Bucket of Porn

Shortbus is porn, let’s just get that out of the way first. Well, it’s porn if you think people really and actually having sex on film is porn, or a man ejaculating on himself is porn. Shortbus also might be art; I’m not really sure.

The concept of uber-cutie Hedwig and the Angry Inch director and full time demented pixie John Cameron Mitchell newest “release” is this—put out the word, receive hundreds of amateur sex tapes, watch them all, choose actors, find groovy warehouse space and apartments, and then let everybody go at it like rabbits at an End of the World party. The storyline is basically one of trying to find human connection in the Big Disaffected City, and it really could only have been made in New York City. People in other places don’t usually fret quite so much or so vocally about how jadedly and intellectually disconnected they are. I think being artsy and disaffected is a sort of hobby for New Yorkers.

The main players consist of Unhappy Gay Boy, Generic Too Chipper Boyfriend, Non-Orgasmic New Age Therapist, and The Dominatrix Who Really Doesn’t Like People. (Unlike this latter character, I think most Doms are probably lovely people who don’t actually relish being mean all the time.)

There is a tremendous amount of full frontal, bakkal, side-al and upside down-al nudity in this movie, all of if presented by “real” people, most of them who are cute and fit, with just a smattering few who are not, to show that the film maker is not biased or anything. We see a heap of cock, but maybe because John Cameron is a gay man, there is not a lot of female genitalia to be found. We see women masturbating, but through their clothes, and really, who does that? Do we get to see a lot of guy parts? Yes we do—tons, in all sizes, all shapes, and all levels of tumescence. Early on, we get the “treat” of seeing a dude attempting to fellate himself; later he ejaculates on himself, and we get a close-up and drawn out view. This scene may have been dead sexy to a gay man, but it was a tad, dare I say it, anti-climactic to me. Unlike stories in Hustler (which I admit I haven’t read in thirty years), male “stuff” in action is less like a fire hose or a waterfall of burning love, and more like someone accidentally dropped the mayonnaise. Not really very inspiring, or sexy. But then again, I’m not a gay man, so I may not be qualified to judge.

All of this grinding, sweating, masturbation and aforementioned money shots are oddly neither shocking, nor titillating. I found myself thinking “Eh, seen it, done that.” What the viewer is left with is the acting and what passes for the storyline, and both are actually fairly enjoyable. Mr. Mitchell has stated in the press that he hopes Shortbus (which is the inexplicable name of the sex club all the characters continually visit) will lead to similarly minded sex clubs springing up around the country. “It’s not about sex, it’s about love and sensuality” or words to that effect. I suspect that either clubs like this already exist in your community, or that they never will. I’m pretty sure that there is a real Shortbus, and that it really is run by drag queen extraordinaire Justin Bond. Based on the movie version, if you head to Brooklyn and turn left just past the bridge, it will be on the top floor of a building in the first block or so. Check it out, and if you find it, report back to me.

Verdict? Shortbus is actually a fairly worthy movie with kind of compelling characters and a sort of interesting storyline. Oh yeah, and whoever did the most excellent 3D model of NYC deserves some sort of award.

If you are willing (or eager) to see a bunch of reasonably attractive real people getting it on alone, by twos, or in groups or hordes, then by all means, check it out. I’m sure John Cameron Mitchell would appreciate the ticket sales.

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Well, I did mean to review Marie Antoinette for you, but that will have to wait until tomorrow. Sleep tight my babies, and try not to dream of sperm—or as Jerry would say, “Not that there’s anything wrong with that.”