Wednesday, September 24, 2025

Douglas Messerli | Two Films by Gregg Araki [Introductory note]

two films by gregg araki

by Douglas Messerli

 

Although Japanese-American California-born Gregg Araki had already made two movies before 1992—directing Three Bewildered People in the Night in 1987 and The Long Weekend (O’Despair) in 1989—that early 1990s work suddenly brought to light a talent so raw and apparent in The Living End that he quickly became, along with Tom Kalin, the poster boy for what has come to be described as the “New Queer Cinema.” Along with his third film, Totally Fucked Up (the first in his so-called “Teenage Apocalypse” trilogy, released the following year), Araki quickly came to be perceived as one of the major new film makers, who just happened also to be gay (although he later had a two-relationship with actress Kathleen Robinson, suggesting he was probably more clearly bisexual).



    Since those halcyon days, Araki has gone on to direct eight more films and work on several TV series, many of them receiving significant acclaim: his 10th film Kaboom being awarded the first Queer Palm award at the Cannes Film Festival

    Perhaps this proliferation of sudden edgy and musically “shoegaze”-influenced films detailing teenage alienation, confused sexuality, and societal aggression accounts for his recent silence in feature film-making after 2014. The exhaustion of its creator was perhaps inevitable. But we can only hope it is a pause instead of what appears as a transition into directing random episodes of TV series.

    Below I have gathered my reviews of those first two “hot” films of the early 1990s which brought the world’s attention upon this then 33-year-old wunderkind director. Reviews of his other works appear throughout My Queer Cinema volumes.

 

Los Angeles, September 24, 2025

Reprinted from My Queer Cinema blog (September 2025).

Tom Kalin | Swoon / 1992

telling a story you don’t want to tell

by Douglas Messerli

 

Tom Kalin and Hilton Als (screenplay), Tom Kalin (director) Swoon / 1992

 

What does a director do when he has committed to film a work about the notorious scandal of the 1920s, when two rich young gay Chicago men, Nathan Freudenthal Leopold Jr. and Richard Albert Loeb, picked out a little-known cousin of Loeb’s, a boy of age 14 to murder, simply in order to experience the thrill of killing someone and getting away with it as they had their other crimes of breaking and entering and committing arson upon a storefront business?


     No one with any shred of conscience might want to turn these two narcissistic admirers of Friedrich Nietzsche's concept of supermen (Übermenschen) who they perceived themselves to be—and to prove it kidnapped and bludgeoned the boy to death in the back seat of a car with a chisel before depositing the body in a lake and pouring hydrochloric acid upon it in the hopes its facial and other features might be burned away—as heroes or even unknowing dupes of a viscous society.

      In Rope Alfred Hitchcock isolated the two men and their heinous acts by locking them away for the entire duration of his film in the claustrophobic confines of their apartment, separating the men and their horrible contagion from infecting the rest of us. The victim, in this version, is an adult who is made to appear socially and romantically unfit to marry his fiancée, Janet Walker (Joan Chandler). To express Leopold and Loeb’s perversity, Hitchcock does not focus on their homosexuality—although he certainly doesn’t hide it, continually referring to their shared bed—but whips up instead a black farce of a funeral, to which family members, the fiancée, and their University of Chicago professor are invited without them knowing they are not only sitting near but actually dining upon their loved one’s buried (stuffed into a large chest) corpse. By the time Hitchcock’s camera is finished dollying in and out of these rooms during the real time event, the audience is so dizzied that they stumble out of the theater as if they have just been set free from the prison to which the two murderers would be confined for most of the rest of their lives. Even the stuttering James Stewart, as the professor who, in philosophical speculation, jested about guilt and innocence, doesn’t quite get off free from having partaken in their insane “joke,” Hitchcock’s quiet suggestion that perhaps society itself was unknowingly party to their horrible acts.

