Sunday, December 31, 2023
Saturday, December 2, 2023
Short Takes: ‘Nuovo Olimpo’ (2023) ★★★
Strength of acting and direction keeps Nuovo Olimpo from devolving into a soap opera. |
Of course, that’s not going to happen. The pair are separated during the ensuing chaos of a police crackdown on a student protest happening near the Nuovo Olimpo and never find their way back to each other. When their paths cross decades later—after several near-misses—there’s anticipation that they can rekindle what they had so long ego, but they may have to settle for closure instead.
Though enjoyable as a whole, Nuovo Olimpo’s first act is its best, making one wish writers Özpetek and Gianni Romoli gave Enea and Pietro at least one more night together, and give the audience a little more time to enjoy Gavino and di Luigi’s chemistry. The movie becomes slightly less interesting once it leaves 1978, with the intervening years providing little beyond updates on the characters’ careers, love lives and graying hair. Enea becomes a renowned director, partnered with the hunky Antonio (Tony Danza lookalike Alvise Rigo), while Pietro becomes a respected surgeon, married to Giulia (Greta Scarano). Interestingly, during all this time, AIDS is never mentioned. Not that it had to be, but it was very much on the minds of gay men in the 1980s so it’s not unreasonable to expect the issue to be acknowledged when Nuovo Olimpo checks in with its characters in 1988.
But Nuovo Olimpo isn’t about social commentary. It’s a romantic drama, and a pretty good one at that, never becoming sappy and/or histrionic, the pitfalls of many a romantic drama, though there are several instances where it comes dangerously close (the circumstances facilitating Enea and Pietro’s reunion could’ve been lifted from any soap opera.). Özpetek’s direction is largely responsible for the movie’s relative restraint, but it’s the performances of his leads that sell it. Gavino gives the “bigger” performance, by virtue of the fact that Enea is a more emotional character, yet he never goes over the top. Di Luigi is more subtle, communicating Pietro’s inner turmoil without having to say a word. Finally, it should be noted that both men look good naked.
Thursday, October 12, 2023
Short Takes: ‘The Shadowed Mind’ (1988) ★★
Set in a private mental health hospital operating out of what appears to be an abandoned factory, Dr. Hildesheimer (Towje Kleiner), with the help of his worshipful assistant Helen (Trish Downing), treats patients with all manner of ailments, mostly of the sexual variety. Patients include childlike Matthew (Simon Poland), wrestling with body dysphoria and sexual identity; Julia (Hayley Dorskey), a victim of child sexual abuse who shows signs of multiple personality disorder; and General (Simon Sabela), who marches around in full military dress, randomly barking orders. Tellingly, General is the hospital’s most “normal” resident.
The newest arrival is Stephanie (Adrienne Pearce), a compulsive exhibitionist. She, of course, attracts the attention of others at the hospital, especially Paul (Rufus Swart, who also co-wrote the script), a patient who heretofore has been struggling to ignite a long-dormant libido, and, conversely, orderly Kurt (Evan J. Klisser, showing some serious camel toe whenever he’s clothed), who’s always hunting for partners to satisfy his hyperactive libido. Though Stephanie is quick to flash her tits, she doesn’t give in to either man’s advances as readily. Kurt, knowing he has willing partners in nurse Alice (Jennifer Steyn) and fellow orderly Nick (Nicholas Ashley Nortier), takes Stephanie’s rejection in stride. Paul, not so much.
Then people start getting murdered, and the timing couldn’t be more inconvenient, as the clinic is about to receive a $1 million grant.
Though The Shadowed Mind falls short of being good, many of its flaws are also what make it such a curious viewing experience. The script is often silly and nonsensical, but it’s also enjoyably weird. Sundstrom, helped by Ruth Strimling’s art direction and George Bartels’ cinematography, makes the most of the film’s location, yet you can’t quite suspend disbelief that a private hospital would operate in a warehouse with crumbling walls and busted out windows, no matter how artful the lighting. The performances are uneven, with several actors—Pearce and Dorskey especially—speaking as if they learned their lines phonetically, and yet these off-kilter line readings kind of work with the film’s overall vibe. The Shadowed Mind also pushes the envelope a little further than most American movies, at least as far as the sex and nudity goes, to say nothing of the queer content (the violence is tame compared to your average U.S.-made slasher), yet somehow remains in limbo between arthouse and grindhouse sensibilities.
