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Does Celibacy Sell?
(Rant: August 2005) Not if you’re a virile teen desperate to get a can
of Gillette’s Tag (Gillette doesn’t
want its stoic, blue chip name affiliated with its hip new body spray
targeted at young men, because if the dudes get wind of who’s putting it out,
it might not evoke as much sexual– and commercial—pandemonium as the riotous
TV spots depict) and record that first notch on your belt, but The 40 Year
Old Virgin—a comedy exactly about what the title proclaims—certainly hit
a homerun this week bringing in 21 million dollars and securing the top spot
in the weekly box office derby. Droll, dry and with just enough romance and
sophomoric dick jokes to appeal across the spectrum (fifty-year-old moms will
be warmed by the protagonist not taking exception to a potential mate
revealing after a few dates that she in fact has several children, and
fourteen-year-old boys will howl with delight at the morning wood
gags), it’s the polar opposite of 9 Songs, the NC-17 film that pretty
much has its lead actors making love for real (or fucking, to put it bluntly
and more accurately) and as a result has received resistance at every
turn—critics, censors and most of all, film goers. That right, you can go to
your local Cineplex and see a movie about a guy not getting laid, and
a movie, where the actor’s are really doing it (Not simulated sex mind
you, as has been the industry standard. Simulated sex requires a stretch of
thespian talent and directorial finesse, though it was alleged that Mickey
Rourkey in 9&1/2 Weeks (1986) and, even more so, in Wild Orchid
(1990), went beyond the call of duty.). How’s that for a double bill? NC-17 has always been the
kiss of death. Young Adam (2003) in which Ewan McGregor flashes his
manhood and Brown Bunny (2003) where actress Chloë Sevigny performs
fellatio on writer/director/star Vincent Gallo (I must admit to having a an
odd feeling in my stomach when I recently saw the lovely Sevigny in the
wonderful new film from Jim Jarmush, Broken Flowers. All I could think
of was her Gallo days. Hopefully time will free her from such infamy.), got
an NC-17 or no-rating from the MPAA for their stunts. Each film cost more
than five million to make and combined, grossed barely over a half million.
Others, Peter Greenway’s Pillow Book (1996)—where McGregor also goes
full frontal—The Cook, the Thief, His Wife and Her Lover (1989), which
struggled to get an R rating, and Bernardo Bertolucci’s The Last Tango in
Paris (1972), found financial and critical success. Much of that had to
do with the fact they challenged audiences with complex situations that were
palpable, not art wrapped around shock and genitalia. (That said, Gallo and 9
Songs director, Michael Winterbottom have made groundbreaking films in
the past. Buffalo ‘66 (1998) for Gallo and Welcome to Sarajevo
(1997) and 24 Hour Party People (2002) for Winterbottom). The line between art and
pornography in the context of 9 Songs and Brown Bunny is very
thin; especially since neither film really pushes the audience save the shock
of cock. Sure there’s an arty texture, but besides the big scene—and
in the case of 9 Songs, some great music—they’re bombastic exercises
fueled by miscalculation and vanity. If someone were to add plot and some
serious thespians to porn, would Nicole Kidman have to give head to gain
another Oscar nod? (In all likelihood Fidel Castro would submit Cuba to the
United States as providence long before that happens.) The power of
titillation, desire, yearning, teasing—foreplay if you will—far exceeds that
of the actual act, climax and comedown. That’s the power of eroticism over
porn. (Think the Sports Illustrated Swimsuit Issue versus Hustler;
it’s an easy choice). The what’s to come is what we really live for,
not the what we’ve had. So hail the virgin? Well
yes and no, actor/writer Steve Carell and writer/director Judd Apatow do get their
finger on a character with real issues (how many nice guys are out there not
getting any?); and the film pretty much packs a hearty laugh for anyone with
a funny bone to tickle. Basically nerds rule, they drink milk, don’t get laid
and live in a tidy shrine that looks like a subdivision of Neverland. (Think Pee-wee,
After Hours, Something Wild, Revenge of the Nerds, Something
About Mary, The Blue Angel, Old School, Animal House and so on—you could
even thrown in the Marx Brothers and Charlie Chaplin). What you’ve got is a
PG-13 (maybe R) rating and when the dork goes out on the town, has a beer or
two and runs into a lusty vamp wearing next to nothing, it’s sure fire laughs
and box office gold. Let’s face it, a guy who
gets laid all the time just isn’t as interesting as the guy who struggles
with hopes, dreams and desires—most of which get dashed. You identify with
him and root for him. Sure, you’d like to be the guy with a turnstile for a
bedroom door, but that’s not a practical or possible reality for most of us. The Virgin will certainly
have its run this summer, but what will Carell and Apatow do for an encore, Born
Again: Virgin 2, Back on the Prowl? - TBM |
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