Showing posts with label Gay Movie. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Gay Movie. Show all posts

January 5, 2017

Moonlight UK -Can Gay Sex in A Movie be Less in$$ than Straight Sex and Why?

 I wrote a big introduction to this article by Guy Lodge and posted on The Guardian  but I scrapped it.  Gay sex on the movies it’s a subject in which I feel there is too much hypocrisy from the so called straight world. Studies done show movie makers can make more money if they don’t show gay scene a la straight mode; In other words show the parts or the rendition of the mechanism of love making between two guys. I have a thesis for that but is not backed up by any study I’m aware of and it could be bias in my part so I will just show you this article that appeared on the Guardian UK. I think it does some justice to this theme.

Nearly one year ago, as Oscar voters were weathering a second straight year of criticism for the lack of diversity among their nominees, the notion of a film like Moonlight emerging as an Oscar frontrunner might have seemed fanciful. The Academy may not be unremittingly allergic to stories of contemporary black lives – Precious and Boyz N the Hood cracked their radar – just as they haven’t always been entirely blind to LGBT narratives. But neither is among their, shall we say, areas of expertise, and in a year where even the reserved, elegantly upholstered white lesbianism of Todd Haynes’s Carol proved too discomfiting for a best-picture nomination, you wouldn’t have bet the house on a coming-out story centred on a disenfranchised African-American man in contemporary Miami

 Yet, as we head into the climax of awards season, Barry Jenkins’s film is shaping up to be a sure Oscar nominee in the top-tier categories, and the chief opposition to Damien Chazelle’s presumed field-leader La La Land. Not since Ang Lee’s Brokeback Mountain was famously and infuriatingly beaten to the gong by that everyone’s-a-little-bit-racist sermon Crash has gay cinema had quite such an optimistic shot at the industry’s top honour. And while $12.8m (£10.4m) is a modest number in the grand scheme of things, it’s an extraordinary gross for a film of its particular demographic focus – an encapsulation of multiple interests not accounted for in Donald Trump’s America. 
  However, as Moonlight gains in momentum and cultural currency, there’s a danger in piling too much symbolic weight on its unapologetically slender shoulders: it’s an intimate character study, not an all-encompassing social dissertation. Nor should it be heralded as some kind of flag-bearer for new queer cinema, heartening as its mainstream success is for the movement. Because although the film’s depiction of emerging alternative sexuality may be beautifully articulated and modulated, there’s a level of cautiousness that has enabled its broader acceptance thus far: it’s a gay romance with no on-screen sexual activity beyond an unseen handjob. That may be an apt level of extremity for a story hinged on repression, but it’s hard to imagine an equally accomplished, more explicit study of down-low sexuality among African-American men garnering quite as much popular acclaim. Meanwhile, Dee Rees’s marvellous 2011 film Pariah, a story of a teenage African-American lesbian’s self-acceptance that bears thematic and stylistic comparison to Moonlight in many respects, could only have dreamed of this red-carpet rollout.
Jenkins, who is straight, has spoken of his trepidation over steering an LGBT narrative: “I think there are some stories that can only be told from a first-person perspective,” he told Vulture. “[But] if there’s ever going to be a space where I can truly empathise with a character who has a core aspect of his identity that I don’t share, it’s going to be this case.” That empathy, the potential to recognise of one’s own needling social non-conformities in those of others, is what Moonlight’s makers and publicists have, wisely, talked up from the beginning. The Paris Review typified the approach of many critics in labelling it “everybody’s protest film”.

Of course, there is both room and need in queer cinema for films that universalise the experience of homosexuality as well as ones that explicitly localise it. As more LGBT-themed works reach cinemas than ever before, the most exciting possibility is that queer film may develop its own increasingly wide mainstream-to-niche spectrum, rather than occupying a single specialised corner of the arthouse. If Matthew Warchus’s rousing, upbeat Pride – shown on British TV over the Christmas break – is currently a go-to option as a progressive gay film you can safely watch with your gran, perhaps future years will appoint an Oscar-gilded Moonlight as gateway viewing for curious viewers into more esoteric and/or erotic portraits of homosexuality.
At present, while claims of a golden age of queer cinema may seem too idealistic, the menu is a healthily broad one, with non-English-speaking filmmakers leading the charge most adventurously. The French, unsurprisingly, treat frank queer sexuality on screen with a casual shrug. Alain Guiraudie’s unique quasi-Hitchcockian thriller Stranger By the Lake, which sets a serial killer on the loose in a bucolic cruising ground of freely rutting men’s bodies and calmly gazes upon the hot, nasty fallout, was not just a substantial hit, but was amply recognised in the country’s Oscar-equivalent César awards; no film of remotely comparable gay content has ever passed the Academy barrier. (Guiraudie’s eccentric follow-up, Staying Vertical hits UK cinemas this year and is equally fearless: without straying too far into spoiler territory, it has perhaps the most lethal scene of gay anal intercourse ever put on screen.)

