Tuesday, August 5, 2025

Atom Egoyan | The Adjuster / 1991

adjusting to life

by Douglas Messerli

 

Atom Egoyan (screenwriter and director) The Adjuster / 1991

 

On paper the plot of Canadian director Atom Egoyan’s 4th feature film, The Adjuster (1991) sounds like the most perversely surreal movie ever made, an complete artifice that requires, more than simply its audiences’ suspension of belief, but a complete immersion into a sexual planet that includes everything from the worst of what is imaginable in porn films and the most outlandish of voyeuristic and exhibitionist fantasies, to romantic straight and gay liaisons performed by one seemingly nice guy insurance adjuster. To actually attempt to describe the narrative is a little bit like trying to outline a mad mix of cinematic and literary works that one might encounter in the library of Dr. Alfred Charles Kinsey—which is perhaps why no film critic I read has done it very successfully, often confusing and misinterpreting what eventually is revealed as being pretty straight forward, even if totally unbelievable, after Egoyan’s rather clear presentation.


      Let me give it a try. Hera Render (Arsinée Khanjian) works for the Canadian Censor Board, daily reviewing all porn films which they rate with an extensive list of categories from A through H. It might help if I—following the details of the film provided by a new censor just entering his  post (Don McKellar)—repeat the categories, if only to help my readers understand the vast array of attention their coding system requires:

 

A.    Graphic or prolonged scene of violence, torture, crime, cruelty,

horror, or human degradation.

B.     The depiction of physical abuse or humiliation of human beings

for purposes of sexual gratification or as pleasing to the victim.

C.     A person who is or is intended to represent a person under the

age of 16 and appears

1.      nude or partially nude in a sexually suggestive content or text

2.      in a scene of sexually explicit activity.

D.    Explicit and gratuitous depiction of urination, defecation, or

vomiting.

           H.  A scene where an animal is abused in the making of the film.

 

    We’re never told why E and F do not exist, or if they do what they represent. And, to be fair, I do not know if this list has anything at all to do with the real Canadian Censor Board. The offices, filled with overflowing bins of pornographic magazines and fliers which a staff of numerous others to attend to them, seems like something out of a sexual science fiction film in the manner of Roger Vadim’s Barbarella (1968).

      Hera is clearly a very competent and committed worker, except for the fact that she inexplicably films the porno works she watches. When the genial and personable Head Censor (David Hemblen) is alerted to her possible infraction, she reveals that she does it not for her own enjoyment but to share her workday duties with her sister Seta (Rose Sarkisyan), who lives with her and her husband and watches the films all over again each evening, often with Hera’s young son Simon in the same room with her. She and Hera are close and have shared their every experience with one another throughout their lives.

      One day on the subway Hera encounters a drunken derelict, an overweight disheveled being who at one point falls to the subway floor. While she passively watches another woman goes over to the drunk and sits next to him, slowly lifting up her skirt and guiding his hand to her crotch as he publicly masturbates her, she obviously fully enjoying the act.

      These two, we soon discover are a wealthy married couple, Bubba (Maury Charykin) and Mimi (Gabrielle Rose) who, other than throwing lavish dinner parties, spend most of their lives planning outlandish sexual events that fulfill Bubba’s voyeuristic desires, while Mimi is able to exhibit her lusty pleasures in the most public of ways possible.


     For their next adventure, Bubba hires an entire football team along with their stadium so that Mimi can live out her cheerleader fantasies by having sex with each and every member from tight end down the line to guard, center, and quarterback.

      But even earlier in the film we have seen Bubba scouting out a place for a new “shoot,” the strange suburban development in which only four large homes were built among many empty acres, only one of them having been sold and inhabited before the developers ran out of money.

      In that isolated house lives Hera, Seta, and Simon with this strange trio’s father, Noah Render (Elias Koteas), a good-looking and apparently mildly tempered insurance adjustor.

      From the evidence in the very first scene, we sense that Noah and Hera’s relationship is not a terribly close one, particularly since in the dark Hera seems to be moaning and shaking from some nightmare vision as Noah quietly rises to dress, having been called out to a house fire which he must investigate. He telephones her on his way to the fire just to check up, but she seems unappreciative for him having awakened her.

       What we soon discover is that Noah’s job seems to consist primarily of him showing up to burning households to meet the owners whose whole lives have just gone up in flames. He asks them for photographs and complete descriptions of their every destroyed possession, but goes far beyond what the company might require by gently consoling them, often using the company mantra “You may not feel it, but you're in a state of shock.” To help them find their way back into the “real” world, Noah not only attempts to jog their memories in order to replace what they have lost, but offers most of his clients his own body, making love to beings who are temporarily without anything else in their lives.

