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Adam & Steve
Actor-writer-director Craig Chester's gay romantic comedy
Adam & Steve is not a perfect film, but at least it avoids
most of the stale clichés that have come to litter
most of today's self-consciously gay-themed entertainment.
In this light and breezy romp through (what else?) the trials
of the heart, Chester (Swoon, Grief) stars as Adam, a single
man who, when we first meet him, is a Robert Smith-idolizing
Goth with the requisite bad hair and eye makeup who spends
most of his time hanging out in clubs with the requisitely
overweight fag hag Rhonda (Parker Posey in a hysterical fat
suit). When he meets go-go boy Steve (Malcolm Gets, looking
much buffer than I remember him on Caroline in the City),
the encounter -- which includes copious amounts of coke laced,
um, with baby laxatives -- inevitably ends in disaster, and
the two part ways never to see each other again. Or so they
think. Cut to 17 years later, when Adam and Steve unexpectedly
reunite after Adam almost kills his dog (don't ask) and rushes
the poor pooch into the hospital where Steve, now a successful
doctor, works. Not recognizing each other from their previous
encounter, they eventually wind up in a relationship that
is, of course, doomed by the inevitable realization that
is to come. It's a clever setup, and one that is informed
by Chester's obvious fondness for the romantic comedy genre,
even if his somewhat lackadaisical style as a director occasionally
clashes with the more outrageous tone of his slapstick-inspired
script. Still, it's a fun ride. Buoyed by the engaging performances
of the ensemble cast (the supporting players are just as
funny; SNL vet Chris Kattan, particularly, is a riot as Steve's
straight roommate Michael) and benefiting from Chester's
confident, no-guilt approach to an otherwise formulaic genre,
Adam & Steve may not be the ultimate gay date movie,
but that's certainly no reason not to embrace a film that
is this un-self-conscious about being exactly what is it.
That's not a bad lesson for the entire gay community, come
to think of it. -- Ken Knox
Summer Storm
With movies like Edge of Seventeen, Beautiful Thing, and
Get Real having thoroughly mined the gay coming-out drama,
jaded queens might bemoan a movie like Summer Storm, another
turbulent tale of a confused teenager struggling with his
sexuality and navigating the choppy waters of coming out
for the first time.
But like each of those previous films, the German-made
Summer Storm offers its own unique charms thanks to an intimate
summer camp setting, arresting visuals, a subtle and moving
script by Marco Kreuzpaintner and Thomas Bahmann, and some
sterling, vividly rendered performances by its lead actors,
particularly Robert Stadlober.
Stadlober's Tobi is an easygoing, popular boy -- his rowing
team's defacto leader and the class clown of the group. But
with his hormones raging, Tobi finds himself trying to reconcile
the conflicted feelings that he holds for his best friend
Achim (Kostja Ullmann). The two get stoned, pull each other's
pants down, wrestle, and even jerk off side-by-side in the
locker room. While Tobi finds their wrestling and masturbation
sessions to be a turn-on, Achim just thinks he's bonding
with his best bud.
When their rowing crew heads off to the big summer regatta
on a country lake, things get even more interesting. A team
of supposedly big-breasted, sexually experienced Berlin girls
has been replaced by the Queerstrokes -- a crew of hot, muscular
young gay men from the big city -- who have set up camp nearby.
Tensions soon arise between the two teams. The cocksure,
sex-crazed Malte (Hanno Koffler) is convinced that he can
get into the pants of homophobic meathead Georg (Tristano
Casanova). Meanwhile, the adorable, moppy-haired Queerstroke
Leo (Marlon Kittel) is shooting Tobi sidelong glances.
As Tobi grapples with rising tension between him and Achim
and the resulting confusion, anger and isolation, the overtures
from Leo become more aggressive, leading to a hot-and-heavy
make-out session on a lakeside dock between the two smooth-skinned
lads.
The film culminates with a tumultuous storm -- both literal
and figurative -- in which both teams are forced to confront
their insecurities, prejudices and hidden desires.
Loosely based on Kreuzpaintner's own coming-out story,
Summer Storm doesn't necessarily break new ground. It can
even feel formulaic at times. But taking the film out of
the usual stifling high school milieu allows Kreuzpaintner
to authentically render Tobi's sexual and emotional awakening.
