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The 'Daddy' of the Metrosexual, the Retrosexual, & spawner of the Spornosexual

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Midway to Paradise (So Near, Yet So Far Away)

Mark Simpson finds Midway ‘dumb, numb and empty of cum

When I went to see Roland Emmerich’s teensploitation flick Midway this week I had low expectations. In fact, they were so low I almost ran aground on the way to the multiplex. Emmerich, the director-writer responsible for blockbusters such as Independence Day, Stargate, and The Day After Tomorrow, specialises in making movies as spectacularly awful as they are successful.

Why did I go? Because Emmerich’s films are aimed at teen boys – and I’m a classic case of arrested development. So is Emmerich, clearly – but I can only aspire to his level of adult cynicism, which has probably made him as wealthy as a war profiteer.

Midway, based on the pivotal 1942 Pacific naval engagement between the US and Japan which saw the destruction of much of the Japanese carrier fleet and the loss of their hopes of any kind of victory, manages to be even more stupidly awful than I expected.

But this time I doubt the stupid awfulness will be accompanied by stupid success. Not least because while the Battle of Midway may mean a lot to old queens like Emmerich – and me – raised on 1950s-60s Second World War movies, it probably doesn’t mean very much to the youths who are the film’s target market. The auditorium I saw it at one evening a few days after it opened was mostly empty – and I was somehow not the oldest person there.

Emmerich tries of course to ‘update’ things to get around this problem. So Midway is WWII re-run as a First-Person MMO Shooter – won by an excruciatingly cocky character called, I kid you not, ‘Dick Best’. Think Tom Cruise’s ‘Maverick’ (he’s often called a ‘cowboy’), but somehow much more annoying. Ed Skrein really knocks himself out in the role.

All the other men are droolingly in love with him and the size and heft of his virility – especially his handsome moustachioed boss played by that gay Brit actor who put Orlando Bloom out of work (Luke Evans).

After Dick sinks the Japanese Imperial Navy one of his fanboys announces, somewhat redundantly:

‘This war will be won by men who like dick best!’

(The ‘who’ may have been silent.)

What’s peculiar about Midway though is that for a film obsessed with dick and rammed with hot male talent, including professional manteaser Nick Jonas – and referencing Top Gun – how lacking in homoeroticism it is. Or any kind of eroticism, really – apart from, I suppose, the CGI explosions.

Midway isn’t just dumb, which would be entirely acceptable – it’s completely numb. Dumb, numb and totally devoid of cum. Even the homosociality is unconvincing and unfelt, which is quite an achievement in a movie set on board aircraft carriers filled with hundreds of young men. Perhaps this is because, paradoxically, the director likes dick best.

Jonas letting loose by far the most erotic moment in Midway

Emmerich is gay, and so may be inhibited on that front – lest he ‘let the side down’, especially in this age of gay respectability. It’s not impossible either that he’s a homo that just doesn’t get it – which is surprisingly common, I can assure you. But his biggest hits Stargate and Independence Day relied on cynically exploiting 1990s teen male homopanic and anal anxiety in a way that only a homo could.

In 2015 he apparently tried to atone for his sins with Stonewall, a flick celebrating the 1969 Stonewall ‘Uprising’ as its now called (why spoil a perfectly good bar riot?) – which I haven’t seen and have zero interest in seeing. It was panned by critics and activists and pilloried for its politics and lack of diversity. But what were people expecting from someone who makes movies about shit exploding while dudes high five?

As a side issue, Midway stars several Brit actors, as is often the way these days, playing Americans – including the lead, Ed Skrein. Oh, and waiting for it to start I saw a trailer for Knives Out, with Daniel Craig playing an American with a ripe southern accent.

Now, it’s fabulous that Brit actors are getting work, darling. But as a Brit watching Brit actors do American accents in Hollywood moovies, too often I find myself cringing like a limey. Skrein’s accent in Midway is like being keel-hauled by your ears. (He also seems to be doing something intensely irritating with his clean-cut-jutting All-American jaw.)

But apparently not to Americans, otherwise they wouldn’t keep getting cast. And you would think, wouldn’t you, that Americans are a better judge of an American accent than me. Is it perhaps prejudice on my part – because I see them as British, whereas Americans just assume they’re American? Or are as generous and open-hearted as I’m bitter and small-minded and so are happy to accept them and their goddamn stupidly awful accents as ‘American’?

Probably the latter.

Midway (2019 Movie) New Trailer – Ed Skrein, Mandy Moore, Nick Jonas, Woody Harrelson

Smart Spornowear

‘Every time I bend down I feel I’m going to bust through the seams.’

I had no idea that ‘hockey butt’ was such a pressing problem. In fact, I’d never heard of hockey butt before I saw this viral ad.

Hockey Butt: The Struggle Athletes Have Finding Dress Pants
Dylan discusses his ‘big butt’

But it’s my new favourite word for big round muscle bubble butt that sticks out shelf-like, demanding your attention. Certainly it’s a lot more SFW than my other ones.

‘We athletes have a problem with shopping for pants. We have relatively small waists, big quads, big thighs, and big butts!’

