BREAKING! Cranky old man confronted by an idealized male physique in the form of Daniel Craig’s James Bond, experiences hurt feelings over the fact that the universe doesn’t revolve around his self esteem, writes whole big column about it. A waahmbulance has been called to the scene.
In a column for the Washington Post, Richard Cohen laments the “new sex appeal” of Bond in Skyfall, which is exemplified by Craig’s chiseled pecs and gym-forged body. Cohen, you see, is upset that the old fashioned sexiness of men onscreen no longer pervades. Rather than just schlumping around and sucking in their stomachs during non-close up shots (I SEE YOU, JOHN WAYNE!), male movie stars nowadays are expected to — gasp — try hard at the gym and maintain themselves if they want the sort of looks necessary to be a sex symbol. Of Craig, Cohen whines,
Nothing about him looks natural, relaxed – a man in the prime of his life and enjoying it. Instead, I see a man chasing youth on a treadmill, performing sets and reps, a clean and press, a weighted knee raise, an incline pushup and, finally, something called an incline pec fly (don’t ask). I take these terms from the Daniel Craig Workout, which you can do, too, if your agent and publicist so insist. Otherwise, I recommend a book.
Yikes. Lots to talk about there. First, I’m tired of bitter nerds insisting that everyone who makes an effort to remain physically fit (and by “fit,” I don’t mean tiny and waifish; I mean vigorous and capable of lifting something that weighs more than a venti skinny vanilla latte and climbing a few flights of stairs without running out of breath) must be some kind of thick-skulled neanderthal. Enough. That kind of judgment is often just an excuse for laziness. There’s no tradeoff between exercise and wanting to learn about the world; if anything, those two things enhance each other. But I digress.
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