Monday, July 14, 2025

Wapah Ezeigwe | Country Love / 2022

returning to leave

by Douglas Messerli

 

Wapah Ezeigwe (screenwriter and director) Country Love / 2022 [45 minutes]

 

Nigerian Igbo filmmaker Wapah Ezeigwe has created something quite remarkable in his fairly simply-plotted Country Love.

     Fifteen years earlier, Kambili (Kelechi Michael) has left his country home, perceiving that as a gay boy he was not only hated by those around him but also could find room in his Mother’s heart. This is, after all, Nigeria were expressions of homosexuality, male and female, are punishable by imprisonment of up to 14 years, and where even admitting to your sexuality often results in public violence.


     After his long time away, Kambili’s sister Nneka (Uzoamaka Onuoha) writes him of his mother’s death and begs him to return, arguing that she is totally alone, filled with guilt, and wishes to demonstrate her love, although she had generally gone along with his Mother’s viewpoints during his childhood. Yet it is not his sister’s love alone that brings the handsome, now grown man back to his beautiful homestead; he has left behind his boyhood lover, Ifediora (Divine Ahiwe), for whom he has promised to return and help him escape as well.

       Kambili’s first perception upon returning by hired car with is suitcase and several bags tied to the car’s roof, is that nothing much has changed, signaled by his own sister’s reluctance even to run to him with an open-hearted greeting. He moves toward her, and their hugs are anything but enthusiastic.

      He soon learns that, in fact, little has changed. The boys who taunted and beat him when he was a boy still play soccer in a field as adults. Nneka suggests that he join them, with Kambili attempting to explain that he was never friends with his fellow school peers and that football is not his game.

     While the priest officiated the games, the boys let Kambili play, but the moment the priest left

they kicked him off the field and often beat him.

     She is also attending a wedding announcement the next day, and suggests he join her since he might meet a nice girl there. It’s clear she has still has no intentions of supporting his existence as a gay man. She has, however, returned his small room to its original condition, even with the same photos on the wall, in which he left it. And momentarily they find moments of laughter and joy together. But the tensions of his childhood are still strongly represented by his sister.



     When he rushes off to find Ifediora, he finds a rather bitter young man, angry with Kambili for not returning sooner, and arguing that things have “changed.”

      Kambili does join his sister the next day to celebrate the wedding announcement, but he makes himself up with eyeliner and powder, much to her consternation, beforehand, dressing in a controversial outfit for the country dwellers.

     There he again runs into Ifediora, who this time draws him into a back room—Nneka following with justified suspicion as she observes them briefly kiss—before the two run off to a secret place that Ifediora has found with a hillside view of the lush countryside around them.  


    They make love, and for a few minutes it appears that their relationship has abided during Kambili’s long absence. That is, until Ifediora reiterates that he is soon marrying a woman to please his mother and the society, particularly the church, surrounding. Unlike his dear childhood friend, Ifediora does not have the strength or the self-recognition to escape his childhood home, the lessons of a narrow-minded parish priest, or the homophobic attitudes of the country in general, and

Kambili has no choice but to leave his new-found lover to himself and his disastrous choices. We can guess what will happen from the dozens of films where gay men have married because they did not have the moral wherewithal to face their sexuality and the dictates of family and society. Perhaps he even has seen Kambili, if he were to stay, as a hidden sexual escape from some of his familial sexual duties.

 

     When Kambili returns to his childhood home, he discovers that Nneka has thrown most of his clothing into the front yard, burning some of his pants and shirts. Like Nneka before him, he spies on her in her room where she has broken down into sobbing, but backs off before she discovers his presence.

     The next morning, she announces that she has written the letter to him because she had hoped he had changed, admitting that like his mother, she too can never accept his existence as a gay man, the sorrow of which will result in her death.

