Jordon Firstman | The Disgustings / 2014

stand off

by Douglas Messerli

 

Drew Droege and Jordan Firstman (screenplay), Jordon Firstman (director) The Disgustings / 2014 [13 minutes]

 

Evidently Jordon Firstman’s directorial debut—not mentioned in his Wikipedia entry—The Disgustings represents a type, both heterosexual and gay, but much nastier in the gay queen rendition of character which we all know, even if in real life I’ve met no one quite like it.

      Both Daryl (Drew Drogege) and Pierce (Jordan Firstman) are the kind of best friends who believe themselves to be so superior that no one on earth can possibly come close to their intellectual, aesthetic, and social superiority with lines such as “Anyone who is comfortable with his shirt off can’t be trusted,” and “I’m about to yell because their coffee tastes likes pasta.” At one point Pierce cannot even believe that the unshirted boyfriend of a female friend “actually introduced himself to me.” Eyes constantly rolling in response to the insignificance of all others, they even take pleasure in their own nasty quips for being both “strange and specific.”

 

   Throughout the short 13-minute film the couple puts down a waitress (Erin Rye), who has evidently delayed in getting them a drink of water (“You know I don’t come to brunch to be ignored and then judged for being ignored.”) and, later, a friendly Yoga Girl (Linsay Nyman) who is so sweet and willing to communicate that she doesn’t even quite recognize their utter put-down of her when then command her to get lost. As Daryl summarizes, “You know I feel like as a nation insecurity is our biggest disease. It’s like a fucking epidemic. You know it’s like why do you fucking hate yourself so much that you can’t spend 24 hours without someone around you? I mean like I’m always alone and I’m always fine. Ask, always, almost anyone.”

     Even at the gay bar when a stranger approaches Pierce, telling him he really likes his outfit, wondering where he works out, he turns on the strange willing to buy him a drink, suggesting that he doesn’t recognize the face, and even asking his friend Daryl whether he knows “this person.”

For a moment, Pierce actually pauses—hinting at a possible crack in his dismissive foundation—to ask whether or not he might let the “person” buy him a drink. But Daryl quickly convinces him to say “No,” which does, bidding the cute guy goodbye, and pointing out the fact that both of them have full drinks. “Leave this world,” they command him, as if they were a solar system of their own which no other star dare to tread.

     The moment the boy walks away, Daryl turns to his friend with a hissy whisper, “Oh my God, disgusting. Some people have no tack.” “I’m so sorry that happened to you.” Daryl commiserates. Pierce suggests that he feels totally shaken up—as well he might since no one dares to intrude upon the nasty duo. “It’s so weird. He was so aggressive. Did you notice how aggressive he was?”

      And with that, the two create a magnificent melodrama about what might be seen by most as their lucky moment, ending with a cute boy to go home with: “I mean I feel like I was basically just raped.”

      “Yah, he did.”

      “He did rape me!”

      “I just watched a rape. I almost watched a rape. Which is worse than rape.”

      The two leave, returning to their own apartments and beds, neither of them being able to sleep at night. Which explains, perhaps, the regimen of pills we have seen on the countertops of their bathrooms and on tables near their beds. Neither of these two men, who cannot even be described as active gay men, might ever discover someone of their mental, aesthetic, and social acuity since they are impregnable in their narcissistic haze.

      If it’s funny to watch them, it also hurts, since even if such types don’t really exist, we are fearful that they just might, and we have all experienced people who feel intellectually and socially superior to us who we can imagine having just such ridiculous conversations. We want to stay away from such individuals, and they want us, fortunately, to stand off, fearing the possibility that someone might possibly break through the walls they have erected so as never to have deal with real life.

 

Los Angeles, August 18, 2024

Reprinted from My Queer Cinema blog (August 2024)