New Hollywood Chaos: No More Sex Scenes Is the Last Straw

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New This Week

The end of sex scenes?

The new movie event of the year.

Kelly Ripa rises.

That damned Winnie-the-Pooh movie.

Sarah Michelle Gellar, iconic as always.

The Sex Scene Debate Is Exhausting

I took the world’s shortest nap earlier this week, and when I woke up, it seemed that, all of a sudden, Hollywood wanted to take away everything that I hold dear: sex scenes; all of the episodes of Arrested Development; my childhood Barney the Dinosaur; our buccal fat.

What was this alternate universe I had returned to? It was one in which we were no longer excited about watching hot famous people pretend to bone on a giant screen; future generations won’t understand what I mean when I say, “I don’t understand the question, and I won’t respond to it;” Barney has been bastardized; and everyone’s cheeks look real weird.

These things seem like they are unconnected, but there is something that ties these things together: There is an inescapable sense that the entertainment industry is in total chaos, and no one seems to know what to make of it anymore. Me? That used to be my job, to navigate the sometimes confusing and tumultuous waters of culture. Now, it feels like I’m going down with the ship. (Titanic is also back in theaters! Timely!)

And what will be mayday? “They took away my beloved sex scenes.”

This past week, Penn Badgley, who stars in the Netflix television series You, made headlines with his comments about filming sex scenes. On his podcast, Podcrushed, he revealed that he asked the You showrunner to cut as many intimate love scenes as possible from the series, out of “fidelity” to his marriage. Then, in an interview with Variety, he explained further: “That aspect of Hollywood has always been very disturbing to me—and that aspect of the job, that mercurial boundary—has always been something that I actually don’t want to play with at all.”

For context, You is a series that became incredibly popular and successful in large part because of the sex scenes involving Badgley’s character, a charismatic serial killer. These were so great that viewers were unabashed about their desire to fuck a psychopath. And Badgley, for his part, first became a star because of his role in Gossip Girl, a series that exploded the zeitgeist entirely with its provocative (but pre-watershed hours) sex—and willingness to bait pearl-clutchers and the morality police by bragging about it in marketing.

Badgley clearly has experience to talk about this with authority, and he’s entitled to the validation of his opinion on it. (Though I still have a little bit of twitch from rolling my eyes over the “fidelity” rationale. All you hetero marrieds: Are you OK?) Even if the comments were particularly outrageous, which they really weren’t, they wouldn’t be much to complain about, outside of being bummed that you don’t get to see the hot murderer bone on Netflix anymore. Celebs say silly things all the time. So be it.

The issue is what these comments begat. All week, there’s been a baffling debate raging on a certain sector of social media, which then bled into the “discourse.” It now means that I’m talking about it with you—when it’s at the point that I am paying attention, you know things have gotten real annoying.

Apparently, there is a discussion over the idea of “consent” in movie and TV sex scenes, as part of a larger movement to minimize sex and nudity in films for various reasons (they are gratuitous; they are unnecessary to furthering plot; they exploit actors; people on the internet hate me, personally, and the things I enjoy).

There seem to be several parts to this conversation, and it’s unclear if anyone who is arguing over one aspect even understands the other ones.

One stems from a nonprofit in Australia, which suggested affixing “lack of consent” warning labels to projects where a character engages in or is forced into non-consensual sex acts; this would help educate viewers on the necessity and nuance of consent in real life. Can’t argue there. I support that!

Another makes the case that audience members did not give their own consent to witness characters in movies or shows having sex, and are therefore disturbed or violated by those scenes. I don’t think pathologizing language about assault when discussing movies is particularly helpful. I find the idea that viewing a movie is some sort of passive exercise to be bizarre. You choose to watch a movie. There are detailed ratings systems involved. The scenes are not randomly happening to a person; the person made an active choice to watch them. But here I am, just reporting to you what the people online are saying.

Then there’s this one: The fictional characters in a show or movie have not consented to us watching them have sex. Honestly, I can’t even touch this one.

It’s taking every ounce of self-control for me not to be glib about any of this. (I would like to know who I can invoice for the dentist bill when I show up for an emergency appointment after I have grinded my teeth down to nubs while scrolling through these tweets, however.) I recognize there is a diversity of opinion that merits consideration, and that not every person will share my perspective on everything. I do, however, have one major question: What the hell are these movies that these people have been watching?

If there has been any trend in the last few years—the last decade really—it’s been the frustrating lack of sex in movies. They’ve become impotent! Sure, there is a smattering of steamy flicks each year, but, by and large, critics have been bemoaning the industry’s sanitization.

Sure, I find sex scenes to be more of a vital aspect of storytelling than some might, and I swear it’s not purely out of horniness or sexual frustration. But when I watch a film like Passages (read about those sex scenes here), which premiered at Sundance and may just make these people’s heads explode when it comes out later this year, I learn so much about human impulses through those scenes. The tension between carnality, rationality, love, and how those tangle and complicate life reveals itself. I reflect and think differently about who I am and how I operate in relationships because of them.

