More Flaccid than Fabulous

The vampire was just made for sexploitation. After all, seduction is a large part of the vampire’s M.O. And since it’s ideal for sexploitation, then it stands to reason it’s perfect for gaysploitation. Yet while there are quite a number of movies featuring lesbian vampires, gay vampires aren’t quite as well represented (though there might be some mitigating factors).

Interview with the Vampire had potential, but then they
cast this guy.

But the gay vampire is out there. You just have to step off the well-lit path of Netflix and Prime algorithms and go deeper into the streaming service abyss. Eventually a thumbnail image of two or more attractive men, baring fangs and abs, will catch your eye, tempting you to join them. And like a willing victim, you press play.

Which is how I ended up watching the 2011 British “film” VAMPIRES: BRIGHTER IN DARKNESS.

Like any cute, young gay man, Toby Brighter (puppy-eyed Dan Briggs) has had trouble getting dates in the six months following his breakup, so his sister Charlotte (Rebecca Eastman, deftly making her obnoxious character insufferable) has secured him a blind date via a gay dating website. Though Toby doesn’t have high hopes the date will be a success, he nevertheless bathes for the occasion.

And gets our hopes up for what will follow.

Toby’s date isn’t with some drooling troll but the very handsome, very elegant Lucas Delmore (Rhys Howells). And he’s wealthy, too, having reserved the entire guild hall restaurant so they can be alone. Lucas is equally enchanted by the working-class stud. By the date’s end the two men are, if not in love, at least very infatuated with each other. However, Toby goes home alone as the two men have agreed to take it slow.

But just as Toby is about to enter his flat, Lucas appears on his doorstep, only now Lucas is more menacing and rape-y than suave and charming. Through the power of boners, he convinces Toby to invite him inside, whereupon the two make-out hot and heavy. What the audience knows but Toby doesn’t is Lucas is a vampire!

Except the man on top of Toby isn’t Lucas but Lucas’ jealous ex Anthony (James MacCorkindale), who shape-shifts back into his true form when Lucas appears at the front door. Toby manages to invite Lucas inside before he bleeds out and, after lots of hissing, growling and fast-forward action, Lucas fights Anthony off. This leaves Lucas with a choice: let Toby die or make him a fellow vamp. He makes Toby one of the undead, of course, though he at least asks Toby’s permission, as he’s a gentleman. So much for taking things slow.

Anthony and Lucas prepare to do battle, yet I’m preoccupied with
thoughts about doing something with that drab kitchen. Painting
those cabinets a different color would do wonders.

Get comfortable with this expression. Abigail
Law-Briggs wears it for the movie’s entirety.

Alas, the movie maintains a glacial pace, despite promising to ramp up the action. Not only do Lucas and Toby have an angry Anthony to contend with, Lilith, the vampire queen who turned Lucas, (Abigail Law-Briggs, who gives the movie’s best bad performance), has returned and she’s mobilizing her coven and summoning CGI demons from the Sega Genesis Hell to take Lucas back into to her fold, or whatever. Then Lucas travels to Green Screen Egypt to meet with Semech (Richard Sherwood), who I think is like an ancient vampire king (but he’s still a queen, gurl), and then I went to the kitchen to make a pot of coffee because there was no way I’d be able to make it to through the remaining hour and ten minutes without some additional caffeine in my system.

I should’ve done cocaine. 

Experience the horror of ’90s caliber CGI.

Vampires: Brighter in Darkness isn’t a work of incompetence so much as the result of writer-director-editor Jason Davitt’s grand ambition exceeding his £5.99 budget. This movie originally aired as a TV series on Sky channel 201 (is that a public access station?) and was edited into a 2-hour-10-minute movie, but I doubt it would be any more enjoyable in 15-minute installments. Davitt clearly wanted to craft a vampire epic with a gay romance at its core, but there are too many story points to keep track of and too little action to hold a viewer’s interest. And if you’re expecting to see a lot of skin, forget it. Briggs’ opening credits shower scene is the only nudity in the thing. The acting, at least, isn’t too terrible, though all the actors cast as vampires speak like they have loose dentures whenever they have their fangs in.

Admittedly, this scene was kinda’ cool.

