I wrote the following piece in 1994. Judging from the current films on some of the cable TV channels, it doesn’t look as if much has changed.
I’ve watched a lot of pornography in my life. It’s not that on a lonely Saturday night I think to myself, “I’ll go to the video store and get a really hot movie.” But over the years many of the men I’ve been with seem to think this very thing. Apparently, in the everyday world of dating, watching porn becomes another form of mutual entertainment, the way watching together any good movie can be entertaining, something to do together to pass the time. Except with pornography there is an inevitable direction and end in mind beyond visual entertainment. The movie is designed to enhance the sex that follows.
The operative word here is enhance. Rather than feeling entertained and my sex life energized after watching porn, I find most of the movies boring, repetitive, and predictable. “Poor exploited woman,” I say in a sarcastic attempt to lighten up the moment. But, at a glance, at least, the women in these movies don’t appear exploited. They are pretty, with great bodies, and are far more limber than I could ever be. They seem…well…hungry, and what the man has is the only thing that will satisfy them. They aren’t afraid to make lots of noise, to grab what they want, and to enjoy the ride. Or so they want me to believe. If they are victims, it is from having all gone to the same school of bad acting.
I remember one movie in particular. I think it was called Harem Nights, or Harem something. The movie was so bad, I can’t forget it. The cast was composed of the same faces I had seen many times before. Apparently a production company can only afford so many actors. They were given an assortment of scarves and cheap big jewelry, which they strung about in ways vaguely reminiscent of old Sinbad movies. If there was a plot, I don’t remember it – probably something about the male star sneaking into the harem late at night. But what I do remember was how much fun they were having. It was almost as if the director had some film left and a little time, and so he (this surely couldn’t have been a woman director’s idea of art) said, “Quick, kids, we’ve got some scarves, let’s make a movie about a harem.” They were laughing and rolling around, stepping on each other’s lines, clearly making it up as they went along. Eventually, of course, the big equipment came out and the scarves slipped away, and everybody seemed satisfied as the moaning subsided. But for once, I could see the humanity behind the scenes, and truthfully, it looked like they were having a great time.
Did that scene hurt me in any way? No. Nor did it turn me on. Watching naked bodies thrusting and arching, women breathing as if in Lamaze training, crying out “yes, do it” and other variations on the theme, actually leaves me cold. There, that’s the way pornography hurts me. After watching such a thing, while my lover is now sufficiently turned on, I, on the other hand, have to quickly dream up some fantasy of my own and try to displace the nonsense I just saw. I have to work harder to “get there” than if I hadn’t seen the movie at all. And in the back of my mind, I can’t help wondering why he needs that film now? Aren’t these movies designed for those days and nights of singular masturbation? Does he really need to see her in order to deal with me? That’s a possibility that hurts. Or perhaps it’s not her he’s watching at all, but him. The male actor becomes a kind of heterosexual role model: This is how we men do it with women. While I am looking at her and thinking, “Why can’t I look like that?” perhaps my partner is looking at him and thinking, “I am that.”
Once I was with my women’s support group on an overnight retreat, and one of the women brought along two videos (yes, it was that long ago) as a surprise. Rather than our watching with feminist anger and criticism, her intention was for us to have our own version of “boys night out”. The first film was similar to the dozens (hundreds?) available at any video store, and we watched with playful interest. We assessed the male star from every angle, both his performance and his apparatus. Were we having fun? A little. Was it at anyone’s expense? A little, but no more than one might evaluate the acting and appearance on any TV commercial. Did we now expect our mates to look like the star? Of course not, although who knows what anyone secretly wished. Unexpectedly, the second film turned out to be something different. It began with a man talking to us, the audience. He was giving us a serious warning, telling us that what we were about to see was only one form of sexual expression, and that although it was between two consenting adults, we may be offended. This film, he explained dryly, was not for everyone. The film was about S/M and bondage, with the man in the dominant position.