I didn’t regret watching The Shadowed Mind, but wishing it lived up to all it could’ve been prevented me from enjoying it as much as I hoped I would.
Sunday, August 20, 2023
Transitioning Into 1970: 'Christine' vs. 'Myra'
Though the U.S. QAnon party would have its base believe that trans people are a recent phenomenon, dating back to when the Obama administration, colluding with Hollywood elites and woke millennials, performed gender reassignment surgeries on unsuspecting preschoolers as part of a sinister plot to send them into our nation’s schools as trans adults to read books to kids and compete on varsity swim teams, it turns out that they have been around significantly longer than the 2010s.
In fact, way back in 1970—a good 53 years after the first gender affirming surgery was performed in the U.S.—Hollywood released two very different films centering on trans women (but played by cis-gendered actors): the turgid biopic THE CHRISTINE JORGENSEN STORY, and the botched adaptation of Gore Vidal’s 1968 satirical novel, MYRA BRECKINRIDGE.
Christine Jorgensen in the 1950s. |
But despite the crass exploitation of the movie’s marketing (“Did the surgeon’s knife make me a woman or a freak?” reads the poster), the actual film shows far more sensitivity in its handling of Jorgensen’s story (Jorgensen herself is credited as the movie’s technical advisor). That story begins, predictably, with Jorgensen’s unhappy childhood as George, Jr. (Trent Lehman), a boy more inclined to play with his sister’s dolls and his mother’s makeup than play football. His concerned mother tries to steer George, Jr. toward more traditionally masculine pastimes, while George, Jr.’s father does his level best to convince himself his boy is just going through a phase. He’s encouraged—overjoyed, even—when George, Jr., having taken on some school bullies, comes home with a black eye. “You’re going to remember that black eye as one of the proudest moments of your life,” he tells his son, going so far as to take a photo of George, Jr.’s shiner.
Is this fucked up or what? |
Loretta, the cunty model. |
Are you trying to seduce me, Mr. Warner? |
George, Jr., heads to the library, where he discovers the book Sex and the Glands by Dr. Stephen Estabrook. The book proves so enlightening that George enrolls in the doctor’s college course just to speak to him about his theories. After explaining to the endocrinologist that he’s always felt his instincts and impulses are female, Estabrook (Will Kuluva, who really could’ve benefitted from a Klipette) takes some blood for testing. The test results confirm that George has a chemical imbalance. “Your glands are secreting more female hormones than male—three times higher than expected in a normal man.”
A penectomy is exactly what you think it is. |
A couple montages later, Christine is born, her name selected in honor of the late daughter of her Aunt Thora, with whom she’s been staying (in actuality, the name was chosen in honor of endocrinologist Christian Hamburger). While Christine, now looking like a young Rosie O’Donnell in Doris Day drag, is pleased with the superficial aspects of her transition—there are lots of shots of her modeling the dresses her aunt’s made for her and patting her hair—she’s remains hesitant to fully live as a woman, which, as far as this movie goes, means she needs a man.
From man to matron. |
Christine Jorgensen's transition is front page news. |
However, one reporter, Tom Crawford (Quinn K. Redeker, who would later have a hand in writing The Deer Hunter), approaches Christine as a person, not a freak. Christine works with Tom, allowing him daily interviews for an in-depth magazine story, only to back out before the article’s completion when she suspects Tom has feelings for her. This is for Tom’s protection; sooner or later, he’ll see her as an oddity. “Are you going to stop reading the newspapers? Or listening to the radio? Or watching television? Will they ever stop making jokes? They’ll never stop laughing.” Tom is undeterred, and urges “Chris” to stop being afraid. The pair kiss, then slowly sink onto the sofa in a love scene that could be right out of a 1950s Douglas Sirk film.