Moreover, all of the characters in the film, while flirting
with cliché at times, are drawn with a sparkling three-dimensionality
that brings each of them into sharp focus. And thanks to
the poignant, sensitive performances that Kreuzpaintner coaxed
from the all-around wonderful cast, Summer Storm marks a
worthy addition to the genre of gay coming-of-age films.
-- Christopher Wallenberg
Stoned
The mystique of the Rolling Stones isn't well served by
Stoned, a speculative film about the last three months of
the life of original guitarist Brian Jones. But nor will
their legend be marred by this inept and ineffectual bio-pic.
Directed by famed producer Stephen Woolley (The Crying
Game, Breakfast On Pluto), Stoned shows us Jones’ final
days through the eyes of Frank Thorogood (Paddy Considine),
a contractor brought into the fold by the Stones’ road
manager Tom Keylock (David Morrissey) to help with the landscaping
of his East Sussex manse and, eventually, keep an eye on
the free-spirited rock star.
Since we know that Jones (Leo Gregory) drowned in his pool,
Wooley stages it with a flash forward of the body's discovery
near the start of the film. But any mystery about the relationship
of the working-class Thorogood and the rich Jones begs for
more incisive scenes than the clichéd mise-en-scene
of all too familiar ‘60s tropes. To believe that the
contractor could be moved to murder Jones, we need more than
a mild scene of humiliation and a dismissal without final
pay. We need shadings of Thorogood's psychological discord,
and a fuller performance from the usually reliable Considine.
Not that the other actors fare any better. Gregory plays
Jones as a Lost Boy and an opportunist, sporting a Little
Lord Fauntleroy shag that turns him into David Spade's somewhat
sexier brother. The women are lovely, but basically negligible
-- whores or hangers-on -- and the rest of the band are loose
approximations of the younger Stones, with Keith Richards
the moral center of the film.
Neither the script, by Neil Purvis and Robert Wade, nor
the director, shapes scenes for drama. Jones’ life,
like the film, seems aimless; we never understand his importance
as the architect of the original Stones. On the evidence
of Stoned, one can rightly say that as a director, Woolley
is a great producer. -- Dan Loughry
Surge of Power
For those who'd always fantasized that Spider-man had been
bitten by a radioactive spider that was part of an experiment
on, say, the origins of sexual orientation, Mike Donahue's
decidedly kitschy gay superhero flick Surge of Power just
might be the movie for you. Or not. As a bona fide superhero
fan myself (I'm a sucker for a man in a codpiece and colorful
tights), I'd like to report that Donahue's indie comedy redefines
action hero stories for a contemporary gay audience. But,
rather than send up the genre (as one might have hoped any
creative queen with a camera might do), Donahue merely tweaks
it to include a surprisingly outdated gay sensibility. Working
with a woefully limited budget and a cast of "actors" (I
use the term very loosely) who appear to have never even
heard of acting class, Donahue gleefully follows all the
conventions of superhero origins without giving them a truly
fresh spin: Comic book fanatic Gavin (Vincent J. Roth, who
also wrote, produced, and designed costumes for the film)
acquires odd electrical powers after an egomaniacal science
queen named Hector (John T. Venturini) with delusions of
grandeur and an overly gym-pumped body causes an explosion
in a scientist's laboratory, then sets about saving the world
while romancing the pants off the badly dressed circuit queen
he saved from a potential fag bashing. The script is supposed
to be witty (a la Scream, characters frequently comment upon
the superhero conventions applied throughout the film; Surge's
one superhero weakness is -- wait for it -- dance music),
but the dialogue is so embarrassingly cringe-worthy ("Wait'll
the city gets a load of my magnetic personality!" seethes
the magnetically powered Hector) and the acting so awkward
(honestly, I've seen better work in porn flicks) that most
of the jokes just fall flat with a resounding pow! Even a
series of D-grade celebrity cameos (hey, there's Lou Ferrigno
ordering a copy of a gay comic book!) can't buoy the film's
spirits. Still, I wouldn't be surprised if this so-bad-it's-actually-unintentionally-hysterical
stinker wound up becoming a gay cult classic. At least the
midnight costume screenings would be a riot! -- Ken Knox
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