Dylan Larkin, a pro hockey player in the US and captain of the Detroit Red Wings, is selling stretchy dress pants from State & Liberty with a corny-horny script that is pure gay for pay porn – likewise Larkin’s slightly ‘wooden’ delivery. That cute self-conscioius laugh after ‘big butt’ (and the close-up on that big butt squatting) tells us that Larkin and the people making this video (despite their disavowals after the ad went viral for the ‘wrong’ reasons) know exactly what they’re doing.

And they’re selling not to other hockey players, of course – but to amateur spornos who don’t want to hide their hockey muscle butts and thighs under a bushell when they have to finally change out of lycra-rich form-hugging gymwear.

Thanks to a host of stretchy suppliers, spornos in the office, on the town, or just visiting their mams on Sunday can scrub up nicely and smartly – but without sacrificing their henchness or adorability.

It probably says far too much about my internet search history, but I’m getting more and more bombarded with Facebook ads for ‘athletic fit’ dress shirts and trousers, usually attractive young men men filling out their spandex ‘performance fit’ dress pants and shirts very nicely. It certainly seems to be a ‘growth’ industry.

Two skin-tight spornos from Tailored Athlete waiting for you to scope them

Of course, it’s true that ‘regular fit’ often doesn’t fit athletes and bodybuilders or people who work out. Something that fits your swole chest and shoulders will likely be flappy around the mid-riff. Likewise, jeans and chinos that accomodate your hench thighs are likely to have room for a friend around the waist. In a world where men seem to be increasingly dividing into ‘fitties’ and ‘fatties’ that problem is only likely to increase.

Tailored Athlete
Brightening up everyone’s day at the office

But what is really being sold with ‘athletic’ and ‘muscle’ fit is a smart-slutty aesthetic. A way of ‘wearing’ the hot commodity that you’ve laboured hard to make – your shredded body. ‘Dress’ clothes that casually advertise your undressed humpiness rather than disguise it, lumpily. Smart spornowear.

A spornos body is after all better designed and made than most clothes – so why wouldn’t he want the togs he dons to merely follow and fondle the design of his delts and glutes?

After all, that’s what people’s eyes are doing.

Once again, I think we have to thank that chap from Finland whose mid-20th Century sketches for a new, improved, sluttier – and skin tight – masculinity have proved to be the blueprint for 21st Century spornosexuality.

From Finland With Lust – How Tom Re-Designed the Male Body For Pleasure

 

Forbidden Nights Leave Ladies Short-Dicked

Went to see male strip troupe Forbidden Nights at a theatre in North East England this week – I’m a sucker for a bit of culture, me.

And who could resist an evening billed as a ‘spectacle of desires, passion and excitement’ filled with ‘acrobats, fire acts, aerial artists and world-renowned circus performers’?

Especially when they ‘have not only mastered the art of strip tease, but do it in a way that has never been done before’.

A new way to flash your tackle? No wonder the auditorium, which seats 1000, was packed out.

Though me and my fit (non-bum) chum were the only men.

The women behind us, who like most of the audience were well lubricated long before the Baby Oil was cracked open, were loudly discussing my chum.

‘He’s LUVELY!’

‘SUCH a waste!’

‘I KNOW!! In’t it ALWAYS the way!’

The show alas didn’t deliver the goods. Despite the ladies of Darlo roaring like Armageddon: ‘GET YER COCKS OUT!!’

The ‘acrobatics’ consisted of a few backflips, the ‘fire act’ was a damp squib. The ‘aerial artist’ was more impressive, but sadly not very fuckable.

Forbidden Nights fell between two stools – a ‘circus strip act’ that is neither really a circus act nor a strip act. The promised striptease ‘in a way that has never been done before’ turned out to be one that is all tease and no strip.

It was also painfully straight. And I’m not talking about the shockingly bad choreography (they desperately needed the talents of this guy). Or the hen night vibe and the man-bunned straight male compere making jokes about ‘lady facials’ and ‘swallowing cum’. I’m talking about the way the guys on stage don’t interact at all. I can’t remember them touching one another once – or even acknowledging one another. Even non-filth acrobats do that.

Of course, I’m biased, but this seemed to me to be a terrible waste of talent. I suspect that if the guys interacted more, even just in that tried-and-tested slightly flirtatious boyband fashion, the women would love it.

Then again, why am I giving away this kind of advice for free instead of just putting together my own strip troupe and cleaning up? Or at least just holding LOTS of auditions….

There was almost a riot after the bathetically anti-climactic ‘shower scene’ finale – no dick and barely a glimpse of bum cheek. Just lots of shimmying in silhouette behind a paper blind.

Tickets were £25 a pop.

One woman was shouting in the foyer: ‘I’VE SEEN MORE COCK IN ASDA ON A WET SUNDAY!’

Oh, and the swole guy in the middle of the poster (above) with the inked stars – the one who looks like a gay porn star and was the real reason me and my chum were there – wasn’t in the show.

Nor, frankly, were the bodies in the poster attached to the faces that were.

