a gorgeous film by John Michael McDonagh — Martin MacDonagh’s brother (Seven Psychopaths). But it will die an ignominious death -- killed by the cowardly, politically correct critics that would have it be something it is not. You see, because The Forgiven a film about decadent colonials in the desert, it, must, necessarily, be about how horrible white people are. But the critics have decided the white people in this particular flick are not bad enough. Generally the film is being damned with faint praise — “it has nothing fresh or insightful to say about the ugliness of white privilege. It’s like attending a weekend bacchanal and forgetting what happened once Monday morning rolls around, or perhaps not wanting to remember.” The Forgiven is ‘decadent,’ which means that people drink, and take drugs, and have sex (in excess) something which we prefer to pretend ceased after Covid-19, or after AIDS — or whenever it was that we all became so bloody self-righteous. The Forgiven has been accused of homophobia because the director is evidently “saying something by making two gay lovers the story’s most conspicuous embodiments of neocolonialist excesses.” Right. Sure, much of the action takes place at a semi-orgy hosted by gay couple Matt Smith (Smith is the new Neil Patrick Harris — see: Mobius) and Caleb Landry Jones (who must be gay, because he has no personal life on Wikiipedia). I for one, am ecstatic to welcome a decadent gay couple once again to the silver screen! Not since Michael York and Helmet Griem in Cabaret have we seen the likes of 'em! I’m so tired of gay film couples who are mixed-race, married, living in the suburbs, adopting twins -- and who have to unctuously deal with that homophobic/racist pa -- and one is a teacher and the other is a cop. And they don’t drink or swear, or do anything interesting. So, like — where’s the fisting? I have no problem with movies or plays that represent gay men as drunk, and/or stoned, and sex-crazy, and promiscuous, as that’s so, dare I say it — true to life! But apparently faggots in movies these days must be squeaky clean. And then there is the one moment — I kind of relished it, because I know people will necessarily be scandalized— belonging to Ralph Fiennes (I forgot to mention he plays the leading character; a very sweet yet detestable man who kills an Arab child by accident, and then spends the rest of the movie paying for it). Well Fiennes goes on about how Morocco is the destination ‘vackay’ for ‘pederasts,’ citing Allen Ginsberg. (Unfortunately the word ‘pederast’ has been made meaningless by Christians who throw it around like an old football. They insist, for instance that Joe Biden is a pederast. Whaaaa?) But I don’t think Allen Ginsberg was a pederast. No, no, he was an epheberast, which is something quite different. In case you don’t know what ‘epheberast’ means, it’s someone who falls in love with teenagers. You won’t find a definition online because of the prevalent societal hypocrisy. The whole of western culture is ardently epheberastic — it started with James Dean, and climaxed, for many I’m sure quite literally -- with Miley Cyrus’ saucy twerks. And Fiennes’ character in The Forgiven, after all, is speaking the truth somewhat. Gay men who live in uptight western countries have, historically gone to Morocco to dally with gorgeous and very willing Moroccan boys. (You see sex before marriage is forbidden in Muslim culture, ergo, the ‘love that dares not speak its name’ flourishes. Homosexuality in fact flourishes anywhere the ‘powers that be’ forbid young men to touch young women — so, also in the city of Naples, and in the U.S. prison system.) Yes. I knew two quite celebrated epheberasts who loved Morrocco. They were both also quite prominent figures in the Canadian literary world: Bill Glassco and Scott Symonds. I can talk about them now, because they’re both dead (though occasionally dead hands do rise from the grave to grapple with me). I was told that Glassco had a house in Morocco -- by his fellow epheberast Scott Symonds —when Scott visited me once. That was a debacle. I was sitting at home minding my own business when Scott knocked on the door and said “I’m Scott Symonds, and you’re Sky Gilbert, and we definitely should meet.” So I let him in. We talked for a bit about how repressed Canadian culture was, and then for some reason he ended up in my bedroom all by himself (I think he asked 'if he could see it') and when I came back with our iced teas (or whatever I was getting for him) I found he had slipped one of my porn videos into the VCR and was masturbating. I had to kick him out. But that’s another story. Anyway, The Forgiven tells it like it is, daring to see both white colonialists and Moroccan muslims as human beings — as flawed but still sympathetic, and the film kind kind of equates the two cultures. This is its fatal flaw, as presently right and left wing enthusiasts would have us see Muslims and Christians as irreconcilably different. Sorry to be the bearer of paradoxical tidings, but we’re all human, and kinda loveable — that is, when we’re not being hateful — whether we are Muslims, Christians or just decadent fags.