        At the local motel where he puts up most of his suffering customers he is known as a hero, not only by the motel’s operators and service workers whom he has helped to keep in business and employed, but by his grateful insurance holders to whom he has provided new hope both mentally and physically. A bit like the beautiful family visitor of Pier Paolo Pasolini’s Teorema (1968), this more everyday angel offers the customers, apparently both female and male, young and old, far more than they might have imagined when signing up for their policies.


     If we see Noah in bed with one of his newest female clients, we also witness those who are still waiting for the company payment seeking out his reassurances and caresses—at one point an older man holding Noah’s hand and kissing it like a mafia Godfather, and by the end of the film his most recent client, a photogenic Hispanic man named Matthew (Raoul Trujillo), laid out naked on the motel bed, having just had sex with the always ready-to-please adjuster. Through the film Egoyan represents him with a bow and arrow, a man playing cupid to his own self.

      The clever movie-goer probably has already perceived that all of these figures, each in their own way, are different kinds of adjusters. Through her coding and the cuts in her ratings result, Hera is adjusting what those addicted to pornographic sex can see and enjoy. Through their enactment of fantasies and later film-making Bubba and Mimi transform the sexual imagination into something closer to “real” life enactments; while Noah not only adjusts for the financial loss of the grievers’ previous possessions but helps them socially and sexually to readjust to life itself. 

      Yet it is their very differences in the way they affect people’s existence that explains the final ending of this “theorem/theory” film, a work which the director himself described as being about "about believable people doing believable things in an unbelievable way."

      Hera, her sister, and her son live in a kind of passive world where images represent real actions for good or bad. Pornography is pernicious not just because it represents “violence, torture, crime, cruelty, horror, and human degradation” along with abuse of adults, children, and animals, but because it replaces real human action with representations of them. If nothing else, the real actions at least involve living beings and their bodies which is why even the representation of these acts are so atrocious. But for Hera the body does not even exist. We recognize that her and Noah’s relationship is empty, replaced as it has become by her observation of the most vicious visions of what human relationships consist.

      

     Mimi and Bubba bring those pornography fantasies to life, nudging them, if nothing else, a bit closer to reality. The last great “performance” which they plan involves the lonely Render house itself, which they have rented out to the couple so they “play house” with a gathering of pre-teen boys celebrating a birthday party at which the scantily-clad Mimi apparently intends to introduce them to the pleasures of female sex. But this realization of mass child abuse is finally, at least if Bubba has his way, to be their final act.

       Having rent out their house for what he believes is a regular film shoot, Noah makes the mistake of putting up his own family in the motel which serves as his workplace. Slowly it dawns on Hera and Seta both what precisely is going on when Noah visits his clients. And as Noah sits beside the bed where he has just fucked Matthew, we notice in the background his wife, sister-in-law, and son, with packed bags, getting into a taxi—obviously to take them all away from the far-too-real sexual activities in which Noah is involved.

       When he discovers them missing, the adjustor speeds back to their previous home, only to discover Bubba pouring gas over the contents of the entire bottom floor of the house. We don’t know if Mimi is upstairs, whether the boys have left the premises, or even if perhaps Hera, Seta and Simon have returned to their rooms above. With match box in hand, Bubba, calmly warns the sudden intruder that it is time to make a decision: “Now you’ve come in just at the moment that the character in the film, the person who was supposed to live here, decides that he’s going to stop playing house. So....are you in...or are you out?”

        Noah, already in tears, slowly backs out, obviously preferring real life with everything that it entails, the touch of human flesh and the friendly assurances of human discourse to all the other alternatives with which he’s been faced.


        Now outside his own burning house and destroyed past, he is in the same position finally of all those others to who he has offered solace. His life too has been “adjusted.” He has chosen real human intercourse, as ephemeral as it might be, over any representation of it.

        Appearing as it did early in the 1990s, Egoyan’s The Adjuster remained one of the most powerful statements about sexuality in general throughout that decade and is still among his very best cinematic works.

        

Los Angeles, January 21, 2021

Reprinted from My Queer Cinema blog and World Cinema Review (January 2021).