Obviously, someone tipped him off as to just how demanding 998 North Eastern women determined to have a good time can be.

Forbidden Nights 2018 Showreel | Male Strip Show UK Theatre Tour

Top Gun Reloaded

Maverick is back.

TOP GUN 2: Maverick Trailer (2020)

Though of course he never went away. Since he appeared in that film back in 1986, making him one of Hollywood’s biggest box office draws, Tom Cruise remained forever Maverick for the next three decades or so. Captured like a Mayfly in director Tony Scott’s amber filters, frozen with that boyish grin and annoyingly-endearing arrogance – and maybe a bit of ‘work’ and weave.

Like the famous portrait of Dorian Gray, Top Gun preserved Mr Cruise in his prime. (His ‘painter’ Mr Scott, however, died in 2012, by suicide.)

Dorian Cruise on the set of TG2

Luckily the much-delayed sequel comes just before the limits of medical/cosmetic science were reached. Mr Cruise is 57 – yes FIFTY SEVEN – years old.

Top Gun 2, the sequel to the 1980’s most definitive – and also ‘gayest’ – movie is due to ‘go ballistic’ in a multiplex near you next year. Expect damp seats aplenty. Mostly those sat in by middle-aged straight men. And Simon Cowell.

I doubt that it will be as satisfyingly gay/camp as the original – that would be pretty much impossible. But it seems that the remake gives a nod or wink to the latter-day reputation of the first movie, with the glimpse of topless, oiled male volleyball.

If the (typically unrealistic but highly aesthetic) flight sequences in the newly-released trailer look a bit X-Wing Star Wars, that’s probably deliberate.

Producer Jerry Bruckheimer drew his partner the late Don Simpson’s attention to the California magazine feature on US Navy F-14 pilot training which inspired them to make their most famous movie, declaring excitedly “It’s Star Wars on Earth!”

I learned this and other fascinating TG fanboy factoids – including that those famous steamy locker room scenes were actually Tom’s idea, and that hyper-hetero Simpson was an early, high-rolling metrosexual with an eye for the gay aesthetic – earlier this year while reading a page-turning biography of Don.

I wrote about it on my Patreon page a while back, and it’s now unlocked for non-patrons.

Feel the need. The need to read.

©  

Drunken Sodomy

‘Beer before wine makes you feel fine, wine before beer makes you feel queer.’ 

That old drinking adage may now finally have to be officially amended to wine and beer – and anything else alcoholic – in any order, make you feel queer.

A recent study published in The Journal of Social Psychology claimed to show that heterosexuals become much more interested in the same sex when drunk. Straight men especially so – going from zero interest in a dude when sober, to almost the same level of interest as in a dame after ten drinks.

Call me old-fashioned, but isn’t this slightly redundant? Didn’t we already know this? Isn’t this, in fact, what beer was invented for? As a ‘lubricant’ for ‘male bonding’, in rugby clubs, fraternities and the British Army? 

A British paratrooper chum tells me that a popular pastime of the mauve berets is ‘naked bar’ – someone shouts ‘NAKED BAR!’ in the vicinity of alcohol and then everyone has to strip off, enjoying their favourite tipple in the altogether.

Needless to say, if I was a para I would be the one shouting ‘NAKED BAR!’ before anyone else. Probably over breakfast. I would single-handedly kill the tradition with overuse.

And then there is the old joke US sailors like to tell about Marines (and which Marines of course like to tell about sailors):

Q: What’s the difference between a straight Marine and a bisexual Marine?
A: A six-pack.

That ‘ten drinks’ standard the study came up with probably only applies to civilians

Let’s not forget that for hundreds of years, before the current fashion for blaming hair whorls, ring-fingers and amniotic fluids, drunkenness was regarded as one of the chief causes of sodomy. It’s certainly way more fun.

I of course have been conducting my own selfless researches in this area for decades. Though in truth I’ve been somewhat hampered by the fact that I’m far too gay to invite a drunken straight man home with me. He might throw up or piss the bed. Or snore. 

Anyway, how good is the drunken, unrehearsed, un-douched sex likely to be? Even without the hangover and guilt. Much better just to flirt drunkenly before heading home separately. Having sweet dreams of what might have been.

I can also vouch for the fact that beer can make a raging queer more bisexual too. Or at least, more likely to snog women. Indeed, I have experienced heterophobic discrimination as a result of my drunken sluttiness. Many moons ago I was barred from gaining entry to Love Muscle, a famous gay club in South London because I shared a taxi there with a random, but pretty woman, and we’d started snogging. (The bouncers were unpersuaded of my gayness, even though I was topless.)

It would be interesting however if someone repeated the study, this time secretly giving the guys alcohol-free drinks packaged as alcoholic and seeing if they still feel queer after downing them. This would help answer the age-old question of whether the suppressive effect of alcohol on inhibitions is more physiological or psychological – giving straight guys permission to entertain not-so-straight thoughts. 

Oh boy, was I drunk last night!’

Or, as the Romans used to put it: in vino, veritas.

This post originally appeared on Mark Simpson’s Patreon page.