before the revolution
by
Douglas Messerli
Christopher
Ludgate (screenwriter and director) The Love Permit / 2010 [13 minutes]
In
the most dystopian tale of the works discussed to date, Christopher Ludgate’s The
Love Permit, the eager of complete naïve Mr. Young (Scott Key), shows up
the vast hall in which exists a single window, open only from 8:15-8:30 on
Mondays only in which the State dispenses love permits, the permission to love
and have sex. Mr. Young even shows up a bit early so eager is he to be able to
engage in lovemaking with what we perceive is his boyfriend.
Strangely there are no others waiting in
line. And when the window is finally opened, the Administrator (Russell Saylor)
immediately asks for his credentials, our young hero not all comprehending even
what he might mean by that request. He is simply there because he has found
someone to who he wants to make love, which means, so declares the
administrator that he has already committed a crime, since the state has yet
given him the permission to do so.
But he has told no one, insists our hero.
Oh, but “you have told me,” scolds the Administrator, something we
cannot ignore, he argues, since it is already on camera.
He has the form, his DNA sample, his
fingerprints, and civilian ID number after having visited this same window last
week; yet, so the Administrator explains, he still has not provided him with
the surveillance records that can prove that he has a history that he complies
with the standards of trust.
Mr. Young responds that he was not told of
these requirements, but still the Administrator stands firm. Mr. Young finally
declares he is not leaving without the permit.
The administrator does allow to place his
thumb in the reader so that he can verify he is who he claims to be. He grants
that Mr. Young is, in fact, allowed to have such a permit. “Thank God,” Young
interjects, the Administrator reminding him that God has nothing at all to do
with it. The State alone allows and grants such permissions. You should thank
your government.
“Thank you government,” Mr. Young momentarily
enthuses.
But now the Administrator has to go to
accounting to have a permit ID number issued to him.
The Administrator returns to report that “I’m
afraid that the capacity of issuance of ‘Love and Sex Permits’ is at its limits,
Mr. Young. We cannot grant you a permit at this time.”
When Young even attempts to comment that
he had just said…immediately the Administrator suggests he not argue about the
matter. “Case is closed. Please, come back soon.”
“That’s not fair at all,” persists the
young man.
“We’re not about fair here, Mr. Young, we’re
about law and protocol. We’re about what’ for the State, which can’t afford
passionate romantics like you. …Next!”
“But there’s nobody else here. Look, I
came to get a permit and I’m not leaving here without one!”
The Administrator answers as all such
government employees in such positions have over the centuries: “I don’t make
the rules here. It’s my job. I have no control.”
Now, for the first time, Mr. Young,
wonders why both the last time he visited the window and this time no one else
was there seeking out a permit.
The Administrator finally puts him
straight. “Don’t be naïve, Mr. Young. Don’t ask questions. It is what it is.”
So
what is our young romantic supposed to do? He is told that we can try again, if
he wants.
But
he also warns him to be careful if he is lucky enough to get a permit.
Violation of its conditions may result in a removal of his transmitters (the
cameras over the doors of each and every citizen). And if that happens he will
no longer have any chance of experiencing love.
That last sentence alone suggests that
this society has lost love forever. There already is no longer any possibility
that love can exist, at least openly, and even secrecy can lead to punishment
if the transmitters represent any unauthorized visits. We can only presume that
almost place lovers might imagine to gather, cameras have been placed—much as
they have already been today—almost everywhere except perhaps for the dark paths
of parks and forests. But even the entry to those are surely clocked.
One has immediately to ask, just how far
is this from the reality of today’s world, particularly for young gay men and
women, who live with their parents or other family members? Or even for those
with intrusive neighbors and landlords. As the truly innocent Oliver Twist begs
to know in the musical written by the gay composer Lionel Bart, “Where or where
is love?”
Our now despondent hero queries the
Administrator about coming back, but is told that starting next week the place
will be closed for renovations, “improvements.”
Young cynically comments that it is not
clear just how much the administration truly wants to accommodate the public.
Desperately, he attempts a bribe,
declaring he doesn’t have much money but perhaps he can make it worthwhile to
hurry along the process.
“You are persistent, aren’t you? It must
be someone very special to you to persist, offering a bribe from the official
of the State.”
The naïve young man proclaims he is not at
liberty is saying anything about the other, the Administrator warning him to be
very careful with his words.
The young man insists on seeing a
supervisor, but is told he is busy and that perhaps he can schedule an
appointment—after the renovations.
There appears to be no way out. Love has
truly come to an end in this cinematic tale.
Finally, even the dreamer perceives the
reality: “I’m not getting the permit today, am I?’
