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.
Okay, so the movie is basically about a forty-something ex-gymnast named Jane (Dreya Weber) who lives in the ‘burbs with a mildly obnoxious dude (that’s her husband) and works as a masseuse. She desperately wants to get with child and every time she fucks her old man she immediately races out of the room and does a headstand. There’s also some creepy guy who likes jogging with her and in a particularly harrowing scene, sweat rolling down his man parts, he tells her that he “hears the yelling” (code for domestic abuse) and then asks her out on a date.
So this is life for Jane until one day when she decides to go cruising at a kid’s gymnastics class, gets spotted by a foxy ringer and finds herself sucked into above-mentioned aerial dance intrigue with a hot Korean belly dancer named Serena (Addie Yungmee). When teacher conveniently gets called out of town, the two hotties are left to their own devices. Unfortunately, I’m not being literal and thus had to wait until 35:40 for a push-up bra to meet a sports bra and over an hour in for the two lovebirds to hit the sack. Or rather a hot tub with a bottle of white where I was forced to imagine a scissor bang because all this homo got was a champagne flute poetically floating away with a quick cut to morning breath and rumpled sheets.
Issues: will “new gay” Jane leave her beard? Will Serena get her heart broken by another het in dyke’s spandex? Only a public audition for a Vegas bigwig climaxing in a very for-the-fellas face suck will tell for these two broads. Suffice to say, like all great lez classics, it ends in transit (see Loving Annabelle, Desert Hearts) and that was good for this Sapphic Siskel because I was already out the door myself. Next!