I really haven’t written a lot in my career about the role movies have played in defining and/or contributing to my sexuality. There isn’t really a reason for that, except maybe that I just don’t think anyone would ever be interested in what I would have to say.
Between a shaky sex ed program, even in the relatively progressive land of Canada, and the movies, my entire concept of sex was probably on par with everyone else around me. This is still a mostly pre-internet world. Elementary school in the development of my sexuality mostly consisted of very quiet conversations, and occasional screenings of, movies with nudity in them.
It didn’t have to be a lot.
Movies and snippets of conversations gleamed from adults, until someone gave us the basics of anatomy and development in the 5th grade.
Without really getting into any specific stories or experiences, being a kid and figuring this stuff out, the movies were at least important for giving me (and anyone else) ideas about things or people or concepts that might be interesting.
There were women I responded from almost the moment I started watching movies. I didn’t know I had a crush on Winona Ryder in Beetlejuice (and pretty much without pause up to the present), but that was absolutely what happened. Michelle Pfeiffer in Batman Returns, which I saw the weekend it came out, made an impression that was extremely confusing, even uncomfortable, as a kid.
I couldn’t define those feelings, obviously, and I don’t think they were harmful. At that age, all I could really do was just completely understand why Bruce Wayne would be so conflicted. How can you not be?
As I got older, I started putting words and comprehension to the feelings. Movies shaped that to some degree, and I should really sit down someday, think about that subject, and try to write something interesting. It’s complicated, to be sure. Movies have shown me a spectrum of approaches to the idea of sex, even dating.
When I was a teenager, I responded to the characters and the aesthetics of actors like Robin Tunney, Heather Langenkamp, Lisa Wilcox (lots of movie crushes adjacent to A Nightmare on Elm Street), and Harrison Ford. This was where I started to feel like it was okay to appreciate different things for different reasons and in different contexts. You could appreciate something for several reasons. Not always useful, or even healthy, and that’s where some of the harsher life lessons go when you try to apply too much of the movies to reality.
I’m grateful for everything movies showed me in those developmental years. If only because that was definitely still fucking better than abstinence-only sex ed.
But also, because for learning as I go to look beyond the basics of an attractive actor, or a sex scene that makes a variety of impressions on me (the excellent 1996 neo-noir Bound has one). Horror movies showed me that sex could be powerful, exciting, dangerous (we don’t have time to get into that), or even terrifying. I absorbed as much as I could, and I’d like to think at some of that had a positive influence.
At the same time, like a lot of people who tried to make movies their entire personality, film also gave weight to toxic ideas and even expectations of others and myself. I could make life miserable for people, and it’s hard for me to imagine movies didn’t play at least some role in that. That’s another essay for another time, as well.
Present-day me has a strong-but-still-evolving understanding of my sexuality, and the ever-complicated relationship it has to the films I watch. I have a greater appreciation for weird subgenres like sexploitation or vintage porn, but I would be a lot happier if the movies could see their way through to getting horny again.
It just seems strange that sexuality and gender are concepts being opened, celebrated, and fought for like never in my lifetime. Yet it sure seems like mainstream film, at least in America, is more conservative than ever.
Hold on. I’ll tell you the last time I can remember seeing male or female nudity in a new theatrical release.
Hm. Jesus Christ, we might have to go back a while.
Deep Cover (1992): A+
Why this film didn’t go on to become a juggernaut success in 1992 is beyond me. Even taking the possibility of racism into account (the director, noted character actor Bill Duke, is black), I still feel like this movie should have made a bigger impression than it seemingly did.
Oh well. We can’t live in the past all time. Not even watching Deep Cover, which tells the warming story of a friendship between an ambitious, coked-to-the-bug-eyes lawyer (Jeff Goldblum) and an ambitious, haunted undercover cop (Laurence Fishburne), feels like an activity rooted in the past. A few anachronisms aside, Deep Cover has as much crazed energy and self-confidence as virtually anything being made in the present.
I have truly never seen a movie quite like Deep Cover, which runs a gamut of sudden bursts of violence, noirish narration, characters saying some of the most audacious shit I have heard in quite some time, and enough twists to potentially give you whiplash. This movie is a lot in the very best way possible.
Currently available on HBO Max and on physical media via The Criterion Collection, I am begging you to see one of the most exciting, bonkers movies you could hope to watch this year.
Fat City (1972): B+
The versatility of John Huston’s directing career, which nonetheless features a number of recurring themes, is one of my favorite things about film itself. The only director alive I can think of who even comes close to Huston is Steven Soderbergh.
Fat City is a good example of what I’m talking about. The bleakness of this story, in which an older, deeply alcoholic boxer (Stacy Keach, in one of his best) trying to get his life together is pronounced. Shot in grimy, depleted circumstances, with actors disappearing into characters who are utterly and permanently without hope, this is a story of pride and addiction.
Even the talented young prospect who catches the eye of Keach’s character, played by Jeff Bridges (who is basically a toddler in this) is steeped in inevitability. He’s not going to get to Fat City, the fabled notion of an easy life, either.
This kind of movie can wear you down a little. However, I think what it does much more effectively than that is communicate a rich, nuanced, and moving human experience. This is a film made by someone who still clearly loved making movies.
Señorita (2011): B+
A transgender woman quits sex work in Manila to regain control of her life. Of course, as this film, co-written, directed, and starring Isabel Sandoval, is a noir story of redemption and the ferocious, unexpected hurricane that is the past, we know it’s not going to work out especially well for her. At least, not initially.
Steeped in the best traditions and ideals of the genre, Señorita also targets such subjects as transphobia, sex worker visibility, and the perennial outsider scrambling for even a modicum of peace. As Donna becomes embroiled in the unseemly world of local politics, compelled by a deep desire to do good in the world, we are reminded again and again of the many lies she is forced to maintain. Even under the best of circumstances, it seems as though Donna never really gets to even exist as she sees fit, let alone find the peace which drives this intensely fascinating, beautifully shot story.
Señorita is one of the best noirs you haven’t seen yet. Trust me.
Surf Nazis Must Die (1987): C+
More woke garbage from Hollywood! Excuse you, but ALL Surf Nazis must die? Every single one?
That isn’t very tolerant.
Whatever happened to agree to disagree? Have we tried meeting them halfway? Seeing it from their perspective?
Do any of them like Star Wars? Let’s get a dialog going.
Anyway, this infamously titled 1987 cult classic from Troma is exactly what you think it is. What ultimately keeps the movie interesting is the complete lack of detail paid to the fact that this movie is supposedly set in a post-apocalyptic world. You can also include a pretty talented cast getting some surprisingly good performances out of this material.
Surf Nazis Must Die isn’t a masterpiece, but it’s a direct kind of entertainment with at least a modicum of sleazy charm. Gail Neely deserved an Oscar as Elenore “Mama” Washington. Also known as the best instrument of vengeance since Charles Bronson.
Bat Pussy (1971): F-
Want to see the first porn parody ever made and one of the worst movies ever made in less than one hour. I have some great NSFW news for you.
I’m not going to actually review this movie. All I’m going to do is tell you that you’ve never seen human ugliness presented in quite this fashion.
I’ve seen some fucked up things in my day, but none of that prepared me for one of the most unpleasant movies ever made. The historical fascination factor is virtually non-existent.
If, like me, you choose to watch this anyway, I can only assume you’re in a pretty bad place. If you like the film, please don’t contact me. Have fun!