the problematics of a first date
by Douglas Messerli
Runar Þór Sigurbjörnsson (screenwriter and
director) Hann (Him) / 2018 [14 minutes]
O those poor Icelandic gay boys. What they
have to go through! Everybody just presumes you’re straight if you live a
fairly “normal” life, enjoying sports, music, conversations with friends, and,
of course, internet communications.
Andri (Ásgeir Sigurðsson) is in a particularly difficult situation,
after having found a nice guy on Tinder and engaging in a conversation about
the evening ahead when Andri’s best friend Reynir catches up with him walking home from
school. Hearing the ring of the cellphone, the friend wonders if Andri has
finally hooked up with a “chick,” “someone he can put it in.” Andri muses,
“Perhaps.”
They’ve just previously noticed a couple of their school mates beating
up “that Sigmur guy,” a fight which fortunately a teacher stops. We don’t know
who Sigmur is nor why he is being bullied, but obviously we suspect....”
Meanwhile the conversation with his new Tinder friend continues and
Andri and he make a date for sushi that evening, maybe a movie at the nearby
Church as well. Even the Reykjavik churches seem youth friendly. At home, his
father Hjörleifur (Davíð Guðbrandsson) tosses out a friend greeting, a snack of
dried fish, and admits that he’s looking forward to watching TV sports with his
boy that night. Andri’s mother is making meatballs.
When the son reports he won’t be home for dinner since he’s having
sushi, Hjölli immediately beams with the good news: obviously, his son has a
date, apparently his first. Like any prying parent he wants to know the name of
the girl. And later, probing further, gets scolded by his wife, Ásta (Bryndís
Ásmundsdóttir) for teasing Andri in his comment that he wants to know the name
of his future daughter-in-law, a moment or two before she too turns to the boy,
arguing that he can trust her, as she conspiratorially whispers “Hey. So what’s
her name?”
In fact, except in the presence of his friends, Andri says virtually
nothing at home. He speaks through internet messages alone, the camera catching
him in long moments of worrisome speechlessness in response to his parent’s
jovial chatter.
First dates are always difficult of course, and “coming out” is
generally an even more fraught situation. But as Andri dresses, puts on a bit
of aftershave, and checks his face out in his mirror, he comes up with a
brilliant idea. Scurrying out the house without a word while his mother is on
the phone discussing the failure of her yoga classes with a friend, he leaves
behind a scrap of paper.
When Hjölli sits down with a couple of beers
in preparation for the game he notices the note. Reading it, a slow smile comes
over his face that grows bigger over several moments until he begins to laugh,
grinning like Lewis Carroll’s Cheshire Cat. The note reads:
HIM
his name is
Tómas
Hjölli giggles, with joy calling out to Ásta
at the very same moment that we see Andri spotting Tómas, both boys quickly
smiling as they stand a few feet away from one another in greeting, obviously
enjoying what they see of one another.
All’s well that ends well, and apparently in a liberal, tolerant
consensus culture such as Iceland most things do end well.
But truly, I’m not making fun of the seemingly minor issues that
produced such feelings of consternation in Andri’s perception of events. And
clearly, as we’ve just observed, there are bullies waiting around the corners
of Reykjavik gymnasiums as well as those hanging out near American schoolyards.
But it’s hard to imagine any US newspaper writing something even close to what
Finland’s Keskipohjanmaa observed in 2020 about this short, 14-minute
film:
“Uncertainties are allowed to recede as Andri
makes his independent choice to go his own way. The inner strength of a quiet,
sensitive young person is seldom seen so finely interpreted.
The
parents’ roles are equally successful. Curiosity about a ‘girlfriend’ can hurt,
even if it's only benevolent teasing. Andri's father Hjölli (Davíð
Guðbrandsson) and mother Ásta (Bryndís Ásmundsdóttir) are ready to turn their
assumptions swiftly as if on a dime and accept their son's choices and his
uniqueness. The director shows happy and loving family life. Safe home life is
reflected in the complete trust and acceptance between the mother and father.”
For
the LGBTQ individual who seeks utter acceptance Scandinavia is clearly her,
his, or hir kind of paradise. Queerness here has obviously lost its meaning.
Los Angeles, May 8, 2021
Reprinted from My Queer Cinema blog and
World Cinema Review (May 2021).
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