The Oldest Profession — a New Take?
Last Saturday, I was lucky enough to join the audience for the first night of comedian, Shappi Khorsandi’s, new tour. A gifted performer, Shappi’s current show draws on a lot of autobiographical input from her twenty plus years in comedy. Early on, she told a tale of her formative experiences at gigs in comedy clubs where, by way of a warm-up, a stripogram was routinely employed. This was, she said, part and parcel of the scene back then, as was being regularly exposed (forgive the pun) to flashers in the park on the way home. So familiar was this occurrence, in fact, that mums would remark to each other: “Don’t worry, the kids are in the park. The flasher’s there, he’ll look out for them…”
Probably not quite true, but these things have died a death. Why so? Does it mean we have moved on from getting gratuitous sexual exploitation presented as entertainment? Or, that those who get their sexual kicks by trying to shock others don’t exist now? Of course not. It’s just that things have moved on. All that’s needed now is a television or broadband connection and you can have all the titillation and arousal you want, and it’ll be far more graphic than anything you would have seen in the clubs or the park twenty years ago.
Simply, the flasher disappeared from our radar because there’s no need for him to brave the cold anymore. Now, more than ever, television and film makers have woken up big time to something advertisers have known for ages: sex sells, and you don’t have to stalk the underbelly of the internet to find the evidence.
Without doubt, one of the most popular shows of recent years is the Goliath that is Game of Thrones. Its eight-season reign over our screens regularly drew in over ten million viewers, and that didn’t include those viewing illegally. A huge number of industry awards and nominations followed and describing it as a cultural phenomenon wouldn’t be an exaggeration, especially if we consider its success, appeal and, crucially, influence over what is deemed acceptable in mainstream viewing.
Now, don’t get me wrong, I loved the series as much as the next person — although I admit I was a bit late to the party, having given the books a go first. But, from the outset, one of its USPs was frequent sexual content and nudity (and graphic violence, too, but that’s another story). Who can forget Dany’s early sexually objectified incarnation as a pawn in her brother’s scheme to regain power, her value intrinsically linked to her ability to satisfy the lusts of Khal Drogo? Or the famously full-frontal ‘Walk of Shame’ Cersei endured at the hands of The High Sparrow, with its overt masochistic overtones?
Initially, such scenes drew comment and audiences alike by virtue of their shock value, but actually what was happening was a successful attempt at appealing to our biological instincts. The human sex drive has shaped our pleasure-seeking brains over millennia — harness that, and the money will surely follow.
Now, it doesn’t matter that those with an interest in the series, who went beyond watching it for the twists and turns of its complex narrative, could cite the fact that, as time passed, the main female characters’ quantity of clothing correlated with their power and status. Or, conversely, those with little position in society remained in their birthday suits (an apt analogy to the ‘Me Too’ campaign? Laughs ironically). What it did do, over the course of its viewing supremacy, was enlighten those who make our digital diet to the fact that viewing figures — and therefore profit — would build pleasurably (sorry) if they included more content that appealed to our baser instincts.
Previously, pushing the boundaries in this way was not in the domain of the mainstream, but GOT changed all that and it’s a message that all film and programme makers appear to have taken to heart. There aren’t too many new series that I view on Netflix, for instance, which don’t have an advisory for sexual content from the outset (and violence, but that, as I said, is a whole different ballgame). Even Aunty Beeb, in her 9 o’clock spot, has joined in enthusiastically — we’ve come a long way from Colin Firth in his dripping white shirt of the late 90s. The only redeeming factor in all this is the increasing equity — more male flesh is joining the party — although I think the penis per view ratio still has a long way to go before it catches up with its female counterpart (unless you include SAS, Who Dare Wins — but I digress).
To be fair, you can see why GOT, and the previous influencer, Sex in the City, have played such a part in the phenomenon. There are so many ways to watch content now and far more programmes are being made than anyone could realistically expect to watch. The industry has to find a way to make viewers switch on (I wanted to say, turn on, but that’s a pun too far). There is also the argument often made for the demystification of sex which has perhaps reinforced the success of such newcomers as Sex Education. But, where do we go next?
One thing watching GOT proved to me, and probably others, was the desensitising effect all those bums and breasts ultimately had on me — that “here we go again” feeling that eventually becomes comical. Probably not the effect intended. Nonetheless, it is a danger that the industry does need to be aware of. Sometimes you can have too much of a good thing — and I speak as one of Aidan Turner’s biggest fans…
While sex will undoubtedly continue to sell, and boundaries will continue to be expanded, it is worth taking a cynical step back and viewing it for what it is: sex and money — the oldest profession — except now, we are the clients.
