Sabo's new vision of new porn

Professor Anne Sabo’s article “A vision of new porn” brings together many of the themes we have been discussing over the past couple of weeks. She begins by introducing the anti-porn/pro-sex division in feminism that continues to manifest itself in texts such as Levy’s book and Gallagher and Kramer’s CAKE guide. In her introduction, Sabo acknowledges the “growing popularity and legitimacy of porn” (222) alongside a culture that still holds onto “lingering experiences of gender inequality and oppressive gender roles” (222). In light of these two cultural elements, Sabo proposes that we examine porn for what it can offer young people as they explore and discover their gendered identities.

Sabo presents and analyzes porn made by women in the United States and Europe, explaining how plot lines, artistic expression and other filmic elements contribute to an overall aesthetic and sexual message. She begins the section “Porn as discourse and film: the predicaments of language and pleasure” with Simon Hardy’s claim that porn might be a way of “transforming the traditional balance and pattern of heterosexual eroticism” (qtd. in Sabo, 223), contrary to what anti-porn feminists such as Brownmiller, Dworkin, Morgan and MacKinnon may have argued. Although Hardy advocated an anti-censorship view in his article, Sabo draws our attention Hardy’s caution against being blind to power. As Sabo says, Hardy “advises us to be attentive to the formation of new power formations” in erotic expression (223). This point—the fact that we have the power to configure new kinds of power in erotic expression and not just adhere to the active/passive dichotomy—was, to me, one of the most poignant in Hardy’s article. As we see later from Sabo’s descriptions of pornography, filmmakers are using various techniques to demonstrate equality (among other things) in erotic expression. This is something I don’t think CAKE does very well—I think Gallagher and Kramer may still be stuck in the dichotomous view of heterosexual erotic expression. While they could have expanded this definition of power like some of the porn producers in this article, they chose to adhere to a dichotomous view of power in which one partner is dominant, be it male or female.

Sabo also draws attention to the power of porn to elicit bodily sensations and therefore its power to “speak to a new generation of women,” to “move its viewer,” and to simultaneously keep “a critical eye on its appropriation of language” (224). She then launches into description and analysis of porn films from the United States and from Europe.

In her analysis of porn in the United States, Sabo highlights the work of porn producer Candida Royalle, who co-founded an erotic film company called Femme Productions in 1984. Sabo chronicles Royalle’s Eyes of Desire (1998), drawing attention to its complex plot and Lisa’s (the main character’s) desire and pleasure. She also highlights Royalle’s unique use of the gaze in Eyes of Desire, stating that the film “capture[s] a gaze that is mutual and democratically exchanged between two individuals” (226). Sabo says that “Royalle legitimizes both the activity of looking at sex, and the pleasure of being the object of someone’s gaze” (226), and I believe this democratic exchange has more implications than the mere reversal of power suggested in CAKE. Although I have never seen Eyes of Desire and may have a different or more complex opinion after I do, this gaze seems to propose a new kind of power, an erotic, sensual power that is founded in equality.

Sabo also engages Hardy’s analysis in her argument about Royalle’s film, saying that Royalle’s response to the hegemonic heterosexual erotic discourse is to “engage it reflectively and ironically” (226). This can be seen, Sabo says, in the ways Royalle’s characters overcome shame, fear and inhibition, and in the emphasis the characters have on playing their parts, not being their parts. Sabo also notes that all sex in the film is consensual, warm and loving in addition to being playful.

Next, Sabo analyzes Royalle’s Under the Covers, an erotic film that highlights the paradox of a sexual consumer culture in the United States paired with a conservative government that emphasizes abstinence-only education. Although Sabo says that some of the aesthetic quality of the film is lost, it emphasizes the message of sex education (through the character of a sex therapist) and the notion that “sexual repression is defeated by pleasure” (228). Sabo states that the film has potential to give voice to a young generation of sexual men and women in the United States.