      Richard Fleischer, basing his film on the Meyer Levin work Compulsion, focuses his version of the crime on the psychological instability of the two murderers, on their relationship to parents and siblings, and their distorted views of the world outside of their intellectually aloof and financially privileged visions of others. Except for an occasional conspiratorial whisper among the two men and the intensity of their conversations with one another, the ordinary normative-minded viewer might never even suspect that these two ever spent any time in bed. Most of the film, in fact, turns the crime into a whodunit, in which the police, Perry Mason-style, outwit the criminals. Only at the end of the film, when Orson Welles as Clarence Darrow spouts a 15-minute summary in which he argues that they are guilty by insanity and sociopathic immaturity (another way of suggesting in the first half of this century that the two might have been sexually involved) do we get any clue of their convoluted love. Fleischer keeps the actual crime and their bedroom sex out of eyesight as surely as the real judge in the 1924 banned women from attending the court when Leopold’s psychologist testified about their sexual intimacies. Fleischer faces the unpleasant task of telling us of Leopold and Loeb’s unspeakable actions by heavily censoring them. If Darrow saves them from the gallows it is basically because they were highly intelligent, sick boys who, as A. E. Housman characterized the world after World War I, which had no future:O never fear, lads, naught's to dread, / Look not left nor right / In all the endless road you tread / There's nothing but the night.” In other words, Levin and Fleischer tell the story by mostly not telling it at all.



     You have to credit Tom Kalin’s 1992 reading of the Leopold-Loeb affair for giving it “the full monty” if nothing else. Beginning with Richard Loeb (Daniel Schlachet) along with transvestite and transexual figures such as Noshom Wooden, Trash, and Trasharama reading from Sacher-Masoch's paean to S&M, Venus in Furs that reminds us of the 1980s ads for Calvin Klein’s perfume and cologne “Obssession” (spoofed, appropriately, on Saturday Night Live as “Compulsion”), Kalin and his collaborating writer Hilton Als lay the whole affair right on the laps of contemporary culture.

     Unlike Fleischer or even Hitchcock, Kalin focuses his attention almost immediately on Leopold and Leob’s sexuality, not only showing them kissing, fucking (an act which the court psychologist later describes as Loeb giving permission for Leopold to lay his penis between his legs), and exchanging rings. This good-looking couple are not only fully out of the closet gay boys, who consort openly with transsexuals, but are born of wealthy families who are Jewish—all three representing various kinds of criminal behavior in a society tumbling toward the great Depression.


     They are also detestably smug, aloof intellectuals who not only see themselves as untouchable for the crimes they plan and later commit, but, being deeply into S&M, are fascinated by the mechanics of punishment and torture as played out not only upon others but often upon themselves. In Kalin’s no-holds barred presentation of them, he immediately shows us why no one ever might want to devote the time he will in this movie to represent their deplorable history and acts.

     Instead of hiding those acts, as Fleischer does, however, this director presents them in all too gritty detail, showing how the two lured Bobby into their rented car, and how Loeb took great pleasure in beating the 14-year-old with the chisel he brought along just for that act. Blood squirts out of the gagged boys head, dripping over the murderer’s hands as Leopold (Craig Chester) drives ahead in semi-horror, yet all too ready to help drop the boy with his lover into the pond and pour out the entire bottle of acid over him.

     By this time Kalin has made it quite clear that as weak and subservient to Loeb as Leopold  was, that he—so similar to the relationship between Perry Smith and “Dick” Hickok in Richard Brooks’ In Cold Blood which made it clear that Smith had committed the murders just because of his hidden homosexual attraction to Hickok—would do almost anything that Loeb demanded of him, even if without his lover’s insistence he would never have.


     Kalin and Als, in short, do not spare either man because of their love for one another, their cultural isolation, or their own self-hatred for their Jewish births. These were monsters, not unlike Bonnie and Clyde, and others of the day who committed unforgivable acts sometimes just for the evil thrill of it.

     Yet this film takes us, during its second half, to a different level by making us aware that if Leopold and Loeb were monsters, so too might that word be applied to much of the populace in which they lived continuing in various guises still today. The followers of the mid-1920s trial were not only shocked by the fact that these two men randomly murdered a young boy, but because of their social status, ethnicity and, particularly, their sexuality.