And let’s be honest, friends. I’m not alone. You’re all lascivious little weirdos too. Whenever one of these rare, raunchy projects hits Netflix, it surges straight to Number 1. We’ve written about it before: that softcore porn project doubling as a film trilogy, 365 Days. That hot-as-hell and boring-as-even-heller show, Sex/Life. The very Sexy Murderer series that started this whole conversation, You. We love it all!

The New Cinema Event of the Year

Now that 80 for Brady has hit theaters, and I have seen it with my own two eyes to confirm that it is, in fact, a real movie, it’s time to obsess over a new film. It’s one that, again, seems to be made entirely for me in ridiculous ways that I never imagined. It is likely going to be dreadful, but I will adore anyway, and—again—it can’t actually be real, can it?

This movie is Love Again.

A trailer for the film just released this week (watch it here), and, in between wondering how I would feel if the outfit I am wearing is the one I’ll have on when one of those UFOs abducts me, it’s all I’ve been thinking about.

It’s a romantic drama that is ripped-off of inspired by You’ve Got Mail with a truly bonkers cast that includes Priyanka Chopra Jonas, Nick Jonas, Outlander’s Sam Heughan, Every Gay Man’s Crush’s Russell Tovey, and…Céline Dion. AS HERSELF!!!

Chopra’s character, Mira, has lost her fiancé, and she self-soothes by texting her feelings to his old phone number. Heughan’s Rob inherits that phone number but continues to read the messages without telling Mira. Eventually, he starts to catch feelings for her, figures out where she’s going to be one night, and asks her on a date. Because Rob already knows so much about Mira, he charms her, while his friends beg him to tell her the truth.

Those friends include the actual Céline Dion, whom he meets through work; she acts as a pseudo-fairy godmother for his love life. FINALLY, movie casting that just makes sense. The trailer hits the dramatic music cue for the start of “It’s All Coming Back to Me Now” at just the right, goofiest time. Dion even seems to be genuinely funny in her few moments in the trailer. (Duh, of course she would be.)

This is high art. It hits theaters on Mother’s Day, a fitting tribute to both your mother and mine, Ms. Céline Dion.

The Ascension of Kelly Ripa

In a shocking announcement this week—it made me pause scrolling through Twitter for three seconds to say, “Oh, hmm…”—Ryan Seacrest revealed he is leaving Live With Kelly and Ryan, with Kelly Ripa’s husband, Mark Consuelos, taking over as her co-host.

Any day in which Kelly Ripa wins is a good day.

That is not a dig at Ripa’s good friend Seacrest, who was a great (if obvious) fit as co-host after the Michael Strahan debacle settled. But the hiring of Consuelos without one of those stunt-y and exhaustive casting searches is welcome news. If you’ve watched the couple whenever Consuelos has guest co-hosted, you know that he and Ripa are great together on camera. (Which isn’t the same as being great together in real life, though, as Ripa has blush-inducingly detailed, that is also the case. Ripa stays winning!)

No one is better at what she does than Ripa. That she makes hosting Live look effortless, earnest, and, most importantly, not annoying is a morning television miracle. ABC should grovel for eternity for the way it treated her following Strahan’s departure. If turning Live into a family affair following Seacrest’s exit is what she wants, then it’s what she’s not only owed—but also deserves.

Given how funny her Instagram post about all of this was, I’m already on board.

What the Hell Even Is This Movie

I had almost forgotten that Winnie-the-Pooh: Blood and Honey was a movie that existed because, as a means of self-care, I had banished it from my brain. Because A.A. Milne’s Winnie-the-Pooh recently became public domain, now anyone can freely adapt the work however they want . The filmmakers behind Blood and Honey decided to turn Pooh and Piglet into grotesque-looking serial killers. I’m still consulting with a team of lawyers to figure out how they can be prosecuted for this. Look at this photo!

That said, the movie, as reviewed by my colleague Nick Schager, is astonishingly bad. (What a surprise!) But this plot description is truly something:

“A shoddily animated prologue explains that, as a boy, Christopher Robin (Nikolai Leon) discovered and befriended magical creatures in nearby Hundred Acre Wood. When he grew up and left for college, Pooh and company suffered through a horrible winter that eventually compelled them to eat one of their own: Eeyore. The ensuing trauma was so severe that it drove Pooh (Craig David Dowsett) and his loyal minion Piglet (Chris Cordell) mad, warping their minds and convincing them to reject their human instincts, including speech. They became marauding beasts with a burning hatred for mankind and, in particular, for Christopher.”

Sarah Michelle Gellar Has the Only Answer

(Apologies for the spoiler about her IKWYDYLAS character. But I refuse to consider a 26-year-old plot point a spoiler.)

Of an Age: A heart-wrenching queer romance that stunned Australian audiences is finally showing stateside. (Now in theaters)

Star Trek: Picard: The whole gang’s back together—as in the Next Generation crew! (Now on Paramount+)

Grey’s Anatomy: It’s Ellen Pompeo’s last episode! Show some respect! (Thurs. on ABC)

Ant-Man and the Wasp: Quantumania: Just typing out that title took all the patience I have for this movie. (Now in theaters)

Winnie-the-Pooh: Blood and Honey: It’s not even fun-bad. It’s just bad-bad! (Now in theaters)

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