In fact, except for its subject matter and featuring some nudity, The Christine Jorgensen Story could easily be a product of the 1950s. This is likely attributable to director Irving Rapper, who helmed several Bette Davis movies, including Now, Voyager and Another Man’s Poison. In Rapper’s hands, The Christine Jorgensen Story is just an old-fashioned melodrama with a twist. Rapper’s approach keeps the movie from becoming exploitative, but it also heightens its campiness.
When Christine dreamed of doll murder. |
That campiness is heightened further by the acting. Trent Lehman—yet another child actor who came to a sad end—portrays George, Jr., not as a child wrestling with gender dysphoria but as a future school shooter (when George, Jr.’s mother takes a doll away from him, we suspect she’s more concerned that he might dismember it than she is about her son conforming to gender roles). John Hansen’s performance, while earnest, often becomes parodic, the actor’s pearl-clutching rendering Jorgensen an object of pity rather than someone driven to live her life on her terms.
Ultimately, it’s this portrayal of Jorgensen as a delicate flower in need of a hand to hold as she faces the big, bad world that is the movie’s downfall. The real Jorgensen was an outspoken trans activist, described on her Wikipedia page as having been known for her “directness and polished wit,” qualities you can see in her TV interviews (you can also see some of the shit she had to put up with in this clip). Where you won’t see those qualities is in The Christine Jorgensen Story.
‘The Most Extraordinary Woman in the World’
There is no political correctness to be found in Myra Breckinridge, which not only treats the very concept of sexual reassignment surgery as a joke, but is peppered with casual homophobia and racism, and features a scene of female-on-male rape played for laughs. Even more horrifying, it not only includes Rex Reed (yes, the very same) in its cast, it features a scene of him masturbating. I’ll take the rape scene, thank you.
Gore Vidal's novel is great. Its film adaptation less so. |
And then 20th Century Fox gave the job of writing and directing to Michael Sarne.
In Sarne’s hands, Myra Breckinridge went from being a biting satire on sexual mores to a mashup of the “hip” movies of the late ’60s with the comic sensibilities of the stupid softcore sex comedies found later in the ’70s (think I Love You, Alice B. Toklas crossed with Dagmar’s Hot Pants, Inc.) and edited by monkeys on Adderall. In short, it’s a hot mess (with an even messier production). Yet, despite Sarne’s best efforts to rob the film of any entertainment value whatsoever, there is still some fun to be had here.
At the film’s opening, film fanatic Myron Breckinridge (Reed) is about to undergo gender reassignment surgery, performed by a chain-smoking John Carradine in an operating theater that resembles a partially struck set from Barbarella. There’s also a seated audience and a young woman who spends the entire scene cracking a big, fat whip because…1960s wackiness? “You know, once we cut it off, it won’t grow back,” the doctor warns Myron. “How about circumcision? It’s cheaper.”
Nevertheless, Myron is transformed into Myra (Raquel Welch). Before you let out a sigh of relief that Rex Reed has been transformed into someone else, be warned that he pops up throughout the movie as Myra’s ghostly alter ego with whom she discusses her plans.
And sometimes Rex Reed is just there to masturbate while dreaming of a young Farrah Fawcett presenting a table full of food, a scene that will make no more sense when viewed in context. |
Her primary agenda, Myra explains, is “the destruction of the American male in all of its particulars.” As grand as that goal is, her battlefront is the much more modest acting school owned and operated by her uncle, ex-movie cowboy Buck Loner (John Huston, in what would ordinarily be a Slim Pickens role). Myra shows up at the school claiming to be Myron’s widow, and as such, she wishes to claim Myron’s half of the school, or $500,000. Buck balks, but reluctantly gives her a teaching job at the academy while he investigates Myra’s claims.