      As I mentioned above, women were banned from the court hearings as if they were too fragile to hear the psychologist’s bowdlerized recounting of the murderer’s sexual acts. As Kalin surrealistically shows us by bringing the bed with the two laying naked upon it directly into the courtroom, it was as if their being queer was equal—and surely more interesting for the mobs of the day—to murder. Indeed, murder was readily invoked by numerous members of the normative society as the way to solve the problem of having such people in the world at large. Not only should they be tarred and feathered, many argued, but shot or hung. Like today, gun-toting vigilantes were at the ready to make sure justice was served through their deaths. Accordingly, for the man-in-the-street, murder was not even Leopold and Loeb’s major crime as much as was their sexuality, their intellectual superiority, and their race.

     After his arrest, Leopold, insisting that he knew what he doing and was ready to face the consequences, even played to the camera as a snobbish, slightly peeved homosexual in the manner of the later film villain Addison DeWitt in All About Eve.

     Apparently, Loeb died in prison by having his neck slit by another prisoner with whom, ironically, he refused to have sexual intercourse. In uncontrollable mourning Leopold was brutally bound in a straitjacket for several months.

     Even worse, if far more banal, when Leopold was finally freed from prison after becoming a model prisoner, he moved to Puerto Rico, married a woman, attempted to join a born-again Christian group, and despite his parole restrictions, regularly drank and carried firearms, leading apparently the totally normal life he had previously scorned. At least he left his eyes to the University of Puerto Rico, but I wouldn’t want to be the blind person who inherited those eyes that had witnessed what was still called “the crime of the century,” which included not just the murder of a young innocent, but the stupor-like swoon into which much of the society fell.

 

Los Angeles, October 12, 2020

Reprinted from World Cinema Review and My Queer Cinema blog (October 2020).   

Rosa von Praunheim | Ich bin meine eigene Frau (I Am My Own Woman) / 1992

surviving murderous times

by Douglas Messerli

 

Valentin Passoni (screenplay), Rosa von Praunheim (director) Ich bin meine eigene Frau (I Am My Own Woman) / 1992

 

The important LGBTQ director Rosa von Praunheim’s 1992 film I Am My Own Woman is a study in remarkable transsexual transgression and almost unimaginable acceptance by some in a society that was so restrictive that one might have presumed that anyone like the central character of this film would never have survived.


      Growing up in Nazi Germany, the young boy Lothar Berfelde, who even as a child began to collect objects, was first hired by second-hand dealer Max Bier in 1942 as they began to collect objects from the Jews left behind as they were being sent away to the camps. But even then, as objects flew out of windows when the Nazis raided Jewish homes, Lothar felt a sense of outrage for people being treated in such a manner, Max demanding that he remain quiet for fear they too might be sent off.

      Meanwhile, the violence in his own home, his father nightly threatening his mother, resulted in a sense of fear as great as that he felt on the streets. When he attempted to intervene in his mother’s beatings, he himself was threatened by his swinish father, who seemed to represent the era’s general behavior, very similar to that of Franz Biberkopf’s Weimer Republic actions in Werner Rainer Fassbinder’s Berlin Alexanderplatz, a period in which he killed his own wife.


      But suddenly, in a brilliant maneuver, director von Praunheim interrupts the actions of his central figure Jens Taschner, playing Lothar, with the real figure, the elderly Charlotte von Mahlsdorf, entering the room to tell Taschner that he played the action perfectly, “just as it really happened.” And we realize that we are not experiencing a fictionalized portrait of the film’s central figure, but a real documentary that is focused on the actual character and that it will never go far off course from the truth of the factual narrative, something quite reassuring given the numerous bio-pics that have come before it. I Am My Own Woman, we realize, will not be a sensationalist recreation of Charlotte von Mahlsdorf’s life, but a testament to the figure herself.

