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.

Shiva Baby

Writer/director Emma Seligman

actress/producer Rachel Sennott

 

Seligman with Rachel Sennott

Seligman with ensemble cast

SHIVA BABY                       B                                                                                                     Canada  USA  (77 mi)  2020  ‘Scope  d: Emma Seligman

Seligman is a Canadian filmmaker raised in a Reform Ashkenazi Jewish community in Toronto, who contributed film reviews as a teenager to The Huffington Post before attending NYU Film School, where her short thesis film, Shiva Baby (2018) YouTube (7:40), starring the same actress, was expanded into her first feature film, kind of a Jewish Finnegan’s Wake, updated into a contemporary world of The Graduate (1967), while delving into the delirium of Darren Aronofsky.   Rachel Sennott stars as Danielle, a bisexual woman who has nearly graduated from college, with only unanswered questions about her future, accompanying her parents to a day-long shiva, a Jewish wake, revealing a series of awkward and embarrassing events that only draw attention to her own growing insecurities, accentuated by the unexpected presence of Maya (Molly Gordon), an old flame who is mischievously intriguing, and Max (Danny Deferrar), an older man she sees frequently for paid sexual encounters.  While some of the same dialogue exists in both versions, mixing elements of comedic farce with moments of unanticipated terror, the day worsens, becoming a nightmarish depiction of a traditional Jewish ritual featuring rapid-fire dialogue, painfully subversive Jewish humor, and outlandish confrontations regarding her own burgeoning sexuality, which remains clouded under cover of cultural orthodoxy, yet threatens to be exposed at any minute, with her hovering mother (Polly Draper) who never gives her the space she needs, continually jabbering in her ear not to do anything rash, perhaps most afraid her bisexuality may cause a scene, in other words, don’t embarrass the family, all playing out in real time as they help themselves to the buffet table.  While this is one of the more absurdly cinematic representations of American Judaism, many may be caught offguard by the aggressive unpleasantness of the experience, invoking a mocking tone of irreverence while mixing in a heavy dose of existential horror and dread, accentuated by the anxiety-ridden musical score of Ariel Marx and a sound design that heightens an impending sense of dread.  Inspired by the building of claustrophobia and tension in Cassavetes’ Opening Night (1977), especially the effect it had upon Gena Rowlands, yet also Gia Coppola’s Palo Alto (2013), with Seligman indicating “I’ve never seen a film so accurately portray the suffocating and debilitating nature of young female insecurities.”  Using that as a guideline, her mantra for making this film was written on her desk, “I want other young women to feel heard in their insecurities that have been inflicted upon them.”  Injecting the absurdly comical tone of the Coen brother’s A Serious Man (2009), a wildly irreverent take on the Book of Job and the Jewish bar mitzvah, which Seligman transfers here to a family shiva, where mourners stuff themselves on bagels and rugelach while catching up on the latest family gossip.  Seligman mines the territory for underlying humor, calculatingly playing with stereotypes while planting the seeds of existential turmoil, which only escalate into fertile grounds for emotional explosions taking place inside the lead character of Danielle, who moves from one emotional bombshell to the next.  Mirroring the endless travails of Job, the director employs humor as a self-defense mechanism, which has long been the prerogative of Jewish comedians, invoking their own specific comedic dialect, protecting them against anti-Semitism and an often-threatening world, frequently focusing on their personal problems, while almost always containing a strong element of alienation.  To her parents, she’s something of a disappointment, as all the other girls her age are entering grad school or having babies, so they prep Danielle about what to say as she lies about nonexistent job prospects that are only a fantasy in her mind.  A study in sustained tension, the film captures the pressures of mounting internal uncertainties, including her indecisiveness and lack of direction, feeling stuck in time, surrounded by insufferable guests who offer ill-advised and unrequested advise, much like Dustin Hoffman in The Graduate, transformed to a twentysomething bisexual Jewish college senior without a major, something she can’t actually define, yet she’s incessantly questioned about it, seemingly answering differently with each inquiry, though her only solid form of employment, supposedly, is “babysitting,” a conveniently safe term to cover up for her promiscuous sexual activity.  

