Reality in the raw

There's a certain appeal to Sean Baker's films that one could almost call "street-level." The fact that he tends to pick stories that are largely centered around the American underclass is part of that, but there's also his tendency to pick non- or new actors to fill his roles so that they feel natural in their environment. In his latest offering, Red Rocket, he cast one actor (Brittney Rodriguez) after seeing her walking her dog on the street, followed by him pulling over and asking if she'd like to do an audition. That's about as "street-level", literally, as it gets and it's that kind of unusual approach that gives his films an emotional authenticity that makes them so compelling, even if the situations that his characters end up in don't leave his audiences walking away feeling like something good has happened. Most people don't make it out of poverty and the tough situations that it creates, after all.

Red Rocket is the story of Mikey Saber (Simon Rex) returning to his hometown of Texas City after his porn career has ground to a halt and trying to generate some fast cash so he can find an opportunity to get back in the swing of things. That involves crashing at his ex-but-still-current wife's mother's home, becoming a dealer for one of the local under-the-table weed distributors, and getting involved with a cashier at the local donut shop whom he thinks he can turn into a star and use to ride back into the San Fernando Valley as a (re)conquering hero (but not, as his ex-wife, Lexi (Bree Elrod) points out, a "suitcase pimp" aka a male porn star making a living off a female talent.) Along the way, Mikey sponges off anyone who will offer a hand, including Lexi's neighbor, Lonnie (Ethan Darbone), whom he knew as a child and who still looks up to Mikey as a good guy to hang out with. Mikey, of course, is not a good guy, but is instead someone obsessed with his previous status as someone able to escape the confines of Texas City and the shadow (and fumes) of its massive refinery and whom can't stand the fact that he- a star -is stuck living with these regular people once again.

In the same way that his previous work, The Florida Project, dealt squarely with the lives of people living on the fringes of the Magic Kingdom and forced audiences to take a look inside the daily grind of their lives, Baker isn't afraid to step right into topics that are bound to make some viewers uncomfortable. Above and beyond his acknowledgment of the reality of sex as a fact of daily life, professionally and otherwise, he's willing to tread some sensitive ground when his protagonist, Mikey, essentially seduces a teenager into a career that she may not be interested in or prepared for, but which will make Mikey a lot of money and we're left with a mild feeling of tragedy when he realizes that his reach exceeded his grasp; not least because he makes the mistake of constantly trying to prove that he is more capable than everyone else around him until they decide to take advantage of that situation. In that respect, it's almost possible to feel like Mikey is correct in that he doesn't belong in this small town with all these other small people who aren't as, uh, gifted. But we also can't escape the fact that he's willing to sacrifice everyone else, to one degree or another, to his own self-interest. Baker and cinematographer, Drew Daniels, frequently highlight this contrast in a series of little moments, such as when Mikey is sure that he's sold Strawberry (Suzanna Son) on his scheme and we see him swaying from side to side on his battered bicycle on the way home in a moment of ecstasy that's just as intense as any orgasm. It's not a good thing that Mikey has done, but it's a little triumph that makes his world light again.

There are several great performances here; not least Rex's as the irrepressible Mikey, but especially Son as Strawberry, who is playfully magnetic every time she appears on screen. She responds to Mikey's expansion of her horizons with a growing self-confidence, leading us to believe that she understands more than she lets on, despite still being a prospective victim in this whole scenario. It's a role both understated and physically flamboyant, which presents Son as something of a natural and yet another of Baker's significant finds (He recruited her outside a theater in LA and didn't call her for a job for two years.) Another highlight is Judy Hill as Leondria, the local drug kingpin, who is fully aware of just who and what Mikey is from the moment he returns to town. Like him, she's more than willing to take advantage of another talented outlet for her business, but is also more than willing to cut him loose in favor of the residents (and regular customers) who are still interested in calling Texas City home, rather than discard it (and them) as trash in their wake. Leondria adds yet another key moment of hilarious normalcy when she insists on a family meeting to sort out the problems between her abrasive daughter, June (Rodriguez) and disinterested son, Ernesto (Marlon Lambert.) But possibly most affecting was Darbone (another newcomer; spotted as a waiter in a Nederland, Texas restaurant by Baker) as Lonnie, the neighbor kid whom Lexi used to babysit for and who naively believes that Mikey is someone to admire. At one point, Lexi asks that he keep Mikey from getting into trouble which he earnestly agrees to, not knowing that the situation will become quite reversed, as all of us anticipate much earlier.

