Diseases of the 2%...
2022-12-15 11:16:10 UTC
There is no such thing as gay art.
I didnt want to write this piece. I didnt want to diminishthe first major studio movie written by and starring a gay man
or spoil its Rotten Tomatoes score or dance on the grave of its
box-office prospects.
I certainly didnt want to attack the star of Billy on the
Street and Difficult People, two of the most successful
screen adaptations of the gay sensibility in recent memory. But
Billy Eichner forced my hand.
No one wants to support a movie at the point of a bayonet.
Its not just straight people who failed to show up for
Eichners rom-com Bros on opening weekend who might be feeling
the pinch. As Variety pointed out in its autopsy of the films
box office flop, its dreadful $4.8-million take means many
LGBTQ viewers didnt show up to see the comedy in theaters
either.
Does that make us too the homophobic weirdos of Eichners
confounding post-bomb tweet spiral or simply the silent Benedict
Arnolds of his self-proclaimed march into the history books?
Even with glowing reviews, great Rotten Tomatoes scores, an A
CinemaScore etc, straight people, especially in certain parts of
the country, just didnt show up for Bros. And thats
disappointing but it is what it is, Eichner wrote Sunday in
response to news of the returns.
Eichner could be forgiven for throwing a misplaced elbow or two
in the aftermath of such a crushing disappointment. But the
sense of self-importance and, yes, entitlement in his response
dovetails with the films rollout. Before its world premiere at
the Toronto International Film Festival, he bragged that Bros
is not an indie movie. This is not some streaming thing which
feels disposable, or which is like one of a million Netflix
shows. I needed to appreciate, This is a historic moment, and
somehow, youre at the center of it. You helped create it.
(His shady remarks werent lost on fans of Hulus Fire Island,
even prompting its creator, Joel Kim Booster, to respond
publicly and defuse the backlash.)
Youre at the center of it: Here were words to stick in ones
craw, to suggest that, as well-versed as Eichner may be in the
traditions of the rom-com, his understanding of queer history on
screen had momentarily escaped him. It is precisely the indies,
the disposable experiments, the made-for-TV movies and
forgotten genre entries, in which LGBTQ people established
themselves in the American imagination before there was a name
for us. No one person, or cultural artifact, is at the center of
that generations-long struggle, to which Eichner has referred
again and again in his press tour for the film or indeed, as
the box office wags pointed out, on which Universal Pictures
marketing campaign leaned with such misplaced abandon.
In truth, Bros is not nearly so radical as it claims, and that
disjuncture between what it is a perfectly entertaining,
middlebrow rom-com and what it understands itself to be a
landmark moment for LGBTQ people in popular culture is
inextricable from the hand-wringing around it. It is eminently
laudable that Eichner has made a sexually frank studio comedy
featuring two gay men, and that he insisted, as wingman/co-
star/co-producer Guy Branum notes, on an all-LGBTQ cast.
Ultimately, though, the films innovations are incremental:
Rather than reinvent the genre around a different set of mores,
it simply replaces the marriage plot with the monogamy plot,
down to our former free-agent hero being harangued by his new
beau about kids.
Its especially frustrating because Bros knows better, or
seems to. Its lacerating send-ups of token representation in
Hallmark Christmas movies; the haunted house of gay trauma
that pop culture passes off as queer history; even Eichners own
public persona are all a potent, knowing nod to the ongoing
challenges of telling LGBTQ stories of living LGBTQ lives
without simply repurposing a tired, old, straight script.
Until the culminating frame of its final act, that is, when the
image of two conventionally attractive gay men kissing is
positioned, literally, as the laudatory bookend to 5,000 years
of gay love stories erased from the history books. For a film
otherwise allergic to moralizing, this sure seems like old-
fashioned heteronormative nonsense to me.
It is often said, of course, that we dislike in others that
which we most dislike in ourselves, and its impossible to see
Bros its arrogance, its failure, its enlightened intentions
and benighted outcomes without feeling implicated in it. I am
of Eichners generation, or close to it; of his race, his
gender, his sexuality, his industry, his city. I am the person
meant to see myself in Bros, to be represented by it, to
celebrate the milestone it marks. I am, in the sense of the
term that suggests affiliation, his type, and he mine I am
reasonably sure, after seeing the film twice, that I have woofed
at his shirtless torso on Scruff in Los Angeles.
And yet, despite the affinities Eichner and I share on paper
no, because of the affinities we share on paper I recoil at
Bros squandered privilege, bristle at its stars attempt to
hide its shortcomings behind the veil of homophobia. After all,
if the film believes in the progress it celebrates that of
setting our own terms, of deciding for ourselves then it must
earn the support it seeks and not merely expect it.
In the quarter century since Will & Grace, whose Debra Messing
makes an ingenious cameo in Bros, the very forms Eichner
appeared to dismiss in his eagerness for theatrical triumph have
carved out the space for LGBTQ people to choose among numerous
options instead of clinging to every scrap of queer
representation as though it were a life raft in storm-tossed
seas.
The freedom Bros extols, or tries to, is not just sexual
freedom. It is the freedom to fight over, criticize, even ignore
the artworks that claim to represent us and, on the flip side,
the freedom to keep making and consuming gay art whether
straight people show up for it or not.
Indeed, when I saw the film a second time this week, at a half-
full weeknight screening at the Sunset 5, what struck me most
were the loudest laughs and cheers, all directed at the gayest
material the slap fight-turned-sex scene, the Bowen Yang
cameo, Nicole Kidmans pre-roll ad for AMC.
Bros, a film expressly about the refusal to butch up ones
voice for a straight audience, isnt for everyone, and it
doesnt need to be. It can be for us, to argue about on Twitter
or at the bar before Drag Race, outside the circuit party,
during our own dates (or orgies). And it can be for us to decide
its not worth our time or our money, that we would rather watch
some other queer film or TV series out of love, instead of
watching this one out of obligation.
To say let gay art bomb is not to say let gay art languish.
It need not mean that we stop pressing film studios and
television networks for more, and more thoughtful, LGBTQ
representation. It need not mean that Eichner be kept from
another shot. Its simply a reminder that not only for gay art
but for art, full stop commercial failure has often been a
sign of creative success. It is through the push and pull of the
popular and the avant-garde, the acclaimed and reviled, the
celebrated and the suspect, that we arrived at the place where
Bros could sink or swim.
May the next quarter century bring still bigger swings, still
more revolutionary incursions into the mainstream, still more
films and TV series too gay, too niche for straight audiences
and not gay enough never gay enough for us. Thats progress.
Bombs away.
AIDS and Monkeypox away.
https://www.latimes.com/entertainment-arts/movies/story/2022-10-
05/bros-billy-eichner-box-office-lgbtq-representation