So Long, Boob Tube
Perhaps you’ve noticed there’s been a lot of shiny waxed chests parading around on the big screen. (Ahem, Gosling.) And a lot of cock shots on TV (Ahem, True Blood.) Even some long lingering cock shots. (Ahem, Fassbender.) There’s a sexual revolution afoot. And Julieanne Smolinski is not sure this new era of male objectification is working for her:
Part of the problem is vestigial. We’re conditioned to see male nudity and think: funny! Like, say, Will Ferrell’s butt. Or all those naked people in The Full Monty. Our discomfort with the male member has long been mined to make us laugh—Graham Chapman’s penis was actually the first one I’d ever seen. (I’m not counting Mark Wahlberg’s in Boogie Nights, which is really closer in spirit to a Muppet than to a sexual part.) That is, in my opinion, the sole advantage the male apparatus has over the female: Our junk just isn’t as funny. It’s not as kinetic. It will probably never make anyone laugh, nor would it be medically possible to watch a woman’s genitals flop around while she cries, like Jason Segel’s did so memorably in Forgetting Sarah Marshall.
Even aside from the actual cock shot, it’s hard for me to process, let alone get turned on by, all the general eye-fucking of the newly bare male form. When the camera lingers on Justin’s bare-butt musculature, I might as well be trying to get turned on by a Michelangelo sculpture.