Written by John Cameron Mitchell
Starring Sook-Yin Lee, Paul Dawson, PJ DeBoy, Lindsay Beamish, Jay Brannan, Raphael Barker, Bitch, Justin Bond, Shanti Carson, Stephen Kent Jusick, Yolanda Ross, Daniela Sea, Rachel C. Smith, Peter Stickles
Genre: Drama / Adult
Country: USA
Runtime: 101 minutes
MPAA Rating: Rated 18A.

Evaluation: 10/10
by Greg Ferguson





S-E-X. Now that I have your attention, won't you read my film review? Oh, I'm not so under-handed, but neither is John Cameron Mitchell, who's more or less been accused of using the same attention-grabbing tactics by some with his now infamous is-it-art-or-is-it-porn indie experiment, Shortbus. Since it portrays unsimulated sex between numerous people with numerous partners, it was inevitable that the film would come off as an affront against the prudish by the prurient. What many were pleasantly surprised to discover, however, is that its primary currency is genuine human emotion and feelings instead of carnal exploitation or immoral hedonism. If Mitchell's really out to shock anyone here, then his idea that hardcore sex can be more background than foreground in an otherwise gentle and charming romantic dramedy is certainly one of the most groundbreaking in recent cinematic memory.

Of course, Mitchell wasn't the first to introduce hardcore sex to the cineplex (others, excuse the pun, came first). What separates Shortbus from the pack (excepting, perhaps, Dusan Makavejev's glimmering W.R.: Mysteries Of The Organism) is that it's one of the most convincing arguments for its continued presence thus far because it invites mature audiences everywhere - each and every one of us - to come in and begin feeling at ease with their innate sexuality and, ultimately, themselves. Voyeurism, as per the tagline, is participation, and the guiding thought behind the film appears to be that for better or worse, sex is a natural part of us all and it's our choice whether to deny the fulfillment it can bring or embrace it. Granted, it was Mitchell's choice to insist upon actual sex when he could have simply taken a more suggestive approach, but such a decision would have done a great disservice to the characters of his story (including us, his participatory looky-loos) to whom sex is a natural path to honesty and self-actualization.

Ideally, such an unusually long preamble would be unnecessary when discussing a film as joyful as this, and I fear I'm doing my own disservice to Mitchell's creation by beating around its bush (is all this intellectual wanking really necessary?!). Let me delay no further. Shortbus is a heartfelt story about a few lost and wounded souls who drift in and out of an underground salon sardonically entitled The Shortbus where they commiserate and convalesce in safety. Set in post-9/11, pre-August '03 Blackout New York City, represented here by a whimsical animated model that gives it an unoppressive Children's Television Workshop-style veneer, the film takes on the feel of a close-knit village more than a sprawling metropolis. At first, during the panoramic introduction to the cast in all their uninhibited glory (Mitchell wastes no time stripping them bare externally and internally), the reductivism seems a tad jejune (like when TV's Friends made Manhattan look like an ethnic petting zoo for whites). Yet, when the sequence concludes, we're suddenly confronted with the painful scar of Ground Zero on its landscape, casting a gloomy pall that serves as a sorrowful counterpoint to the otherwise playful opening and suggests a wider sense of societal alienation and anguish which the empty Children Of Men would have done well to crib. Faced with spiritual isolation, confusion and doubt, everyone is raw and therefore at their most receptive for signs of compassion and happiness in the world. That's when the entire energetic, transformative romp swings into action.

There's a lot to love about these sweet, sweet people who populate the film's scenes and lend them a sensation of luxury with no more than the richness of their personalities. Foremost in my mind is Sofia, the film's focal sex therapist/couples' counselor who's noted for never having had an orgasm. As this perpetually vexed wife of a man whom she fears would leave her if he knew her anti-climactic secret, former MuchMusic VJ Sook-Yin Lee employs the same verve that won her the adoration of fans and celebrities alike (some of whom used their clout to save her when her current employer, CBC, wanted to fire her as host of radio's Definitely Not The Opera for taking part in this film - an issue on which they've since backed down). When she originally freed herself from Much in order to pursue work elsewhere in the arts (as if she's never been more needed on that station than she is right now), I was optimistic that I'd see her in front of the camera before long, but then she took a radio job and I despaired. Well, here she is, on-screen with a remote-control vibrating egg lodged in her most intimate of areas and giving a riotously bittersweet lead performance; it feels like she never went away.

Elsewhere, the almost unbearably cute James and Jamie (Paul Dawson and PJ DeBoy) bring a level of urgency to the film as we watch their relationship be tested with Jamie's insistence upon opening it up to new partners, allowing the boyishly handsome Ceth (Jay Brannan) to enter into an already fragile arrangement. Sure, they seem to be having the time of their lives when they sing what is likely the best rendition of the American national anthem ever put to film, performing it with - and into - each other's delicate bits, but there is an undercurrent of sadness that informs their actions. Like Caleb (Peter Stickles), the peeping tom who watches Jamie from afar with an ample concern and love, we desperately want them to stave off tragedy until that moment of life-affirming ecstasy is reached. The same goes for Severin (Lindsay Beamish), a dominatrix who finds she can't make meaningful connections with others, let alone herself (her real name provides a semi-comical clue). Hers is a yearning and sadness that alternately inspired more grief and genuine satisfaction when her epiphany is reached.

The finale is a wondrous, grand old orgy to the ironic tune of "Everybody Gets It In The End" by real-life cabaret legend Justin Bond of Kiki & Herb, which if you're still watching at that point means you'll likely see it as an outpouring of celebratory goodwill instead of masturbatory, pornographic eroticism. Sex, insist Mitchell and his brave crew of actors, need not be regarded as ugly or sinful when such beauty and positivity can come from it. Shun Shortbus if you will for its explicitness or deride its so-called questionable values, but you'll rarely encounter a film as vividly honest and committed to the healing forces of love and community as this.

(Shortbus will play at Far Out East Cinema at Université de Moncton on January 23 and 24.)