Theo et Hugo.
 Theo et Hugo.

Last year’s most eye-opening queer release was Olivier Ducastel and Jacques Martineau’s Theo and Hugo, which opens with an 18-minute gay orgy in a Paris sex club, before its title characters introduce themselves and woo each other, Before Sunrise-style, across a night of walking, talking and one panicked HIV clinic drop-in. Achieving a tender romanticism in a manner that seems thoroughly infeasible during its hardcore opening salvo, it’s a film with little interest in making the gay experience accessible or palatable to audiences of all stripes; at the screening I attended, the walkouts during the first few minutes, by viewers who may well have warmed to the film’s ensuing, fully clothed love story, were numerous. It’s rare for a film to portray the urban realities of gay sex, dating and Grindr culture this candidly and cheerfully; it’s tempting to view the film as a litmus test for the extent of straight viewers’ empathy.
Across the globe, Park Chan-wook, not a gay or even expressly queer filmmaker, but an all-purpose connoisseur of kink, has been lavished with US critics’ awards (and robust arthouse box office) for The Handmaiden, a sly, sinuous and unabashedly sexy reinvention of Sarah Waters’ bestseller Fingersmith, relocating that yarn of Victorian lesbian skulduggery to Japanese-occupied Korea and adding a number of its own fetishistic fixations with bondage and antique erotica. It’s grandly entertaining, artfully lurid stuff, and not remotely shy of its own horniest impulses: Park’s fascination with bodies, and how we pleasure and abuse them, gets an acrobatic workout here.
Unsurprisingly, he has taken flak in certain critical quarters for offering a straight male gaze on intimate lesbian activity; empathy, in the sense that Jenkins describes in the aforementioned interview, is not heavily on The Handmaiden’s mind, although such jabs glide over Park’s recurring identification with otherness and perversion in his cinema.

The Handmaiden.
 The Handmaiden.

Straight French filmmaker Abdellatif Kechiche faced similar pushback – from Steven Spielberg no less – over the extended, undeniably arousing lesbian sex sequences in 2013’s closeup coming-out epic Blue Is the Warmest Colour, which broke out of the queer market to become an across-the-board art house conversation piece after landing the Palme d’Or at Cannes. 
The line between praising non-LGBT filmmakers for placing a sympathetic lens on queer lives and accusing them of exploitation can be a fine one, played out in a series of backlashes and counter-backlashes. Meanwhile, a respectfully restrained approach can find itself in hot water, too. Straight filmmaker Ang Lee was taken to task by many queer critics for playing Brokeback Mountain’s key scene of campsite sodomy too gingerly; Todd Haynes, while among the most forthrightly queer American filmmakers of his generation, was thought by some to have emphasised more caution than lust in Carol’s heavy-breathing but tastefully blocked sex scenes. Both films saw their tact (and, of course, their ample artistic merits) rewarded with major releases and prominent publicity, just as Moonlight has done; with a £145m worldwide box office, Lee’s film stands as the highest-grossing gay drama of all time.
Of course, you could argue that mainstream cinema has become more averse to sex of all persuasions; even the much-ballyhooed straight erotica of Fifty Shades of Grey had a few more buttons done up than it would have done in the days when Basic Instinct was a blockbuster. Uninhibited visions of queer sexuality in the multiplex may be many decades off, if even a prospect. But interest, awareness and, yes, empathy among general audiences is growing and should continue to do so as predominantly liberal Hollywood finds ways to assert itself under Trump rule. (The prospect of a boyfriend for glibly blokey but supposedly pansexual superhero Deadpool in the upcoming sequel, as repeatedly teased by star Ryan Reynolds, may not be treated as the most sincere of gestures by gay audiences.) Still, if the Academy and the major studios keep meeting queer cinema in the middle, we may be pleasantly surprised by what a little Moonlight can do.
 Moonlight opens in the UK on 17 February and The Handmaiden on 14 April

