So I watch a lot of porn. But just because I watch a lot of porn doesn’t mean I like everything I see. In fact, I’m kind of a tough critic.
I try to look at adult content as a whole, both as a unique project and within the context of all porn, all media, and the collective social world. And because I’m so familiar with so much porn (as well as popular culture and wider society), I’m often able to make connections that others may not. I sometimes try to consider relatively “objective” dimensions of the medium, such as production values; but, anyone who knows something about objectivity knows that what’s considered objective is as biased as anything. Everything we create, write, or think is filtered through a subjective human experience, thus everything is embedded with at least a little bit of bias. Thus, because I’m me and I think all the things that I do, my perspectives and biases influence my views. My assessments of adult content are mostly—okay, entirely—subjective. They’re informed by my mind, my history, and my work.
It doesn’t happen often, but sometimes my personal views get in the way. I once got a great lesson about slippery slopes and my own subjective assessments through reviews I wrote for two films: Burning Angel Entertainment’s Joanna Angel: Ass-Fucked and Extreme Comixxx’s The Justice League of Pornstar Heroes.
But before I get to my reviews, it’s important to have a bit of background on the companies behind those films. Burning Angel is an alt-type adult production company that specializes in a sort of punk/ emo/tattooed sexy-campy aesthetic and lifestyle. It was founded by Rutgers alum Joanna Angel, who produces, directs, and stars in a lot of Burning Angel content and generally masterminds everything else related to her porno mini-empire. She’s pretty impressive.
Burning Angel creates web-based content and all-sex DVD collections, as well as funny movies—tongue-in-cheek titles like Kung Fu Pussy and the Footloose knock-off Asphyxia Heels The World. Sometimes Burning Angel titles are sublimely clever slam-dunks, like Doppelgänger. Other times, the company makes huge missteps, like its use of yellowface (which is akin to blackface) in The Walking Dead: A Hardcore Parody. But no one and nothing is perfect all of the time—such is the variability of human experience.
Ass-Fucked is one example of porn at its finest: five anal trysts, all featuring various iterations of Joanna, that I absolutely loved. The scenes range from cutesy and fun, like the one where two Jewish youngsters (Joanna and James Deen) are celebrating Christmas, to intense and hyper-hot, like the final scene in the collection, the one where Joanna has way too much anal sex with Manuel Ferrara. This scene was especially impressive—a breathless, exhilarating conclusion.
In terms of hot porno, Ass-Fucked delivered in spades. But in my view, this film wasn’t so much erotic as it was empowering. It showed an educated woman business owner in control of exactly the kind of sex she wanted, all in order to make exactly the kind of creative product she wanted to sell. And the fact that, at moments, the film was a bit too intense for my personal tastes made it that much better. I didn’t have to like everything about Ass-Fucked to appreciate how powerful it was. It was one of those projects that should be cited when people claim women adult performers do not enjoy their work. Sometimes, some of them clearly, obviously, totally do.
But soon after I got rocked by Ass-Fucked, I watched The Justice League of Pornstar Heroes. What a cold, gross letdown.
This is what it’s about:
When a great evil threatens porn’s very existence, The Justice League of Porn Star Heroes comes together to battle the Legion of Poon. Can Batman and Robin tag-team Catwoman into submission? Are Wonder Woman’s truth juices enough to get the General talking? Will the sexy Mob Boss stop The Flash in his tracks? Can Superman get Zatanna to turn a real trick? Will the Green Lantern let Harley Quinn strip him of his ring and more? What are Lex Luthor and Poison Ivy scheming? Can our porn star heroes save the day? Only watching The Justice League XXX will reveal the answers, as the porn star heroes try to save the world, one orgy at a time.
What’s not mentioned in this synopsis is that the director of The Justice League is one of the most notorious bad apples in the porn business. He’s disrespectful to performers, bounces checks, and is generally difficult to work with. I knew this going into my viewing, and I evaluated the film accordingly.
