Acting as Sex Work, Sex Work as Acting

(Editor’s Note: I (that’s me, Noah) interviewed Nix 66 about performance and sex work for this piece at Pacific Standard. Nix said a lot more in response to my questions than I was able to use in the piece, so I asked her if she’d reprint the whole thing here.)
 
Noah: What sort of sex work do you do? (I know you said phone…is that something with visuals? That’s different from camming, right?)

Nix 66: I’ve been a fetish sex worker for a year now, starting with my own phone line, doing occasional private camming sessions (not on open platforms), and just now having made my first two clips. And my first two clips look like my first two clips. (Egads, that lighting!)

Writing, directing, acting, lighting, costuming, etc. — Independent Adult Content Providers are responsible for all of these things, not to mention promotion and letting people know that you exist. Coming off with a polished-looking alt-porn or fetish clip is no easy feat. I am certain of this because I’m currently grappling with it, and have yet to achieve it. Maybe some day.

But mainly I do phones.

Most of my clients (all sexed male at birth w/ one exception – a couple – in the past year) fall into one of three classes: 1) Those struggling with issues of gender and sexuality (in light of our current culture, a huge market); 2) Those who want ongoing companionship (literally, an alternative to dating with no marriage at the end); 3) Those who want detailed sexual descriptions of a genuinely Sadean nature (shock talking; the dirtier and more detailed the better).

If you want freedom of speech, you call me. The worst thing that could ever happen is that I hang up on you and block you because you haven’t abided by my limits. But those limits are generally much more broad than one could expect to find with a psychologist, a partner, a priest or equivalent, a best friend, a family member, etc. Mainly because culturally normative notions of masculinity are narrow, limiting, silencing, and damaging (to everyone). I think sex workers are, in large part, confidantes and secret keepers. That’s one of the main social functions. And it’s a damn important one. Society dispenses with it at its own peril.

I listed my main classes of clients because I have cultivated them. Any SW-er who is doing well has a persona, a list of unique skills that s/he brings to the business. They have cultivated that persona and those skills no differently than any actor, particularly the Hollywood variety.

When I first began, I didn’t want to use my image at all for fear of stigma and violence. I bought stock photos that didn’t deviate *too much* from my own body type and said I was brunette because I don’t like men who prefer blondes.

That’s visual. It also has to do with character. I am not a Princess, a MILF, a co-ed, or even a Dominatrix in the most stereotypical sense. I am terrible at getting men to take me to the mall because the mall is the last place on Earth I’d want to be. Persona and experience. You gotta play to your strengths and you gotta create a mythology around those strengths.

Do you see a similarity between what you do and acting, or performing? How is your work creative (or how is sex work in general creative?)

I think of the different branches of sex work as the Greek Muses, personally. Meaning if you were to combine the many different forms and mediations of sex work into a whole, you’d end up with something that looks very much like the “Humanities” or “Arts,” writ large.

I feel like a performance artist, actually. But what I do, specifically, I see more in line with raunchy comedy and improvisation, as well as psychotherapy. I’m a great conversationalist, an ex-literature major, with life-long interests in power, violence, class, and sex. That’s my shoo-in. But other sex workers bring different skills to bear.

Full service providers and pro-dommes deal in touch, presentation, smell, and conversation. I have also been made to understand that they spend a great deal of time doing laundry.

Porn performers must master scripts, characters, and camera angles – and that’s just if they’re in front of the camera.

Cam models improvise on the spot much like I do, but they generally rely more on visual presentation than narrative description. They also might do cos-play and scripted shows.

And exotic dancers… dance! (Is now the right time to mention that I once worked as a professional Egyptian bellydancer in my early 20s, until I was informed that it didn’t matter how well I danced because people just wanted to see me naked? And I quit. On the spot. Cuz we all know there’s no art to nudity and/or sexual desire… right? Right? Amirite?)

Roleplaying is inescapable in sex work, because ultimately – much like actors — we’re hired fantasies. The only difference really is who is doing the hiring.

Do you see a similarity between actors like Lena Dunham and Anne Hathaway and sex workers? Is sexuality part of their performance, in your view?

Ha! What a question. Lena Dunham has built her entire identity on sex and her body type. Pretty overtly. Can you imagine “Girls” stripped of casual, random, unpaid sex premised upon profound self-loathing on the part of 99% of its characters? There goes Ms. Dunham’s “edge.” Here are the top three links I found googling “lena dunham girls sex,” some with great visuals that come directly out of porn:

One.

