Overall Quality 4.0 / 5.0 (recommended)
Gay Content 2.0 / 5.0 (a couple of secondary gay characters)
Gay Positivity 4.0 / 5.0 (mostly positive)

Out of the supernatural (straight) romances I’ve read recently, Undead and Unwed is one of my favorites so far. It’s not great literature (none of them are), but all in all, it’s just a lot of fun.

Of course, it helps for me that this book has some actual gay content.

Betsy is an urban, modern, wise-cracking secretary. Until she dies. And then comes back as a vampire. In fact, she returns as the prophesied Queen of All Vampires, a job in which she is not interested. She’s an unusual specimen for a vamp – religious icons don’t affect her, sunlight doesn’t burn her, she can control her need to feed, and she just wants restore some semblance of normalcy to her “life.”

But an evil vampire named Nostro (AKA Fred), and a seductive one named Sinclair, try to sweep her into a giant vampire smackdown. Meanwhile, her sassy friend Jessica and new gay friend Marc try to help her out, but mostly just get in the way.

It’s a fast-paced and energetic story. Davidson’s take on vampires is pretty standard – everything from garlic to sunlight gets them, with the sole exception of protagonist Betsy, who’s as non-standard as vamp’s come. She’s a cool character – through her Davidson is able to spoof vampires and romances.

Unfortunately, she’s a one-note character. I liked that note – snappy, witty, and irreverent – enough to keep reading, but the book would have been much stronger if the author had imbued her with more emotional depth. Instead, it’s just non-stop sarcasm and humor.

For example, at one point Sinclair convinces Betsy to help him by bribing her with designer shoes. It’s funny to read Betsy’s shallowness play out, but it doesn’t endear her to me.

Sinclair, the romantic interest, is an intriguing character, but the romance subplot is inconsistent. (And be advised – the romance is definitely a secondary theme) A couple of scenes reveal Sinclair as a character worthy of the central romance, but other scenes do the opposite, and at the end I couldn’t tell if Sinclair wanted to get with Betsy because he genuinely loves her, or because he wants the status she conveys on him.

The central story is also undercooked. Most of the book is: Betsy becomes a vampire, and then humorously observes what it’s like to be a vampire. The central drama about the power play between Nostro, Sinclair, and Betsy is present from the beginning, but it sits on the back burner until near the end. I wish the author had introduced a few more compelling plot points, which in turn might have given the characters opportunities to reveal more emotional depth.

Over the course of the story, Betsy befriends a young gay doctor named Marc. Like all the characters, his character is not well developed, but he’s a nice guy.

It bothers me that Betsy meets Marc when he’s trying to commit suicide. It also bothers me that he seems to lack personal agency, which is the real issue underlying “The Gay Best Friend” stereotype. Within a day of meeting Betsy, he falls into her orbit. He has no personal motivation, interest, or goals. I see this less as a slur on gay people, and more as poor characterization.

In fact, particularly in this case, consider the demographic. Sure, I would like the gay character to have a beefier role and his own romantic interest, but I’m a gay guy. The contemporary woman at whom this novel is aimed, wants to see herself in Betsy’s Ferragamo’s, and probably has a close gay friend herself.

A lesbian vampire, Tina, also puts the moves on Betsy. Betsy is put off by the advance, but everything she said was in character, and overall I thought she handled the awkwardness quite well. Tina is one of the more stable characters. She has a sympathetic belief system, and I wish she had enjoyed a larger role.

Overall, a fun if fluffy, mostly gay-friendly read. I am just disappointed because it comes so close to being a really great story, but just misses the mark. Here’s hoping the series matures in the next volume or so.

“High School Musical” recalls previous musical adventures, most notably “Romeo and Juliet” and its close cousin “West Side Story.” Basketball star Troy (Zac Efron) and brainiac whiz kid Gabriella (Vanessa Anne Hudgens) bond while singing together at a karaoke party, and afterwards contemplate trying out together for the school musical.