December 13, 2016

I’M a Footballer and Not Gay but Only on the Movie “The Pass”

I’m a footballer,” laughs Russell Tovey’s character in his new film, The Pass. “Of course I’m not gay.” The week we meet, in the London flat where Tovey lives with his French bulldog Rocky and a rotating collection of contemporary art, Premier League football teams across the UK are playing in rainbow laces to support Stonewall. On Facebook, a cascade of homophobia appears under images of the campaign, fans commenting that they are withdrawing their support of clubs they’d loved all their lives, that they’re a disgrace, disgusting, evil. Seeing this, it’s perhaps unsurprising there are no out gay players in the premiership. Tovey’s hope is that one might accidentally stumble into a screening of the film and emerge, changed.
A story set in three hotel rooms over 12 years, The Pass was inspired by a photograph of Manchester United’s FA Youth Cup-winning team from 1992. Paul Scholes and David Beckham stand beside the anonymous boys who dropped out of the game soon after. “I started thinking about the notion of a golden period of your life,” says writer John Donnelly, “from which you can never quite escape.” He wondered whether the boys who don’t make it are always the ones filled with regret.
First staged at the Royal Court, The Pass is a game of three halves, a love story that nods at the tragedy of Justin Fashanu, who killed himself in 1998 after becoming the first player to publicly come out. It starts with two boys at the beginning of their career and ends with Tovey as a superstar footballer, the other, happy. Tovey was seduced by the description of a “sporty Hamlet”; Donnelly wrote the part of Jason with him in mind. “He’s such a terrific actor, Russell,” he tells me later, “and a classic Essex boy – charming, warm, gregarious, with this incredible sensitivity. And Jason really needs that because there are monstrous elements to his character.” He needed an actor an audience wanted to like, and Tovey has that special gleam, a charisma that fills his huge warehouse apartment like smoke.


Out in the world, though, he’s fairly anonymous – walking through London he says, people only see his dog. “I only get recognised if I wear blue,” Tovey confides. “I don’t know why. But if I’m feeling needy I wear an electric blue suit.” It helped, too, that for a character who spends much of the story in his underpants, he was willing to work out. Today Tovey is fully dressed, bright and relaxed after flying in from New York where he’s shooting the crime drama series Quantico – Google it with his name, and the first page of results are blogs about his character going topless. At 35, bounding through the flat, he appears more puppyish even than his bulldog.
Born in Billericay to parents who run a coach company, Tovey was first noticed for roles in The History Boys and the BBC’s Him & Her. But around his 30th birthday, something changed: Tovey (out since he was 18) started playing gay. “It wasn’t a conscious decision,” he says, “and it was only the other day that I realised it had been important somehow. For so long, as a young actor, I had this anxiety about making sure I could get straight roles, and now I know that’s not necessary. The gay roles are the best for me. Being gay has made my career.” As well as The Pass, he excelled in HBO’s Looking, about a group of men in San Francisco discovering the complexities of contemporary gay relationships; he plays a gay man in Quantico; next year he stars in Angels in America, and recently he appeared on Broadway as Rodolpho in Arthur Miller’s A View from the Bridge. “And it’s made me realise that just like there’s not just one way to play a straight person, or one story to tell, there are a billion fascinating wonderful stories to tell with gay characters. A billion adventures to have.”
Last year, he casually suggested he had benefited from not going to drama school, suggesting it would have made him “prance around” being “effeminate”. He was unprepared for the backlash, for the accusations of internalised homophobia, and winces a little as he remembers. Being out, and in the public eye, he realised then, “meant I had a responsibility. If I’m going to be seen as a ‘pioneer’, a gay man and a performer, I need to make sure I put out a positive message.” He raps his knuckles on the table for emphasis. “Things are great for me, and I want to show that’s possible.”