Two.

Three.
 

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Why should the cast of “Girls” be paid for raunchy sex scenes? Shouldn’t they be doing this for free if their heart was really in it? If they loved it? If it was a true passion and calling?
All the more so since Lena Dunham has never believed in paying (poor) people for their labor anyways.

Anne Hathaway, well… Her entire career has hinged upon the Princess because she’s playing to her strengths just like the rest of the savvy purveyors of high class (and overwhelmingly white) “pretty.” That seems to be her range, her persona. She’s a Disney Princess. Check out some cam platforms and alt-porn and you’ll see some folks being far more creative with that role than her privileged little mind could ever conceive. But then, I only ever enjoy seeing Princesses set against the backdrop of the Terror. ;)

And Kate Winslet, why should she have any more right to all that hideous kinky? I know her body almost as well as I know my own.
Ultimately, celebrities *are* sex workers. It’s just that they sell to studios and call it “art,” which makes the masses feel much more comfortable with the fact that they’re consuming sex day-in, day-out, by the millisecond.

Do you have other comments on the actors who signed the petition for criminalizing sex work, or on that situation in general?

Yes, concerning the situation in general:

  1. Some people may try to discount what I have to say because I engage in sex work that is currently legal in my region and have not met a client in person (though it’s not completely inconceivable). Firstly, sex work is so thoroughly stigmatized, despite the fact that it’s a booming industry, that sex workers who currently operate legally have difficulty getting paid for online services. See here. That’s just one slice of the day-to-day, structural discrimination we have to deal with. De-crimininalization and de-stigmatization of sex work, in whatever forms, benefit me directly.
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  3. Anyone who has been in sex work (regardless of medium) for any length of time has undoubtedly been propositioned for other services, in other media. I recommend clients to other sexual service providers when they are seeking services that I do not provide personally. That means that I know and respect sex workers in a variety of media. It also means I skirt the line of procuring, most probably. Even being legal, you can’t be a sex worker without stigma and criminalization touching your life, so that friendship might implicate you as a “pimp.” And I’m not even addressing the laws that affect property and the like.
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  5. Tara Burns recently wrote this article wherein she talked about how, at the age of 15, having been trafficked by her father, the DA said that her testimony against him would be unreliable because she had been a “child prostitute.” Firstly, there ain’t no such thing. But survival being what it is in a callous, child-hating, capitalist, sex-obsessed/deprived culture such as ours, it will take way more nuance and care than a brute law to address survival sex work, sex trafficking, and the sale of sexual services by minors.

    Still, that’s rape culture. That’s the same treatment Kipnis has dished out to the survivors of Ludlow. That’s why it took multiple decades and 35+ women (many ridiculously high profile) to finally accept that Bill Cosby is a rapist. And some people still don’t.

    Similarly, Meg Munoz gave a great interview to Tits and Sass on being blackmailed as a sex worker, which lead to her being trafficked as a direct consequence of criminalization of sex work.

  6.  

  7. Lena Dunham tweeted that “I recognize that I’m not a sex worker or a trafficking survivor. But I’m blessed to have a platform that many close to this issue do not.” Sex workers and sex trafficking survivors are all over the internet. You can’t miss us. She is co-opting our stories for her own fame, just as Hollywood co-opts our tales for passive, easy, guiltless titillation by way of disapproval.
  8.  

  9. I joke about being a “moneysexual,” but I mean it. I LIKE being paid for sexual services, even if that like is more about power and grifting a system (actually, it’s plural: systems) I hate. Still, I like it! Really. And I love the creativity and engagement that I have with clients. That I don’t do full service has to do with personality and preferences, not morals. Anything consenting adults agree to — whatever conditions an adult wishes to place on their attention, time, and companionship — is no one’s business save the people involved. And that anyone else should judge it or condemn it is fundamentally inhumane, hypocritical, prurient, and cruel.

 

Terminator Genisys – Reinventing the Robot?

