Get on the Shortbus

Though the Portland Gay and Lesbian Film Festival isn’t until October, tonight kicks of the pride of fall with a Cinema 21 screening of John Cameron Mitchell’s (Hedwig and the Angry Inch) eyebrow raising Shortbus. So named for the bohemian 1920s salon recreation where the characters congregate to have intellectual conversations amidst unfettered fornication. This is what is so shocking about Mitchell’s newest work; it incorporates real, graphic, hetero, homo and bisexual sex into the storyline. And while this was a major impetus for the piece, an aspect as important as the subject matter, Mitchell and others work very hard to make it known that in no way should it be considered porn. He has said, “…the erotically charged plot is not meant to arouse the audience…No one got a hard-on watching this film.” But though I agree that the realness of the sex in this film is hardly pornographic, but rather poignant and charged, showing individuals struggling to reach climax, enjoying the silliness of sex, or crying after masturbating alone, it does have arousal potential. That’s because there are still those among us that find real people and real situations sexy.

But the real question is whether a film, so groundbreaking in its depiction of lives that include sad and joyous sex, can succeed as a narrative. The two biggest obstacles that seemed apparent in the beginning of Shortbus were a tendency toward triteness and that ever-annoying brand of pseudo-hipness. And I felt a slip toward both throughout the first half of the film. This can be partially blamed on the lack of practiced actors. Because of the explicit scenes the casting search had to go beyond SAG to pull from a potentially less talented pool. And the acting did falter here and there, as it might for many a first time actor. But they reacted to their largely unscripted situations with a less polished but perhaps more genuine reaction than many more prominent actors. And even as some of the most cheesy and too-cool-for-school scenes took place, I began to realize that this realness was essential, and that the actors did have talent.

One scene in particular finds Sofia, a straight, stressed, couple’s counselor who has never had an orgasm, finds herself in the middle of a mid-level famous lesbian cameo discussion circle. (Said famous ladies include Daniela Sea of L word, her real-life girlfriend Bitch of Bitch and animal, JD Samson of Le Tigre,). At first this scene reminded me of the awful and infamous “honey pot” discussion of Go Fish as they talked about how a really good orgasm made them feel. One said she imagined that her energy flowed outward, creating world peace, another that it just went real slow and made her feel forever not alone. I could do little more than roll my eyes. But then I realized that they weren’t afraid to voice how it really felt for them, regardless of whether an audience might scoff, regardless of whether it was a new idea. This reminded me of conversations one might really have with trusted friends. And then I felt privileged to be let in on the honesty of the situation. And this was unequivocally Shortbus’s greatest strength. It’s bald, brutal, yet joyous honesty. It did not have the same sort of crying–at-the-drop-of-a-score control that most major motion pictures, or even art house films do, because it consciously let that go, so that the viewer could, instead, relate more closely with the characters, or at least interact more closely.

This is never more apparent than when young hottie Ceth meets a former New York City mayor (most likely meant to be Ed Koch). Ceth kisses him tenderly after a soliloquy on NYC and the man’s regret at his lack of courage in the face of AIDS. Ceth goes on to become a part of a threesome of a handsome gay couple (James and Jamie) who have been together for 5 years and only recently introduced the idea of opening their relationship. After an incredibly awkward chip-crunching introduction to each other in the couple’s living room the three start to form a connection. When they finally do get to the actual act it culminates in a rousing rendition of “The Star Spangled Banner” which they happily sing loudly into each other’s body parts. It’s silly and made me laugh out loud. And a character like Ceth, who would, in most films, appear annoyingly young and coy, instead comes out as tender and caring, even if he is naïve or a fun-loving party boy. When something traumatic happens to James later in the film it feels right that he be concerned and so closely involved.

At this point in the film my skepticism left me. And while it may not have been the most finely crafted screen work I have seen I just let myself enjoy it anyway. I enjoyed the varied bodies and activities that inhabited Shortbus, like the man in a donut costume or a marching band during the blackout. I enjoyed Justin Bond’s fabulous metaphors and perfectly timed cheek. I loved the painted sculpture landscape of New York City that served as both an artful look at the island and a device to take the viewer from place to place within the meandering stories of intense individuals. And that seems to have been Mitchell’s ultimate goal with this film. To depict sex so as to better celebrate both the joy and pain that come with the life of a sexual being, that is, with life.

Stay tuned to this spot. Tomorrow I will be talking to John Cameron Mitchell, creator of Shortbus and Hedwig and the Angry Inch, in person. If you have interview questions you’ve been dying to ask send them my way and you may just see it answered here.

More reviews that I enoyed or found helpful are listed below:

— Back row manifesto

— There is a sense here that if the film were stripped of its sex scenes, its Manhattan locale was swapped for a Jersey ‘burb, and the songs of the Shortbus salon’s drag performers were replaced with Frou Frou and Coldplay anthems we might be watching Garden State

— Beyond being real, the sex in Shortbus is the kind you don’t usually see in feature films — sweaty and exposed, sincere and unpolished. It’s not really pornographic. It’s missing the standard “as close as you can get” shots…

— Variety magazine