But they come from different worlds, er, high school cliques, and their respective cohorts conspire to keep them apart. Meanwhile, twins Sharpay and Ryan Evans (Ashley Tisdale and Lucas Grabeel) are used to being the center of their school’s drama universe, and they do not take kindly to the would-be interlopers.

The story is highly Disneyfied, of course: cute, sweet, and fluffy rather than edgy or thoughtful. It does manage to avoid saccharine, though. It has a fantasy wholesomeness wherein even the viciousness is diluted with one part incompetence and two parts good-naturedness. Still, even though the villains have no teeth, the viewer still feels the tension because the drama doesn’t revolve around specific antagonists so much as watching our heroes Troy and Gabriella overcome the circumstances set against them.

The story is nicely thematic, with both story and songs emphasizing the importance of appreciating differences and working together. I imagine most adults will appreciate the themes but inappropriately dismiss them as being the province of high schoolers. The older teenagers, meanwhile, may also appreciate the message, which will then wither before the power of Popularity. Younger teenagers and children form the ideal demographic for this feel good musical.

The movie hints at, but otherwise bypasses, one of the major themes of adolescence: the internal conflict between striving for individuality versus fitting in and belonging to the group. I also find it ironic that the movie clearly expresses that differences should be appreciated, and yet it overdoes the group distinctions in order to heighten the drama. In other words, the film suggests that the different cliques are all mutually exclusive, and that everyone must belong to one and only one such group.

Musically, the show is much better than I expected. Full confession: I’ve actually downloaded about half the album. My favorite songs are: “Get’cha Head in the Game” (note: the first 30 seconds of this song contains the shrill squeaks of sneaker on a gym floor integrated into the rhythm; the sound makes me wince every time I hear it), “Stick to the Status Quo,” and “We’re All in This Together.”

In the film, obvious lip-synching distracted in some scenes, and I’m by no means convinced all these kids were doing their own singing. A couple of them have released solo albums, but who knows?

The dance numbers are also fun, in a silly kind of way. Director Kenny Ortega also served as choreographer, and frankly he did a great job on both counts.

Possibly a first for Disney, the film also contains a gay character. Maybe. We’re never told or shown that he’s gay, so he actually falls into the “gay vague” category, but we assume it based on his manner and dress. Usually that bothers me, because for a viewer to identify a character as gay without it being spelled out in dialogue or action, usually the character has been given stereotypical gay attributes, like effeminate mannerisms. In this case, Ryan is not exactly effeminate but rather theatrical in manner. In fact, after watching a few behind-the-scenes bits on the DVD, I wonder if Grabeel based his performance on director Ortega, who himself also has a very theatrical manner; or if Ortega directed Grabeel as though the character were a younger version of himself.

Unfortunately, Ryan actually conveys at least a couple of negative stereotypes, most notably that he, along with his twin sister Sharpay, is essentially a villain. Then again, this is a Disney movie, so the villainy is watered down in two respects: first, it’s Disneyfied, so he’s actually fairly good-natured, he’s just scripted into a mildly antagonistic role; and second, he’s really just following his sister’s lead, and he himself is presented as something of a easy-going dim-bulb follower (which doesn’t exactly help, in my book). Also, I’m not thrilled that the character is like a genital-less Ken doll. It’s not like I expect steamy man-on-man action from a Disney movie. But every other character with a speaking role paired off by the end of the movie. EVERY other character. All except him.

I like the casual approach, wish he had been a good guy, wish his orientation had been spelled out a little more clearly, and appreciate the fact that he’s been included in a Disney film (despite its largely deserved gay-friendly reputation, in its productions I find Disney white-washes areas of potential controversy, with portrayals of gay people near the top of the list).

As a side-note, cutie pie Lucas Grabeel offers up an engaging performance, and his character is very stylish, easily the best dressed character in the film. He’s also a good singer and a fantastic dancer.

Overall, a fun little musical with a nicely thematic story and surprisingly catchy songs and dance numbers. Recommended – just don’t expect a masterpiece.

