My cup of iced red wine almost drained (thank you, Trader Joe’s), I turn myself to the matter at hand. Dreya Weber. And it appears she’s turning into a homoflix category all of her own (see The Gymnast). But she is more than that. She is a goddess of some singular genre devoted to “pansexual” women (I swear I read that self-proclaimed shit on Wiki, but it’s possible that’s the four beers I had before the red talking) who wish to make art with their male partners about fucking women. Should I be upset? Or overcome by her pale, gauzy tops? I think you know the answer.
In honor of 9/11, I decided to watch A Marine Story today. Just shy of four minutes in, the incomparable Weber had already thrown some meth head punk to the ground and a minute later was ordering tequila from a small-town shop clerk. And this is all after she got her gay ass discharged from the military. Nice work – and you can get it if you try.
In a series of flashbacks, we get the lowdown on Marine officer Alexandra Everette (Weber) who’s been on the lowdown for some time. Prodigal daughter returns home and she’s a hot mess. But that’s when awesome fate intervenes in the form of a poor man’s Kristen Stewart named Saffron (Paris P. Pickard) who needs some serious mentoring after one run-in with the law too many. It’s the Army or bust for this budding neophyte and there’s only one woman in town woman enough to whip her into shape. Typical lines from Latent Longing Boot Camp 101:
“Either give me total submission or get gone.”
“Just go until your body stops.”
Not to mention a phenomenal scene where Saff gets overheated, strips to her skivvies and is sprayed down with a hose. Enlist me already! Jesus.
Meanwhile, Alex reconnects with some old high school buds (Leo the feminist!! and a hot yoga instructor she never quite made it with named Holly) and even finds a woman her own age to bang. But of course she gets all PTSD on that shit because of “Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell.” BOO.
Anyway, there’s an intrigue with a scorned bigot and things get stupid in the last fifteen, but I was ultimately strangely moved by the whole fiasco. And it wasn’t just the Two Buck Chuck. It was the sad realization that queer people’s lives get permanently fucked by hatred and the repercussions of that screwing just don’t seem to translate the way they should to mainstream consciousness. I mean, I think I have it rough being a queer actor. But what if I’d been born a patriot or a gifted jock? No hope. And sobering to say the least.