A. J. Mattioli | Night Disclosure / 2021

playing games

by Douglas Messerli

 

Hamish Downie (screenplay), A. J. Mattioli (director) Night Disclosure / 2021 [13 minutes]

 

Marc (José D. Álvarez) and his boss Tom (Sean Patrick Murtagh) arrive back to the bosses flat late one evening after making a big real estate deal, Tom expressing his great admiration for what Marc has helped to accomplish, yet another sale to a wealthy woman who has been buying up properties for her husband as if she were attempting to control the Monopoly board.

    But I’ll stop with the moment-to-moment account of the plot there. Mattioli’s short film is a frail attempt to discuss issues of gay relationships, monogamy, and the games gays play that seems so stagey and unbelievable that by the time this couple head off to bed you’ve become completely disinterested in their relationship.

     Basically, Marc and Tom, apparently a married couple spend much of their life role-playing, pretending to be real estate brokers, to flirt with the boss, and to reveal breaks in their relationship in order to protect themselves from the possibility of the real events. They’re also into some serious S & M strangulation fucks.

     Downie’s screenplay has Marc beginning to flirt with the blue-and-true boss, who rejects his come-ons. The one thing Tom has promised in his marriage vows, he insists, is to love and cherish the man he married. Despite Marc’s insistence that he and his husband have an open relationship, Tom is not impressed; it’s not for him. That doesn’t stop Marc from behaving like the worm in Eve’s apple, boring into the possibility that despite Tom’s loyalty perhaps his lover has not maintained the same sense of integrity.

     When Tom insists on his trust of his companion, Marc shows him pictures of himself and his lover together, finally revealing that they have been having an affair for years. Devastated, Tom dives in for a brutal fucking and choking of Marc before the two finally trot upstairs where we realize they are married to one another as they get into bed and have a good bout of “normal” sex.

      Frankly, given the questions they keep asking of themselves, I wouldn’t trust either of them. It appears that their game-playing may be the only way they can keep their relationship together and keep the fears of cheating from consuming them. By playing out their fears, they apparently are able to resist their actualization. I certainly wouldn’t trust them to sell me a house; but then, it becomes apparent, they’re not really real estate agents either.

     Finally, one has to ask, who are they? How did these two come together? Did they find each other through their role-playing, and if they are such clever gamesters how can they possibly imagine that they are not constantly lying to the other? Perhaps it comes down to the fact that we simply don’t believe this pair is truly a couple.

      As the reviewer for Film Carnage (listed simply as Rebecca) has noted: “Unfortunately, there isn’t much chemistry to be found between these two actors, the biggest problem is that the performances come across as wooden or as though they’re trying too hard. Álvarez surprisingly feels like he’s playing into stereotypes, it’s disappointing to see from a queer actor who you’d imagine would be keenly aware of avoiding such pitfalls but even his movements feel exaggerated in a cliched manner. Murtagh on the other hand plays things overly straight-laced, adding a touch of pretention. These difficulties are a key factor in hindering the film from building any tangible atmosphere or energy.”

      I’d argue that the film’s lethargy results from its idea-laden script. Any couple who spend so many hours talking about faithfulness and monogamy suggests just how very fearful they see those restrictions. The real point, is that they are restrictions that destroy, as in many a heterosexual marriage, many a relationship.  

 

Los Angeles, March 11, 2025

Reprinted from My Queer Cinema blog (March 2025).