New York Times film critic Manohla Dargis recently wrote about how sad it is that American movies are packed with explicit violence but apparently ashamed of sex.

Lenny Bruce used to ask why it was obscene to show sex in American movies but not violence. Fifty years later, our screens remain washed in red, with severed if not necessarily naked body parts. More than half of the mostly American titles that received R ratings last year contained some kind of violence (as in strong, bloody and “grisly bloody violence and torture”) while only a third had sexual content. No NC-17 ratings were handed out, which bar youngsters, the viewers the studios most lust after.

She talks about watching Blue Valentine:

I wasn’t shocked by the sex — after all, it’s about two lovely young people who can’t keep their hands off each other — but I was startled. American characters — heterosexuals! — were having sex in a movie.

I've got to say, I completely disagree. Watching somebody have sex is like watching somebody win a reality TV program. At first you think, "Hey, great for them!", but eight seconds later it's, "Wow, it sure sucks being me."

Basically, though, when it comes right down to it, sex isn't all that meaningful, while violence is permanent. Sure, it's great to sleep with somebody, but a week or two later do you remember? See if that happens when somebody breaks your leg.

Violence results from strong feelings, but sex can stem from ambivalence. You won't see a scene in a violent film where a guy says, "Well, I'm bored and a little drunk, and I'm not really crazy about him. Might as well snap both his arms."

Violence explodes out of the gate immediately. A mobster doesn't punch some guy in the nose, then go home and write, "Dear Diary: I had such a lovely time hitting that fink. Maybe tomorrow I'll poke his eyes out!" He's not going to spend the rest of the night standing in front of a mirror pretending he's walloping the guy with a broom.

Violence isn't thoughtful, or introspective. Jason Statham doesn't sit at home for the first ninety minutes of his movies wondering why nobody will pound him with a saucepan. He doesn't take somebody out to dinner eight times before he breaks their arm. While he's beating them to a pulp, they don't require his reassurances that he really, really hates them. And afterward, when they're lying in pain on the pavement, they don't ask him to spoon for an hour while they discuss coming to terms with these newfound feelings.

When a couple fall in love, though, who knows how long it's going to last? Sure, they're professing their undying love, but words are just a little different than knife wounds. Show me the movie where some dude jumps off a building, then two months later decides he's made a horrible mistake. Similarly, violence is more important because it's a one-shot deal. At no point is that mobster going to say, "Hey, that was great! Let's chop off his fingers again!"

In the end, sex just isn't as memorable as violence. Imagine, for instance, you've just killed a family. Even if you're a hardened murderer, that image will stay in your head forever. Now try remembering what your third boyfriend's dick looked like. And I'll see you at the next Steven Seagal film fest!