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 the late 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.