Of Course It Took a Documentary about Cum to Get to the Heart of the Male Psyche

A few days before a documentary about cum shot onto Hulu, Esquire ran an article titled “How to Be a Better Man Right Now.” This piece assessed modern masculinity in relation to past advice dispensed by its fellow macho magazines, and came to a simple conclusion: “Guys are struggling.” Men know this already. If dudes at large couldn’t sense the cultural shift taking place around them, alpha-douches like Andrew Tate wouldn’t enjoy such intense popularity. As some parts of society slowly begin to reject the toxicity that has come to define masculinity, responses range from a radicalized doubling-down on misogyny to self-effacing apology. There are countless annoying ways men jerk themselves off about their experience being infinitesimally decentered from our cultural spotlight, but the bottom line is that many guys are finding themselves adrift, seeking purpose and place. Esquire recommends learning to listen and making soup, and offers more masturbatory suggestions like developing encyclopedic knowledge of a pet topic. But none of this has the insight of Spermworld, a movie that understands the strange, complex, lonely desires of its male subjects—men who’ve found that the best self-care is self-abuse.

Spermworld, from Some Kind of Heaven filmmaker Lance Oppenheim, follows the lives of off-the-books sperm donors. These freelance impregnators connect through Facebook with those seeking children. In private groups, there’s a sense of community—something less icy than an online database and more transparent than a skeevy Craigslist ad.

That said, it can still be skeevy, particularly if you’re engaging in “natural insemination” or, as it’s better known, “sex.” The opening scene, shot in a hotel room that’s the dark washed-out blue of a nightmare, sets the film’s unsettling tone. Most of these donors perform their duties artificially, with collection containers and small syringes, though that doesn’t make Spermworld more comfortable. Whether the film finds itself in a deserted parking lot (where a guy, parked with his fiancée, is jerking off into a cup) or a children’s playplace (where a guy asks someone to watch the kids so he can go into the bathroom and jerk off into a cup), the documentary’s saturated color, high shadows, and shallow focus generate the uneasy feeling of an anonymous hallway, explored alone.

But, as strange and off-putting as it can be, this world serves a purpose. For the recipients, the process is goal-oriented. Get a baby, get out. For the cumtributor, it’s somewhere between sex work, charity and a god complex. There are the kinksters getting their rocks off, and the Goo Samaritans. Nobody’s reasons are black-and-white.

Oppenheim started working on Spermworld as he tagged along with Nellie Bowles, who was reporting out her New York Times article “The Sperm Kings Have a Problem: Too Much Demand” (Spermworld is also produced by the New York Times). Bowles’ piece focuses on the capitalistic side of things—COVID’s impact on supply and demand—the kinds of sperm folks were seeking from banks, and the seedy world of unregulated seed. It’s these “sperm kings,” the FDA-flouting fathers-on-demand, that captured Oppenheim’s attention. They’re not in it for the cash, which means they’re in it for something far more revealing.

Spermworld focuses on three men: Ari AKA “The Sperminator,” constantly touring to see his small army of children; Steve, going through a divorce at 60; and Tyree, struggling to start a family of his own. The spectrum of their experiences vary wildly, as do their purposes and needs. But they’re very much alike. Tyree reveals that he began donating after his release from prison, seeking redemption through altruism. Ari, ironically, avoids putting down the roots of middle-age by running a constant circuit of birthday visits. Steve (who also drives rideshare, so you get the picture) is simply lonely. 

In a broader sense, donation offers them an opportunity to feel needed—one that validates their place in the world through sheer biology. By being friendly enough and comfortable cranking it in unusual places, these men get to be useful. Important. Worthy. They don’t need to do or be anything special to do something good for the world, for others and for themselves. And this kind of fatherhood is a whole lot easier than volunteering at the food bank.