I was watching a gay movie tonight instead of reading my homework or writing my novel (and I'm writing this post instead of doing both those things as well, so consider yourself thoroughly used and abused for my own procrastinationary purposes). And, at the risk of sounding like a complete dumbass, I should probably explain what a gay movie is.
There's no such thing as a gay movie. I made the name up, because I just do that and I'm just that awesomely brilliant. I control the English language. Bow down to me.
But seriously, it was a term that I made up to refer to how Hollywood deals with the subject of homosexuality. Usually, that means not well (as much as I find this funny, it kind of proves my point). A gay movie is a movie that is typically made outside of the big L.A. movie razzmatazz and portrays a more honest attempt at broaching the subject with class and some sense of respect. I say attempt because, honestly, they aren't usually good movies. I spend a lot of time picking through the bowels of Netflix Instant Watch to find some of the putrescence that I watch on a regular basis. Netflix has the unfortunate ability to drag some of the worst movies ever created from the core of the earth where they had been resting peacefully, harming no one, and giving them new life by recommending them for my viewing. Naturally, I help it along its way by diving head first into the swamp in my attempts at finding something worth my time. I rarely succeed.
Most of the gay movies I have watched--this is a generalization, but, well, this is my blog post so I can do whatever the hell I want--open up with some sort of sex scene. Usually it's homosexual in nature, but one extremely classy movie decided to juxtapose the two in an attempt to show just how similar they were. Either way, it leads me to the obvious conclusion that the first thing two gay people do when they meet each other is have sex. Obviously. Usually after that, the straight guy or gal runs across the gay guy or gal, and the typical drama ensues. You can see some variations (the gay one is the main character? GASP!) but typically they follow the predictable plot line.
Now, the premises are cliched, but maybe the movies can are more than their opening scene! They probably have good dialogue, terrific acting, a few surprises around some strategically placed corners, or--haha, no, that doesn't happen. My personal favorite opened on a man driving down the road. He stops briefly, and another man, younger, gets into his car. They appear to know each other. They then drive into the woods and have sex rather quickly. They finish. The driver asks the other man if they could make this a regular thing, implying that they have never spoken before. There is a pause. Silence fills the audience with tension. The second man headbutts the driver, who begins to bleed profusely from his broken nose. The second man runs away.
That's the quality of them, but really that's all just the set-up for tonight's happenings. Something strange, wonderful, and interesting happened to me. I was shocked when it happened, but it took me a bit to catch my breath after I had punched myself repeatedly to ensure that I was not, in fact, dreaming.
I found a good one.
DOUBLE GASP. I know. But stick with me, it's just starting to get interesting.
It was called The Gymnast, and I almost didn't watch it because Netflix had given it such a low recommendation for me that I automatically assumed that it was going to be worse than the headbutting one, but it wasn't half bad. It followed the typical plot outline above, minus the sexual opening, but it did it with class. It respected the emotions of its characters, it didn't throw them into any boxes, and only twice did I cringe at the dialogue that no actual human would say. The starring actress (omnisexual playing straight) drove the movie home for me, and her opposite-of-affectionate husband was equally brilliant. The cinematography of all things soared far above the bar (hehe gymnastics pun) and the ending respected both the audience and the characters even though you could tell where it was going. Successful.
I'm sorry to have wasted your time, but none of this is my point.
After a successful movie with not a single name-brand actor or actress, I had to do me some research. I hunted down each and every cast member and I found everything they had ever done ever. I found some interesting tidbits of info (the leading lady I liked was only really in one other movie), but, of course, it was the last one I found that caught my attention. The husband.
He died, a few months after completing principal photography. I researched farther, and I started crying.
His name was David De Simone. He took acting classes when he was studying dancing at Julliard (seriously?) at the age of 16. New York gave him the acting bug, and he started to pursue it until a cut on his hand gave him a staph infection that severely weakened his heart, barring him from both dancing and acting. 20 years later, he walked through the door at the auditions for The Gymnast, with no real prior experience. He has two other credits on IMDb, and one uncredited role from 1986 during his first run as an actor. He took the part with ease, and he nailed it. He gave it his all. And then he had a heart attack, at the age of 46, just after finally realizing his dream.
Well, that's a showstopper, isn't it? Just kind of ruined my night, and I've been sitting here trying to figure out why. I think I've settled on the fact that it basically outlined my worst fear to me, alongside a big neon sign in my head that's been flashing IT COULD HAPPEN TO YOU in varying shades of orange, purple, and hot pink.
I've been asked before what I'm afraid of. Usually, I don't have an answer. My sister's afraid of spiders. One of my best friends is afraid of butterflies. Another one of my best friends is afraid of sentimentality (just kidding, Claire) but I never had an answer. Nothing really scared me. This, this story I just told you, scares the crap out of me.
I have no idea what I want to do with my life. I mean, sure, being a writer sounds good. But the question "what are you going to do with an English Major" has been asked by puppets much smarter than me, and they didn't really come up with an answer. I've been trying to pick up a to-be-determined second major to "round out my options", but that's doublespeak for I don't know what the hell I'm doing in four years. I kind of figured this general feeling of inadequacy would fade after a bit after high school. Yeah, that happened.
Worst comes to worst, I could always write the screenplay for a gay movie. That has to pay, like, at least $15. Maybe $20 if I promise not to speak while the director changes everything I wrote on the page. I think I'd like that.
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