Wed, April 2, 2008
Shortbus
For years, it's been my wish to see Hollywood incorporate full nudity and explicit sex into a normal film narrative. Not just because I'm a pervert. (I am, of course. I'd prefer to see more explicit nudity and sex in lots of places: television, public life, anyplace – especially my bedroom. But that's not what I'm talking about.) The reason is that sexuality and intimacy are essential elements of the human condition, and it isn't fair for them to be off-limits for movies, which are supposed to be about illuminating the human condition. Porn is generally boring (quite effective, but very boring) and has no interest in exploring dramatic themes or even maintaining basic continuity. That's not porn's fault; that's not what it's for. But it's a shame that there's no place else to see sexual intercourse conveyed at all realistically. Everything else about human existence can be seen in plenty of movies. Death, betrayal, heartache, unspeakable cruelty and evil – but no, not blow jobs. American actors will mutilate each other on-screen, and they're more than happy to kiss. But they won't have sex. Are they, like so many of us, victims of our culture's schizophrenic attitude towards sexuality (we're obsessed with it, but terrified to talk about it)? Perhaps it's their legendary insecurity: they're loath to remove any distinction between themselves and porn stars. In reality, that's exactly what they should want. The real distinction is their level of acting talent (in most cases; obviously not Juliette Lewis). If "real" actors would get naked and have sex, there would be a lot less need for porn stars.
To be clear, I'm not saying every movie should have naked sex in it, or that every love scene requires explicit footage (though few would be hurt by it). Only that it's silly for that particular activity, out of all the things that people do, to be excluded from the filmmaker's toolbox. Think about the things we see on-screen: we see psychopathic serial killers maim and torture people – something that happens to one out of a million people – but something like sex, which millions of people do every day, is left out. Josh Friedman has a theory that the root problem is squeamishness. Everyone, from the writer onward, feels uncomfortable expressing what turns them on. It's understandable: it's a very vulnerable position to reveal your most intimate desires and fantasies. But we do it with our lovers, and that initial anxiety – though terrifying – is the price we pay for a deeply meaningful connection. Don't we owe it to ourselves to explore that connection with movies? (Or TV or comic books or anything else?)
Shortbus may not be the very first film to approach sexuality in a serious narrative, but it's definitely the most thorough. It tells the story of a few New Yorkers who are brought together by an underground sex club, called Shortbus. Through their encounters, they explore the issues in their relationships and their lives – some sexual, some personal. When I first heard about it, I was wary. Centering the action around a sex club seemed like it might very easily become exploitative and pornographic – like a porn movie with a slightly better script. I'm not opposed to wall-to-wall sex, but my primary goal isn't to watch a movie with real sex in it, it's for that movie to be taken seriously enough that we eventually get more than one. I worried that too much sex might cause Shortbus to be dismissed. But what it actually does is incorporate the sexual imagery into the vocabulary of the film, so that once the initial shock wears off, you're sort of used to it, in much the same way as we're used to having sex in our everyday lives. The initial montage introduces four of the film's main characters through three separate and simultaneous sexual encounters. After that, we learn more about their stories, and when they meet each other later through the Shortbus club, we watch them learn about themselves and each other through conversation and sexual experimentation.
If it sounds a little melodramatic and arty, I admit it's difficult to do it justice. And, of course, some of the characters embody that obnoxious New York counterculture attitude: pretending not to care what you think, but begging you to appreciate their intricately cultivated individuality. But the good news is, I think the film despises them just as much as we do. For a few stretches, I feared Shortbus might lose me – but in the end, it won me over. As a whole, it's surprisingly effective and endearing, a moving portrayal of the very human insecurities of its main characters. Our audience proxy is Sofia (Sook-Yin Lee), a relationship counselor with marriage problems of her own who is encountering the sex club for the first time. Once she allows herself to join the experience, she realizes that baring her naked body makes it easier for her to bare her secrets. She acquires an unencumbered view of herself, and enters a new friendship which offers her a level of emotional intimacy and support that she had never thought possible.
The film approaches sex and nudity matter-of-factly, and doesn't engage in excessive displays of either. The group orgy scene from Sofia's first visit to Shortbus is simultaneously beautiful and challenging, because it presents the full range of sexual behavior, including those one or two particular aspects – different for each of us – which we generally shy away from. But it's shot in a warm and welcoming way; just as if you were actually there, not every moment will be your cup of tea, but you can't deny the love.
The story is fraught with potential for disaster, and it doesn't navigate this minefield perfectly, but all of it is brought through by some powerful and spellbinding performances. For anyone watching the film, I recommend the DVD making-of featurette, which explains the exhaustive process that director John Cameron Mitchell went through in casting, writing, and shooting the film. The performers' own choices about who they felt comfortable with informed the sexual encounters of the story, and a thorough rehearsal process crafted the script as a group effort. Not every film can devote so much time to preproduction, but the result is an unparalleled feeling of reality among the players – a necessity in the case of a story like this.
The problem, of course, is that Shortbus will be regarded as "the movie with the graphic sex in it," just as HBO's Tell Me You Love Me was "the TV show with the graphic sex in it," despite whatever else it has to offer. That novelty is going to be there, and it's an unfortunate burden for these trailblazers to bear. But the erosion of that novelty won't be accomplished by making fewer films or TV shows like this – the only way to wear it down is to keep on trying, and succeeding, and even failing. Shortbus is not the perfect movie, with or without its sexual imagery, but it's a compelling and fascinating viewing experience. I recommend it strongly to anyone who thinks they can handle it, and – especially – anyone who thinks they can't.
