by Douglas Messerli
Guy Sahaf
(screenwriter and director) צמא (Thirst) / 2015
[14 minutes]
In Guy Sahaf’s 2015 short, two close friends
(played by Dor Roen and Ziv Shalit) hike and camp out in the Israeli desert for
what was meant to be a weekend.
But
clearly the relationship between the two that one of them has tried to put
behind him, reemerges in the wilderness as he allows his friend to masturbate
and suck him off, evidently a long-time pattern between the two. [I brightened
the photo below to reveal what is barely visible in the original.]
The
young man has apparently acquired a girlfriend or perhaps even a wife—the back
story in this film is purposely attenuated—whom the other resents. It is the
clear that the more openly gay man would like more—more of everything, evidence
of the other’s love and more time to explore their sexual relationship
together.
In order to assure that longer time together, the gay friend covertly
pours out the remaining water left in one of their bottles, and later empties
an entire second bottle. Perhaps the more experienced hiker of the two, he
purposely gets them lost. To save energy, they hike through the night becoming
ever more disoriented, the bisexual friend finally growing angry with the
situation and physically attacking the other which quickly leads to another
sexual incident, as if any bodily contact compels them into sexual action. One
of them suggests that they need to control their actions if they do not wish to
get dehydrated.
Finally, with the bright sun burning down upon them, the conflicted
friend calls out the other for depleting their supplies. It appears that he has
seen what the other has done, yet allowed it to go on, joining him on the
longer-than-intended stay in the desert. It is evident that he too has been
unable to sublimate his desires.
When they finally find a railroad and return to cellphone territory,
they call his wife to come pick them up. Tired, desperately thirsty, and dirty,
they get in the car in complete silence as she attempts to discern what
happened and what condition they are in.
But both men remain silent, the one in the front seat ostentatiously
leaning over to kiss his savior wife or girlfriend, the other remaining
bitterly quiet in the backseat, obviously recognizing the self-deceit and
hypocrisy of his friend. Does the woman know that there is a tension between
the two and perhaps suspect the cause? Will they remain friends, the bisexual
someday finding the need once more to take an all-male camping trip?
Obviously, the director keeps us in the dark about all these matters. In
fact, I would argue that the entire film is presented to us far too much “in
the dark.” It’s difficult to even distinguish between these individuals, and
although we know what is happening, we are never privy to their facial or
bodily responses. Does the apparent bisexual truly enjoy their sexual
interludes or does he simply endure them for the sake of the other? After a
while, the prudence of the director—perhaps out of respect for his orthodox
audiences—begins to border on self-censorship and evades the very issues, much
like his character, which the film attempts to bring up. Perhaps it is time for
a new Amos Guttman, the former bad boy of Israeli LGBTQ cinema.
Los Angeles, December 16, 2022
Reprinted from World Cinema Review (December
2022).
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