Why I Want a Stunt Double

Last night, as the credits of Young Adult* were rolling, I noticed, with mock jealousy, that Charlize Theron was listed as having a stunt double.  Now, I hadn't noticed any acts of great physical valour -- none that seemed to merit such exquisite help, I mean -- but all considered, this shows how naive I am.  I mean, if a director asked me to trip over a flagstone, I'd probably fall flat on my face.

That said, do you think I could get a stunt double?  Imagine.  Every time I did something brave, I could pass the whole struggle on to some other burly person, who, from the right angle, looked a lot like me.  They'd know just how to express affection, how to love their own freckles, how to ask for what they long for.  They'd be a "better" me.

But no.  Wait.  Here's a truth, instead:

The first time I subbed in the bedroom, I told myself I was someone else.  A woman who was strong enough to bear the pain.  But the more I played this role, the more I became it.  I felt strong and proud and close and good.  And soon, I realised this wasn't my stunt double -- this woman had always been inside me.  This was the Lana Fox who could calm the cruel and angry, and could raise her head high when the world went wrong.  This was the woman who knew herself and didn't give a jot who couldn't see it.

If my stunt double owned my sexuality on my behalf, I wouldn't be myself, which means I wouldn't love as truly.  Because part of being a sex-positive person is loving.  Really loving.  

So no stunt doubles for me, I guess.

(Except at Christmas?  Once a year.  Now wouldn't that be nice!).

*A super film.  Much sadder than you'd think, but also riotously funny, and ultimately, very insightful.