The jaunty second helping in the Eating Out series is a playful romp through an art school’s halls of desire. As the curtain rises, following Shane’s (Andrew Ley) teasing fantasy lesson in nipple stimulation, Kyle (the ever-engaging Jim Verraros) is on the prowl. He’s just split with his usual date Marc (Brett Chukerman whose sculpted torso finds frequent favour with Lisa Wiegand’s camera), after the delectable Sebastian (John Dewis) turns up for a session of “emotional support.”
The film’s mantra “You can choose your own adventure” gets an impressive liftoff when newcomer Troy (Marco Dapper, with just the right amount of sexual ambivalence to convincingly swing both ways) breezes into Kyle’s life-drawing class and strips with gusto even as the “Queerer Than Folk” instructor commands his charges to bring “chalk to paper.” For Kyle, it’s love at first stroke, but the sexy model admits that he’s into “girls … mostly.”
The sub-plot stems around a “Coming In” help group for the formerly gay who’ve come to their senses and, collectively, struggle through the twelve steps back to the safe haven of heterosexuality. As their tireless leader, Alan (James Michael Bobby) encourages his hormone-enraged followers to blurt out their transgressions in vivid detail. Hilarious is the former dyke’s confession that “I sucked a dick.” See? She’s cured!
Kyle’s so hot for Troy he opts to swallow his pride (lovingly referred to as a throat sausage—the sassy script by Phillip J. Bartell and Q. Allan Brocka keeps the proceedings dashing along gaily), renounce his sexuality and join Allan’s delirious deniers. That move, he reasons, will draw the apparently confused nude model into his confidence as they both expunge the love that cannot be named from their systems, but if in their joint struggle towards respectability a deep-tissue massage and a blow job happen to occur (relapses can pop up at any time), well, they’ll just have to deal with it together.
Kyle’s plan is egged on by tramp extraordinaire Tiffani (Rebekah Kochan), encouraged by always-Friend-of-Dorothy’s Gwen (Emily Brooke Hands), and puzzled over by his advice-proffering mother “There’s plenty of cocks in the hen house.” For his part, the jealous Marc takes matters into his own hands and comes on to Troy via the old “let’s be workout buddies” routine.
The fun and games continue with buff bodes and morsels of dangling bits flashed to the screen (a more fulsome capture of these marvellous hunks might help the film’s, er, staying power, perhaps taking a page from Bertolucci’s bare-bones approach, cross-reference below) and a rip-roaring threesome where a cunnilingus dive nearly upsets the myth of “must be straight.” But the showstopper is, literally rolled out in a fuck-a-potty where Octavio (the oh-so-sultry Adrian Quinonez—extra screen time, please) has more than his way with a shuddering hypocrite and brilliantly sets up what can only be described as the finest up close (and personal) shot to soil a tailored suit in years.
Yet when all is said, done and wiped up, this winning film leaves just a slightly sour taste with its over-the-top satire of the “horrors” of batting for the other side. No worries and lots of yuks for the converted (and their admirers), but, perhaps, more fuel for the discriminatory fire of the brain-challenged breeders (many forever closeted) who abound in all shapes and sizes around the globe. JWR