Once Aryan Skynet Goes Live It Doesn't Matter Who Pulled The Switch
The following is an excerpt from my recently published book, Protocols of the Elders of Zanuck: Psychological Warfare and Filth at the Movies.
As woman metamorphosed into a professional as well as a sexual being, man, too, would have to be altered at the archetypal level. Musician and cultural critic Boyd Rice captures the essence of a mid-twentieth-century masculine ideal:
The notion of the bachelor in that [Eisenhower-Kennedy] era implied a man who was a law unto himself; making up the rules as he went along. He always got the girl and seemed to inhabit a demimonde in which beautiful, willing women were in endless supply. The hedonistic lifestyle of the swingin’ bachelor was probably far less evident in daily life than it was in TV shows, movies, or on album covers. Nonetheless, the swinging bachelor played a prominent role in the American mythos. With his sporty convertible, exciting career and groovy modernist apartment, men yearned to be like him, and women yearned to be seduced by him.1
Ian Fleming’s superspy James Bond, immortalized on the screen by Sean Connery, was crucial in selling the sexual revolution to men. Bond beds one or more new playmates with each new installment of his world-saving adventures. He has no domestic existence or permanent attachments – only an endless supply of exotic and excitingly dangerous floozies.
Somewhat more down to earth, the Paul Newman private eye movie Harper (1966) contains some key moments for understanding the both the marketing and the outcomes of the sixties sexual insurrection. Lew Harper, significantly, is introduced to viewer as he wakes alone in his shabby apartment after having fallen asleep the night before while watching his television set, which still displays the off-the-air test pattern. The audience later learns that his wife (Janet Leigh) has recently separated from him, and his straitened economic circumstances and inexperience at caring for himself are obvious as, realizing he is out of coffee, he retrieves the previous day’s grounds from the trash to make a cup. His day begins when he takes a missing person case for rich bitch Betty Perske (alias Lauren Bacall), who says of her AWOL spouse, “I used to love him – before we were married.” Harper then has a heated exchange with his own wife – the distance between them emphasized by the fact that the conversation takes place over a telephone and through an intermediary. “Every year since we were married I took it,” she fumes: “He holds no more surprises – no more nothing. You hear me, Lew? I don’t love you. And you can get shot in some stinking alley and I’ll be a little sorry, sure, but that’s all, just a little sorry.” An edit at this point cuts from the sequence involving Harper’s exchange with his wife to a shot of ditzy Pamela Tiffin wiggling in a bikini. Yes, your marriage will fail and your wife will leave you, the segue seems to suggest to the gentlemen in the audience, but then reassures them by way of a consolation that there will be plenty of shapely young liberated happening chicks to go around to make up for any unpleasant aspects of tradition’s eclipse. Later, after Harper manipulates his wife into one more night of sex before abandoning her again, she vents her frustration with him by jabbing a fork into four eggs in a skillet – auguring evilly for the future of white American fertility.
There may be precursors for the “sex comedy” in the daring pre-Code comedies of the early thirties; but films featuring casual sex as depicted in Bedtime Story (1964) and A Very Special Favor (1965) constituted something new in presenting the swinging singles scene as the new societal norm. Sidney Aaron “Paddy” Chayefsky’s The Americanization of Emily (1964) revels in the debauchery of U.S.-infested wartime Britain. Casual sex seems to be taking place behind every hotel room door that is opened, and posters for the film played up what for the time was the movie’s high degree of salaciousness, with a cartoon hand tugging a zipper open and grinning James Coburn enjoying himself with three partially undressed “nameless broads”.
“Everybody’s banging everybody. It’s a horny world,” The Boston Strangler (1968) explains. This film also features a scene in which police interrogate a man who professes to have bedded hundreds of women over a span of six months.
The Americanization of Emily is also notable for marrying the new permissiveness and hedonism of the sixties with a predictive deflation of American masculinity. What is “admirable” about ladies’ man James Bumgarner (alias Garner) in this film, love interest Julie Andrews determines, is “his sensation of life – his cowardly, selfish, greedy appreciation of life.” “I preach cowardice,” declares the protagonist. “Through cowardice shall all be saved.”