Davitt went on to make a sequel, Vampires: Lucas Rising, but given that I spent the last 45 minutes of Brighter in Darkness wishing it would just fucking end already! I decided to give it a miss. So instead, I watched VAMPIRE BOYS (also 2011). I doubted it would be much better, but at least it was significantly shorter.

Jasin (Jason Lockhart, who just might be literally sleepwalking through his role) and his coven of Vampire Boys, roam the streets of Los Angeles, seeking The One, which, as established by the movie’s black and white opening (artsy!), is to be someone of the opposite sex. And not too bright, apparently, as the young woman’s escape attempt amounts to little more than her twirling in place while Jasin and crew slowly approach. Alas, she dies, for in this movie’s mythology, The One must truly want to become a vampire to be turned (seems like her attempt at escape, lame though it was, would’ve been a giveaway). And immortality must be renewed prior to an expiration date, like a library book: “You’re entering your one-hundredth year,” warns one of Jasin’s vampire bros. “We must find The One.”

These vampires are also invulnerable to sunlight
and Hot Topic jewelry.

“Los Angeles, City of Angels,” Jasin says in a stilted approximation of wistful. “Let us hope I find mine.”

Jasin finds his angel, and his angel has a dick. Said dick is attached to Caleb (Christian Ferrer), a twink college student who has just moved to L.A. from Ohio. Caleb is sharing a house with fellow student Paul (Ryan Adames, who also contributed some songs to the soundtrack), who says his parents used to own the house then immediately contradicts that statement when he tells Caleb his parents own the house free and clear. (Regardless, someone needs to tend to that lawn.) Paul is clearly interested in Caleb, and Caleb encourages his interest by walking around the house in his boxer briefs. 

Christian Ferrer and Ryan Adames introduce us to the
concept of Sub-DeCoteau Cinema.

 

Jasin Lockhart tries to maintain some dignity while
Dylan Vox channels Bette Midler in Hocus Pocus.

But then, thanks to a bit of vampire telepathy or something, Jasin becomes aware of Caleb’s existence and, sensing he’s The One, goes out of his way to cockblock Paul. Jasin’s infatuation with Caleb doesn’t sit too well with Jasin’s right-hand Logan (best actor of the cast Dylan Vox, of The Lair as well as other things), who thinks Jasin should go after platinum blonde babe Tara (Zasu), apparently wanting the reverse of the agreement between male-female bi couples: outside play is OK so long as it’s with a member of the opposite sex. As for Caleb, he easily falls for his bleached-blond paramour, though he reconsiders when Jasin springs the whole vampire thing on him.

Vampire Boys is indeed not much better than Vampires: Brighter in Darkness. In fact, it’s actually a little worse. Sure, Vampire Boys doesn’t have the Spawn-caliber CGI, the all-over-the-place story, or the patience-trying runtime, and the movie even sweetens the deal with some full-frontal nudity...

Why is this man smiling?

Asked and answered. And in case you’re wondering, yes, he has.

...but Brighter in Darkness at least had heart. For all its shortcomings, you can tell the people involved gave a shit. Vampire Boys, on the other hand, is just one more thing released in 2011—when the Twilight Saga was still dominating the box office—that’s cashing in on the vampire craze. I’m not against cashing in, but at least be creative about it. Creativity, however, is perhaps too much to ask from a screenplay written by the same man who gave us Reptisaurus and The Amazing Bulk, and Charlie Vaughn’s directing does little to help matters. It’s a porn parody with all the sex and parody cut out, making its hour and nine-minute runtime feel like 109 minutes. Oh, well, at least they refrained from titling it Vampire Boyz.

‘Want Some Hot Fuckhole?’

As with Vampires etc., I was so grateful when Vampire Boys reached the end credits that I didn’t even consider watching its sequel, Vampire Boys 2. I was sick of watching cock-teasing gay vampire movies. I wanted some movies that would put out. So, I cruised the sleazier side of the internet went home with Tom DeSimone’s SONS OF SATAN (1973) and Roger Earl’s GAYRACULA (1983).

The plot of Sons of Satan offers nothing new beyond replacing blood and guts with boners and cum. Jonathan Trent (Tom Paine), rocking a pair of polyester bell-bottoms and stacked heels, visits the home of “Natas” (nope, not obvious at all) in his search for his missing brother Clark. Though Natas’ name and address were found among Clark’s things, Mr. Natas’ caftan-wearing manservant, radiating bitter antiques dealer energy, sniffs that he knows nothing of Jonathan’s missing brother, that the master of the house is unavailable, and that ring in a display case that looks exactly like the one-of-a-kind that Jonathan gave Clark has been locked that case for over 200 years. Good day, sir!

