Sex
Turn-on
George Lucas is still a virgin, and he wants his audience in the same stricken state.
There is what may pass for a love affair in “Star Wars Episode II: Attack of the Clones,” and it seems like a state of high anxiety occupying the minds and bodies of two grim, frightened children. They are Anakin (Hayden Christensen) and Padmé Amidala (Natalie Portman) — he is an apprentice Jedi, yet a modern teenager, with dark, surly, intransigent urgings; she is a former queen turned into a senator in the dotty drive for democracy, with all the sensual potential of a girl whose mind, body and dreams have been fiercely directed toward tennis or Scientology. They are oddly like a teen couple from an early ’50s movie, vaguely impelled by thoughts of sex, but unaware of the words, the actions or the hopes that might be available to them. Thus, immediately, they start talking about love and marriage — those classic parental alternatives to desire and pleasure.
There are scenes in the new “Star Wars” movie, scenes conceived, written and played with fearful awkwardness or tension (as if the filmmakers themselves had never got past that wall of adolescent fear and ignorance) in which the light plays on Ms. Portman’s exposed shoulders and Mr. Christensen’s pouting mouth, where any kid in today’s audience knows the code and what ought to be coming. But the movie never gets it on. Oh sure, these kids will marry at the close of the film (they have to — we know they’re destined to be parents to Luke and Leia), but their skins never close and wrestle. Somehow, in 2002, George Lucas is still a virgin, and he wants his audience in the same stricken state.
And all of this in a movie about a universe that has attained that other far more convenient, far more emotion-free form of reproduction, the one that doesnt actually involve males and females talking to each other, touching, or getting into trouble — cloning. There are prolonged scenes in which that reproductive process is explored and gloated over. Give Mr. Lucas the possibility of millions of identical automaton bodies and he begins to get excited or eroticized — after all, this is the computer generation, the type that really turns him on.
Am I being so unfair or unkind as to talk about the privacy that is George Lucas? No, I do not know him, and I do not mean to enlist any of the known facts about his life. I am talking about the movies he has made, and it is from them that I conclude he is afraid of women, of men and women, of sex, of pleasure — no matter that all his artistic and commercial life he has been playing on the dreams and longings of young people in their era of pubescence. Instead, he prefers the “sexual” life of machines, robots, and those ghosts or holograms that can step out of the computer and claim to be human. This is therefore not a film that warns about clones, but one that begins to usher in their civilization. That is why it is so perfect and cold.
For surely there is a profound affinity between a kind of moviemaking that begins to do away with real people, real light, and the things that actual people used to do and replaces them with the antics of digital reproduction. How can this world of ours hope to resist cloning and its ethical dilemmas when the technology is so brimmingly available? So dont dismiss George Lucas as a mere entertainer. He is a harbinger, arguably the most significant and influential filmmaker there has ever been. How so? Because he is the exponent and prophet of forms of mechanical reproduction that could usurp the old thing — and thus begin to rid the human race of all those awkward, embarrassing, messy emotional states it once suffered from.
Mr. Lucas would deny this — he does often say that all hes interested in is good juvenile “fun.” But he is not accustomed to introspection; he is still the brilliant kid who cannot understand his own feelings — and who would therefore prefer to eliminate them. And nothing does the elimination better than the kinds of technical sweetness or perfection that he masters. So bring on the clones.
His young “lovers” sometimes talk about the “forbidden” thing — the sensual self-expression that the film denies them. Nothing in the story actually explains why or how it is forbidden. Rather, the reluctance to do such things, to admit them, is in the very soul and being of this empire. It is the wish not to know such things — to stay infantile. And so the film moves zombielike toward its conclusion and its one inadvertent hint of eros. In the marriage ceremony of Anakin and Padmé, on a balcony looking out over Lake Como at dusk (the whole thing in the childlike hues of Maxfield Parrish), the camera moves to observe one detail: the artificial hand that has replaced the limb Anakin lost in battle. And there, in its X-ray glow, lies at least one hint of a thrill — to be stroked by that hand might be dangerous fun.
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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