The Male Appetite

Appetite can represent the sexual realm or any manner of desire. Or it can simply refer to the prosaic activity of stuffing one's face, refueling for the next challenge. Many action film's feature a scene or two of the hero eating. Even this action must include some kind of reassertion or confirmation of his masculinity. Meat is the meal of choice, and sausage-y meals seem to win the day. Meat is bolted, eaten one handedly which is why hot dogs are the usual selection. It is often simply crammed into a corner of the mouth and chewed briefly while the hero stands and discusses his next plan. If he is seated to dine, he leans back or forward, taking up space, opening his lower body. Large quantities of food may also be eaten.

Arnold eating meat and making a goofy face.

Masculinity has been linked to meat eating since forever. There might be something to this as studies have shown that meat consumption increases testosterone levels. In the natural world, the predators eat meat. The prey forage for roots and vegetables and then usually get eaten by the predator while standing in a field or savannah somewhere staring into space and chewing. In the movie Predator, Arnold ate nothing. He rarely eats in his movies which is rather interesting as he seems to be above the baser appetites in his films. This might be an attempt to show strength of character (to match his physical strength) through abstaining. He does eat in Twins but that film is comedic and not action oriented at all so it doesn't really count. He is shown enjoying an ice cream cone with his daughter in Commando, but that scene is part of a montage used to reveal his devotion as a father. Once the action starts in that film, the food eating stops. In Conan, Arnold eats, drinks and notably, screws. But that was one of his earliest films, once he was established as action star, he abandoned decadent behavior and never fucked again (in movies anyway).

Testosterone aside, there is just something masculine about meat in itself. Sometimes it's skewered on a stick and roasted. Barbecue is usually performed solely by men. Even the name 'pit master' suggests something dominant or puts one in the mind of scenes from Conan the Barbarian. Compare carnivorous men to herbivorous men and it becomes obvious. Complete masculine failure is evident in the vegan man. They're typically emaciated and weak. They can barely speak above a whisper because they lack the energy. They are ghostly, undefined. They possess an air of sanctimonious vegan piety as they eat their pathetic meat substitutes. Food becomes all and the sex drive collapses. Much of vegan fare is estrogenic it must be noted, which explains the utter lack of masculine aggression most vegan men display.

Action heroes are never vegans obviously so we can be done discussing them. Yet in some films, they display some unusual eating habits. In Cobra, Sylvester Stallone is something of a picky eater, a rarity for an action star. He worries about his partner's sugar consumption and suggests he eat fruit (which is rather a feminine food). He is weirded out when Ingrid (Brigitte Nielsen) drowns her fries in ketchup.

Cobra appears to be a deep thinker, he mulls over the world while he chews his toothpick- that seems to be his sustenance. His first name is Marion though so maybe that's why he is so sensitive. The only time he is shown eating is in the opening of the film. He cuts cold leftover pizza with scissors (a masculine and resourceful solution to a lack of proper cutlery...having said supplies would be feminine, no?) and eats absentmindedly while watching the news and getting upset over the state of the world. But then this action becomes meaningless when he doesn't even eat the whole slice, only a dainty corner that he eats slowly, meditatively.

Tough guy seeks sustenance.

In The Thing, MacReady's so tough he eats whiskey. In Lethal Weapon, Riggs (Mel Gibson) inhales a hot dog at the side of the road. In Lethal Weapon II, Murtaugh (Danny Glover) and Riggs eat fast food with Leo (Joe Pesci) who gets stuck with a tuna sandwich he didn't order. Riggs and Murtaugh dine on more masculine meaty fare while Leo refuses to eat the tuna. The Dirty Harry films, too, are filled with hot dog eating. In Sudden Impact, Harry Callahan offers disgusted advice on the proper way to eat a hotdog to his partner: "nobody, I mean, nobody puts ketchup on a hot dog." In the first film in the iconic series, Dirty Harry stops a group of bank robbers by himself while casually chewing on the last bite of a hot dog. Said diner hot dog, we are told, is his typical lunch and dinner fare.


So why all this hot dog consumption? What is so masculine about the hot dog? The suggestive way it can be tucked into a bun? Is it its portability, it's phallic shape? Is it the insouciance and bravery that must belong to the hot dog eater, who is content, nay, eats with relish (heh) a tube of meat in a questionable casing fashioned from the flesh of various animals? Why do action heroes like hot dogs?

This is Part I of a four part series. Stay tuned for The Male Appetite Part II: Sex, The Male Appetite Part III: Altered States and The Male Appetite Part IV: Accessories and Acquisitions

The Intersection of Masculinity and Race

Striking Poses, Striking Difference

Though Walter Hill's 48 Hours was released in 1982 it still retains a rather late 70s feel. Jack Cates' (Nick Nolte) wardrobe has very nearly the same drab brown button down formality of Eastwood's Harry Callahan except Cates appears to be loosening up ever so slightly for the new era. He wears blazers, but no tie or sweater. His oxford shirt is unbuttoned at least to the second or third button. Instead of slacks, he wears fitted boot cut jeans and cowboy boots. He is casual yet still formal. When Cates and Reggie Hammond (Eddie Murphy) are introduced in one of the earlier scenes in the film, it is evident that Cates is a little square on fashion. Hammond makes a point of correcting Cates' assumption that his suit cost $500 when in fact its price was close to $1000. Aside from differences concerning fashion, Cates and Hammond clash in other ways. One source of tension is that Cates is a cop who needs Hammond, a criminal, to help capture a fugitive named Ganz (James Remar). The primary cause of the friction, however, is racial- Cates is white and Hammond is black. It is clear from the outset that Cates is not too thrilled about black people, referring to Hammond first as "watermelon", "a charcoal-colored loser", a "spear-chucker" and then later breaking out the biggest racial slur of them all in a dramatic confrontation. Not only is Cates sporting a similar though modified look as Harry Callahan, he is also carrying over the racial attitudes of the previous era, using racial epithets with the same aplomb as Callahan.

