The performances transcend the film's tropes, grounding it in characters that feel more complete than this subgenre often produces.

A film of deceptively outspoken contemporary relevance, this is cinema at its most alert, alarming and alive.

This movie feels like it was made purely to piss off people who want good shows

I enjoyed watching this film and would recommend other to give it a try , (as I am) but this movie, although enjoyable to watch due to the better than average acting fails to add anything new to its storyline that is all too familiar to these types of movies.

...and not the later "Serial Mom" stuff, but rather the much earlier, extremely low-budget schlocky shock-fare such as "Pink Flamingos". As has been stated here previously, whenever you have a writer/director/actor attempting to showcase their "talent" (see: lack thereof) you are usually in for some self-indulgent, cringe-worthy moments-- and LaBruce absolutely delivers. As this was done in the 90s before the advent of the digital media age, one can almost forgive the poor sound quality, "off" editing and low-quality shots in general...almost. Unfortunately there is no strong script, acting or dialogue to offset this "low budget" feel. The film almost seems like it was made as an inside joke for a close circle of friends of LaBruce, who consistently told him "you're so funny, you should totally make a movie about that!" Well...he did...and cinematography is all the poorer for it.

It's fairly obvious that the man who pretends to be a director Bruce La Bruce ought to stick to doing strictly porn. His pretensions to art wouldn't be taken seriously in a Film 101 class at NYU.Performing for porn and acting are two entirely different skills and our director seems not to notice the difference or care. His performance as the effeminate writer is no homage to Truman Capote. If Truman were alive he'd sue. In fact if the sisters of the late Eigil Vesti are alive I hope they sue this man. Naming one of your characters with the same name of the victim of a sensational gay homicide is not my idea of satire.Back in my working days at the New York State Crime Victims Board, I got into the Norwegian Consulate to do the paperwork intake for a claim filed by one of the two sisters of Eigil Vesti. Eigil was a young and naive Norwegian kid who was picked up and killed for somebody's idea of kicks. Before his body was discovered with a black leather mask on his head, his picture was all over the Greenwich Village and Chelsea areas of Manhattan as a missing person for about three weeks.I really fail to see the humor in using the name of the victim of one of the many GLBT homicide cases I did a claim for. He was a beloved younger brother to those two women from Norway whose first visit to the USA was to bring back his body for burial in their country. Having dealt with Eigil Vesti's family, I see no humor in defaming his memory in this disgusting manner.The film was bad enough as it was, using Eigil Vesti's name was way beyond bad taste, it's despicable.

A campy crime/love story intersects with random vignettes from the lives of various hustlers on Santa Monica boulevard. The protagonist, a pretty and altogether amoral dumbster hustler, robs a hippy trick and steals his car, running over and maiming a skinhead in the process. A prissy writer comes to the city and becomes obsessed with the same hustler. They get together, talk about the history of hustling on the boulevard and end up snogging on the beach (after a near fatal jacuzzi accident & miraculous resurrection). The surrounding vignettes are more outré, with a singing cowboy saddling and riding a young stud, s&m mortician snuffing out an amputee and a white twink "raped" by half a dozen hung black men. All in a day's work seems to be the moral.A postmodern plunge into some pretty disconnected lives, with references to Warhol, Baby Jane and Sunset Boulevard thrown in for good measure.

This movie was the most insipid piece of garbage I've seen in quite some time.Lets have a new rule: Movies should be made by film makers and not some hackwads like Bruce La Bruce and Rick Castro who think they are talented since they can hold an 8mm Sony camera in their tiny hands.Seriously. The acting was horrible. A retarded jellyfish with a very busy schedule could have delivered more for a presence then the no-named actors in this movie.I would rather get a table dance from Trent Lott than sit through this stinkburger again.0/10.