Russell Tovey on stage with Mark Strong in New York in A View From The Bridge.
 ‘There’s not just one story to tell’: on stage with Mark Strong in New York in A View From The Bridge. Photograph: Jan Versweyveld/AP

It’s a message that runs through The Pass, too, a film in which Tovey says he’s given his best performance yet, despite knowing nothing about football. He knew enough, though, to understand that homophobia still runs through the sport like a poisoned stream. “If a premiership footballer came out now it would be a wonderful thing, and I hope one is brave enough to, but it would inevitably eclipse their entire career, wouldn’t it? It would take a brave man to take that on, to take on the chants,” Tovey says, shaking his head. Even Greg Clarke, the FA chairman, said he doesn’t think football is ready for a gay player to come out, adding that it might be a “year or two” before it’s safe.
Rangers midfielder Joey Barton has also admitted that, in the stands, if you “pull out of a tackle you’re a ‘poof’,” while players use homophobic insults in the training ground. “It’s this off-the-cuff linguistic intolerance and thoughtlessness that makes the football industry in general, and football stadiums specifically, so intimidating for LGBT fans,” Barton wrote on his blog in 2014. “I can’t imagine a gay couple feeling so comfortable that they’d be happy to wander down Wembley Way hand in hand, can you?” he continued. However it’s one thing for straight footballers to point out homophobia, adds Donnelly, but quite another for them to change. “It has the effect of pushing the blame on to fans and gay players themselves. Clubs need to be much more active in saying the game needs gay fans, it needs gay players at all levels, what can we do to change this?”

In preparation for the role, Tovey went to an Arsenal game with friends. Donnelly, a huge football fan, was relieved when Tovey told him he was blown away by the atmosphere – that he got it: the “gladiatorial, visceral thrill”. “I had a season ticket to watch Southampton at The Dell,” remembers Donnelly. “I grew up never knowing my dad, and on some level it was a place to observe men.” If the story started with the photograph, it ended with Donnelly and Tovey questioning what it means to be a man. “Rates of depression in young men are sky high, and an inability to share who you are is a part of that. The extent of how hard that is – for young male athletes to open up emotionally – shocked me,” Donnelly says.
“This feels like a really important film,” Tovey says. “My character has it all, but is hollow, while the other guy [played by Arinze Kene] can sit in the pub and hold hands with his boyfriend. That is the happy ending. There is a person who is living his life, knowing who he is. The other man is ruined, because he has never accepted it. It’s a tragic thought. And it makes me feel even luckier, because I’ve never had to hide who I am.” He gives a lopsided smile, embarrassed suddenly.
Today, Tovey says he feels a “calmness”. “When I was younger, towards the end of History Boys, my ambition was sky high. For many years I was chasing, chasing… Now I let it go and realise things will come to me. Everything’s built up to the performance in this film.” There’s still ambition there though. He wants to play a superhero. He wants to work with Mike Leigh. He wants to do a Pinter play on Broadway. “I want to be pushed into dramatic, painful roles I can explore.” He thinks for a second. “I read about an actor who heard an accident on the street, and ran down the stairs to help. But on the way down, there was a mirror. And he stopped, to see what he looked like. I’m not as bad as that, but I do have emotional recall of moments in my life – I want to use them.”

 Where the art is: at home in London, where Tovey displays a rotating collection of art. Photograph: Sophia Spring for the Observer

Which moments? “My nan’s funeral. The moment my parents told me she had died. When the horse and cart turned up, the noise my auntie made.” His eyes fill with tears. “See? We had a dog called Tasha who had to be put down when I was five. Dad went into the vet, and when he got back in the car he started crying.” His voice cracks, and I wait. “There’s a detachment there, because I remember thinking, ‘You’ll have this for ever.’”
Does that mean he wasn’t experiencing it at the time? He was saving it? “I do have that ability to compartmentalise my feelings. But you need to live to be able to portray someone else living. I live!” It sounds a little like he’s boasting, and he chuckles. “I live through art, too.”

