We shouldn’t be afraid of showing empowering female sexuality in films – it’s important

There was a bit of an eye-catching commotion recently concerning Batman and his sexual preferences – specifically around an oral sex scene involving the caped crusader and Catwoman. There was a suggestion from creatives working on a new Harley Quinn cartoon that perhaps Batman might enjoy giving oral sex, and DC Entertainment responded with a sharp slap, stating “Heroes don’t do that”. Well, possibly. But I beg to differ, more of which later.

That Batman won’t go there story resulted in some fun memes, as I’m sure you can imagine. But it also played into an old theme in filmmaking, particularly Hollywood filmmaking, that is characterised by an aversion to showing female sexual pleasure. It has long been known that the Motion Picture Association of America, which assess films for classification, are reluctant to allow such acts of oral sex to be seen or even implied without giving the film a box office-killing mature rating. And yet male characters receiving such attention onscreen are abound. You can’t move for blow job references in some genres. Shouldn’t we be addressing this? And what it says about us?

I have just written a film about a woman in her older years discovering how to ask for and receive what she wants, sexually speaking, for the first time. It will star Emma Thompson as the woman in question, who hires a young male sex worker for a night of bliss. I wrote the film without being consciously aware of what was influencing it. But now as I look at it with a bit of distance, I can see an old inspiration for some of the scenes that are both intimate and tender, and based on a growing friendship: Dirty Dancing, the 1987 film starring Jennifer Grey and Patrick Swayze, contains one of the greatest seduction scenes of all time.

It takes place at night after our two heroes, Baby Houseman and Johnny Castle, have performed a nail-biting professional dance routine in a hotel. Baby is on holiday with her family in a Catskills resort and after meeting some of the dancing staff has agreed to cover for one of them, Penny, who has an appointment for a back street abortion she cannot miss (it is set in 1964). Johnny has only just been able to teach Baby the routine in time and she barely pulls it off. Adrenaline is high. Baby’s father discovers what has been going on and bans her from seeing Johnny again. But Baby is having none of it. She is, however, having plenty of Johnny. She comes to his cabin, she knocks on his door, and she knows exactly what she’s come for.

And so they dance together, undress, and by morning Baby’s virginity is but a hazy memory. She has had a wonderful time. What a revolutionary message this is. That sex does not have to be bad for women, for young women, even on your first time. That losing your virginity does not have to be traumatic. Of course it helps if it’s Patrick Swayze in front of you, but that’s not quite the point. The point is he is sensitive to her needs, to her body. Anyone can do that if they care enough to try. But yes, it does help if it’s Patrick Swayze.

I first became obsessed with Dirty Dancing at the age of 11. I watched it every day for three months. And years later, I wrote a book about it called I Carried a Watermelon (out now in paperback, thank you for asking) because I was so keen to see this extraordinary film recognised properly in the cultural landscape. It is an unusual thing in western cinema – a coming of age story about a girl. It covers many issues – class, privilege, father-daughter relationships, the ethics around legalisation of abortion, sexual awakening. And of course, the dancing is pure dynamite.

But that central message of Dirty Dancing sings out – that using your body to enjoy yourself is natural and healthy, that dancing is a good thing, that sex is a good thing, a positive thing, something that a young woman can take ownership of and enjoy. It makes you feel invincible. It makes you feel adventurous in every part of your life.

So while I sympathise with DC regarding explicitly depicting on screen the sexual preferences of Batman, or any superhero for that matter, in a show much younger children may want to watch, I still hold out a hope that in his own time Batman might understand that wanting to give a sexual partner what they desire is a superpower in itself. Heroes definitely do do that.

Katy Brand is a writer, actor and comedian