With men sent away to fight during the Second World War, employment opportunities for women boomed and the notion of women as integral members of the American workforce – even outside of traditionally pink-collar occupations – would undergo normalization over succeeding decades. Women’s economic “empowerment”, unfortunately, entailed the gradual social disenfranchisement of men. “Bringing the woman into the workplace in America is really a way to quash wages, and a control method,” offers Dr. Matthew Raphael Johnson2.
By the middle of the sixties, the genital insurrection was sufficiently advanced that A Very Special Favor could offer a caricature of a newly recognizable character type: the feminism-emasculated American male. More grotesque than a mere henpecked husband, this pitiable creature wears an apron and dotes even on his icy fiancée’s insults. “Now what type of relationship would we have if I became suspicious of every man I found in her bed?” asks Arnold Plum (Richard Schulefand, alias Dick Shawn) on finding a handsome specimen in the place of favor.
“The Beatles, sort of a silly girl group with male genitals,” says music writer Nick Tosches of the vanguard of the British Invasion, “were mere pap.”3 Pap, of course, is soft food for babies and invalids, and the Beatles would serve this purpose well for the mentally incapacitated Baby Boomers whose understanding of sex roles would be warped by the Fab Four’s promotion of long hair, hallucinogenic drugs, and the spirit of “Why Don’t We Do It in the Road?”. Something of the group’s attitude toward the family can be gleaned from the cover of their 1966 release Yesterday and Today, with its photograph of the band posing with cuts of raw meat and decapitated baby dolls.
Continental influence – or, rather, rootless cosmopolitan influence – cannot be understated as a factor in the social changes that swept America in the mid-twentieth century. Many of the movies that broke erotic and moral barriers in the States would be European imports, as sexual decency had quickly been stamped out of existence in the Zionist-occupied portions of postwar Europe.
Indicating something of the flavor of this period, Judeo-Italian sexploitation director Tinto Brass recalls, “when I was young, in Venice […] there was still, in the fifties, thirty-three cinema[s] […] and thirty-three brothels. So the passage between the brothel and the cinema or vice versa […] was absolutely natural, normal. Maybe that’s why [in] my film[s], the two aspects are very close up.”4
Roger Vadim’s And God Created Woman (1956) – a production of Claude Ganz and Raoul Lévy – upped the ante on the dumb blonde “sex kitten” phenomenon by unleashing sexually liberated Brigitte Bardot on American audiences. Other European imports – films like André Hunebelle’s The Twilight Girls (1957) and Louis Malle’s The Lovers (1958) – would continue to mine the lucrative vein of audiences’ prurience while challenging native obscenity standards under the guise of “art”, with homegrown nudie movies from the likes of Russ Meyer and Herschell Gordon Lewis later giving this bunch a run for their money. The European-sexploitation-as-art craze would culminate with the Swedish entries I Am Curious (Yellow) (1967) and I Am Curious (Blue) (1968), which after being cleared of obscenity charges by a federal court would open the door for exhibition of undisguised hardcore pornography like Gerard Damiano’s Deep Throat (1972).
