For better and for worse, the gay teen thriller Ganymede manages to capture the bleak horror of having to listen to a frothing anti-gay rant from some amped-up street corner preacher, or loud-mouthed bully. The kind of slur-filled noise that transmits fear and hate, and not a hint of Christian love.
Too many queer and questioning teens — like the film’s protagonist, high school wrestler Lee Fletcher IV (Jordan Doww) — are subjected to that barrage every day, at home, at church, at school. Lee’s small-town life is one long sermon on traditional values, ministered by his strict religious parents, and hellfire-spouting church pastor, all of whom are aware that the boy is battling certain so-called demons.
Lee is battling those demons literally, not just internally. In his nightmares, and in his waking life, he’s physically stalked by a hideous, skull-visaged creature that creeps out of his closet, or rises from the shadows in a corner of the room.
Conjured by Lee’s fragile, tortured psyche, the Creature (performed, with the aid of prosthetics and makeup, by Lucas Turner) is his sexual confusion and “reprobate thoughts” given physical shape. And, it seems, the Creature is especially triggered by Lee’s attraction to fellow senior Kyle (Pablo Castelblanco), who is gay and out, and totally into Lee.
Thankfully, Kyle is written with emotional complexity to go along with his crush on the good-looking jock. Portrayed with wit and confidence by Castelblanco, Kyle recognizes that Lee is suffering and confused, and not exactly boyfriend material, but he can’t help falling for the wrestler’s kind soul.
In a sweet heart-to-heart, spoken in Spanish and English, between Kyle and his supportive mom, Kim (Sofia Yepes), he confesses his feelings for Lee. His mom warns him to be careful about this boy.
In a different scene, and for completely different reasons, Lee’s mom, Floy (Robyn Lively), warns her son to be careful about Kyle. The cracked mirror images of maternal concern mark one bright spot of understated storytelling in a film — co-directed by Colby Holt and Sam Probst, from a script by Holt — battling its own demons of overacting and over-the-top psychodrama.
Lee’s parents don’t just preach and lecture about their traditional values. Floy and Big Lee (Joe Chrest) — as in “Bigly,” ha ha — shout and weep over their son like the world has ended, or their kid has died. Floy screams her frustrations into the bathroom mirror. Big Lee breaks down sobbing.
These responses might be psychologically valid in a real-world context, but as depicted here, they just look unhinged. Floy screaming to Lee that Kyle is evil because he flaunts his gayness is both high camp and utter drivel: “He’s a little Flaunt Leroy!” That’s an actual line.
“Mom, stop,” pleads Lee. And, he’s right. Please, stop. But then the family’s church leader, Pastor Royer (David Koechner), also calls Kyle a “little Flaunt Leroy.” That’s before the preacher whips out his makeshift electroshock machine for some unsanctioned conversion therapy.
Yet, conversion therapy, and attempts to pray away the gay, only leave Lee even more disturbed, and vulnerable to attack by his demons. Hence, Lee is constantly being scared awake by supposedly frightening, usually imaginary, brushes with the Creature.
He’s holding hands with Kyle, but suddenly, it isn’t Kyle, it’s a demon. Cut to, Lee waking up screaming. A girl at school plays footsie with Lee under the cafeteria table, but it isn’t a girl’s foot, it’s a demon! Lee screams.
Again and again, the film goes back to the same underwhelming well of scream cuts, stirring in blood and body horror, but never evoking the terror that truly grips Lee: his fear of himself.
Ganymede (★★☆☆☆) is available to streamon cable and digital VOD, including Apple TV, Fandango at Home, and Prime Video.
Not since Hedwig and the Angry Inch have I so enjoyed a one-person musical about an internationally ignored female artist overshadowed by her famous male partner as much as I enjoyed Rebecca Simmonds and Jack Miles' enchanting In Clay.
Making its American premiere at Signature Theatre, following sellout runs in London, the jazz-infused portrait of early-20th-century French ceramicist and painter Marie-Berthe Cazin doesn't have too much else in common with hard-rocking Hedwig. Except that both shows are powered by a knockout batch of songs, and the galvanizing force of a woman reclaiming her time, her art, and her story.
Putting aside the curious question of why the Shakespeare Theatre Company has taken to staging musical theater -- this season it's Guys and Dolls -- the happy news is that director Francesca Zambello doesn't need to keep her day job (although let's hope she does).
She may be the artistic director of the Washington National Opera, but she's clearly got the eye, ear, and vision for a whole different kind of crowd. This is no-holds-barred Golden Age rom-com song-and-dance magic brought fully to life with some serious spectacle. From scenic designer Walt Spangler's mind-blowing industrial shop space, with all its peeling paint and careworn shop décor, to a live orchestra conducted with complete and utter flair by James Lowe, it's something to behold.
The placid romantic drama Sauna, from director Mathias Broe, confronts provocative subject matter with admirable sensitivity and restraint. Based on the novel by Mads Ananda Lodahl, published in 2021, the film, figuratively speaking, never raises its voice telling the story of Johan (Magnus Juhl Andersen) and William (Nina Rask), a cis gay man and trans man, respectively, whose budding romance faces distinct challenges, even within the queer community.
First, the film winds through a concise, if not that creative setup depicting Johan's lonely life. A small town single gay relatively new to Copenhagen, he's sociable and outgoing, and so far unfulfilled by the cold, hard sex sessions with random guys he meets at bars.
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