Self-Discovery Through Camp and Cocksucking

What makes journeys of self-discovery exciting—and scary—is the unknown. You’re travelling to an undefined destination with only a vague idea of what direction you’re headed. If you’re secure enough to know where you’re going and how to get there, then there’s no need to start the journey—you’ve discovered your “self” already.

But often self-discovery doesn’t start as a journey; it’s more like a prison escape. Escape is foremost in the mind of Paul (Sean Myers, billed as Sean McEuan) when he leaves the dreary seaside town where he lives with his miserable parents for the swinging life of 1969 Sydney in the 1970 Australian movie THE SET.

The catalyst for Paul’s departure is not, surprisingly, his crater-faced father insisting Paul take a job at the shipyards rather than waste his time at some candy-ass college. No, it’s after some beach ballin’ with his girlfriend Cara (Amber Rodgers, billed as Julie Rodgers), when she reveals that while in boarding school, she had an affair with—OMG!—a girl. This admission so horrifies Paul that he runs away, bare-assed naked, lest he get any more of Cara’s Sapphic cooties on him. 

Paul doesn’t stay mad at Cara for long. Also, this scene is
allegedly taking place at night (during May in Fairbanks,
Alaska, apparently.)

Paul then moves to Sydney. While on break from his department store job, he admires the window display of a downtown antiques store. On the other side of the glass Paul is admired by the store’s owner, renowned designer Marie Rosefield (Brenda Senders). Marie’s visiting GBF, Theo (Tracey Lee), is also intrigued by the young handsome window shopper, but politely waits his turn, letting Marie call dibs. Marie, encouraged that Paul is familiar with her work, happily takes the cute bumpkin under her wing, hoping he’ll eventually work his way under her skirt. She even goes so far as to recommend him as an assistant to the famous artist Mark Bronski (Denis Doonan, whose Van Dyke, despite all appearances, is not made of felt). All Paul has to do is make a good impression when he meets Bronski at a party, something Paul immediately jeopardizes by downing two drinks in rapid succession. I’ll admit I had trouble staying focused on the drama of this scene as I was too distracted by the Lhasa Apso sitting on Marie’s head.

The Set didn’t win any awards, but Brenda Senders’ hair
deserved Best in Show.

Though Paul’s drinking too much and too quickly, it’s Marie who gets drunk, and Marie’s a bitter drunk. After watching Paul cut a rug with a much younger woman wearing a halter jumpsuit similar to Marie’s, Marie demands Paul go home with her and repay her years of kindness (though viewers will swear only a few months have passed) by allowing use of his young, firm body. Paul’s response is less than kind, telling Marie that people thought she was his mother. Before rejoining the party, he tells her: “Your eyelash has come unstuck. Looks a bit revolting. Better fix it, eh?” Meow!

RuPaul’s Drag Race: Bike Lane Edition.

Marie, devastated by her protégé’s rejection, promptly leaves, only to get killed in a car accident. “Poor bitch. She was in no state for driving,” says Theo when he relays the news to Paul. With the “poor bitch” out of the way, the path is now clear for Theo to make his play for Paul, and rest assured Theo wastes little time doing so. He takes the aspiring designer to a party, and though its populated by men of a distinct persuasion, Paul is oblivious to it being a gay soiree. He only gets a clue when he discovers the truth about the party’s sole female attendee: “Oh god! You’re a man!” Paul quickly flees the scene but not the party. When he returns moments later, the drag queen warns him: “Watch out, Red Riding Hood, the wolf is after your basket.”

Paul’s walk of shame is made more shameful.

In the next scene Paul awakens alone in a strange bed. Though it’s implied he was roofied, the expression on his face when he looks in a mirror confirms he was well aware of what went on in that bed. Ashamed, he tries to sneak away, only to be confronted by Theo, wearing nothing but a towel. “Aren’t you even staying for breakfast?” he grins as Paul makes a run for it.

The movie takes its title from Paul’s primary job assignment from Mark Bronski: to design a set for a musical production. Though Paul is praised for having creative vision, he lacks the technical skill necessary to complete the job. Then he’s visited by his sexually frustrated aunt Peggy (TV presenter and comedienne Hazel Phillips in her film debut), his teen-aged cousin Kim (Bronwyn Barber) and Kim’s hot-for-1969 boyfriend Tony (Rod Mullinar, who went on to star in Breaker Morant and Dead Calm), who is studying engineering. Paul’s solution to his dilemma is to recruit Tony for collaboration on the set design. There’s just one hiccup: Tony is an asshole. He first scoffs at the suggestion, then reconsiders when Paul’s girlfriend Leigh, (Ann Aczel, the weakest actor of the bunch), whose hair could house a family of six in Whoville, drops in for a visit. Tony says he’ll help Paul on the condition he gets to move in with him, and Leigh moves in, too. Paul readily agrees, and so does Leigh, happily prostituting herself for the sake of her boyfriend’s career.

Alas, while Paul looks good, he’s a lousy lay. Like, really, really bad. “I am just feeling so damned let down and so frustrated that I could just kill you!” rages Leigh before storming out of the bedroom and the movie, never to be heard from again. Later, Aunt Peggy drops by and, finding Tony alone and not averse to sex with older women, decides to have what her daughter’s having, only to discover Kim’s likely never been served. “Oh, I just can’t win. A husband who’s lost all interest and a boy who wouldn’t know how,” she muses after Tony “leaves [her] in mid-air.” But unbeknownst to Peggy, Kim is being delivered by a plot contrivance taxi, and it drops her at the apartment just in time to discover her mother’s and her boyfriend’s betrayal.

