Sebastian

 

Writer/director Mikko Mäkelä

director on the set with Ruaridh Mollica and Hiftu Quasem

SEBASTIAN              B                                                                                                                Great Britain  Finland  Belgium  (110 mi)  2024  d: Mikko Mäkelä

Born in a small town in Finland close to the Russian border, whose homophobic parents sent him to gay conversion therapy, Mäkelä moved to England at the age of 18 to study English and French literature, also studying drama before he began his filmmaking career as an editor.  But what grabbed his attention in college was the realization that many of his gay peers, students and grads in creative fields, were involved in sex work, facilitated by apps, marketing themselves online without shame.  Listed as one of the 25 LGBTQ filmmakers on the rise by indieWIRE in 2019, following the success of his earlier film A MOMENT IN THE REEDS (2017), an intimate drama about the chance encounter of two men by the Finnish lakeside.  Mäkelä is most interested in exploring questions of identity, creating stories about marginalized characters at odds with society, particularly within the context of queer cinema, where this film blurs the boundaries between fiction and autobiography.  In that same vein, Max (Italian-Scottish actor Ruaridh Mollica, who brings a certain intensity to the role) is an aspiring 25-year old writer in London who has received plenty of early acclaim, having been published in Granta, now writing for a trendy literary magazine named Wall, mostly short stories and reviews, but he has aspirations for a novel that he is working on, discovering something every writer contends with, wondering how to separate the boundaries between truth and fiction.  Premiering at the 2024 Sundance Festival, the director articulated his desire to make a “frank and honest portrayal of queer sexuality.”  To that end he has succeeded, as apparently gay sex seems to be the only graphic sex that movies still allow anymore, as they’ve been seriously streamlined out of most motion pictures, especially after Covid.  Mäkelä does not shy away from unflinching sex scenes which serve to enhance the film’s realism, where it is actually surprising to see such a healthy exhibition of simulated sex, which adds an element of transparency when it comes to relationships, as there’s some things you just can’t hide.  Max is excited about the idea of being assigned to interview American queer icon Bret Easton Ellis, who published his first novel at 21, and is the author behind Mary Harron’s subversive, off-the-wall, consumerist horror satire American Psycho (2000), generating plenty of publicity about the autobiographical content in his books.  A more senior writer on staff at the magazine, James (Michael Jean-Marain), expresses disappointment he was not getting the assignment, challenging whether it is more about the quality of the writing or the one who actually writes it, but the editor, Claudia (Lara Rossi), wanted someone with personal first-hand experience into the gay perspective, believing Max would bring some fresh insight into it.   

The film is essentially about writing a “pseudo-memoir” about the life of a gay sex worker, which leads Max, under the alter-ego pseudonym Sebastian, to compile experiences secretly meeting with mostly older clients through an online gay escort service, blending his personal encounters with his literary ambitions, where the boundaries are distinctly clear at first, but are increasingly blurred.  What starts out as a few spontaneous sexual encounters leads to a hidden subterranean world, where sex is the key to unlocking the pressures of modern gay life, discovering a deeper sense of self, running through a gamut of emotions from ecstasy, shame, and exhilarating liberation, with Max coming from perhaps the first generation of young gay men who can live openly, freely, and without shame.  Encouraged by a friend and female coworker at the literary magazine, Amna (Hiftu Quasem), Max believes he’s onto something, especially after his manuscript attracts the interest of a literary agent, editor, and publisher, Dionne (Leanne Best), though he admits it’s kind of a “stock character of queer literature,” so she encourages him to change his novel from a third-person to a first-person perspective, a “pseudo-memoir,” believing that would enhance his work.  Sex work has been around for a while, where one need look no further than Luis Buñuel’s artfully surrealist BELLE DE JOUR (1967), before that Mizoguchi’s STREET OF SHAME (1956), or more recently Sean Baker’s Anora (2024), while Gus van Sant explored a gay twist in My Own Private Idaho (1991), as did Gregg Araki in MYSTERIOUS SKIN (2004), where a list of films has been compiled on Letterboxd, Male Sex Workers , a list of films by Annie Rose Malamet.  This is a quieter, more introspective film, where the provocative opening scene (“So, tell me about yourself”) places viewers directly into the heated passion of naked gay sex, which can be startling for some, but Max comes across as an earnest, down-to-earth guy, keeping most of his private life to himself, while always appearing natural and authentic, where there’s not a hint of ego or arrogance about him, never placing himself above others, and while he’s open-minded about what he does, with the highs and lows that come with the territory, there’s also an element of secrecy, where his biggest fear is being exposed for leading a double life.  After his encounters, he quickly jots down the details before he forgets, often repeating verbatim the words that were actually said, yet each experience is unique, as each different partner has their own distinct personality.  Sex workers often tread into dangerous territory, or get themselves into precarious positions that can lead to violence, depending on the stability or state of mind of their clients, taking a particular dark turn with powerful businessman Daniel (Ingvar Sigurðsson), so there’s underlying tension and even dread with each encounter.  Nonetheless, Max gets drawn into this nocturnal world, propelling him into increasingly risky encounters, where drugs and alcohol abound, sending him into an erratic tailspin, which causes him to miss scheduled meetings or deadlines, considerably damaging his reputation at the magazine.  

