ManNet.com’s Brent Blue opens his review of Damon and Hunter: Doing it Together by saying:
“Damon DeMarco and Hunter James look like the gay couple next door in this very intimate rendering of sex. This isn’t really about porn, but lovemaking. As Damon says: “This is not about procreation.” It’s about their pleasure as a couple, which is exactly what the films attempts to capture, a very personal romantic coupling, simply shot so as to allow the full nature of the moments to stand on their own, rather than be washed over by the gloss of porn.”
It’s the p-word again. A reminder that even to people who like porn, it’s a word that means something, that while it may connect to the audience sexually, leaves some many other aspects of human need and desire unaddressed, or even belittled. A reminder of why I’ve grown uncomfortable with the word. But the other day, I saw something that reminded me why I fell in love with porn, and what drew me to wanting to make sexual art.
Somewhere on the vast internet (I’ve lost the link) someone post photos from an early 80s issue of Playboy; Girls of the Military I think it was. The women were, of course, pretty. But they weren’t caricatures of glamour, at least not to my eye. No, rather than seeming like confections of the photographer’s, stylist’s and surgeon’s skill, they seemed like the very beautiful women I see ever day; my daughter’s schoolmate’s mother, the college girls who life guard in the summer, my own wife.
I’ve undressed all of these women (and many others!) in my mind’s eye, and the images in my imagination are as lovingly crafted as these Playboy images were. The light is gentle and flattering, whatever “flaws” or “faults” the object of my desire might have, they somehow disappear in the kind gaze of my desire.
Of course back when I had an opinion, I much preferred Penthouse to Playboy. I like tits fine, but for me the real treat lies further South. Playboy always seem vaguely gynophobic, while Penthouse was lustily gynophilic! But in either case, back in the “golden age” of these magazines, you could actually see photographs where (a small aspect of) the subject of sex was treated with the care and craft that is devoted to things like food or clothing; and seeing some these photos again reminded me of the promise that porn once seemed to hold – that someday soon we would see sexuality, our own raw fleshy need to connect, rendered with that same loving eye.
Mr. Blue closes his review by saying:
“[Describing the end of the film] Back at the interview, both note that as adult film stars, they have had “sex” on camera, but not “sex,” as Damon says. If you see Damon’s face as he says this, you’ll know the difference. What was just shown was their version of sex, rather than porno sex. However, they once again express an exhibitionist side in saying that they hope not only gay men, but also woman and even straight men can see this and “get some ideas,” learn about sex from two gay men who seem to honestly love each other.
“Shot by Tony and Peggy Comstock (I’m assuming Peggy is a woman, which perhaps does make the statements above even more true), the scene here is revealing and trusting by Damon and Hunter in allowing the viewer into their private life. The scene is rather short [19 minutes] and purposely unglamorous, so it’s often hard to know what really went on [I think he means “Is this real reality or fake reality?”), but it is clear that these two men are doing something different than just fucking for the camera. There is emotion here, not faked, not acted, but truthful. It’s an alternative to porn. Not better, not worse, just a different side. Reality porn, so to speak.”
Or course I am very happy and very flattered by Brent’s thoughtful review, that he’s seen and appreciated the care and enthusiasm, that “loving eye” that we bring to our work. (You can read the rest of of Brent’s review here.) But it also makes me feel a little wistful. How is it that loving, crafted images of sex became the “alternative”, the exception, instead of the rule?