Reflections of a failed fuck.

Tired of all these demanding bitches wanting attentive lovers, orgasms and faithful boyfriends, Tony turns his attention to Paul, who, despite having had two girlfriends and a gay one-night stand, is supposed to be too inexperienced to know better. Though Paul was disgusted with himself for having fucked Theo, he’s delighted to be used as Tony’s sentient Fleshjack, and fancies himself in love with the prick Tony rather than just loving Tony’s prick.

Tony decides he and Paul should be roommates with benefits.

The department store where Paul is still employed, apparently, learns of his work with Bronski, and decides to make him the host of a radio show about interior design that they sponsor. But Paul quickly reveals himself to be out of his depth, making things worse for himself by adopting the radio persona of a pretentious old queen, for reasons never explained. The show is quickly scrapped, and Paul fired. On the same day Paul’s canned, Tony announces he’s leaving him for a girl (“Good grief, she’s a prostitute!” Paul exclaims upon seeing her straddled on the back of Tony’s motorcycle). After an extended sequence showcasing the many anguished faces of Sean Myers, Paul takes a fistful of pills. Tony, his new relationship barely lasting until nightfall, returns and discovers Paul on the floor unconscious. “The woman’s way, right to the end,” he scoffs.

John L. gets dolled up to meet his latest
conquest collaborator.

It’s Bronski, delivered by the movie’s other car service, Deus Ex Uber, who actually calls for help. Bronski’s reason for showing up all of a sudden is to tell Paul about how his work—so far unseen by the audience—has attracted the attention of London producer John L. Fredericks, who wants Paul to design something for one of his upcoming shows. 

Paul survives, recovering in time to design something—with Tony’s help—for the famed producer. Then Paul finally meets “John L.” (Michael Charnley, flaming so hard it’s a wonder he doesn’t spontaneously combust), who makes it clear he plans to give Paul a #MeToo story to share 50 years down the road. But the producer’s plans are thwarted when Paul recognizes John L.’s “cold hard fish” secretary, and suddenly realizes he’s not queer, after all.

More an Aussie Curiosity than a Camp Classic

The Set is based on a then-unpublished novel by character actor Roger Ward (Janus Publishing ultimately published the book in 2011.) In an interview with FilmInk, Ward said every publisher he showed the manuscript to rejected it “not because I was an actor attempting to be a writer, but because I was a writer peddling filth.” Then a fellow actor got the manuscript in the hands of director Frank Brittain, who wanted to adapt the book into a movie. But there was a catch: “Frank told me I had to lift every homosexual narrative from the novel and write a screenplay on that.” Certainly not the note I would’ve expected, especially in the 1960s.

Ward’s assessment of the final product is it’s “a shit film,” which I think is a little too harsh. The Set isn’t good, but it’s not shit, either. A B-grade melodrama that mixes 1960s kitsch with grindhouse sleaze (its subject matter and nudity earned it an “adults only” label in its day, but it’s now rated PG-13), The Set seemed the type of movie I’d fall in love with at first viewing. But as much as I enjoyed the movie for its campy excess, its story is uninvolving. The script, co-written by director Brittain’s wife Diane, is more concerned with plot points than character development, so people’s actions come off as contrivances rather than rooted in character motivations. And for all that happens, the movie has almost as many moments of characters just standing there, silently, waiting for another character to finish packing his bags or another to begin her tirade. Did the editor not realize these parts were supposed to be cut out? Also, set design, at least as presented in The Set, isn’t the most gripping narrative driver. The model of Tony and Paul’s design, when we finally see it, looks like a creation from one of those At Your Fingertips educational shorts from the 1970s that are a staple of the RiffTrax catalog.

Cara and Paul end up right where straight audiences demand.

As for its treatment of queer characters, The Set isn’t totally insensitive, so I guess that makes it progressive for its time. Hell, considering how things are going in the United States, it’s progressive in our time. Homosexuals are presented as stereotypes, but they aren’t entirely vilified, and there’s some ahead-of-its-time acknowledgment of the fluidity of human sexuality. Still, Paul ending up in a hetero relationship by the movie’s end feels like a cop out.

A Sensitive Coming Out Story or Hardcore Twink Action?

“I’ll never forget that summer—that restless summer, when I found out who I was, and that long walk to tell my father what I learned.” So recalls Billy Joe at the beginning of THE EXPERIMENT, setting the tone for this 1973 coming out drama. And for the first 20 minutes, watching Billy Joe (Mike Stevens, in his only film role) and his best friend Gary Lee (Joey Daniels) roughhouse in the desert, cool off in the swimming pool of what they think is a vacant house, and drink beer stolen from the fridge of the diner owned by Billy Joe’s dad, you might think this is a regular queer indie movie.

Though there are hints of what’s to come.

Then the dick sucking starts. Yup, it’s a porno! Billy Joe and Gary Lee giving same sex scrompin’ a try is the titular experiment (“Oh, Gary, it feels weird.”) The teens—at least we’re not meant to believe they’re older than 18—are awkward at first, but quickly get into it, taking turns blowing each other and even getting into a sixty-nine. The sex acts aren’t all that varied, which makes perfect sense. I always find it funny when present-day porn scenes attempt a similar scenario, where one, or both—or all three—guys are supposed to be inexperienced/straight, then end up deep throating like pros and getting DP’d with ease. I’m not saying it isn’t hot, it’s just not believable.

