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REEL STINKERS

BY BYRON BECK
bbeck@wweek.com

Feed QW: Send savory bits of information to Byron Beck at bbeck@
wweek.com
at least 10 days prior to publication.


Our Community Seen
4th Annual Lesbian, Gay, Bi, Trans Film Festival
Cinema 21
616 NW 21st Ave., 242-0818
Friday-Sunday, Oct. 13-15 and Oct. 20-22
Tickets and passes $7-$75

Ginger Moloko's Autistic Follies
Cabaret for a new millennium!
Echo Theater, 1515 SE 37th Ave.,
224-8499. 8 pm Friday and Saturday, Oct. 13-14. $10-$12.

 

 


Entertainment Weekly is my gay bible. A radical rag disguised as mainstream pablum, this weekly mag boasts more homofferings in its "Gay Hollywood 2000" edition than anything you find in the pages of Playgirl or Bust. It covers everything from queer TV ads--don't you love John Hancock's new lesbos-who-adopt ad?--to a gay gold-digger's wish list of dreamy gay celebs (Hey! Where's Chuck Palahniuk?). And at the bottom of page 8, you will find a link to the website (www.ew.com) that will tell you what editors at EW think are the top 10 homo films of the past decade--and we are not talking about anything by Ryan Idol.

While I'm as eager as anyone to slip into a cheerleading uniform and start doing cartwheels across Hollywood in support of the cause, I'm also a little creeped out by the rah-rah nature of this special report. I mean, really, we had to sit through loads of crap before we got Will & Grace and Boys Don't Cry.

As a public service, and a reminder of where we came from, I offer you what I think are the three worst gay films ever made. Enjoy.

It's My Party: Written and directed by Randal Kleiser, this movie should have been called Death Without Dignity. Starring two straight dudes who I always thought were gay, Eric Roberts and Gregory Harrison, this dramedy revolves around a "going away" party for a gay guy who would rather kill himself than die from you-know-what. Margaret Cho, Olivia Newton-John and Bronson Pinchot give the worst performances of their lives--and that's saying something.

Making Love: A messy ménage à trois, this soft-focused flick stars two straight guys who I always thought were gay, Harry Hamlin and Michael Ontkean, and one of Charlie's Angels who I always thought was lesbian, Kate Jackson. Ontkean's closeted, married character explores his "feelings" all over the couch, chair and floor of chesty Hamlin's bachelor pad. Jackson, his wife, cries a lot. Boo-hoo-hisssss.

Claire of the Moon: Oregon has its share of hits and misses when it comes to making movies. For every My Own Private Idaho, there seem to be several of The Temp. But nothing comes close to this stinkerooni starring local actresses Karen Trumbo and Trisha Todd, who I thought were...oh, never mind. But don't blame this debacle on those two players. Meryl Streep and Vanessa Redgrave would've had trouble making something out of this piece of poo. From bad lighting to bad masturbation scenes, this coastal-based coital commingling is about as inviting as a case of crabs.

 

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