Sex
Shaving Mrs. Coen
In "The Man Who Wasn't There" it's mostly the great Frances McDormand who isn't there.
As men go through this vale of sorrows, there’s a lot of things we have to adjust to. Like living with the knowledge that Frances McDormand is married to Joel Coen of the Coen brothers. And, more or less, I’ve come to accept it, so long as they keep putting her in their films, and give the rest of us a chance to watch her. But I draw the line at “The Man Who Wasnt There.” There’s altogether far too much that isn’t there, including enough of Mrs. Coen.
As it happens, even though I did my best to avoid advanced knowledge of the film, I had gathered somehow that there was a scene in which her husband in the picture, played by Billy Bob Thornton, shaved her legs.
“Better not be late,” I murmured to my wife, resisting the temptation to drag her out of the house.
“What’s the matter?” she wanted to know. “Afraid you’ll miss the leg-shaving?”
Well, I shrugged that off with some witticism she couldn’t catch. No one likes to be pinned down out of nowhere like that. And I just said, “Those Coens, they draw a crowd,” in a pretty blasé manner.
“Oh sure,” she said. How is it that she can do a line like that just as tart and don’t-kid-me-buster as McDormand herself?
Well, it was Sunday afternoon, with the rain falling down and there was a line at the Bridge Theater going way round the block.
“Hopeless,” I said, “we’ll never get in.”
But she said I was the hopeless one, and we did get in, right in the front row. “You’ll have the leg in your lap,” she said.
Well, I was worried early on by the way every shot in the film was so beautiful that it took you two or three seconds after a cut to get back in the story. I mean, it’s not enough that Joel Coen is married to Frances McDormand. He also has to let you know that maybe he has the best eye for black-and-white lighting since John Alton. Instead of getting on with the story.
And then, here was the real trouble, there was a shot of McDormand in her underwear that left you with the clear feeling that this woman hadn’t been to the gym enough lately. I mean, she was never razor thin, and she’s had a baby recently (and I hope everyone will be happy, really), but if you ask me there’s a lot of hostility in that shot. I was also getting the feeling that the film was far too deeply set in its own passive resistance, letting Billy Bob take so long over everything he says, and letting him smoke a cigarette in such a way you knew he had no emotional energy left for sex.
You see, I feel it’s part of the implicit bargain the Coens have with us that, since they have Ms. McDormand (and not many other directors get to use her), they’re going to let her and us have fun.
Anyway, to get to the leg-shaving scene, it’s like too much of the film — its not really there. Theres a close-up of the legs — as white as big codfish — and you hear the scraping of the razor. But theres no sensuality to it. No sense of sexual power or humiliation, or that the husband never gets closer to her than when he’s shaving her legs. Not that we ever see Frances having any fun with James Gandolfini, the guy shes having an affair with, either. She gets pregnant, but you dont see that. She … well, I wont spoil it for you, but you dont see that either. You just hear Billy Bobs draggy voice telling you about it.
Frances McDormand has more mischief in her than any handful of other actresses. She begs to be used, to be given funny lines and lots to do. Whereas the Billy Bob character seems to be saying to the camera and the picture, could you please leave me alone, and just get off me? This very dull guy gets to be the heart and voice of the picture, and Frances — so full of life and spark — is all the time being edged off and away.
As I said, there was a packed house when I saw “The Man Who Wasnt There,” but at the end of the show it was quiet and people shuffled out like at the end of the funeral. It may be a very witty film, with this cool noir look. But I think its pretty boring and far too cold. Theres times with the Coen brothers when I reckon theyd be better off without each other to giggle with at how clever theyre being. And if they’ve got Frances and a bath of hot water … well, there are those of us who could do a lot better.
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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