     Soon after, with no other choices offered to him, Kambili calls the car service as we watch him bring out the suitcase and bags which he throws into the back seat before being driven off, Nneka, in the background, kneeling in sorrow for the differences between them and the loneliness she will once again now face for her own choices.

     Through all of this, Kambili does not argue, but holds his own in demanding his sister, lover, and the community accept him for who he is despite their homophobic attitudes. In a sense, they, who all recognize his as someone special, lose the one who might have made all their lives richer.

     To contextualize Nneka’s and Ifediora’s behavior it might be useful to know that not only is homosexuality outlawed, but in a 2007 Pew Global Attitudes poll 97% of Nigerians believed that homosexuality is a way of life that society should not accept—the second highest of all the nations they polled.

     Accordingly, we immediately recognize just how brave the director and actors were to create this work.

     The beautifully filmed short has the aroma of being semi-autobiographical, although Ezeigwe understandably, given the prevailing laws and attitudes, denies it is autobiographical. In an interview with Sheba Anyanwu in Cinelogue “they” (Eziegwe’s preferred pronoun) respond:

 

“While Country Love isn’t autobiographical, it’s deeply personal. As a queer individual, I wanted to address the broader queer experience. Growing up in a conservative society, I faced challenges and prejudice, which inspired me to create a film that reflects universal queer experiences while highlighting often-overlooked stories.”

 

     Indeed, the director, now based in the Nigerian city of Lagos, the largest in Africa, generally couches his films in an international context: “I’m passionate about creating films that transcend borders and speak to the human experience. I believe every story should resonate globally. Country Love is a testament to this philosophy, and I’m delighted that it connects with audiences both in Nigeria and internationally.”

    And elsewhere in that same interview they argue “Country Love reflects Nigerian realities but aims to engage with a global audience. Homophobia and prejudice are universal issues. Films should challenge these norms and foster dialogue beyond geographical and cultural boundaries.”

     If these seem to be generalized comments that speak around the issue of Nigerian homophobia, however, in a 2022 interview with Uzoma Ihejirika in Open Country Magazine, Eziegwe is much more forthcoming about the difficulties of making such a movie in their country:

 

“ ‘I wasn’t willing to compromise any of my artistic vision,’ Ezeigwe said. ‘When I was looking for a shooting location, I remember going from one lecturer’s quarters to another and getting a full-blown no. I felt miserable. The fact was, I was making a queer film’ and I had to be very picky about the places I choose to tell the story.’

     But it wasn’t just about their aesthetic vision. ‘I didn’t want to expose my actors to any sort of homophobic attack or maybe some altercation. I had to lie to a lot of people a lot of times and I don’t even feel sorry for lying to them. There were no two ways about it: the story is ‘abominable’ to society, but the story must be told because it is worthy to be told and the only way to get it done was to be intentional with what I say and to be very unapologetic about saying them!’”

 

    Later in the same interview, the director makes it even clearer what is vision is about homosexuality in general:

 

“But Ezeigwe is very interested in ‘the right representation of queer desire in cinema,’ they added. ‘There should be a conscious effort in portraying queer desire from a place of authenticity and genuine love. We should first talk about what love truly feels between humans, and not gender, then we should address that imagination that people have about two men in a relationship.’

    As a femme queer person who is non-binary, nothing makes them laugh more than ‘that silly notion of ‘masculinity’ and toughness and roughness as the valid portrayal or image of what queer desire looks like or should look like.’

    They continued. ‘I find that very offensive, because it cancels queer diversity, and then when people, especially heterosexuals, think of two homosexual men in a relationship, it is imagined to be some sexual battle, when in trueness two men can be tender and mild and pampering towards each other because that is exactly what love feels like—two men in a sexual exploration can be romance, can be erotic, intense, and subtle because homosexuality is never about ‘masculine’ presentation or masculinity. I am keen about dismissing that idea that separates queer bodies from love and tenderness.’