Billy Joe works up his nerve while Gary Lee lies back and waits.

Anyway, back to Bill Joe and Gary Lee, who get off with some frottage. Alas, shame comes shortly after they do. The next morning Billy Joe wants to keep “experimenting,” but Gary Lee pushes him away. Just like Paul in The Set, Billy Joe flees—not just the shed in which he and Gary Lee sucked each other off, but the small southwest town where he lives, hitting the road for Los Angeles.

Jimmy Hughes prepares for his scene.

Of course, Billy Joe’s literal journey is also a journey of self-discovery. His first encounter along the way is “the salesman” Jimmy Hughes, not only rocking a head of shoulder-length hair but an impressive set of mutton chops as well. In a motel room that makes Motel 6 look like a Four Seasons resort, Billy Joe strips while his older trick, still dressed, takes sips from a pint of whiskey. The nervous teen lays down on the bed while his trick (or john; this encounter might be transactional) looks him over approvingly, then starts to undress.

Billy Joe might be nervous, yet he’s intrigued, too, and so will you once Hughes gets naked. His ‘70s hair may not be for every taste, but his muscular physique has timeless appeal (too bad he’s a convicted rapist). Yet, the salesman’s hot bod isn’t enough to silence Billy Joe’s self-loathing inner dialog: “Goddamn you, Gary. Goddamn you for making me see what I really am.” Then, as so often happens, Billy Joe gets too horny to give a shit about his conflicted feelings, going from lying there like a cadaver to writhing like a voracious cock gobbler.

Self-loathing cured.

All good things must come to an end, and in the morning Billy Joe and the salesman go their separate ways. He hitches a ride from a dark-haired twink in a Mustang, David Craig. Craig makes a play for Billy Joe’s dick, but Billy Joe ain’t having it.

It might have something to do with David Craig’s Grinch-like
smile. (I hadn’t anticipated that this post’s movies would
each merit a Dr. Seuss reference, but there you go.)

Undaunted, Craig picks up another hitchhiker, Tony Ross, who is much more accommodating. Ross is a lanky guy with a majestic penis. He also looks he could be Warren Oates’ little brother, which might be why the camera seldom moves above his waist. Not helping is neither Craig nor Ross are particularly dynamic sexual performers, with Craig either tentatively licking Ross’s dick or playing dead while Ross mechanically pumps his ass. Billy Joe, who is napping in the car for the duration of this scene, isn’t missing anything (except a gander at Ross’ dick, which, I repeat, is quite magnificent).

Better call (Gorton) Hall.

But Billy Joe’s dad, Herm (Gorton Hall, also the movie’s writer and director), is missing Billy Joe, and so is Gary Lee, who checks out their usual haunts—the desert, the creek—looking for his best friend. He gets sidetracked when he’s cruised by a young guy from Hollywood, slumming in the boonies. Gary Lee takes him back to the shed where he practices his sword swallowing. The encounter isn’t as fulfilling as his night with Billy Joe, however. “Well, I guess is doesn’t matter, as long as you get your nut off,” smirks the Hollywood dude before telling Gary Lee ciao.

Billy Joe has found a Hollywood dude of his own, and it’s from his home that Billy Joe calls his father. He assures his dad he’s OK; there are just some things he needs to figure out on his own (a touching scene, actually). Billy Joe’s Hollywood dude is the skinny son of a film director who looks like a cross between Jason Gould (a.k.a. Barbra’s son) and Jane Adams. Billy Joe is visibly creeped out by him, but the director’s son persuades him to stay. “I thought there were some things you had to find out about yourself. I can think of no better place than in my basement. Call it the acid test.”

Presenting “the acid test.”

This time Billy Joe joins in, though most of the action involves his host, as well as Craig and Ross, who are a bit more spirited this time out, though it could just be the kaleidoscope camera tricks making it appear that way. The next morning Billy Joe wakes up on a bed covered in sheets from Bed, Bath & Fuck You!, with the director’s son advising him to go back to where he came from. “Depravity isn’t something you learn all at once. It takes time and practice.”

From the Peter Max Nightmare Bedding Collection...

Billy Joe takes his host’s advice and returns home, where he tells his father that he’s gay. Herm’s response is not what Billy Joe—or audiences in 1973—expects. 

The Experiment is available
through Bijou Classics, and
presumably so is the movie from
which they grabbed that cover image.

According to the Ask Any Buddy podcast, Gorton Hall was the head chef of the ABC Studio commissary, but he had a number of creative side gigs, including writing pulp novels under his real name (unfortunately the AAB hosts don’t divulge what that real name is; I’d be combing eBay for one of those novels right now if they had), before getting into film via Pat Rocco. He was also a trained actor, which is why he liked to give himself roles in his films, and he gives one of the more polished performances in The Experiment. His acting background was also why he liked to rehearse lines with his cast prior to shooting. Hall certainly got better-than-expected performances from Stevens and Daniels (other performers, like the guy cast as the director’s son, are lost causes).