What struck me about this second film was the warning. Somehow, I doubt the Internet and films of today go to such lengths to warn their viewers. Perhaps the director back then was only protecting himself (or herself?) from potential trouble, and really didn’t care whether he offended anyone or not. But I found the speech sensitive and ethical. I began to think about all the violent (non-porn) movies I have seen on TV, both inadvertently and by choice. What if the director or producer made such a warning before each film – not the quick letters rating, but an actual artist to viewer conversational admission? Perhaps a fatherly, handsome man or an attractive, professional looking woman could appear at the beginning and say:
“This movie is the product of someone’s imagination and won’t be for everyone. Not only will there be episodes of violent death and physical pain deliberately inflicted throughout the film, the characters you see portrayed will show no typical human emotions of sorrow, remorse, longing, grief, or joy. They will kill and maim other human beings, and not be emotionally or psychologically affected by their behavior. They will only engage in trivial romances based on physical appearance or the proximity of the other during times of danger. They will handle all encounters with a reactive nature, and show no regard for introspection or self-growth. Warning: watching this movie may cause you to believe that death is meaningless, torture and suffering are necessary avenues to personal power, and relationships happen only by chance.”
As a woman who doesn’t make pornography, but only occasionally watches, I don’t find the typical American porn films hurtful to me at all. Aside from an occasional stab at feeling physically inadequate, which many TV commercials or magazine ads can also do, the most problem I have with them is that they are boring. On the other hand, I think pornography has hurt some of the men I’ve known. Maybe they know that ordinary women don’t look like the on-camera, air brushed types, and maybe experience has shown them that they don’t act that way either. But while they know what real women aren’t like, where do they learn what they are like? The vast majority of films involving overt sexuality, whether labeled pornography or a box office hit, teach only the fantasy, and don’t teach anything about how an ordinary woman really does act. If she isn’t loudly moaning and verbal, or if she doesn’t have an orgasm at all, why wouldn’t a man think something is wrong—if not with his performance, then with her?
Pornography and most other movies have taught some of the men I know that women are supposed to be a visual feast, are supposed to be easily aroused no matter what is going on in their lives, are supposed to think that sex is the most important part of their day. And when that doesn’t turn out to be the case, instead of taking it like a man, which means like a grown up, instead of turning to their women (and this type of man usually goes through a lot of women) and saying, “Teach me about the real world,” instead they turn back to pornography to fulfill the fantasy. So that eventually, ordinary sex with an ordinary woman becomes boring after awhile, and pornography must be included in the foreplay. Some women I know make a valiant effort to go along with the program rather than fight it. They wear filmy lingerie and garters. They are constantly on the alert for an element of surprise. But eventually their priorities change, especially in raising children, or they get old, or just plain tired. In the several cases I’m thinking of, the men hadn’t fallen in love with an actual person, and when their fantasy woman finally folded, they simply slipped away.
Censorship, education, lawsuits, and femme porn all have been suggested as possible solutions. I think a good place to start to repair some of the damage is with the porn industry itself. Lately, there are a few smart women who are making porn videos for men and women, slipping in the erotic and gentler side of sex along with the visual and robust. The next step might to begin to work genuine characters with emotionally diverse relationships into the purely sexual. This will take cleverness on the part of the producer and director for they will have to do something intelligent within very little time. If the interpersonal parts take up too much footage, the viewer might simply get bored and move on. And it will take patience on the part of the male audience. Men may have to put up with a little boredom, too, until they get used to the idea that the people in the movie, who still are enthusiastically cavorting and bumping their bodies together, actually do have a story, and a psychology, and a deeper tenderness than the “Oh baby,” variety. In other words, the sex scenes would not be about having a change of character, as in the typical ‘librarian/school teacher/secretary with thick glasses and a bun’, who suddenly shakes down her hair and reveals lacy underwear. The sex would be a natural progression of the character’s unfolding discovery of pleasurable feelings. Simply having sex would not cause the stars to gain power and stature. Rather the sex, wilder and juicier than ever, would be the end result of each of them coming to terms with their own innate personhood. But then, that wouldn’t be pornography, would it?
August 1994