  

     It is that tenderness in Country Love’s central character that is most noticeable about his ability to remain true to himself. Despite the hate surrounding him, the terror of his memories about the place, Kambili remains open to engage. Yet when told that no one in his childhood community is willing to offer the same openness, he simply leaves once again, allowing them to suffer in their hollow and hateful lives. Kambili is no missionary; he is only a man true to himself.

    Finally, it an interview with Adelard in Gay Christian Africa, Ezeigwe was asked to speak directly to their bravery of creating such a film:



“Q: You are making a queer film in one of the countries with the most hostile laws against ‘homosexuality’ in the world. Aren’t you afraid of being harassed or your movie being banned?

A: I am a very passionate filmmaker, and it is the passion to tell stories that gives me the courage

to tell them. Film for me is that powerful medium to be seen and to speak boldly and distinctively to the world, to tell stories about my humanity and any humanity. And when I say humanity, I gravitate more to those on the edge of existence. I believe we live in a very diverse world and our experiences as humans are very eclectic. It saddens me when we overlook the story of certain people probably due to religious or cultural sentiments, but then the truth is that all stories matter, and to build a more inclusive world, there must be representation. When it comes to my art, I cannot be impeded by fear or homophobic criticism, I am rather driven by the politic of inclusion. The cinema can never be monopolized despite governmental propaganda to criminalize homosexuality, the cinema would always be a universal language and a safe space where all human experience can be reflected. The homophobia only spurs me to make art that stimulates conversation. I am not worried about anything. If at this point the film already exists why then should I still be worried. The film would not go down well with every individual and that is absolutely fine. The film would likely get banned and I wouldn’t be surprised as well. But it is less about it getting banned and more about the ignorance and cowardice of the people who ban films that are not in harmony with their own personal sentiments and morality. The film is already made, it exists as a cinema even if it is not accepted here. It is a shame to the National body responsible for film in Nigeria to not recognize at this epoch that art cannot be monopolized, that art is a collection of diverse human experience that are valid, and it is absolutely philistine of them to overlook our eclectic humanity and to regulate the stories people should tell and should not tell.”

 

     Before we tsk-tsk the Nigerian situation when it comes to queer behavior, we should recall that from 1934-the early 1960s, the Motion Picture Code did not allow any gay content in US films, and during that same period and after, in many states gay men and lesbians were often arrested for simply gathering in a restaurant or bar. Given the US history of bans on just such gay cinematic stories, perhaps we can learn equally from someone like Wapah Ezeigwe.

 

Los Angeles, July 14, 2025

Reprinted from My Queer Cinema (July 2025).

 

Szu-Wei Chen | 小傑 (Jay) / 2019

the difference

by Douglas Messerli

 

Szu-Wei Chen (screenwriter and director) 小傑 (Jay) / 2019 [14 minutes]

 

Jay, a 13-year-old, is in awe of his elder, athletically-inclined, handsome brother. It’s not the first time in cinema history that the younger brother quickly turns that fascination in a short of sexual obsession.


     It begins for Jay (Nick Wang) by simply watching his brother (Aric Chen) play basketball, but soon includes being fascinated by his bedroom workouts, the smell of his body, and that leftover taste of his sweat upon his underwear and bedsheets. Jay even asks to play basketball with the brother just to feel his hands upon him as his sibling positions him into better moves and challenges him on the court. But when other boys join in the game, it quickly becomes apparent that Jay is unwanted, and he bows out.

     But even then, his brother, later checking a spot on his arm where he has fallen on the court, provides pleasures unknown to the young teenager. But when his brother brings home a girl (Rae Liu) and begins to make love to her, the intrusion—particularly the sound of their love making—is too much to bear, and he goes to the front door to ring the bell as if that might bring about a cessation to what can only remind him, once again, that he is not the true focus of his heterosexual brother’s life. The bell doesn’t stop them in the midst of their coitus. The fantasy is over for Jay.