Just as with The Florida Project, we can look at this film as an example of how there are often no happy endings, deserved or otherwise, but there are still real and interesting stories to tell in those situations. This film was in contention for the Palm d'Or at Cannes and it's not difficult to see why. While it does feel like it drags a little bit in the middle, as we wonder just how long it's going to take for Mikey to execute his master plan, the journey to get there is still wholly worthwhile. Highly recommended.

Apoplectic?

I didn't write anything about last week's True Detective because it was basically a non-entity to me. It didn't lead to the "lolwut" level of response like the opener, but it also didn't do anything to recommend the show. Yes, yes: "Colin Farrell took two blasts from a shotgun at close range!" Big deal. No one could believe for a second that they would build Ray into the most faceted character in the show and then kill him in episode 2. For those of you about to drag out the now-hoary Eddard Stark example, please recall that he was around for 9 episodes before he got the Public Safety haircut, to say nothing of the plot kind of shepherding everyone in that direction, anyway. Other than Dr. Pitior, easily the most fascinating character of the show and played by none other than Rick Springfield (Jessie's Girl!), episode 2 was a lot more of the same: incredibly morose cops surrounded by incredibly obvious corruption and a crimelord who's determined to be the toughest not-tough-guy anyone has ever seen.

Episode 3, despite being lauded by some critics who had gotten previews as the moment when the series begins to take flight, didn't add a whole lot to our continued tour of CSI: Eyes Wide Shut. Ray did survive being gunned down by the raven-masked guy (Dark wings, dark wo- oh, wait. Just riot shells. Since Pizzolatto is dipping into Kubrick, I thought he might borrow from Tarantino and make it rock salt.) and remains the one actor with a lot of meat to work with in terms of character, but who is still sandbagged by dialogue that seems to have come from the writers' room dartboard. He actually sat across from a guy he's known forever and used the word "apoplectic" like he was quoting Atticus Finch? And then explained drinking a glass of water (without ice? In a bar? I know there's a drought, but...) because "I want to stay angry." Sure, it could be false bravado and, given Ray's character, probably is. But it also sounds clumsy and forced. There's a fine line between selling that as a character and making your audience think that the writer was out of ideas when it came to that line and I'm not quite sure that Pizzolatto is staying on the right side of it. Farrell continues to work with what he's given but a couple more haunted looks and I think he might have reached the limit of what he can do here.

Taylor Kitsch, OTOH, did take a much larger step toward becoming a (ahem) person of interest when we discover that the reason for the performance-enhancing drugs and the angst over wartime is not about the combat, but the lover he can't quite forget and the associated urges. That's real conflict and created real drama and genuine character interaction when he found the guys who could lead him to the club, not to mention the series-defining line to this point: "They won't even talk to you... with that angsty, cop thing you're rolling." Yes, you. All of you. Even the one who's not a cop. Suddenly we have someone who's struggling not with the demons of the past that none of us can really see, but beasts of the present (one might even say "animal lust", if one were so inclined) that are Mr. Right here and right now. Woodrugh's insistence on not looking at the people who can already see right through him was a great bit of acting by Kitsch.

