Whose Gaze Is It Anyway?


Ok, so. I went to see 50 Shades of Grey last night. Here’s my quick take:

Wow, did this movie need more cock.

This is a story, ostensibly, that hinges on a man who likes to “fuck. And fuck hard” (Yes, Jamie Dornan actually says that, in the least convincing way possible). And yet, we never see Dornan-as-Grey’s dick, not even for a second. Yes, the film’s rated R, which usually means no male full frontal, though 98% full female nudity? Totally fine.

However, one of the major selling points for this story has been its emphasis on female pleasure, implicitly the heteronormative (or at least cock-appreciating kind), making the utter absence of Dornan’s dick kind of bewildering. Notably, Dornan does wear these ridiculously low-slung and stylishly ripped jeans during the scenes in his sex dungeon/playroom—hot damn yes, he looks good—but the fuckers never come all the way off. Perfect metaphor for the movie.

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An Engine of Discursive Pleasure

This post is a metatextual exorcism: me trying to get the stupid out, as my directing teacher used to say, in re: my research project about the rhetorical tactics of the Overlord. It’s also an excuse for lots of pictures of Misha, so. If that turns you off, you know, I’d suggest you check for a pulse.

Ok, so. Here’s why it’s been hard for me to wax academic about Misha Collins:

It was easier for me to [gleefully] objectify the dude than it was to take him seriously.

Like, bro: I could write some smoking hot RPS about you without breaking a sweat, but put on a Random Acts video and I went all Crayola.

Fangirling over his body? Fine. Fangirling over what he actually did with that body in real life?

Oh hell no.

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