Sex
Jules and Jim and Butch
"Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid" is worth watching again to see the sexual subtexts that might -- or might not -- have been on purpose.
It’s the turn of the century in the Old West. Two young men are relaxing in a cathouse, amused to hear a helpless sheriff trying to raise a posse to go after them in the street outside. They are safe, you see, protected by their own cool attitude and the way they are in another, later time, looking back on the Old West as if it were a picture postcard — quaint. One of them elects to move on from the cathouse, to find a more genuine woman.
Then, at twilight, in some mountain town, we see a young woman in white walking home to her small wooden house. She goes in, lights the lamp and prepares to take off her clothes. But then — as if she had felt our presence, gently watching her — she knows there is a man inside her house, sitting in the dark, observing her. She freezes in the classic stance of a woman who anticipates rape.
The man has drawn his gun, and we have seen earlier how very deft he is with a gun. He indicates with it that she is to continue the disrobing. You feel the air being sucked out of her cabin by the tension. She takes off the long petticoats, revealing shorter ones. No need to stop there, he implies. The muzzle of his gun directs her nervous fingers to the little bows that hold her nakedness back. He tells her to let down her long brown hair, and shake it — just like an actress who has come on a television talk show and shakes her hair to lay claim to the erotic space around her.
Turn of the century? She stands there, with only the dark of incoming night hiding her breasts from us. She looks so very like that very ’60s, Californian actress, Katharine Ross, the one with the unmistakable 1960s mouth, modeling for some kind of advertisement — it might be coffee or leather goods — in an 1890s setting.
The man goes up to her. He slips his hand into the lovely ajar place where her half-slip is open, and she falls upon him with some such line as can’t he ever be there on time.
She knew he’d be there; she’d given up walking around the town, till it was dark, waiting for him to come. He knew she knew. It is a game they play, these very cool perfect lovers, stepping in and out of the past and the prospect of rape, as if such things were just their flimsy clothes.
Yes, it’s “Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid,” and it’s a cute scene still, undeniably sexy (or at least, sexy at the level fulfilled by Ross and Redford), in a movie where modern actors and writers seem to be watching a silent western, joining in and talking back to it, reassessing it for their smart superiority.
It’s not quite a matter of realism, of the turn-of-the-century codes being exposed to harsh truths. If it were, then the next morning, when Butch arrives on his new bicycle, Sundance would silently slip out of the warm bed and Butch would take up residence with an Etta who never complains, but knows her place. In fact, while Sundance dozes still, Butch takes Etta out on a ride — he has her on the crossbars, if you like. That’s where “Raindrops Keep Falling On [Our] Head,” and that’s pretty well where the western collapsed and spoof, parody and pastiche began.
No matter that it was 1969, the picture didn’t quite want to test its audience with the notion that two bold hombres or two big stars might share Etta in the way they share a tin cup. There was a kind of daring in the film that didn’t really come from any particular filmmaker. So the movie wasn’t quite smart enough to show that in keeping with the mockery of the western, Butch and Sundance are gay saddle tramps, companions in the dust, who just keep an Etta around to ward off questions.
So the scene, and the film, play today with so many extra fascinating subtexts, and you wonder whether some studio people crossed their fingers in 1969 and hoped that Redford and Newman (the money, after all) wouldn’t object to the sneaky little ideas and thrills that come crawling through the holes whenever you start to take a grand old building like the western down.
Or maybe they were in on 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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