Man goes on long road trip with a motorcyle in the back of his van. Makes out with various women along the way named after flowers.
In the end, he gets a not-very-good blowjob from his dead ex (yes, he has lovely boy parts, but it just wasn’t worth an hour and twenty minute road trip to get there).
We are apparently supposed to feel sorry for him because his hour and twenty minutes of quiet roadtripping and anonymous making out are the results of… (wait for it!)… his incredible trauma at having walked in while his girlfriend was passed out and being ganged raped.
No, no, seriously.
She was passed out and being gang raped and he was so traumatized that he LEFT HER THERE BEING GANG RAPED and she later choked on her own vomit and DIED and he was just TRAUMATIZED.
Seriously?
Seriously.
You know, I think it can be fun to mess with the whole expectation of men-as-heros. The reason we have so many stories about heros is that most people really aren’t heros. Most people, in a traumatic situation, freeze up or run away just like this guy did.
But you know what? I really have no sympathy for these people, especially when, you know, their lame-headed lack of spine results in the harm or death of somebody else.
This movie reminded me a lot of The Machinist, where you have this big, long, drawnout buildup to this not-very-compelling ending where it turns out the guy is just wracked by guilt because he’s a fucking fuck-up.
I mean, really.
“Feel sorry for me because I let my girlfriend be gang raped and die!”
Excuse me if I feel a lot more sympathy for the person being brutalized who YOU DID NOT HELP AND THEN BLAMED FOR “FUCKING GUYS.”
Retard.
There was something else I noticed in this movie that bugged me. Most of the movie is shot from the back seat of his van, so all you ever see is the back of his head. And when he’s making out with these women, and for the majority of the blowjob, all you’re seeing is the women’s reactions.
It occurred to me for the first time (yeah, I know), that every movie I’ve ever seen concentrates mainly on the woman’s reaction during a sex scene. There’s more shots of hip and breast than the man’s ass and shoulders, more of her moaning than him moaning, more of her gasps and sighs and whatevers than his.
I put on The 300 not long after and tested out this theory, and it’s true. Even in the fantasmagoria of man-flesh that is The 300, the sex scene primarily shows how “good” the sex is by showing *her* reactions to this.
I find it annoying that the vast majority of films make the assumption that all men AND women want to see of a sex scene in film is… well, women. Our bodies are already so defined and inscribed with “sex” that to then make every movie sex scene concentrate on women is… really annoying.
I like looking at hot guys. My delight at The 300 is in no small part due to the fact that, yo, there are 300 guys in boy shorts and capes for nearly two hours, with loving, slow-motion shots of rippling abs and asses and buff thighs for nearly two hours! It is delightful.
Watching Forgetting Sarah Marshall was also delightful for the unexpected full frontal you get of the guy. No, he’s not terribly hot, but he’s likeable, and the novelty of seeing a naked guy on screen was pretty fun.
Why is sex always about women? I think one of the best ways to get a lot of guys out of their homophobic freak-out is to get them used to seeing other guys naked… and thinking it’s sexy.
Cause you know what? As women, we’re trained to think that about women from day one. We see it everywhere. All the time.
Sure, maybe there are just more bisexual women than bisexual men… or maybe it’s just that more bisexual women recognize that other desire than bisexual men do. We’re given far more oppotunities to look at other women as sexy, sexual, attractive, as… well, sex.
And here’s my thing about sex. Sex is not just women. Sex is not just two women. Sex is people. That includes men. And you know? I like guys to come with most of my sex.
All puns intended.
