Male Nudity on Film: What, Not Even a Peek?

Recently, I saw what was supposed to be a very erotic, very adult film called “Jamon, Jamon.” Because this was a Spanish movie, the reviews claimed it wasn’t filled with the usual prudish hang-ups of American films and actually had a healthy, open, natural approach to the subject. The main male character is an aspiring matador who, as the jokes keep telling us, is endowed like a bull. Since there was female nudity I was expecting at least a glimpse. But no, not even a peek. There’s even a nude bullfight scene, but incredibly it’s done at night. Apparently some things cross cultural boundaries.

In “Short Cuts,” which features a lot of female nudity at the drop of the hat, Huey Lewis’ brief flashing of his penis seems almost like an inside joke on the squeamishness of the industry.

In “The Piano,” reviewers told us that Harvey Keitel exposed himself in more ways than one. So, when the big moment came and the two leading characters could no longer contain their lust, I was expecting some equal opportunity frontal nudity, but it was not to be. Then I remembered that Keitel had done a frontal nude scene in “The Bad Lieutenant” and had been punished with the NC-17 rating, which is a financial kiss of death. So, maybe the filmmakers knew what they were doing economically, but what were they doing artistically? Aren’t men as vulnerable as women? When two people are in bed together, why do we only see the woman totally nude? Why are we even shielded from the truth when a man takes a shower?

Since the ratings board has psychologists on it, perhaps they can supply the deep-seated answer to this fear of the penis.

The recent reaction of most pundits and commentators to the Bobbitt episode was so snickering and childish that it exposed a subject we were totally uncomfortable with.

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But why is it so verboten? Is this the last vestige of puritanism left in the world? If male nudity were allowed on the screen would it trigger an audience reaction they couldn’t control? Is this a reflection of the male ego, with actors afraid they don’t measure up? Or is it a new variation on Freud’s penis envy?

I’m not sure of the answers. I do know that in 1994, there’s no rational, adult reason for this behavior.

Future generations are apt to look back on our actions and find them as stupid as the pooh-bahs who covered up body parts on Michelangelo’s art.