Much has changed for urban gays in the 21 years since William Friedkin's Cruising. That controversial serial-killer thriller--set in the leather bars and after-hours sex clubs of New York's West Village--was derided by gay rights activists as a piece of cheapjack sensationalism leading only to trouble, seemingly designed to exacerbate the perceived divide between the straight "us" and the gay "them." Since then, serial killers gay and straight have become the staple of cable infotainment programming, and the fabled darkness of the gay underworld has been completely overshadowed by the genuine abyss of AIDS and the organized homophobia of the "religious" right.
Moreover, Matthew Shepard's murder has humanized all the overlooked lynchings of gays that came before it. Consequently, the gay/straight divide today seems more a sidewalk crack than a sinkhole of Grand Canyon proportions, and all of this is reflected in Jon Shear's brilliant new film Urbania.
Adapted by Shear and writer Daniel Reitz from the latter's play Urban Folk Tales, Urbania revisits many of the same West Village streets through which Friedkin lurched so awkwardly. Instead of a Mondo Cane-style peepshow, it offers the Long Dark Night of the Gay Soul for urban everyman Charlie, who--as popular parlance would have it --"just happens to be gay." Dan Futterman (best known to audiences as the straight son in The Birdcage) plays this most sympathetic fellow, who appears to be nursing some deeply personal hurt from a love affair gone awry. But as we follow his comings and goings, we learn there's much more to this gay "lonely guy" than meets the eye. Because of the supremely artful way Shear and Reitz have pitched the story, it reaches into places few films, gay or straight, have gone. For as Jean-Luc Godard would say, it has a beginning, middle, and an end, but not necessarily in that order.
At first, it would seem, Charlie is looking for a new love to replace the one he has somehow lost. A neighborhood tough guy named Dean (Samuel Ball) appears to have caught his eye, and a sympathetic bartender (Josh Hamilton) gives Charlie the lowdown on him. But our hero is equally attracted to another similarly butch type named Ron (Gabriel Olds). However, that would-be encounter comes to naught. Moreover, there are other people, places, and things crossing Charlie's past. A visit to his friend Brett (Alan Cumming) stirs tender memories of his lost love Chris (Matt Keeslar). Then there's that strange woman with a cell phone (Paige Turco) who keeps popping into view, not to mention the half-mad street tramp (Lothaire Bluteau) lurking in every doorway. The sense of eerie interconnectedness Shear gives these seemingly disparate scenes underscores the fact that we're a long way from Cruising and much closer to The Discreet Charm of the Bourgeoisie.
What holds it all together is the running nongag of urban legends that appears in the plot. Like the one about the man whose kidney was stolen by a casual pickup. Or the one about the woman (Fassbinder goddess Barbara Sukowa) who is willing to pay an unheard-of amount of money just for one glance at a man's penis. And let's not forget the poodle in the microwave. They're all here, held together by Charlie's obsessive refrain: "Heard any good stories lately? I've got a good one. And this one really happened. Give me a second to figure out the ending." The ending that Charlie has to figure out has nothing to do with any story, but everything to do with what happened with his lover Chris--something viewers of Urbania would be best left to discover for themselves. It also has to do with the edginess of city life, and the soupçon of threat--real or perceived--that haunts all sexual desire.
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Shear accomplishes all this by turning his back on the machinery of the mainstream: Urbania was shot on Super 16mm and processed via digital video. The result is a film of extraordinary visual intimacy. We're this close to the characters at all times. As a result Shear can evoke marvelously subtle tension in a scene where Charlie verbally assaults a smug straight couple (Gabriel Olds and Megan Dodds) and can let a skilled performer like Cumming (who does a stupendous Glenda Jackson impersonation) work wonders in a seemingly casual scene. More important, Shear can get onscreen things that haven't been there--the way gay men who aren't lovers relate to one another, the aching loneliness of AIDS underscored by the pile of dishes in the friend's apartment, and, most striking of all, the meaning of love between people who just happen to be of the same sex. All of this, plus a climactic nighttime prowl of gay trysting places, in which we find the illicit thrills Friedkin sought in vain. Shear never shirks from the horrors of gay city life--but he doesn't ignore the tenderness either. By doing so, he gives the love-story film a new--and bracingly queer--lease on life.