Category: Gay

Beginners

No one on this poster is this happy in the film itself.

Beginners is the sort of movie that I’m required by law to love, but I couldn’t. Emotional distance is a huge factor in too many contemprary movies: fundamentally broken characters who don’t care about fixing themselves, choosing instead to fixate on their moping don’t make for particularly interesting movies. This is not to say that you can’t make films about depression or depressed characters, just that, like any other film, you should work on making them engaging in at least some regard.

That Beginners tells such a personal story makes its distance unforgivable.

Oliver (Ewan McGregor) is recovering from the death of his four years out of the closet father Hal (Christopher Plummer).He meets Anna (Mélanie Laurent, who still hasn’t learned to pick them after Inglourious Basterds), an actress, and they kind of have a relationship but kind of don’t. The film features parallel story lines of the last months of Hal’s life and the beginning of Oliver and Anna’s relationship.

Mike Mills wrote Beginners in response to his own father’s coming out. You would think this would endow the movie with a degree of feeling, but it doesn’t. The whole exercise is remote. Oliver’s mother is represented in flashbacks reminiscent of Harold and Maude; Oliver tries to trace his melancholy to his parents’ presumed loveless marriage, but the answer is much simpler: he’s a sad sack, endlessly waiting for a lion.

It’s easy to blame your parents for everything, especially when you deliberately don’t seek parts of the story that make sense of their emotions and actions. The childhood flashback sequences of this movie don’t particularly prove anything except that Hal felt absent and Oliver misses his mother. These scenes are quirky but offer little. The film’s whole structure doesn’t make much sense; the parallels aren’t easy enough for us to draw, and what Oliver is doing always feels the same regardless of whether his father is alive or dead.

Periodically the film is broken up by Oliver’s illustrations of the history of sadness. These are for his job, where they prove profoundly unsaleable. They were drawn by Mills himself, and they seem too pithy to really reflect what is supposed to be fighting to release itself from Oliver. At other times the film tries to force collages of “these were the days”, utterly failing to set the scene and continuing to take the audience further and further away from the film and from Oliver himself.

Ultimately Oliver’s depression becomes the entire content of the film: that his father was gay and died seems incidental; that he can’t connect and commit to a potential girlfriend is symptomatic but irrelevant.  Depression can feel like your life has become a total blank, and largely meaningless to you. It can be frustrating. Oliver is undeniably frustrated; he can touch but he cannot feel. Mills has injected this melancholy into the very marrow of Beginners, resulting in a film that is bland and tasteless.

It’s disconcerting to feel this disconnect: dead and dying parents are supposed to be a safe way to get audiences to discover their emotions. Christopher Plummer attacks the role with gusto, but it’s always presented through the filter of Oliver. He is shown feeling grief, but we feel nothing. We’re given the memory of this grief, but it is the grief of a man looking at himself and thinking “where did I go wrong?”. I would dearly have liked to feel sad that Hal had died, but Mills never let me.

Any movie with a gay theme and a big name cast like this is going to get a special kind of attention from the outer limits of media. Beginners has been well received, and that’s the mystery: there’s really nothing to it. We’re bathing in misery which is only occasionally leavened by imagined subtitles from Oliver’s dog.

Beginners has nothing to say about romantic relationships, nor does it explore the particularly fascinating reality of a man finally allowing himself to be gay at 75.  A guy is sad, his father was happy. Guy continues to be sad, maybe thinks he shouldn’t be sad any more but he’s not sure.

You don’t have to like Beginners. It’s not really that good a film, tackling important and interesting issues in the least engaging way possible. Mike Mills was perfectly suited to make this film but he failed his material, gazing so far into his own navel that he disappeared into it.

Maybe the Moon

Maybe The Moon is Armistead Maupin’s biggest deviation from type in his career. The first non-Tales book he wrote, it’s a paean to a departed friend and gives Maupin a chance to reveal a different voice. This voice can be charming, but it eventually gives way to a second hand anger that belongs to an entirely different book. It’s hard for me to know what to make of it, even a week later.

 

Cadence Roth, at 30 years old, stands 31 inches tall and the best years of her acting career are already behind her. Maybe The Moon is presented in the form of a diary documenting her attempts to revitalise her career, find love and reconnect with old friends.