And then there's Vince. Poor Vince/Frank. The guy just can't catch a break. Problem is, he can't act one, either. While I was intrigued by the casting of comedic actor Vaughn to play a role in a series that was doubtlessly going to be way, way out of his typical range, at this point I think we have to declare this a failed experiment. Most people (or at least those who hadn't seen Dallas Buyers Club) assumed that Matthew McConaughey couldn't do grim and gritty, either, but he sold it last season from the first moment in the interrogation room. Even while he was rambling, the restraint, the tension, the coiled power, was there. Frank Semyon is a different character, but I think he calls for that same kind of self-assuredness and Vaughn just can't do that. Every time he's on screen, he's bloviating and leaving everyone with the impression that he's in control of nothing, but especially not himself. This is a guy who deals with the Russians? I ain't buyin' it. It'd be approaching believable if he played it with some comic timing, as in most of his other roles. Those are the actor's roots and, therefore, would be easier to accept as the character's roots, too. It's where he's comfortable. Instead, he just looks as out of his element in performing the role as Frank does in trying not to be tough.

In complete contrast, what we have in Antigone is a capable actor in Rachel McAdams with a role that's bordering on utterly worthless. She's a sounding board for the crazy guys. That's it. It's the same problem that existed in season 1, where every woman in the show existed solely to be the scenery for Marty and Rust. Since that series was essentially about their contrasting and hypocritical personalities, you can make an allowance for the fact that most of the other characters didn't exactly have depth. But Ani is no different. Her "moment" in episode 2 was a few seconds where we discover that she actually likes porn. Newsflash: Everyone likes porn. (One day, I will actually get into a Moth Radio Hour session and regale you all with a story about that very topic.) Porn is one leg of the stool that makes up the Interwebs, along with Amazon and Youtube comment threads. This is not a huge revelation nor does it make her tortured or weird or perverted in any way. It's normal. If it's meant to reinforce the fact that she keeps everyone at a distance, we already know that, since the rest of her character serves as nothing but to be the normal, straight-laced "good" cop who gets to be the contrast to the guys with all kinds of issues. You know, the ones that are actually interesting.  The fact that McAdams can play the stock casting call "tough cop" that the role apparently is and still have a certain degree of chemistry with her partners ("Is that a fucking e-cigarette?") is a credit to her, not the role. Episode 3 did nothing for her but give her a bunch of scenes where she shows she's the "hard worker" and "too obsessed with her job to have a 'relationship'" (Ewwww!) and she's built this tough, outer shell to hide the fact that she likes watching people screw? Um... so do I. So does everyone. This is not a crisis.

If I sound like I'm ripping the show up one side and down the other... well, it's because I am. Like many, I had high hopes for it after the phenomenal first season and the second season has turned into something that I would have dropped from my viewing time if not for the foundation laid in the swamps of Louisiana. The setting is less interesting, the characters are less compelling, the writing is exposition on meth, and all apologies to T. Bone, but the theme song kinda sucks, too. At this point last season, I was enthralled. Here we are one episode from the halfway point of season 2 and I'm really kinda bored. I don't care about Caspere getting his balls blown off and the big plot to build a trolley. There are a couple points of intrigue (Rick Springfield! Who knew he could even act?) but they're not really worth the hour a week to dig for them. One does have to acknowledged the awesomeness that is Fred Ward (Remo!) playing Ray's dad, but that's just one more candle in the darkness. We'll give it one more week and then HBO might be getting cut off until March.

Kneejerk moment: Sex and not sex

So Charlie Jane Anders wrote a piece for i09 about the use of sex in fiction and it reminded me of the page above which is probably the most famous rendition of sex that (n)ever occurred in Marvel Comics for any number of reasons.

First off, it was while Jim Steranko was doing his famous run on Nick Fury, Agent of SHIELD. Steranko had been in advertising prior to coming to comics, which is blatantly obvious via any casual glance at his work, including the above. He was used to spotlighting the topic of interest and didn't spend a lot of time on backgrounds or other supporting aspects to the panels which most good comic artists (and writers. and editors. and readers.) regard as essential to the proper delivery of the medium. There's a vast difference between comic strips and comic books. The former usually deliver a message or a joke. The latter deliver a story. If you're going to tell a story, you need to flesh it out. That fleshing is often done by including background art in the panels as the story proceeds. Think of it as description in prose or part of the cinematography of a film. However, Steranko was so good at delivering his story, even without words (as on the page above), that he was one of the few that could dispense with the backgrounds and still produce masterful work. In a way, he was an expression of the other half of that cinematography aspect, in which what the camera shows you, front and center, what you need to understand the writer's vision.