Summary

Twelve years after the first book, Vanyel has become not only a full Herald-Mage but also the single most powerful one. The story opens after he’s spent an inordinate amount of time along Valdemar’s border fighting off evil mages and demon creatures; he returns to capital city Haven exhausted and depleted. And he needs a rest.

So he heads home to Forst Reach. Yes, relations with his parents are still strained – they haven’t yet accepted Vanyel’s homosexuality – but Forst Reach is isolated enough he can take some time to rest without worrying about being conscripted into a new project.

Naturally, his “restful” trip home turns out to be much more than he expected. A small neighboring kingdom verges on war, and a mysterious massacre only worsens the situation. Vanyel must solve the mystery of who or what killed all those poor people before an evil mage takes the throne and threatens Valdemar.

Characters & Narrative

The Last Herald-Mage Trilogy isn’t a single, epic story that covers three volumes, nor is “Magic’s Promise” a direct sequel that leads into the period following the end of Book One, wherein Vanyel trains as a Herald-Mage. As I mentioned in my review Of “Magic’s Pawn,” these books are more character study than plot-driven works. They explore the life of the last Herald-Mage, Vanyel Ashekevron.

Lackey emphasizes plot a bit more in this novel than in the last. About halfway in, the story takes on a distinct mystery flavor. It would appear that young Treven – citizen of the small neighboring kingdom mentioned above – has a powerful magical gift of which he lost control, resulting in the massacre. But is it that simple? Vanyel must explore and sift through clues to piece the scenario together.

I enjoyed the mystery aspect, in part because it forces Lackey to pay closer attention to the plot as Vanyel puts the clues together, one by one. However, like the first book, Lackey focused much more on character (and specifically, Vanyel).

In fact, the antagonists in this book are poorly developed. Lackey relies mostly on the mystery and interpersonal, interfamilial tensions to provide drama. There’s relatively little action and no Big Baddie, and even the little baddies are minor, uninteresting, and under-developed.

She included some nice side stories, like the resolution between Vanyel and his former Arms teacher Jervis. I like the theme that you can’t ever assume anything, and we often hold on to the stories that cause us to be angry even when they’re untrue. So I like when a story forces a character to confront the truth or untruth of his personal stories.

The Gay

In brief, like the first book, we find both positive and negative representations in this volume. Vanyel is a powerful, moral, and heroic gay man; and the author treats his sexuality sympathetically. In other words, the author is at least gay friendly in tone.

I would also add that it’s an innovative portrayal, since Lackey has created a series of fantasy books centering around a powerful, heroic gay man at a time when the mainstream fantasy genre barely even acknowledged gay people exist.

But the book definitely contains negative elements. The major issues in this volume are:

1. Vanyel is celibate, as if a gay man is only acceptable to the reading public if he’s gay in theory only, not actively gay;
2. gay men are all pedophiles; specifically, two adolescents offer themselves sexually to Vanyel, who resoundly rejects the advances, but multiple people assume he’d gladly take advantage of them. The actual stereotype of the gay sexual predator is not played out in the novel, but the prejudice is present. So, as with the first book, the negative themes have a second side, in this case, that this theme is present; but it’s offset by the character and storyline;
3. it’s just a phase, as one very minor subplot shows Vanyel occasionally questioning whether he’s truly shaych (i.e., “gay” in the Valdemaran universe). I imagine Lackey was full of good intentions with this subplot, the idea something along the lines of “Van questions whether he’s truly shaych, and comes to realize he is, because one just is; it’s not a choice. Unfortunately, the fact that the question was even raised undermines the argument; and
4. a continued difficult coming out, reflected in his strained and difficult relationship with his parents, who continue to feel shame that their son, despite his heroism and fame, is one of “those.”
5. I also get the sense of Vanyel having to compensate for his gayness. That is, if he wasn’t the most powerful Herald-Mage, if he didn’t have the highest ethical standards, if he were just average, he’d be looked upon, and consider himself, to be less than other people because he’s shaych. That’s a little bothersome.

For a continued analysis of the gay content of this trilogy, please see my reviews of “Magic’s Pawn” and “Magic’s Price” (forthcoming).