A different female version of this has been seen before in gay filmmaker François Ozon’s Young & Beautiful (Jeune & Jolie) (2013), one of the notable influences on Mäkelä, where sex work is not something done out of monetary need but a journey of self-discovery, as a young woman’s sexual innocence turns darker and drearier.  Similarly, this develops a more somber mood, yet it’s exquisitely shot by Finnish cinematographer Iikka Salminen, featuring a lot of lengthy close-ups and a luminous brightness, turning this into a probing, psychological character study, with Max developing a purposefully impenetrable façade, much of it hiding the shame that he feels swelling inside, or as the director puts it, “the shame of being ashamed.” Tensions escalate with his mother back in Scotland, who disapproves of his lifestyle choices, but he attributes this to blatant homophobia, and tends to think she’s simply out of touch with the modern world, where so many of the everyday transactional relationships are done online, both private and professional, largely for the sake of convenience, where sex work has become increasingly normalized in London’s gig economy, rather than the sad and tragic last resort of how it was viewed in the past.  Much of what we learn about Max is seen through his encounters with others, initially seeming confident with himself, where his future is bright, but anxieties creep in with a developing paranoia, believing what’s private will eventually be exposed, so after he runs into one of his clients at a literary event, he panics, completely deleting his online presence, which is a mental breakdown of sorts, suddenly in an emotional freefall with no recognizable support mechanism.  The film takes a sophisticated turn with more screen time from an older, more culturally refined client, Nicholas (Jonathan Hyde, a revelation), a retired literature professor who is more interested in talking and establishing a personal connection with Sebastian, both intellectually and emotionally, than in anything physical.  His own passion for art is completely recognizable in the interior décor of his home, or in a book Max pulls from his bookshelf, Cyril Collard’s Savage Nights (Les Nuits Fauves), written at the height of the AIDS crisis in 1989, an erotic, autobiographical novel of a bisexual man’s voracious appetite for life in the face of potentially life-threatening danger.  With opera playing in the background, which extends into the bedroom, they have sex to the exotic (yet uncredited) refrains of Nadir’s Aria from Bizet’s rarely seen luxuriance from The Pearlfishers, Jussi Björling - Les Pecheurs de Perles Act l - Je crois ... YouTube (3:35), an ode to an intoxicating, dreamlike memory of pure enchantment, which adds an element of poetic transcendence.   

