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Filth is my politics! Filth is my life!

WHAT
I watched
LAST NIGHT
EVERY GREAT FILM SHOULD SEEM NEW EVERY TIME YOU SEE IT
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El tercero (The Third One)

The plot for this one is straightforward. An affluent older gay couple in Buenos Aires meet a younger guy online, and invite him over for dinner - and a threesome. And that's exactly what happens in this Argentinian movie. TLA's promotional material, including the cover art, makes the most of the film's ménage à trois, but there's more to this delightful little film than sex.

The sex goes on for some time, but the real action occurs around the dinner table. As David McAlmont once sang, there's nothing wrong with a little communication, and this film says a lot. Emiliano Dionisi is a standout as the young Fede, and writer/director Rodrigo Guerrero's film is intimate, surprising, and thought-provoking: don't miss it.

I Am Divine

Faggots aren't very good at history, it seems. I first discovered this when I saw Crayton Robey's Making The Boys, which started off with a vox pop of young gays. None of them knew about The Boys In The Band. I didn't, either. And why would we? Who teaches us LGBT history? If you're lucky, you have an elder. If not, you've got Lady Gaga and Beyonce.

A recent episode of RuPaul's Drag Race featured a John Waters challenge, with the womens required to recreate scenes from Waters' films, such as Pink Flamingos and Female Trouble. The gurls appeared to be in awe of Waters, but I wonder how many of them had actually seen any of his films, as opposed to being aware of him as a famous person? (Seriously, do any of us believe for a second that Pearl or Violet Chachki know a single thing about John Waters?)

As for me, I'd only ever seen Pink Flamingos (thanks to my very own beloved elder), but Female Trouble was quickly shoved into the DVD after I watched this absolute gem of a documentary. It really opened my eyes to the legend that was - is - Divine, and left me craving more. I learnt something, but millions of faggots won't. Ain't that a shame?

Mannequin

Like faggots everywhere, I once knew Joan Crawford only from the character assassination that is Mommie Dearest, and the career bookend Whatever Happened To Baby Jane? (arguably, Crawford's last picture). But thanks to my beloved elder, and the Tired Old Queen At The Movies, I started looking at the rest of her oeuvre. I watched Mildred Pierce and Sudden Fear, and I was hooked. I started buying every Crawford picture I could get my hands on: Autumn Leaves, Johnny Guitar, Harriet Craig, Humoresque... Each movie left me more intoxicated than before. And then I reached 1932's Grand Hotel. Crawford was Crawford, younger and as mesmerising as ever, but there's only so far back in time you can go before the picture starts to break up, and becomes unreadable. Grand Hotel didn't translate for me; it felt, at times, like watching a YouTube web series in black and white. The make-up on the men jarred, the music overbeared, and the cuts were awkward. It was slow. So I stepped away from Miss Crawford for a while, worried that her remaining pictures would be unwatchable. I shouldn't have worried: I came back to The Shining Hour (1938), a decent flick, and Mannequin (1937), a real pleasure. It's always a thrill to see Joanie as an immaculate wage slave, right before she meets Mr. Right and ends up in mink. And she stars alongside tragic hunk Alan Curtis, who died in 1953, aged just 43.

Mr Skeffington

As a Crawford fan, I've always been a little wary of Bette Davis. Yeah, Whatever Happened To Baby Jane? is her picture, and All About Eve is legendary, but I've still only seen a few of her movies, in comparison to dozens of Crawford's.

For my birthday, my best friend Rogue "Marbie" Scott gave me Bette and Joan: The Divine Feud, by Shaun Considine, a book that spans the careers of both stars, as well as the rise and fall of the Hollywood studio system. I don't think I've read anything more jaw-droppingly. Think you know the best and the worst of Crawford and Davis? Read this book.

Of course, it left me wanting to know more about Bette, and specifically, Mr Skeffington, described in the book as "five months of war, sheer hell". Despite the unpromising title (what were they thinking?!), the picture is fascinating, with Davis' character Fanny aging horribly (she wears a rubber mask), but still trying to attract the boys. Faggots of a certain age will get that.



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