Mary Ann in Autumn

Michael Tolliver lives! … Again!
A three year gap is significantly less than eighteen years. On top of that, this is the first Tales of the City book that I have read contemporaneously. Do you have any idea how strange it is to shift from Maupin speaking to people who predate me to him speaking directly to me, the world in which I’m living? It’s a stretch.

I think that Tales of the City books work best as capsules of their time, which of course means, except for Sure of You, they improve with age. That Maupin now speaks of Twitter and Facebook with varying degrees of understanding feels strange to me. Did readers thirty years ago think that D’orothea and DeDe’s involvement with Jonestown was simply bizarre (well, it was by default, but … more bizarre?)?
All this is not to say that Mary Ann in Autumn is a bad book or disappointing. For me, at least, it is essential for its service in returning Mary Ann to her figuratively ancestral home. I don’t think I’m exaggerating when I tell you how badly betrayed I felt by her in Sure of You. Mary Ann is not absolved of her sins, but it seems she may well be redeemed.

Michael Tolliver Lives


I know that an exclamation mark would be hyperbolic, but I think that, after an 18 year absence, “Michael Tolliver Lives!” is an appropriate title. Abandoned by his author in 1989, Michael Tolliver has been up to a lot in his absence. This wasn’t originally going to be a Tales of the city book, but Maupin realised that Michael Tolliver was the perfect vehicle for an ageing gay man.

This explains why it’s written in the first person, and how everything seems to grow organically from that original concept. It can be dangerous resurrecting beloved characters after a long time away, but Maupin has let them all live and die natural lives in the interim.

The shift from third person to the first is not without its problems: unlike The Night Listener, where the narrator was addressing his hypothetical radio audience, there is no indication of whom Michael is speaking to. This is not normally a problem with other first person books, but it’s clear that Michael is addressing someone, and I refuse to believe it’s me. He reminds you of things a couple of times and he explains things that don’t strictly need explanation.

Because we’re presented the exclusive viewpoint of Michael, other characters – Brian in particular – get short shrift from Maupin. This isn’t a failing as much as it is a necessary evil. Just because one wants an author to overstuff a book doesn’t mean that they should. Maupin shows more restraint here than he has previously.

Of course, the other side of the double edged sword is that the exercise is rather more personal than any previous entry in the Tales canon. Rather like Maupin’s prior effort, The Night Listener, I found myself tearing up or even outright crying at times in the last fifty pages.

I welcomed this book because I considered Sure of You a huge downer to end the series on. Maupin doesn’t idolise his characters, and so they sometimes make horrible decisions and become people that you can easily fall out of love with – as I did with several. The character arcs from book to book actually made me worry about reading on for fear that the characters – not Maupin – would compromise themselves.

Michael Tolliver Lives is an invigorating experience. It sounds stupid, but it is “life-affirming”. Maupin writes death and loss very well, having experienced it too often first hand (this series, after all, spans pre-AIDS society to “post”), but he also writes survival. His honesty is brutal, and I don’t agree with every stance that Michael takes, but I don’t have to. I’m touched in such a way that I don’t have to internalise the whole experience. Ultimately, Michael Tolliver Lives, despite the way that it treats some characters (Mona!), feels like more of a gift from Maupin than anything else.

Mary Ann in Autumn, only recently published, promises to be a return to the original format of sprawling and unlikely storylines that intertwine in vague and strange ways. Mary Ann’s return as a focal character might set everything that was wrong in Sure of You right once and for all.

Brüno

Brüno is a difficult movie, to put it lightly. It is frequently very funny, but overall it’s not very good – neither in story nor in message.

Perhaps, given my position as an internationally renowned homosexual fashionista, this movie hits closer to the bone than Borat ever could have hoped, but it simply doesn’t work as well. There are only so many Teutonic variations on “arsehole” you can say before you realise you’ve got to make an actual movie. Brüno is not that movie, because it never gets past that point.

High School Musical 3: Senior Year

The final shots of this movie can essentially be summarised thusly:

Yep, well, looks like we have to get real jobs now.

… but we’re flying! Soaring! The tale of the first group of Wildcats draws to a close in their interminable third outing, High School Musical 3: Senior Year. If you wanted to see a musical with no memorable songs, a surprisingly almost practical approach to end-of-high-school-in-America romance, and absolutely no sexuality whatsoever, this is it.
I’m just proud that I managed to trick three people into coming along with me to observe the phenomenon.