The content itself was good—high production value and a decently plausible super-storyline. There were seven total sex scenes interwoven throughout the narrative, all ranging from fine to good, except for the final blowbang scene. For those of you who may not know, a blow-bang is like a group blowjob where one person fellates any number of others. As such, at the end of The Justice League, Wonder Woman (played by Chanel Preston) rewards the rest of the Super Friends for a crisis well averted. But rather than feeling secure in my safety and happy for the fellas, this particular scenario left an unpleasant taste in my mouth.
Pun not intended.
Although I maintain, respect, and hope that every person involved with this particular scene chose to participate on the basis of what they felt was right for them, the sociologist in me wondered about the gender implications of Wonder Woman’s going from super equal team member to piñata-style party favor, because that’s exactly what happened. You see, this wasn’t just a blowbang. It was a hard blowbang, and its intensity was totally out of place relative to the rest of the film.
Before its conclusion, The Justice League was a fun, sexy parody. And in another genre or context, the mechanics of this particular sloppy gagging mess would’ve been fine, but here it seemed both mean-spirited and excessive. And I confess that I formulated all of this within the context of Mr. Bad Apple’s leadership and vision. Surely he was up to his regular shtick, putting Wonder Woman in her place and Chanel through her paces.
So in the end, I loved Ass-Fucked and hated The Justice League. Fine. But here’s the bigger issue—why? Why did final scenes that were comparably “rough” ruin one film and make the other that much better?
Juxtapose my assessment of Joanna’s robust anal with Chanel’s intense blowbang. What I was saying was that Ass-Fucked’s conclusion was intense—so super intense, in fact, that I could imagine it being used as an example in some sort of anti-adult entertainment rhetoric. Ironically, however, to me, that was exactly the kind of mind-set that that scene didn’t support. In my view, Ass-Fucked was actually an acme moment in feminist expression, partly because of the intensity that was displayed during its conclusion.
But then, almost in the same breath, I was troubled by the fact that Wonder Woman went from integral team member to fuck-toy party favor during The Justice League. Why was that over-the-top blowbang necessary, and what are the implications? Why was I able to see the positive dimensions associated with vigor and “extreme” sex in one scene but only the bad in another?
I got called out on this.
I received an insightful series of comments regarding my reaction to The Justice League from respected adult industry critic Don Houston. He interpreted the blowbang (and my reaction to it) a little differently than I. Here’s some of what he had to say:
Your biggest concern comes from the blowbang, and while I’m not typically a fan of them either (be they light and fluffy or hard as can be nasty), perhaps you’re reading too much into it (or I, not enough). Chanel/WW are sexual dynamos capable of bringing all those men to their knees via oral alone. In the character of WW, she was raised on an island devoid of all men, straying forth due to the shrinking world’s likelihood of impacting her home. The mythology behind the Amazons aside, couldn’t WW be of a frame of mind to “catch up for lost time” and what better partners than physically enhanced heroes; none of whom asked her to get the coffee (knowing they’d be laid out on their asses), take notes of their meetings, or otherwise place her in a subordinate role? That she took them on as an equal, maybe more than equal if you catch my drift, speaks to her superiority over most of them.1
Exactly.
Don did a better job with this film than I. His take on
the scene and its potential implications center on empowering, rather than disempowering, women. Why can’t Wonder Woman be in control of the blowbang situation or exploring something new, thus choosing to celebrate the conclusion of yet another adventure with a bevy of cocks? And why couldn’t I see this?
As Don correctly pointed out, I’m not a fan of this type of scene. But blowbangs aside, I let my feelings about a specific sex depiction (and the person who directed it) shape my assessment in a negative manner. Why did I choose to disempower Chanel’s creative choices by empowering Mr. Bad Apple’s? In other words, why couldn’t Chanel be just as down for her scene as Joanna was for hers?