Sex work dressed up in the language of female empowerment is an edgy aspect of modern feminism, and a surprisingly common activity among female college students, both in Great Britain, Europe, and America (What Student Sex Workers Want You To Know - Refinery29), as it’s a way to earn steady income to offset the obscene costs of rising rentals and college expenses, often latching onto a safe and steady man known as a sugar daddy for their revenue stream, setting up appointments via online apps, as previously highlighted in Jacques Audiard’s 2021 Top Ten List #6 Paris, 13th District (Les Olympiades, Paris 13e).  The leading website is Seeking, formerly SeekingArrangement, initially a website seeking sugar daddies (NYU is one of the top schools on the website), now a mainstream dating site, with over 40 million users, available in 130 countries.  While registering is free, you won’t be able to contact other members without paying for their platform (Seeking Arrangement Review: Does It Work in 2022? We Tried It).  Of note, in 2012 when the Republican Convention was in Tampa, Florida, the site saw a 26% increase in site users.  Even the director joined the website for one date, “It just wasn’t for me,” she says.  “I’m not cut out for it.”  With a budget of around $200,000, shot over 16 pre-Covid days in August 2019, the film is shot almost entirely at one specific location, with cinematographer Maria Rusche largely using handheld cameras to accentuate the claustrophobic confinement of the event, using ‘Scope to capture additional characters within the same frame.  Either ignored or excluded from commercial theaters, this will more likely be seen on streaming services, where even regular television shows will receive far greater exposure and hype.  Featuring a wordy script, with a heavy accent on stereotypical Jewish characters, an overbearing mother (Polly Draper), a completely oblivious father (Fred Melamed), both making excuses about the ambivalence of her career choices, the film becomes a cringeworthy intersection of hyped parental expectations colliding with the indifference of youth, as Danielle hasn’t got a clue what her future holds, yet she moves from one distant relative to the next, each asking the same questions about what she intends to do, why she doesn’t have a boyfriend, even inferring she may have an eating disorder, all making her sink into her inner sanctum of immediately changing the subject and finding some trivial task to perform, moving from room to room, as she seeks to escape from the continual pressure of judgmental family evaluations.  In a choreography of spectacularly uncomfortable moments, Danielle has no real connection to the deceased, or to most of the relatives packed into such tight quarters, instantly feeling suffocated, particularly when she realizes Max is there, the same man she was with in the opening of the film faking an orgasm in his overly spacious SoHo bachelor pad, who suddenly realizes she’s not an aspiring entrepreneur moonlighting in sex work to help get her through law school, and suddenly her private affairs are on full public display, about to be exposed, forcing her to lie through her teeth and endure the wrath of guilt and humiliation in this savage satire of existential embarrassment.  Reinforced by an atonal musical score that offers no relief, underscoring her rapidly increasing anxiety at every turn, this is a comedy of errors that only grows more dizzyingly out of control, a carefully choreographed slow death by paper cuts, with the world caving in all around her, leaving her no avenue of escape.  The presence of Maya, who is a showcase of success, heading for law school, the picture of every parent’s dreams, yet she’s also her life support, as this is a person she genuinely cares about, not even remembering why or how they ever separated, having mixed emotions that she’s forced to restrain, and then Max’s staggeringly successful wife arrives, Kim (Dianna Agron), described as a shiksa princess wife, dazzlingly beautiful, the epitome of corporate feminism, running multiple business enterprises, hideously described by Danielle as a “girlboss,” feeling small in comparison, yet she’s brought with her their inconsolable crying baby, whose piercing screams send her into a panicked distress, a recurring motif incorporated into a soundtrack of anxiety. 

