Do you know what Nicolas Cage sounds like when he’s having sex? Neither did I, until I read the short erotica story, “I Did Nicolas Cage’s Clone,” by Olive Scratch, author of “Seducing Genghis Khan,” “Once Upon A Dumpster,” and the classic “I Did Slenderman At Viking Fest.”
The first half of the story explains how the protagonist, Maddie Mortenson, began working at ViaClone, a secret government organization that secretly clones prominent figures so that they can be secretly replaced if they die. All very secret.
ViaClone’s recruitment strategy is evidently based around taking the nation’s most promising scientific minds, putting them through a years-long interview process, and then telling them to have sex with clones.
Maddie, as the highest-ranked clone-banger at ViaClone, is assigned to a special case. A clone of Nicolas Cage has sent every girl away in tears, until now. Maddie uses her feminine wiles to seduce the clone, dubbed “Nicolas Rage,” for his temper and arbitrary misogyny, and ends up enjoying their rendezvous so much that she helps him break out. In the epilogue, they move to Barcelona, where she writes erotica and he opens a coffee shop.
I wish I were making this up.
I don’t want anyone to think that I’m looking down on erotica writers. I get it. It’s tempting to find a gimmick and base your story around it. But, as many directors apparently still have yet to realize, Nicolas Cage is not the solution to your problems.
First of all, the Nicolas Cage element brings nothing to the sex scene. Literally half of the story was an extended excuse for the protagonist to bang Nick Cage, circa Con Air, so I expected some signature Cage moves. Disappointedly, Rage never once abruptly switches between a whisper and a shout in the middle of a sentence, and his absurdly large forehead is never mentioned. I’m left reading a generic, mediocre sex scene with the impression that Olive Scratch doesn’t really understand quite how male genetalia work.
There are also issues with the setup. We’re introduced to a whole cast of characters who never come up again, and there are throwaway references to the rest of the clones, but nothing compelling. I get that this is how erotica works, but after a couple of pages focused on Morticia Diamond, the mysterious founder of ViaClone, I’m disappointed when we never learn her story. Also there is definitely a confirmation of a Keanu Reeves clone, and the fact that it’s never elaborated on is just the mother of all missed opportunities.
At some level, I’m left wondering why we’re given so much background when really all you need is the protagonist asking normal, non-clone Nick Cage if he wants to fuck. It could even be set in ’97, so there are no continuity issues when Nick Cage has long hair. But if you dive deep enough into this story, you begin to uncover the true message.
Maddie is established as being one of the most intelligent biologists in the world, and ends up in a dead-end job, with the promise of a real career dangled just out of reach by a system designed to see her fail. Her only real goals at work are to please men who, despite being nominally lower on the pecking order, still control her. She ends up settling down with said man, taking on a more domestic career. The story is clearly a metaphor for the struggles women face in the workplace.
Our protagonist is clearly facing a system of oppression, and the unanswered questions the story poses allow us to ask our own. Maddie’s ultimate act of rebellion, her marriage of the clone, only plays right into the system’s hand. I’m not gonna outright allege anything, but this seems awfully similar to some other books I’ve read, and if you rearrange and replace the letters in “Olive Scratch,” you get “Sheryl Sandberg.” Coincidence?
Oh, and if any of you were drawn in by the first line, I’ll spill the beans. When Nicolas Cage screams during coitus, he reminds Maddie of the “not the bees” scene from “Wicker Man.” This image is one that I will carry for the rest of my life, and now you, dear reader, will too.