       Lothar, we soon are told is a transsexual, a man who prefers dressing as a woman, but still identifies as a male, not a transgender being. And that difference is important throughout as he/she negotiates the world as a gay man who dresses as a woman in Nazi and later German society which has no place for either of those identities. I shall describe Lothar/Charlotte hereafter as “he,” despite the fact that speaking as Lothar he insists that he describes himself  as a feminine being in a masculine body; yet, he observes, that he is still cis gender, comfortable with his male sexual organs. His compulsion is to dress as a woman, not necessarily to sexually become one, or as the title expresses it, “I am my own woman,” a special being who defines himself as a woman with male sexual desires.

      Only his father was a National Socialist, he answers the boy’s question about his family members relationship to the Nazi Party. “He was very militant, moody, and brutal; you can almost say he was a madman.” On the other hand, he declares, his granduncle was a gracious being who warned him of the animalistic nature of the “brown-shirted criminals.” The grandfather died in July 1942, in the midst of the action we have just witnessed. Now, Charlotte explains, they were under his father’s mercy.


      During school break he was sent away to her Aunt Luise’s estate in East Prussia. We witness actor Taschner fitting himself into a corset as the young Lothar, putting on one of his aunt’s dresses. In the background, Luise enters, asking the boy if he enjoys dressing in that manner. When he answers yes, she helps him put on his necklace. This is clearly a world that accepts what the society in general rejects.

        Luise claims she has been watching him and realizes that nature has played a joke on them: “You should have been a woman, and I a man.” She permits the boy to wear her dresses in the house, but outside warns her to be careful.

        She also hands her a copy of a book from Weimar era by the famed Magnus Hirschfeld, The Transvestites, giving the young Lothar an advantage that hardly any other young German child of the day was permitted.

        Seeing the young Lothar dressed as a female climbing the stairs of the bar to the hayloft, the farm’s young worker, Christian, follows the boy up, the two engaging in sex. When Luise enters demanding her horse be saddled, she discovers the two together, apologizing to them for interrupting the idyll, and telling them to take all the time that they want.

 


     Luise, the absolutely perfect match to her young nephew, herself survived as a lesbian in “murderous times” as well as living openly as a female transvestite, wearing only male clothing. Her lover, Charlotte Schroppsdorf, was murdered in “the so-called ‘euthanasia program’ of the Nazis.

        But the truly liberating vacation Lothar has in his aunt’s estate ends after the holidays, when he is forced to return to wartime Berlin. While she is in the attic playing with his dolls, his father suddenly enters in Nazi uniform insisting that he will now make a man of his son.

        Charlotte now talks about the only two great forces of good in her life: her mother and her granduncle.” “And then there was absolute evil, that was my father who punished and beat me until blood flowed from my nose and mouth.”


       The actor who performs her father asks whether there was ever a moment when he was kind to him? Charlotte’s answer is a candid “Unfortunately, no point of contact.” He also tells us that after 6 months of marriage to her father, Lothar’s mother demanded a divorce, in response to which “he drew his pistol and aimed at her.” In fact, he shot at her, but the mother’s father intervened, the bullet lodging in the ceiling, the grandfather saving Charlotte’s mother’s life.

        Back into the narrative of this work, Charlotte narrates that her mother used the excuse of the 1943 evacuations from Berlin to take him back to his aunt Luise’s home in East Prussia. When Charlotte’s father returned, his mother announced “that his threats would no longer keep her from a divorce.” Charlotte now knew that “something terrible would happen.” Seeking advice from his aunt, he is told that now that since her grandfather is no longer living, the child must become his mother’s protector.

       Sent back to Berlin, and now alone with her father, he demanded that the boy choose between him or his mother. And when his father takes up his gun and slams the cartridge shut, Lothar knows what his future may be if he insists upon returning to his mother. “There’s only one decision,” declares the father. “You have one night to think it over. Otherwise I’ll shoot them all, and I’ll beat you to death like a mangy dog.”

