James Ivory | Howards End / 1992

connections

by Douglas Messerli

 

Ruth Prawer Jhabvala (screenplay, based on the novel by E. M. Forster), James Ivory (director) Howards End / 1992

 

“Only connect” is the epigraph to E. M. Forster’s novel Howards End, and in the James Ivory film, based on Forster’s work, the characters spend most of their time connecting, most often by accident, both emotionally and intellectually. The two Schlegel sisters, Margaret (Emma Thompson) and Helen (Helena Bonham Carter), along with their brother Tibby (Adrian Ross Magenty), encounter both the Wilcox family and the Bast couple so often that it appears, by the end of the work that the whole of Britain is a little neighborhood wherein coincidental encounters are simply to be expected.

     This is made even stranger since the aristocratic Wilcoxes, Ruth (Vanessa Redgrave) and Heny (Anthony Hopkins), along with their two sons and daughter are definitely not the “connecting” kind. Unlike the friendly and outgoing Schlegels, they see little reason to be bothered by others, preferring to stick to their own kind. Still, after meeting the Schlegels on a German excusion (which takes place before the start of the movie), they invite Helen to their home at Howards End, where she promptly falls in and out of love with Paul Wilcox (Joseph Bennett). Soon after, also by accident, the Wilcoxes rent a large home directly across the street from the Schlegels’ small apartment. Against all outward logic, the reclusive Ruth develops a deep friendship with Margaret—an intense relationship that, one might argue, Forster keeps purposely vague—to whom, on her deathbed, she attempts to will their Howards End home.

     The remaining Wilcoxes, however, refuse to believe Ruth would leave the house to a relative stranger and burn her hand-written directions. Even more remarkably, after his wife’s death, the unsociable Henry falls in love with Margaret and asks her to marry him.

    In a parallel set of coincidences, leaving a lecture, Helen accidentally walks away with Leonard Bast’s (Samuel West) umbrella, is followed home by the poor clerk, and later runs into him on a London street (just as the Schlegels had previously run into Henry on the street) and, upon finding the Basts jobless and starving—due, in part, to sisters passing along mistaken advice from Henry to that the insurance company Leonard works for is heading for bankruptcy—drags them to Evie Wilcoxes’ wedding party. As if this illogical decision were not strange enough, Mrs. Bast, Jacky (Nicola Duffett) immediately recognizes Henry as a man with whom she had had an affair as a young girl in Cyprus.

     Meanwhile, Helen has a short affair with Leonard, which ends with her becoming pregnant. And near the movie’s end Leonard desperately seeks out the Schlegels at Howards End, only to be killed by Henry’s mean-spirited son, Charles (James Wilby) in revenge.

     I discuss these numerous coincidental encounters (that are even more) simply to reiterate just how “creaky” is Forster’s plot. If someone were to attempt to explain these series of events in real life, I think we would all suspect their honesty—or even sanity.

     It’s clear that Forster was using these three different sets of people—aristocrats,* well-off bourgeoisie, and working-class folk—to speak of the Edwardian Age on the edge, literally, of significant changes, resulting in the death of the first, the resurgence of the second, and the rise of the last. He also, more subtly, interweaves these three groupings by their perspectives to time: the

aristocratic Wilcoxes are all about the past, the Schlegels are very much of the present, and the Bast’s alas, will exist through Leonard’s son, only in the future. Within a few years, without any of them knowing it, Tibby might be off to the War, dying in the fields of Flanders. In short, the author’s original tale, although richly written and entertaining, is a thoroughly artificial one, having little to do with real life. That never bothers me in fiction, but it is a problem for some in the far more “realist”-bound medium of cinema.

     For all that, James Ivory’s direction comes quite brilliantly alive through his careful (also his major flaw) directorial presence, the well-crafted adaptation by Ruth Prawer Jhabvala, the gorgeous set decoration by Ian Whittaker, and the near-genius acting of his cast. Along with the beautiful restoration of the 1992 film which I saw again the other day in a movie theater, this film is entirely a treat for the ears and eyes.

