several decades. The titles alone — The Virgin; Incest; Oh, Those Fabulous F Sisters — speak volumes.

Many of the pictures are of beautiful young girls. Most are naked, happily showing off their breasts and perky rear ends. Occasionally, perhaps in an effort to highlight his versatility, Saudek goes in for a closeup of the male anatomy (The Chains of Love).

Work like this should have an expiration date. It appears, however, to have developed something of a cult following. And Saudek, at 71, has inexplicably been anointed Czech photography's golden child.

The fanfare at the Jan. 17 grand opening party of his Celetná street gallery is a dizzying display of flashbulbs, celebrity sightings and well-heeled society types who seem slightly appalled by the subject material.

To hear one woman tell it, Saudek has started to lose his edge. "His older pictures are more original," the fur-clad party guest comments as she stares intently at one wall of colorful prints. The stuff he is churning out now, though, is "without ideas."

It's hard to say exactly what she means. Looking at his photos, it seems Saudek has always had the same, very explicit ideas. I am still considering this when I spy Saudek. Dressed in a leather jacket and a pair of dark aviator sunglasses, he calls to mind Jack Nicholson — smug, confident, obviously in love with himself.

I watch him in action for a bit, talking to his guests and signing autographs. He clearly enjoys the attention. So it catches me a little by surprise when he abruptly turns on his heel and walks directly to where I am standing.

I hadn't been expecting a personal tete-a-tete, so I quickly pull out the first question that comes to mind: Are you the artist?

Saudek gives me a broad smile. "I'm not an artist," he corrects. "I am a craftsman."

OK. I notice out of the corner of my eye that the news cameras and a gaggle of party guests are transfixed by the awkward exchange. I stare up at the photos hanging in front of me.

"Do you like?" I hear him ask.

I fumble for some polite words to tell the craftsman, but he saves me the embarrassment. "I don't like it either," Saudek says rather matter-of-factly. "I'm just doing it. I'm just taking photographs."

I'm confused. Is he trying to be funny? Is he fishing for a compliment?

I decide to be bold: What's your deal with sex and breasts and naked girls?

Without missing a beat, Saudek answers: "I started my sex life very late — at 19. Now it's everywhere. I satisfy my hunger."

That's the understatement of the year.

Saudek steers the conversation in another direction. He wants to know where I'm from.

California, I mumble. His eyes light up.

"I've never been," he says, and then starts to sing: "I'm leaving on a jet plane, don't know when I'll be back again."

The evening has suddenly turned from odd to bizarre.

I am still trying to figure out how to respond to Saudek's musical outburst when he turns serious again.

"Could you call me somehow?"

Is now a good time to tell him that I don't pose nude — no matter how much money is involved? Digging into my jacket pocket, I hand Saudek a business card and suggest that he call me if he has any more questions.

He takes the card and smiles. "I have to leave," he says. "I'm going to go get drunk."

With that, he disappears into the crowd, shouting over his shoulder, "I'll see you. I'll see you."

I'm not holding my breath.