Vote No on Proposition 8

It would be a bad idea for Batrock.net to suddenly become some sort of political platform but, as I’ve said, this is a pretty dang important week in American politics. This being the case, I’d like to take the opportunity to suggest that, if you’re Californian, you vote “no” on Proposition 8.
That’s the proposition that was originally called the “California Marriage Protection Act”. Marriage is in trouble? From what? Dolphins, no doubt. Yeah, I’d vote yes on that, it’s a valuable institution. That title was a bit vague, so it’s been renamed: Eliminates Right of Same-Sex Couples to Marry.

Oh, right. I’m a bit less certain about eliminating that right. This would appear to be another partisan issue, but we all know there are some secret and not so secret gay republicans. One of the most amusing parts of this campaign was the co-founder of “dating” site Manhunt resigning over the revelation that he had donated to McCain’s campaign.
Anyway, that’s why I’m surprised (but also pleased) to find that Arnold Schwarzenegger is against the proposition. If it takes celebrity endorsements to convince you of something, then they can tell you that Proposition 8 is far and away from the right direction for America and, by extension, the world.

Certainly, there’s a slippery slope argument: “if we allow gays to marry each other, what next? We’ll allow people to marry their pets! Paedophiles to marry their prey! Brothers to marry their sisters! Dogs and cats living together! Mass hysteria!” (This is also known as the “Katy Perry Effect”)
I’m almost positive that society does not actually work that way, and that such people are far larger statistical anomalies and could certainly recognise the stigma of their actions. There are forms of self-loathing that nothing can scrub away, and I’m not convinced that homosexuality is either one of them or a floodgate for legitimately repugnant activities.

Tonight I made the mistake of going into the internet moral dead zone of conservative blogs, which is something that I used to subject myself to all the time a scant eighteen months ago. You know why we shouldn’t let gay people marry? It just ain’t right. I’m sold. I actually saw one argument against gay marriage being that one politician had proposed easier access to tests for STDs. Clearly, people shouldn’t be getting STDs at all, so there’s no need to test for them: if they get them, it’s their own dang fault.

Seriously, in reality: gay people, except for those at the Folsom Street Fair, are exactly the same as everyone else. Maybe I don’t personally want to get married at this very moment, but why not let others? How does allowing them to marry affect you? It seems to me that a lot of “concerned parents” want their children to live sheltered lifestyles, where sex of any kind won’t occur to them until their wedding night – and if they find out that their partner is actually the wrong gender for them, too late! They’re already bound in the unbreakable contract of marriage, ’til death do they part. This is essentially not how the world operates at all: these sorts of things are going to happen, whether it is liked or not, whether or not the behaviour is taught, and a society conducive to people not hating themselves and praying for suicide is the kind of society that I approve of.

This is not simply about eliminating the right of same-sex couples to marry: it is another kind of slippery slope into a deep and scary “don’t ask, don’t tell” world, where children grow up knowing nothing of reality. If they hear of these mythical “homosexuals”, they will only know them as horrid beasts who conduct immoral lifestyles. All of these worries about schools “teaching” gay marriage are illogical: a school should not make a moral judgement in the imparting of knowledge. I do not recall any of my history teachers explicitly labelling Hitler “evil”. Gay marriage existing will lead to the acknowledgement that gay marriage exists, which of course leads to the acknowledgement that gay people exist. For whatever reason, we can’t be having with that.
In typing that, I realised that America is also the country where evolution is also a term that’s not allowed within fifty feet of so many schools. Education may be condemned as a Godless liberal pursuit, but sometimes I’m inclined to think that the Christian Right is winning. Religion has no place in government, but I’m not going to condemn its very existence. Proposition 8 encroaches on my livelihood, and countless other people like me, who are almost certainly better at maintaining that livelihood than I am. This is playing with people, here, and it’s not an acceptable way to conduct a nation.

I forgot to mention that several churches have publicly opposed Proposition 8 because of its denigration of humanity. I salute these organisations.

Always useful resource Towleroad has collected much information on Proposition 8 in this handy post, including PSAs by Samuel L. Jackson, Kathy Griffin, and the aforementioned Republicans Against 8 ad. Proposition 8 may be a California only Proposition, but it has wider reaching implications. I’m making an appeal to humanity here.

