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Keyuri Gawde

Sex, Lies, And Videotape: Re-writing Voyeurism In The 1980s


television and videotapes
Photo by cottonbro studio via pexel (licensed under CC BY-NC-SA 2.0)

“You let a total stranger record your sexual life on videotape, but you won’t tell your own sister?” Sex, Lies, and Videotape (Steven Soderbergh, 1989) uses the videotape as a voyeuristic venture; with hindsight one can even see it as a representation of social media in its infancy. Ann and John have a conventional marriage, a lawyer husband and a suburban housewife, but there are certain truths hidden in the depths of their union: Ann is afraid to admit it but she is not satisfied with her sex life, and unbeknownst to her John is having an affair with her sister Cynthia. The arrival of John’s old college friend Graham, now a mysterious drifter, threatens to shake things up in the lives of these characters. Graham’s use of videotapes becomes a motif to explore the relationship between technology and voyeurism, with Soderbergh’s debut feature undeniably influencing modern cinema. 


Videotapes were relatively novel and accessible by the 1980s; they had become the dominant form of home video from the 70s through to the 90s, which significantly impacted personal media consumption and content creation as a whole. The democratisation of recording is something many take for granted in today’s age, but back then it marked a pivotal shift from communal entertainment (films, television etc.) to personal entertainment. This allowed for individuals to essentially document their personal lives for their own consumption. Soderbergh taps into the intimacy and voyeurism of such technology through his character of Graham, a largely elusive man who tapes women discussing their sexual fantasies and experiences. These women are willingly able to open up to him despite his status as a stranger in their lives, something they seemingly wouldn’t do in any other circumstance. Videotapes become a tool of confession and manipulation, reflecting how this technology’s broader cultural impact meant that individuals were able to not only document their lives but also control their narratives. Regardless of whether you see Graham’s practice as perverse, it can be agreed that his use of this medium removes the veil of privacy as hidden truths and desires are brought to the forefront, forcing characters to face their realities. 


Soderbergh’s provocative method of exploring this can ring true even today. Whether we are using videotapes or watching TikToks, there is a sense that the spectator is prying into the lives of others; it creates a desire to connect with people but also acts as a barrier where ‘genuine’ intimacy is impossible. Graham’s impotency means that he is unable to physically connect with any of his interviewees, his only connection comes through the act of recording. The subjects of the videos reveal aspects of their lives they might not otherwise share and these truths are immortalised in a video for a spectator they cannot preserve a relationship with in real-time. Graham’s detached way of creating contact is a method of maintaining a false sense of control, helped by the safe and controlled atmosphere in which he records the women. Cynthia opens up to Graham about her past sexual experiences, eventually finding herself aroused by the interaction, which results in her calling up John for sex. The quote with which I opened comes from Ann questioning how Cynthia was able to open up to Graham but not her own sister, perfectly encapsulating the power of the videotape. Later on in the narrative, the palpable attraction Graham and Ann have towards one other reaches its own climax when Ann asks to be taped. After a while she takes the camera off him and begins asking him questions, triggering the two to confess the desire they have towards each other. Soon the camera is gone, and the two look at each other with no barriers between them, maintaining physical contact. The mediation of the lens is removed, does genuine human connection remain?


Cinema thus far had explored voyeurism in other ways. Whether it was Hitchcock’s thriller Rear Window (1954), about a man spying on his neighbours, or Antonioni’s Blow Up (1966), following a photographer’s apparent capture of a murder, the idea of voyeurism was common in cinema but largely resigned to to themes of crime and obsession. Soderbergh approached the concept differently, trying to depict the everyday, looking into the future of technology and questioning the role it has to play in the complexities of intimacy and human relationships. While films of the past had a keen interest in the spectacle of watching, Sex, Lies, and Videotape explores the vulnerability of being watched. This way of looking at voyeurism has been highly influential in cinema since 1989. For example, The Truman Show (Peter Weir, 1998) directly deals with the concept of being watched in an increasingly digital age, whilst American Beauty (Sam Mendes, 2000) similarly uses a camera and the act of recording to highlight the impact of watching. The line between our public and private lives has become increasingly blurred in our 21st century hyper-connected world. 


Sex, Lies, and Videotape is remembered today for its revolutionary impact on independent cinema and its commentary on technology and voyeurism, which resonates to this day. The complex dynamics which the film introduces to us are only heightened with the introduction of what it means to watch and be watched. Are we losing true human connection or actually gaining it? Are we aware that we are being watched on social media? How much pleasure do we take as voyeurs ourselves? These questions will continue to be asked and explored in cinema for many years to come.


 

Edited by Emily Henman, Co-Film & TV Editor

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