Essay: Sex in Movies

TRANSCENDING TABOO: A DEFENSE OF SEX IN MOVIES

by Bennett Campbell Ferguson

Above: Margot Robbie and Leonardo DiCaprio in "The Wolf of Wall Street"

 

“I had to get two penicillin shots so I could safely consummate the marriage.”  Those sneakily immortal words come from the mouth of millionaire Jordan Belfort (Leonardo DiCaprio) in Martin Scorsese’s “The Wolf of Wall Street,” a film in which consummation is an almost hourly act.  But surprisingly, there has been little astonishment among audiences at the film’s ferociously rampant sex scenes, even as viewers have gasped over the lovemaking of two young women in “La Vie D’Adele – Chapitre 1 Et 2” (better known here by its American title, “Blue is the Warmest Color”).

            Needless to say, there is a discrepancy here, one that I’m determined to address.  But I also want to draw your attention to another concern.  As long as I can remember, sex has been the ultimate taboo in film, something that has been encouraged to be suppressed or at least safely swathed in the crass comedy of films like “Wedding Crashers” and “The Hangover.”  This, in itself, is a form of censorship and it is the reason why I argue that it is time for us to accept sex as a natural part of serious movies, not only so we can become broader minded filmgoers, but so we can live our lives as fully as possible.

But more on that later.  First, we need to examine the place where I first encountered this ideological rosebush—Portland State University.  As some of you know, that esteemed institution is where obtained my film degree and had the privilege of debating movies like “The Bad and the Beautiful” and “The Searchers” with my classmates.  And it was during one such intellectual argument that a professor pointed out something that I have been unable to forget—that older movies were often constrained by the original motion picture code, which was designed to insure that all films would be appropriate for any audience. 

This concept immediately made me uneasy and as much as I love the classic Hollywood era, I still can’t help thinking that the code was a terrible idea.  Movies for everyone?  What had ever made anyone think such a thing was possible?  After all, not only are audience members diverse in age, but they have different tastes.  Brad Bird’s “The Iron Giant,” for instance, may be a G-rated movie that many people love, but I’ll never forget how unpleasantly creepy it was to my younger self.  As moviegoers we are, most inevitably, different.

Such differences are probably the reason why code-era filmmakers sought clever ways to tastefully imply sex and violence while adhering to the code’s strictures (only now do I fully appreciate the delightful dirtiness of Preston Sturges).  And, upon calling our attention to this, the aforementioned professor remarked that even though the code was a form of censorship, it was a blessing in disguise, an artistically nurturing limitation that forced filmmakers to be more creative.  In fact, he asserted that the sly innuendos of Mr. Sturges’ films were much sexier than the more explicit lovemaking scenes featured in modern movies.

I hope that I don’t take anything away from Mr. Sturges when I say that I disagree completely.  Yes, innuendos are a great cinematic pleasure, but surely they shouldn’t be seen as satisfying representations of actual intimacy.  After all, how can the frustration and ecstasy of desire be captured in cheeky witticisms alone?  And as much as filmmakers may adore the delectable art of insinuation, aren’t there times when it’s necessary for a movie to just break down and show two actors pretending to do the deed? 

That is, of course, exactly what “La Vie D’Adele” does and as a result, many people have accused the film of turning the romance between its heroines (played by Adèle Exarchopoulos and Léa Seydoux) into an erotic and unrealistic fantasy.  It’s a charge that many critics have fixated on, though personally I’m more concerned with the fact that no one has subjected the sex in “The Wolf of Wall Street” to similar skepticism.  Sure, the intercourse in Mr. Scorsese’s film is less explicit, but it’s far more pervasive.  Which makes me wonder—what does it say about our society that a film about two women in love has been savaged, while a film about a heterosexual man snorting cocaine off the breasts of prostitutes has been nominated for five Academy Awards?  Indeed, can you believe that anyone thought people would accept this homophobic hypocrisy?  That we’d accept this hypocrisy?

I don’t mind saying that I’m disgusted.  But identifying this problem also leads us to the root of another issue—the taboo against sex on film.  It’s the very convention that marred the public perception of “La Vie D’Adele” and the reason I feel compelled to point out that the movie is too ruthless in its reality to be the result of mere fetish.  But I also believe that artists and audiences both have a right to explore their erotic desires through creating and watching cinema.  Oh fine, I’ll grant you that doing so runs the risk of turning art into porn, but what does that really mean anyway?  Why shouldn’t we be turned on by a film that’s particularly sexy?  After all, moviegoers, whatever they may believe, are only human.  Woman or man, gay or straight, you’d have to be made of pure rock not to enjoy the sight of Leonardo DiCaprio or Adèle Exarchopoulos naked.

Of course, some viewers might be ashamed to admit as much.  But sex-driven artistry is already a part of moviemaking.  Just listen to director Nicolas Winding Refn’s summation of his filmmaking style in Entertainment Weekly: “It’s all about what arouses me.  It's about what turns me on.”  A foul admission?  I think not, especially when you consider that by cuing himself into his sexual desires and using them as inspiration, Mr. Refn made “Drive” into one of the most beautifully emotional movies of the new millennium. 

But I’m not arguing that sex should serve merely as a creative prompt for autuers—I’m arguing that we all have a hunger to see romantic and arousing sights in intelligent and easily accessible films, a hunger that we shouldn’t be ashamed to fulfill.  And by that count, Mr. Scorsese deserves applause for allowing “The Wolf of Wall Street” to double as both a serious meditation on greed and a crowd-pleasing sexual spectacle.  Because by milking his protagonist’s sex drive (which is best displayed in a hilariously nasty scene involving nudity and candle wax) for seductive entertainment value and creating a thought-provoking story, this seasoned director has done something spectacular—he’s made a movie that’s not trashy erotica, but is just as stimulating as if it were. 

Of course, asking people to openly relish such provocations might be suggesting too much.  But just think of the possibilities.  We’re no longer living in the days of old Hollywood restraint; filmmakers now have the freedom of NC-17 and R ratings and we, the audience, have the freedom to enjoy not only tantalizing innuendos and insinuations, but the sight of beautiful bodies onscreen.  And though doing so could be construed as an exploitation of actors, I can’t help feeling permissive.  Because after all, movies are an extension of our lives and to deny their connection to our fundamental physical desires would be to limit ourselves, both as viewers and as people. 

And that, above all, is why I believe that we should accept sex as a crucial part of cinema and proudly embrace the declaration that defines “La Vie D’Adele”:

“It’s beyond my control.”