The erotic thriller of the 1980s and 1990s—Fatal Attraction, Basic Instinct, Wild Things—was the first major popular genre to translate lust into entertainment without requiring divine punishment. Earlier Hollywood codes mandated that sin lead to suffering (e.g., The Postman Always Rings Twice). But by the late 20th century, the Devil had negotiated new terms.
In Basic Instinct (1992), Catherine Trammell is not punished for her lust; she is celebrated for her mastery of it. The famous interrogation scene—legs crossing, no underwear—is not a depiction of temptation overcome but of temptation weaponized. The film’s genius (and moral vacancy) lies in making the viewer complicit. We are not horrified by her; we are fascinated. The Devil’s translation here is simple: Lust is power, not weakness.
More recent films like Eyes Wide Shut (1999) and The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo (2011) go further. They present secret societies and antiheroes whose lust is tied to ritual, violence, and justice. The line between predator and liberated self blurs. The Devil smiles: now lust is not even a vice—it is a cipher for hidden knowledge.
In the shadowy corridors between ancient morality tales and modern streaming queues, a profound translation has taken place. The seven deadly sins have always been reliable antagonists, but none has undergone a more seductive rebranding than Lust. Once the domain of whispered confessions and fiery damnation, lust—particularly as framed through the lens of what classic theology called “the Devil’s entertainment”—has been meticulously translated into the dominant language of contemporary popular media: desire as identity, transgression as virtue, and consumption as liberation.
This article examines how film, television, music, and digital platforms have systematically reframed lust from a spiritual failing into a marketable, even heroic, impulse. The Devil, as always, deals in translations—turning shame into pride, restraint into oppression, and appetite into authenticity.
Lust in media is fast: fast cuts, fast swipes, fast satisfaction. The antidote is slowness. Read a novel that takes 200 pages to describe a single kiss. Watch a film like Past Lives (2023), where desire is almost entirely expressed through silence. Re-train your brain to understand that unfulfilled longing is not a problem to be solved by more media; it is a reminder that you are human.
Streaming television perfected the Devil’s translation. Unlike film, TV has hours to normalize transgression. Game of Thrones turned lust into political currency; House of Cards made it a tool of manipulation; Euphoria reframed adolescent lust as traumatic yet authentic self-expression.
Consider Euphoria. The show’s unflinching depiction of teenage sexuality—often raw, transactional, and damaging—is presented not as moral warning but as visual poetry. The camera lingers, the music swells, and the viewer is asked to feel the characters’ lust as their truth. The Devil’s translation here is subtle: Shame is the only sin. Expressing desire, no matter the cost, is courage.
Even prestige dramas like Mad Men translate lust into nostalgia. Don Draper’s serial infidelities are not judged; they are contextualized as symptoms of a beautiful, broken masculinity. The audience mourns him, admires him, and in doing so, absorbs the translation: Lust is suffering, and suffering is depth.
Counter the algorithm’s dismemberment with intentional vision. Look at people—real people—in their faces. Practice seeing the whole human: tiredness, humor, fear, hope. This is a spiritual discipline. It is the practice of refusing the translation of person into object.