       The future Charlotte, as still a young boy, takes up a large “stirring stick.”  I “crept into my father’s room before dawn, and struck,” beating him to death. In 1944 he was sent to Tübingen for a psychiatric examination by “Doctor Ritter,” asking him if his father had approached him sexually. The child answered “No.” Asked if he has had sexual intercourse, Lothar appears not to comprehend what the question means, despite the fact that we have already seen the boy and Christian engaged in sex. But the next question says it all, “Why haven’t you joined the Hitler Youth?” If his amazingly brave answer, “Because it doesn’t interest me,” hasn’t yet convinced you at 17 ½ minutes into this hour and a half film that what you are seeing is a startling insight into LGBTQ German history, then you simply don’t serve von Praunheim’s startlingly revelatory revelation of gay history. And you should turn it off and put on a nice heterosexual rom-com.

        Lothar is imprisoned, but the defeat of Germany during the Allied invasion sets him free to wander the Berlin streets, just escaping being shot as a German deserter by remaining Nazi soldiers.

        By 1946, Lothar, finally identifying himself as a feminine being living in a man’s body, takes on the name of Carlotte von Mahlsdorf, the name Charlotte being a German parallel to Lottchen of Lothar, and perhaps a testament to his aunt’s lover, while Mahlsdorf refers to the section of Berlin where she now lives. His adult character is now performed by Ichgola Androgyn.

       Charlotte returns to the mostly destroyed Friedrishfelde castle and spends hard years, working with others in attempting to restore it. But still being perceived still as an outsider in his own culture, he is removed from the property by East German authorities.

       Charlotte has no choice but to now enter work as a domestic, beginning a job in the household of Herbert von Zitzenau (Robert Dietl) a former equestrian officer. He soon seduces Charlotte and the two begin a secret relationship, the affair surviving a number of years until his death.

         Although life in East Germany is terribly difficult for LGBTQ men and women, many of them such as Charlotte discover ways around the restrictive social order. Cruising a public restroom, Charlotte meets up with man named Joechen, who quickly became his lover, with who he develops a sadomasochistic role-playing relationship that lasts for 27 years until Joechen’s death.


         Despite all the forces against him, Charlotte survives as an open transvestite in East Germany for 30 years, working to preserve the contents of East Berlin’s first and, for a long while, its only gay bar until the DDR government closed it down and demolished the building it which it had existed. Eventually those contents are transferred to the Gründerzeit Museum in Mahlsdorf, managed by Charlotte and a lesbian couple.

         Charlotte even plays a figure in the first East German gay film, Coming Out by Heiner Carow, a film I also review.

         If one might have thought that the fall of Berlin Wall and the joining of the reunification meant better times for Charlotte Mahlsdorf, you haven’t dealt with the realities of a new government that was still not totally friendly with gay issues, and certainly had no conception of

gay life in East Berlin. The German government now takes over the objects and management of Gründerzeit Museum, to where he invites his gay friends for a celebratory LGBT day, the first East-West gay and lesbian gathering; they are attacked by neo-Nazi punks.

         Finally in 1992 Mahlsdorf's incredible life and his endless activities is awarded the Cross of the Order of Merit from the government for furthering the cause of sexual freedom.


         But far more important, I would argue, was Rosa von Praunheim’s film of the same year. The very fact that he, himself, is featured and is permitted interchange with artists depicting him, gives a depth and significance to this documentary work to which most such films cannot possibly make claim.

       If in some senses it reminds me of the amazing documentaries of Albert and David Mayles, particularly of Grey Gardens (1975), one quickly perceives that whereas the characters in that film are basically eccentric freaks, Mahlsdorf, despite living as a transvestite in a world that surely perceived such a sexual difference as freakish and unacceptable, was a far more significant being whose sense of self-worth and pride kept him functioning at full level while the worlds around him fell apart. Charlotte is not just a survivor, a figure whose eccentricities allowed him a small space left in a world that had forgotten his existence like Edith "Little Edie" Bouvier Beale, but recognizing early in his life as a different but absolutely normal sexual being Charlotte Mahlsdorf demanded “her” rights from the horrific world into which he was born. This film demonstrates that he fought against that world with everything he was capable of, refusing to give into its prejudices and hates, standing as a basically unknown hero for decades for LGBTQ rights.