If this is incoherent, it’s because I’m tired, but it’s important that you vote No on Proposition 8 if the responsibility is in your hands.

Marching for fake rights in video games

I’ll admit that I get frustrated when a video game offers a lesbian option for your protagonist but not a gay one. (And, for the sake of this write-up, “gay” and “lesbian” are two sides of the same coin, divided by gender).

I was thinking of this because of the Mass Effect discussions, one of the classic rebuttals of which is “It’s not a lesbian relationship, that’s a blue alien in whose species only one gender exists”. Well, if it looks like a blue woman, talks like a blue woman, and copulates like a blue woman … for all intents and purposes, it’s a woman. Who is blue. I did read a good argument about this, though:

Who gives a shit if there’s fag sex in Mass Effect[?]

A valid point and well made; can’t argue with that.

Godless Liberals: The Ruination of America

Shamus has put me in the mind of the past with his talk of Mass Effect and its HARDCORE NONEXISTENT SEX. I know that this post doesn’t exist (this one does), but it’s like a time capsule for me. This is another one of those instances where I fail pretty spectacularly to talk about video games, movies or pop culture, so you’ll have to forgive me.
Penny Arcade has also covered the ground, but not entirely accurately: like a great many Rightist sites, Town Hall likes to take their shots where it hurts – the gays. You can go to a great many of these sites and see, apropos of nothing, lists of reasons why gay people are awful and must be stopped.

Field observations from a three time veteran of the Clubs

On the weekend, I made only my third pilgrimage to Oxford Street and the Midnight Shift. Along the way, I saw someone I recognised through work, wearing checked pants and a sort of emo style of makeup – he gave me a look of joyful recognition, but I can’t for the life of me remember where he works.
This much exposure to the buzzing scene of which I will only ever be an observer has obviously rendered me an expert, and I can share my findings with you. Forewarned, as they say, is forearmed (Rob Liefield flashback!).

Even if the crowd hates the song that is playing, the individual members will almost certainly have their own specific moves for that song mapped out.

For example, when Madonna’s “Sorry” played on Friday, one of my friends booed … and then launched into his own routine. This also proves that not everyone loves Madonna.

Songs that suck or you never pay attention to are magically transformed by the atmosphere.

Gwen Stefani’s “What you waiting for” and, presumably, her entire bizarre Japanophile/Alice in Wonderland fusion oeuvre, are the most meaningful pieces of musical entertainment in human history. The works of the Pussycat Dolls are rendered into epic tales of desire. “Push Up” is … okay, it’s not that great. Fine. And Bob Sinclair is still pretty repetitive dependent on the song. But on the plus side, the audiences are totally oblivious to the objectification and exploitation of women prevalent in the music videos projected on the walls (besides which, the worst culprits are the kinds of music that would never seek play in such establishments).

Take your friends or get eaten alive.

One of the hazards of the scene is Creepy Old Men. It’s not so much an age as it is a state of mind, but they’re really scary and they will try to ingratiate themselves with you. Fortunately if you have friends, they can close the circle. Creepy Old Men aren’t exactly stupid, however, and they can grow abusive when they realise you’re ignoring them – even if they’re not quite clever enough to also realise that they are the reason you have ceased all movement and would be praying for the sweet release of death were it not for the fear that they would manhandle your rapidly decaying corpse.

Some people will feel compelled to remove their shirts.

These people are frequently the kind that you emphatically do not want to see shirtless. See also: Creepy Old Men.

Drag performers are extremely tall, even without heels, and have been known to use shorter people’s shoulders as arm rests.

Okay, maybe that one was just me.

Even if your friends are on the verge of drunkenness and are totally ready to go home, “You Can’t Stop The Beat” will give them a second wind and send them running for the dance floor.

This one is emphatically, if perhaps specifically, true.

What the fuck.

Two weeks ago, a more regular (and legitimate) veteran than myself was hugged by multiple strangers who commended his bravery in wearing glasses.

Next Time: Tropical fish in a bar: what’s up with that? Plus! With smoking banned inside all pubs, clubs and bars, where am I going to get my cancer from?

Disclaimers: Some of the music that is played is indeed valid outside of the context of the clubs; not all Old Men are Creepy; it’s inconceivable that all people think of glasses as an impediment.