Pornography is art. As a form of artistic expression, it is as valid as any other, and within the racier realms of independent cinema across the world, that level of explicitness can add genuine thematic texture to a story. However, for every filmmaker able to wield it well as a source of inspiration (Bruce LaBruce, Derek Jarman, John Cameron Mitchell), there are just as many, if not more, that seem to operate under the impression that gratuity on its own inherently makes a work of art deeper and more meaningful; think art films that show up on late-night SBS lineups. And the sophomore feature from writer/director Craig Boreham (Teenage Kicks) falls unfortunately into that category.
True to its name, Lonesome is (ostensibly) a story about isolation. It follows cowboy-hat-wearing drifter Casey (Josh Lavery) as he weaves his way through Sydney’s Gay scene, and begins to make a connection with Tib (Daniel Gabriel) that seems to go deeper than mere sex. The juxtaposition of prevalent sexual intimacy and prevalent lack of emotional intimacy is a hallmark of most of the characters, including housewife Carol (Anni Finsterer) who hires the boys to do some yard work, and it ultimately tries to show how the lingering effects of trauma and tragedy can impact one’s ability to make a real connection with other people.
But really, it’s about including as much male full-frontal nudity as can be squeezed into a run time of ninety minutes and change. The cinematography from Dean Francis (director of the blisteringly dour treatise on modern masculinity Drown) captures these bodies in an odd midway point between matter-of-factness and actual objectification. The casualness with which Casey and Tib especially are shown pelvis-first at times feels like an attempt to normalise male nudity as a natural state, but then the blocking of the actors and the framing gives uncomfortable flashbacks to how straight men tend to arrange and photograph lesbian characters (Blue Is The Warmest Colour, anyone?). It doesn’t help that the onslaught of flesh is so monotonous that, even to people who are attracted to this kind of material, it is more likely to bore than tantalise.
It doesn’t help that, much like with Teenage Kicks, a lot of what Boreham’s scripting attempts to get across about the Gay experience leans into certain… unhelpful stereotypes concerning that existence. The emphasis on sex as a default means of interaction with others in Casey’s case eventually stops feeling like a specific character study, and more like unintentionally validating the (incorrect) assertion that Gay men have sex, but don’t have real emotional relationships with each other. To say nothing of the unwelcome return of Teenage Kicks’ more Freudian undertones, with Casey and Tib’s respective problems with “cunt dads” only serving to make things more unpleasant, rather than cathartic.
Lonesome is soporific softcore. A flaccid facsimile of better Gay cinema with weak performances (Boreham has mentioned in Q&A screenings that he found the main actors on Grindr and it shows in far too many ways), a mishandled script, and an approach to on-screen eroticism that goes so far into trying to normalise the male body as to make it seem flat and uninteresting, save for a use of cooked rice that is likely unprintable here.
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