a taste of orange
by Douglas Messerli
Kristian Pithie (screenwriter and director) Oranges / 2004 [12 minutes]
We all know that young boys, particularly young
heterosexual boys of a certain age are prone to exaggerate about their sexual
conquests, much to the discomfort of their virgin or simply inexperienced and
more honest peers, and particularly to young budding gay boys.
The young outsider
in this charming Australian film (Martin Sharpe) can’t even eat his sandwich
lunch at school without being reminded of those “other” boys who spend they
time deeply kissing girls. As he quite innocently observes them, more our of
curiosity than prurient interest, even the girl flips him her finger. No need
for bullies to remind him of his position in this school playground.
What does it matter? As he bicycles home at the end of the day, the sky is blue, the street is sunny—that is until he crashes into a parked car, his body hurled onto its hood.
He comes to on a bed, faced by a slightly older school boy practicing his cello
(Robyn Nethercote). Seeing him awaken, the celloist asks if our young friend is
okay and if he might call a doctor or his mum. Our unfortunate hero assures him
he’s fine.
The older
boy explains that his sister is watching television so that he is forced to
practice in his bedroom. His new friend goes to the kitchen and cuts up some
oranges, offering the plate up to the accident victim, who refuses, arguing
that bikes and oranges just don’t go together. The older boy’s sister, watching
what must be her favorite show, yells over, “Shut up!”
After
mocking his sister with an orange in his mouth, the new friend suggests they “get
out of here,” the two boys take a walk, the elder talking about his three
girlfriends, one goes to prep school, another to college, and the third lives
in Shepparton.
And
since they’re passing a playground, the older wonders if they might want to
swing. The younger asks the other how many girls he has kissed, the new friend
guess that the number must be around 22 girls, maybe more. His first kiss, he recalls,
was with Rebecca Ingham, grade 4.
“What
about you?”
“Not
many,” the younger answers.
“Any?”
the other responds. Embarrassed to answer, our young bicyclist stands up and
moves off, the older teasing him, “Oh my god, you’ve never been kissed!”
But the
other is a nice boy, apologizing for his comments and comforting his new
acquaintance with the words “It will happen.”
They
retreat to a nearby empty lot, crawling into an abandoned culvert to continue
their discussion. At one moment in their conversation our younger friend, as if
to explain his difficulties with finding someone to kiss, points at his braces,
in response to which the other boy surprisingly puts out his finger to touch.
He
quickly runs away, the other following, rather sadly for the effect it’s had.
Finally, he cries out, “Wait up. Don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone.”
As the
two face off, the older boy admits, “I never had a girlfriend. I never even….”
A little
later, as the younger boy’s mother arrives to pick him up, the older pleads
with him not to tell anyone.
During
his break, the younger boy again takes out his lunchbox. Giggling girls run
past, and in the other direction for older boys stride by, including the boy
from the previous afternoon, who for a second looks back at the newly kissed
outsider.
The younger boy opens his box, pulls out a
piece of sliced orange and puts it into his mouth, sucking in its nectar.
Los Angeles, October 3, 2025
Reprinted from My Queer Cinema blog (October
2025).
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