Secondly, this page was produced and published in 1968, while the comics industry was still under the onerous weight of the Comics Code Authority, designed to protect all young minds from the horrible consequences of real life and humanity and stuff. So, even though Steranko wanted to show Nick Fury and Contessa Valentina Allegra de la Fontaine relaxing at home in the manner that many lovers do, the CCA would have forbidden young eyes from seeing anything even resembling sex or intimate contact (kissing on the lips was also verboten under the Code.) So he drew the scene in as oblique a manner as he could in order to get it past the censors which were (I shit you not) a collection of uptight women in their 50s and 60s exactly as you would expect in stereotypical fashion. Of course, by that point Marvel had figured out that their primary buying audience were actually college-aged men, which were not exactly the target waifs of the Code but were easily smart enough to figure out exactly what was going in this scene. Funnily enough, it still had to be altered by the editors from his original production as, for example, he originally drew the phone off the hook, but that was considered too suggestive and something that the censors would flag.

The best part about this is that, of course, the scene became famous precisely because it showed no nudity or intimate activity. It's perfectly seductive and enthralling just as it is and delivers the message better than anything overt or softcore ever could have. Just as Charlie notes in her column, subtlety is often far sexier than actual sex and that's something that many, many authors, directors, and artists often fail to realize.

As noted frequently here, Game of Thrones has often used sex to drive the story, not because it was essential for the characters at that moment, but because it was a way for Martin to demonstrate that Westeros was a real place with real people who had real desires and sex (and fire and blood) is one of them. However, it became so frequent that a term was soon coined for it by the fanbase: "sexposition". I don't object to it in the show and, admittedly, there is so much story to tell in A Song of Ice and Fire that the kind of subtle moments that can convey real energy in a 2-hour film would be lost in the fairly hectic pace that the show currently has. The exploration of character is taking place over long arcs, whereas the more subtle moments oddly have to be shown at a slower pace in what is actually a shorter format. So there is nothing subtle about the sex in GoT and it can occasionally feel ham-handed as a consequence or present merely for the titillation that one seems to expect out of HBO's "adult" series.

In contrast, this is the opening shot of Blue is the Warmest Color, a film I've raved about before and mildly criticized for the (ahem) extended length of its sex scenes. But this opening scene may be the hottest one in the film, as it's the first glance between the two women and the expression of desire fairly explodes off the screen, whether you choose to see it as love at first sight or lust at first sight or both. You can feel the air smoldering between the two of them in every scene they share before they ever get horizontal and it's a fair question to ask whether that would have been enough, along with some properly placed scenery as in Steranko's work, to convey the intensity of their relationship even without the rest of the flesh. I'm not trying to be a prudish critic here, either. I was fine with the sex scenes in the film and I think there's something to be gained from watching the act itself as art. But I think couching it properly so that it serves a purpose in the story other than trying to snare the simple lust of the reader/viewer and instead engages her imagination is the best path in any creative work.

I sold a story recently that does have a fairly intense sex scene in it. I included it because the main character has been going through a series of moments where he doesn't quite know where he is and he begins reacting to things in a fairly emotional fashion, so it felt appropriate to place it there, as it also engages the sensations of heat and sweat. He was reacting in a very primal fashion, so it seemed right to show one of the most primal activities of the human condition in a way that perhaps confronts the reader, rather than entices. Could I have done it in a less abrupt fashion? Probably. But the story itself is relatively visceral to begin with, so I guess we'll see if I was right when it's released. Perhaps the adage "if it feels right, do it" also applies to writing to some degree?

And, all of that said, there's nothing wrong with just good, old pr0n if that's what you're into. There's a reason it's one of the foundation stones of the Interwebs: people like it. Everyone except Hobby Lobby, anyway.