Overall

“Magic’s promise” is easily the weakest novel of the trilogy. The mystery is an interesting diversion; and the introductory parts showing how Vanyel has grown and mastered his powers is important to the conclusion of the trilogy. But Lackey could have easily reworked this and the last book into a single, comprehensive volume.

Also, please note this is a grim book. The first book was also filled with violence, but the darkness was offset by the innocence and naïveté of young Vanyel plus the abiding love of his relationships with Tylendel and Savil. So, it struck me more as high fantasy than dark fantasy. This book clearly falls into the latter category, however.

I was wary about watching “Kiss Kiss Bang Bang” after reading a recent blurb that said the viewer needed a sense of humor about portrayals of gay people. That’s not me so much. In fact, I have a big chip on my shoulder about how all forms of media portray gay folks. Movies, books, etc. are heading in the right direction of more balanced, positive presentations, but most images of gay characters and themes remain stereotypical and negative.

So I was pleasantly surprised when I actually watched the film. I wouldn’t call the gay character, Gay Perry (played by Val Kilmer in an impressive, understated performance), a role model. He’s a little loose on his ethics and a bit of a jerk (maybe “hard-nosed” is a better description), but he’s clearly fundamentally a good person, and he is one of the most unique gay characters I’ve ever seen in a movie. In other words, he wasn’t a stereotype, and I really enjoyed getting to know his character.

I also liked Robert Downey Jr.’s character, Harry, a charmingly incompetent thief who finds himself embroiled in a murder mystery. The film does not take itself seriously, and it succeeds as a black comedy, largely due to the chemistry between Kilmer and Downey. However, although the mystery deepens bit by bit through many unexpected twists and turns, the ending felt forced. The three leads felt they had solved the mystery, but following the improbable albeit fun climactic scene , Perry’s explanation of what actually happened made less sense to me.

Near the end of the movie, a couple of moments made me wonder if the Gay Positivity score was going to tank, but the filmmakers pulled through in the end. I do have an additional, minor complaint: Downey’s character gets the girl, but Perry never gets any action (except for a forced kiss with an unwilling Downey). It’s like a movie can have a gay male character, even a positive gay character, but in practice he can’t have a penis. I regularly hear straight men say they’re okay with gay men “as long as they don’t hit on me.” So gay men in principle are acceptable, but attribute any sexuality to them, and suddenly they become threatening. That’s homophobia hiding under a thin veneer of homo-friendly.

Overall, a charming, fast-paced, almost whimsical dark comedy. Check it out!

The movie is mediocre at best. The plot and characters fail to track. Protagonist Melanie’s (played by Reese Witherspoon) zigzag journey (from sweet to ugly to uncertain to enlightened) disconcerts and jars the viewer. Other characters, while charming, are all one-note. In fact, I wonder why the writer even gave them names instead of just descriptors: Good Guy Southern Gentleman Romantic Interest; Closeted Gay Guy; Flamboyant Gay Fashion Designer; Unpolished Southern Mother; Icy Elitist Politician Mother; and so on. Meanwhile, the lazy script forces a bittersweet ending by excluding the possibility of any alternative. The silly ending just re-emphasizes how the movie, and its leads, lacks chemistry and sparkage.

I am considerably more intrigued by the gay content in the film. It’s not that the gay characters had major roles. They didn’t. But I do observe two curious phenomena in this film. One is the re-visioning of small town, rural life as convivial to gay people. Second, even more fascinating, the good guy scores points by being gay-friendly.

In small town life is that, yes, everyone knows everyone’s business; but there’s also an extended family vibe. This movie’s re-visioned small town life posits that, yeah, Bubba might be a black sheep, but he’s OUR black sheep. Unfortunately, though that’s possible, it’s also unlikely, and the representation disingenuously glosses over a more hateful and destructive reality. I see this both ways. On the whole, I like positive, inventive portrayals that show a world that could be. Nevertheless, I find the Hollywood myth of the rural South very curious.