Roger Herren as Rusty. No wonder Myra was smitten. |
Myra’s goal of bringing down the American male also includes women, apparently. Viewing Rusty’s girlfriend Mary Ann (Fawcett) as an embodiment of traditional gender norms, Myra also seeks to seduce—and therefore “destroy”—her as well. However, Mary Ann is not as easily conquered as Myra first suspects. “I’m sorry, I just can’t. If only there was some man like you.”
Sorry, guys. No Raquel-on-Farrah action ever happens. |
Then there is Hollywood agent Leticia Van Allen. In the book, Leticia is a brassy, horny older woman who joins forces with Myra. The producers of the movie were on the right track when they sought out a veteran of Golden Age Hollywood for the role, except Golden Age stars weren’t too eager to star in what was believed to be a dirty movie (Bette Davis was approached about the role and adamantly refused, and yet she agreed to star in Bunny O’Hare). Not Mae West, who was a spry 77 years old at the time. West hadn’t appeared in a film since 1943’s The Heat’s On, and it’s clear from her first appearance in Myra Breckinridge that she hadn’t updated her schtick in the intervening decades. “I don’t care about your credits as long as you’re oversexed,” she tells one young actor, played by a pre-fame Tom Selleck (“That’s one of my credits!” he gleefully replies). Another young hopeful tells Leticia that he’s 6'7". “Never mind about the six feet. Let’s talk about the seven inches.” It goes without saying that West wrote her own dialog.
So, is this a stand-in? |
Mae West and Raquel Welch, hiding their mutual hostility, though it appears only Mae is succeeding. |
Speaking of scenes from old movies, they are used throughout Myra Breckinridge either as commentary, a gag, or to punctuate a scene in the movie proper, and often to the chagrin of their stars (Loretta Young sued; Shirley Temple, having served as a U.S. ambassador, got the White House involved). Sometimes the clips are used cleverly, but mostly they are overused. Like Mae West, they only serve to distract from an already fractured narrative. (For someone who reportedly once wasted several days filming a table of food for this movie [see above], Sarne can’t seem to stay with one scene long enough for anyone to figure out what the fuck is going on.)
Myra takes Rusty's temperature. |
There’s no mistaking what’s going on when Myra, under the pretense of getting some medical data, dons a strap-on and rapes Rusty (though the movie initially received an X rating, the dildo is never once shown on camera). And this is in the name of comedy, no less, though most of the laughs come from the bizarre sight of Raquel Welch, one of the premier sex symbols of the 1960s, pegging a stunned stud. This rape scene is in the book as well, and there the humor is a bit meaner, and highlights how the character of Myra Breckinridge isn’t really a trans woman so much as she is a gay man who has gone to extremes to put cis-het men (and their girlfriends) in their place. (In the book, Myra is impressed by Rusty’s rectal hygiene, noting most straight men don’t clean their asses properly.) Back when I first read the book as a closeted teen-ager, I felt Myron had been surgically transformed into a beautiful woman for the same reason Charles Bronson got a gun in Death Wish: retribution. Though it would seem Rusty is hardly worthy a target for said vengeance, he represents, to borrow a line from the movie, “the last stronghold of masculinity in this Disneyland of perversion.” Consequently, Myra wants to destroy him as much as she wants to fuck him, so consider this scene as killing two birds with one dildo. Still, it might have worked better if Rusty were more of a toxic masc asshole instead of just kind of dumb.
Myra Breckinridge prepares to destroy Rusty (and dat ass). |
A perplexed Raquel Welch tries to make sense of Myra Breckinridge. |
Presenting the most extraordinary woman in the world. |
The Christine Jorgensen Story may be a better movie by comparison, but Myra Breckinridge, with its lead character written as a strong woman/fierce gay man rather than a self-loathing closet case/fragile wallflower, is more empowering (provided you don’t get too hung up on the rape scene, of course). It’s still a trainwreck, but that just makes it worth seeing all the more. You can do so here.
