Like many elder Millennials, my first experience with sex on screen came during Top Gun—and no, I don’t mean the iconic beach volleyball scene. I’m referring to the 79 seconds in which Maverick and Charlie get it on to the strains of “Take My Breath Away.” The entire thing is shot in blue-toned silhouettes, with billowing curtains, perfectly manicured nails, and tongue choreography. While there’s not much nudity, for a movie with a PG rating, it made my eyes pop.

The scene is famous enough that last year, Screen Rant ran a piece by entertainment journalist Cathal Gunning exploring why it’s “so bad” and celebrating that Top Gun: Maverick isn’t burdened with anything as cringe. Why are you polluting my action movie with stuff that doesn’t belong: that’s the argument.

Opponents of on-screen sex don’t stop there. In a review of Magic Mike, critic Ross Douthat asked, “Is sex necessary?” To which I would reply, “Is anything in a movie or on television necessary? Channing Tatum didn’t have to make a trio of films about masculinity, capitalism, and the power of the transverse ab, Ross, he chose to.”

And more recently, reviews of the latest season of Bridgerton focus on the show’s salaciousness, labeling it “steamy” when they like it and bemoaning that it feels “familiar,” though with more “ripping and removal of bodices,” when they don’t. If sex is present, it seems hard for some viewers to see anything else.

Look, I am not saying that all media needs sex, and I’m certainly not saying that you, dear reader, have to consume or enjoy these depictions. But arguments such as these come out of a tradition of censorship and ignore that sex in the media can add to characterization and that even when it doesn’t, it can be beautiful, fun, and, yes, titillating. Sex is as cinematic a subject as any other, and it should be treated that way.