Thursday, February 2, 2012

Red Dirt and WTF

So I apologize for the last, oddly-cryptic post and the long delays between real posts.  It's been a weird couple of weeks here at Record of the Month, and normally I don't exorcise my demons publicly, but since the person who that was aimed at was posting cryptic messages on his Facebook account (which you've noticed I'm not on) I figured that if he googled me, he might find me here and maybe we could get a real conversation going.

If he did, well, he didn't respond.  Moving on.

Watched Red Dirt last night in my continuing quest to see Walton Goggins naked and, I have to say, it was worse than The Room.  At least The Room has a Rifftrax.  And while yes, Walton Goggins was exceptionally naked (was he wearing a merkin?) it didn't make up for the fact that there was not a single scene in the film that wasn't a giant pile of film school cliche.  There was rain on lily pads, claw-foot bathtubs, even a nice scene of two dogs walking along the railroad tracks that had nothing to do with anything.

Characters complained about not being able to get out of the small town of Pine Apple, talked about how no one understood them, parents were dead, aunt was insane, protagonists were frustrated, opera was played to heighten tension, people walked around barefoot.  Yawn.

The really disturbing part, in my mind, was Griffith, the protagonist.  He's having sex with his female cousin, displaying no homosexual tenancies until Manic Pixie Dream Goggins comes along.  They do Manic Pixie things, like wrestling in the water, offering to paint a house plaid, building a giant pin-cushion in a field and painting sex-cousin's phone number on her barn roof (your guess is as good as mine, because this is never explained) MPD-Goggins keeps talking about moving on and they become blood brothers, and then Griffith gets mad at MPD Goggins for being all homo-y towards him, and I guess at the end Griffith becomes gay and they kiss and run off together.  At least that's what Wikipedia said, because the minute Goggins said his tearful goodbye to the aunt who was suddenly magically cured of crippling depression by a few car rides, I turned it off and sealed it up in it's red envelope to be mailed back from whence it came.

The disturbing part is, of course, that the film implies that being gay is a choice.  Griffith was perfectly content to have sex with women, even if they were kinfolk, but it isn't until someone gay comes along that he even considers that he might like boys.  Being gay, from my understanding, isn't something you just decide to do--it's who you are from birth, no matter what troll-person Rick Santorum says.

For a piece of gay cinema, I think Red Dirt sends the wrong message . . . and is just an awful film in general.  Too bad, because we haven't seen Walton Goggins that nude since.

This will have to do.

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