The Experiment was released by Jaguar Films, the same studio that released The Light from the Second Story Window. Like Second Story Window, The Experiment attempts to mimic mainstream Hollywood product and explore the struggles of being gay, as well as prominently feature Joey Daniels. Unlike Second Story Window, however, The Experiment succeeds by keeping its story simple, its scope small. It knows it can’t be a Douglas Sirk melodrama and doesn’t bother trying (though bless Second Story Window writer/director/star David Allen for going for it, budget and talent limitations be damned), Furthermore, The Experiment actually remembers it’s a porn film (though Hall reportedly preferred writing the scripts to directing the movies). It even has a few scenes that are borderline erotic. That said, the movie works better as a coming-of-age/coming out drama, so maybe don’t watch this one if you’re hoping to rub one out.

Billy Joe and Gary Lee try to decide if they are friends
or fuck buddies.

The Reality, Fiction and Fantasy of Fire Island

Cherry Grove Stories is
currently streaming on Tubi.

Though we got a welcome—and, frankly, surprising—Supreme Court ruling this month that extends federal workplace protections to the LGBTQ community, there’s been very little about this June to remind you it’s Gay Pride Month. Given the ongoing Dumpster fire that is America 2020, you’d be forgiven for just wanting to get away from it all. Unfortunately, the only traveling we should be doing is vicariously (though some remain unconcerned). Luckily, that’s also the cheapest way to travel. So, let’s go to Fire Island, specifically, Fire Island of the past.

I was aware of Fire Island being a popular vacation destination for gay New Yorkers as far back as my freshman year of high school, well before I ever came out. I’m not sure how I knew this. My best guess is it was referenced in some sleazy bestseller I read, or possibly it was mentioned in one of the two books by Fran Lebowitz that I read. Regardless, the reputation of this island off Long Island’s south shore was great enough that it even reached me, a teenager in Mississippi (or maybe I was still in California; my family moved around a lot).

Michael Fisher’s 2018 documentary CHERRY GROVE STORIES provides a good overview of life on Fire Island’s gay beach. Using home movies, archival news footage and interviews with frequent vacationers and longtime residents, Fisher not only provides the audience with an informal history of Cherry Grove, but of gay life as well.

“We arrived at the dock and I looked down and I saw all of these beautiful men in high heels and Speedos, and I thought I had died and gone to heaven,” says one of the interviewees. Another describes the island as a “gay Shangri La.” Some of the people interviewed remember vacationing on the island as far back as the late 1940s, when the houses didn’t have running water and were lit by kerosene lanterns (the island didn’t get electricity until 1960s; “I can’t imagine putting on a drag show with a generator,” quips one of the interview subjects).

Photos from the documentary Cherry Grove Stories.

The documentary never delves into exactly when or why Cherry Grove became a gay destination. Even interviewees who vacationed on the island as children with their families only refer to Cherry Grove as this wonderful oasis that was just there for discovery. “I knew it was a queer community,” says one. Another says he learned of Cherry Grove in high school when he saw a picture of two guys holding hands on its beach.

Cherry Grove draws a gay crowd but not
a diverse one. This is one of the few people of
color shown in Cherry Grove Stories.

As one would expect, especially in the decades pre-dating AIDS, sex was very easy to come by in Cherry Grove, especially for the men. “Coming out here with a boyfriend was like going to a whorehouse with your wife,” says an interviewee who first came to the island in 1957. (By the way, interview subjects not being named isn’t laziness on my part; it’s because Fisher doesn’t identify any of them onscreen.) I remember being aware of the island’s cruising grounds—the Meat Rack, a.k.a. the Rack—shortly after learning about the island’s existence, before I even knew what cruising meant. There is a rumored spot for lesbians, a so-called Donut Rack, but no one interviewed believed it existed. “There were maybe 24 lesbians when we were there,” says one woman. There are even fewer people of color. One of the men interviewed is of Asian descent, and there are a couple Black men shown in the home movies, but otherwise Cherry Grove is an all-white community, a fact I wish Fisher had touched on.

Once Cherry Grove Stories got on the subject of the Meat Rack I thought the documentary would devolve into a litany of people recounting how they did rails of cocaine and sucked a mile of cocks, but more is made about how the Rack was targeted by police. One bartender even kept a reserve of cash on hand to bail out anyone unfortunate to be caught in a police raid. Of course, by the time a man was bailed out of jail the damage had been done as the man’s name, address and telephone number (holy shit!) would have already been published in the newspaper.

Cherry Grove still retains its status as a prime “gaycation” spot today, though it’s changed considerably. AIDS, understandably, hit the island hard. “We invited some straight relatives out here,” recounts an interviewee, “and they came home thinking it was sort of a leper’s colony.” Yet the AIDS crisis led to an even greater sense of community on the island. It also changed the Meat Rack, which is still there but not the “free-for-all” it once was, a fact not only attributed to AIDS, but the Internet as well. “With all the gay apps, no one needs to go out and see each other anymore,” remarks one of the younger men interviewed.

These changes aren’t necessarily seen as being for the better, with several people remarking that for all the freedoms gained by the LGBTQ community over the past two decades, the island has become less free, with the police more vigilant about ticketing people for public nudity and loitering. Says an island old timer: “We’re going right back to the way things were 50 years ago.” Yet the affection Fisher’s subjects have for the island remains as strong today as when they first got off the ferry. As one puts it: “If I could never return to Cherry Grove, then I would die.”