He travels now, not just for work, but to visit small galleries he’s interested in – his whole demeanour changes when he talks about art, slowly, with purpose. He takes me on a tour of his collection: the ceramics in the kitchen, a huge graphite drawing that glitters in sunlight. When he received his first cheque for The History Boys his parents were bemused by his decision to spend it on a Tracey Emin monoprint. You get the impression he enjoys playing with people’s expectations of him – an Essex boy who is proudly out, a six-packed actor obsessed with conceptual art, a pin-up who is looking forward to a murder-mystery party on New Year’s Eve. “And I live through my mates, my boyfriend, family, my dog. You need the real stuff.”
The other day he was organising a quiz night with his mates, thinking of funny names for their team, “And I was like, ‘But we can’t be too rude because there’ll be adults there.’” It wasn’t until his friends snorted with laughter that he remembered he is 35. “Does anyone really feel like an adult? I mean, I have moments. I know who I am now. Having a dog – a responsibility for a living thing. I think about him all the time. That’s made me grow up.” At the sound of his name, Rocky patters over to Tovey, who lifts him on to his lap. “I worked hard on raising him. When he was a puppy, Rocky used to eat his own shit. I had to feed him pineapple so the shit would taste citric and he’d stop. But it just made him love pineapple.” He giggles.
What matters to him is that people see this film. “How can we get people in?” he wonders. “The ones who really need it?” The closeted boys, the people terrified to be honest with their families, the famous man dying inside. His eyes open wide, and he leans forward. “I know,” he says. “Lie. Write that it’s a football hooligan movie. ” OK, I say. It’s a football hooligan movie. You’ll love it.
The Pass is out now in cinemas nationwide

October 25, 2016

“U little bitches” Slater Competes f0r th0Se Sex SceneS with Franc0

                                           U little bitches!

James Franco is arguably the hardest working man in Hollywood. Not only is he regularly appearing as an actor in other people's work but he's writing, directing, and producing seven projects that are in various stages of production, too. So when Christian Slater was cast to star opposite James Franco in the crime thriller King Cobra, which revolves around the rise and fall of gay porn star Brent Corrigan, he knew that he'd have his work cut out matching his fellow actor. But this only brought out the competitive side of Slater, especially when it came to the more intimate scenes in the movie.
According to Page Six, Christian Slater made this admission at a Q&A before the recent premiere of King Cobra, revealing that he decided to improvise while filming some of the gay sex scenes so that he could have his moment, and to stop James Franco from usurping him. Christian Slater recalled:  
James was going to be doing the lion's share of the sexual aspects [of the film] and then I got competitive... We even improv'd some stuff. OK, I'll stop --- but yeah, great direction!

Justin Kelly, who wrote and directed King Cobra, which is based on Andrew E. Stoner and Peter A. Conway's novel Cobra Killer, found the time to elaborate on Christian Slater's improvisation during some of the film's more intimate scenes. During one particular moment between Slater and Garrett Clayton, who plays gay porn star Brent Corrigan in King Cobra, Kelly explained that Slater "pushes him up against the closet door" in a scene that wasn't written or planned. In King CobraSlater can even be seen wearing a facial to prepare for his scene. Not that kind of facial you sexual minded reprobate. This kind:
Christian Slater
King Cobra sees Christian Slater star as Stephen, a gay porn producer who discovers the young stud Brent Corrigan (Garrett Clayton), and looks to turn him into a bona-fide gay porn star. However aspiring producers Joe (James Franco) and Harlow (Keegan Allen) try to buy Brent's contract so that they can make their own movies with the actor, which is obviously something that Stephen is against. This, as you probably guessed, leads to some issues between the group.
King Cobra is based on real-life events that if you research will give away some of the pivotal points of the film. Instead, just take a look at its trailer below, which suggests that it's a merging of Boogie Nights and _Spring Breakers.
         Gregory Wakeman
         Cinema Blend