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James Cameron’s first two Terminator films continue to be regarded as two of the best examples of action/sci-fi storytelling of all time. The sequels that followed, despite being supplied with sufficient star power and formed around a familiar mythology, failed to generate the same critical acclaim or fervor from fanboy audiences. This year’s Terminator Genysis, which opened last month, has already been cited as the first picture in a new stand alone trilogy – Terminator 2 (working title) is set for release on May 19, 2017 and Terminator 3 (also working title) has a release date planned as far ahead as June 29, 2018.

Lightning rarely strikes in the same place twice, let alone 4, or even 5 times successively. Despite this, studios have nowadays become accustomed to dropping buckets of money on the umpteenth iteration of the same worn-out tale – the Terminator franchise being a prime example. Before the most recent film even hit theaters, James Cameron went on record saying that Terminator Genisys is the “real” third Terminator film, effectively writing off the other two features as non-canon. Though Cameron had no direct involvement in the production or filming of Genisys, his endorsement hinted at its potential to re-inject some life into the storyline. But even with the help of the first T-800 himself (the inimitable Arnold Schwarzenegger), it lacked the strength to assume responsibility for yet another reprisal.

Unable to participate in the fourth film Terminator Salvation due to his political pursuits, the former California governor, now 67, quickly slipped back into his former role as cinematic cyborg. The Genysis screenplay explains why the T-800 ages like humans do, using a life-size CGI model of a 37-year old Arnold to represent him as the younger robot from 1984’s original The Terminator. Schwarzenegger had to train twice as hard to get back to the same weight he was in 1991’s Terminator 2: Judgement Day, as Genysis features T-800s from all three different time periods. The overall plot is mired in temporal paradox, as Sarah Connor and Kyle Reese battle both a “killer” app and the nefarious satellite internet-based plague that is Skynet while simultaneously attempting to change the outcome of life in a parallel universe. Too convoluted for casual viewers and too much of a stretch for anyone else who has grown up loving the series, appreciating Genysis requires a full reimagining of time as a linear construct.

After the announcement of the arrival of another Terminator film hit the Internet, comment trolls immediately questioned the need for it —  even the most devout fans seemed to agree that Salvation should have effectively closed out the saga. Studios pressed ahead anyways, and Genysis went on to generate relatively lukewarm box office numbers alongside mixed critical reviews. One of the film’s harshest critics, Grantland’s Wesley Morris offered some particularly scathing insight, saying, “It’s neither a surprising work of pop art nor an entertaining piece of crap.” Within the Terminator universe created by Cameron, this film stands out not necessarily for its explicit awfulness, as it is arguably a “better” movie than 2003’s T3 or 2009’s Salvation. However, treading on overly familiar ground, it does little more than dig a deeper grave for the once-great story of robotic apocalypse.

Paramount Studio’s premature hopes for the franchise’s longevity (evidenced by their early announcements of both additional sequels) may be dashed, as it hasn’t truly seen success since the mid-’90s and for many, the lackluster Genisys is just further proof that it’s best years are over. Unfortunately, film studios seem to pay less and less attention to the creation of uniquely compelling characters and plots. This year’s release of Mad Max: Fury Road and Jurassic World, as well as the upcoming Star Wars sequels and the initiation of projects like the all-female Ghostbusters only serve to indicate Hollywood’s increased reliance on the exploitation of familiar, formerly-glorious, success stories. Paramount has suggested that if the film fails overseas (it has an August 23th release date in China) plans may be scrapped for the 2017 and 2018’s Terminator pictures. A disinterested Asian audience might be enough to finally convince executives that there is an important distinction between giving up and knowing when you’ve had enough.

Good films don’t necessarily need critical support, but they do need to tap into something primal within the hearts of audience members. In a world where robots are achieving an ever more powerful presence in our day-to-day life, there’s no reason why the stories we write about them should fail to excite. If Paramount does choose to carry out plans for two additional sequels they would do well to abandon the Terminators completely – today’s technology is surely enough to inspire a new storyline, full of the imaginations and intrigue which made the first two films so great.

Utilitarian Review 8/22/15

On HU

Featured Archive Post: Jade Degrio and Desirae Embree on choice and agency in the Dollhouse.

Robert Stanley Martin with on-sale dates of comics in early 1946.

Chris Gavaler on the history of superheroes on film.

I wrote a bunch of posts about Quentin Tarantino and related matters:

Robert Rodriguez and diverse casting in Four Rooms.

Don’t whitewash Jackie Brown.

On fatherhood and Kill Bill’s crappy ending.