In her section titled “Shagging in Europe: A different kind of porn,” Sabo highlights the work of British porn producer Anna Span, whose work is currently widespread in Scandinavia. Span’s work and popularity reflect a cultural comfort with sex in Scandinavia, according to Sabo. Span’s work de-emphasizes the seriousness of Royalle’s films and instead concentrates on “frolicking in some jolly good sex mainly for the fine fun of it” (231). Sabo notes that this difference in the two women reflects cultural and generational trends (Royalle was born in 1950 and lives in the United States; Span was born in 1972 and lives in England). Although the two producers use humor differently as a result, neither uses humor to rise above the plot of the film, says Sabo in a footnote. They both engage the viewer fully, using the bodily experience that Sabo mentioned earlier to do so.

Thirdly, Sabo highlights the work of Swedish porn-maker Erika Lust, who produces porn with a “revamped look” similar to a music video. Lust’s porn, according to Sabo, “reflects the range of real twenty- and thirty-something women and men today across Europe and the westernized world” (233). She sees this reflection as a potential voice in the “gap between the ideal and the practice of gender” (Hardy qtd. in Sabo 234). Sabo sees this as “one of the most intriguing aspects of re-visioned porn” (234).

In her conclusion, Sabo re-emphasizes the power of porn alongside women’s consumption of porn as a force for social change. While I agree with Sabo’s claim that “commercialization is easily dismissed as the enemy, but in a commercialized age, denying access is tantamount to denying a voice” (235), something about the female consumption of porn still retains a classist quality to it that male consumption of porn doesn’t seem to. Although I’ll need to research this claim further, porn that favors male pleasure and desire seems widespread and available to people of all classes (in other words, free on the internet), whereas porn that highlights mutuality or female desire seems only available to “classy, well-heeled, middle-class professionals” (Attwood paraphrased in Sabo 234). If we accept the commercialization of porn, do we also need to accept the corruptions of porn that involve distribution without rights? I’m not sure if I’m well enough versed in the process of distribution to argue this point, but I pose it as a discussion question.

I'm also curious about whether these middle-class women deserve to be the only consumers of female-made porn. When one is revising the system to account for new visions and identities concerning power and gender and equality, does it seem classist (and a little ironic) to be posing this equality only for a certain class of people?

The Hot (er...well...college-educated, white, urban, wealthy) Woman's Handbook

Part I Gallagher and Kramer’s The Hot Woman’s Handbook: The Cake Guide to Sexual Pleasure is titled “On Your Own,” and it addresses personal issues concerning women’s sexuality. The introduction to the book, titled “The World According to Cake,” voices CAKE’s mission statement and promotes a new vision of female sexuality, one in which women are “more satisfied and in control than ever before” (1), and one in which women can have “more options” (2) than what they previously have been exposed to. Gallagher and Kramer also claim that CAKE “set[s] the record straight”—the record being the “disconnect between how women are portrayed and how women really live” (1). They also tout “The Cake Philosophy” in which women like to initiate sex, get turned on every day of the week, are visual, fantasize, know how to get themselves off, like sex better than shopping, know how their bodies work, and say that sex isn’t over until they orgasm (3).

Although CAKE claims to refute limited views of women’s sexuality, I found Gallagher and Kramer’s “philosophy” rather monolithic. In their narrative, Gallagher and Kramer effectively reclaim sexuality on an intimate level by relating women’s personal experiences, but I find the personal narrative style simultaneously intimate and problematic. It is problematic because, until chapter three, Gallagher and Kramer use no other sources to explain complex scientific, sociological and emotional phenomena—it is entirely based on women’s experience, which is inherently influenced by patriarchal cultural norms. Such a style has wonderful potential to incorporate cultural critique, but Gallagher and Kramer do not take advantage of this opportunity. Stereotypes and universal statements such as “You’re no more than eleven years old” (8) instead of the presentation of a plurality via “perhaps you…” or “you may have” present a vision of female sexuality that is based on a linear trajectory that all women have allegedly experienced. (On another subject, Gallagher and Kramer briefly acknowledge the rather monolithic class and educational background of their audience in their introduction, but then tout their lifestyle as though it is the norm for all women. See the “Pleasure Tip” on page 66 that references a “Murakami Louis Vuitton handbag […] that you bought for, like, $9 million.")