Jonathan politely fucks off, then reconsiders and breaks back into Natas’ house, discovering that Clark has joined a vampire worshiping cult! He just as quickly learns that “interruptions in our services are never tolerated, Mr. Trent.” His punishment: providing nourishment to the cum-hungry Natas!

Clark (Shannon) prepares to give his master his ‘life force’
(not to be confused with Tobe Hooper’s Lifeforce).

Natas awakens to a chalice of freshly squeezed jizz.

I recently learned from the Ask Any Buddy podcast that DeSimone only put his real name on the porn movies he was proud of, so the fact that Sons of Satan was released under his Lancer Brooks pseudonym tells you right away it’s one of his lesser offerings. Then again, he put his real name on Chatterbox and Angel III, so maybe DeSimone isn’t the best judge of his proudest achievements.  

That said, though Sons of Satan isn’t one of DeSimone’s better porn movies, it’s hardly his worst. It has the look of a cheap drive-in horror, which I appreciated, and its atmosphere is appropriately claustrophobic and creepy. But even cheap drive-in horrors—or Vampire Boys—have outfitted their vampires with more convincing fangs. Seeing Darryl Hughes, as the unduly tan Natas, struggle to keep his plastic vampire teeth in his mouth kills the mood, be that mood spooky or sexy. As for the sex…meh. Other than some cum-guzzling and a bit of incest (Jonathan is “forced” to suck off Clark, played by a blond cutie billed simply as Shannon), it’s all fairly bland. Still, Sons of Satan manages to have more bite than either Vampires: Brighter in Darkness or Vampire Boys. 

Who says Sons of Satan isn’t scary? Just look
at that wallpaper!

Jonathan (Tom Paine) is about to be initiated
into the Sons of Satan.

Not much better but way more entertaining than the previous three movies combined is Gayracula, which goes full-on camp with its story about Gaylord Young (toothy blond Falcon star Tim Kramer), a courier in 1783 Transylvania who delivers a package to the Marquis de Suede (Steve Collins) and gets turned into a vampire for his trouble. But before the fangs are bared, cocks are sucked. Gaylord helpfully narrates the action for the vision-impaired: “He sucked my big, hot cock with his moist, juicy lips. He twirled that tongue around my hot dick.” This voiceover is not by Kramer, who delivers his lines like a sixth grader reading aloud in English class, but by one of Gayracula’s screenwriters, Bruce Vilanch (not sure if he's Lorei I. Lee or Dorothee Pshaw), clearly relishing this opportunity to tap into his inner Vincent Price. 

The cardboard castle of the Marquis de Suede

As much as Gaylord enjoyed the Marquis’ “tight, and moist, and hot” ass, he’s not as appreciative of being made into one of the undead. And so he vows revenge on the Marquis, whom he learns 200 years later, is running a nightclub in Los Angeles.

“I traveled inelegantly but effectively.”

Michael Christopher: Master thespian.

The titular Gayracula is delivered to L.A. by none other than gay porn legend Michael Christopher. Once Gaylord’s manservant Boris (Rand Remington, in his sole film appearance) helps Christopher unload the coffin containing Gaylord, he offers the delivery man that most common gratuity in pornography: hot sex. Christopher is so into it that he is not only oblivious to the rats crawling nearby, he barely notices Gaylord rising from his coffin. When Gaylord does attract his attention, all he can do is ask if the vampire would like some “hot fuckhole.” Gaylord declines (“I don’t like sloppy seconds,” he lisps) but still can’t resist eating Christopher’s ass.

 

Though not in the way one would expect.

His bloodlust satiated, Gaylord heads to the Marquis’ nightclub, where he’s invited to watch a dancer rehearse his moves.

The rhythm doesn’t get everybody.

After taking a stroll into the club’s backroom for a quickie, Gaylord returns to the main room of the club to check out another performance, this one featuring hunky Ray Medina. Medina’s act includes popping a cork or something out of his foreskin, pulling a chain attached to his leather-cuffed balls, and, in a moment that is either hilarious or sexually traumatizing, periodically shitting out silver balls, complete with farting sound effects. (How I wish I was present to witness the audience reaction to that scene when this movie was screened for a benefit for the Los Angeles Gay and Lesbian Center.)