     He is left only with a further removed fantasy as he picks up his brother’s undershorts, puts them to his nose, and jacks off—an act even a 13-year-old recognizes as perverse.


      As they dine on carry-in food, even the brother knows that he has created a new distance between them, as Jay sits at the table, hunched over his dinner, without truly eating. The brother goes over the bedroom and asks the girl to join them as he zips his open shirt closed, sensing perhaps that Jay’s sullenness has something to do with his own nakedness.

     In the very last scene, we see Jay again watching his brother and others playing basketball, apart and separated by them now even more by his inner feelings. A girl his age (Yi-Shan Wang), just as she has in the first scene, comes to sit next to him. But whereas in the first scene he quite obviously ignores her, here he acknowledges her presence, turns to her and, after considering it for a moment, leans forward and gives her a quick kiss.

      For a moment we might almost fear that Taiwan-born director Chen might be selling out to normative expectations, Jay turning to heterosexuality in recognition of the absurdness of his brotherly love. But immediately after, Chen shows Jay washing his face, even his mouth, from all traces of the girl’s momentary encounter with his own lips. He looks up into the water-spotted mirror, peering at a face that he recognizes will be defined by its sexual difference.


     This carefully directed and subtle film was the director’s first work; since then, Chen has made two further films not focused on LGBTQ subject matter.

 

Los Angeles, June 2, 2023

Reprinted from World Cinema Review (June 2023).


Mikael Bundsen | Involuntary Activist / 2019 [TV video]

a name is never just a name

by Douglas Messerli

 

Mikael Bundsen (teleplay writer and director) Involuntary Activist / 2019  [20 minutes] [TV video]

 

The short Swedish TV video by Mikael Bundsen, released in English, is a revelation of how LGBTQ individuals continue to be asked to deny even the small and larger achievements the gay international community has made over the past several years.

     Openly gay teacher, Aled (Rick Yale) who lives with his husband and their daughter, is suddenly told by the principal of the school in which he teaches that “Gay Pride Day” will this year be called “Friend’s Day.” It appears that several parents called and emailed angry messages when, the previous year, it was named “Gay Pride Day.” A name is just a name, argues Fiona (Suzanne Packer). But, of course, it isn’t just a name or even a small name change, but a vast capitulation to those who would do away with any way in which queer people, and in their case gay and lesbian students might openly celebrate their own existence. Aled is outraged; his principal insisting that she will not change the name back.



     As if that weren’t enough, Aled’s sister Jody (Eiry Hughes) arrives back in Sweden from her new home in Turkey. Her visit concerns her upcoming wedding with a Turkish citizen Hakan, and at the dinner table, after discussing the matter over with Aled’s husband Jonathan (John Patridge) she announces to her brother that Jonathan will not be able to attend the wedding. Her argument is that his presence as the gay lover of her brother might cost her job or even effect Hakan. After all, Turkey is not as open about homosexuality as Sweden. In short, she is asking Aled to return to the closet for her wedding, to celebrate the event as someone else.

     The double whammy of two such conciliatory demands about the possible offense his private sexuality might cause others, is just too much for Aled to bear. What no one but he seems to realize is that his reaction is not a political statement as much as it is a personal cry for people to stop accommodating those who are remain homophobic. Accommodation stands in the way of further acceptance and open-mindedness. What the film itself suggests, but doesn’t fully express, is that every time an LGBTQ person is asked just for the day to “pretend” that he is someone else, to not express his sexuality openly, to not dance or kiss in public for fear of offending someone, is a step back for the entire community into the dark days of sexual bigotry and self-hatred.


      Aled decides he simply will not attend his sister’s wedding. But when Jonathan begs him to go, reminding him that his own family will not even talk to him and, at least, Aled’s family are loving and caring, and, perhaps more importantly, will serve as family also for their daughter, Aled gives in and uncomfortably attends the Turkish celebration without his partner.