But finally, a bit of humanity
creeps into the Administrator’s voice: “I wish I could.” As Mr. Young continues
in his complaints the Administrator writes a message on a piece of paper and
hands it to him: “I hope to see you soon, Mr. Young.”
And so it appears the romantic fellow has
met his end.
But, after looking at the slip of paper, Mr. Young, in his next question, suggests a complete sift of possibilities. “Where’s the bathroom?”
The exuberant would-be lover visits the
bathroom, the shrine to so very many gay meetings, where our Administrator soon
joins him to explain what is truly happening. This is not a gay encounter but
something closer to a revolutionary meeting: first the monitors record
everything; more importantly, “The State doesn’t want any permits issues to
anyone anymore.” He hands him a document, demanding that he put it in his
jacket. “It’s a permit.”
When our innocent begins to thank him, he insists
that it’s the best he can do.
But why doesn’t the State want to issue
permits anymore?
“Don’t you see, the new order wants to
enforce dispassion. Their goal is to condition and repress the nature of
humanity. Love ignites passion and freedom and confidence threatening their
power. If they limit the ability to love, they will have control over the
people.”
Mr. Young responds quite logically, “But
if they don’t issue permits anymore, people will rebel. They’ll be taken in to
have their love removed.”
“Exactly.”
When asked why he keeps this job, the
Administrator, a gay man in the manner of Francis Pangborn, no longer has any
patience with our hero’s naïvite. If he were to be replaced, what’s to say that
anyone might be even granted a “false permit?” “We can’t let them win.”
Still, our dense lover complains about the
hard time the Administrator gave him.
And the Administrator, in turn, reminds him
of the monitors. “I needed to make sure you weren’t working with them.”
Our hero repeats the obvious: “But you
could get caught.”
“Doubtful. There’s no proof.” Besides, as
he has hinted, he will soon be out of a job. He has simply recognized another
gay man who might provide just a little revolutionary fervor or simply make
love with the permission of the State.
When our hero wishes he might give him something
in return, our revolutionary Administrator leans in to beg him to fight against
the system.
Along
with the last film in this gathering, Two People Exchanging
Saliva, where I talk about a world in which even a kiss is banned, this film, despite it’s
encouraging ending, is perhaps the bleakest of all these films in which love in
certain ways have been curtailed and deleted from the societies in which the
lovers exist. Why, one can only wonder, is something so very important to the
human species even endangered? If one could answer that question, we would be
able to answer the torture of human beings for loving throughout history.
Almost as interesting is why should we
presume this film as being about an illicit gay romance since the potential
partner is never shown to us? Yet this film not only appears on “Gay Films
Matter,” but is listed only in gay film lists, not even sexually neuter
listings which abound on Letterboxd. Perhaps because no other straight men or
women appear in that fruitless waiting line, and because of the utter eagerness
of the applicant, of his insistence to enjoy in the rights of sexual pleasures,
which are something gays, so long punished for their sexual desires, constantly
demand and have won through long, long years of insistence and patience.
Primarily, because our snippy and prissy governmental employee himself seems to
be gay and recognizes another of his kind in Mr. Young. And then there is just
something that is inexplicable: we gays tend recognize one another not through
any private nods or secret signs, but just in the look, the spirit, the
frustration of desires. Heterosexuals need not be so frustrated, even if many
of them are, since they have the open sesame of the society, presuming that
eventually someone will naturally appear on the horizon.
Most important, once our young hero is
told that the State no longer is giving out such permits, his response is about
possible rebellion. But the first question any heterosexual would certainly
have asked is “Doesn’t necessarily mean the end of the human species?” Our
character, in his hurry to hug his lover to his bosom, doesn’t at all appear
bothered by that important fact. Perhaps enough straight people have already
been awarded their permits to keep the nation going, but what about the next
generation, or the one after that? Will there be enough new workers to keep
such a State functioning?
That fact alone makes it quite clear that
our lovely figure isn’t thinking properly about the state of the nation, but
simply the situation of his own bed. Maybe he will wake up some morning and realize that there are fewer people on the streets, and perhaps actually begin
to fight the State. But his mind hasn’t quite assimilated the larger issues.
At least this explanation saves me from
simply having to say that Mr. Young looks gay—a statement we all know is
absolutely ridiculous and speaks more of the person who expressed it than the
reality of the world. There is no gay “look.” To me, however, he looks gay.
Which means I suppose that I simply find him attractive, somebody who, were I
not an old man having lived out a relationship with another man for 60 some
years, as someone I’d gladly invite into my bed.
Good luck, Mr. Young. It would be
interesting to see what you do with your illegal permit.
Los
Angeles, May 21, 2026
Reprinted
from My Queer Cinema blog (May 2026).