Isaac Julien | Young Soul Rebels / 1991

magic quintet

by Douglas Messerli

 

Isaac Julien and Paul Hallam (screenplay), Isaac Julien (director) Young Soul Rebels / 1991

 

Although they incorporate entirely different racial and cultural events and represent characters from very different times in London history, Isaac Julien’s important 1991 film Young Soul Rebels is reminiscent in many ways to Julien Temple’s 1986 musical with Edie O’Connell and David Bowie Absolute Beginners, based on the fiction by Colin MacInnes.

      Temple’s work features the Noting Hill Race Riots of 1958, while Julien’s film ends with local park riots occurring in connection with Queen Elizabeth’s Silver Jubilee celebration in 1977. But in between there are similar battles between various cultural elements including in Young Soul Rebels groups of skinheads, punks, and soulboys along with internecine verbal battles between black groups such as the soulboys and rastas, as well in Julien’s work the struggle of its young black heroes, Chris (Valentine Nonyela) and Cas (Mo Sesay), who as bi and gay men do not fit in to any of the heteronormative values of those around them. Yet for all that, there is an enormous sense of joy and possibility that youth offers that dominates both these different films made just five years apart from each other. And finally, as in Absolute Beginners music seems to be the link that holds everything together in Young Soul Rebels.


      Long time close friends Chris and Caz work as DJs in their pirate radio station run out of a block tower in Dalston, East London. They are about as close as friends can be except, as Caz has discovered during a period in which Chris moved in with him, his friend is perhaps more straight than gay, and we perceive that Chris is clearly more emotionally tightly wound, in part because he has yet another “outsider” designation as a black man to face with a white mother whose closest relationship with her son appears to be her need for him to provide her with weed.

      Chris is also somewhat naively determined to transform their rebel broadcasting activities into a legitimate radio gig without quite realizing that the local struggles within the community between the skinhead toughs and the hippie-like political punks are played out in the wider sphere of London and Britain in far more pernicious racist attitudes, as we discover later in the film when we’re shown that his hero, successful black DJ Jeff Kane (Ray Shell), is provided only a small empty, windowless room as his office. Even his intern, the classy Tracy (Sophie Okonedo) wants out and seeks to make her own way through backdoors and her beauty into the broadcasting industry.


      Most importantly, Chris does not quite comprehend the extreme homophobia from both the white and black community that daily faces his close friend Caz. To emphasize this fact, Julien begins his film with the murder of a black gay man in the local park that is central to the community members’ lives. It is that park which black and white gay men nightly cruise, allowing them, outside of the few bars which allow blacks entry, to meet one another for sex; the man who was murdered, TJ, was a close friend of Caz, a loss which he cannot fully share with Chris or the others around him.

      Yet Chris is pulled into the vortex of this murder of a black gay man by, presumably, a white boy in ways he might not have expected, most notably by the fact this younger sister discovers the dead man’s portable radio in the park into which he had just put in a tape a few moments before meeting his killer. When Chris, recognizing the radio, takes it from his sister, accordingly, he has unwittingly involved himself in the death since on that tape is the voice of the murderer himself.

      It’s little wonder that through this swirling chaos of events in the days leading up to the national celebration of the Queen’s Silver Jubilee, the two young men who make such beautiful music together are quite literally pulled apart, Chris falling in love, metaphorically speaking, with his vision of new career opportunities, and literally with Jeff Kane’s intern, Tracy, who promises to help him partner a break for the two of them into commercial broadcasting.


      At the very same time the duo has promised to do a gig for a local white gay dance club where the morose Caz falls for a young punk kid, Billibud (Jason Durr, whose character is obviously named after Melville’s innocent, Christ-like hero).

      You might say the two are being torn away—given the tumult of social and political issues that surround them—in totally opposite directions despite their deep love for one another.

       Furthermore, TJ’s murder keeps pushing them further into a dangerous zone, as suddenly Chris is arrested by the police as a suspect for the murder, apparently turned in by the murderer himself, the police using the evidence of the burned radio as proof. Unable to reach Caz, he must turn to Tracy for help, extending their relationship. With the help of a lawyer, she frees him temporarily from police arrest, but not without some complaint about his behavior.

       Meanwhile, meeting up with Billibud in the park late at night, Caz nonetheless insists something doesn’t feel right, and makes a date for another time and place by writing his telephone number on his chest. We almost wonder, like he must, if even the kid might be a possible suspect; and, if nothing else, his actions help us to empathize with the sense of paranoia that Caz must carry around with him as a badge of survival. In fact, it is not the cute punk, with whom he later has enjoyable sex in his own bed, who is responsible for TJ’s murder, but another of their mutual white friends, connected with the skinheads who threaten both Caz and Chris whenever they are ready to head off their studio for late night broadcasts.