        Back home, however, even his students rebel when he attempts to quell their frustrations for having had their “Pride Day” changed to being a celebration of “friends.” Unfortunately, we don’t know how Aled worked to change the principal’s mind and get the name changed back, an incident even she publicly applauds him for in front the of the student body. But clearly, in this instance Aled stood his ground, while having to swallow that same pride for his own family.

        I remember many such events from my own life, moments my parents, were they alive today, would surely not even recall or comprehend how much they hurt at the time. One such incident occurred was when I returned to their home of one my several visits without my own husband, at that time a companion of over 20 or 25 years. My parents had decided to have a group family portrait taken, which included both my siblings, and both my brother’s wife and my sister’s husband and their several children. Only Howard was missing. He had long ago ceased accompanying me on such trips, feeling unwelcome in their home. But even worse was the moment my father took me aside, whispering, “You don’t need to tell the photographer that you have a partner.”

      I hadn’t even thought of speaking to the photographer, let alone discussing my personal life with the man. But after my father’s comments I felt I had only two choices, leave their house at that very moment, which I probably should have done, or shout out the moment the camera’s shutter snapped, “It’s too bad Howard is missing in this picture!” I am sure my entire family felt that I was being stubbornly political by expressing that fact, was sharing with an outsider something they would rather I had not. But my comment was not intentionally political but a personal cry for the silence be broken forever.


      Bundsen’s film is one that surely resonates for the LGBTQ community while leaving heterosexuals even more confused about the gay friends’ and relatives’ sensitivity about the issues it raises. The trouble is that a name is never just a name, but a signifier that stands for or against all the other names LGBTQ individuals had to suffer through their youths, the Trump-like wall of abuse which Aled students kick apart in their Pride Day celebration. 

 

Los Angeles, April 16, 2023

Reprinted from World Cinema Review (April 2023).

  

Dave Sarrafian | QueerBoy Begins / 2019

queerboy of philadelphia

by Douglas Messerli

 

Dave Sarrafian (screenwriter and director) QueerBoy Begins / 2019 [21 minutes]

 

In slightly over one minute into the short film QueerBoy Begins, we witness the first murder of a gay man, part of a series of gay killings that stands at the center of the flick, which from its title hints of its aspirations of becoming a series of “Queerboy” adventures.


                               


     Meanwhile Joss Grey (Gil Johnson) is studying investigatory procedures at the university, working on a paper with fellow classmate Darien (Carter Scott Horton). During Joss’ usual morning coffee meeting with his best friend and roommate Rhiannon Sheshala (Falon Joslyn), who is a reporter for the local Philadelphia gay newspaper, she tells him of the newest gay murder and expresses her worry about the increasing amount of time he seems to be spending with his classmate Darien. Joss explains it’s just a classroom report that was assigned to them and that he has no sexual interest in his peer.


     Working together on a mercy killing case, Darien and Joss argue intensely, Darien finding it justifiable homicide and Joss arguing the opposite. Their discussion ceases, however, when Darien asks if he might leave off their discussion since his boyfriend got off work early and they want to spend the night together. The two students plan to meet for coffee in the morning.

      Meanwhile a woman walking her dog discovers another body in a parking lot. Rhiannon gets a call, discovering that this time the body was found surrounded by syringes of Botox. And like the first murder, the man who was killed had just been on Grindem (read Grindr). She asks if Joss might download the app for her to see what he might discover, but he declares he’s got an appointment with Darien and is far too busy.

      Later, on the phone with Rhiannon, he suggests that he’ll call a friend to see if he might hack into the account, but he still refuses to download the Grindem app. As he closes the up his phone he finds Darien waiting on a bench, and Joss explains the murder case, which Darien vaguely reports he’s read about, although how he might have already read about the newest murder is a bit inexplicable and perhaps provides our first clue.


      Darien claims you can’t trust those apps since you don’t know who you’re talking to. His lover Coleman and he just made eye contact across a room at a lecture and became a couple soon after.

