[ t e x t . o n l y . v e r s i o n ] [ b y . d m e t r i . k a k m i ]
Dear reader. Be you straight or gay, have you ever thought about what
constitutes a gay film as opposed to a straight one? Is it gay thematic
content, characters, gay filmmakers, or the amount and explicitness of gay
sex (what I call the hard-on quotient)? Assuming that you have a favourite
gay film -- by whatever definition -- was it chosen for its artistic merits
or some other reason perhaps, such as that it advanced the 'gay cause'?
As a fag with a bisexual eye, I have never liked this segregation of films
into gay or non-gay categories, however, for the record, my strict
definition of a gay film is, a film made by, for and about gay people.
Anything that falls outside of that is, strictly speaking, not a gay film.
Ultimately, however, for me a film is either good or bad. It makes a whole
lot more sense to me to engage with a film on an emotional, intellectual or
aesthetic level and, no matter what the sexual proclivities of the
characters, to view the unfolding drama in terms of our complex
responsiveness to universal human experience. In our age of urban
tribalism, factions and segregation, it requires a certain amount of
imagination and projection beyond one's own comfort zones and experience to
achieve this, but I assure you it can be done and it's worthwhile. Last
time I looked I wasn't a lesbian, but I still broke into a sweat over the
hot finger-fuck sequence between Jennifer Tilly and Gina Gershon in "Bound"
(1996). Furthermore, I'm no paedophile, but I still swoon when Dominique
Swain rubs up against Jeremy Irons in "Lolita" (1997).
Frankly, I'm mystified by gays who say that "Lolita" has nothing to offer
them because the main protagonist is in love with a girl. Similarly, I'm
puzzled by straights who say that Derek Jarman's masterful "Caravaggio"
(1986) was 'too gay'. It's like these people have forgotten what it means
to be complete, rounded human beings. If you want art to affirm what you
already know and feel then stand in front of the bathroom mirror; don't go
to the cinema ever again. Film, as the premier art form of the twentieth
century, should open up your sensorium and challenge you in all sorts of
unexpected ways.
I should also say that I differentiate between the terms 'gay' and
'homosexual'. The former is a relatively new, well-meaning but, in my
opinion, misguided ideological movement, which will hopefully go the way of
the dinosaurs before too long. (What leads certain people to believe that
an occasional sexual activity constitutes an entire personality is beyond
me.) The latter has been around since mankind emerged from the caves and
learnt to scrawl its experiences on papyrus. I have argued elsewhere that
homosexual experience is part of the human totality, an option that is open
to all, should they choose to explore that avenue, not some separate
category that belongs exclusively to pumped-up and hairless pretty boys in
inner-city centres. (A film which illustrates this point beautifully is the
1997 Italo-Turkish co-production "Hamam".) Homosexuals shouldn't be
fighting for gay rights; they should be fighting for human rights.
And so we're back to films again. Gay activists would have you believe that
Hollywood portrays gays in a negative light. According to Vito Russo, the
film historian who wrote the over-rated "The Celluloid Closet", Hollywood
has packed the screen chock-full with limp-wristed victims, suicides,
sad-sacks, bitchy queens, psychos, hairdressers, fey fashion designers,
perverts and sex maniacs. Odd, they always seemed spot on to me. Anyone who
knows their film history would instantly recognise the numerous gay
stereotypes, intricately and lovingly depicted by Franklin Pangborn, Edward
Everett Horton, Sidney Greenstreet, Peter Lorre and the husky voiced
Mercedes McCambridge (who also supplied the voice for the demon in "The
Exorcist"), to name just a few actors who filled the screen with homosexual
characters from its earliest days.
There were even a couple of hand-holding homo gaol birds in an early Mae
West film -- the greatest drag queen of them all. Furthermore, the
contributions of Marlene Dietrich and Greta Garbo to the question of gender
in cinema cannot be overestimated. Alfred Hitchcock, always fascinated by
the darker byways of sexuality, explored the theme of the homosexual as
Nietzschian super man in "Rope" (1942), and followed that up with another
deadly homosexual alliance in "Strangers On A Train" (1951). But, because
both films depicted homosexuals as sociopaths, to gay activists this is
nothing more than homophobic depiction at its worst -- despite the fact the
former film was loosely based on a true story. For those who insist on
'positive role models', Montgomery Clift in Howard Hawks's western, "Red
River" (1948), filled the bill nicely, thank you. And let's not forget
spunky Katherine Hepburn crossdressing in "Sylvia Scarlett" (1936),
directed by one of the great Hollywood directors, George Cukor, who just
happened to be turned on by guys.
I interpret Cukor's 1939 classic, "The Women", which boasted an all female
cast, as a gathering of bitchy backstage drag queens all competing, for the
affections of their unseen men. While we're on the subject of drag, Brian
De Palma's psycho-sexual thrillers, "Dressed To Kill" (1980) and "Raising
Caine" (1992) contain surreal representations of men in the throes of
psychic schism metamorphosing into sinister women by the last reel. And you
don't have to be the great film critic Parker Tyler to interpret "The Great
Escape" (1962) as 'a homosexual mystery story'. Nor does it take a genius
to see "Gilda" (1946) as a bisexual menage a trois.
