Good job on this film poster, everyone. Joel, good job. Josh, good job. Thom, good job. This poster will entice and excite people to the extent that they pay money to see the film being advertised. A round of applause wouldn’t be ill-deserved.
But don’t crack open the champagne just yet, Joel. Take the piñata down momentarily, Thom. I have a qualm, and one qualm only. There is a woman on the poster. The breasts of this woman — are they sufficiently large, would we say?
Look, I get it, I’m a new face around here. But gentlemen, I’ve been in this business a long time. If there’s one thing I’ve learned from designing film posters — and there is only one thing I’ve learned from designing film posters — it’s that no one has ever regretted artificially enhancing the curvature of a woman’s breasts. People’s motivations for going to the cinema are twofold: horrible, horrible violence, and wonderful, wonderful breasts. You could say that their motivations are like breasts, in that there are two of them.
Hollywood, gentlemen, is kept alive by the evergreen reliability of the bosom. It is our failsafe, the bedrock on which our industry proudly sits. How many movies have been pulled from the brink thanks to the dragging of a mouse and the artful digital inflation of a chest? I don’t have the time to get into it. It’s a lot.
The general public sees movie posters on a regular basis and deep down, in a place they dare not acknowledge, they suspect that not every single woman can possibly have larger- and perter-than-average breasts. So often they have come within inches of uncovering our secret. This, gentlemen, is why our work demands profound skill. Make the breasts too small and the public is neither sufficiently jealous nor aroused; too comically enormous and they assume that Hollywood only makes films about women who smuggle balloons for a living.
I worked up the posters for X-Men, The Hunger Games, and The Avengers. You think people care about mutants, competitive sport, or Chris Hemsworth? Trust me: they are in it for two things and two things only. We are duty-bound, if we want this film to succeed, to give the truth a push-up bra.
No, we’re not doing a bad thing, Josh. No, Joel, we are not “on par with the Devil himself.” We are offering people the faint and subsequently unfulfilled promise of sexual gratification. We are the dollar down the back of people’s couch. The whiskey in their coffee. The big breasts in their salad.
Here’s what I say when people accuse me of using sexist tactics to squeeze money from hard-working people: boobs. Here’s my reply when my critics call me one-track-minded: boobs. And here’s how I answer anyone who tells me that I wilfully mislead the people I should care about: that’s interesting, but have you considered boobs?
No, Thom, I don’t want to get down from this table. This is important. If we can’t digitally enlarge women’s breasts on massive film posters, what reason do we have to get up in the morning? Pass me that mouse. Fetch my coffee. Papa has to work. ♦
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Art by Nick Zarzycki