Cates is slightly more open and relaxed than Callahan, however. In this way he ceases to be a 70s character and becomes more of an 80s one. Sure, he's tough and somewhat formal as evidenced by the blazer, but he has a swagger, a looseness. There is, from the outset, banter between Cates and Hammond that, as the film progresses, becomes friendly as opposed to hostile. Of course, this follows the true buddy cop (Hammond becomes an honorary cop in this film) movie formula. Certainly, 48 Hours can be credited with paving the way for a later and even more popular interracial buddy cop film, Lethal Weapon.

Richard Donner's Lethal Weapon was released just five years after 48 Hours but the mood couldn't be more different. Though they both take place in California, 48 Hours' San Francisco and Lethal Weapon's Los Angeles seem worlds apart. Where Cates and Hammond visit San Francisco's grimiest spots, Riggs and Murtaugh are searching for drug smugglers in the glitziest LA clubs. When Sgt. Riggs (Mel Gibson) and Sgt. Murtaugh (Danny Glover) meet, they, like Cates and Hammond, take an instant dislike to each other. This dislike isn't due to their racial differences, nor to different life experiences (they're both cops) but rather because Murtaugh perceives Riggs to be a loose cannon and Riggs fears Murtaugh is going to be a strictly by the book type of police officer.

If there is racial tension in this film it isn't expressed. In five years, open use of racial slurs in films had become frowned upon. There are, however, clear racial roles in this film. Though they share nearly equal screen time, somehow Gibson's Riggs seems like the main character, while Murtaugh is something of a satellite, an accessory. Though Murtaugh has been an officer longer, Riggs is characterized as braver and smarter. In one scene in a firing range, Riggs shows off his shooting skills by achieving a near impossible shot from a great distance, thereby making Murtaugh's impressive shooting seem lackluster by comparison. The point is made early on in the film as to whom is the most masculine. Murtaugh seems to accept this role without question, seemingly following Riggs' lead as the film progresses, though he is the older, more experienced cop. Nevertheless, these roles seem to suit both characters and they successfully fight crime while becoming partners and friends.

Both 48 Hours and Lethal Weapon focus on race, the latter more subtly than the former. Each film provides a showcase on the ways in which race and masculinity intersect. In 48 Hours, Murphy's Hammond is a jive talking criminal who revels in his ability to be infinitely cooler than Cates. Yet he is never portrayed as suitable competition in the masculinity department. He gets his moment to play cop in a redneck bar, but uses a slur to describe himself during the only moment where he truly gets to display an authentic masculinity. Alternatively, Glover's Murtaugh is an upstanding character, a family man and respected police officer who still cannot compete with Riggs' toughness, intensity, bravery and shooting skills. Hammond and Murtaugh both are much more formally dressed then their white counterparts, remaining in suits throughout the duration of both films. Yet in Hammond's case the suit is too flashy to garner respect, while Murtaugh's suit seems to suggest advancing age and irrelevance. No matter what they do or wear, they still don't quite measure up.  Curiously and rather contradictorily, these films likely played a role in lessening racial tensions at the same time that they play to the racial status quo.

Sartorial Seriousness in Seventies Cinema

A curious juxtaposition occurs in the 70s film. Many of these movies are rough and violent and often best described as gritty. Whether scenes occur in pool halls, rundown bars or sad looking diners they always appear bleak, dark and grim.  Regardless of the rough appearance of these places, the characters in them are usually dressed somewhat formally. Comparatively few 80s films can be characterized as gritty. Despite the violent or rough subject matter, there is a sleekness, a sheen, a stylized glamour to the 80s film. At the same time, wardrobe becomes decidedly more casual. Somehow this incongruity works and takes nothing away from the films and may, in fact, make them more compelling. These changes, I think, are more than just the natural progression and fluctuation of fashion but rather a visual representation of character and a specific type of maleness.

There is much more of the sense of seriousness in the 1970s film. Humor, in many of these movies is absent or occurs very rarely. Consider the craggy, angular toughness of Clint Eastwood's face in the Dirty Harry films or the drawn and melancholic visage of Robert Mitchum in Peter Yates' The Friends of Eddie Coyle. These are faces that belong in drab suits and ties or in blazers and slacks. Also, there is a sense of the unflappable in these characters and their wardrobe choices. Eastwood's Harry Callahan appears neat and put together no matter how many bad guys he chases and captures. In the iconic "do you feel lucky, punk?" scene in the first film in the series, Callahan appears unfazed as he dodges bullets while successfully hitting his criminal targets, yet he is clearly bothered by the blood stains that appear on his slacks as a result of the shoot out. Callahan is the visual representation of order in an insane world. He appears in a chaotic and seemingly untenable situation and alone quickly dispatches the bad guys. He never raises his voice or changes expression, his is a robotic, authoritative neatness.

Alternatively, Mitchum's Coyle is always dressed in slacks and a jacket yet appears rumpled and worn down. He is a small town criminal facing a looming prison sentence. He almost appears to wear a uniform of failure and regret. Yet he is no less masculine than Callahan. He silently bears his fears and anxieties. Like Callahan, he makes no sudden movements, he is resigned and will defend himself but isn't going to make a show of it. Unlike Callahan, he does not engage in any physical violence, nor is he chased (though Callahan often seems above violence- he threatens it but is so intimidating crooks never rise to the challenge). Rather, things seem to happen to Coyle and he seemingly has no recourse to defend himself.

In these two films, seriousness, depth, power and the lack thereof are conveyed through clothing. Later examinations of other films from the 70s and 80s will attempt to connect clothing and character.