October 22, 2016

James Franco Says His Art is All Gay but His Life is Straight

Ilike to think that I’m gay in my art and straight in my life,” James Franco said to himself in an article for FourTwoNine magazine he wrote titled, The Straight James Franco Talks to the Gay James Franco. “Although, I’m also gay in my life up to the point of intercourse, and then you could say I’m straight.”
Franco toying with the public’s perception of his sexuality is nothing new. He’s made his fascination with gay culture known not just in interviews (in April, he told New York Magazine that he considers himself “a little gay” – even if he doesn’t sleep with other men), but also in his work. His directorial debut, The Broken Tower, explored the life of famous gay American poet who took his own life in 1932, while in the documentary Interior. Leather Bar., Franco partook in an explicit recreation of 40 minutes of deleted footage from 80s thriller Cruising, set in a gay sex club.  
It’s little wonder then why Franco was drawn to his new film, King Cobra: it offered him the chance to play a real-life gay porn star convicted of murder. 
“He loves his scandalous stories, and every now and then, he likes his gay stories,” confides King Cobra writer and director Justin Kelly over breakfast in Los Angeles, hours before he flies to London for the film’s BFI London film festival screening.
The pair had previously collaborated on Kelly’s first project, I Am Michael, another true story about a gay activist who denounced his homosexuality and became a Christian pastor. (The film is slated to open in the US in January, two years after its debut at the Sundance film festival.)
Franco first became acquainted with Kelly on the set of Gus Van Sant’s gay civil rights drama Milk. Franco was playing Harvey Milk’s much younger lover in the film; Kelly acted as the editor’s assistant. Following their work together on the Oscar-winning drama, Franco optioned the New York Times article My Ex-Gay Friend, on which I Am Michael would be based, and Van Sant suggested he hire Kelly to adapt it. A collaborative relationship was forged.
When Franco came to Kelly following I Am Michael, asking what they could do next, Kelly says he floated the idea of adapting the true crime book Cobra Killer: Gay Porn, Murder, and the Manhunt to Bring the Killers to Justice. Franco bit because “he saw it as a challenge” to get financed given the subject matter, says Kelly. 
Like Andrew E Stoner and Peter A Conway’s book, Kelly’s film largely centers on the real-life rise of gay porn star Brent Corrigan (Teen Beach Movie’s Garrett Clayton), and how he became embroiled in the gruesome murder of Bryan Kocis (played by Christian Slater), the gay hardcore porn producer that gave him his first big break. Franco gets close to equal screen-time as Joseph Kerekes, the enterprising but cash-strapped porn producer, who came to be charged with the crime. He delivers a performance to rival his convincing turn as a tattooed drug kingpin in Harmony Korine’s Spring Breakers.
Unlike in Boogie Nights, arguably the best-known film about the inner workings of the porn industry, the sex in King Cobra mostly takes place off set, in the homes of the main players. The scenes feels alive rather than static. Franco was game for anything, according to Kelly “He took things to the next level,” Kelly says. “For one sex scene, I thought I was being crazy by telling him he had to be fully naked wearing a cock sock, and bent over taking it up the ass. 
I told him to say some corny porn things, and he started screaming, ‘Give me that big dick!’ Franco one-upped me.”
Franco’s participation wasn’t enough to impress Corrigan, whose real name is Sean Paul Lockhart. 
When Kelly approached Lockhart to relay his plans for making a film about his life (Lockhart currently still acts in porn under the Brent Corrigan name and has his own sex toy line), he claims Lockhart thought it was all a hoax.
“I think he has a lot of fans who would say something like, ‘James Franco is involved in a movie about you, so you should meet me,’” he says.
After mailing him the script, they met in person, at which point Kelly offered him a small role, and the opportunity to be a consultant on the film. Lockhart declined to participate, but did allegedly sign the required paperwork so the film-makers could use his name. Kelly additionally claims Lockhart was paid an unspecified amount. (Lockhart declined an interview request from the Guardian.)
King CobraPinterestKing Cobra. Photograph: PR/Tribeca Film Festival
Lockhart has since made his reasons known for not working on the film, saying on his Facebook page last October that he would instead write a memoir to document the story in his own words. Leading up to King Cobra’s release, he’s publicly condemned Kelly’s film, tweeting that it “tells a story with contempt for queer culture and mockery for porn”. He alleges: “I gave them permission to use my name but explicitly made it clear that their story was heinous and not sanctioned.” 
Kelly sympathizes with Lockhart, saying he “can only imagine how bizarre it would be to have a film made about your life”, but stresses that in granting permission to use his name, Lockhart’s reaction is “bizarre”.
“I feel like it was a win-win for his career,” Kelly says. “I feel in the film he comes across as a young kid who’s a bit lost and is trying to figure out what to do with his life. It becomes this journey of how he’s going to break free and find his path, his place in the world. In the end, his story is uplifting.”
Kelly says that although the bad blood has tainted the project, the fun experience he had making King Cobra outweighs the ensuing backlash. 
As for reuniting with Franco, Kelly teases: “We have other things planned.”
King Cobra opens in theaters and arrives on VOD 21 October.

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