Chaleur bleue

Blue is the Warmest Color is the film directed by Abellatif Kechiche, based on the graphic novel of the same name by Julie Maroh. I saw it last night at the State theater in Ann Arbor and was basically completely enthralled by it. While it has some questionable moments that may be style choices, overall it was an amazing portrayal of a rather simple story that many (if not all) viewers have gone through: the process of self-discovery and sexual awakening.

The main stylistic aspect of the film is the use of constant close-ups. Most of the time, the camera focus is mere inches from the actors' faces. I think Kechiche went in that direction because of the extreme intimacy of the story, but also because most of the action that you really want to see is happening on those faces. Adèle (played by Adèle Exarchopoulos) and Emma (Léa Seydoux) reveal vast amounts of their thought processes simply with their eyes and the quirks of their lips. Nothing could be more revelatory than watching Adèle's eyes after her unsatisfying sexual encounter with a man. No dialogue or action could fill that moment better than the emptiness and longing in her gaze and Kechiche was smart enough to use that. Being so close to the actors makes it easier for the audience to both empathize and sympathize with their situations, since we've all been there; all faced those moments of passion, confusion, frustration, loss, bliss, and contentment. This is a technique that was used with the idea that the audience would be an active participant in the events on the screen, whether they know it or not.

It's fortunate, as well, that Kechiche found the actors that he did, as this movie is completely driven by their performances. Exarchopoulos and Seydoux are magnetic, although I'll give the edge to Exarchopoulos, as the film's version of the story is more Adèle's tale than Emma's. Again, the story is relatively simple and the movie runs for over three hours. But there were only two moments in that span of time that I felt like we could move on and that only lightly. Otherwise, I was pretty much enraptured with events and constantly wanting to see what would happen next even when I knew what was coming. Again, I think what helped was the seeming familiarity of much of what was taking place on the screen. Having been in the moment when I was dumped or having had to tell someone that I was no longer interested, I could watch those emotions play out on their faces with the feeling that what I was seeing was real and not just a performance. I'd been there. I knew those feelings and they were occurring as if I was watching a friend go through it and not just an actor hitting her cue.

What makes it even more extraordinary is that Exarchopoulos is only 20 years old with a pretty thin body of work. Kechiche has to get some credit for extracting that performance from his two leads, but it apparently came at some cost, as both cast and crew objected to the extremely long hours that he required on set and both actors said that they would no longer work with him. Was it worth the pain and frustration for both of them to receive the Palm d'Or at Cannes, in addition to the director, for the first time ever? That's up to them to decide, but it's certainly a demonstration of just how heavily the film relies upon their excellent work. What makes Adèle stand out is the constant passion emerging from her. While Emma is the older character and plays her cards a little closer to the vest vis-a-vis her feelings, Adèle is on constant display all the time, even when she desperately tries to contain it later in the film. In that way, she plays a late-teens girl perfectly. But even later, as she matures, her intensity doesn't lessen and the love, confusion, and agony she feels blares from the screen. I'm not a huge fan of French cinema, as I find it relatively self-indulgent in a lot of ways (i.e. the director has a fetish that he's playing out, regardless of audience expectations or the needs of the story) but one thing that tends to emerge in most French films is passion and this film has that at every step.

No moment makes that more obvious than the scene in the park, shortly after the two have met. The sexual and personal tension present is enormous, as Adèle so obviously desires this woman and wants to fulfill this inner question that's been nagging at her for some time. Meanwhile, Emma, still a little cagey, wants to respond but is restrained by her natural reluctance and the fact that she's currently involved with someone else. And, yet again, we've all been there so this moment feels not only perfectly natural but like a reliving of moments in the past. That's great storytelling.

