Is it possible that a movie bursting at the seams with naked, writhing bodies, masturbation scenes, and dildos can contain as much warmth and humanity as a movie with none of the above? John Cameron Mitchell’s Shortbus makes the argument that explicit sex does not equate to pornography, and that naked bodies can be used as vehicles with which to examine naked souls.
Based upon New York’s cinesalon scene, which I blogged about on 26 July after attending a revival of sorts, Shortbus examines the interconnected of New Yorkers in a city so big and unreal that Mitchell portrays it as a cartoon between movie segments. He moves from window to window, filling in pieces of the puzzle as he goes along, and the picture alternates between disturbing, depressing, delightful, and delirious. The ups and downs of love and life have rarely been looked at so honestly and unflinchingly.
Sook-Yin Lee plays Sofia, a “pre-orgasmic” sex therapist–meaning she’s never had one, not that she’s about to have one. Her boyfriend masturbates to S&M porn in the living room as she tries to move from pre- to post- in the kitchen, with the aid of a Jack Rabbit vibrator. Paul Dawsom and PJ DeBoy plays James and Jamie, boyfriends of five years contemplating over adding a troisième to their ménage à deux. Jay Brannan plays Ceth, said third. Lindsay Beamish plays Severin, a dominatrix with–surprise–problems connecting to people emotionally. And New York fixture Justin Bond (of Kiki & Herb fame) plays the Mistress of the salon, a whirlwind of a personality, sweeping from room to room and commanding (demanding?) attention.
With this variety of characters, plus cameos from every face in the theoretical Who’s Who in New York City Nightlife handbook, the movie could easily fall into cliché. Alas, Mitchell is of the rarest breed of directors–ones who have the ability to toe the line between art and reality so that each is heightened by the other, not diminished. And the much-hyped graphic sex? As in life, it’s just another factor. When the characters fuck, you want to be in the middle of the crowd; when they cry, you want to hold them as you wipe away your own tears.
Much credit to the heretofore unknown actors, especially Lee, Dawsom, and Brannan. In a show of brazen fearlessness, they strip down to their barest forms, in every imaginable way, and make it possible for the audience to truly connect with the story.
Based upon New York’s cinesalon scene, which I blogged about on 26 July after attending a revival of sorts, Shortbus examines the interconnected of New Yorkers in a city so big and unreal that Mitchell portrays it as a cartoon between movie segments. He moves from window to window, filling in pieces of the puzzle as he goes along, and the picture alternates between disturbing, depressing, delightful, and delirious. The ups and downs of love and life have rarely been looked at so honestly and unflinchingly.
Sook-Yin Lee plays Sofia, a “pre-orgasmic” sex therapist–meaning she’s never had one, not that she’s about to have one. Her boyfriend masturbates to S&M porn in the living room as she tries to move from pre- to post- in the kitchen, with the aid of a Jack Rabbit vibrator. Paul Dawsom and PJ DeBoy plays James and Jamie, boyfriends of five years contemplating over adding a troisième to their ménage à deux. Jay Brannan plays Ceth, said third. Lindsay Beamish plays Severin, a dominatrix with–surprise–problems connecting to people emotionally. And New York fixture Justin Bond (of Kiki & Herb fame) plays the Mistress of the salon, a whirlwind of a personality, sweeping from room to room and commanding (demanding?) attention.
With this variety of characters, plus cameos from every face in the theoretical Who’s Who in New York City Nightlife handbook, the movie could easily fall into cliché. Alas, Mitchell is of the rarest breed of directors–ones who have the ability to toe the line between art and reality so that each is heightened by the other, not diminished. And the much-hyped graphic sex? As in life, it’s just another factor. When the characters fuck, you want to be in the middle of the crowd; when they cry, you want to hold them as you wipe away your own tears.
Much credit to the heretofore unknown actors, especially Lee, Dawsom, and Brannan. In a show of brazen fearlessness, they strip down to their barest forms, in every imaginable way, and make it possible for the audience to truly connect with the story.
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