When Darien asks him if Joss is seeing anyone, he explains that his “ex” died a few months ago and admits that he’s taking a hiatus from dating, which perhaps also hints about the reasons he has so adamantly refused to go on Grindem. Besides, he admits, he prefers to “make an ass” of himself in person.

      Darien admits that he still hasn’t finished his half of the paper, but his boyfriend will be working at night and he has the house all to himself and promises to finish the project.



       Meanwhile, we observe Rhiannon talking on the phone while pretending to be various characters in an attempt to get information from the Grindem service about the murderer’s code, all without success. Later, getting drunk at a local bar, Rhiannon spills out her frustrations to the bartender Brian. Despite her intelligence, she simply can’t make out the connections between the two murders. As she goes upstairs to the bathroom, she meets a young man in a hoodie coming down who doesn’t even apologize for bumping into her. It is a major clue, since the stranger appears to be the same one we observed killing the first victim, Eddie Gural.

      In the bathroom she discovers yet another body. She calls Joss, who meets up with her on streets, she having been fully horrified by the blood. She does know that the victim also used Grindr, having picked up his cellphone, and she believes she saw the murderer.

     They now discover that the man with whom the victim was speaking was Coleman Heuisler, and the previous victim was also contacting Coleman Heuisler—although one can only wonder if the police had that information why didn’t they check it out, or why didn’t Rhiannon find the address and send someone there? What’s more Joss almost casually mentions that Coleman Heuisler is the name of his classmate Darrien’s boyfriend.

      I think we’re beginning to perceive why this short film, of which director Dave Sarrafian might thought of as a pilot, didn’t attract the attention of TV producers.


      In any event, of course, we now know that Joss has to check it out. His goal seems only to explain the situation to Darrien. What he finds is Coleman tied up in the basement, while Darrien knocks him out from behind.

      Joss wakes up also tied up to a rope tied to the basement plumbing. Darrien introduces him to his boyfriend, explaining how he found out his med-student lover was on Grindem. Coleman argues that simply forgot to deactivate his account. But Darrien tells a different story, having himself now joined Grindem, and beginning a conversation with Coleman, who asks for a meet-up. They meet up and Darrien ties him up to “teach him a lesson,” he explains. At the same time the account “explodes” with messages from Coleman’s former tricks reporting their affairs with him (another reason why this “pilot” was probably dismissed out of hand.) We now know the motive of the killings, But Darrien goes on to describe how he murdered the first man, etc. Evidently we need more time for Joss to unravel the knot holding him in place.


      Joss finally escapes and frees Coleman as the two rush off, one stagey slug apparently enough to do-in the villain of the piece.

      Over a drink we now find out that Joss has become Philly’s new crime fighter, like Gotham’s Batman. They toast to fighting crime!

 

Los Angeles, September 3, 2023

Reprinted from World Cinema Review (September 2023).

 




Stéphane Riethauser | Madame / 2019

letter to a beloved grandma

by Douglas Messerli

 

Stéphane Riethauser (screenwriter and director) Madame / 2019

 

Swiss filmmaker and gay activist Stéphane Riethauser’s Madame is a documentary-like amble through his family history focusing on his beloved grandmother, the wealthy Caroline Della Beffa who made a fortune first on her high-quality girdles, and later, through several other enterprises including a restaurant. Her larger-than-life personality, independence, and her insistence, despite two marriages, to live a life without a husband to tie her down, clearly was a major influence on her grandson. And a great deal of the film is a kind of love letter to her, devoted to explaining what he could not fully do in her lifetime, how the gifted and attractive young Stéphane gradually grew into a gay man—despite his early conservative and homophobic convictions—and eventually became one of the most noted and outspoken of gay activists, of particular important to the Swiss movement because of his training as a lawyer.


