Industrial Pornography
Alan Kirby
It’s the early 1950s, or 1850s. You are walking alone through a wood on a mild
spring or summer day. From a distance you espy a couple. They are having sex.
What do you actually see? Or try this. It’s the 1900s, or 1940s. One afternoon,
alone, you glance from your window. Across the way the drapes are almost
wholly drawn, but there’s a gap, and from the angle you’re looking along the
gap leads in to a mirror on a wall, and as chance would have it the mirror
reflects slantwise a couple on a bed having sex. What actually do you see? And
in both cases, suppose the couple is averagely self-conscious, neither furtive nor
exhibitionist. And that you feel nothing: not curiosity, or shame, or disgust, or
excitement. Your eyes are a camera. What do they record?
On one level, the answer is self-evident: you see a couple having sex, of course.
More precisely, you probably see a conglomerate of limbs, a mass of hair, a
jerking male behind, a quantity of physical urgency or tension. On another
level, the question is paradoxical, because the total situation here of viewer and
viewed (people being watched having sex) structurally replicates the ostensible
reception and content of industrial pornography; but the glimpsed actions
probably wouldn’t resemble those of porn at all. Why wouldn’t they?
Industrial pornography is a product, it would seem, of the 1970s; its origins
lie in the heartlands of postmodernism. Yet its textual and representative
peculiarities make it both emblematic of postmodernism and a precursor of
digimodernism; indeed, it has shifted into the new era much more smoothly
than have cinema or television. We don’t need to waste too much time on what
differentiates industrial por11ography from other porn, from “erotica’’ or “art;’
and so on; these are essentially legal battles. Three points are unarguable: that
there exist texts whose principal or sole aim is to stimulate sexual excitement
in their consumer; that some of these texts manifest a standardization of
content and a scale of distribution that can be called industrial; and that, as a
generic label, “industrial pornography” is in places as smudged in its definition
as, say, “the war movie” or “the landscape picture:’ The label suggests the vast
scale of pornographic production and consumption over the past thirty years
or so, along with the (relative) openness of its distribution and acquisition. It
therefore excludes material aimed at niches, some of which, involving children
or animals, is more accurately classed as recordings of torture; “pornographic”
performance is, by definition, exchanged for money.
The Death of Postmodernism And Beyond ………………………………………………………… Alan Kirby
Alan Kirby, Digimodernism. How New Technologies Dismantle the Postmodern andReconfigure our Culture. New York, London: Continuum, 2009, pp 75–80
1/5
Above all, industrialization manifests itself here as a standardization of product.
It is always the same poses, the same acts, its performers made to converge
on a single visual type. Everything nonsexual is rigorously cut out; the “actors”
or models are identified solely with their sexual attractiveness or potency.
The predilection of early hard-core movies like Deep Throat for a detachable
plot arc was wiped out by industrialization, which made it hard to differentiate
any one title from the next. Buy a random industrial porn magazine and you
will see a seemingly endless array of similar-looking individuals in the same
positions; rent or buy a random industrial porn film and similar-looking people
will work through the same acts methodically, systematically, with a soul-
crushing repetitivity. In both cases, models and scenes are separated off by
extraneous material (articles, “acting”) placed there to distinguish them from
each other, and famously ignored.
From a postmodern perspective, industrial pornography is hyperrreal, the
supposed reproduction of something “real” which eliminates its “original:’
The reason for the dates given in the first paragraph of this section is that
industrial pornography has transformed the sexual practices of many individuals
in societies where it is prevalent, recasting them in its image. Increasingly,
“real” sex tries to imitate the simulacrum of industrial pornography. Moreover,
its staging is often either explicitly or implicitly self-referential in a recognizably
postmodern way: it has a strong sense of its own status as a representation of
sex by paid performers; magazines discuss their models’ lives as professional
models, film actresses gaze at the camera, and so on. The third postmodern
element in this material is its frequent reliance on pastiche or parody (especially
of Hollywood), as a source of ironic clins d´oeil which also help to achieve
a minimum degree of product differentiation.
From a digimodernist point of view, what characterizes industrial pornography
is this: it insists loudly, ceaselessly, crucially on its “reality;’ on its being “real;’
genuinely happening, unsimulated, while nevertheless delivering a content that
bears little resemblance to the “real thing;’ and what distorts it is its integration
of its usage, of the behavior of its user. Take a soft-core magazine photo spread
of a model. As the eyes move sequentially across the images, she appears to
gradually disrobe, turning this way and that, finally placing herself naked on all
fours or on her back with her legs apart. Very few of the poses derive from the
“natural” behavior of women eager to attract a man; and yet these images will
excite many men. The spread as a whole creates, for the regarding male, the
illusion of an entire sexual encounter: the most explicit images set the woman,
in relation to the camera, in positions she would only adopt seconds before
being penetrated. Consequently, for the regarding male, the photographed
2/5
The Death of Postmodernism And Beyond ………………………………………………………… Alan Kirby
Alan Kirby, Digimodernism. How New Technologies Dismantle the Postmodern andReconfigure our Culture. New York, London: Continuum, 2009, pp 75–80