One of the most sublime of American masterpieces, Morrissey opens the film by sexualizing Dallesandro, with his open mouth snoring on a pillow. We wonder, is he coming off a heroin high? We just see his face, then, flash, his body, flash, his naked rear. I can't think of another film that used this flash-blip form of editing so well to create a hypnotic, druggy mood, an editing method that works wonderfully as both pacing and style. After that introduction, when Dallesandro opens his mouth, his accent is jarring -- we expect him to be some kind of soft-spoken androgyne; instead, he's got the voice of a street thug -- Morrissey isn't comfortable letting our assumptions go unchecked. The lengthy opening is very sexy and playful -- it's a combination of martial troubles, Dallesandro's fascinating lip-rubbing kisses, and early morning sexual escapades; it all kind of flows together, if not always smoothly, then emotionally realistically.
What I got from this was the same as what I got from "The 400 Blows" when I first saw it -- this is like a 20-something continuation of that story. There's a sense of camaraderie between the flesh sellers and the buyers; when Dallesandro walks the street looking for men (to fund his wife's abortion) there's the feeling of a secret handshake as boys make deals with each other. I never found it boring, though nothing happens -- nothing happens brilliantly, the boys hanging around, as they do, waiting for tricks. The main trick that Dallesandro finds is fascinating to watch, using Greek descriptions and only touching his back, a form of aesthetic body worship on the man's part. It's also dreadfully funny ("I'm not talking to an empty bed, am I?"). It's one of the most revealing scenes in the movie -- in any movie, I think; certainly any movie dealing with sex and sex for sale. When Dallesandro's eyes seem red and swollen, we can't tell if it's because he's drunk, ashamed, embarrassed, or all.
The conversations in the film are cut-up -- they don't matter. (The film is silent in a few scenes, some of the most poignant and beautiful you may ever experience.) Yet when Morrissey chooses to include one, the way he includes it (we sort of piece it together), it's startling, such as one conversation between Dallesandro and a newbie hustler -- and neither of them ever mentioning the word "gay" or "hustler." What follows is a scene where we listen to a pair of transvestites as Dallesandro gets serviced -- this just after explaining to the newbie "getting used" to the job.
Dallesandro is a subject worthy of the attention paid to him, both by his clients and Morrissey. He's less than effective as an actor, in the sense of acting as performing, but as far as revealing something he's incredible -- he's someone we immediately want to feel above, yet we go through his experiences, with all their complexities, and we're forced to try and know him. He's the kind of blank slate that we're drawn to but can't get a hold on. And of course he's incredibly striking -- forgetting everything else, this is partially a testament to the beauty of the male body, Dallesandro's gorgeous torso and permanently erect nipples.
The movie has one devastating scene, but like everything else you can't really master it -- a girl says that she's been raped, and her only self-defense is in saying that, had the rapist only asked for sex, wooed her, he would have gotten a better lay. It's shattering. The movie has feeling for everyone, but even better than that, it's not merely sympathetic, it actually attempts to help us understand human beings -- and without ever dictating what it is we're meant to be understanding. It neither looks down on nor glamorizes the people within the film. It feels inclusive when we see Joe's arm around a transvestite. When he reads a letter (he talks about not getting past grade eight at one point), he's utterly charming, as he pauses on a word...then says, "woteva," and continues.
You can learn something more profound from the interaction between Dallesandro and one of his clients in terms of gay-straight relationships than you can from any case study. Here we have the young boy who smiles (his top lip disappears as he does so) when a 30-something gym bunny Korean war veteran runs his fingers through his hair; it's a scene that feels very profound, this adult man sharing something with a younger version of himself -- it's not two gay men together, or a gay man paying a straight man, it's something else you can't put your finger on; questions of sexuality are beside the point. (Never before has popping a pimple seemed as affectionate.) After sharing something with each other emotionally (though with Dallesandro, since he's there for money, it's never apparent why he's there; though he's never less than sincere, which may be his most disarming quality), "So...can you help me out?" The man says sure. "I don't mean my pants!" 10/10
What I got from this was the same as what I got from "The 400 Blows" when I first saw it -- this is like a 20-something continuation of that story. There's a sense of camaraderie between the flesh sellers and the buyers; when Dallesandro walks the street looking for men (to fund his wife's abortion) there's the feeling of a secret handshake as boys make deals with each other. I never found it boring, though nothing happens -- nothing happens brilliantly, the boys hanging around, as they do, waiting for tricks. The main trick that Dallesandro finds is fascinating to watch, using Greek descriptions and only touching his back, a form of aesthetic body worship on the man's part. It's also dreadfully funny ("I'm not talking to an empty bed, am I?"). It's one of the most revealing scenes in the movie -- in any movie, I think; certainly any movie dealing with sex and sex for sale. When Dallesandro's eyes seem red and swollen, we can't tell if it's because he's drunk, ashamed, embarrassed, or all.
The conversations in the film are cut-up -- they don't matter. (The film is silent in a few scenes, some of the most poignant and beautiful you may ever experience.) Yet when Morrissey chooses to include one, the way he includes it (we sort of piece it together), it's startling, such as one conversation between Dallesandro and a newbie hustler -- and neither of them ever mentioning the word "gay" or "hustler." What follows is a scene where we listen to a pair of transvestites as Dallesandro gets serviced -- this just after explaining to the newbie "getting used" to the job.
Dallesandro is a subject worthy of the attention paid to him, both by his clients and Morrissey. He's less than effective as an actor, in the sense of acting as performing, but as far as revealing something he's incredible -- he's someone we immediately want to feel above, yet we go through his experiences, with all their complexities, and we're forced to try and know him. He's the kind of blank slate that we're drawn to but can't get a hold on. And of course he's incredibly striking -- forgetting everything else, this is partially a testament to the beauty of the male body, Dallesandro's gorgeous torso and permanently erect nipples.
The movie has one devastating scene, but like everything else you can't really master it -- a girl says that she's been raped, and her only self-defense is in saying that, had the rapist only asked for sex, wooed her, he would have gotten a better lay. It's shattering. The movie has feeling for everyone, but even better than that, it's not merely sympathetic, it actually attempts to help us understand human beings -- and without ever dictating what it is we're meant to be understanding. It neither looks down on nor glamorizes the people within the film. It feels inclusive when we see Joe's arm around a transvestite. When he reads a letter (he talks about not getting past grade eight at one point), he's utterly charming, as he pauses on a word...then says, "woteva," and continues.
You can learn something more profound from the interaction between Dallesandro and one of his clients in terms of gay-straight relationships than you can from any case study. Here we have the young boy who smiles (his top lip disappears as he does so) when a 30-something gym bunny Korean war veteran runs his fingers through his hair; it's a scene that feels very profound, this adult man sharing something with a younger version of himself -- it's not two gay men together, or a gay man paying a straight man, it's something else you can't put your finger on; questions of sexuality are beside the point. (Never before has popping a pimple seemed as affectionate.) After sharing something with each other emotionally (though with Dallesandro, since he's there for money, it's never apparent why he's there; though he's never less than sincere, which may be his most disarming quality), "So...can you help me out?" The man says sure. "I don't mean my pants!" 10/10