On why Tarantino shouldn’t make a romantic comedy.
 
Utilitarians Everywhere

At Pacific Standard I wrote about how actresses used to be thought of as sex workers.

At Playboy I wrote about

trafficking laws and how they hurt sex workers.

the new romance set during the Holocaust and why it and Schindler’s List both suck.

At the Guardian I wrote about American Ultra and how you (yes you!) can be a superspy.

At Splice Today I wrote about:

Mission Impossible, and hating imperialism via hating Tom Cruise.

the Democratic passion for the white working class.

— On the Man From Uncle and nostalgia for the days when other countries mattered.

At the Reader I had a short review of Nicki Bluhm and the Gramblers, a great retro-70s country outfit.
 
Other Links

Jonathan Bernstein on how the party decides on the nominee.

Imani Gandy on Margaret Sanger’s complicated history with racism.

Annie Mok on queerness and Tove Jansson.

Nix 66 on telling off her phone sex client.
 

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Untrue Romance

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Tarantino is a somewhat erratic filmmaker. None of his films are actually bad (save his segment of Four Rooms, maybe) but some are fantastic and some waver around mediocre. It’s not chronological, either; he isn’t a filmmaker who has fallen off (yet, at least.)

There is one fairly common theme to his weaker moments, though, I think. It comes down to the fact that his grasp of men’s genre material is much stronger than his grasp of women’s genre material.

At least for me, all of Tarantino’s weakest filmmaking moments happen when he tries to do romance, or something like soap opera. The Butch/Fabiene romance in Pulp Fiction is treacly and deeply unconvincing; you end up hating both characters, not falling in love with them. Similarly, the soap opera aspects of Kill Bill are a mess. There’s never even a modicum of chemistry between Bill and the Bride; their endless heart to heart at the end of part 2 is tedious rather than heart-wrenching. The Bride’s transformative experience with motherhood is completely unconvincing, and also unquestioned. Django is supposedly built around a passionate romance, but it has no idea how to represent that, or really do anything with it beyond motivating Django to shoot lots of people.

Tarantino is generally very good at undermining, or tinkering with, or examining male genre conventions, whether he’s telling you how good it feels to watch someone cut off an ear, or thinking about what pacifism does to narrative (which is to me one of the most fascinating parts of Pulp Fiction.) But when he deals with traditionally women-oriented genre material, he’s just at sea. The best he can do is to lace his treacle with half-hearted irony. But he’s not passionate enough about the material to savage it or embrace it. He just sort of lets it sit there helplessly, until he can move onto something else. It’s telling, I think, that Tarantino’s great romances are ones that are not quite romances; Jackie Brown and Max, or Vince and Mia.

This isn’t to say that Tarantino is sexist. He sometimes is, I’d say, but he also has a lot of great female characters, who he treats with interest, compassion, and respect. And of course lots of women like his films, just like lots of women like “male” genre work. Compared to many male filmmakers, I’d say that Tarantino is even quite interested in representing a diversity of women on screen (though his casts overall still tip male.) But what he’s not interested in, or attuned to, is women’s genre work. A Quentin Tarantino romantic comedy, in short, would be a very bad idea.

Kill Your Child’s Father

The end of Kill Bill 2 devolves into an interminable gushy, talky mess, which is irritating enough. But what really ruins finish for me is the fact that the Bride ends up by murdering the father of her child. Which is supposed to be a happy ending.

Now, it’s true, Bill is a particularly vicious spousal abuser, who called out his team of assassins to kill his girlfriend and all her nearest and dearest because she decided to leave him. He’s a shit, and totally worthy revenge movie fodder. No objection there.

The problem is that Bill raised the Bride’s daughter for four years after he put her in a coma. He appears to have a close, loving relationship with her. He’s the only parent she’s known. The Bride proves in the first act of Kill Bill 1 that she’s happy murdering the parent of a four year old, if that’s the way the sword slices. But this isn’t just any four year old. This is her daughter’s father. The film acknowledges that the four year old daughter of Verneeta is going to be traumatized by her mother’s death. We see Oren-Ishii traumatized by her parents’ death when she’s around four. But somehow, the Bride kills Bill, and little B.B. is totally unfazed. She rides off into the sunset with her mom smiling.

