On the Mobius Home Video Forum recently, a discussion regarding the new HBO series TELL ME THAT YOU LOVE ME boiled down to a debate over whether the penis seen in an ejaculation close-up was the real McCoy or a “prosthetic prong.” The consensus was that it was an effects shot. “Certainly it was a prosthetic,” posted Tim Lucas of Video WatchBlog (where Arbogast on Film got a nice plug recently), “but HBO is to be commended… for acknowledging male orgasm in a way that is graphic without descending into the pornographic.” I never would have (you should pardon the expression) come to the same conclusion as Lucas but the man is nothing if not forward-thinking and my cyber-guru in all matters cinematic. And once again he’s got me thinking.
America is a country that pretends to be obsessed with pussy but which is really obsessed with cock. And by “America” I mean American men, for whom penis size is the only unit of measure in which average really means below average. (Would that the national work ethic be so demanding.) I’ll even go out on a phallic limb and suggest that even gay men, in the main, don’t obsess about cock as much as the heterosexual American male… his cock, his buddy’s cock, his enemy’s cock, length, girth, frequency of usage, the whole 9 yards. Culturally and socially, we’re unable to own up to this preoccupation and so penis envy is sublimated in a number of ways… big guns, big cars, explosions, space ships (say what you will about George Lucas but at least he changed up the phalocentric Flash Gordon design of the average starcruiser; the Millennium Falcon looks like a pack of birth control pills). If men were allowed or required by law to hang their genitals outside of their trousers, Hummer sales would drop dramatically, making it plain that you’ve either got it or you don’t.
Every now and again a Hollywood actor flashes his hardware – Richard Gere in BREATHLESS (1983), Bruce Willis in THE COLOR OF NIGHT (1994), Harvey Keitel in THE BAD LIEUTENANT (1992) and THE PIANO (1993), Kevin Bacon in WILD THINGS (1998) – and it becomes nine days wonder for about a week. Tracking the elusive specter of the male pecker in films, The New York Times noted in 2004 that “scenes with full-frontal male nudity usually can be timed with a stopwatch while those with nude women can be measured with a sundial.” The reasoning seems to be that the size of a particular leading man’s genitals or lack thereof might have some small impact on his marketability. Would we not have followed Duke Wayne to THE SANDS OF IWO JIMA (1949) if he’d been hung like a cashew? I’d hate to think so, but it’s probably true. We're shallow like that. The only size rumors I’ve ever heard in regard to specific Hollywood icons concerned Milton Berle and Roddy McDowall. What the hell happened to that buddy movie.
Whenever there’s a scene of implied fellatio in a Hollywood movie I always feel vaguely embarrassed – not by the suggested orogenital contact but by the gap between the visual the filmmakers want to put into your head and what little they’d ever have the guts to show. Even when the players take the trouble to make a blow job look as raw and enslaving to the blowee as they obviously think it is, my feeling is why bother? These scenes annoy me but in a way they are quintessential Hollywood – a woman on her knees pretending to service something that isn’t even in the room. The American cock is like a pampered Hollywood star who can’t be bothered to stick around for his scene partner’s close-ups.
So this brings me to the question, is TELL ME THAT YOU LOVE ME, with its spurting prosthetic dinger, part of the problem or part of the solution? Not having seen the show, it’s difficult to say. My guess is that any gains made by HBO will be fleeting. I can’t see America getting real about human sexuality in general and cock in particular any time soon. In fact, at this very moment the States are abuzz at the prospect of Daniel Radcliffe, puckish star of the HARRY POTTER movies, showing off his uncircumcised John Henry to American audiences in a Broadway revival of EQUUS. Given that we Yanks continue to titter girlishly behind our Jay-pan fans every time a celebrity bares all, I’d say we still have a lot of growing up to do.
America is a country that pretends to be obsessed with pussy but which is really obsessed with cock. And by “America” I mean American men, for whom penis size is the only unit of measure in which average really means below average. (Would that the national work ethic be so demanding.) I’ll even go out on a phallic limb and suggest that even gay men, in the main, don’t obsess about cock as much as the heterosexual American male… his cock, his buddy’s cock, his enemy’s cock, length, girth, frequency of usage, the whole 9 yards. Culturally and socially, we’re unable to own up to this preoccupation and so penis envy is sublimated in a number of ways… big guns, big cars, explosions, space ships (say what you will about George Lucas but at least he changed up the phalocentric Flash Gordon design of the average starcruiser; the Millennium Falcon looks like a pack of birth control pills). If men were allowed or required by law to hang their genitals outside of their trousers, Hummer sales would drop dramatically, making it plain that you’ve either got it or you don’t.
Every now and again a Hollywood actor flashes his hardware – Richard Gere in BREATHLESS (1983), Bruce Willis in THE COLOR OF NIGHT (1994), Harvey Keitel in THE BAD LIEUTENANT (1992) and THE PIANO (1993), Kevin Bacon in WILD THINGS (1998) – and it becomes nine days wonder for about a week. Tracking the elusive specter of the male pecker in films, The New York Times noted in 2004 that “scenes with full-frontal male nudity usually can be timed with a stopwatch while those with nude women can be measured with a sundial.” The reasoning seems to be that the size of a particular leading man’s genitals or lack thereof might have some small impact on his marketability. Would we not have followed Duke Wayne to THE SANDS OF IWO JIMA (1949) if he’d been hung like a cashew? I’d hate to think so, but it’s probably true. We're shallow like that. The only size rumors I’ve ever heard in regard to specific Hollywood icons concerned Milton Berle and Roddy McDowall. What the hell happened to that buddy movie.
Whenever there’s a scene of implied fellatio in a Hollywood movie I always feel vaguely embarrassed – not by the suggested orogenital contact but by the gap between the visual the filmmakers want to put into your head and what little they’d ever have the guts to show. Even when the players take the trouble to make a blow job look as raw and enslaving to the blowee as they obviously think it is, my feeling is why bother? These scenes annoy me but in a way they are quintessential Hollywood – a woman on her knees pretending to service something that isn’t even in the room. The American cock is like a pampered Hollywood star who can’t be bothered to stick around for his scene partner’s close-ups.
So this brings me to the question, is TELL ME THAT YOU LOVE ME, with its spurting prosthetic dinger, part of the problem or part of the solution? Not having seen the show, it’s difficult to say. My guess is that any gains made by HBO will be fleeting. I can’t see America getting real about human sexuality in general and cock in particular any time soon. In fact, at this very moment the States are abuzz at the prospect of Daniel Radcliffe, puckish star of the HARRY POTTER movies, showing off his uncircumcised John Henry to American audiences in a Broadway revival of EQUUS. Given that we Yanks continue to titter girlishly behind our Jay-pan fans every time a celebrity bares all, I’d say we still have a lot of growing up to do.
xx
Addendum-da-dum-dum: Over at Mobius it was brought up that the HBO cum-shot-in-question was a medium shot at best, not a c/u, so I apologize for that mistake. And with some apprehension, I've also opened up my comments section to everyone.
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1 Arbogasps:
Very intelligent and astute observations,Arbogasps. It even affects the political thinking of an arguably educated American public, the obsessing over sex and, particularly, other men's cocks. Look at Monicagate, the GOP boytoy and public toilet scandals and the most recent Gov. of N.Y. You really hit it spot on.
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