Hollywood: The Sex Shortage

What if Swift and Armour were to give up packing meat and start selling block-frozen string -beans instead? What if Goodyear and Firestone were to stop producing bulging pneumatic rotundities that tread softly and squeal raffishly? And what if Boeing—maker and creator of the 707s—were to open its vast doors only to release a string of skinny, canvas-covered, piston-driven biplanes?

That is roughly what Hollywood is doing. It used to produce an ever better line of girls—smoothly fuselaged, four-motored, flaps up, rubber-cushioned and sex-powered. Goddess after sleek goddess was projected into the skies, from the 1920s' Mae Murray of the...

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