       A short while before, the two have symbolically separated permanently when, attempting to tape up a new antenna so that they might broadcast to a larger audience, Chris trips and almost falls to his death from the high roof of a building, Caz saving him, but warning him of the dangers that stand between them. And when he leaves, Chris meets up with Tracy as the two have sex.


      In short, the two friends have each gone their separate ways. And the day of Jubilee, when Caz has promised Billibud and his group to DJ a show in the park, Chris finds the station itself having been torched—apparently in a search for victim’s tape. He nonetheless attempts to broadcast, breaking down in tears, without his friend. For those listening, he is strangely cutoff from the airwaves mid-song.

      We witness the murderer returning to kill the only one who has actually heard the tape recording with his voice. Chris escapes, but cannot find Caz or anyone else to tell them that they may be in danger.

       By this time even Tracy has grown tired of Chris’ immature and unrealistic aspirations, she showing up to the park with her lesbian friend along with the numerous other celebrants of the day, including Chris’ mother and sister.

       Chris finally reaches the park at the very moment that a small riot has broken out as members of the National Front attack anyone and everyone who represent outsiders to the Jubilee celebrations, meaning all blacks, all punks, and anyone who may be perceived as gay or lesbian. Soon after a Molotov cocktail is lobbed onto the disco stage, as Caz and Billibud jump down trying to save the vinyl records from the growing fire.



       Chris breaking through the riotous crowd, attempts to warn of the murderer’s presence by leaping on stage and announcing it through the microphone, the murderer joining him on the dais. The fire becomes so intense that Chris must dive into the brawl to escape but it is too late for the murderer who dies as the upper banners come crashing down upon him.

       In the last scene, a few hours later, we witness Chris and Caz playing records, while Billibud, Tracy, and her lesbian friend rub and dry the damaged vinyl’s, passing them on as they finish. The two DJs hug one another in a testament to their brotherly love as one by one, the others begin to dance, all of them ultimately interacting with one another in a kind of line dance, making it clear that they have created their own small community of lovers under the umbrella or their personal relationships, serving as a symbol of viable love in the larger world around them.


   We can easily argue that the final moments of Julien’s film have seemed to have wrapped up the film’s chaotic inferno far too predictably, filling it with coincidence and forgiveness; but nonetheless it remains true to the behavior of this likeable quintet who have provided one another the various modes of survival that each has needed throughout, the often espoused ideal size of the post-World War II family—made up, incidentally, of two blacks, one a gay man and one a bisexual woman, two whites, one a gay man and the other a lesbian or bisexual woman, and one bisexual, biracial male.

 

Los Angeles, September 16, 2021

Reprinted from World Cinema Review (September 2021).

 

Monday, August 4, 2025

Guy Shalem | Gaysharktank.com / 2010

lost in space

by Douglas Messerli

 

Dennis Hensley (screenplay), Guy Shalem (director) Gaysharktank.com / 2010 [14 minutes]

 

On the new interactive website which allows strangers via webcam to meet up, Brian tries his luck. The first six or seven images to popup, which include a man in drag, a female couple seeking a

gift of sperm, a buff bare chest, a black man, and others are immediately sent into limbo. But he does give a “thumbs up” to a Roly-poly sort of ordinary man—Brian being also nothing great to look at—named Frank.


     When Frank suggests he’s versatile and into “nipple play,” however, Brian backs off, suggesting he’s not really yet ready to hook up, but is just testing out the site. In fact, Brian is not really sure he’s gay, having only had an “incident” with his brother “Calvin,” after he touched his face.


    And just as suddenly the red-headed woman in drag is now in control of our viewing screen, knocking out person after person from view. She even encounters Brian’s wife trying to find out to where he might have disappeared. She spends the longest time with four guys on screen together.

     But when she begins to explain that she’s “looking for a long-term relationship and I’m dressed in drag because I’m sick and tired of dating guys when they discover I’m into drag quickly leave me,” the boys begin, one by one to drift off.

     This is after all a parody, in the manner of Saturday Night Live, so we might forgive this short film for featuring a black man peering into the house behind the man he has on-line to check out what he perceives as expensive artwork. He also insists that he’s not gay, but having been institutionalized he still has sex with men, but, he repeats, he’s not gay. Since the man with the paintings has a child, he quickly cuts the other discussant off.