‘The Biggest Camp of the Season’

The 1970 movie STICKS AND STONES also provides a snapshot of life in Cherry Grove, albeit a fictional one. The central characters in this ensemble piece are Buddy (J. Will Deane, a.k.a. Jesse Deane), a playwright who’s retreated to the island with his young “English” boyfriend, Peter (Craig Dudley) to drink away the memories of his failed play. He also might be cheating on Peter, but then, as we get to know Peter, who can blame him? Peter is a whining nag who’s got a stick so firmly planted in his ass that he likely can't bottom anymore. Dudley’s attempt at an English accent, which lands somewhere between Joan Fontaine in Rebecca and Baltimore, doesn’t help Peter’s cause. Conversely, though Buddy’s a cad, Deane’s talent for dry sarcasm makes him a more enjoyable screen presence.

“George is dressed differently
than we are.”

It’s clear within minutes of being introduced to Buddy and Peter that the couple has no future and needs to break up pronto. But since there would be no movie if they did, the couple goes ahead with their planned Fourth of July party, the “biggest camp of the season.” On the guest list are George, a middle-aged leather queen who’s bought a new leather vest for the occasion (“George is dressed differently than we are,” warns a mutual friend); Bobby, a newly out man making his “virgin trip” to the island (“I wish you’d call it something else”); Jimmy, a dizzy queen with a mop of blonde hair who, along with his mustachioed friend, makes homosexuality appear classifiable as a mental disability (watching these two attempt to change a flat tire is like the set-up to a homophobic joke); the Lavender Guru, a cute caftan-wearing hippie who only shuts up when he’s got a dick in his mouth (sample dialog: “I’m not sure some days whether the world that I live in is a world I created, psychologically, or whether it’s a world everyone else has created”); and June (adult film actress Kim Pope), the femme to butch Lou, though she’s about as staunch a lesbian as Anne Heche.

Before the party George gives Bobby a brief tour of Cherry Grove, noting that every house has a name, like Lust and Found and Olay, a house which was actually referenced in Cherry Grove Stories. Bobby is overwhelmed by it all, but mostly he’s just creeped out by George. They are joined by Jimmy and his friend, whereupon Jimmy, claws extended, starts making bitchy jokes at George’s expense (“You’ll never live to be as old as you look, dahling”). I got the idea the two may have had a fling that turned sour, though that’s strictly conjecture on my part (this movie isn’t big on backstory). What I couldn’t excuse was Bobby acting like Jimmy was rescuing him from a serial killer’s basement, his only reason for not liking George, who had been perfectly nice if a tad flirtatious, was Bobby found his being into leather weird. Well, fuck you, Bobby!

Peter (left) has the better body but Buddy has the better line delivery—
and the bigger bulge.

Meanwhile, back at Buddy and Peter’s house, the Lavender Guru goes on and on (and on) about some existential bullshit for the benefit of his handsome acolyte Gary, a sequence that would’ve been unwatchable had it not been intercut with the two having some spirited softcore sex. As for Buddy and Peter, they’re walking around the island in their Speedos, first to greet their guests at the dock, then to buy supplies for the party, though they’re never shown shopping for any. Of course, Peter has a lot to say, making it clear why Buddy always has a drink in hand. A favorite exchange during this banana hammock walkabout: Peter whines that Buddy just doesn’t understand the social pressures he’s under, to which Buddy, after waiting a beat, deadpans: “I’ve got to go to the bathroom.”

Kim Pope is sick of the Lavender Guru’s shit.

The party itself is a bit underwhelming. A dark-haired hunk in flowered pants sings and strums a guitar, and later deflects a pass from Buddy. Outside on the deck the Lavender Guru lectures a group too polite to flee (Kim Pope’s expression during this scene is priceless). George is wearing a pair of fishnet bell bottoms, commando, but he's upstaged by another leather queen, Fernando, showing off his Prince Albert. Jimmy sings a show tune, then tries to get Peter, sulking in the bedroom, to return to the party, a good deed that is sufficiently punished. “You’re nothing but a goddamned queen!” Peter screams (can’t say I disagree). Peter quickly begs forgiveness, then tells Jimmy about killing his pet dog when he lived in London (“I loved that dog”). Back in the living room, June dances nude with Fernando because why hire Kim Pope if she’s not going to get naked? Buddy, not to be outdone, then strips so his guests can appreciate his skinny, leathery body and, I must say, decent-sized cock. The fireworks for this Fourth of July bash don’t go off until after the party, however, when the hosts fight, possibly to the end of their relationship.

Sticks and Stones was written by Tom O’Keefe, but its loose structure and the rambling nature of the dialog suggests much of the movie was improvised. If that’s the case, director Stan Lopresto did a commendable job of getting something approximating The Boys in the Band Go to the Beach, which is to say Sticks and Stones, while not a good movie, isn’t the total piece of shit it could have been. The characters are all types—the leather queen, the swish, the nervous Nelly—rather than fully formed people, and the acting is strictly amateur hour (Pope and Deane, who also appeared in a couple hardcore films, deliver the best performances). On the plus side, the movie is leagues above the crap Jeff London cranks out. The gratuitous nudity, some of which is quite nice, also helped.

‘I Should’ve Known I was in the Wrong Place’

The last movie on our tour of Fire Island is nothing but gratuitous nudity, though I guess the nudity isn’t exactly gratuitous when said movie is a porno, namely director Jack Deveau’s 1978 film DUNE BUDDIES. Bet you thought I was going to write about Wakefield Poole’s Boys in the Sand, didn’t you? I’ll get to Wakefield, but not today. Besides, Dune Buddies has something that makes it just as noteworthy in the annals (yes, with two n’s; just because it’s a porn movie doesn’t mean our minds have to stay in the gutter) of gay porn: a connection to Brian DePalma’s Scarface.