But gay activists are like persistent blow flies on a turd. Once they latch
onto an idea it's almost impossible to shake them off. To them, far from
exploring complex, ambiguous notions of gender and sexuality, the
above-mentioned films do not show 'positive representations' of gay life,
and are therefore homophobic distortions. What activists really mean is
that, in their bid for acceptance, they want to spread their own approved
and sanitised brand of the truth, which is filled with its own distortions
and half-truths. They are Stalinists who would censor the arts to suit
their own political ends.
That's why they demonstrated against films such as "Cruising" (1980) and
"Basic Instinct" (1992), which they claimed painted an inaccurate seedy
picture of gays. But the truth is that the urban, commercialised gay
culture, with its bouts of drug-taking, dance parties and anonymous sex, is
decadent. Hollywood has never been inaccurate in its portrayal of
homosexuals. If anything, as director Bruce LaBruce said, 'Hollywood ...
has represented homosexuals with chilling accuracy largely because
Hollywood was and still is rammed with fags both off-screen and on.'
Hollywood only began portraying gays inaccurately when gay activists
finally infiltrated the studios during the 80s and 90s and began pushing
for films made to their own narrow specifications. Lacking all artistry,
they are basically 'how-to movies' whose sole purpose is to promote the gay
life. The formula is 'coming out', fighting homophobia' or 'fighting AIDS'.
Suddenly the rich variety of homosexual stereotypes that had filled the
screen until now were replaced by sprightly party boys looking for
self-affirmation in an uncaring world. The well-meaning but soppy "Making
Love" (1982) was the first of these films. Over a decade later, the weepy
"Philadelphia" (1993), with sanctimonious Tom Hanks, added AIDS to the
sickly sweet formula. Not wishing to be left out of their own game,
independent gay filmmakers joined in on the act with the dull-as-dish-water
"Parting Glances" (1985) and "Longtime Companion" (1990). What activists
failed to see, however, was that they were still pushing forward the
martyr-like victims they were meant to be ditching, but because their
plights were 'sympathetically portrayed', they applauded these films as
some kind of breakthrough.
Instead of real people with real concerns, the men these films portray,
look like they are made by Mattel. They probably emerge from a box with a
little plastic window, and come with molded toes and plastic shoes to go
with their outfits. They are always white, handsome, nice, polite,
middle-class men with go-anywhere phones and understanding grandmothers. I
call them the Stepford Boyz after the 1974 film "The Stepford Wives", whose
domestic motto was 'conform or die'. But rather than enlarging experience,
the new Hollywood gay cinema and the so called New Queer Cinema reduces it
to a set pattern of cliches, a preordained destiny. The American feminist
film critic, Ruby Rich, is wrong. With very few exceptions, the New Queer
Cinema is not innovative or challenging; it's full of amateurs stuck on
infantile and crude shock tactics, which make the cinema of John Waters
look like the genuinely hilarious article that it was all those years ago.
These gay films resemble Soviet propaganda films of the 50s and 60s. Cinema
in the real world follows a far more complex and organic process than
inside the gay ghetto. After watching one of these films with a queer stamp
of approval on its forehead, I walk out of the cinema feeling more
alienated than ever because of my failure to connect with any one of these
'positive role models' I'm supposed to be so happy about. More to the
point, I don't want to relate to such a vacuous bunch. These people are not
on the screen because they or their stories are interesting. They are there
because they stuck it into another person of the same sex and want to show
everyone else how nice and normal they can be. It's a bit like watching
circus freaks trying to pass as normals. If anything, these characters are
aberrantly normal; so balanced they make even the most exemplary
heterosexual look freakish. Needless to say, liberals walk out of these
films patting themselves on the back, gay activists walk out with their
heads held high and I walk out feeling like I've just grown horns.
Personally, I relish the depiction of homos as Jean Genet-like outsiders,
thieves, hustlers and troublemakers, perched on the barbed-wire fence and
destabilising the status quo. That's why I would choose as my patron saint
Dennis Nilsen (the British gay serial killer and cannibal) and not that
poor, unfortunate victim Matthew Shepard, who was crucified in a field by
two nutters, and subsequently turned into an international gay martyr. I'd
rather be the outlaw in Gregg Araki's "The Living End" (1992), crushing
bigoted heads with a ghetto blaster, or Ari, the very pissed off hero of
"Head On" (1998), than Saint Sebastian nailed to a tree. If you know how to
play the cards right, in our society, homosexuality can be dangerous, scary
and a whole lotta fun.
That's why for me, the stand-out Hollywood film with a homosexual content
is still William Friedkin's "Cruising". For all its flaws, this
psycho-sexual thriller, starring a sexually ambivalent Al Pacino, contains
some low-down home truths about the aphrodisiac dangers of public cruising,
and along the way, offers an eye-popping view into the New York gay S&M
scene before the advent of the plague.