       We need such films desperately to understand our history, and Germany needs them perhaps even more to help heal its own transgressions of all differences—sexual, religious, artistic, and political.

       And finally, such a figure as Mahlsdorf tells us, once again, that faced always with future abnormalities of political culture, no matter how those who gain power might struggle to reiterate a bland normative notion of human life and its sexual, social, and sacred activities, they can never fully succeed.

 

Los Angeles, January 12, 2024

Reprinted from My Queer Cinema (January 2024).

Neil Jordan | The Crying Game / 1992

the frog and the scorpion

by Douglas Messerli

 

Neil Jordan (screenplay and director) The Crying Game / 1992

 

This is a warning: I not only will reveal the secret of The Crying Game, which—evidently millions of viewers have not—but I will insist this is not really an LGBTQ movie. Although its hero, Fergus (Stephen Rea) holds the penis of his Black soldier prisoner, later visits gay bars several times, and has sex with a transgendered man two times, he is a heterosexual, who has no knowledge of the events, and, once discovering her sexuality—even after vomiting—viciously protects her by admitting to killing her attacker, Jude (Miranda Richardson). Fergus' only failure is that he cannot kill anyone, even though he is a former IRA terrorist.



     Although, with Jude and Maguire (Adrian Dunbar) Fergus has kidnapped the black British soldier, he clearly does not have the stomach for the events which follow, including keeping the prisoner with a sack over his head and, ultimately, murdering him in retribution for British occupation in Northern Ireland. In his attempt to remain alive, the soldier, Jody (Forest Whitaker) analyzes his captors, recognizing Fergus as "the kind one," and using Fergus' reticence as a tool to control him. The cold-hearted Jude and Maguire are adamant that the prisoner be kept quite literarily "in the dark," but Fergus removes the sack and even holds the cuffed man's penis so that he might urinate. The two quickly and quietly bond, Jody even revealing a picture of his special love back in London, Dil, and asking, if he is killed, for Fergus to take care of her.

     This long, somewhat rambling first part of the film is a rough but necessary introduction to the characters, who will play out their psychological beings later in the work. Indeed, Fergus is told a story by the perceptive Jody early on about a frog who agrees to carry a scorpion upon its back across a river, during which the scorpion bites him, dooming, quite obviously, both animals. When asked by the frog why the scorpion has bitten him, the scorpion replies: "It's in my nature."

     Accordingly, when ordered to kill Jody, Fergus balks, allowing Jody to run from him through the woods, but, as Jody crosses the road to safety, one of his own unit's tanks accidently runs him down, and he is killed. The IRA quarters is blown up, with Jude and Maguire miraculously escaping.

     The second half of the film also begins slowly, with Fergus, now in London, tracking down Dil (Jaye Davidson) working in a hair salon, gradually beginning to study her, "giving her the look," as she describes it to the bartender, Col (Jim Broadbent). The two begin a romance, with Dil enacting fellatio.

     Each time he visits the nearby club, he and the audience observe slight changes. The bar seems less glittery, the clientele stranger. A regular, Dil sings "The Crying Game," which is itself an oddly sad song about the impossibility and transitoriness of love:

 

                      I know all there is to know about the crying game

                      I've had my share of the crying game

                      First there are kisses, then there are sighs

                      And then before you know where you are, you're saying goodby

 

Before long, the perceptive viewer begins to suspect what is revealed in the couple's second sexual encounter: Dil is a transgendered male. Fergus is disgusted and accidently hits her in his rush to the bathroom. A few days go by.

     Yet the relationship between the two is still viable, and, although he no longer is sexually attracted, he does send her a note, she remaining loyal to him despite his actions. She even visits him at his work site, where he is helping to build an apartment building.


                                  Fergus: What are you doing here?