     Emma Thompson as Margaret is near perfect in her often clumsy forwardness and her near endless patter, but also in the subtle mental changes that connubial betrayal and the gradual recognition of her husband’s cruel actions enact. If she begins the film as a strong-willed, forward-thinking idealist, she ends it by being more like her quiet, self-reflective friend Ruth, truly becoming the rightful resident of the elder’s beloved house.

    Redgrave’s Ruth is a far more difficult and self-contradictory character, a woman relieved in not being able to vote, yet who finds Margaret a remarkable figure as a woman who despite her self-conscious awkwardness is capable of doing great good, something she not only admires in her but comes to truly love. Redgrave, one of my very favorite of actors, is not quite perfect for this role, and has a few mannerisms here that I’ve not previously noticed. Yet, she is always so amazing to watch that she does almost carry it off.

    Although prone to overacting by underplaying every role, Anthony Hopkins as Henry comes off more straight-forwardly in the work as a failed, even, at times, somewhat evil human being who, nonetheless, is also a highly vulnerable one who realizes, at film’s end, that he has helped to make his son Charlie into an even more detestable man than himself.

    Carter’s Helen is a more transparent being without the depths of her older sister, but yet by film’s end she certainly shines as an independent force, willing, without shame, to raise her son to care for the world around him.

    Even minor figures such as Leonard, with his dreamy intellectual pursuits of nature and the starts, is well portrayed by West; and as his overweight and courser wife, Jacky, Duffett is nearly perfect.

   Like Pauline Kael, I have long carried a kind of grudge about Ivory’s and Merchant’s films; as beautiful as they are, they seem to me to be like BBC Masterpiece series rather than more challenging and original cinema. There is the aura of “literary” about most of them, and they often simply smell of libraries and museums from which the director and writer have adapted their stories. Yet, after all these years, I might be forced to rethink my opinion given my enjoyment of Howards End the other day.

    In the original fiction and in the film as well, despite Forster’s own homosexuality and the fact that only a few years later in 1913 he would pen his openly gay work Maurice (unpublished until after his death) that dealt with the same three perspectives of society, there is no elicit or even consciously coded references to the queer world. Yet the one thing that is an obviously “queer” phenomena, in the original meaning of that word, to absolutely all the characters is that Ruth wills her beloved Howards End to Margaret.

   And in his 2018 play Inheritance, playwright Matthew Lopez quite brilliantly explored the idea of “inheritance” and its relationship to gay life in relationship to Forster’s work. Jules Becker, writing in Jewish Journal of Greater Boston nicely summarizes Lopez’ basic reiterations of Forster’s text in connection with Lopez’ gay stage play:

 

“Forster’s London is now Lopez’s New York City, and the novel’s title rural location is now the play’s upstate New York home. …In Lopez’s inspired conception, Morgan – Forster’s middle name – serves as a mentor-narrator who reflects on the days long before same-sex marriage when he concealed he was gay from the public and held off publishing his 1913 novel, “Maurice,” a frank examination of the title character’s orientation.

     At the same time, the playwright provides context and contrast for the drama’s connections to “Howards End.” Theatergoers learn that Glass’s veteran grandfather helped liberate Dachau and that he inherited his West End Avenue rent-controlled apartment from his grandmother Miriam, a refugee from Germany. Once Toby moves in with Eric, the novel’s Schlegel sisters become the parallel for the pair.

     Eventually, the play’s rich title takes on specific relevance. Walter Poole – a friend for whom Eric cares greatly —leaves him the upstate home in a note. Walter’s once-closeted real estate broker love, Henry Wilcox, and his sons attempt to conceal this inheritance. (As Wilcox and his son Charles do with the willing of Howards End to Margaret Schlegel in Forster’s novel). Elsewhere, switched bags in the play call to mind the switched umbrellas in the novel, and both works include an unexpected embarrassing recognition. At various points in the play, class factors – the imminent eviction of Eric from the rent-controlled flat and well-to-do Trump-supporting Henry’s business dealings with Saudi Arabia – come into play.”

