Determined to become one of the defining screenings in any queer theory class for the next decade or two, Weekend proudly declares its politics and otherness. That often removes the intimacy from a film that can be profoundly intimate. Longing gazes and delicate, self-conscious movements lend much to the film's reality, but there's a distinct contrivance in some of the basic set-up.
A silly plot device has Chris New recording Tom Cullen's thoughts on their meeting and first sexual encounter. It's a determination to immediately forge a bond between them. Obviously, there are better ways to construct character relationships.
The film forges ahead anyway, often times disarming with rather perfect compositions or impressive long-takes that showcase just how at ease New and Cullen are in their roles. They have undeniable chemistry and, in their love scenes, a distinct heat. Somehow the film keeps working its way more and more toward topical discussions on gayness. Coupled with some passé drug scenes, it's almost as if Haigh wrote this in the 1980s. (I don't know Haigh's age, but this is certainly not the young gay man's film he set out to make since his characters are likely in their late twenties.)
Cullen and New are excellent and the film is, to its credit, as bewitchingly romantic as times as it hopes to be. There's also an admirable bleakness in the film's ending, confirming suspicions that true love is easy to believe in if you know you don't have to make an actual commitment.
No comments:
Post a Comment