BONUS MATERIAL: People often have as much fun, if not more, discussing a notorious bomb than viewing it, especially when said bomb goes on to attain cult status. Consequently, there are an abundance of articles, reviews and think-pieces about Myra Breckinridge. Here are a few worth checking out:
Dreams Are What Le Cinema is For… has a very thorough review that includes all the gory details about Myra Breckinridge’s production, as well as much higher quality stills from the movie (that’s what I get for not investing in the DVD).
My Year of Flops Case File #19: Though I disagree with his assessment of Reed’s performance as an “unexpected highlight of the film” (it’s a not-terrible performance by an otherwise terrible person, and that’s the extent of praise I can allow), Nathan Rabin’s review of this film—indeed, the whole My Year/World of Flops series—is not only a fun read, but a reminder of how good the A.V. Club site used to be.
Myra Breckinridge and Trans Roles on Film: James Gent takes a more serious look at the film and its place regarding trans representation in film.
2012 Q&A with Raquel Welch: Though Welch initially tried to distance herself from this career disappointment, she eventually lightened up and laughed along with everyone else. In this Q&A with a starstruck Simon Doonan she talks about her experience in making the film, with a good portion spent dishing on Mae West. R.I.P., Raquel.
*Welch herself wasn’t exactly known for being a delight on set.
Wednesday, July 5, 2023
Short Takes: ‘From Zero to I Love You’ (2019) ★★
Until he meets Pete (Darryl Stephens of Noah’s Ark: Jumping the Broom), a sexy magazine copywriter who we’ll just assume inherited the chic Philadelphia townhouse he calls home. It’s meant to be a one-night stand, until Jack comes back for a second night, and then a third. Pete’s been down this road before, Jack being the fourth “straight” married man he’s gotten involved with. “Stop fuckin’ around with these down-low motherfuckers!” bellows his bullying/supportive father (Richard Lawson). But no matter how loudly his father yells, Pete can’t say no to Jack, allowing the relationship to become a full-fledged affair, one the audience knows is doomed unless the two men deal with some shit.
This one has gotten
a lot of favorable reviews, and I really wanted to love it, or at least like it
a lot. Yet while the movie does have some worthwhile things to say—about being
true to yourself, about how the best choice isn’t always an easy one, and,
all-too-fleetingly, about race—I just never quite fell for it (hey, we can’t
always choose what we love). Spearman doesn’t spend much time developing the
central romance, instead focusing on the complications that arise from it.
That’s fine, but I still wanted something established between zero and
the first “I love you.” Instead, Jack and Pete are in love simply because the
screenplay says they are. The movie isn’t helped by a script that liberally uses tropes from
rom-coms and soap operas yet refuses to fully commit to them, resulting in numerous
scenes ending without any comedic or dramatic payoff.
From Zero to I Love You is well made on a technical level, with Spearman getting the most out of a small budget. The movie also benefits from some good performances, especially from Stephens and Lefkowitz. The weakest link is Bailey, who goes through the entire movie looking surprised he’s in it. When Pete dumps Jack in the second act (this movie at least subverts the third act breakup trope) for a trust funded, tattooed muscle bear (Adam Klesh, who, sadly, hasn’t done porn but has modeled for some artistic nudes), I became more invested in the movie simply because there was so much more chemistry between Stephens and the charismatic Klesh. Alas, the movie isn’t titled From Zero to ’Bye, Bitch, so this more compelling relationship isn’t the one that lasts.
Tuesday, May 30, 2023
Use Whichever Hand You Like
So, let’s watch
some classic gay porn!
Director Jack Deveau’s 1972 debut LEFT-HANDED, co-directed by Jaap Penraat (no, not the World War II resistance fighter) not only gets
singled out as one of the first scripted gay porn films with an original musical score, but it’s lauded as
much for its artfulness as it is for its eroticism. While I appreciate all those
things, what drew me to the movie was its star, Ray Frank. The moment I saw Ray
Frank’s photo on the cover of the Bijou Video DVD of Left-Handed—his
hair damp from the shower, his body like a Greek sculpture if Greek sculptors
were into man-sized penises, and wearing an expression that lets it be known that he’s
just been fucked and ready to be fucked again—was the moment I knew I had
to see this movie despite some initial reservations, which we’ll get to later.