Something should be said about Rachel Sennott, as she literally carries the picture, utterly flabbergasted in an escalating series of exasperating moments, little by little losing every shred of dignity left, as her protective shield of lies leaves her squirming in disbelief, wondering how she ever found herself in this situation, yet she soldiers on from one mishap to the next, at times defiant, yet also utterly defeated.  Raised to believe she could do anything, she is nonetheless entitled, yet extremely relatable, coddled and pampered at every turn by well-off suburban parents who continually raise the bar on what to expect, where weddings and funerals and shivas are public opportunities for parents to sing the praises of their children, like listing a menu of delicious entrees, each one more delectable than the next, all paraded for public consumption, reminiscent of the scene in Mary Harron’s American Psycho (2000) where young executives pull out their business cards, each trying to outdo the other in a fiercely competitive field.  Yet something’s changed from the older generation to now, as the great jobs and careers that used to provide lifelong security in their lifetimes have dried up and disappeared, leaving slim pickings for the younger generation, who are offered temp work instead, with fewer benefits, even with college degrees, which no longer seem to matter, resulting in multiple career changes, something their parents simply don’t understand.  While trying to process everything that’s going on, Danielle’s constantly barraged by questions about her life, subject to scrutiny of an intensely personal nature, not something easily done in a room full of what feels like strangers, family that she has little to no contact with except for these seemingly officiated occasions, with the heads of the family holding court, all projecting wildly ambitious dreams through their children, spreading the word about the juiciest family gossip, leaving her feeling useless and insignificant in an interplanetary cosmos of moving planets.  Even Maya gets in on the game of needling her, seemingly enjoying her personal misery, but she also offers her a lifeline in a momentary reprieve, sharing a kiss out of prying eyes, yet also a reminder of just what she’s missing.  A scathing commentary on contemporary Jewish life in America, Seligman has a deft hand in how this all plays out, using precise camera positioning and meticulously realized long takes, where everything that happens is seen through the eyes of Danielle, like an obstacle course of harrowing moments, a smorgasbord of unpleasantries, moving from room to room in a psychologically and emotionally shattering experience, with viewers subjected to a marathon of carnage left behind, becoming a subversive take on the limits of feminism and freedom, as her breakdown reflects the alienating consequences of social judgment, and is a direct consequence of the policing of her bodily autonomy by other people.  Key to the film’s understanding is her evolving relationship with Max, who turns out to be a former employee of her father that quickly turns the tables on her, his ballbusting wife Kim, who picks up on her husband’s philandering and goes after her with a vengeance, her own parents, making excuses and covering for her at every turn, and finally with Maya, where there is an instant reconnection, perhaps out of desperation, as she juggles her own self-deception and finally comes to terms with her own failures, never living up to the best version of herself, crumbling under the prying eyes of distant family members.  Essentially a relationship movie and a quest for discovery, this odyssey of combustible discomfort is only escalated by the crying wails of an innocent baby that completely undercuts her equilibrium, like a house of cards collapsing, where underneath it all are moments of longing and affection for Maya, her saving grace, as if clinging for respectability, yet in such a non-traditional way, the Jewish princess that falls in love, not with Prince Charming, but with another Jewish princess.  While there are only subtle references here, queer culture and Jewish culture don’t normally intersect, as Jewish queer representation in film is minimal, as it’s just not the Disney story we’ve all grown up hearing, ingloriously turned on its ear, flying off the radar, treading one’s own path, even if that means shattering parental dreams of that perfect life that they can share at family gatherings, boasting about personal achievements and financial success, giving them bragging rights.  This may tamper their expectations, but offer a new reality, an untold story, a new possibility.  It’s just a different dream, really, where success is not measured by the size of one’s bank account, but one’s personal happiness.  What actually matters seems so simple, but it requires a conscious adjustment of values, an ever-evolving change in the Jewish girl narrative, where challenging films like this may help pave the way.