I had googled my long-distance boyfriend out of sheer boredom and a need to connect with him on a level I was comfortable with – ie, the level involving no direct communication. When an IMDB listing appeared I almost punched myself with anticipation. And when the title Slutty Summer (sadly his only credit) came into view I had to lie down because the excitement was all too much. This was the kind of unmitigated euphoria that could normally only come from drinking boxes of red wine in a white dress with a blue satin sash whilst watching small children fall over on Top Model. This was the kind of bliss you spend a lifetime searching for in religion or community work or chroming. This. Felt. Good.
As I lay down I began to imagine my man in Slutty Summer. My – ahem – pride began to swell. Not only would my man steal the movie, he would be the hottest, dirtiest Slut of any Summer in history. I watched him in my mind’s eye as he had crazy, dirty, monkey-sex with every foolish twink, bear and elderly gay Dodo that crossed his slutty path. He’d rip off their clothing and have his wicked, slutty way with them right there on his slutty tennis court. Yeah! Then he’d enter a slutty wet t-shirt competition after knocking back a couple of slutty Bicardi Breezers. Dear God, he wasn’t just a Slut. This Slut was a Girl Gone Wild. And then Tyra comes in and gives him a slutty weave that made him supa-slutty and fierce for the photo shoot with Jay Manuel. Yeah!
I tried to force my mind back to the slutty tennis court but it was too late. I’ve learnt that once your fantasy has been Ty-jacked there just ain’t no way to resuscitate it. My sudden sadness opened the door to the possible downsides of having a lover in a gay film. The first significant downside being that almost all gay films are UTTER WASTE. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not talking about ‘queer’ cinema here. I’m talking mainstream Another Gay Movie type shit. I know I should support gay film and blah blah blah, but if the religious right had any sense they’d make children watch mainstream gay cinema because no respectable faglet would want any part of a community that endorses that.
So I rented the movie – which, sadly, I had already seen years ago (which only goes to show how desperate I am to see men kissing on my TV) – and began a frantic fast-forward search for my man. And there he was: In a restaurant scene as the nicer of two businessmen. Sadly, he was not a raging Slut. Come to think of it, it didn’t even look like summer. He had only three lines, which he delivered with a perfect sense of cool, self-aware, detached irony; the same way Parker Posey can still be hip in Scream 3. Most importantly, he looked hot. But I couldn’t help feeling his scenes needed a little more showbiz – some glamour, some grace, some gravitas!
Yes, it needed Norma Desmond.
(After watching the following clip I think any respectable homo will need to lie down and pray that Tyra lets them have this one all to themselves.)