     Brian, back on the screen, now hooks up with Salim, a bebopping Pakistani in the manner of Steve Martin’s “wild and crazy guy.” As Brian responds when Salim tells him he’s from Pakistan, “So you’re foreign!”

     The cheerful Gabriel Blow, ready to sing Cole Porter’s “Gabriel blow your horn,” is quickly blocked by a man who declares he’s depressed.

     Brian is now on line with our man with art and a kid, as he attempts to convince Brian to think of something like a long-term relationship with a child.


     The four guys are now on line with a transgender woman, who describes her newly constructed vagina as “toddler-new.”

    Salim also meets up with the four boys, delighted to see so many possibilities all at once. But when they begin to talk about his sweater as looking like it’s from Transylvania he begins to call them “bitch.” 

     And in the very next frame Brian’s wife, still searching, meets up with the foursome.

     Brian in communication with our drag queen is confused. “So you’re mainly a woman, right?” “No I’m a drag queen. I dress up in drag to entertain people.” Brian’s finally interested if she can keep her wig on along with the outfit and maybe tuck between the legs “we might be able to work our way up to a point that when your penis comes out, I could….” Goodbye Brian.

      Brian’s wife encounters the drag queen and a man about to show his penis.

      And immediately after Salim encounters the same guy with his Vaseline dispenser.

      A man with a teenage boy sucking a lollipop on his lap meets up with the foursome. Frank meets up with Brian’s wife. A black man with politics on his mind speaks momentarily to the man with the boy on his lap.



      Our drag queen meets up with Frank, immediately recognizing that they both have it difficult. “No one wants to date a drag queen and no one wants to date a ‘fatty.’” Frank argues that no one actually says that, reminding the drag queen that she can take her wig off, but he can’t remove his extra fifty pounds. “Well,” she interrupts, “you can if you….” “I come from a family of big people,” he insists. Her argument, “Honey, you’re fat. You got to stop eating.” “When I grew up, I didn’t get a ‘Have a nice day at school, honey,’ I got a chocolate cake.” And so it goes.

      Brian finally meets up with Virginia, his wife. “Where are you?” she asks. “I’m home,” he insists. “I was in the garage working and next thing you know, this happened.” Virginia begins to cry.


    Slowly all of them begin to realize that there is no one out there that they truly feel good about. But then Frank meets up with the Broadway-singing Gabriel. Brian is back with Salim, even if his wife is lurking in the background.

      The actors in this silly but sometimes quite funny parody of the 2010 website Chatroulette.com (I just checked; it still exists) are Geoffrey Arend, Lucas Bane, William Belli, Jordon Black, Alex Boling, Dan Bucatinsky, David Burtka, Drew Droege, Brian Gattas, Stephen Guarino, Brian Huskey (as Brian), Tony Johnson, Tar Karsian (as Brian’s wife), Clinton Leupp, Michael Medico, Tamara Mello, Brian Palermo, Sam Pancake, Jack Plotnick, Jai Rodriguez, Michael Serrato, and Roberta Valderrama.

 

Los Angeles, September 22, 2024

Reprinted from My Queer Cinema blog (September 2024).

Tania Karenni | La Repetición (The Repetition) / 2024

the knock at the door

by Douglas Messerli

 

Tania Karenni (screenwriter and director) La Repetición (The Repetition) / 2024 [15 minutes]

 

Poor Daniel (Dano) (Ernesto Siller), not only is he an alcoholic just having completed his first month of quitting, but there’s a noisy party next door to which he’s been invited, but which for obvious reasons he has refused to attend. Fortunately, he has friends on the internet like Cinthia, Lolis, and Frida who give him constant support and encouragement by messaging him.


     But then I’d be suffering on the wagon too if I lived, like Dano, in such a wretched flat. And moreover, there’s that endless knock at his door that forces him to put on his earphones and turn up the music as high as he can. He knows that if he answers the door, it will begin the cycle all over again. Even the long showers which gay men are forced to endure in so many movies when they face deep threats does not seem to help him. It might as well be his first day of withdrawal.

      Yet he suffers it out for another two weeks, marking his calendar each alcohol-free day with an X. But then suddenly the urge returns and he can’t control it, and he downs can after can of beer.

       And then the cause of his drinking—unfortunately people always presume there’s a single cause for alcohol consumption and ignore the fact that for some it’s simply that, for a while at least, those who drink heavily simply enjoy the taste and feelings that liquor produces—is at the door again, yelling to open the door.