No doubt his crotch would be censored if he wore these pants on American television in 2023. |
Elton-Carvey is ready for another round! |
Meanwhile, Woodstock-based
drug dealer Bob (Robert Rikas), goes into the city to make a delivery. His
client is Larry (Larry Burns), who owns an antiques store in NYC and sells pot
on the side, or, more likely, the antiques store is just a front for his drug
dealing as Larry seems to have zero interest in his antiques business.
This is Larry, hard at work. |
“Maybe you can’t
get him. I bet I could,” replies Ray.
All this thirst for
Bob might seem a bit mystifying if your only frame of reference is his
unflattering photo on the cover of the Bijou DVD, on which he looks
like Crispin Glover as an anthropomorphic steam shovel. However, Ray is more
appealing in the movie proper, resembling a young Viggo Mortensen. Also, he’s got
a rockin’ bod.
There’s no escaping straight people, even in gay porn. |
We then join Ray
back at his loft, where he strips down to a pair of fishnet briefs, lies back on
his bed and rubs one out fantasizing about Larry, never mind that fantasizing
about Bob makes more narrative sense. It’s still a hot scene, the fantasy
action shot in black and white while Ray’s stroke session is captured in glorious,
grainy color. Robert Alvarez, Left-Handed’s editor who co-founded
Hand-in-Hand Films with his partner Deveau, said in an interview on the
Bijou
Blog that this sequence was meant to be a reverse of The Wizard of Oz. “I really loved the idea of creating a piece, a sex scene that had some
rhythm to it and some sense of movies, of real movies, you know?” says Alavarez.
Ray enjoys some personal time. |
Bob suddenly accepts the fluidity of human sexuality. |
Later—the next day, next week, next year, who knows—Ray and Bob meet up and head back to Ray’s place to smoke a couple joints (in stars-and-stripes rolling papers, no less). As the evening wears on Bob’s straightness begins to wear down. Next thing we know, the staunchly hetero Bob is tentatively reaching for Ray’s crotch, because no one is that straight. Ray drowsily rolls into Bob’s arms for a kiss. The camera then backs up into a wide shot to capture them naked and making slow, sensual love. They later hop in the shower for an energetic fuck.
This no one night stand but the beginning of an affair, with Ray spending weekends up at Bob’s place in Woodstock. Seems awkward, given that Bob lives with his girlfriend, but she seems content to just hang around the house, smoking cigarettes and staring pensively into the distance while Bob and Ray go off to the barn for a quick B.J., or to make out by a creek. Though we never get to see a direct confrontation between Bob and his girlfriend, we can tell by her body language that she’s not happy. Later, Ray tells Larry that Bob’s GF won’t be around much longer. She’s definitely not around when Ray spends another weekend with Bob, the two men doing ’shrooms before doing each other. Deveau and Penraat earn points for not resorting to the usual camera tricks used to portray onscreen drug trips—fly vision, fisheye lenses, kaleidoscope effects—but they still manage to find a filter that robs the scene of its erotic impact by making the action look like an animated Rorschach test.
Hot? |
Alas, the high can’t last forever, with the beginning of the end signaled by Ray telling Larry that he’s ready for a change. Ray then makes the tragic decision to shave his beard.
Noooooo! |
Becoming Al Pacino. |
Or maybe Bob’s just sad that Ray shaved his beard. |
Grittier than Boys in the Sand, yet Weirdly More Romantic
Ray gives Bob a hand. |
Left-Handed is available through BijouWorld.com, and can be streamed on PinkLabelTV.com and GayHotMovies.com |
What’re you looking at? |
Considering how often I’m disappointed when I learn more about performers’ personal lives, maybe that’s all I really need to know.
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