Dune Buddies’ main character is a guy named Paul Hazzard (Malo), a dramatic arts professor who’s wanting to escape New York because he can’t walk three feet in the city without tripping over a hot guy begging for Paul’s hot beef injection. (“It got so crazy, in fact, that I stopped enjoying it.”) So, yeah, our hearts bleed for him. Anyway, to get away from all those beckoning dicks in the city, he heads to Fire Island. If you think that’s a stupid vacation destination for a man seeking solitude, Paul agrees with you, but his real estate pal Ed got him a good deal on a rental in the Pines so, what’re you gonna do?

Paul’s plans for a quiet vacation-for-one are dashed the moment he enters the bedroom of his rented beach house and finds one of his students, Dennis (Larry Page), passed out and pants-less on the bed. When Dennis comes-to, he explains Paul’s secretary revealed his itinerary when Dennis bribed her with three Quaaludes (this movie is very 1978). Paul quickly forgives his student (you would, too, if you saw Page’s ass), but they’ve barely gotten into foreplay when Paul’s friend Gordon (Hugh Allen) cock blocks him with a phone call. I wouldn’t have answered, personally, but Paul does, learning that Gordon’s at the ferry landing, waiting for him. (“If you meet me at the dock in the Grove in 45 minutes, I’ll let you buy me a drink at the Monster.”)

Maybe it’s just me, but Larry Page looks a lot like a young Thomas Haden Church.
(No, I’m not suggesting THC has a secret.)

And so begins what is supposed to be a comedy of errors. Paul heads out for Cherry Grove, leaving Dennis to juggle tennis balls and jack off in an outdoor shower. But Gordon, who’s a bit of an asshole, gets cruised by hunky John (Will Seagers, billed as Matt Harper here) and decides he’d rather ride in John’s boat—and on John’s cock—than wait for Paul. Paul, annoyed at having missed Gordon, heads back home, only to be intercepted by his real estate friend Ed (Gary Hunt), who needs a voyeur if the two cute young exhibitionists back at his house (Pepe Brazil and D. Paolo Gorsky) are to perform. No, seriously. Paul’s resistant, but Ed pours liquor down his throat until he agrees to stay. Despite being recruited to watch and having downed three glasses of vodka, Paul is an active participant in the scene, at least for a while. By nightfall he’s stumbling over the dunes and into the camp of another one of those hot, horny men Paul’s always running into. The camper is Ed Wiley (billed as Myles Longue), though given the scene’s minimal lighting and iffy focus it could be Tom Selleck for all we know.

Gordon (Hugh Allen) spreads for Will Seagers.

Meanwhile, Gordon finds his way to Paul’s pad. Dennis isn’t too enamored by Paul’s new guest, however: “After giving it some thought, I’ve come to the conclusion that you, Gordon, are an inconsiderate fuck.” Gordon counters with, yeah, but you know we’re going to make it anyway. And this argument works, because of course it does. But Gordon is just something to keep him occupied until the movie’s (mild) surprise ending.

Dune Buddies doesn’t come close to matching Boys in the Sand’s artsy erotica, but it’s very close to matching the Fire Island of my fantasies, including the royalty-free disco. And unlike the previous gay porn film I reviewed, almost all the men of the cast have a sexiness that stands the test of time, provided you have a high tolerance for ’70s hairstyles—and really, by now you should because, honey, we all have ’70s hair at this point. I just wish some scenes were better lit. The scene between Malo and Wiley is like watching two shadow puppets fucking.

About that Scarface connection: Dune Buddies’ star, Malo, later found some mainstream success as Arnaldo Santana, appearing in two Al Pacino movies, Cruising and Scarface. He also had a small part in the 1983 TV movie Rage of Angels and was a regular cast member in the failed Norman Lear sitcom a.k.a. Pablo. Amusingly, the trivia section on Santana’s IMDb page states that it was the actor’s weight gain—hey, maintaining that Dune Buddies physique had to be exhausting—that prevented him from landing bigger roles, not his gay porn past. Santana passed away in 1987 at age 37. No cause of death was given, and I found nothing online to confirm my suspicions, so I won’t speculate here.

From Dune Buddies to Scarface, from Malo to Arnaldo Santana.

An actor’s death is a sad conclusion to a blog post, but, then again, who isn’t at least a little sad at the end of a vacation, even a vicarious one? Especially when we know we have to return to 2020. <sigh>

‘Life is Not Always a Basket of Meat’

June is Pride month, so what better way to celebrate than with classic gay porn? Actually, there are a lot of better ways to celebrate Pride, but I watched an old gay porno film and it’s June, so…Happy Pride!

But the old classic gay porno I watched isn’t just some compilation of Nova loops. No, this is a movie, one about the moral compromises one young man makes in his pursuit of Hollywood stardom, a story brought to life by drag queens, cumshots and clowns. This is THE LIGHT FROM THE SECOND STORY WINDOW, the 1973 showcase for its writer-director-star, David Allen.