Interestingly, the story for the film is an extremely stripped-down version of that of the graphic novel. The latter is a kind of re-telling, in that Emma begins to read the diary of her partner, Clementine, after the latter has died. The events described by the diary are far more jarring and tragic than what happens in the film and, indeed, Maroh has said that she considers the film to be "another version... of the same story." Maroh also objected to the blue elephant in the room: the sex. The film is rated NC-17 in the US, which isn't surprising given the starkly different attitudes toward sex in American and French cultures. Consequently, you have American reviewers agog about the film itself, for the most part, but also cringing in true, Puritanical fashion over the lengthy scenes of two women making love. But Maroh also objected, comparing the scenes to porn and suggesting that the gay community in France found them "ridiculous" but later suggesting that it was a personal stance and that she would be interested to see how other women reacted.

Clearly, if you're making a film about sexual awakening and modern, sexual relationships, you're going to have sex on the screen, full stop. And, granted, hetero male here so watching two gorgeous women on screen, clearly enjoying themselves, is far from the worst way I could be spending my time. OTOH, one of my two questionable moments as an audience member was during one of those scenes because it was so lengthy (10 minutes.) Again, a movie about passion needs passion in it and the latter is an emotion best savored for as long as possible. I think this film does that. I just remember drifting a bit during that scene and thinking that it could have been curtailed just a bit given how much emotion and evidence of same had already been built up. It occurred to me at a couple other moments during the film that Hechiche might be a bit more pointed in his exposure of the audience to the story's overarching sexuality when he showed Adèle asleep or otherwise lying on her bed with her ass directly toward the camera. It's an open question whether this was an attempt at titillation or a constant reminder about the type of awakening taking place. In those respects, I can see where Maroh's comparison to porn comes from: it's seemingly gratuitous because it's not providing anything that the story needs that hasn't already been given. Or is it?

However, sex is also an expression of intimacy and part of the film's underpinning is not only the awakening of the desire to fulfill that intimacy in Adèle, but also how she shifts that into an essential part of her relationship with Emma. Despite viscerally objecting to her high school classmates' suspicion of her as a lesbian and being as guarded with her feelings and body as many other teen girls, she later takes to posing repeatedly for Emma's paintings, which will be publicly displayed and likely sold to other people. That's part of Adèle engaging herself to fulfill what her partner needs on a creative level and also her blossoming into someone that treats the human form and its physical activities as part of the natural world (i.e. very unAmerican.)

Unfortunately for her, that engagement also opens the door to a source of friction in their relationship, in that Adèle's feeling of fulfillment in simply being with Emma conflicts with the latter's more creative nature. Adèle only writes for herself and only in her diary but she has clearly shared this writing with Emma, who insists that it declares potential for Adèle to do something more. Her insistence is perceived as a slight and it creates a rift in their relationship because one has found fulfillment and the other is constantly striving for more and tends to lose respect for those around her that don't. I've been there. I've exposed people to that kind of remonstration and it had the predictable results, which is yet another point upon which I was really able to identify with this film. One opens oneself only to receive the barbs. Which is better: the turbulence of truth or the placidity of the illusion? Is it an illusion to simply be happy with what you have or is it an example of two people not truly in touch with each other?

The other slightly off moment was during the scene where Adèle has prepared a party for Emma's first show. There is a classic black-and-white film flickering by on a screen in the background, which uses brilliant juxtaposition for moments when Adèle's frustration and jealousy work in concert with the surprise and dismay of the nameless actress on the screen. But this scene was rather lengthy for what it conveyed, as well, and after a few minutes of driving home the negative impressions that Adèle was getting, I felt the urge to move on to something new. But those are two isolated moments in a 180-minute film that many people may not even notice. I do because I'm the damndest critic.

Of course, in a story of of self-discovery, you're almost naturally going to have hiccups. That's part of the process. There's an interesting moment where Adèle is striving to contain her emotions while on the job as a schoolteacher for very young children that you realize that this is still a somewhat-child teaching other children and it makes you realize just how traumatic her current circumstances are, as she went from confusion and feelings of isolation to bliss and then back to confusion and isolation. That's a difficult circumstance for anyone, but even moreso for one who can't rely on friends or family to understand her emotional problems if she feels that she can't reveal their source. The film does an excellent job of portraying the fact that, despite French society's more relaxed attitudes toward sex, its relationship with homosexuality is as complicated as that of many others.

