Blue Film Review: A Skillful Two-Hander Addresses Imperfections with Compassion

      The term “provocation” has lost its potency in recent years. Nowadays, provoking someone can be as simple as spouting a series of half-hearted offensive remarks or targeting every controversial mainstream issue in a bid to elicit a reaction. While it’s easy to get people riled up, prompting deeper consideration is a different challenge altogether. In that sense, Blue Film is truly provocative. Elliott Tuttle’s film aims to disturb, question, and indeed provoke. However, more than anything, this expertly crafted two-person piece seeks to foster understanding of the two main characters, urging viewers to see them as flawed individuals with depth and complexity, even if that may be uncomfortable.

      Aaron Eagle (Kieron Moore) is first seen hosting a camshow—complete with glitchy video and raunchy comments—where he portrays a straight, masculine dom-top bro fresh from the gym, spouting slurs at his audience in a typical humiliation-play style. One viewer is initially shown only wearing a balaclava; we soon learn he is Hank (Reed Birney), who has hired Aaron for the night. Their introductory scenes establish both the terms of the evening and the themes Tuttle wishes to delve into. Initially, Hank seems to seek a sort of sex, lies, and videotape scenario where Aaron shares his background, sexual experiences, and the reasons behind becoming a camboy. A disconnect arises, as Aaron perceives this as merely a kink, or perhaps a “scene” to perform, while Hank grows frustrated with Aaron's lack of honesty. A brilliant aspect of the film is the use of various camera formats, from home-movie interludes (including Tuttle’s own) to low-quality camcorder footage, which imparts an intimacy akin to “amateur” pornography—an element that becomes significant later on.

      The conflict unfolds when Hank’s true identity is revealed: he is actually Mr. Grant, Aaron’s former 7th-grade English teacher and a convicted sex offender who tried to molest a young boy when Aaron (whose real name is Alex) was in high school. Furthermore, he had feelings for Alex as a pupil, and this encounter serves as his attempt to see if those feelings still exist. It’s no surprise that several major festivals turned it down (I screened it at the Philadelphia Film Festival): Hank is candid about his desires and what drew him to Alex, with Birney portraying him as an ordinary older gay man, his teacher's instincts still intact. However, crucial to the film, as much as Birney’s portrayal of warmth and normalcy, is Aaron’s continual probing and challenge of Hank's reasoning and justifications. Much of Blue Film consists of dialogues and monologues that explore the nature of desire, sexuality, and perversion as a kind of spirituality, along with what “honesty” truly means. Indeed, Moore’s performance indicates a certain immaturity and petulance stemming from Alex’s internal struggles—potentially due to trauma, but that’s uncertain. In a gripping monologue, he reflects on how he was loved by his parents yet still became the way he is: as much of a pervert as Hank, but for different reasons. Both characters are truthful to an extent, but can they trust one another? More importantly, do we as the audience believe they are being honest with us?

      This material would be excellent for the stage—Birney won a Tony for his role in The Humans—but Tuttle elevates his feature debut with background noise, Isaac Eiger’s ambient score, and striking cinematography by Ryan Jackson-Healy. The influence of Lost Highway is evident in the use of shadows and contrasting blue lighting with red elements; different camera choices produce uniquely jarring effects, such as the lower resolution used during an age-play sex scene that abruptly shifts to higher definition to hone in on Moore’s face, signifying a change in dynamics. Additionally, home videos serve both as the opening credits and as chapter breaks. In these sequences, there is no dialogue—only music—which creates a mysterious, haunting atmosphere that perhaps highlights just how young Hank’s targets truly are, or alternatively, provides insight into Alex’s happy upbringing compared to the traditional narrative of troubled childhoods leading to damaged and “sexually deviant” gay men. Tuttle’s acknowledgment of cultural history even includes allusions to Ancient Greek pederasty, where mentor-mentee relationships often crossed into sexual territory. It’s easy to relate these characters’ histories of sexual abuse and trauma to broader contexts rather than as mere justifications. This self-awareness is further intensified by questioning what that knowledge permits one to do.

      Blue Film, it must be noted, will not be an easy experience even for the most open-minded viewers. Its candidness ensures discomfort but is also part of what makes it one of this year's standout films. As it hits theaters, a certain biopic is reigning at the box office while obscuring the subject's history; in contrast, Blue Film