Tag Archives: Michael Fassbender’s penis

Freud and Jung Make a Porno

Last week my daughter and I went to go see Cronenberg’s “A Dangerous Method.”  Normally I am a walking Flixster /Zagat guide but for some reason this movie escaped my radar.  The title is generic and I must have instantly dismissed it, thinking it was some lame Nicholas Cage vehicle where he “does his own stunts!” and saves the planet.   But as soon as I found out it was about Freud and Jung, I plotzed!   I love psychoanalysis! Dreams, hidden symbolism, and genitalia! And when I found out Michael Fassbender and Viggo Mortensen were in it, I vajazzled and high-tailed it over to a matinee at the Scotiabank Theatre.

I still haven’t gotten over Michael Fassbender’s penis In “Shame,”  just saying.  I owe you interloping Googlers a link and here it is all NSFW.  You’re welcome.  Here’s Viggo, too, full monty....not the same, but jaunty nonetheless. I’d smoke it for a dollar.

Anyway, a brief historical synopsis:  Freud developed the “talking cure” to help mentally disturbed patients in hospitals.  In case you didn’t take Psychology 101, Freud is the one who coined the term “penis envy.”  Everything is penis-based, whether you like it or not.  I can get behind this.  In his early career, he studied, observed, and dissected eels for 8 years to figure out their reproductive system.  Can you imagine looking at eels all day?  There’s a dim sum restaurant at Gerrard and Broadview that has an aquarium of eels in the window that gives me ants my pants just glancing at it. They intertwine and slither and slide in and out of the castle, no wonder he was so phallic obsessed. As a lady, am I jelly I don’t have a penis? Damn right.  I’m bored with my box, it has no personality and all it does is cry.

One of Freud’s followers was Carl Jung who later challenged his theories in his text books.  Jung was all about mysticism and believed in psychic phenomenon. He didn’t believe in coincidences. I can get behind that, too.  I think we suppress a whole other layer of consciousness because we can’t see it and if we allowed our instincts to govern us, we would be a more harmonious world.  Penises wouldn’t hold so much power and those havenots wouldn’t be so jealous and spiteful.  We would all love each other and fill each other up with our  symbiotic energy. Craigslist personals would have no reason to exist and nobody would be forever alone.  Yes, it would be a giant non-stop orgy, nobody would get any work done.

The film depicts Jung and Freud striking up a friendship through their letters. When they finally meet, they yap for hours while stuffing their faces with food and cigars.  At first they respect each other and Freud sends one of his followers for Jung to help, a Dr. Drew triple episode, a bipolar, coked up sex addict who treated his own patients with his healing penis. He’s played by Vincent Cassel who has artfully mastered the combo of sexy and sinister, he tries to convince Jung that boning patients is the way to go and is actually a valid method of therapy.  Jung is adverse initially but starts to think:  Why deny one’s basic impulse? Blahblahblah, the rationale of every man on the planet.  The simple answer is:  BECAUSE IT TURNS TO SHIT REAL QUICK.

This is not a buddy film, Jung and Freud never resolve their proverbial sword fight that inevitably happens because their theories clash.  It is a cautionary love story and with some insight as to why married men are unfaithful. It’s more or less the result of impulse and opportunity giving each other a nod and a wink. Okay, nothing new there.  But it’s just confirmation that men will eagerly cheat and there’s not much you can do about it.  The antithesis of their wives is their porn.  Men rarely marry their whores, they like their wives to be an extension of who they wish to be perceived as by society.  Just look at any politician, his wife dresses in Talbots and his mistress is a pole dancer. Luckily, one man’s whore is another man’s wife, case in point:  Ice T and Coco. The porn theory is the same: I bet if you checked his google history, you would find a lot of Martha Stewart YouTube clips of her baking bread from scratch.

Why Keira Knightley didn’t get nominated for an Academy Award, I have no idea.  She plays Jung’s beastly Gollum-like crazy bitch mistress, Sabina, in stark contrast to his refined, impossibly beautiful (and rich!) wife who actually apologizes for being constantly pregnant and even more apologetic when she births out girls.  Not that Carl cares, he’s busy  mentoring Sabina.  With a paddle, smacked in the ass.  Again and again, Daddy.  Not sure how historically accurate that part of the film was but it worked for me.  Frankly, I’m getting bored with the usual cinematic sex scenes where the lady is on top licking her lips and whipping her hair around like a shampoo ad.

People and their fetishes never cease to amaze me.  Until I meet the freak that unleashes mine, here is the trailer, I hope you groove to it as much as I did:



The Penis Diaries

First of all, let me preface this potential mess of a post by saying how much I love my dentist.  I’ve been going to him for 20 years and he may very well be the love of my life.  He is so gentle that I have had fillings done without freezing. If I do need numbing, he does this vibrating massage thing to my cheeks so when he sticks the needle in my mouth, I am so distracted, I don’t feel the jabbing prick. As he digs away, he always tells me how awesome I am in his cute South African accent. I never dread going there and in fact, I sometimes go early because he has the best magazines in town.  He subscribes to In-Style, People, and Men’s Health. I have learned some things from Men’s Health I may have never known from my own field work.  And when I say “field work,” these days it’s restricted to watching “Californication” which I know is worse than a fairy tale and Hank Moody is the fictitious Holy Grail of sexual prowess who would never exist in the real world.  A girl can dream.