Clearly, I loved it. It's one of the best films I've seen in many, many years and completely in spite of the story being so outwardly simple. I can't recommend it enough.

Songs to shag to

Horrible prepositional phrases, FTW!

There's very little possible argument against music as a sexual force. It's been condemned throughout history as an enabler, from David to Marilyn (no, not that Marilyn (thanks, Brian) but, yeah... her, too.) What's occasionally rattled around in my brain (and... other... places...) is what kind of music really drives the sexual impulse. It certainly depends on the listener(s) and their particular tastes and impulses, but sometimes it's the foundation of the track:

Ministry's Jesus Built My Hotrod off their transcendent Psalm 69 can't be described any other way by anyone willing to pay attention. Gibby Haynes' obvious lyrics and the song's driving, repetitive beat tend to make it obvious. But would it be a song that encourages sex with someone other than oneself?

Schubert's Ave Maria, on the other hand, is a piece I've heard recommended more than once to "set and continue the mood."

I can see the possibilities, even if it's something that might not occur to me. I wonder, however, if the soprano's presence is too much of an intrusion into the situation for most people. Does she make one rise and fall with her voice or propel one forward? Of course, in the classical vein, many people say you can't go wrong with the classic:

The physical mimicry of Ravel's Bolero, shifting from a slow, quiet build with an everconstant beat to something of more prominence is doubtlessly why it's lasted through the years as music emblematic of the deed. In the modern era, its attachment to Bo Derek and the movie 10 has certainly perpetuated that mental image.

Or we can shift away from mimicry and return to the direct approach:

John Lee Hooker's I'm in the Mood is not only a song explicitly about sex, but also contains that languid beat that tugs at your guts until you're willing to move in the way he wants you to. Many people think that there's something essentially sexual about the blues and its origins from long, slow, hot nights along the Mississippi. Of course, if you'd rather stick with modern tradition, you hearken back to the 70s:

I'd never be able to do it because I grew up in the 70s and Barry White makes me think of seedy, vaguely-Irish-themed bars, filled with smoke and the sounds of Space Invaders; not that the increasingly rapid and regular rhythm of the advancing aliens doesn't make a good aural simulation.

But there's a key element: Is the music supposed to draw you into another world or help enhance the one you're in? I suppose it depends on whom you have to imagine you're screwing, if you have to do that, but then we wouldn't really be talking about playing the right music. Personally, I remember having one of the more thrilling experiences of my life while listening to

AC/DC's Shake a Leg. Again, it was the driving beat and urgency of the whole track (I will forever be rooted in punk, I think) that kind of set the tone for the whole moment. We had put the album on to cover the noise and, thankfully, this track came on at just the right time, just as things were reaching a physical crescendo, as it were. Just like Ministry, it's a complete separation from the slower and just as intense urges driven by players like Hooker and again highlights the question of just which world you're trying to inhabit at any given moment.

Of course, sometimes it's all about timing. I have a friend who was hitting his peak right around the time that someone next door in the dorm was blasting Kraftwerk at 11:

He said that he could never hear this track again without, um, feeling it. Of course, some would say that techno/house/dub music like The Orb's Blue Room

is supposed to inspire precisely that kind of motion on the dance floor, vertically and horizontally. I can't really disagree with that, especially given the ethereal quality that is, in fact, meant to transport the listener (often to another world...) I had this track playing in a hotel room in Coldwater, MI one time (long story.)

Admittedly, I had sexual meaning on the brain tonight after tripping over Friends With Benefits while looking for a brief distraction. I like Mila Kunis as an actress (and, because, well, yeah) and I think the chemistry of the two stars and the script were both great but it was, in the end, yet another formulaic romantic comedy that spoiled all of that potential by kowtowing to test audiences. They were "daring" enough to make the movie largely about sex (trying to PG-13 it would have sacrificed the essential tenet of the story) but music and sex will always beat movies and sex, outside of the whole pr0n thing (Oh. That.) because the former often requires actual thought, whereas the latter frequently avoids it.