One can only speculate, but it certainly appears gays more easily accept age differences that might be deal breakers in most heterosexual relationships, probably due to the more transient nature of the hookups.  Completely shifting the cold sterility of the sex acts to moments of tenderness and deeper meaning throws his publisher for a loop, thinking that’s not really what sells, and advises him to change the direction he’s taken.  But this allows viewers into the psychological realms of the perpetually conflicted character, suddenly feeling what he feels, utterly abandoning himself to the spontaneity of the moment, Sebastian – Clip: "Have We Met?" YouTube (1:37), exuding his own euphoric freedom and youthful openness, perhaps best expressed by a brief scene in a theater watching Maurice Pialat’s À Nos Amours (To Our Loves) (1983), where Sandrine Bonnaire’s burgeoning sexuality is on full display, an essential way of connecting with the world.  He’s also drawn into the world he is researching and the eventual consequences of a divided existence, exploring the transgressive power of queer sexuality and the transformative impact that can result from embracing his own sexual autonomy, crafting a newly empowered identity through both art and sex work, which is especially significant since gays have historically been denied authority over their own lives.  Evidence the tragic downward-spiral career trajectory of gay icon Sal Mineo, typecast as a stalker and deranged killer in Joseph Cates’ Who Killed Teddy Bear (1965), which demonstrates how marginalized communities have to navigate difficult spaces that refuse to fully embrace or accept them, leaving them few options.  Sex work remains illegal in Sweden, for instance, despite being known for their progressive policies.  The film begins with an exploration of Max as an escort, yet evolves into an introspective narrative about a young writer wrestling with his creative impulses amid complex societal expectations regarding sexuality and reputation.  It hints at the struggles faced by those in the arts to balance personal expression against commercial viability, emphasizing the importance of self-honesty as the core of Max’s journey, while also addressing the stigma surrounding sex work.  Max is very protective of his private persona, not wanting to taint the prospects of a future career in writing, where he tells his publishers that the novel he is creating is based on extensive interviews, hiding the fact that it’s a great deal more than that, with much more at stake, putting himself in harm’s way for the sake of honesty, leading to many aggressively explicit sex scenes, told with a stark truthfulness that’s necessary to sell the full reality of Max’s life as Sebastian, never resorting to an exploitive quality.  Mäkelä complicates the notion of identity and the façades we create, exploring how such masks can distance us from genuine interaction and intimacy, yet Max’s real self also emerges, more tender and considerate, perhaps surprising even himself, evoking a core loneliness, Sebastian(2024) Gay sex scene YouTube (1:54).  While it maintains the tension of a thriller throughout, where things are satisfyingly unpredictable, this film continues to establish Mäkelä as a significant voice in contemporary queer cinema.

Ali & Ava

Writer/director Clio Barnard

director on the set

ALI & AVA               B+                                                                                                          Great Britain  (95 mi)  2021  ‘Scope  d: Clio Barnard

What would happen if you took melodrama as a genre and applied it to a social-realist version of Bradford that’s based on real people?  It’s an opportunity to think about what it means to be part of a community.  There’s a lot of kindness, generosity and support in Bradford and I wanted to see that writ large on the big screen.                                                                            —Writer/director Clio Barnard

An exquisitely made film that comes at you from unexpected places, becoming a film for our times, an update on the Rainer Werner Fassbinder film ALI:  FEAR EATS THE SOUL (1974), which was itself a reworking of the Douglas Sirk melodrama, All That Heaven Allows (1955), filmed only ten miles from where the writer/director grew up in Bradford, which has been the setting in three of her four feature films to date, like 2011 Top Ten Films of the Year #4 The Arbor (2011) and Barnard’s equally great 2014 Top Ten List #6 The Selfish Giant, while all four of her films have been set in Yorkshire County.  In those films, what Barnard does extremely well is showcase marginalization in the town of Bradford, people living on the fringes of society, poetically expressing how ordinary lives can be extraordinary.  This may be her most accessible work, featuring an unconventional working class interracial romance from two character actors who rarely get the chance to perform in lead roles, British-Pakistani-Kenyan actor Adeel Akhtar, who has mostly been seen on television, and Claire Rushbrook, who got her start working with Mike Leigh in Secrets and Lies (1996,) also playing opposite Samantha Morton in Carine Adler’s vastly underseen UNDER THE SKIN (1997), her one and only feature, where it’s important to say these two actors perfectly embody the unique characters they inhabit.  This is a surprisingly offbeat film that dares to explore cultural differences through an unlikely middle-age romance, yet what really stands out is the abstract, impressionistic style of the director, taking pages from the Lynne Ramsay and Andrea Arnold social realist playbook, yet making it unique to her own aesthetic, creating an emotionally deep portrait of life in Bradford, West Yorkshire, inspired by two people that Barnard met while she was making earlier films, Moey Hassan, a Bradford actor (who appears briefly in the film), landlord, and DJ who worked with her on THE ARBOR, while a few years later she met Rio, a teacher’s assistant at a school in Bradford who walked out of an abusive relationship during the making of THE SELFISH GIANT, with additional support from script consultant and Bradford-based writer Kamal Kaan.