Don’s perspective on this made me think a lot, especially when considering The Justice League in conjunction with Ass-Fucked. I was blown away by Joanna’s bold bravado in Ass-Fucked—not my personal cup of tea, but incredible in so many ways. What’s more, I was simultaneously concerned that a less-than-informed misreading of this scene might possibly diminish Joanna’s autonomy and power. At the same time, even though I acknowledged the fact that everyone had to be on board for the final scene in The Justice League, all I could see were the negative implications of that Super Friends super fuck. I neglected to even consider, much less offer, another perspective or a different reading. It’s certainly possible for both Wonder Woman and Chanel herself to like that blowbang, and the likelihood of her so doing (empowering) is no greater or less than my take (fairly disempowering). And this was informed wholly and completely by Mr. Bad Apple and the context I associated with him.
So essentially, I did to The Justice League exactly what I was afraid might happen to Ass-Fucked—I slipped down the slope of subjectivity and offered up a potentially misread, limited interpretation shaped largely by personal bias and a particular agenda. In other words, I ass-fucked that blowbang, and not in a good way.
I still don’t like that particular scene in The Justice League. I still think it was out of place, nasty, and unnecessary. In my view, it ruined the entire film. But I really appreciated the eye-opening reminder that Don’s points initiated: No matter how much you know or think you know, all assessments are subjective. Even yours. Even mine.
10
“Tranny,” Queer, and Tales of Loaded Language
IN LIFE, HOWEVER FOLKS WANT TO BE REFERRED TO, that’s what I want to say. Whether it’s a matter of a person’s name or sex or gender or age or ethnicity or whatever, I support everyone’s right to self-identify. But I struggle with the term “tranny,” used frequently in mainstream porn to refer to women performers labeled male at birth who are often still in possession of a penis but are outwardly female in every other respect. It sounds so pejorative to me.
My discomfort with “tranny” is my own issue, a likely product of feminist and social justice-based research, advocacy work, and training—more theory than you can imagine and years and years of working with members of transgender and queer communities. In my subjective view, which has been informed by a wealth of particular personal experiences, “tranny” is not okay. But that doesn’t mean everyone agrees with me. Nor does it mean that my position is correct.
But I keep thinking about it—“tranny”—often within the context of sex, gender, and porn.
For the sake of simplicity, let’s consider sex and gender first. Sex has to do with your physical body, while gender has to do with your social expression of a range of masculinities and/or femininities (and/ or neutralities). There are endless combinations of sex and gender by which a person may be labeled and may identify. The most important thing to remember though, in my opinion, is that people are entitled to identify as they choose.
Your assigned sex and/or gender may align with how you actually identify. That is cisgender. Cisgender refers to folks for whom the sex and gender they were assigned at birth, their bodies, and their personal identity all line up in a conventional (read: generally occurring) way. So, for example, I am a cisgender woman. I was assigned the sex female at birth and was raised as a girl. Today, I identify as an adult woman who is in possession of a female body—what I was labeled with as a young person matches up with what I feel I am today.
Your assigned sex and/or gender, however, may not align with how you actually identify. That is transgender. Transgender refers to folks whose gender identity and/or expression do not line up with their assigned physical sex and/or gender in a conventional way. So for example, a young person may be assigned female at birth and be raised as a girl, while identifying as a boy or (eventually) a man. This unconventional (read: less generally occurring) combination may prompt a person to identify as transgender.
Got it? Good! Let’s go back to “tranny,” a sex- and gender-related attribution and identity, within the context of porn.
Juxtaposing “tranny porn” with “queer porn” is useful. Consider the following passage, quoted from an early draft of an academic paper I published in 2014:
Reclaimed and highly charged, the term “queer” is both a descriptor of sexual orientation and a radical political positionality. The term’s multi-faceted meaning applies to queer porn content as well. Generally, queer porn features performers of various gender identities and sexual orientations intermixing and exploring genres in ways infrequently seen in other sexually explicit content. For example, a queer porn narrative may feature transgender performers in a “conventional” romance. Also political, queer porn seeks to present a level of sexuality and identity authenticity (allegedly) absent from most other adult content.1
Let’s talk about the term queer for a moment. Like “tranny,” queer can be a hot-button word. It originally meant strange or unusual, but somewhere around 1900, queer morphed into a slur against gay men and perceived sexual deviance. And there it sat for almost one hundred years. Sometime during the 1990s though, members of the gay community started taking queer back—kinda like a “fuck you” to folks who had used the term against them. Consequently, the reappropriated term, which now refers to individuals who identify beyond gender binaries (for example, something other than man or woman) and/or heteronormative categorizations (for example, something other than cisgender heterosexual), came with both a radical political positionality and some controversy.
You see, though many folks embrace this identity, others simply do not care to be queer. Some people are just not political, or maybe they come from a place where the cruelty associated with the word is too much to get around. Or perhaps they know that not everyone who uses the word is trying to be nice or empowering. These concerns are absolutely legitimate, and they partially shape the way queer is engaged in the wider social word. Unfortunately though, when an understanding of something comes entirely from an academic and/or activist standpoint (as mine once did), one might forget about real-world harshness and these less-than-pleasant moments. This happened to me once regarding queer.
I had been invited to speak about the use of mainstream marketing tactics in adult novelty product sales at an industry-centered trade conference—beautiful sociology in practice. Approximately fifty brick-and-mortar retailers were to be in attendance; and considering the state I was in (California), the nature of the business I was engaging (sex toys), and the fact that it was then 2011, I felt confident addressing what I felt was a fairly simple point. Among other observations, I noted that, within their communities, buyers will be loyal to businesses that resonate with their identities, their interests, their needs, and so on. I made the point about women, about racially and ethnically diverse and/or concentrated communities, and about queer folks. (Of course, intersectionality2 also comes into play.)
The first time I said “queer,” I noticed a woman in the audience blink hard and start rustling around. I didn’t think much of it, but the second time I said it, she stood up and demanded, “Stop it. Stop saying that word!”
I was completely taken aback, as was just about everyone else in the room. “What word?” I asked.
“‘Queer’—you can’t say that!”
“
Ummm . . .” I was shocked into silence but quickly realized what was happening. “The term ‘queer’ has actually been reclaimed,” I explained. “It’s an empowering word meant to show support for all LGBT people . . . and for allies and for anyone else who chooses it.”
“Well I’m bisexual, and it offends me! I don’t want to hear it!” She was still standing. And shouting.
At this point, another woman from the crowd piped up: “Haven’t you heard of Reel Queer Productions? Or Good Vibrations? They’re right there in San Francisco, right in the middle of everything, and they say ‘queer.’”
I took the opportunity to jump back in: “Look, I absolutely did not mean to offend you, but everything that I know, have seen, and have worked on tells me that this word is okay in this context.” Then, to the entire room, “Let’s get back to it! So the point I was trying to make was. . . .”
Yikes.
I sought the woman out after my talk was done. She was still beside herself, and no amount of explaining or offering references seemed to help. Eventually, she stormed off. I was nearly in tears. The idea that what I had said could be misinterpreted in such a way was absolutely mortifying. No one else seemed to have a problem though. One of her coworkers came up to me and said, “She’s just like that.” Reactionary with no filter, I guessed. Another young man, who let me know he was “soooo queer,” gave me a bottle of fancy lube from his store, with wishes to have a better afternoon.
I still felt bad though.
Regarding language, within the context of my training as an academic and my work as a social justice advocate, everything I knew told me queer was okay. But what’s clear from this example is that even though queer has been reclaimed, its meaning is not universal. For some, the term is still highly charged in a negative way. Just like the way “tranny” is for me. So let’s go back to that academic paper of mine. This passage is about “tranny porn”:
Exposure Page 8