People often say that the only things certain in life are death and taxes. But what if the government, along with a vast majority of the population, were suddenly obliterated? What are the certainties of life in a post-apocalyptic world? Death keeps its hold, but in a desert world scorched by nuclear holocaust or a zombie plague, death has a new partner in inevitability: sex.

Sure, sex is already as ubiquitous as taxes, but plenty of post-apocalyptic movies point out that sex gains a renewed importance in a world devoid of order. Even in films that are not specifically about sexuality after the implosion of society, sex is still an important linchpin. In the modern-day zombie classic 28 Days Later (mild spoilers follow), our heroes-on-the-run, Jim, Selena, and Hannah, find relative safety in a mansion fortified by a small band of soldiers. Before long, the all male band of troops begin making not-so-subtle overtures to the two young women. Their captain, in a futile attempt to persuade Jim to disregard the well-being of his friends, pleads, “But I promised them women!” Jim’s refusal to condone this flesh trade nearly gets him killed, but the potency of the zombie plague has a poetic way of enacting revenge on his behalf.

After the jump, “carnal desire” gains a whole new meaning…

The soldiers’ demand for sexual favors as payment for protection does a lot more than simply set up a situation in which Jim swoops in as the knight in shining armor. It illustrates that in a world with no real economy, the flesh trade quickly fills the void. A more recent example of this is Fernando Meirelles’ Blindness (more mild spoilers ahead). A global outbreak of contagious blindness all but destroys civilization. The first to be infected are rounded up and locked in an abandoned asylum, where their attempts to self-govern grow increasingly bleak. Eventually a band of men seize all incoming food shipments, demanding sexual favors from the women of the other groups. It’s a truly gut-wrenching scene when the men eventually comply, and allow the female volunteers, many of them wives and girlfriends, to take part in the demeaning trade.

The scene that follows is extremely hard to watch, partly due to the sexual violence that’s depicted, but mostly due to the verisimilitude of the whole situation. What the film (and the book before it) reveals is that humanity, when pushed to the brink, will negotiate even its most sacred and personal aspects for survival. The film is not saying that blindness causes depravity, as some groups have suggested, but rather that a relatively small change, like the loss of sight, can unleash a depravity that’s always been lurking just beneath the surface.

It’s also worth pointing out that the portrait of post-apocalyptic sex painted by 28 Days Later and Blindness can be critiqued in a number of ways. For one, the idea that the male protagonists in each film are faced with the “choice” of whether to “give up their women” is extremely patriarchal. While in Blindness the dilemma is handled in a slightly more even-handed way, Selena in 28 Days Later seems to go from ass-kicking zombie-killer to damsel-in-distress as soon as she’s forced to put on a dress. Am I the only one who wanted to see her fight her way out of that situation on her own, without the aid of Jim?

The other critique of these two examples is that they’re altogether too negative. A post-apocalyptic world is a world without authority, an anarchy where desires can be fulfilled by those brave enough to take charge, a playground for the id, if you will. The best example of this model is the 1975 film A Boy and His Dog, starring Don Jonson (spoilers follow). Set in a typical post-nuclear wasteland, Vic is a young man on a quest for sex. Lucky for him, he has Blood, a sentient dog with whom he can communicate telepathically. Blood can sense whenever a young woman is in the area, and he tells Vic, who in turn makes sure the dog stays well fed.

Vic’s first conquest reveals that he is essentially a serial rapist. But his encounter with beautiful young Quilla June is halted by an angry mob. They team up to defeat the intruders, defending their underground hiding spot. A bond is forged, and they make sweet love multiple times as consenting young adults. Quilla June, sure she has found true love, brings Vic back to her home, a vast underground vault modeled after an idealized version of the Antebellum South, with a Colonel Sanders-like dictator played by Jason Robards. Things don’t go well. Vic is strapped to a machine that systematically pumps his sperm, which is needed to impregnate the women of the vault, because the men have become sterile after decades of living underground.

The young lovers break away from this creepy cult of sexual repression and escape to the surface. Vic smells the freedom of anarchy once more when they emerge from the vault, but Quilla wants him to settle down into a quiet family life. Also, upon release from vault Vic is reunited with Blood, who was waiting for him on the surface. The poor hound has nearly starved to death without he and Vic’s usual sexual-partners-for-food arrangement. Vic is presented with a choice, settle down with his woman or keep rambling with his dog. In the end he kills two birds with one stone, (I’m not making this up) by killing Quilla June, providing he and Blood with both freedom and a substantial meal.

A Boy and His Dog is clearly a farce, but it still points out important truths about sex. When humanity is faced with despair and possible extinction, sex illustrates both our highest and our lowest goals. The connection between two lovers is a beautiful expression of what it means to be human. The act of procreation is in both practical and symbolic terms our most essential function. On the other hand, sex can represent the surrender of oneself to carnal desires. The only goals in an anarchy are self-preservation, followed by self-fulfillment. A world without structure is the impetus for the ultimate sexual revolution, for better or worse.