     For a fuller discussion of the parallels and the new reading it provides us of Howards End I refer the reader to Rebecca Mead’s provocative essay, “How Matthew Lopez Transformed Howards End Into an Epic Play About Gay Life,” in the September 2, 2019 issue of The New Yorker.

*My friend David Melville Wingrove pointed out, correctly, that in no way might the Wilcoxes be seen as being aristocrats. They too are from the British middle class. He points out that “the Wilcoxes are insular and materialistic, the kind who today would vote Tory and support Brexit. The Schlegels are cosmopolitan and intellectual, the kind who would vote Labour and support the European Union. To this day, just about every middle-class person in the UK is either a Wilcox or a Schlegel. That may be the key to Forster's enduring relevance. Forster had little to no understanding of the aristocracy or the working class and that may be his great limitation.” He adds, “They (the Wilcoxes) are from the upper fringes of the commercial middle class; one might even call them 'new money.' One of the great differences between British and American society is that a person's class identity in the UK is only very peripherally tied to their income. That is true now and was even more true in Forster's day. So perhaps I should simply rephrase their position in Forster’s tripartite division as representing aspirants to the aristocratic way of life, the way the wealthy business man and his family live in Robert Altman’s Gosford Park, although not so vastly rich as Sir William McCordle. Foster definitely sees then as something of the past, although it is quite clear their kind have survived even until the present. Forster, himself of the Schlegel model, is, as he revealed in his fiction Maurice attracted to the vitality and beauty of the working class.

 

Los Angeles, September 7, 2016; revised December 31, 2025

Reprinted from World Cinema Review (September 2016) and My Queer Cinema blog (December 2025).

 

William Branden Blinn | Never or Now / 2013

gentle acts of love and kindness

by Douglas Messerli

 

Gregory Phelan (screenplay), William Branden Blinn (director) Never or Now / 2013 [18 minutes]

 

Alan Driscol (Allen Weiss) is dying in a hospital bed, his wife Annie (Marsha Musial) of a many years beside him trying to gentle explain how their children, except one who is in New Zealand, are all on their way to see him, planning to gather the next morning.

   Beside him are photographs of the two of them, husband and wife, along with other pictures their large family, sons and daughters, their husbands and children.

    From the smart suit and jewelry his wife wears, it is clear that Alan has not only been a good husband but rewarded his family financially as well. Even though he is near death, he is still a handsome man.  

    In short, it appears that he has almost been a model husband. Realizing, as she puts it, “it’s going to be a long night,” Annie quietly explains that she needs to go home to change her clothes and get a pillow so that she can keep vigil with him at his side.

    She begs him not to go anywhere before she returns, obviously pleasing with him not to escape into death while she is away. But as she prepares to leave, she does a rather odd thing which we don’t think much of at the time, but is important for what transpires in this truly queer, highly moving short film. She reaches for his billfold, takes out a couple of twenty dollar bills and folds them, seemingly to take them with her, perhaps, we imagine just to have some cash on hand for her short journey. It’s around 1:30, and she promises to be back by around 5:00.

  For a short while, Alan lays quietly awaiting her return, but eventually he takes up his wallet and withdraws a small piece of paper from it. With difficulty he reaches for the phone and makes a call.

  A short while later, a good-looking young man (Smith Crowe) appears in his room, introducing himself.

   Alan has evidently called a rent boy. And the young man, immediately sizing up the situation, offers him a series of gestures as close to sex as possible, gently holding his hand, and finally, about a half hour before the dying man’s wife is scheduled to return, stripping off his clothes and joining him in bed, where he has propped up a pillow behind Alan so that he might curl up to him on his side.