Performance artist Tim Medina.

If you’re wondering if the movie—and it is a movie, shot on film, not video—might try to top this moment, let me assure you/burst your bubble: it doesn’t. After watching Medina’s act, which ends with him fucking the rhythm-challenged dancer seen previously, Gaylord invites the Marquis back to his place for a threesome with Boris. But once the guys nut, Gaylord chains up the Marquis and prepares to drive a stake through his heart. To spare his undead life, the Marquis tells Gaylord of a way to break the vampire’s curse: take the virginity of a man he truly loves, in this case Randy (Randal Butler, another one-and-done performer), a waiter barely glimpsed earlier at the Marquis’ club. Once Randy is deflowered (sure), the Marquis performs a ritual (i.e., an orgy with some mild BDSM). Gaylord plays along until he gets off, after which he rids himself—and the world—of the Marquis for good.

Leaving Randy and Gaylord free to frolic in
the pool happily ever after.

Gayracula knows what it is and doesn’t try to put on airs. It’s camp with extra cheese and it’s better for it. I found it more amusing than arousing, however. Though the guys in it are hotter than those in Sons of Satan (or, for my taste, Vampire Boys), the sex in it is almost uniformly mechanical (for all his physical charms, Tim Kramer fucks like an animatronic sex doll). Still, as gay vampires go, I’d rather spend my Halloween watching the robotic ramming of Gayracula or the ’70s shagging of Sons of Satan than sleeping through the turgid talk of Vampires: Brighter in Darkness or enduring the vapid Vampire Boys.

Can I interest you in an ... Egyptian feast?

If You Like ’Em Uncut: Should you seek out either Sons of Satan or Gayracula, beware that there are heavily edited versions out there. The print of Sons acquired by Alpha Blue Archives was apparently delivered to the company as a bunch of random film strips in a shoe box, requiring Alpha Blue to re-assemble as best they could, and their best isn’t very good. Pieces of the film are missing, and the last third is rendered almost incoherent, jumping between Jonathan being held captive in a basement room, being fucked by Natas, then back in the basement, then being approached by Natas. Parts of the footage aren’t even right-side up (though this kind of works). You’ll find a more complete cut from Something Weird Video or, ahem, other sources. Gayracula was heavily edited when initially released on video, leaving out some key plot points, as well as that climactic ritual orgy. I wasted $3.19 renting the edited version, but I was able to find an uncut version elsewhere.

Of Course He Prefers Dick to Karen

The original poster for Tom DeSimone’s
1979 classic The Idol.

As many a queer person can attest, the hardest person too come out to is often yourself. It can be obvious to everyone around you, but you’ll still perform some truly awesome feats of mental gymnastics to land on the conclusion that lots of 14-year-old boys have a passion for the works Barbra Streisand, and that it’s perfectly normal to be distracted by the size of Brian’s package, especially when he wears those 501s where you can practically see the outline of his dick. It doesn’t mean you’re gay.

Others are so deeply in denial that they don’t even realize they’re gay until they get a rim job from the coach. At least that’s how it happens for the protagonist of Tom DeSimone’s 1979 gay porn classic THE IDOL.

Gary (Kevin Redding) is the star of his college track team with a cute, if hairstyle-challenged, girlfriend. He’s such a big deal that his glamor shot practically takes of the entire top half of the Los Angeles Chronicle. But don’t go thinking Gary has a charmed existence. He’s got some big problems, his biggest being he’s dead. That glamor shot accompanies the news story about Gary being killed in a car accident. (Front page, above the fold coverage seems a bit much for the death of a college athlete, but maybe it was a slow news day.)  What we learn of Gary’s life—specifically his sex life—we learn posthumously.

Mark Bitler puts his whole face into the role of Terry.

Terry (Mark Bitler, who, if we’re being kind,  sort of resembles a young Roger Daltry) was one of Gary’s biggest fans. One might even say he Idolized him (and then immediately hate oneself for saying it). But as much as Terry pined for the hunky track star, he always remained on the sidelines. Even at Gary’s funeral the mopey loner keeps his distance. As Terry watches the outdoor funeral from behind a tree the audience is treated to flashbacks involving specific attendees—and often Terry as well.