Following in the same genre, though not as impressive, is Paul Verhoeven's
"Basic Instinct", memorable mainly for Sharon Stone's bisexual femme
fatale, with a fetish for ice-picks and leg crossing. Verhoeven was more
successful in his homeland with the deliriously gothic and wickedly funny
"The Fourth Man" (1983), which stars Jeroen Krabbe as an alcoholic
homosexual writer who falls into the clutches of a deadly spider woman.
But, being the cock-driven man that he is, rather than escaping he stays on
just so he can get into her hunky boyfriend's pants -- with horrific
results.
The film that most effectively deals with homosexual desire on an artistic
level is Jean Beaudin's 1992 French-Canadian film, "Being At Home With
Claude". Adapted from a controversial stage play, this 85 minute, black and
white film is a romantic, daring and moving illustration of Oscar Wilde's
maxim, 'each man kills the thing he loves'. Beginning with an explosive
opening sequence that should knock you out of your seat, the film focusses
on why a hustler killed his lover while they were fucking. What follows is
an anguished dialogue between the outlaw and a mystified police inspector
who is trying to find a motive. The performances by the two leads are
brilliant, Beaudin's direction superb and every film student should study
the opening sequence. Tellingly, when this devastating film was released,
the straight press and audiences looked on it favourably, while gays were
generally negative. I was even called 'deranged' by an irate gay reader
when I wrote in praise of the film. But time has proven me right. While
Beaudin's film is steadily gaining in reputation, Ang Lee's lightheaded
"The Wedding Banquet" (1993) has gone out with the tide.
For me, the true face of sex is danger and perversion. So it was that I
took to "Suite 16" (1995), directed by the Dutch director, Dominique
Deruddere, like an orifice to fist fucking. This sleazy, degenerate
thriller zeroes in on a compelling series of psychological and sexual power
games played by a crippled older man and a young hustler who falls under
his power. An extra element of suspense is added by the inclusion of a
young woman who completes the deadly triangle. As one reviewer said at the
time, this film 'has you thinking about things you shouldn't.' Apart from
David Cronenberg's "Crash" (1996), "Suite 16" still rates the highest for
its mutually beneficial effects on my brain and loins. And I mustn't forget
to mention Bruce LaBruce's gleefully perverted "Hustler White" (1996),
starring the Joe Dallesandro of the 90s, Tony Ward. This delightfully
grungy film is what porn would be like if there were more auteurs working
in the field instead of the current unimaginative deadheads.
But I don't want you to think that I sacrifice all to Eros and Thanatos
before that glowing rectangle of light in those dark and magical
auditoriums. When you cast your net wider than the parochial shores of
America you begin to find a rich source of cinematic gems that deal with
the subject of homosexuality from within a much wider social and ethical
context.
In this regard, the aristocratic Italian filmmaker Luchino Visconti's
"Conversation Piece" (1974) as a visually rich masterpiece about the nature
of death and beauty, is far more resonant than his own more famous "Death
In Venice" (1971). Another Visconti to look out for is the last gasp in
neo-realism, "Rocco and His Brothers" (1960), starring a knock-out Alain
Delon. This is a lyric melodrama to be relished, not least because of its
unashamed celebration of the masculine physique in the boxing arena.
Jean Cocteau created some of the most sublime and mysterious films ever
made. "Beauty and The Beast" (1948) and "Orphee" (1952) are virtually love
songs for Jean Marais, Cocteau's lover. And while we're focussing on French
films we should mention Andre Techine's "I Don't Kiss" (1991) and "Wild
Reeds" (1994) -- the latter in particular is a coming-of-age delicacy to
savour.
From his earlier erratic post-punk films to his later mature works in the
90s, no praise is high enough for Spain's Pedro Almodovar -- an openly gay
filmmaker who has managed to break out of the gay ghetto and create films
that are accessible to all moviegoers. But his seventh feature, the joyous
"Law Of Desire" (1987) deserves special mention.
Nor should we forget the legacy of independently produced films left by
England's great Derek Jarman. This is a true universal man whose artistry
has not been fully comprehended or appreciated by gays. From the salacious
audacity of "Sebastiane" (1976), to the paralysing grief of "Blue" (1993),
the only true work of art to come out of the AIDS epidemic, is almost two
decades of incredible achievement. If I ever had a hero, it was this guy.
And, before I collapse in a shower of tears, I should mention Neil Jordan's
creaky but humanistic "The Crying Game" (1992), which deftly questions the
nature of desire.
The few films I have mentioned here do not always represent happy Ken and
Ken couples living in warehouse lofts. What they do offer, however, is
richness, texture, ambiguity and ambivalence. As an extremist in most
things, I tend to choose films that would probably be most at ease on the
boundaries, or the extremes of human experience. And because of my own
personal tastes, they fall into the categories of erotica, horror movies or
thrillers -- bottom of the barrel stuff to most. But I choose these films
because I believe that in the sly, reckless and wayward manner they
approach the vagaries of human nature and sexuality, they arrive at an
intrinsic combination of truths that gay filmmakers, with their blinkered
disposition, will not achieve until they realise that reality is made up of
organic or unified wholes that are greater than the simple sum of their
parts.
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