Eva Green: where ya been all my life? Sometimes, I think I live under a rock because when a specimen so fine as Ms. Green (Casino Royale, Camelot) escapes my mental clutches for this long, I have to wonder how strong my devotion to pop culture really is. And she’s not just a complete babe – sister can act to boot! Alongside, Homoflix regular Juno Temple and bombshell supporting players Imogen Poots and Maria Valverde, she tears up the screen in melodramatic brooding so committed, it’s sure to make you reach for a stiff drink and that old copy of Nightwood faster than you can answer Cracks opening line: “Do you have desire?”
Set in a random British boarding school in 1934, Green’s Ms. G is a rogue hottie in a sea of sexless Protestants, known for her amazing stories of exploits abroad while managing a dorm of rich, abandoned young women led by Temple’s grumpy bitch alpha princess Di. Her only definite responsibility at the school seems to be leading the girls on diving expeditions. (You can pause and let that sink in. Really. I don’t mind.) Anyway, Ms. G and Di have a “special,” if unconsummated, flirtation and clear love of water sports, but all shit breaks loose when a prodigious Spaniard hits the scene, making waves as a Catholic and foreigner with a past to boot. Fiamma (Valverde), an asthmatic with flawless skin, is immediately loathed for being the most cosmopolitan lady on campus, inspiring jealousy and rage in her overly sheltered, hormonal peers. Ms. G is of course completely smitten with the well-travelled 16 year-old, but Fiamma quickly discerns that G might have at least one screw loose, catching her in a white lie of inflated storytelling that will eventually have tragic consequences for the sharp minor. What follows are fucked up mind games involving an inhaler, a decadent dorm party, an implied lesbian rape and a prolonged, terribly upsetting Lord of the Flies chase scene. And this at 3 in the afternoon on a Thursday! My heart, my heart!
Sing in me, Muse, and through me tell the story
of that man skilled in all ways of… butt sex
Kudos to anyone who got the Homeric reference, but you don’t need to be an ancient Greek scholar to be enlightened by the great, marginalizing mythology of the young gay. It is a simple and easily repeatable one. All you need are some female props, like a tiara and beauty pageant sash to establish early onset partial gender-identity dysphoria, an insecure straight boy to lead you astray only to betray you ultimately (in abundance these days, especially in Flanders, apparently…) and an older ally or mentor to have a semi-fucked up relationship with that will probably help you learn something about yourself. Once you’ve got all these elements just throw them at your young gay male protagonist, and voila! You’ve got yourself an Odyssey (of ass). Stacked to the brim with cliché coming-of-age tropes, North Sea Texas is a perfect execution of an unfortunately staid and obnoxious stock gay narrative.
Quick sum-sum: Pim is a little gay boy who likes to put on his deadbeat mom’s makeup. He falls for this boy next door straight-but not narrow kid named Gino. They jerk off together and Pim collects Gino’s cumsock and other autistic memorabilia. Then, lo and behold, Gino starts dating chicks. Pim is betrayed and slashes Gino’s tires. Gino’s sister Sabrina, feels slighted by Pim, who she’s triangularly fallen for, when she finds out he’s a fag. They end up bonding when Pim’s mom skips town with Zoltan, a gypsy that Pim has had a crush on his whole life. Doubly-betrayed-Pim has really been through the ringer at this point, when Gino and Sabrina’s mom gets really sick. On her death bed, mom silently requests that her son and Pim be friends (or more!?) by joining their hands, then kicking the bucket. This kind of reunites Gino and Pim and it kind of maybe ends happily.
Hi. You probably didn’t notice, but a few months ago, homoflix slid off the face of the earth in a poof of sparkle and santorum, but now we’re back, astroglidden and ready to rock once more. What better way to ring in the new year, Chinese or otherwise, than with an understated, Brit flick about a one-night stand turned lovey dovey? Yes, ladies, you too can Grind(r) your way to love. Weekend proves it… then shits on it.
Before we dive in, I must issue an important warning. I hesitated to put the FOREIGN label on this film. It is technically “foreign” as it was made ‘cross the pond, but it’s in English, and the FOREIGN category is really for films that require some kind of translation. These people are definitely speaking my language, but they still get the title because boy do they mumble! I had my MacBook’s speakers cranked up to full blast, and I could barely make out one flirtatious British murmur. These blokes share a lot of things with us during the course of this film, but not their voices. I strongly advice getting some speakers or get some headphones ready before settling in to this one. Seriously. You’re gonna think it’s fine and then 10 minutes in, you’re gonna have to put your dick down and get those $99 Altec-Lansing speaks your mom got you for christmas in college from your storage nook. Oh yeah. Did I mention that there’s GAY SEX in this film? And jizz!? JIZZ!!!!
I love Robyn. I always have, and always will. When she broke into music-fame in the US with her hit “Do You Know (What It Takes)” it the late 90s, I threw down my Baz Luhrmann’s Romeo + Juliet soundtrack and began worshipping a new compact disc overlord: her debut album Robyn Is Here (and she still is, as I’m currently saturating my brain with the electro-bliss of her latest album Body Talk).
I also love lesbians. I always have, and always will. I’m a “lezbro” if you will. So it’s no wonder that when I came across an L film in the G&L sec on Netflix named after one of my fav Swede lady’s biggest hits, I had to check it out. And, as luck will have it, Show Me Love did not disappoint.
Now I’ve seen my share of Euro-gayboy coming out films from the 90s (and of course, by “seen” I mean I watched Beautiful Thing so many times I wore out the VHS), but I must say, I haven’t seen
many any gaygirl ones. Until now. And I gotta say, this movie sent my inner dutch boy heart a (fuzz) bumpin’.
I’ll be honest. Judging by the cover art that was posted on Netflix, I thought Heartbeats was a lesbian movie. Nope. Just has some really pretty boys in it. And yeh, that was kind of a letdown. In fact, I hesitate to even call this movie a gay movie. It’s basically a Québécois version of Threesome, with way better cinematography. It only really earns its gay chops by including a gay sex scene, lit moodily, that starts with crying. Classic.
I guess I should run through the kind of standard movie review stuff first, before getting to what you really want to hear. This film is gorgeous. Director/star Xavier Dolan has made a beautiful film that has some beautiful people in it (hubba, hubba Niels Schneider as Nick!), and the performances in the film are intricate, nuanced and compelling – definitely a level of skill that rarely dons the cloak of “gay cinema.” And the outfits outfits are awesome. Werk.
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.