Photo Illustration by Erin O’Flynn/The Daily Beast/Gramercy Pictures
There is one unusual, particularly vivid image from my childhood that stands out to this day. It’s neither good nor bad, just there, always present by my side. It’s the sight of Pamela Anderson, emblazoned on a promotional coffee mug for her 1996 film Barb Wire, sitting atop the checkout counter at a local video rental store.
The sight is burned into my brain as plainly as the ink from the pens that the mug housed, which stained its white rim. That sensual ceramic might have been my very first introduction to sex. Despite being very gay, its wanton leather-and-boob combo perforated my burgeoning queerness forever. When Barb Wire was around, the world fell away.
No doubt that “sex” came before “narrative cohesion” on the list of importance when developing Barb Wire. The film, adapted from the Dark Horse comic book series, is set in a not-so-distant, apocalyptic future where the United States democracy has been overthrown, leaving every city under martial law. Well, except for the one remaining free city of Steel Harbor—home of the gun-toting, skintight-leather-wearing titular hero, Ms. Wire (if you’re nasty).