Content, centre-spreads make strange bedfellows

My earliest memory of coming across the name Playboy, what was then considered a taboo publication, at least in most conservative households, was way back in high school. We had gotten our cable connection for the first time in the mid-90s, and my extended family – cousins, aunts and uncles had all tuned into Star Movies for a screening of firebrand Hollywood director Oliver Stone’s searing war drama Born on the Fourth of July (1989). The film is part of the auteur’s Vietnam trilogy, the first being Platoon, and the third being Heaven and Earth. The films are razor-sharp, devastating critiques of America’s decision of going into war with Vietnam, and its fallout on the survivors on both sides of the conflict. 

The second film is a biopic of sorts of Ron Kovic, an American veteran of the Vietnam War, played by Tom Cruise. As a promising teen in his freshman year, his desire to serve his nation at its most pressing hour, finds him getting drafted as a marine and packed off to the war zone. However, early in the film, a sequence depicts Kovic’s mother walking into his room and finding herself flustered at the sight of a stack of Playboy magazines on her son’s bookshelf. She clutches the magazines in her hands, marches out of his room and whacks Kovic on the side of his head, reminding him there’s no place for such filth in her home. The scene serves as a brilliant counterpoint to a sequence later on in the film, when an embattled Kovic returns home from the war, amputated below his knees, with no functionality of his body waist down. 

When Kovic’s comprehension of his impotence dawns on him, he begins lashing out, and his mother, whose puritanical belief systems governed the home Kovic grew up in, becomes the centre of that flashpoint. Years before it, and years since, it’s been a point of argument that has played out in different formats across different geographies. Hugh Hefner’s creation Playboy, has both inspired and infuriated generations of admirers and detractors with its centre-spread focussed USP. But, the manner in which the magazine broke into the mainstream consciousness and secured itself a place in pop cultural iconography is a story with few equals in the world. Glamorous cover shoots with Marilyn Monroe and Hollywood starlets aside, the magazine was home to some of the most exciting writers in American history, like gonzo guru Hunter S Thompson (Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas), who contributed memorable stories to the magazine. 

Despite being a laddie mag that fuelled the imagination of rockstars and supermodels to visit the famed Playboy Mansion, the publication, if I remember correctly, had the distinct honour of being one of the very few of its kind, to be showcased in libraries in military establishments in America. The magazine went on to spur countless knockoffs, even in India, that never really matched up to the legacy of the original. The advent of the Internet of course, changed things for the best, and to an extent, the worst. The availability of 24/7 adult entertainment for free, anytime and anywhere made the continuation of Playboy in its native format, an unfeasible option. And like all things resembling legacies, the magazine too became a reminder of the past. 

What I admire about Playboy, is that it also did something to help discover new writers of the next generation. Playboy’s College Fiction, which is compilation of wonderful short stories penned by students in campuses across America, is one such platform that has helped many budding story tellers find and stick to their calling. I chanced upon a copy of this book, published circa 2007, which featured the works of young winning writers over the course of 21 years. I am yet to read it in its entirety, but now seems to be a time as good as any, to start reading, and writing. Thanks for the push, Heff.