There are a few things one could say. One is that the act of physical love is a beautiful and poignant thing that deserves the occasional attention and discussion of mature adult individuals. You could also say that sometimes a lady has a day (or month or year) when all she needs is some Otis Redding style romance all up on her business. You could also say that sometimes my Dad reads this article, and so while it should be called something like Things for When You’re on the First Week of Your Birth Control and You’re So Horny That You Would Literally Have Sex with Any Person, Place, or Thing, it is called Things for When You Have “Adult Feelings,” and that’s okay.
Let’s celebrate urges in the only way I know how: ogling. I could just run a clip show from True Blood, but that show is already pretty well represented on this site, so I’ll try and reach a little further back into the recesses of the internet to access our collective reptilian brains. First off, let’s set the mood.
1. Get Lucky by Daft Punk. It’s a scientific fact that if you put this song on repeat, within twenty four hours you’ll be pregnant.
2. This NYT slideshow of Justin Timberlake. There was a time, in middle school, when I didn’t really…get N SYNC. Girls at lunch would ask which one you had a crush on and I’d always say Lance, probably because I liked his name and he had the soft face of an infant that to prepubescent me seemed safe and inoffensive enough to merit at least a solid makeout, if nothing more. Justin didn’t make sense to me. The soul patch. The boy band. The dance moves. None of it clicked.
Then, we both grew up. He got classy, I became a lady. He married that 7th Heaven girl, I married the sea. He played a variety of millionaire playboys, I played Settlers of Catan. The point is that people change and tastes evolve and girls reach hormonal maturity (FINALLY AMIRIGHT) and would you just look at them eyes. You do you, Justin. I’ll be here google image searching that business.
3. Shit, I already wrote about Dirty Dancing.
4. Velvet Goldmine. Now stick with me on this one because it’s going to take a second. This is arguably one of the best movies in the world ever, but it’s essentially impossible to explain, and mostly impossible to follow the first three times you see it. COURAGE, MON BRAVE! It’s well worth it. Plus, there are more than a few pretty things to look at while you’re piecing it all together.
Here is my attempt to sum up this cinematic apocalypse:
It’s the biopic of a fictional glam rock star, set within the frame device of a Citizen Kane-esque investigation into his hoax murder that occurred ten years ago (1974). It also rips a huge amount of narration and dialogue from Oscar Wilde. It also posits that Oscar Wilde was an alien from space. It’s also a musical. AND YOU GET TO SEE EWAN MACGREGOR’S PENIS.
The main character, Brian Slade (Jonathan Rhys Meyers) is clearly based on David Bowie, while Ewan MacGregor’s character, Kurt Wild is an equally obvious Iggy Pop. The band Placebo is also there, standing in for T.Rex. And then you’ve got Toni Collette as any lady, Eddie Izzard as glam rock manager Jerry Divine, and of course Christian Bale as a young, confused glam rock fan who just wants to experiment with eye makeup and masturbation in peace. Sidenote: Bale’s character’s name is Arthur Stewart, but because he’s Welsh, several times throughout the movie it sounds like he’s saying “I’m Martha Stewart,” WHICH IS FUNNY. Also: Ewan MacGregor’s penis.
The plot thickens and folds on itself and the first few times you see it, it mostly feels like a sugar rush, plus glitter and also Ewan MacGregor’s penis. But what you end up with is a pretty poignant meditation on fame and art, sexuality, idolatry, the difference between reality and image, and boys who just want to kiss each other. It’s a real trip of a movie, but aside from whatever intellectual/spiritual takeaways you get from it, it’s also got an irregularly high number of impossibly attractive men taking their clothes off, crawling all over each other, and smooching a bunch. Hop on it.
5. This live version of “Real Live Flesh” by Tune-Yards. The live version is good. The album version is good. Every version of this song will make your panties evaporate.
6. True Romance. Again, this one’s a little weird. But let me ask you this: Are you ready for a thrill ride? With lots of kissing? And guns? And Brad Pitt in a teensy tiny cameo? Then get ready for the 1993 Tarantino Technicolor fuckfest I like to call: Christian Slater Steals Some Cocaine.
Because it seems to have fallen on me to educate you all about the finer Slater/Ryder movies of the 1990’s.
The basic plot is that Clarence (Christian Slater) is a lonely eccentric looking for love in Motor City Detroit, but striking out. Enter Alabama, (Patricia Arquette), a call girl with a heart of gold, a love for Elvis, and boobs to spare. The two obviously fall instantly in love and get married, and Clarence has no choice but to take the matter up with Alabama’s pimp, Gary Oldman pretending to be a black man.
Without giving too much away, Clarence fucks Gary Oldman’s shit up proper, steals a huge amount of cocaine, and he and Alabama hightail it to Los Angeles to seek their fortune where the sun sets gold. There they meet a rich cast of 90’s celebrities playing any number of thug archetypes, shoot a bunch of guns, and have tons of sex in many places. Warning: this movie gets pretty gorey. It’s Tarantino’s first major screenplay, and he claims that it’s his most “autobiographical,” so you can bet that everyone gets pistol whipped at least twice. But at the heart of it all is two pretty people who are deeply in love, in the prime of youth, just trying to be together and make thousands of dollars off some stolen drugs.