Sex
Look now
Nicolas Roeg's "Don't Look Now" gave us beautifully sad, tender, creepy sex, not to mention a full-frontal Donald Sutherland.
When this column began, it was intended that every now and then I would dip into the classics of screen erotica. And I thought that the hushed lovemaking scene from Nicolas Roeg’s “Don’t Look Now” (1973) might be an early candidate. So I tried to remember where it fell in the film: Was it early — were John and Laura Baxter (Donald Sutherland and Julie Christie) making love while their young daughter drowned?
I found the scene eventually, about 30 minutes into the picture, though I realize now that the scene could go anywhere. That’s a large part of its beauty and meaning. After their daughter’s death, John and Laura go to Venice, Italy — he’s an expert helping on the restoration of an old church. They meet two English sisters, one of them blind, and the blind one says she “sees” the lost daughter and that the daughter is happy. John scorns this touch of the occult, but Laura is tempted.
Then they are in their hotel room at night: Laura comes out of the bath; John, the shower. It’s a famous scene, with full-frontal Sutherland and so on. You may have heard the story that they did everything, and maybe were really doing it. It’s not like that — it’s far better. They’re on their bed, side by side. He reads the paper; she touches his bare back. The idea slips in between them. And then they are embracing, kissing, gaping and gasping at each other’s naked bodies, trying to do everything, trying to show how much love and need they feel.
But then the cutting of the scene changes, and it picks up details, fragments, from another scene in which they are dressing to go out. Pieces of clothing are slipped on. A zipper slides; a tie snakes out of a closet. She puts mascara on her eyelashes. The making up, the getting ready, is crosscut with the attempts at abandon. For a while, there’s only silence on the soundtrack, then a piano and a flute come in.
I’d rather do without them, for the scene needs the helplessness of silence, and music turns it in a sentimental direction. Whereas the silence says there is no answer or assurance, no meeting of minds in bodies, no complete orgasm of satisfaction. So the two lovers strive all the more to be convincing, to be in love or rapture. It’s sexy yet very ordinary, just the scramble of two bodies trying to be one — as if you could ever do everything.
But there’s something else at work, too, in this mysterious film. You can say to yourself, yes, they’re happy, fulfilled. But equally you can argue that the great attempt to consummate, to share, to merge, is forlorn. They have sex together — great sex. But it is only a moment, and later, or earlier, they are dressing separately, thinking their thoughts.
And you feel then how the scene hangs over the whole film like hope or worry. It’s a love scene, but it’s also a vision of scraps of pale flesh, beating away at the impossibility of wanting to be inside each other while they wait for whatever else may happen — like the passing of time, like age, like the vagaries of memory. In any really great love scene, I think, there has to be the whisper of death. And in the hush you listen for it.
David Thomson is the author of "A Biographical Dictionary of Film" (new edition just published), "Rosebud: The Story of Orson Welles" and "In Nevada." More David Thomson.
Massage therapists rubbed wrong by sex talk
A Jennifer Love Hewitt show and the Travolta allegations have masseuses tired of being confused for sex workers
(Credit: iStockphoto/sybanto) Joe, a licensed massage therapist, knows what it’s like having a famous client who expects something extra. He had an Academy Award-winning actor begin gyrating on his massage table before raising his hips in the air to show off his erection. “He was hoping that I would play with him in some shape or form,” he says.
Needless to say, Joe isn’t surprised by allegations by two masseurs that John Travolta got handsy during massages. (Travolta’s attorney has denied all the allegations, and called them “ridiculous.”) “It happens all the time,” he says, and not just with celebrity clients. He frequently encounters men who try to fondle him, usually while he’s working on their glutes or lower back and their hand happens to be level with his crotch. “They think they’re so original, but they’re all so much the same,” Joe says, his voice rising. “They all use the same tactics, the same body movements, the same gyrations and grinding my table, the [heavy] breathing.”
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Tracy Clark-Flory is a staff writer at Salon. Follow @tracyclarkflory on Twitter. More Tracy Clark-Flory.
A night at the vibrator museum
Early vibrators were hand-cranked, two-person jobs -- and prescribed by doctors. How far we've come since then
(Credit: Antique Vibrator Museum) I can now say that I’ve used a turn-of-the-century vibrator — on my hand, but still.
The silver, hand-cranked contraption is usually kept behind glass at Good Vibrations’ Antique Vibrator Museum in San Francisco — but staff sexologist Carol Queen made a rare exception. “This is very special,” she whispered, unlocking the case and carefully pulling out Dr. Johansen’s Auto Vibrator, a relic from 1904. The “auto” part is not so much: It was a two-person job, with her having to crank the device’s handle to get it thrumming. Pressing my finger tips to its inch-wide circular platform of pleasure, I was pleasantly surprised by its power.
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Tracy Clark-Flory is a staff writer at Salon. Follow @tracyclarkflory on Twitter. More Tracy Clark-Flory.
Maggie Gyllenhaal on sexual liberation
The beloved indie star tells Salon about her "vibrator movie" and why she loves playing transgressive women
Maggie Gyllenhaal (Credit: Reuters/Mark Blinch) When I met Maggie Gyllenhaal about six weeks ago, she was enormously and gloriously pregnant, stretching out on a sofa with her shoes off and feet up in a Manhattan office building. (Since that time, Gyllenhaal and husband Peter Sarsgaard have welcomed their second daughter, Gloria Ray, to the world.) We were there to talk about “Hysteria,” the charming, lightweight feminist farce from director Tanya Wexler that explores a key event in the history of female sexuality: the invention of the vibrator by Mortimer Granville, a Victorian doctor who was seeking to cure the mysterious “female malady” that lends the movie its title.
Continue Reading CloseMother-daughter sexperts
Susie Bright and her daughter, Aretha, make parental talks about sex look easy -- and fun
Most parents loathe talking to their kids about the birds and the bees, let alone pubic hair grooming, faked orgasms and “water sports” — but most parents are not legendary “sexpert” Susie Bright.
Better than talking about these things, she penned an advice column in 2009 with her daughter, Aretha, then 19, for the ladyblog Jezebel. Their answers to questions about everything from porn to Paxil were unflinching but playful, and at times controversial. Now the pair have collected those columns into a new e-book, “Mother/Daughter Sex Advice.” Together, they read as an irreverent version of “Our Bodies, Ourselves” for the Internet age. The mother-daughter team also reflect on what the experience of writing the column was like, and it turns out it wasn’t as weird as many would think: For the most part, it was just a continuation of conversations they had been having throughout Aretha’s life.
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Tracy Clark-Flory is a staff writer at Salon. Follow @tracyclarkflory on Twitter. More Tracy Clark-Flory.
On the rack: A cultural history of breasts
Did breasts evolve for lactation or to enhance sex appeal? A new book explores why they matter
(Credit: iStockphoto/NadyaPhoto) It’s hard to be boobs. Sure, breasts are cherished as givers of milk and the pinnacle of sex appeal, but the modern world hasn’t been good to mammaries.
As Florence Williams writes in “Breasts: A Natural and Unnatural History,” they’re the most tumor-prone organ in the human body. They “soak up pollution like a pair of soft sponges,” and transmit environmental toxins to babies through breast milk. “Breasts are bellwethers for the changing health of people,” she says. While we’ve “genetically modified our crops to be able to protect them from the ill effects of pesticides,” Williams writes, “we haven’t yet figured out how to modify our breasts.” Aside from using saline and silicone, of course.
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Tracy Clark-Flory is a staff writer at Salon. Follow @tracyclarkflory on Twitter. More Tracy Clark-Flory.
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