Jan. 10, 2012 at 5:20pm with 15 notes
filmsgaysweekendessays
What’s my problem with [the “universally critically-acclaimed, “most ‘real’ gay/post-gay romantic film ever”] Weekend, you might ask? I’ve been holding this rant in for a while because I understand that the film has spoken to a number of people and nestled into a certain cozy spot in the minds of many of those who have seen it.  To them, of course, I must add the precursor that all of the below is my opinion and in no way invalidates your opinions, however contrary they may be. But I had such a viscerally negative reaction to watching the Andrew Haigh-directed film the other week that I’ve come to wonder whether I watched the same film all the critics and hipster gays have. First, we meet Russell, a cute, somewhat unassuming, constantly murmuring guy who’s hanging out with some friends who may or may not be related — it starts the film out on an ambiguous note which is quite intriguing. Along the train ride home from this shindig, he stops at a gay bar and locks eyes with Glen. They ultimately hook up at Russell’s place. The next morning is when, to me, the film devolved into an inexplicable cycle of verbal abuse, internalized homophobia and latent sexism that made me feel uncomfortable, sick to my stomach even. And the undergrad visual quality to the film didn’t help that. Digging in: First, the abuse. Glen is verbally abusive to Russell and abrasive and demeaning to practically everyone he comes in contact with. One of the first things he says to Russell the morning they wake up together is how he had his eye on someone else and only went home with Russell when that guy was uninterested. Honest? Sure. Endearing? Apparently. And, yes, Glen should have said something to Russell about his planning on leaving the country that morning, if we are to believe how hopelessly they fell for each other right off the bat, apparently explaining all that could not be explained in the 48 hours that followed. To me, it felt like I was watching Tippi Hedron’s character in The Birds, slowly climbing the stairs to open the door to a room she knew was filled with ravens just waiting to tear her to pieces. And why, Hedron reportedly asked Alfred Hitchcock during that filming, would her character do that? “Because I’m telling you to,” Hitchcock replied. In order to be that bullheaded as a director forcing actors to take bizarre leaps of character motivation, one — to me — needs to have some damn fine filmmaking chops behind it. The second night they spend time together, they take copious amounts of weed, cocaine (meth, too? I lost track) together before screaming at each other like a couple that’s been married for decades. Why would Russell go out of his way to reconnect to someone who so clearly doesn’t share (or arguably, even respect) his worldview on matters like love, monogamy and trust? Before they ended up doing line upon line of cocaine back at Russell’s, Russell, again, went out of his way to meet up with Glen at his going-away party. Glen pretty much ignores Russell for much of the night, while he is busy arguing with strangers about straight privilege in a straight bar. The only way Russell begins to find out more about Glen is through his female roommate, who (as the film’s lone female character with any semblance of a decent speaking part) is depicted as a somewhat more vindictive take on the brassy “fag hag” archetype. As Glen says of her, “she just can’t keep her mouth shut.” It’s an insulting portrayal, particularly when there really aren’t any other female roles to balance it out. The film seemed pretty keen on keeping female, or even slightly feminine, voices or perspectives essentially shut. Russell and Glen both speak of how they like each other because they aren’t “too camp.” (Read: faggy). Beyond simply a sexual preference or gravitation, it smacks in this context of a romanticization of internalized homophobia. Of femmephobia. Of sexism. Of verbal abuse. Of substance abuse. I’m so over all that. This is a diluted form of the same self-loathing that got us into the AIDS crisis (which is still happening), gays. The same insanity that contributes to devastating high rates of substance abuse and domestic violence in our relationships, families and communities. The same grandstanding that carries on the femmephobia that fuels a society where children are hanging themselves for being called gay. It’s more difficult to create art that challenges who we already, to some degree are, rather than imagining a new reality, no matter how many props you get for keeping it “real.” I’m done being “real,” I want change.