     As a perceptive IMDb commentator (with the moniker myronlearn) observes, obviously this man has repressed his homosexual feelings through his entire life, and now just as it is about to end, is finally able to permit himself to experience the simple joys of touching a young man’s body, as the rent boy guides the dying man’s hands over his physique. If there was ever a call for the full nudity this film provides, it is in this deeply emotionally tasteful situation.

   The visitor dresses and disappears before the wife returns, observing that the two bills that evidently she has left out on the bed table remain in place, the rent boy having refused any payment. She expresses surprise to that she has left the wallet and the money out, and quietly returns the bills to their original place. Was the wife aware of the man’s life-long desires despite his immense sacrifice his desires to his heterosexual life?

     In the very last scene, we see the young rent boy laying in his own bed with the sound of the hospital heart monitor tracing the rhythms of Alan’s heart before falling into the solid singular note of death.

    Writer and director William Branden Blinn has created over 30 films over the years, almost all of them of great sensitivity and interest; but this is certainly one of his very best, an open-hearted coming together of youth and age, gay man and heterosexual in a final expression of shared love.

Apparently this man chosen family, job, and security all these years over his personal sexual inclinations. Although it is tempting to feel sorry for him, we realize that he has also lived a rich and full life. Perhaps as a bisexual he simply found someone he loved and made a choice that he didn’t regret while remaining forever curious of what he had missed.

     Blinn doesn’t provide any answers, but we perceive that his wife may have known and even approved of his final desires. If so, both she and the gay boy helped him to die with a remarkable gift of open-hearted grace.

 

Los Angeles, December 30, 2025

Reprinted from My Queer Cinema blog (December 2025).

Adam Wachter | Sign / 2016

gestures and signs

by Douglas Messerli

 

Adam Wachter (screenplay), Andrew Keenan-Bolger (director) Sign / 2016 [15 minutes]

 

Actor and director Andrew Keenan-Bolger’s 2016 short film Sign takes the viewer directly into the deaf world of one of its central characters, Aaron (John McGinty) by making his movie a silent one and expressing the story and incidents through music, gestures, and sign-language. Through this brilliant maneuver we come not only to perceive how difficult it is to move through such a silent world, but are forced to become as alert to small signals, the movement of lips and the expression of faces, as most deaf individuals must be.

     Add to this the cultural isolation of being gay, the chances of coming together with what some may perceive as almost a perfect couple are, in fact. terribly slim.   

      Ben first encounters the very cute Aaron on his way to the office, making this first-time slight eye contact; but over the next few frames, when he encounters him again and again, he finally moves to talk with him, clearly telling the man as the subway enters the station that his name is Ben, Aaron demonstrating that he is deaf. Fortunately, that doesn’t seem to immediately put off Ben, as the two enter the subway car, almost chivalrously, each suggesting the other go first.

       They appear to meet up with Aaron walking Ben home, Ben attempting to indicate that they’ve arrived at his building and asking through signals whether he might not want to come up. But obviously this is not a good time for Aaron, pointing at his wrist, but just to be sure that Ben knows he isn’t disinterested in hooking up, he moves quickly forward and awards him a deep kiss.

      Within days the two are obviously dating, Ben studying sign language. And soon after Aaron  invites him to party with his friends, all busy talking in sign language, which leaves Ben on the couch holding the popcorn bowl.

         But soon after, at another party, Ben seems to be joining it vigorously with signing, but suddenly offending the man he is talking took by accidently making the wrong sign which describes his as an “asshole.” The two leave the party early, and obviously a small argument ensures before they make up.

        We see them at home, watching TV, making love, and generally enjoying one another’s company before finally making the decision, after visiting Ben’s father and mother, to move in together.

