Wednesday - September 03, 2014

Stolen Images

Bit of a big thing on the Hollywood gossip news ... I may not have the story exactly right, but it looks like a whole bunch of starlets had taken naked pictures of themselves and stored them in the “cloud”, which was then somehow hacked. And all the pictures got posted at some grubby websites over the weekend.

And if it wasn’t the “cloud” that was hacked, then it was dozens and dozens of cell phone accounts.

So now we’ve got the opinion pieces going left and right. Let’s not blame the victim! It’s an invasion of privacy! We need laws that can actually punish the hackers!  yadda yadda yadda.

I don’t want to play 1940’s misogynist. Far be it for me to say, hey, you don’t want people to see naked pictures of you, then don’t take naked pictures of you. Hey, that would be trampling their rights of self expression, even though it seems like mighty good advice! At the very least, use a real camera to take those pictures, download the images to a CD, and look at the pictures from there. Not online, not in some “cloud”, not on your cellphone, not on a thumb drive, not even on your PC. Ha, don’t even use a film camera if you aren’t doing the developing yourself. You can’t trust anyone these days, especially not if you’re some famous Hollywood beauty. Don’t be stupid.

On the other hand, this is getting to be a mighty thin line. Actresses seem to spend an awful lot of time naked in public these days. Or nearly so. And not just at Cannes, or the sans-panties upskirts all the paparazzi are forever taking. Not to mention the “sex tapes” used to vault relative unknowns into popularity and fame. The line between actress and ... um, temple virgin, ahem ... is not just microscopically thin but rather blurred. “Respect me for my talent, for my art!” while I make a career out of running around so close to nude that I always have pneumonia.

I mean, come on. We watched American Hustle last night. I found the film to be confusing, poorly acted, and kind of stupid, but it was fun watching all the old cars, clothes, hairstyles, furniture, and activities of what Hollywood presents these days as “regular life” in the 70s. The film stars the delectable Amy Adams, one of my favorite modern film redheads. The thing is, she spends the entire film with her boobs hanging out. Not that I’m complaining. She’s got great boobs. Hell, she’s got great everything. But she didn’t wear a single outfit in the whole film that wasn’t open down to her navel and held in place with nipple velcro. Side boob, underboob, downblouse, upskirt, pokies, nipslip ... every scene. And half of them were slit up nearly to the waist to show off every last inch of her fabulous legs. It wasn’t even sexual, it was just how her character dressed all the time. Underwear free and 95% exposed, top to bottom. Yeah, like anyone ever wore clothes like that in public in 1979, and nobody stared, touched, or even commented. Uh huh, Hollywood, keeping it real. Whatever; my point is that there is almost no point looking for or at nude pictures of this one; it’s all on display already anyway. And she is far from alone in this. Exploitation? Sexploitation? Certain voices argue that it’s actually self-empowerment if you do it by choice or for money. Guess I’m moving into Old Fart territory, because I always thought there was another name for getting paid to be naked.

Amy Adams in her most covered up scene from American Hustle

UPDATE: Peiper sends in the reaction from the UK (Sarah Vine in the UK’s Mail Online):

Perhaps it is an age thing. For my fortysomething generation, people who took photographs of themselves in the altogether were known as Reader’s Wives and they were located in the back pages of dirty magazines.

They weren’t ‘cool’ or ‘hot’ or whatever it is these days that one is supposed to be when one is deemed attractive to the opposite sex. They were just a bit sad.

Also, photography required effort. Not like it is now, a casual throw-away gesture, the flick of a thumb. OK, we didn’t quite line up in our Sunday best and stand still for half an hour like the Victorians, but most cameras required a modicum of skill and thought.


............


If you’re Lawrence’s age — 24 — however, the smartphone is an extension of you. Narcissus had his pool to gaze into; today’s young things have their photo-streams.

Remember, it was Nemesis who showed Narcissus his image, causing the Greek warrior to fall so much in love with himself he eventually expired.

This whole sorry episode feels like the modern equivalent: beautiful celebrities obsessed with their appearance humiliated by their own vanity.

No one is arguing that having your private life all over the internet is anything other than horrid and traumatic. But the simple, hard truth is this: if you don’t want your breasts going viral, it’s probably best not to take pictures of them and keep them on your phone.


....


... the same article rolls along to another subject and ties in to a previous pieper post:

At first glance, the Brussels ban on vacuum cleaners over 1,600 watts may seem more petty than malicious.

But look closer and you’ll see a sinister agenda at work. Alongside vacuums, they’re targeting lawn-mowers, power tools, kettles, toasters and patio heaters.

So carpets, lawns, DIY, tea, toast and dining outside in summer, regardless of the freezing cold. It’s nothing less than an all-out assault on the British way of life.

I’ve got to hand it to Sarah Vine here. Not only does she know her Greek mythology, she makes a perfect “liquid” juxtaposition between the classic and the modern, and later on in her post she uses the word “febrile” conversationally, proving her superiority to every journalist in the USA. And it’s fun reading her getting steamed about those wanky sprouts in Brussels.

Posted by Drew458     on 09/03/2014 at 11:48 AM   
Filed Under: • Hollywood • Sex •  
• Comments (4) • Trackbacks(0)  Permalink •  

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