Chapter 2, “Rock you Body and Reap the Rewards” addresses body image. Although the order of the chapters in the book addresses the trajectory of female sexuality as originating with the female herself (a good thing, in my opinion), Gallagher and Kramer still use the language of the patriarchy to describe females. As they describe feeling good about your own body, Gallagher and Kramer say “your tits look perky, your tummy is smooth, your bottom looks rounded, and you think, ‘Ohhh, yeah, take that!” (21-22). They acknowledge that unrealistic standards of female beauty are “pure fantasy” (23), but they do not explore systems of patriarchy at work that perpetuate this fantasy, nor do they offer an alternate language to describe women’s bodies—they continue to refer to the bodies of celebrities and models as “perfect” and “free of blemishes” (23). In my opinion, linguistics is infinitely important; calling these bodies perfect and calling anything outside that norm a “blemish” perpetuates the system.

Chapters 3, 4, and 5 address masturbation—the techniques (ch. 3), the tools (ch. 4), and the orgasm (ch. 5). While I think that The CAKE Guide to Female Sexual Pleasure is a much more comprehensive, female-focused alternative to Cosmo or similar magazines that young, sexually interested women might be reading for advice, I found these chapters linguistically problematic as well. Although a few phrases peppered throughout the book acknowledge lesbian sex, it is primarily seen as a mode of experimentation or fantasy (“Surrender the Pink” on page 41 is a pretty good example) through which you can achieve better sex with your man (for example, page 77). Gallagher and Kramer’s heteronormativity, alongside their reluctance to acknowledge these fantasies and modes of female sexuality as socially located within their own experience (in terms of their urban location, heterosexuality, race and especially class) is disturbing to me, especially since they present their vision of female sexuality as though it is the norm. They use exclusive—not to mention patriarchal—language alongside the testimonies of mainstream media-influenced women to present this sexuality instead of exploring linguistic alternatives and offering challenges to a consumer culture.

Questions to think about:
Gallagher and Kramer claim to offer an alternative narrative about female sexuality. To what extent does their vision liberate women in their sexuality, and to what extent are they just promoting their own limited vision (another “version of the feminine mystique" [25])?

What do you make of Gallagher and Kramer’s narrative style? I’ve made my position clear, but there are definitely arguments for and against scholarly research for popular publications. What place do personal narrative and scholarly research have in publications such as this one? How can or should they coexist?

What subliminal cultural messages are at play in this book, and where can we identify them in both Gallagher and Kramer’s language and in the language of the women they interview?

Intro

Welcome to my blog for Women's Studies 399: Third Wave Discourses. Like many of us said in class, I'm happy to be in community of scholars and activists who all have a similar language in which we can discuss gender issues. I expect to be challenged in this course to compare current scholars' discourses; I also expect that we as a class and as individuals will form our own discourses and voices in context of third wave feminism.

About me and my previous studies: I'm a senior, majoring in Women's Studies, English and a CIS (Center for Integrative Studies) major titled "Social Justice Studies." Although many of my Women's Studies and Social Justice Studies classes are similar, I decided to complete the Women's Studies as well so I could be part of this community of wonderful people! Classes in my major that I expect to inform this course are Intro to Women's Studies, where I was first introduced to concepts such as Rich's compulsory heterosexuality, Wolf's beauty myth, and hooks' intersectionality of oppressions, Feminist Theology, Philosophy and Feminism, Women's Literature, and last Spring's seminar on women and language. Other classes such as the American Conversations program and Islam and Civil Society (abroad) have given me insight into domestic and international gender issues.

That's about it for now...I'm pumped for this course!