Monthly Archives: August 2011

When I saw this movie on the Netflix roster, I was intrigued. According to the description, it is a lesbian film from Japan. It is a film, and it is from Japan, but dang-nabbit, Frog Song ain’t no lesbian film! Apparently this is a film of the pinku genre, which is like Japanese art-house porn. It’s got an interesting story, I guess, and some good acting, but the whole premise and way it was shot weaves a kind of sorrow-ful lesbian-until-fucked-by-the-right-guy kind of tale.

The story is about a woman, Akemi, who leaves her cheating husband and kind of falls in love becomes friends with a prostitute, who specializes in sleeping with Johns who be-little and beat the shit out of her. Yeah. You guessed it. This movie is basically rape porn.

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With a hurricane pending and a pretty free social calendar since my sweetie starting remacking on cisgender dudes, what better way to spend a Saturday night than kicking it with my girl Rel, her girl Amanda, some questionable shrimp pad thai and The Itty Bitty Titty Committee? Stumped?  Well, I couldn’t think of one either so me and my pup Blue made the trek out to her no-man’s land sublet for some second-wave meets third-wave feminist showdown rom com cooter candy and we were not disappointed.  This movie kills!

Anna (Melonie “Great Lips, No Range” Diaz) is smarting from a break-up from her gf Jacinta.  With big sis getting married and no college prospects in sight, she spends her time working as a receptionist for a plastics guy specializing in breast augmentation.  (She also wears some pretty unfortunate khaki flares for the first twenty minutes of the film.)  But this all changes when she meets Sadie (Nicole Vicius), a ridiculous hottie she catches spray-painting the tit clinic after hours.  Sadie announces that she’s the ringleader of an activist organization called Clits in Action (CIA) and that Anna should totally stop by and jam on their covert activities if she’s ever in the hood.  And she’s about to get more “in the hood” than she ever expected.  Bad news though: Sadie’s got a sugar momma (guest lecturer second year at Smith, thanks) and she’s not givin’ up the perks of living with the director of a nonprofit for the wiles of just any baby dyke who wants to learn the ropes of Rrriot Grrl.  No.  It’s going to take more than that and that’s just what this film is about: Anna’s journey to herself and the politicized pussy of her dreams.

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So I’d heard a lot about this film, but nothing I’d heard was enough to convince me to re-subscribe to my Netflix DVD plan. But huzzah! Last week, this big-budget, star-studded homoflick popped up on Netflix Instant, to the delight of Ewan McGregor stalkers everywhere.

I Love You Phillip Morris is the true story of a real-life gay con-artist named Steven Russell (Jim Carrey), and his love-affair with a sissy Southern carjacker Phillip Morris (McGregor), who he meets in prison. According to the marketing and trailers, this film looked like an irritating characterization of gayness with enough moral ambiguity to allow any Bible-thumping potential audience members to feel safe in their inability to relate to a heathen homo. Was this Brokeback Mountain all over again? With uglier dudes?

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Who doesn’t love a good ole fashioned government ban? Apparently that’s what controversial Chinese director Ye Lou was defying when he made this dark and stormy tale of old lovers, scorned wives and noobie ‘mos. Spring Fever is all about love and loss in a totalitarian society that just doesn’t get it. It’s kind of like Footloose, but hotter.

The film opens with some simple, beautiful shots of two lovely lovers, Jiang Chen & Wang Ping, pissing on someone’s house (or something?) on their way to their secret sex castle (or… something??). Unfortunately for us happy openly-gay gays, these two protagonists are not only not-out, but one has a wife who’s on to them (played by the amazing Jiang Jiaqi). She hires a P.I., Luo Haitao (played by the smoky Sicheng Chen), who snaps some kinky photos of a sex scene that we totally get to see, subsequently ruining her life and the lives of everyone else in the film. She freaks. She cries. And acts really hard. It’s actually amazing.

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Alright, before I head out to start decorating for the lezzie bachelorette party of the century, I thought I’d put down a few thoughts I had recently while watching The Gymnast which apparently was a big shit hit in 2006 and won the Best Feature prize at Outfest.  Film’s first line: “You’ve stopped taking your antidepressants.”  Absolutely, pass the popcorn, I’m ready.

But here’s the deal, ladies.  This barely softcore story of two women who want to do aerial dance in Vegas will leave you clit-chafed ‘til Sunday.  But if you accept that fact you might enjoy yourself on the ride.  (See BLUE BALLS.)  Especially if you like really built chicks with eight-packs and long hair who softly whisper things like “I got you” to women they are supporting in mid-air by the strength of their forearms alone and their husbands still don’t know they’re GEH.

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Listen. We’ve been there.

You’re bored. Lonely. It’s late. For some reason your social calendar drew a blank and here you are, at home. Ready to toast the very community you are simultaneously isolating yourself from by watching a film or TV show from the “Gay & Lesbian” section on Netflix Instant.

You know the pickin’s are slim, but you need a fix. So you take a risk.

But then… Aw snap! Stuck with watching Kevin Smith look bored for two hours even though you were promised a “Romantic Gay & Lesbian Movie” praised by one Netflix reviewer as having “urban reality” and “heart.”


Well those days are numbered cuz you’ve got a friend in your corner now. On homoflix, we’ll break down the petty selection of lgbt films on Netflix and let you know what you’re really in store for. No simple rating system. No “suggestions.” And no dumb-ass hetero reviewers relating to the “universal love story” of films like Happy Together or the disarming and desexualizing comedy of Kissing Jessica Stein.

Your computer screen glow has never looked less depressing.