Anyway, although I love my dentist, I hate his receptionist.  She is an uptight Leaside mom-type who obsesses over her preschool-age son, named Adam.  She wears a headset and always on the phone talking to her nanny about Adam who is a hellion.  When the kid gets on the phone, she threatens to “punish” him when she gets home for being “a naughty boy.” I’ve been privy to this conversation more than once, and I only go there twice a year. You just know where this kid is going in 20 years, I can picture his ad on Craigslist under “M4W” with a cryptic picture of a wooden spoon, captioned;  “Spank me.” She is a control freak.  Last year, when I was waiting, the tv was on and Dr. Oz was talking about how to enhance the female orgasm.  She grabbed the remote and changed the channel to the monotonous reel of petty crimes and weather reports that is CP24 and muttered about how the topic on Dr. Oz was “inappropriate.” And I was like, “Bitch, please, I don’t have that nailed yet, I’d like to hear what he has to say!”

Just other day, while Freddy was getting some fillings, I was in the waiting room alone blithely pouring over “The Best Sex Tips of 2011” in Men’s Health, when a woman and her 3 children plunked themselves down. Now I don’t care about children, I can easily tune them out.  Their inane blathering is often repetitive  and rhythmic so I can translate it into white noise.  It’s parents I hate.  Sure enough, this woman was one of those cows who talk loudly and refer to themselves in the third person: “Mummy wants you to do your homework while you wait, Mummy is tired, blah blah..”  I pegged her for one of those older mothers who miraculously spawned these 3 snotgobblers from her rotting egg farm so she needed to advertise how fabulous her parenting skills were.  At one point her son, age 11, picked up one of those pop-up picture books meant for pre-schoolers.  This one was about “The Creation” as depicted by Adam and Eve. I know, right? Why is this in a dentist’s office?  The receptionist is a religious freak and she probably brought it in from her Bible Study group.  The kid opens the book and up pops a cartoon drawing of Adam and Eve and an apple tree.  Eve has her back to us and Adam is facing her.  Her cartoon bum and his cartoon peen are obscured by a cartoon bush. The boy holds it up, “Look mummy!”  The mother shrieks: “Ryan! Put that away! That is so inappropriate! You’re embarrassing me!”

Now I am the only one within earshot and I am sitting with a magazine spread on my lap of a woman with her real legs up in the air with a man’s real head popping through, obscuring her real bush, and I am thinking that between this lady and the receptionist, exactly what goes on in North Toronto behind closed doors?  How do they raise their sons?  Do they make them shower with their clothes on?  Shame is their weapon, the wooden spoon that keeps their behaviour “appropriate.”

Speaking of which, last week, my daughter and I went to see the film, “Shame” with Michael Fassbender and his penis. And yes, this was our main purpose AND we liked him in Jane Eyre.  We consider ourselves to be “British Celebrity Penis Connoisseurs.”  6 years ago, when she was not much older than that Mummy-whipped boy in the dentist’s office, we took a trip to London to see Daniel Radcliffe, aka Harry Potter, go full monty in “Equus.” Neither of us particularly enjoy live theatre but we got to see Harry Potter’s Arab-strapped penis boner and that is worth the price of admission. And no, it did not scar my 12 year old daughter, it empowered her. My first viewing of a non-relative’s penis was not so spectacular, it was semi-traumatizing.  When I was 10, my friend and I would crash sugaring off parties at the sugar shack on the bottom of my street.  We’d steal syrup taffy from the trough and if we got caught, we’d run into the woods.  Once we saw a drunken French Canadian man with his pants completely down, wang out, taking a slash in a bucket attached to one of the maple trees.  You know, the ones that collect the sap that makes the syrup.  Yes, he was urinating. No, I never eat pancakes.

In “Shame,” Michael Fassbender’s penis is the protagonist of the film. His character, Brandon, doesn’t say much, but his peen keeps the plot going.  It’s not like it gets closeups or anything but it has more screen time than most Actra members.  Usually in a non-porn cinematic experience, you might see a flash of pube and a blur of tubular flesh from afar and the actor is in a fast action mode like diving into a pool in the dark.  In “Shame”, there is a decent sequence of frames that pans it as it sways from the shower to the kitchen, in the brightness of the morning, like an elephant trunk sniffing for peanuts. The film made me sad for the penis, “penis empathy’ if you will, Freud. It’s a bleak and realistic depiction of sexual addiction, and childhood shame is the cornerstone.  This is why you can’t be an asshole as a parent. Respect the penis, it’s got a fragile ego.

On that note, here is the trailer for “Shame,” go see it, take your mom: