Crash: Some Damn Fine Pre-Coital Moves

Last night my girlfriend and I decided to watch the Cronenberg, sex-car-death fest Crash from 1995. In short, it was gash. I’m sorry, but there’s no getting around it. I thought it was a great big bag of wank. 

From the opening scene of Deborah Kara Unger rubbing her face 'provocatively' against the plane to James Spader’s unfortunate cum face. All in all, it was just too bizarre. I can't believe that was the intention. It was disturbing mostly because every female in the film had the same pre-coital 'move.' It went a bit like this: 

First, to sexually arouse James Spader, you MUST face him in bra only. Clothes on top of bra is a BIG NO-NO (unless you’ve acquired a lace bodystocking, then you may cup one breast with a studded leather sling type item ala Rosanna Arquette). 

THEN, you must expose one breast (or 'pap' if you are my incredibly eloquent ladymiss) by forcefully pulling it out of one of your bra cups.  Now, one breast only mind – two is clearly just ridiculous. Then, you must stand there for a REALLY REALLY long time with heavy, pap-juddering breathing.  You must not say any words during this time, okay?  You look too awesome.

THEN, James Spader will have sex with you. But only from behind. This is because if he were to look directly at your one-boob-out any longer, he would turn to stone.   

Arousing, right??

This is just the latest littering of bullshit to grace my TV screen underneath the great big Hollywood fallacy-umbrella that it is in some way sexy. This is the same bullshit that pretends Ben Affleck can turn lesbians in not one, but two separate celluloid situations. (His pre-coital, lesbian-astonishing, moves, by the way, include an eyebrow raise and some pretty unfortunate dance moves. Getting one man-boob out for the gayladies would probably be seen as too full on). 

I want to know who the target market for these sex scenes is supposed to be. It would be fine if any of it was in any way erotic.  I suppose it is erotic, in the way that a rake lying next to a cheese grater is erotic, or the Kristen Stewart/Robert Pattinson level of on-screen chemistry is erotic i.e. not one bit.

Elizabeth Berkley teaches us, in 'erotic drama' Showgirls, that successful will-definitely-lead-to-sexytime-moves include a lapdance with which to channel the spirit of a dying fish on speed.  If that fails then just go put some ice cubes on your nipples and spray paint yourself gold.  Because really, that’s all there is left to do, isn’t it? 

Quite.