The following article discusses queer cinema and the context of gay pornography so, surprisingly, mentions dicks here and there. Just a heads up, Mum.
Last week I went to the Cineworld Glasgow to see I Want Your Love, a 2012 queer film following in the ‘porn with a story’ dynamic of films such as Shortbus. The decision of the cinema to screen such a film was rather surprising to me, given how pornography at large and gays enjoying themselves aren’t two of the most conventional themes in mainstream cinema, but luckily my brief optimism in the arts was crushed when I got to the ticket desk.
‘Hi could I have a ticket for I Want Your Love at 9:00 please?’ I figure this is a perfectly normal request at, of all places, a cinema.
The female cashier’s face drops into a grim expression at the mere mention of the movie. She slowly leans forward towards me, practically mounting the desk, and asks in a low voice that suggests I’ve asked her for a family ticket to Baby Murder 4 in 3D!, ‘Well do you know what the film’s about?’
Oh Twitter, how wonderful you are. Unlike Facebook, largely absent of the people that we know in real life but actually can’t stand. Unlike Tumblr, generally words help. In the 21st century nothing has changed the way we use language more than Twitter, its systematic brevity only permitting the sharpest of anecdotes, the precisest of observations or the wittiest of comebacks. We salute you!
…Except when you do things like this. For every brilliant, moving, thought-provoking 140 character instalment you roll onto my timeline, there is likely twice as many tweets that make me want to bash my head off the keyboard in frustration. Instagram’d pictures of food, rolling weather updates, extensive critical analysis of niche anime series that you can’t even pronounce; these really ought to be the contents or Twitter’s recycling bin. And even though we’re only human, the following 34 kinds of tweet in particular have no place on the glorious Twittersphere. (Thank goodness for the ‘Unfollow’ button, eh?)
Today I met my boyfriend’s family for the first time. Beforehand, I was nervous. Not just because it’s an important step in any relationship but perhaps because I thought, on some level, that they wouldn’t approve of me being with him. That no matter how much I wanted to fit in, I’d be on the outside. That they’d smile and accept it but that, deep down, they’d always wanted him to be normal and that my intrusion was just another reminder that things hadn’t worked out as they hoped.
For how could any family even deny that thought? To want their children to have it easy, to be able to avoid the upset and the anxiety of having to confront the feelings of being so undeniably different. For all the love in my life and all the wonderful people around me, you still get those chilling moments now and again when a total stranger decides to single you out as not belonging, undeserving of acceptance. I’ve seen that kind of cultural rejection happen so many times before to people a lot less different than me. Part of me felt like a fraud for even hoping for their implicit blessing of our relationship.