      The rest of the film is a glacially slow journey through his childhood memories and photographs as he learns that he enjoys occasionally appearing in drag and that he’s attracted to his schoolboy friends, but still can’t quite connect these “aberrations” with his own inner being. What his film reveals is how conservative Swiss society continued to be even into the late 20th century and perhaps remains today, particularly when it involves issues of family status and wealth. Although his grandmother had lived the life of true feminist, she herself did not fully connect her behavior with current events, and certainly suffered over her grandson’s early attempts communicate his shifts in thinking and behavior. Gradually, like his parents, she became a staunch supporter of his views, while still disapproving of the mores, morals, and behavior patterns of the current day, many of which she disapproved, including her grandson’s punk-like spiked hairdo. “Quasimodo,” she frowns, attempting to recut his hair (she began her career as a hairdresser).


       For Stéphane, who as a young student published attacks on celebrity lesbians such as Martina Navratilova in the local newspapers, he chalks up his own “unnormal” sexual feelings to bad-boy behavior. In fact, Reithauser creates a kind of surrogate self who might explain his outré behavior, a kind of tough who wrestles and snuggles with his friends as a ruse for his sexual desires. At one point, earlier in his life, he becomes friend with a drug-using outsider her introduces him to a pedophile who jumps upon him in a bedroom locked from the outside by his supposed friend.

      A bit like the Friedmans of the 2003 documentary film by Andrew Jarecki, Capturing the Friedmans, the Riethauser family were constantly filming and snapping photos of their activities, particularly as the tribe regularly gathered at the grandmother’s villa by the edge of Lake Geneva.

   And there were moments when I grew impatient with the painfully slow pace of his “coming out,” particularly since it happened a generation after my own slow process of self-acceptance in an age that surely was not as doe-eyed and dumb about the fact that there were active and healthy homosexuals all over the world.


       Having already seen and reviewed Riethauser’s wonderful short film about two young men who, in one afternoon, come together for a surprising sexual encounter as they break into the old, derelict Nazi holiday camp transformed later into Communist military complex, Prora (the name of his 2012 short film), I couldn’t wait to be introduced the man this confused boy would soon become.

      But then, I could see the parallels between his world and mine, brought home, in particular, because of my own Swiss heritage (both my mother’s and father’s great-grandfathers had immigrated to the US from Switzerland together to farm on nearby fields) and the fact that my own matriarchal grandmother had been the dominant force as well on my life, she similarly a feminist without perceiving herself in that role. Moreover, I also had numerous matriarchal great-great aunts who controlled their families’ lives and were strong figures who evidenced pre-feminist positions. Like the young Stéphane, I debated in the high school as a conservative. Although I never took on a persona to act out by outsider feelings, I most certainly was an outsider, totally escaping from any deep friendships until I started college, where things were simply “different” as I always believed they would be, and I could come out of the psychological shell into I had retreated.


     Unlike Stéphane Riethauser, however, I was not sent to the very best private schools, nor was I expected to fulfill a familial position in society—although like him was I expected to meet a beautiful young woman, get married, and procreate. And since my father was an educator, so too did I become one, as did my brother, and my sister more indirectly (she was employed in an executive position by the Iowa Department of Education).

      So, I understood his long dalliance with home movies, perhaps in the process himself attempting to comprehend how he had come to be so very different from what these short films outwardly attempted to portray: the perfect Swiss heterosexual family, models for their country’s exacting expectations. And, although I still feel that more objective viewers of this film will find it far too focused on his endless visits to his charmingly crusty grandma, we are rewarded with the filmmaker and gay spokesman who the boy eventually became.

      I loved his Prora, and look forward to watching his other documentaries; I hope he will continue to make further gay-oriented films.

 

Los Angeles, May 4, 2023

Reprinted from World Cinema Review (May 2023).

My Queer Cinema Index [with former World Cinema Review titles]

https://myqueercinema.blogspot.com/2023/12/former-index-to-world-cinema-review.html Films discussed (listed alphabetically by director) [For...