Music is the beating heart of the film, like an unseen character, described by the director as a “social realist musical,” as profoundly memorable as the personalities who embrace it, as it’s something that links these two people together, beautifully integrating their distinctly different internalized worlds.  Ali (Adeel Akhtar) is a likeable Pakistani landlord, a former DJ who is into punk and rap, exuberant music you can dance to, like the Buzzcocks, Sylan Esso, and Lunar C, while Ava (Claire Rushbrook) is a caring and exceedingly sensitive teacher’s assistant, a widowed Irish mother and grandmother who, much to his dismay, is more into country music and traditional folk ballads, like American outlaw country singer Sammi Smith and Irish singer Karan Casey.  Both Ireland and Pakistan are two countries that were part of the former British Empire, each carrying a legacy of violence and racism, yet part of the melting pot of post-industrial Bradford, which once drew migrant workers from around the world, playing an important part in the early history of the Labour Party, but now facing serious economic and social challenges.  Bradford is a culturally diverse city that has an uncomfortable history of racism, especially in the 70’s, which were marked by hateful demonstrations and attacks, also known for the Brontë sisters who were born on the outskirts.  Both coming from troubled situations and different worlds, yet living in the same town, Ali lives with his recently separated wife Runa (Ellora Torchia) in a working class immigrant neighborhood of rowhouses, while Ava lives in the predominately white housing estate of Holme Wood, leaving her door open to an extended family that frequently come to visit.  What brings them together is their mutual affection for an extremely shy 6-year old girl, Sofia (Ariana Bodorová), a child from Slovak tenants living in a building that Ali manages, who also has language difficulties at school, so hangs out on her own at the playground for the most part. 

In contrast to the rampant crime in the North of England depicted in THE RED RIDING TRILOGY (2009), or the working class dramas of Ken Loach, Barnard offers a compassionate perspective on Northern life, its people and their daily lives, as Ali is introduced in a dense fog standing on the roof of his car and violently headbanging to a high-energy rap track to let off steam, I Know (MAROT Remix) YouTube (4:28), while Ava is seen on a bus lost in thought to the quieter lyrics of Sammi Smith, Saunders Ferry Lane~Sammi Smith YouTube (3:16), each from their own different worlds.  As fate would have it, Ali and Ava are brought together outside the school in a driving rainstorm, with Ali offering Ava a ride home after dropping off Sofia, sharing a moment with the Buzzcocks on the car radio, Boredom YouTube (2:54), only to be pelted by rocks from belligerent neighborhood kids at Holme Wood, who simply have nothing better to do, Ali & Ava - Car Stoning YouTube (1:57), with Ali winning them over by upping the volume on his radio to music of local neighborhood rapper MC Innes, like the lure of the Pied Piper, turning into an instantaneous little dance party in his car.  The next time they meet, they jump around on a set of sofas in Ava’s living room and create their own little party, Ali & Ava - Official Clip #1 YouTube (1:51), yet they’re each listening to distinctly different musical tracks on headphones, creating a kind of kaleidoscopic mix of jubilation and confusion.  If you sense this is not your standard kitchen sink British miserablism that we’re used to, you’d be correct, as this is more celebratory and life affirming.  While there are certainly downbeat subjects woven into the storyline, with moments of profound sadness, loss, and grief, they are countered by more jubilant moments that simply recognize a joy in living, and what a comfort it is to be sharing it with someone you love. 

Premiering at Director’s Fortnight at Cannes in 2021, not much was known about this overlooked film, which seems to have fallen through the cracks and been forgotten, but this is a world class director who makes emotional powerhouse films, and this is no exception, reportedly exuding a quiet presence on the set, often deferring to the actors, realizing the importance of not knowing everything and having an openness to not knowing.  The two lead performances are remarkably nuanced, very well paired together, though they are nothing alike, other than the fact both are intrinsically linked to their respective communities, knowing their neighbors while actively helping them out, like the familiarity of Ali rolling down the car window in his neighborhood to ask who died at a passing funeral, where everyone knows everyone else, both showing signs of extreme generosity, where it’s not told in a conventional manner, as moments appear out of time, giving experimental touches that simply expand the depth and complexity of the film.  What’s particularly impressive are the Ozu-like transitional cityscape shots, like fireworks against a darkened sky, a glowing moon hovering overhead, a moody atmospheric glimpse of early morning twilight, or slowed down pauses that feel like still shots, as they accentuate moments of reflection.  Undercliffe Cemetery overlooks Bradford and is a special place for Ali and Ava to meet.  Occasionally, Sofia has a tendency to climb up the monkey bars, but gets stuck, unable to climb back down without assistance, with Ava offering her reassurance and support, but reminds her that if you’re brave enough to climb up, you must be brave enough to climb back down, which may as well be a theme for the film, which continually keeps viewers off balance even through the end credits, as there is a constant stream of surprises that greatly enhances the overall viewing experience.   

