Note: Apparently, I’ve angered some with this. Well, life is about discussions. I’d prefer it be about going out and leaping bounds, buildings or doing superhero acts, but at the end of the day, if we want to change things, we have to bring them up first.
I’ve been under the weather for a couple of days; the radiator’s vengeance was coupled with a nice case of stomach flu, (so sorry, Steve!) and so I found myself grousing around, needing a diversion. Darling Ivet suggested that I watch a funny movie, and, instead of going through my collection, I clicked on the flat idiot box, and settled down to watch “Hall Pass.”
The movie has an interesting premise: two couples are at odds within their relationships. The solution? The wives decide to give their husbands a “Hall Pass” – full sexual freedom for one week, no strings attached. Just keep it clean – don’t bring home any bugs.
It’s a far cry from “Bob and Carol and Ted and Alice.”
Our culture has sexually regressed. Youth is revered as the god of all. The 60s and 70s hailed the Sexual Revolution; the new Millenia can tout the Sexual Devolution, where sex has become little more than a handshake between consenting parties.
I found “Hall Pass” to be an abysmal attempt at humor. The film is completely lacking in panache. The two male protagonists are infantile man-children. Anal jokes abound; bad girls shit on the wall, and one character makes repeated references to “Fake Chow.” Most frat boys I know have more intelligence. It’s a train wreck of a film, but not in a good way, for in a good train wreck, you can’t turn away, and in “Hall Pass,” the desire is to just not watch. Or listen.
One part stuck out; I actually texted a friend about it. There’s an accident in a health club in the spa. Two naked men come to help the other guy out. One of the naked men is hugely endowed. We’re talking big. Shot after shot of this huge banana shaped penis with a bright cherry red tip on the end. Just there. In your face. And Owen Wilson’s.
“Is that thing real?” I texted. Pause.
“Sorry, I wouldn’t know,” was the reply.
Truly, I was curious. Still am. I’m fairly certain it was a prosthetic, but I really needed to know…
…for last week I was having a conversation with someone about “Nymphomaniac,” the new Lars Von Trier film, featuring Shia LaBoeuf and others allegedly engaging in actual intercourse. No simulation. Word has it that LaBoeuf sent tapes of his sexual escapades with his girlfriend as an audition. Of course, Stellan Skarsgard has thrown water on the rumor; however, LaBoeuf maintains that he’s doing it for reals.
So, the guy I was talking with leans in. “You know,” he said. “What happens if I find a girl, and ask her to come to this address, and for $5,000.00 she can have sex with me?”
“That’s prostitution,” I replied. “You’d get arrested.”
He held a finger up in the air. “Aha,” he said. “Not if I acquire permits and film it. “
What’s the fine line between prostitution and porno? The acquisition of a permit from Film L.A., Inc.
I am in no way a prude. I understand that society has changed. I understand that marriage is redefined, and I am not talking about the right for all to marry – which I support – but the definition of it in terms of reality. “Til death do us part” was fine and dandy when the average life span was 4o, but those statistics have changed, and people have to serve less time for second degree murder than they do in marriage these days.
That being said, we’ve gone through a pornification of our culture. Where children are dressed and treated as sexual toys. Where high school girls give boys wrist bands, each color signifying a different form of sexual recreation. Where men in their 30s, 40s and 50s on behave like gibbering horn toads, and where young women begin the road to plastic surgery in their early 20s. There’s nothing authentic about it; it’s like a form of mass societal masturbation with a branded dildo. Love-making is reduced to a clinical form of sexual Olympics, with each partner trying to outdo each other on their way to the gold. It’s competitive. It’s rehearsed, calculated and studied.
The internet has played a huge part in this. Internet porn – men watching women masturbate in front of a web cam. The result? A depersonalization of women – and people in general. People have what they consider “relationships” with their choice of porn, and, as porn is readily on the ‘net, people are emboldened to approach the rest of us without hesitation. They cannot differentiate between fantasy and reality. That their edit chip no longer works, that such boundaries are breached is most disconcerting. Objectification runs amok. Oh, yes. She’s never met you. But sure, she’ll go out with you, for she’s just an object you ran across on Facebook.
Porn has taken all the fun out of sex.
…and back to Shia LaBouef. Is this storytelling? Is this something that you want to see? I think LaBouef is a very nice young man, and is a good actor, but, I don’t know. I think I might pass.
Tom Hardy, on the other hand…
Now, go write.
HRH, Princess Scribe