Gary’s ex-girlfriend Karen (that’s unfortunate) remembers when she met Gary in a secluded wooded area to make out. Gary, of course, wants to do more than smooch and hold hands. “Everybody doesn’t do it, and it’s only natural when two people are married,” says Karen (Darla-Lee Barnett), shooting down Gary’s two arguments for fucking. After Gary tells her his previous girlfriends gave it up, Karen asks why, then, does he take her out. Gary’s reply is fit for a drag queen’s Valentine’s card: “Because I love you, bitch.”

“I want a Dorothy Hamill haircut...no, wait, stop!
Make it Suzanne Somers instead.”

Karen leaves in a huff, as Karens are wont to do, almost running over Terry, out for a late-night bike ride, while driving her VW Bug out of the woods. (Karen demands to know what he’s doing out there, because of course she does. “Catching fireflies” is Terry’s lame-ass excuse.) Meanwhile, Gary takes things into his own hands, as it were. While Gary beats off to Barry White playing on the radio—music that I’m 99.9% sure wasn’t used with permission—Terry watches from the bushes. In a surprising subversion of porn tropes, Terry neither rubs one out as he watches nor joins Gary.

Not the “Paradise by the Dashboard Lights” that Meatloaf
— or Gary— had in mind, but it gets the job done.

‘Nobody’s Asking You to Switch’

Chuck (curly-haired Greg Dale) has some memories of Gary, too, like that time on the beach when he told his friend about an alternative sexual outlet. After Gary complains about his blue balls, and that Karen wouldn’t like it if he saw other girls (“We’re kind of engaged.”), Chuck suggests letting “one of the boys” get him off, adding a limp-wrist gesture to ensure we get his drift. Gary rejects the idea, saying he’s not into that scene. “What scene? Nobody’s asking you to switch,” Chuck says. “All you do is get your rocks off.” According to Chuck, the locker room showers are teeming with friendly homosexuals happily providing orifices for frustrated straight men like Gary. “Half the guys there aren’t even there to make the team. They’re there to make the team. Get it?”

Gary wonders why he’s just now encountering all
the hot man-on-man action in the gym showers.

Then it’s time to hit the showers! And, sure enough, waiting for the pals are two mustachioed hunks, Derrick Stanton and Jim Battaglia, who waste no time in offering their services. Chuck has no reservations about availing himself of Stanton’s blowjob, but Gary is wary of Battaglia’s nipple tweaking. The track star remains frozen in place when Battaglia moves lower down, though his resistance does not extend to his cock which is, well, extended. “Don’t worry about it,” Chuck tells him after everyone has delivered a money shot. “It’ll be a lot easier the next time.” And whatta you know, Gary’s No. 1 fan saw the whole thing from the locker room.

Terry is also around to witness Gary getting a massage from the coach (Nick Rodgers)—a massage that crosses boundaries quicker than the coach peels off Gary’s shorts. “When did you get laid last?” the coach asks, as college coaches do, his hands staying just above the waistband of Gary’s jock. Gary says he got some a couple weeks ago, but even the coach knows Karen’s waiting for a ring. “I know what kind of tense we got here,” the coach says confidently. He then utters a line that could’ve been ripped from some real-life depositions: “It’ll be easier if you just trust me.” Without further ado, the coach gives Gary a rim job. What would drive some to indirectly finance their therapist’s vacation home actually sets Gary on the path of self-discovery. By the time Gary cums, he is, if not gay, at least a confirmed bisexual. The coach is just that good (to be fair, it is one of the movie’s hottest scenes), though he should be careful to lock the door next time. The things Terry could share in open court!

“Let’s get these off.”

Nick Rodgers (left) is a good erotic fantasy stand-in for fans
of Baywatch actor Michael Newman.

Gary later tells his cousin Jerry (Jerry Foxe) about his experience with the coach during an afternoon of nude sunbathing and pot smoking. His cousin admits he’s messed around with the coach, too.

“Did you like it, Jerry?” Gary asks.

“I dunno,” Jerry says tentatively. “How ‘bout you?”

“Yeah,” Gary says, nodding emphatically.

“Me too. You wanna do it?”