But the movie reveals a far more interesting theme when good guy Jake (Josh Lucas, channeling Matthew McConaughey) champions gay and recently outed Bobby Ray (Ethan Embry). First, let me emphasize, this is a positive theme. In fact, it’s WONDERFUL that the hero of the movie is gay-friendly and explicitly endorses being gay-friendly and, by extension, implicitly condemns homophobia.

Still. What does it say that the gay character requires endorsement by the popular straight character to be accepted? To a certain extent, this scenario disempowers the gay character.

Yes, it’s great that his straight compatriots accept and endorse him. But look at it this way. What the movie says is, “Hey, you can accept a gay guy in your social circle as long as he’s accepted by the popular guy (or, at base minimum, some hetero).” What if the popular guy in some social group doesn’t accept the gay guy? Will the rest exclude him? Or what if no one guy is brave enough to stand up and say, “Hey, let’s include him.” So no one does. Without that straight guy, the gay guy is disenfranchised and condemned to outsider status, without the agency to help himself.

Writer Sarah Schulman made an observation to Slate.com about the movie “Rent” (2005) which applies just as well in this case.

“In a time when people denied the existence of gays and lesbians, work that asserted that gays and lesbians existed with some minimum of human integrity could be coded as progressive. But since the AIDS crisis, most Americans personally know people who are openly gay. At this point, to simply represent or acknowledge that gay people exist is no longer inherently progressive, and to depict gay people as people who have no agency is retrogressive.”(1)

I love that Jake scores good guy points off Bobby Ray by defending him, a positive trend because it correctly postulates that homophobia is bad. But it also strikes me as exploitive. I might be less critical, though, if Bobby Ray didn’t encapsulate the disempowered Gay Eunuch stereotype.

He’s gay in name only; otherwise he’s sexless and powerless. As a gay eunuch, he’s not threatening. And that’s what bothers me about Jake scoring good guy points off him; he never really accepts Bobby Ray as a living, breathing gay man; and the audience never has a chance to accept him as such vicariously.

I maintain that straight men find gay men threatening because they worry, on some visceral level, that sexual gay men will do to them, what has been done to women: sexualize, objectify, and demean/disempower them. Consider the straight men who say they have no problem with gay men as long as the gay man doesn’t come on to them. If the gay men are gay eunuchs, it’s fine; they’re non-threatening. But as soon as the gay men evince a form of sexual power, they become a threat, and the straight man’s tolerance plummets. I’m glad that Jake accepts Bobby Ray and defends him; that’s positive. But Bobby Ray is like a genital-less Ken doll in the film, and I find Jake’s defense disingenuous because I don’t think he’s defending a real gay man, but instead a non-threatening facsimile.

But! This is also an artifact of the character of Bobby Ray, who’s more plot device than person. He exists for Reese to behave badly towards in one scene, establishing how low she’s sunk by becoming part of that hoity-toity New York society. Then he’s there for Jake to score good guy points later on. In between, he serves various plot-related functions. He’s never a real person.

Having considered all this, it certainly raises my eyebrows to learn that the scriptwriter, C. Jay Cox (who also wrote and directly “Latter Days” (2003), is openly gay (2); and that GLAAD nominated this movie for “Outstanding Film – Wide Release” in its 2003 Media Awards. But given a moment of reflection, it makes more sense. The category specifies a wide release film, and in all honesty, how many of those contain a notable (even if secondary) amount of gay content that is, at least superficially, genial and good-natured toward gay folks?

Overall, I can’t really recommend the movie on its own merits; it’s kind of just dumb. And as far as the gay themes go, while I like the character of Bobby Ray and I’m intrigued by the themes suggested by the movie, I’m ultimately underwhelmed.

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(1) June Thomas, “The lesbian writer Rent ripped off,” Slate.com, 23 November 2005, http://www.slate.com/id/21310171 (15 May 2007).

(2) Mike Goodridge, “Small-town boy: with Sweet Home Alabama, out screenwriter C. Jay Cox confronts his rural roots,” The Advocate, 1 October 2002, http://findarticles.com/p/articles/mi_m1589/is_2002_Oct_1/ai_92084110 (15 May 2007).