                                  Dil: Got your note. So let's kiss and make up, honey.

                                  Fergus: Don't call me that.

                                  Dil: Sorry, darling.

                                  Fergus: Stop it, Dil.

                                  Dil: Apologies, my sweet.


     At this point Jude and Maguire reenter the scene, insisting—since Fergus has failed in the other incident—that he join them in a planned assignation of a British political figure. Although at first he attempts to reject involvement, Jude's hint that she knows about his relationship with Dil, forces him to realize that if he does not join them, Dil is in danger.

     To protect Dil, Fergus attempts to transform her back into her male being, forcing her to cut her hair and dress in shirt and pants. The transition is a failure, as Dil now looks more like a young ungainly boy than the beautiful woman he previously was, and Dil gets drunk, demanding that he stay with her for the night. Fergus agrees, also admitting his involvement in Jody's death. Before he can leave the next morning Dil has tied him to the bed, unwittingly preventing him from participating in the murder which might save her life. Holding Fergus at gunpoint she demands that he tell her he loves her: even if he's lying, she admits, it's nice to hear his words.

       When the furious Jude shows up, Dil turns the gun on her, shooting and killing her before attempting to turn the gun on herself. But Fergus prevents her, telling her to hide out at the club, while he wipes her fingerprints off the gun, allowing himself to be arrested for Jude's death.

       Fergus, now in prison, is visited by Dil. Still amazed by his actions, she promises to wait for him, recognizing him as "the love of her life":

 

                      No greater love as the man says. I wish you'd tell me why.

 

Whereupon Fergus retells the story of the frog and scorpion.

     At film's end, we believe that they will stay together. As he admits, his acts are simply part of his nature. And love is part of that makeup. As Col has said earlier on: "Who knows the secrets of the human heart?" No matter how the audience views transvestism or trans-gendered people, by seeing the relationship develop through Fergus' view, it cannot help but hope for the fulfillment of a standard love story. Love simply must win out. And, in this sense, it is not a "gay" love story, but a heterosexual one with an odd twist, a "straight" story about two heterosexual men who have fallen in love—unless Fergus can come to terms with Dil as a transgender woman and establish a relationship.

     If he is able, unlike the outsiders who buy into the system in work such as Stephen Frear’s My Beautiful Lauderette (1985, with which I originally paired this reading), Jordon's insiders—both of them representing, at least on the surface, versions of normality—may be able to break outside of society, offering themselves a new way of living life.

                      

Los Angeles, March 10-11, 2012

Reprinted from World Cinema Review (March 2012).

 

Gus Van Sant | My Own Private Idaho / 1991

the things we’ve seen

by Douglas Messerli

 

Gus Van Sant (screenwriter and director) My Own Private Idaho / 1991

 

By any traditional analysis Gus Van Sant’s My Own Private Idaho is a kind of mess, a mish-mash of a story about Portland-based gay hustlers and an on-the-road tale that resembles, at moments, the wild, early life of the young future Hal hanging out with Falstaff in Shakespeare’s Henry plays.

       The swings between the two tales occur without any cinematic apology for not truly being fused together. Scenes from the childhood life of Michael Waters (River Phoenix) are mixed with the surreal statements by gay magazine cover-models who suddenly spring to life and the existential angst of Scott Favor (Keanu Reeves), the wayward son of the Portland mayor. Gay desire is met with heterosexual hauteur, grungy street adventures alternate with wealthy homes and offices filled with all the trinkets that money can buy. Poverty and fortune seem almost indistinguishable in Van Sant’s fantasy, just as beauty—expressed primarily in the Idaho landscape—and squalor rub shoulders. Van Sant’s work easily shifts from street love to a romantic heterosexual Italian-based idyll.


      In fact, My Own Private Idaho might easily be summed-up as a chaos of opposing images and directorial styles.

      And all of this is wrapped up with a ribbon of Mike’s narcolepsy, a condition that constantly interrupts his active attempts to hustle both male and female clients. But, in a sense the metaphor Van Sant has chosen to embrace is absolutely perfect: this is a film of dreaming and dreams, past and present, which overwhelm nearly all of its characters.