Lee Jones (Allen) is “an innocent little boy from out of town,” who has taken a job with a mysterious Mr. Cury in Los Angeles. Meeting him at the bus station are Mr. Cury’s assistants, Karl (Winston Kramer), a perpetually annoyed soul brother, and Mother (Richard Lindstrom), a perpetually annoying drag queen. I’m not sure if the character of Karl was supposed to always be in a bad mood or if that was the only way Winston Kramer was capable of playing him. He rocks a big-ass pendant and does justice to a pair of tight, white pants, however, so we’ll let his one-note acting slide. More intriguing is Lindstrom as Mother. Looking like a genetic experiment that combines the DNA of Ruth Buzzi, Linda Belcher and an arachnid, Lindstrom puts his entire spindly body into each syllable Mother utters, making her look like a marionette controlled by a palsied puppeteer. Even RuPaul would be telling this bitch to tone it down. Yet, while I found Mother as irritating as Karl does, I couldn’t take my eyes off her, the same way you can’t look away from a gruesome car wreck.

Lee meets Karl and oh, Mother-fuck, no!

But this isn’t Mother’s story, it’s Lee’s. After Mother flits off to buy a dress, Karl takes Lee back to a male whorehouse, where he has Lee wait outside (“You won’t run away, will you? You do, I’ll find you.”) while he goes off to do…something. Lee is left waiting with Alma, an older woman waiting for the titular light from the second story window that lets her know her manwhore is available. (“I’ve been waiting all day to get fucked,” she sniffs.) Alma is played by Ann Noble, writer and star of the 1972 movie Sins of Rachel, who is bit of a question mark. Her IMDb page simply states she was an actress and writer, but her mannerisms and her penchant for high, Adam’s apple-concealing collars scream drag queen. Either way, you go girl!

Ann Noble turns on her womanly charms.

That second story window finally lights up, but the available hustler is taken by a bewigged man appearing out of nowhere, pushing past Alma as he hurries up the stairs, rubbing his crotch and mumbling, “Gotta fuck.” This leads to the movie’s first sex scene. How hot is it? Well, if you’re into stilted twink-on-men-who-look-like-Linda Hunt action, prepare to paint the walls white. The rest of us are going to hit fast forward.

With apologies to the B-52’s.

Meanwhile, Lee gets broken in by Karl, and is then put to work by the still unseen Mr. Cury. His first clients are a father and son (“I guess their philosophy was that a family that plays together, stays together,” Lee titters in a voice-over). Next, he services a closeted movie star whose house is the epitome of ’70s décor, with dark paneling, orange shag carpet and chairs and tabletops suspended by chains from the ceiling. The movie star is played by muscular Rick Cassidy, billed here as Jim Cassidy, who was a more familiar presence in straight porn, including The Danish Connection and New Wave Hookers, the latter starring an underage Traci Lords. That he had done gay porn was a surprise to me (his other gay titles include Desires of the Devil and A Deep Compassion, which also starred Allen). Cassidy was certainly one of the better looking—and better built—men in straight porn, and he’s one of the best-looking men in Second Story. It’s Cassidy’s body that elevates his scene with Allen, though it’s clearly a gay-for-pay situation.

Rick Cassidy knows how to make an entrance.

Lee offers his body to another prominent Ric(k) from straight porn, Ric Lutze, billed as Richard Lauette. Lutze plays a cop who shows up at Mr. Cury’s place during a dizzying orgy sequence that has Lee, a gold-faced clown and Mother, her dick a danglin’, treating the crowd to some performance art before the fucking commences. There’s so much reverb during this unwelcome bit of political theater that it’s often hard to understand what they’re saying, though I clearly heard the clown say the N-word, quickly followed by Lee wailing, “Down with racism!” I preferred watching the orgy, even if Stu Drexl, credited with directing the sex scenes, employs camera tricks that make the scene more headache inducing than erection producing.

“Hello, whore.” (Actual dialogue)

Officer Lutze enjoyed pounding Lee’s tiny butt so much during that orgy that afterwards, when he meets with Mr. Cury (Stephen Lester, onscreen at last) to collect his protection fee, he pushes for a personal session with the young hustler. “I hate faggots,” the officer says, adding that Lee’s a “pretty lil’ shit, ain’t he?” The cop is thoroughly nasty in his treatment of Lee (“You don’t like cum in your face, huh? You love it! You love it!”), and while some fetishists [link NSFW] might consider such abuse foreplay, the mistreatment sends Lee over the edge. As Lee’s emotional breakdown scene edges toward Lonely Lady territory, Mr. Cury shows up to jab a syringe full of nerve-calming smack into the sobbing blonde’s ass.

Second Story spends its second half on Lee clawing his way up from the depths of despair. This is also when David Allen indulges his writerly side. A middle-aged snake breeder (!), played by William Lasky, who had a career as a second unit director in mainstream film and TV, finds a disheveled Lee wandering the streets of L.A. and takes him home. “You know, I’d really like to have sex with you,” says the man bluntly. Lee politely refuses (“I’m tired of being a whore”), and the man waxes philosophical about the compromises made by homosexuals:

“We conform to the world’s standards, to their laws, their ideas of right and wrong. … You know, we came to believe they knew best: homosexuals are evil creatures. And we swallowed it. Their destructive attitudes towards us made us destructive to ourselves, and then to each other. I always wanted a friend who accepted his homosexuality and who could help me accept mine. … That’s it, you know: to love without the need for darkness, without caring about them.”

Ray Todd demonstrates his mastery of
the huh? facial expression.

