A screening of Sugar should become compulsory for
all young men contemplating the transition from school-yard beat-offs to
full-service drug and hustling lifestyles. This cliché-lite film boldly
examines the behind-the-scenes escapades of an out-of-control sex-trade master
and only misses the mark of excellence when the leads slip out of character.
But that’s to be expected given the fact that the script has four writing
credits including source material from a number of Bruce La Bruce’s short
stories.
The production works best when its characters are silent,
leaving John Westheuser’s knowing camera and Robert Kennedy’s seamless editing
to bring to life the telling sequences. Two standouts: Butch (Brendan Fehr,
whose skill at selling sex comes across stronger than his drug dependency) gives
a truly moving lay to his obese client (so overweight that hydraulics must be
enlisted to help her “assume the position”). His fingers caress the ample flesh
with a sensitivity that many of the buff and beautiful set can only dream of
receiving. As he drives her to climax, Butch seems genuinely into his own
release even while she screams with satisfaction during those costly moments
of physical intimacy that must have drained her disability pension as much as
their emotions.
Later, suburbanite Cliff (André Noble, whose luscious
brown-saucer pupils and ever-engaging smile should keep him on the screen for
years to come), who falls for Butch while celebrating his 18th birthday in Toronto’s rent-boy district, is dragged along to a trick-pad where
his cherry is lost to satiate the viewing fetish of the customer (“Don’t worry,
I just like to watch”) rather than consummate the virgin’s first love. This
uncomfortable scene is captured with discretion (unlike the extended rape in
Irreversible, cross-reference below) and an eerie believability of
the darker side of the “business.”
In fact, if things ended here as Cliff—violated to his
inner being—gave up on Butch and accepted the date from his high school chum to
the prom, there would have been a brief but commendable addition to
gay-themed cinema.
However, since stories had to be told, Cliff breaks his
resolve and heads back for another helping of hopeless love. This is where
director John Palmer failed to step in and, at least, smarten up the dialogue.
As Madge (Cliff’s mother, Marnie McPhail) shares a mutually consoling joint with
her teetering son, we learn that “The home is all there is sometimes”; then when
the reunion falls apart during a failed attempt for a blow job by the now
lesion-covered trickster (perhaps the knife play put his sometime lover out of
the mood), Cliff is forced to mutter “If I could help you I would,” for his
farewell.
Soon after Butch fades to black, his body isn’t even cold
before Cliff, in a coffee shop with his Ritalin-addicted younger sister Cookie
(served up with savvy by Haylee Wanstall), proceeds to the men’s room for a
“second-stall-on-the-right” encounter with “Killer”—a.k.a.
Mr. Right Now. Their interruption by a startled patron was the perfect metaphor
for the viewer who could well conclude that Cliff has learned nothing and will
soon be with his ex at that big bath house in the sky.
Finally, special mention must be made of Maury Chaykin’s
fabulous portrayal of S&M queen, Stanley—particularly
the scene where he washes dishes hoping to be thoroughly whipped if his
master notices any bits of errant food. Delicious! JWR