One of the most distinctive voices in British cinema, Barnard’s interest in film started at the age of 14 when she watched Mick Jagger in Nicolas Roeg’s Performance (1970), an acid trip of a movie.  It was on TV late at night, and she viewed it on a black-and-white portable in her bedroom with the volume turned down.  What amazed her was its ability to mess with her head.  “Here’s this real rock star pretending to be one, whose sort-of girlfriend is also in the film in this crazy threesome.  There was something about the real and the fictional that was really fascinating.  It blew my tiny mind.”  What’s most astonishing is how this film subverts expectations in a modern interracial romance that counters the fearmongering of toxic politicians, where there's a tenderness within, finding beauty in the most volatile moments through a beautifully shot character study about two lonely misfits who find emotional comfort and support in each other despite their past traumas and having to deal with community expectations, as they are a catalyst for change in each other’s lives.  There are shocking turns of darkness that come out of nowhere, taking us through intensely personalized avenues of racial abuse and domestic violence, as each respective family quickly disassociates themselves from this new love interest, finding fault in their character when it’s really about race, growing perilously ugly and even dangerous when Ava’s grown son Callum (Shaun Thomas, one of the local kids in THE SELFISH GIANT) pulls a samurai sword on Ali, believing his recently deceased father would roll over in his grave, as he was a member of the National Front (UK).  Ava’s Irish Republican father, who was fiercely proud of his heritage, deeply despised the British and disowned her for marrying an Englishman, a man Callum still idolizes, despite his history of abuse, causing plenty of friction.  Similarly, Ali’s sister calls Ava a “gori chav,” which basically means white trash, coming from a more traditional-minded family that has been kept in the dark about his imminent separation that he’s too ashamed to acknowledge, still living together with Runa but in different bedrooms, having shared an unspeakable trauma that they simply never recovered from. 

It’s an unlikely culture-clash romance in a blue collar city, where the social realist style is beautifully mixed with a steady stream of lyrical musical passages that express what they’re feeling underneath, with Barnard adding her own experimental stylistic flourishes that elevate what we’re seeing onscreen, yet what’s apparent is that the joy of music is an act of resistance, exquisitely shot on ‘Scope by Ole Bratt Birkeland, who also shot her first film.  It’s all about the power of healing, where there’s no right or wrong way, but you know it when you feel it, where there’s actually a laying-on-the-hands sequence, ALI & AVA Clip | TIFF 2021 YouTube (37 seconds), as a shared love of music allows them to heal and transform one another through ordinary acts of kindness.  Familiar Bradford locations include the massive Waterstones bookstore, Undercliffe Cemetery, Bradford Cathedral grounds, Cow and Calf rocks on the Ilkley Moor, and the Keighley and Worth Railway, yet it’s the inner journey that stands out, expressed through British rap, Skwolla | Lunar C YouTube (4:41), American electro-pop, Sylvan Esso - Radio (Music Video) YouTube (3:34), a raw and earthy bootleg Bob Dylan recording, Mama, You Been On My Mind (Studio Outtake - 1964) YouTube (2:55), which curiously has a crossover effect on both characters, and British pub music by Ewan MacColl expressed through a drunken mother and son duo, Ali & Ava - Official Clip #2 YouTube (53 seconds).  Yet what’s most remarkable, and may be the most impactive part of the film, is the final credits sequence, a gift that keeps giving, moving from the thumping EDM music, Daniel Avery - Drone Logic (Official Video) YouTube (5:15), to a heart-rending traditional Irish ballad from Karan Casey, Grace (From Ali & Ava) YouTube (5:29), a searing version of a social justice love song that has a similar effect as the cathartic final scene from John Huston’s The Dead (1987), finding that emotional core that leaves audiences utterly transfixed, having been thoroughly transformed by the experience.