        Predictably, further complications occur, particularly when at a gay bar, Ben seems to be paying for more too much attention to another guy. That argument does not end so peacefully, as it appears that Aaron has been accusing Ben of spending a too much time with him previously, in a spoken conversation which, of course, excludes him. Frustrated Ben decides to leave, although he remains for a long while on the other side of the door, both of them obviously regretting their hasty decisions.

        Over the next few days they both attempt to talk out their problems with friends, Ben with words (that we cannot hear) and Aaron with cellphone sign language, which we cannot interpret. But we understand their regrets and frustrations since the plot has been played so many times previously in gay and straight movies.

       Ben finally gets a new apartment and even meets up with a Grindr date who eagerly engages him in sex. But clearly it is not what Ben is seeking.       

      In the final scene, we see Aaron once again taking the usual subway, but when he enters the car he discovers Ben on the bench with headphones in his ears very much the way Ben first encountered Aaron. Ben removes the earplugs and looks up to Aaron’s surprised but quickly pleased expression as we hear the first words of the train announcement, “Stand clear of the closing doors please,” as the train goes speeding off away from the camera carrying the two of them presumably to a shared life once more.

       This is not great filmmaking, particularly since simply for the sake of coherence the plot needed to be fairly predictable, the actions they share not too complex. But the attempt to immerse us in the silent world of the hearing impaired is certainly commendable and, actually, rather moving as we observe the inherent difficulties that both deaf and hearing lovers have in communicating their feelings. One can only imagine their frustrations when dealing the far more complex issues of everyday life.

        Yet, just as in the previous films of hearing and speaking impaired individuals we recognize in this work that love can and does make itself known in a world that involves individuals who each have their own limitations to overcome.

 

Los Angeles, August 21, 2022

Reprinted from My Queer Cinema blog (August 2022).

 

Daniel Ribeiro | Hoje Eu Quero Voltar Sozinho (The Way He Looks) / 2014

blind love

by Douglas Messerli

 

Daniel Ribeiro (screenwriter, based on his short film I Don’t Want to Go Back Alone, and director) Hoje Eu Quero Voltar Sozinho (The Way He Looks) / 2014

 

Daniel Ribeiro’s 2014 Brazilian film, The Way He Looks, belongs to a growing tradition of teenage films in which gay teen males fall in love for the first time. Generally, these movies—although often touching and positive—portray the difficulties of coming out at that early age and the problems that result with peers and family.

       The Way He Looks is somewhat different simply because the hero of this tale, Leonardo (Ghilherme Lobo) not only, at first, does not know that he is gay, but has been blind from birth. He has never seen a man or woman, and obviously any attraction to someone arises not from what they look like, but from what they say and how they relate to him.

      Certainly, the young Leo has difficulties with his peers and family. Some of his classmates taunt him for being blind, complaining of the noise his braille writing machine makes, and sneaking around him in order to trip him up when he attempts to walk alone. His parents, on the other hand, are overprotective, insisting he call when he daily returns home, and delimiting his activities. As a kind of reaction against their attempts to insulate him from harm, he secretly plots, with his girlfriend Giovana (Tess Amorim), to join a student exchange program. His plans are dashed, however, when he discovers that he must first receive his parent’s permission.

       Despite these few difficulties, however, Ribeiro’s Leo seems to be, if a bit bored by his life, a terribly balanced kid, liked by many of his classmates and beloved by his parents. He cannot know, also, how beautiful he is.

      When a new boy, Gabriel (Fabio Audi), arrives, he readily sits in the empty seat behind Leonardo, which some of his classmates have previously refused. Girls in school are immediately attracted to Gabriel, whose looks Gia praises to her friend, and the most promiscuous girl in the school, Karina moves in for the kill.

       Strangely, however, although he remains affable to women, Gabriel is somewhat standoffish, and quickly develops a friendship with both Gia (who is hardly a beauty) and Leo. When students are assigned projects that require same-sex partners, Gabriel suggests that he and Leo team up.