The logic, I guess, is that kids have an automatic overwhelming connection with their mothers that’s way more important than any relationship with their fathers. Which is stupid and untrue and even kind of offensive, to dads and moms alike. Dads are real parents too; women don’t have some sort of mystical parent power.

Obviously, Kill Bill has lots of morally questionable things going on; the mass murder, the severed limbs, etc. etc. But it’s just hard for me to buy the happy ending when it’s predicated on the idea that a four year old doesn’t care that their dad just died.

Whitewashing Jackie Brown

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I rewatched Jackie Brown last night, and googling around afterwards found this piece that argues that Brown is presented as a racial other. The author, Rachael Coates, points out that Pam Grier is associated throughout with blaxploitation music; that she uses AAVE when talking to Samuel Jackson’s Odell, and that the film is fascinated with her appearance, which is lingered on in various long shots. It also notes that the character Brown is based on from the novel is white.

It’s interesting, though, that the essay doesn’t point to the most obvious ways in which the film marks Brown as black — those instances where people in the film comment on the fact that she’s black. Odell tries to play on Max’s sympathy for a 44-year old black woman when he’s trying to get out of paying a deposit on the bond to get her out of prison. The cops who pick Jackie up and threaten her don’t reference her race explicitly, I don’t think, but when they talk about how few options she has, her status as a black woman in definitely hanging there, not quite spoken.

Why are these incidents left out of the discussion of the way that the film presents Jackie as racially Other (or, in less theoryish terms, as black?) The answer seems clear enough; these incidents suggest strongly that it is not the *film* which sees Jackie as racially other — or not just the film. Black people are marked in our society. Ignoring that is not actually ignoring it; it’s making a choice to treat black people as white — as in, say, the most recent Fantastic Four film, where there’s almost nothing in the film to let you know that anyone even knows that Johnny Storm is black.

There’s certainly some virtue in a vision of an egalitarian world. But, by definition, such a world can’t speak to issues of race. Jackie Brown isn’t explicitly about racial oppression, as some of Grier’s blaxploitation classics were. But Jackie’s plight, and her beauty, and her triumph, are all nonetheless recognized by the film as a specifically black plight, a specifically black beauty, and a specifically black triumph.

Pam Grier is a black icon. Were Tarantino to ignore or erase that — if he were to make a movie in which a white person could just as easily play Jackie Brown — would that be some sort of triumph of egalitarianism? Or would, instead, be a kind of cowardice, and even a kind of betrayal? Jackie Brown insists that a poor, middle-aged, defiantly black woman can be a movie star and a hero. As Coates acknowledges, “…the contemporary U.S. film industry rarely produces black women character films with the same sincerity and admiration as Tarantino does for Grier here.” I don’t really understand why you’d want to replace that with yet another film in which the director pretends he can’t see color.

Who’s in the Four Rooms

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The 1995 anthology title Four Rooms is a roundtable; four directors each shot a short film set in the same hotel. Though the movie was critically panned, it’s actually pretty enjoyable; the segments are all enjoyably loopy, and the Robert Rodriguez section is actually laugh out loud funny, with some great slapstick and nice turns by a couple of talented child actors.

One notable aspect of the Rodriguez segment (“The Misbehavers”) is that none of the characters is white. Tim Roth the bellhop is a prominent figure in all the segments, and he’s still there — but the family in the room is composed of Antonio Banderas as the father, Tamlyn Tomita as the Wife, and two children (played by Lana McKissack and Danny Verduzco). And yes, I think that’s the only mixed Hispanic/Asian family I’ve ever seen on film. Even the corpse in the bed is played by Robert Rodriguez’s sister, Patricia Vonne.

The rest of the segments aren’t especially racially homogenous by Hollywood standards; the opening coven-of-witches one is all white, I believe, but Jessica Beals (who is African-American) is the only person besides Roth to appear in two segments, and Paul Calderon (also African-American) shows up in Tarantino’s closing scene. Still, except for Rodriguez’s section, white people predominate.

The fact that the film is an anthology roundtable, and the fact that one of the films is so different in its approach to race, shows with unusual clarity that representation isn’t an accident, or a random function of hiring the best actors — especially since Rodriguez’s segment is pretty clearly the most inspired of the collection. Casting diverse actors is a choice — and casting white actors is a choice. Rodriguez’s room is one in which whiteness is not the default. If only white people can get into the other’s hotels, that’s because, to one degree or another, they’ve closed their doors.