by James Withers
(12/29/99)

If the holiday season isn’t bad enough, there is now all this incessant list-making to mark the end of the century and/or millennium (forget that we have another year for both to happen). All this list-making might be fun if we heard Dan Rather say, "Here is Susie Bright to give us her top ten butt plugs of the century." Alas, however, everything else is predictable, safe, and monotonous. How difficult is it to pronounce that Shakespeare is the person of the millennium? How much thought does it take to pick Einstein as the person of the century, and to offer reasons why any other choice is out of the pale? Where does this list-making take us, and why is no one admitting that any type of list, even a list with the most objective standards, is, at best, arbitrary?

So let’s damn the list-makers, and the faux end of the century/millennium folk. What follows is arbitrary, silly, and personal. No need to worry. You will not be forced to read about my failed middle school love (Beth is her name in case you want to know), and there will be no inside jokes for all of my friends because my friends hate inside jokes, and my number of friends is limited to three. Here are my faux end of the century/millennium thoughts about sex and movies, and like all thoughts we need to turn back the clock a bit.

The Godfather was my first breast film. It’s hard to believe that a film so removed from the erotic -- unless you consider murder and power erotic -- is my first breast film; however, even in all that death and testosterone there is a scene that is charged with erotic stamina. Michael Corleone, the youngest male of the Corleone clan, is forced to go to Italy after he kills a police lieutenant and a rival mob boss (they were planning the murder of Michael’s father). While walking the streets of his father’s birthplace, Michael falls in love with a woman by the name of Appolonia. He courts her in the traditional ways; there is even a wonderful scene with Michael and Appolonia walking in the woods as they are followed by the women of her family. Eventually they marry. On their wedding night, they are alone in a room. Michael closes a curtain, they kiss, Appolonia steps back, and takes off her slip. She is standing there, and Michael is transfixed by her breasts. He stares at them, at her. She, with a look of desire and fear, stares back at him. They move in and the scene fades to black.

That scenes stands out not only because of Appolonia’s breasts; she had some great nipples. It also stands out because the desire between the two characters is palpable, and that is what is missing on most film portrayals of sex. As I write that, I realize it needs to be qualified. European films are out -- if you want to get a little taste from your significant other this New Year, go out and rent Lovers -- and there are some glaring exceptions (here is my imperfect list: An American in Paris, Casablanca, Boys Don’t Cry, Bound, Priest, and Tom Jones).

However, while we have turned apt at showing the sex act on film we have not been able to show how the desire leads up to the act. Look at any mainstream film and focus only on the sex. If it has nothing to do with the story (the obligatory sex scene), then it is rather pedestrian and silly with music that would make even a porno director blush. Look at all the ink that was spent on Stanley Kubrick’s Eyes Wide Shut. Everyone from Time to Kathy Lee Gifford talked about how sexy the film was, how hot the scenes were between Kidman and Cruise. People stood in line talking about the latest review, and how they had to get permission from their religious leader to see the film. The film, however, was dull, and if the sex scenes in the film are seen as "hot," then we need a national conversation about the term. Our conversation was based on how the film showed sex, not how the film created a sense of desire between the characters.

The technology we have (film, video, and the internet) allow us to see the sex act itself, but desire is what we need as the new millennium starts a year from now. We need films that just do not show us how to fuck, but how we get there. The fucking part is easy, but the road to the fuck is complicated and worth seeing. When was the last time you watched a porno tape that was interesting because the folks in it were into each other? Desire in its multi-faceted, complicated, and frustrating way is what we need more as we venture forward. Let’s demand it over any list!