        Although there are some big differences between them—Gabriel likes popular music, while Leo (in real life, the actor is also a ballet dancer) prefers classical—but they seem quite ready to share their experiences, Gabriel attempting to show Leo how to dance, and Leo attempting to share his Braille alphabet. Before long, Gabriel is helping his new friend experience things he never encountered before: taking him to a movie (where he whispers much of the imagery), taking him on a late-night outing to “see” a lunar eclipse (which he explains with the use of rocks), and taking Leo on bicycle rides. All of these activities, of course, involve touch, so the very tactile nature of their relationship affects them both.

      Before long, Leo begins to comprehend that he is falling in love. When Gabriel “accidentally” forgets his hoodie at Leo’s place, Leo holds the coat close to him, smelling it and masturbating simultaneously.

       Both boys are confused by their feelings, and their other friendships help to stoke that confusion. Gia is angered by Leo’s seeming abandonment of their friendship and is ultimately angered by Gabriel’s seeming attentions to Katrina.

     Obviously, Leo cannot, literally speaking, see what’s going on. He can only sense that Gabriel may be pulling away. When he attends a party, at Gabriel’s urging, Gabriel appears to leave him, forcing Leo to participate in a seemingly innocent kissing game. Both Gia and Leo have previously complained that they have not yet ever seriously kissed someone, and it appears that perhaps Leo will now have his first “real” kiss. One of his hecklers, however, picks up a dog posing it to meet Leo’s ready lips. Fortunately, Gia sees what is happening and forces her friend to leave. Gabriel joins him and offers to drive him home his bike. But rebelling against their good intentions, just as he has with his parents, Leo complains that they will not even allow him his first kiss.  Impulsively Gabriel quickly kisses him on the lips and speeds off.

       At a camping retreat a few days later, Gabriel tells Leo that he had been so drunk at the party that he can’t remember anything that happened, including, so it appears, the kissing incident. Again hurt, as it appears that Gabriel is once again courting Katrina, Leo meets up with Gia, openly telling her that he believes he is in love with Gabriel. Taken aback by the news, and again a bit hurt by her life-long friend’s commitment to someone else, she at first seems angered, but soon after, when Gabriel appears bored by Katrina’s attentions, encourages him to talk with Leo.

       Once again the two boys seriously communicate, Leo asking Gabriel outright if he has “hooked up” with Katrina. Gabriel admits that she has made the attempt, but that he has refused her because he likes someone else. When prodded who that someone else might be, Gabriel claims that he has already briefly kissed this person. When Leo perceives that he is the one, the two quickly engage in some serious kissing.

     A last scene, somewhat later, shows the three teens walking home, Leo and Gabriel arm in arm. When the same taunters tease the two for what looks like a “queer” relationship, Gabriel links his hands with Leo, proving that their relationship is a true one, strangely quieting their hecklers.

    Surely, Ribeiro’s world is a highly romantic one. One can imagine, even today, that if two such students had so publicly proclaimed their gay love, there may have been far more serious consequences. But that is, in many respects, just why The Way He Looks is such a joyful alternative. These young people are allowed to enjoy the romance which has developed so innocently and naturally, instead of being punished or undergoing deep angst. And even if we recognize this work as being somewhat of a fairytale, it is one we can all hope might soon exist in real life—and will change all of our lives. Or perhaps…things may already have, if this film is any reflection, changed.

 

Los Angeles, June 5, 2016

Reprinted from My Queer Cinema blot (2016).

Rory Dering | Pittsburgh / 2013

 

hand to hand combat

by Douglas Messerli

 

Rory Dering (screenwriter and director) Pittsburgh / 2013 [18 minutes]

 

At the beginning of Pittsburgh we encounter a scene that provides us a puzzling clue that only in retrospect can we comprehend. A handsome young man, Brett (Tommy Korn) arrives at apartment building, takes out his key and opens the door, a woman ladened with grocery bags calling out to him to hold the door. He seemingly refuses and the door slams shut before she gets there. She knocks, trying to bring him back to be kind of enough to open the door, but he moves on to the elevator and up to the apartment to which he has been headed.

