Anne Misawa’s directorial début shows
promise and skill but can’t rise above a script laced with inane dialogue
(Peter—freshman frat in bed with Ian his graduate student poetry T.A.—“I’m
scared.” Ian “Don’t be, it’ll go away.” Peter “Promise?” Ian “Yeah.”) and
story development that inflicts rather than prepares the action:
Recently bashed Peter, thinks nothing of reading all of Ian’s private letters
on the first day of his convalescence (although not a bruise could be seen on
his trainer-perfect torso).
The video’s best moments come by way
of Misawa’s skill with the camera. From the opening sequence through the
single-prop plane ride (ah the toys the rich give their children to earn their
love …) to the too-late-to-dissuade return to the distraught lover, the
screen is awash with slow motion fuzz, colour and tilts that beautifully
capture the essence of drugs and free love that underscore this ’70s portrait
of college life in Virginia.
Although “based on the events in the
life of a friend,” the cast members spends much of their time preparing for the next
scene rather than living the one they are in. Samuel A. Levine’s Peter is a
great pleasure to watch, whether nude on the roof or splitting logs to
celebrate his instant recovery, but his faraway looks and barely changed
voice never resonate with the torment and tensions that his awakening sexual
preference has created. And his beard is truly incredible, never sprouting a
hair after any night of mayhem: an immaculate complexion for sure.
Joe (Trevor Lissauer whose rugged look
wouldn’t be out of place in Andy Warhol’s compelling trilogy, Flesh, Heat,
Trash) as Peter’s roommate invites the sexual neophyte into his bed for
tag-team sex with Bess (Amber Taylor, who as the lone female comes across as
more of an upscale fag hag than sage woman-of-the-world) but seems happiest
when heaping scorn on his pot-mates: “I wanna watch the two of you,” (they
couple, then the annoying Foley kissy-kissy track kicks in—aren’t there any
other love-making sounds?) “Look at the silly little faggot go.” Hmmm. He doth protest too much, methinks.
Meanwhile the resident queen, Billy,
has more than a passing interest in the new meat (after all he has a
reputation to protect), which causes a rift with Joe and, unexpectedly due to
lack of prior characterization, leads Joe to kick the shit out of his buff
buddy. But before you can say contrived, Ian comes to the rescue as he just
happens to be driving by when Peter stumbles to the street, leaving Billy with
a twisted ankle and Joe with no one to whack off.
The plot peaks when Peter is dumped by
his fraternity “brothers,” (“His relationship with Ian makes us look bad,”—finally, a believable line) gets expelled, outed to his parents then is forced
to leave Ian behind. (Cue the cliché: long eyes staring at his man from the
rear window of the family car …)
From that point on, the camera takes
stage and we are mostly shown rather than told the tragic consequences of
bigotry and self-loathing. If only the words and their articulators could
sculpt their thoughts with the same care and dignity. JWR