Sexual liberation ceased to be merely the viewer’s prerogative, but became an obligation according to the newfangled and strident morality expressed in a new breed of movies. Deadly Blessing (1981) screenwriter Matthew Barr explains of his fanatical Christians who “make the Amish look like swingers”, that they “were very repressive on all levels – sexually repressive and very paternalistic, and harsh – and so, in a way, we [Barr and partner Glenn Benest] were kind of positing that the horror was coming out of that repression, or in answer to repression.”5
Conventional sexual mores, rather than degeneracy, come to be associated with mental instability. The ironic twist at the end of Night School (1980) is that a woman (Rachel Ward) opposed to abortion and sexual anarchy turns out to be a psychotic murderess. A serial killer in the Canadian TV movie Blue Murder (1985, also loosed on the American VHS market as The Porn Murders) stalks and slaughters workers in the pornography industry in the hope of stamping it out of existence, and another Canadian feature, American Nightmare (1983), uses a similar concept, with judgmental, seeming respectability hiding a psychotic impulse. Again, in The Majorettes (1986), it is the sexually self-hating figure of seeming moral authority and civic respectability, Christian fundamentalist Sheriff Braden (Mark Jevicky), who murders and, in his mind, thereby purifies the girls on the local high school cheer squad. The same ironic abhorrence for sin coupled with antisocial insanity is on display in the slashers Psycho II (1983) and Psycho III (1986), in which recently released mama’s boy and serial murderer Norman Bates (Anthony Perkins) objects to his family’s motel being used for sleazy sex parties. Reaganite morality is mocked mercilessly in movies like Sleepaway Camp 2: Unhappy Campers (1987), which stars Pamela Springsteen as post-op transsexual camp counselor Angela, whose boring façade of propriety – she objects to “fornicating” and tells the campers to “say no to drugs” – masks sexual deviancy and psychopathy. “Keep your morals strong and you’ll never go wrong,” she insists – all the while conducting a systematic murder spree.
The notion that a conservative and a specifically Christian attitude toward sex constitutes a pathology probably finds its most absurd and disgusting expression in the character Adrien Trumbull (Nick Searcy) in writer-director Graeme Whifler’s wince-inducing Deadly End (2005). Trumbull, considering sex unclean, has castrated himself but continues to excite himself by fingering a self-inflicted surgical wound on his abdomen and jabbing himself in the crotch with a needle.
This is what American freedom is all about, the emcee of a wet t-shirt contest pontificates by contrast to a crowd of wild, healthy, horny, and drunken adolescents in Spring Break (1983).
So certain and swift was the normalization of hardcore sexual entertainment that the futuristic Z.P.G.: Zero Population Growth (1972) actually posits a world in which psychiatrists will prescribe pornography to women in encouragement of their sexual health.
“But, you know, nobody cares for good strippers anymore,” says dancer-turned-prostitute Sara (Sheila Frazier) in The Super Cops (1974). “With what you can see in a movie, why should they?”
“The expected sea change in human consciousness that evangels of the sexual revolution said would accompany more enlightened attitudes toward sex never quite materialized,” observes Boyd Rice, who grew up during the sixties. “The most tangible byproduct of the democratization of sex seems to have been a boom in unwanted pregnancies and the emergence of more virulent strains of sexually transmitted diseases.”6 Rice grossly underestimates the ramifications of mad social science’s mass experimentation in sexual mutation.
One might say with greater accuracy that the result of the sexual revolution has been the realization of the vindictive dream of the heroine (Raquel Welch) of Michael Sarne’s adaptation of Myra Breckinridge (1970). “My purpose in coming to Hollywood,” she declares, “is the destruction of the American male in all its particulars.” She aims, in fact, not only at his annihilation, but at the erasure even of every “vestigial trace” of the traditional male, so as to “realign” the sexes and depopulate the world to ease overcrowding and increase happiness, thereby “preparing humanity for its next stage.”
In one of innumerable fascinating moments in Aram Avakian’s End of the Road (1970) – one of the most emblematic films of its period – a white psychiatric patient (Ray Brock) aims a pistol at the face of his sadistic black analyst (James Earl Jones), who reaches up and cocks it for him, effectively encouraging him – giving his patient an excuse to kill him. Unable to bring himself to pull the trigger, however, the man instead swings to the other extreme and puts on a woman’s wig. In the same way, the American male, having failed to assert his authority and having given the civil and moral order of what was once his country into the increasingly grasping hands of blacks and other undesirables, would take on more and more submissive and feminine postures – psychologically, socially, physically – so as to accommodate and pamper the powder-keg petulance of his inferiors.
Rainer is the author of Protocols of the Elders of Zanuck – the DEFINITIVE Alt-Right statement on Hollywood.