     My first reaction was to perceive this as a character clue, indicating a man who was insensitive to the concerns of others. And when we enter the apartment, witness a kitchen full of dirty dishes and a bedroom full of clothes strewn about the floor, we might almost seem to get confirmation of his generally slovenly behavior, although strangely he looks well dressed and seems slightly disdainful of the mess around him.

      We soon have to alter our entire perspective as we observe another handsome young man lying in a nearby bed, a bong and other drug paraphernalia strewn about a night stand nearby. He awakens the sleeping beauty, who seems delighted to see our seemingly rude friend. A moment or two later, as the man in the bed, Alex (Brandon Crowder) and Brett begin communicating in sign language we realize that it is not that Brett didn’t care, but simply hadn’t heard the woman’s call and her pleading knocks on the door of the apartment house. Our perspectives shift, and we are encouraged to do throughout this short film, listening openly to both sides of the ensuing conversation without prejudice.

      For the rest of this film, with the exception of a verbal outburst at one point from Alex, in what is surely one of cinema’s firsts, the language spoken is exclusively American Sign Language, we as foreigners required to read the film’s subtitles.

       The story we encounter is an all-too-common one. Brett has returned to his lover Alex after what appears to be a rather lengthy time away, in an attempt to once more try to convince him to come out and openly accept him as his lover.

       Alex, a jock with the worst kind of delusions, obviously loves Brett and would wish with all his heart to openly be in a relationship with him like so many gay men throughout the country, but simply can’t or perhaps one should say, won’t. The worst kind of closeted man, he still desires and imagines a wife, kids, and a suburban house, despite the fact that he seems to be a drugged-out man-boy who has been unable to accept any of the responsibilities even of his own life.

      Pittsburgh consists of one of the best interchanges between the logic of an openly gay man attempting to explain to the other that his fears of how he be perceived and treated as a gay are mostly an illusion that he will be far more unhappy if he persists in his delusions—without even discussing the fact that he will probably hurt far many more innocent people, including some future wife and their children, if he persists in his heterosexual fantasy instilled evidently by an unbearable father and his own weak emotional makeup. At one point, Brett does suggest that if he were to have children, they would they might have the most “chilled out” father on the planet given all the drugs he daily ingests.

      It is simply a marvel to see this debate, played out in so many gay movies, represented in sign-language, the actors conveying their emotions brilliantly even while being voiceless. No yelling matches here, just hand gymnastics. Indeed, the only true testament to Alex’s love and possible commitment to Brett is the fact that he has bothered to learn sign language and uses it quite fluently, except in one comic instance.

     Otherwise, the only weak part of this engaging film is trying to comprehend why an athletic (he plays baseball with a gay team), talented, intelligent, financially sound, and loving man like Brett would want a dumb slob who can’t except the fact that he’s a homosexual.

     In the past, Brett has apparently given in to Alex’s demands to continue having sex with him while allowing him yet a little more time to come to terms with the reality of his life; but this time, even though he has purchased an engagement ring with the hopes that he might finally convince the man he loves to come to reason, he knows by film’s end, that he has no choice but leave his lover behind.

     It is not only fascinating to see this debate expressed through the movement of hands, facial gestures, and bodily gestures, but to realize that even with all that full expression, some individuals will never be able to escape their patriarchally controlled, heteronormative childhood pasts. In their selfish devotion to what they have been taught, time and again they end up destroying others and themselves.

      Pittsburgh has long been a favorite of the gay festival circuit and the gay-friendly on-line networks such as Vimeo, YouTube, and Dekkoo, and now that I’ve finally seen it, I can well understand why.

 

Los Angeles, May 24, 2023

Reprinted from My Queer Cinema blog (May 2023).