What’s my problem with [the “universally critically-acclaimed, “most ‘real’ gay/post-gay romantic film ever”] Weekend, you might ask?

I’ve been holding this rant in for a while because I understand that the film has spoken to a number of people and nestled into a certain cozy spot in the minds of many of those who have seen it.  To them, of course, I must add the precursor that all of the below is my opinion and in no way invalidates your opinions, however contrary they may be.

But I had such a viscerally negative reaction to watching the Andrew Haigh-directed film the other week that I’ve come to wonder whether I watched the same film all the critics and hipster gays have.

First, we meet Russell, a cute, somewhat unassuming, constantly murmuring guy who’s hanging out with some friends who may or may not be related — it starts the film out on an ambiguous note which is quite intriguing.

Along the train ride home from this shindig, he stops at a gay bar and locks eyes with Glen. They ultimately hook up at Russell’s place.

The next morning is when, to me, the film devolved into an inexplicable cycle of verbal abuse, internalized homophobia and latent sexism that made me feel uncomfortable, sick to my stomach even. And the undergrad visual quality to the film didn’t help that.

Digging in: First, the abuse. Glen is verbally abusive to Russell and abrasive and demeaning to practically everyone he comes in contact with. One of the first things he says to Russell the morning they wake up together is how he had his eye on someone else and only went home with Russell when that guy was uninterested. Honest? Sure. Endearing? Apparently.

And, yes, Glen should have said something to Russell about his planning on leaving the country that morning, if we are to believe how hopelessly they fell for each other right off the bat, apparently explaining all that could not be explained in the 48 hours that followed. To me, it felt like I was watching Tippi Hedron’s character in The Birds, slowly climbing the stairs to open the door to a room she knew was filled with ravens just waiting to tear her to pieces.

And why, Hedron reportedly asked Alfred Hitchcock during that filming, would her character do that? “Because I’m telling you to,” Hitchcock replied. In order to be that bullheaded as a director forcing actors to take bizarre leaps of character motivation, one — to me — needs to have some damn fine filmmaking chops behind it.

The second night they spend time together, they take copious amounts of weed, cocaine (meth, too? I lost track) together before screaming at each other like a couple that’s been married for decades. Why would Russell go out of his way to reconnect to someone who so clearly doesn’t share (or arguably, even respect) his worldview on matters like love, monogamy and trust?

Before they ended up doing line upon line of cocaine back at Russell’s, Russell, again, went out of his way to meet up with Glen at his going-away party. Glen pretty much ignores Russell for much of the night, while he is busy arguing with strangers about straight privilege in a straight bar. The only way Russell begins to find out more about Glen is through his female roommate, who (as the film’s lone female character with any semblance of a decent speaking part) is depicted as a somewhat more vindictive take on the brassy “fag hag” archetype. As Glen says of her, “she just can’t keep her mouth shut.” It’s an insulting portrayal, particularly when there really aren’t any other female roles to balance it out.

The film seemed pretty keen on keeping female, or even slightly feminine, voices or perspectives essentially shut. Russell and Glen both speak of how they like each other because they aren’t “too camp.” (Read: faggy). Beyond simply a sexual preference or gravitation, it smacks in this context of a romanticization of internalized homophobia. Of femmephobia. Of sexism. Of verbal abuse. Of substance abuse.

I’m so over all that.

This is a diluted form of the same self-loathing that got us into the AIDS crisis (which is still happening), gays. The same insanity that contributes to devastating high rates of substance abuse and domestic violence in our relationships, families and communities. The same grandstanding that carries on the femmephobia that fuels a society where children are hanging themselves for being called gay. It’s more difficult to create art that challenges who we already, to some degree are, rather than imagining a new reality, no matter how many props you get for keeping it “real.”

I’m done being “real,” I want change.

  1. forwhenifeellikesharing reblogged this from contrivedeccentric and added:
    Everything Joe’s said here explains (or justifies)...got just from watching
  2. contrivedeccentric posted this