I know it’s deranged that I hadn’t seen Showgirls before last week. The film’s influence is visible in everything from RuPaul’s Drag Race to The Idol. But I’d avoided sitting down and watching all two hours and ten minutes because, honestly, camp doesn’t always work for me. And though I found the results to be decidedly mixed, I’m happy this particular hole in my cultural knowledge was filled (sorry). And during Pride Month, no less!
Arguably the project’s biggest failure is its inability to portray sexiness. There’s sex, obviously, and lust. We see people strip, perform lap dances, and dance amorously. We see lithe, muscular bodies gyrate, thrust and spin. But the quality of the movements — including the hotel show’s choreography, which we’ll get to — never approaches eroticism. No one seems to be having any fun when they’re dancing or fucking. I was begging for someone to laugh, smile or move in a way that didn’t imply a seizure was imminent. The physicality on display felt vaguely menacing and filled me with dread — hips jutting aggressively and sharpened nails like talons intertwining. All that suggestiveness seemed to be pointing at violence, not sex. I found it kind of threatening!
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