Sex in film is not necessarily gratuitous

By Ethan Luc, Epigram Chief Proofreader

As part of our Sex in Film series, Ethan Luc argues that sex onscreen isn't always a bad thing.

Watching Naked Attraction (2016-) with my housemates, I was struck by how far the public has come in terms of sex on TV. Still, there is a nagging feeling that sex is only used in film and TV because, well, it sells.

There are a myriad of on-screen sex scenes which seem to do little more than provide some eye candy for its audience. Game of Thrones (2011-), for instance, has been criticised for its ‘excessive’ nudity and prurience. Similarly, there are multiple examples of A-list actresses who have declined to appear naked in a film at the insistence of a particularly profit-driven producer or director: Amber Heard is a recent case.

Sex scenes often appear out of nowhere or are so cliche in a specific genre, it becomes a token part of the plot. In The Matrix Reloaded (2003), Keanu Reeves sleeps with Carrie Anne Moss’s Trinity in a scene which just seems to be there for middle-aged women. Then there’s James Bond in every James Bond film ever. And those two horny college kids in every single horror slasher movie. There are, however, some brilliant examples of sex in film. Often, it is because the film is centred on sexual education or liberation.

The clearest example for this is Alfonso Cuarón’s brilliant Y Tu Mamá También (2001). Opening with a young and earthy sex scene, the film is an unflinching examination of the role sex plays in the minds of two cocksure adolescents. Through the numerous explicit scenes, the audience accompanies these young men and their more experienced road companion as they travel through Mexico, learning all the time. ‘You have to make the clitoris your best friend,’ one says to the other. ‘What kind of friend is always hiding?’ the other replies.

Every time they have sex, we feel the same surge of excitement these teenagers are feeling, the same passion many of us feel at some point in our lives. The scenes are not pornographic; they are bemusing reminders of our pasts and symbols of a powerful human desire.

Elsewhere, sex scenes are used to bring the marginalised into the fold. The Handmaiden (2016) follows 2010s Shutter Island-esque plotline, full of twists and turns, where a young woman is hired by a conman to help him seduce a noblewoman. It is fascinating enough, even without the explicitness—an ingenious psychological thriller, adapted from Sarah Waters’ 2002 novel, Fingersmith.

It is the visually stunning eroticism which makes it. Filmed in three parts, with shifting point of views, the audience is privy to the same sex scene from different angles. One critic has pointed out that their 69ing is like the film’s obsession with doubling. The raunchy lesbianism, much like Carol (2015) before it, offers fresh insight into the passions we enjoy. A subplot involving an old pervert’s collection of erotica reads more like an attack of pornography rather than aimless hedonism.

And finally, there’s Anomalisa (2015). Charlie Kaufman’s most recent film highlights the mechanical nature of modern-day relationships, platonic and sexual. In it, two puppets have sex in authentic detail, as the camera portrays a scene which is meant to be felt. The scene took six months to animate.

Sex scenes are understandably viewed with scepticism. They are often unnecessary, ruining the rapport the rest of the film has so painstakingly built up with its audience. Many times they have become a function of the genre, appearing only to fulfil what is perceived as a prerequisite.

Two kids don’t need to be having sex in a forest before they’re killed. There doesn’t need to be a hundred sex scenes in Game of Thrones for us to know that it exists. James Bond is a serial womaniser, we get it. There are, however, films where sex is an artistic, measured and crucial window into the humanity of its characters. They just don’t come too often.

Featured Image Credits: IMDb / The Handmaiden, IMDb / Game of Thrones / HBO, IMDb / Carol, Collage via Canva

Should we rethink our old assumptions about sex scenes in film and television?

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