Pretty heavy for a dirty movie, though at this point the Second Story appears to forget it’s porn as forty minutes pass before the next sex scene. Lee, after making one more fuck flick for Mr. Cury (his porn films are referenced frequently in dialog, but Lee is never shown appearing in one), finally gets his big break in a legit movie, also courtesy of Mr. Cury. So, I guess in the world of Second Story, talent agents are also pimps? Sounds about right. Anyway, Lee becomes a huge star, and befriends Alma’s young cousin Chuck (sure), whom he meets during a celebratory gathering at the Sunseteast [sic] Showbar. “Careful, darling, he’s straight,” Alma warns.

Of course, Lee is immediately smitten, and it’s easy to see why. Chuck is played by Ray Todd, who vaguely resembles Warhol star Joe Dallesandro, and who can be counted among the best-looking performers in the movie. Unfortunately, though Todd has the sex appeal of Dallesandro, he possesses neither Dallesandro’s charisma nor his acting ability, limited though it may be. As portrayed by Todd, Chuck is not only straight as a board, he has the emotional range of one, too. So, as much as I want to ridicule the decision to have Chuck, over at Lee’s house for a swim, remove his Speedo because he’d “feel more free-er” [sic], I’ll instead praise Allen’s directorial choice for realizing where Todd’s talents lie and getting him naked as quickly as possible.

Lee’s attempts to help Chuck discover his inner bisexual fail, so the movie star hires a hustler, Big John (Joey Daniels). “Nice place you got here,” the blonde rent boy remarks upon entering Lee’s home, a comment that had me wondering what sort of shitholes his other clients lived in as Lee’s house is just a dowdy 1940s-era three-bedroom. The set for Mr. Cury’s whorehouse was more befitting a movie star. Anyway, after Lee asks his houseboy to bring drinks (beer for Big John, Champale for Lee), Big John gets down to business. “What do you like to do? Suck cock?” No, Lee couldn’t be that easy. He wants to talk. “Life is not always a basket of meat,” Lee explains. Undaunted, Big John strips so Lee can “inspect the merchandise” (for the record, he ain’t that big, but maybe he’s a grower, not a show-er), becoming indignant when Lee still shows no interest in sex. “When you’re in the fucking business and your body doesn’t sell, where do you go?” Big John asks. He storms off, leaving behind the $20 Lee paid him.

Lee returns to Mr. Cury’s brothel, this time as a client. He’s dismayed when Chuck arrives, wanting to work for Mr. Cury, but that doesn’t stop Lee from being Chuck’s first client. Allen clearly enjoys himself during this final sex scene, but Todd is as exciting a sexual performer as he is an actor, no doubt maintaining his hard-on thinking about how he’d spend his paycheck. He’s easy on the eyes, nevertheless.

During their post-fuck conversation, Lee makes one final plea for Chuck to be his lover, but Chuck resists. The movie ends with Lee, outside the theater premiering his latest movie, wondering if fame was worth the price he had to pay.

The Light from the Second Story Window is actually an adaptation of a 1972 novel of the same name—David Allen’s novel.  I can’t speak to Allen as a novelist (the cheapest copy of his book I could find was just shy of $90, so, no, I’m not reading it), but he could’ve used some guidance with his screenplay and, by extension, his directing. He clearly had a lot of ideas he wanted to express, and he was going to express every fucking one, tone, pacing and budget limitations be damned. With a nearly two-hour runtime, Second Story is half campy melodrama, half hardcore porn movie, and the two halves, unsurprisingly, don’t coexist easily. When you follow a facial with police brutality, a nervous breakdown and a monologue about the loneliness of being a homosexual, you’ve pretty much killed the mood. Though, too be fair, none of the sex scenes are particularly arousing. Between gay-for-pay performers going through the motions and performers who, politely put, are less than photogenic, it’s a porn film that defies masturbation. (Allen was too much of a twink for my tastes, but I will give him props for being appropriately enthusiastic in his sex scenes, though, interestingly, he never got hard in any of them. His scene with Lutze might have been the hottest in the whole movie had Lutze’s character not been so despicable.)

Which begs the question, why was Second Story a hardcore porn movie at all? Wouldn’t it have worked better as a softcore film? It would, but I suspect the decision to go hardcore was a commercial one. Allen was already in the porn biz, and a gay porn film was virtually guaranteed to at least break even in the early ’70s. A low-budget drama about a gay man trying to make it in Hollywood? Not so much.

Second Story is more of an adult film curiosity than porn classic, but it’s still worth checking out to get a glimpse into gay life of its era. I just wish I could find out more about the making of the movie. Unfortunately, most of the people connected with it have either died (Lutze, Cassidy, Lasky) or just disappeared. Second Story was Allen’s swan song, but if he’s still with us I’d love to hear about his experience making the movie and why he quit just as he was getting started.

ADDENDUM: I was tooling around the internet, researching for a Halloween 2021 post, when I stumbled upon what is now my new favorite podcast, Ask Any Buddy, hosted by film historian Elizabeth Purchell (who directed a film of the same name) and Tyler Thomas. In each episode the pair review and discuss gay porn movies made between 1968 and 1986, including The Light from the Second Story Window. It’s a fascinating listen, revealing that this movie’s original runtime was three hours (!), that Ann Noble was indeed a woman, that the cast was almost wholly comprised of members of the Society of Pat Rocco Enlightened Enthusiasts (SPREE), and that Stu Drexl was, in fact, Pat Rocco. I don’t necessarily agree with their assessment of Ray Todd as an actor and sexual performer (really, you thought he was good?), but we agree on the movie as a whole. Ask Any Buddy also discusses Tom De Simone’s The Idol, which I’ve also reviewed.