It’s our night off in Kansas City, and the company’s having dinner while making plans for the evening out. I’ve missed two episodes of Lost, and I have a pile of candy bars and cigarettes, so I’ll be staying put at The Comfort Inn.“I need to quit hitting the titty bars,” says Max the sound guy. “I blow through all my cash, and for what? Overpriced drinks and tossing singles at some high school dropout with silicone fun bags.”
“You should use my time-tested gay bar rule,” I say. “Whenever a night at the bar seems like a good idea, take ten minutes and go whack off. If it still seems like a good idea, then head on over. But usually afterward you’ll just wanna watch Food Network. Or whatever straight people watch. A sport of some kind, I’m guessing.”
“That’s not a bad idea,” says Max.
“Never go to a bar when you’re horny. It’s like going to the grocery store hungry. You’ll just end up bringing a bunch of crap home you don’t really need.”
Meanwhile, Randall found a dollar movie theatre, and is trying to rustle up a group to see Madea Goes to Jail. As intriguing as seeing Rudy Huxtable turning tricks in Old Fourth Ward might be, none of us are willing to pay actual money for the chance.
“That’s really interesting,” I say to Randall. “I knew you were a black guy, but I didn’t know you were… you know… THAT kind of black guy.”
“What the hell does that mean?”
“Oh, nothing. Nothing. I’m pretty sure I’m not allowed to observe this without getting hurt.”
“What kind of black guy, Topher?”
“Just, where seeing a movie with an all-black cast supersedes your need for actual artistic merit.”
“Oh, no, Topher,” says Max, intervening. “White people aren’t allowed to talk about Tyler Perry movies.”
“No, it’s okay,” says Randall. “I admit it. The Medea movies aren’t that good. But usually in a movie, if there’s some supporting black cast member, the whole point of the character is their blackness, and what the white people think about their blackness. I know this may shock you, but I sometimes go an entire day without having a conversation about being black. In the Tyler Perry movies, everybody’s black, so then they get to talk about other things. Don’t you see shitty gay movies for the same reason?”
“I don’t think I’ve ever seen a movie about gay people where the entire film wasn’t about them being gay,” I joke. And then I realize I’m not joking at all.
It’s one of the sad truisms of gay life. For some reason, despite being known as the standard-bearers of art and culture, we can sure make a lot of bad movies about our own lives. I’m not entirely certain why this is. After My Best Friend’s Wedding, I remember Rupert Everett trying to develop an action movie where he’d play a gay James Bond type. It’d be just like a James Bond movie, except he’d be bedding twinks instead of Ursula Andress. It’s a shame that never happened. I’d see that. Brokeback Mountain was an excellent movie about gay love, written by a woman, directed by a straight guy, starring two straight guys. I had high hopes for Not Another Gay Movie- give us our own American Pie franchise! But come on. Admit it. That movie was horrible, and the sequel somehow managed to be worse. I’ve heard more genuine laughs in a cancer ward.
And yet, I saw it. Just like Randall sees the Tyler Perry movies. Because it is nice to see some reflection of yourself on the big screen, no matter how skewed or poorly executed it might be. But when you do exist as part of a subculture, does it really help when you consistently show you’re willing to feast on scraps?
So I’m adapting my gay bar rule. The next time my local multiplex showcases the current “gay movie,” I’m going to gather a group of my friends together and hang out at my house. If after a few hours of enjoying the sparkling conversations and zingers I still want to see the movie, then I’ll buy my ticket. It’s always good to have a screening process to consider what’s motivating the choice.
I have a feeling I’ll save a lot of money that way.