      Each of the gay hustlers in this work—most of whom refuse to describe themselves as homosexuals—spends the movie walking and working in a sleep-like condition, dreaming of love, money, or even a way out of the stupefaction. Only the handsome Scott knows that he will be able to find the inheritance to exit his semi-rebellious behavior. All the others are not so rebellious as they are simply trapped in their attempts to find modes of survival.


     Yet, despite its collection of disparities, Van Sant’s film is absolutely likeable and brilliant, a film which when I saw for the second time the other day, an extraordinarily emotionally nuanced work that stands out in the early 1990s (though originally conceived in the 1970s) as a kind of beacon for LGBTQ desire.

     The hinge to the power of this film is River Phoenix’s (older brother to Joaquin and many other Phoenix-family actors, who died tragically of a drug overdose outside Johnny Depp’s Viper Room in West Hollywood only two years after the release of the picture) performance, as he takes to the road—a dangerous thing for a young man with his condition—to discover himself, his mother, and, hopefully the man he loves, Scott. He doesn’t fully succeed in in any of these attempts, and it is his failure to achieve those goals that gives heart to this film.

      Simply the view of his slightly gold-haired stubble of his face, the always slightly confused look of his eyes—as if a deer caught in headlights—and his stumbling, bumbling attempts to get through each day, with or without drugs or money, along with his absolutely loving devotion to Scott, who when Mike expresses his love for him, declares “I only go to bed with men for money” inures us to this unlikely hero.


      Money is everything for Scott, and he even declares early in the film that he will make a complete change when his father dies, and he inherits his fortune. This young Scott, like Henry IV quickly gives up his ways when he is declared as the young “prince,” abandoning and denying his young friend Mike and even his substitute father, Bob Pigeon (William Richert).

      Reeves plays him as a nonetheless likeable figure, helping Mike to track down his brother back in Idaho, who insists that their mother was infatuated by a local cowboy who was Mike’s father—although Mike seems to perceive the real truth, that his own brother was his father.

      Scott’s attempt to track down Mike’s mother slightly redeems his later actions as well as his refusal to actually accept Mike’s love for him—although there is one liberating scene in which the police invade Pigeon’s illegally occupied apartment building wherein Scott pretends to be fucking Mike in order to protect them from what the police are actually seeking: drugs. There is no doubt that the later turncoat, Scott, truly loves Mike. But as he has been taught by his father, he loves money and societal mores more. Even he, when Mike claims his father was not a normal Dad, quips “What’s a normal dad?” Normality in this world of seeming perversions has little meaning.

       Scott leaves his young acolyte Mike alone in Italy, running off with his new princess Carmela (Chiara Caselli) and leaving his old world behind. He rejects even the recognition of his former hustler friends, and when his former, “real” father, Pigeon dies of a heart attack, attends like the good boy he has suffered to become to his father’s funeral, while a short way away, the hustlers revel over Bob Pigeon’s coffin—another the film’s obvious dichotomies.

       Somehow Mike finds his way back to his own Idaho, returning us to the opening scene of the film as he falls again under another narcoleptic attack. If the road onto which he collapses has previously been totally abandoned, a truck now appears out of the nowhere, men exiting it to steal his clothing bag and shoes, while another soon after appears to retrieve his sleeping body. We can only imagine where that might take him: this is 1991 and AIDS is already prevalent when those who’d acquired it died every two-moments, as was the gay-hate which led to Wyoming-born Matthew Shepard’s brutal death only 7 years later.

       Throughout the scenes in Pigeon’s hovel for homeless hustlers, he and his boys talk again and again about “the things we’ve seen.” By the end of Van Sant’s film we have seen them as well, and hopefully been rendered, through that process, as more empathetic individuals by those visions. Mike’s private Idaho is now ours as well.

 

Los Angeles, January 25, 2020

Reprinted in World Cinema Review (January 2020).

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...