     When he does open up, we recognize the handsome intruder, Erick (Raymundo J. Cruz) which is at the heart of his problems. Erick wants sex, not just a gentle kiss or two and a good fuck, but wild, vampiric action, almost as if it was a rape. “Only with you, can I be myself,” Erick breathlessly mutters as blood flows from Dano’s shoulder.

     Whether he might actually be a vampire isn’t the issue. The problem is that after the night of lust, Erick puts his clothes back on and leaves, missing for endlessly long periods of time. Daniel never knows when and if he might return again.


    And so the cycle is repeated: tears, the drip on the kitchen tap, pouring out of the cans and bottles of whatever is left in the refrigerator, the messages of support, the days marked with an X, the attempt to refuse to answer the knock at the door. Who can resist when you know, as bad as it is, what is on the other side? Alcohol may be the only remedy for an endless appetite of the thrill of the brutal sex that Erick provides.

      

Los Angeles, August 4, 2025

Reprinted from My Queer Cinema blog (August 2025).

Don Roy King | The Admiral / 2020 [TV (SNL) episode]

back into service

by Douglas Messerli

 

Michael Che, Colin Jost, and Kent Sublette (head writers), Don Roy King (director) The Admiral / 2020 [TV (SNL) episode]

 

In this sketch from March 1, 2020, Kate McKinnon and Aidy Bryant redo a previous sketch titled The Corporal, this time trying to outdo and kill off each other, in Cinderella step-sister style, as they both attempt to woo an Admiral (Beck Bennett) in a 1950s-style episode of “Say, Those Two Don’t Seem to Like Each Other.”    



   McKinnon falsely praises her sister, noting that she is wearing “mother’s pearls,” while Bryant repeats the nicety, adding that she is wearing “father’s pearls.”

    Today is the day the Admiral is visiting to choose a wife, despite the fact that he’s never before even had a girlfriend. McKinnon is sure that she will be the “most sexually gor-geous,” Bryant, observing that her sister’s hair is “quite a mess” suggests she put on a hat, as she suddenly produces an anvil. McKinnon suggests her sister sign her birthday card, which Bryant immediately recognizes as a suicide note.

     Bryant one ups her, suggesting that her sibling is looking chilly: “Why don’t you put on this scarf?” she suggests as she holds up a boa constrictor. McKinnon, commenting on her sister’s bad breath, hands her a mint in the form of an “actual bomb.”


     Fortunately, the doorbell rings, bring a halt to the sisterly one-up-man-ship. They rush forward imploring the Admiral to pick one of them. But just before his difficult decision, in swishes John Mulaney, just back from war.

     The Admiral, with great relief, shouts out, “Well, hello sailor!”


     The sisters attempt to scare him off, but their brother reports that he’s just run home from the Pacific Theatre, and he’s awfully sweaty, which even further stimulates the Admiral’s admiration.

     The sisters, now quite jealous of their brother Julian, remind the Admiral that their brother was just a petty officer. But Julian declares that he got promoted—to “pass-around-party-bottom.” By this time the Admiral is absolutely drooling.

      Realizing that he’s gotten taller in his absence from home, Julian measures himself against the previous wall-marking, moving down and down while declaring he’s “up for anything.”

      The two ugly sisters, trying to get rid of their now “gay-hot” brother suggest to him that the Admiral has found him “annoying.” Not wanting at all to be annoying to a man in such a position, Julian declares he will just turn around against the wall so that the Admiral might ignore him, the sister’s quickly recognizing the dangers of taking such a stance.



      Julian, coming up with another plan, attempts to hide behind the couch by first pushing it up against the wall with punctuated ahhs and ooohs.

    They decide the shoot him, the machine doing away with the sailor suit’s arms and legs, while leaving their dear brother in a vest and shorts, making him even cuter than before.

      When the Admiral returns he inevitably chooses “the twink.”


      While this is clearly not a hilarious sketch, its gay jokes being, as IndieWire argues, lame and lazy, Slate found humor in Beck Bennett’s “ping-ponging back and forth between strict military discipline and the cartoonish lust of Tex Avery’s big bad wolf.”

      It all reminded me a bit of Guy Maddin’s Sissy Boy Slap Party (1994, 2004).

 

Los Angeles, August 4, 2025

Reprinted from My Queer Cinema blog (August 2025).

Index R-Z

Angelo Raaijmakers I, Adonis / 2021 Peeter Rabane Firebird / 2021   Tyler Rabinowitz Catalina / 2022 Tyler Rabinowitz See You Soon / 20...