And now, for something completely different... via Warren Ellis comes this fascinating and deeply disturbing essay on the effects of the recession on the porn industry. Author Susannah Breslin writes:
Once upon a time, pornographers were kings. Now, content was king. “Everybody talks about ‘content,” Powers bemoans, disgusted. “What the fuck is ‘content’?” he sneers. “That’s what it’s turned into. Content. Even that word is offensive!” he shouts, banging his fist on the desk. “The average shooter, nowadays, he has no interest in making a good movie. He shoots content. We might as well be pimps!” he hollers, waving his hands in protest. “Pimps and whores! And we shoot content!”
His voice softens. “It’s not near as fun as it was. They’re just shooting content to fill these specs they need for some website they’re shooting for,” he sniffs reproachfully. “They’re not being creative,” he pouts. “They’re not doing anything interesting.”
I debate whether or not to point out some might question the “creative” caliber of his work, but don’t.
[...]
“Shooting porno is never gonna die as long as people have an interest in sex. It’s the medium that changes.” All he has to do is make a buck off the longing, channel the dark side of the American dream, create something so new, so outrageous, so unbelievable that people will pay to see it—even now. After all, when the industry is porn, profits may rise and profits may fall, but the demand is never-ending.
I'd also like to point out that the web layout (while not work safe) is certainly interesting inasmuch as it's probably the future of web-based reading.
Okay, now that I'm done with that tangent... the only part of the piece that feels a little forced is then end. Breslin writes:
Porn is pure fantasy, a product that is made, for the most part, by men for men. This was but one facet of what the market demanded. Was it weird? Sure. Was it human? You bet. Was what I saw in the Valley obscene? That’s hard to say. Twelve years after the first day I set foot in the Valley, I’ve come to understand that porn is a funhouse mirror reflecting whatever we want to see in it.
If people didn’t want it, it wouldn’t be made.
Ultimately, pornography is a slave to supply and demand. If Porn Valley is America’s dream factory, it bears keeping in mind that its dreams are all yours. [emph. in original]
It's a truism that "if people didn't want x, x wouldn't happen," but that's a descriptive--not a normative--account of x. And, in this case, after the often bleak picture Breslin paints of those (especially the women) affected by the porn industry, falling back on that truism feels like a cop out. After all, I felt punched in the stomach after reading her lede (I'm not putting it here in its entirety):
“OK, so what are we going to do?” a man standing off-camera asks in a voice that sounds as if it has been digitally altered. “Should I just beat the shit out of her?”
The camera moves closer, following the man we can’t see like an obedient dog. From the right side of the frame, his left hand reaches out and grabs her by the top of her head. His right hand secures her under the jaw, trapping her in his vice. Her grimace fills the screen.
[...]
Over the next ten minutes, he threatens to beat her, threatens to torture her, pulls up her shirt, pulls up her skirt, hits her breasts, hits her thighs, throttles her by the neck with both hands, humiliates her, degrades her, makes her cry, chokes her until she is gasping for air. He gets her to tell the camera she is 27 years old and the only reason she’s here doing this particular job on this particularly day in this particular hotel room in the Valley is for the money, and the fact of the matter is she has two young children to support, of whom the man asks rhetorically, and seemingly for the sole purpose of screwing with her head, “They’re going to grow up to be proud of her, right?”
[...]
There can be no mistake. This is when he breaks her. Her expression flattens. Her eyes go blank. She appears to be dissociating. Slowly, she turns from the camera, going somewhere else, inside herself, anywhere but here.
“OK, I’m going to bring the guys in here,” the man announces to no one in particular. “Because you’ve just gone to pieces on me.”
And, with that, the real scene begins.
I'm pretty non-judgemental when it comes to sex. But, good god, that is fucked up, and I don't think you can explain that away by appealing to that tired protector of the immoral: If people didn’t want it, it wouldn’t be made.
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