After negotiating how to proceed (“First you do me, then I do you”), the cousins get it on to some unlicensed tunes playing on the radio, including John Paul Young’s “Love is in the Air,” which plays while the guys are in a sixty-nine. This is the only one of Gary’s sexual experiences not witnessed by Terry.

If you can’t explore your sexuality with your cousin, who can you
explore it with?

But Terry is more than the Zelig of Gary’s sex life. Just when it appears we’re going to flashback to a scene of Gary blowing the preacher officiating his funeral, it’s revealed that Gary and Terry were boyfriends after all. It’s a scene that successfully balances the romantic with the raunch, though the sappy ballad that’s played over their post-cumshot embrace is overkill. Neither Redding nor Bitler are actors, but they do generate a fair amount of heat. (According to the Bijou Blog, Redding wasn’t interested in Bitler sexually [see link at the end of this post], so maybe he’s more of an actor than I’m giving him credit for.) You could almost believe they’re lovers, which makes Terry’s watching Gary’s funeral from afar that much sadder. IRL, two male college students in 1979 would likely have kept their relationship on the down-low, meaning Terry probably figured it was better not to attend his boyfriend’s funeral service than risk outing him, or have to lie about how he knew Gary. No, that’s not right but that type of thinking is typical within the confines of the closet.

Goes Beyond the Head of One’s Cock

It’s the poignancy of The Idol’s story that sets it apart from its peers in the genre. In gay porn, one’s gay identity seldom extends beyond the head of one’s cock because who wants to think about the harsh realities of being gay when you’re jacking off? Consequently, the struggles of homosexuals are rarely addressed in gay porn, and the porn films that do address it don’t do it as deftly as writer-director Tom DeSimone does in The Idol. Though some of its messaging is archaic at best (if you don’t put out, girls, your man will turn gay!), problematic at worst (it’s not sexual assault if the student cums), the overall depiction of Gary’s struggle with his homosexual desires, as suddenly aroused as they may be, as well as Terry’s pining for him from afar, resonates.

The Idol is available on DVD from
Bijou World. Not sure what movie the
cover photo came from, though.

I can’t say The Idol is one of my favorite gay porn films from the ’70s (I’m still partial to Joe Gage’s “Working Man Trilogy”: Kansas City Trucking Co., El Paso Wrecking Corp., and L.A. Tool & Die), but I did like it and can see why it’s considered a classic in the genre. While there’s no mistaking it for anything other than a porn movie, The Idol looks and plays like a mainstream movie, albeit one released by an exploitation outfit like American International Pictures. It’s definitely better than the R-rated movie DeSimone made for AIP a few years earlier, 1977’s Chatterbox! (still recommended for fans of so-bad-it’s-good entertainment).

DeSimone, who had been directing gay porn movies since 1970, went on to direct quite a few R-rated exploitation films in the 1980s, including The Concrete Jungle, Hell Night (starring Linda Blair), Reform School Girls (a personal favorite), and Angel III: The Final Chapter (well, they can’t all be winners). He continued to make gay adult movies until the 1990s, when he worked exclusively in TV. His last directorial credit is an episode of She Spies in 2002.  

The Idol’s cast did not enjoy the same career longevity. Most only racked up a handful of movie credits before bowing out of the industry, either by choice (Jim Battaglia, Greg Dale) or for more depressing reasons (Nick Rodgers). Only Derrick Stanton worked in porn until 2000, though there are large gaps in his filmography after 1984.

As for the two stars, Kevin Redding and Mark Bitler, they were one and done. I couldn’t find anything online about Bitler beyond his appearance in The Idol, but the Bijou Blog’s post about the making of this movie reveals a bit more of Redding’s story, at least up to 1989. A few choice tidbits include Redding saying he felt like a prostitute after he finished filming The Idol and was embarrassed by it, though DeSimone says Redding was proud of his work and even invited his family to a showing of the movie (oh, hell no!); and that Redding was so turned on by his co-star Jerry Foxe he could barely wait for the cameras to start rolling. The post also mentions Redding had some problems in the decade following The Idol’s release (drugs, rehab, repeat), but he had, circa 1989, started a landscaping design business, so hopefully that worked out for him. You can read the full Bijou Blog post here. As for the movie, it’s definitely worth seeing. It’s a rare example of a porn that actually engages the viewers’ heart as much—well, almost as much—as their crotches. I still wouldn’t invite my family to watch it with me, though.

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.