Overall 3.5 / 5.0 (promising but fails to deliver a high-impact story)
Gay Inclusive? Very – protagonist is gay, and the mystery takes him into London’s 18th Century gay underworld
Gay Positive? Mostly – the era is definitely not gay positive, but the author’s treatment of the gay content is.

Set in 1757, Lord John Grey is the head of his family’s household until his elder brother Hal returns from a military appointment abroad. As a result, Grey has some responsibility to protect his cousin Olivia, who is engaged to marry well-to-do merchant Joseph Trevelyan, whom Grey believes to be “poxed” with syphilis. At that time in history, syphilis occupied the role HIV/AIDS does today. Worse, in fact: it was incurable, and contracting the illness virtually guaranteed the most unpleasant sort of death.

Meanwhile, another mystery erupts: it appears that vital British state secrets have been lost and might be sold to the French. Grey is tasked with investigating the crime to figure out what happened, who was involved and how to recover the lost secrets before it’s too late.

I enjoyed reading a gay-inclusive mystery set in a period of time about which I know little. Author Diana Gabaldon has done her research (in fact, she is well-known for her historical research), and I learned quite a bit about the history of gay people in Georgian England. She also includes a list of resources for anyone who wants to dig deeper and learn more.

The mystery is mildly interesting, but unfortunately fails to captivate. I was never sufficiently invested in the characters or events such that the story’s twists would have me on the edge of my seat.

Although generally sympathetic, the main character never comes alive. Apparently Lord John is supposed to be young and handsome, but he reads like he’s 60. Whenever his handsomeness was mentioned, it was always kind of jarring, because I had forgotten he was supposed to be young and winsome. That indicates a characterization disconnect.

Lord John is a secondary character from Gabaldon’s better know Outlander series (which I have never read). Reviewer Susan Scribner of TheRomanceReader.com comments,

I like Lord John throughout the Outlander series he has always come across as sympathetic, complex and slightly tormented, but this story doesn’t shed much new light on his core character. He’s always been a bit of an enigma, and he remains elusive.

That’s problematic when Grey is at the center of the story and occupies nearly every page of the tale. Considering Gabaldon’s exquisite attention to historical detail, I would expect a multilayered character of depth and unexpected internal contradictions. Instead, we find someone who is genteel and devoted to duty, and that’s about it. Even his gayness, which he must keep secret given the social mores of the time period, fails to render him more than mildly interesting.

At the same time, the story hints at repressed passions and an undercurrent of powerful emotions. Perhaps future stories will allow Lord John to unfold more fully as a human being caught in multiple traps: the repressive social standards of the era, the excruciating necessity of maintaining a pristine image in his social class and the painful denial of a loving, committed relationship.

In fact, I was dying for Grey to get some action! I hoped his new valet, Tom Byrd, would develop a requited attraction to his master. But no. Nothing. The most important romance in the novel – which the reader doesn’t really delve into until the end – is heterosexual.

On the whole, I find this book to be promising, but little else. I hope that Gabaldon grows into this genre, and that future volumes chronicling Lord John Grey do him justice.

Overall Quality 4.0 / 5.0 (entertaining, if light, read)
Gay Inclusive? Moderately – two secondary gay characters
Gay Positive? Very – both characters are well-rounded and important to the story

Okay, yeah, I have to admit – the plot is nothing new. Mysterious Monster Makes Mayhem; Sassy Star Saves the Day.

Specifically, the vampires are up to no good – a newly made vampire possessed by a demon begins wrecking havoc on the Mercy Thompson’s small community. It’s up to her, along with her werewolf allies and lone vampire friend, to figure out what’s going on and put a stop to it.

Once again, with textured characters and a involving alternate world, the author brings the story to life. It says a lot about the characters when they each have their own minor concerns that almost rival the main story for interest.

For example, Mercy’s gay werewolf cowboy friend (whew!) Warren returns. At one point, he’s wounded by the Big Bad of the story; and certain members of his pack – sensing weakness in a guy they never really cared for because he’s gay – try to take advantage to knock Warren from his position in the pack. It’s a relatively minor thread, but the relationships (good and bad) that exist between these characters possess a vitality that keeps me turning pages as fast as I can.

On the other hand, the fact that subplots nearly eclipse the main story doesn’t speak well of the main story. Considering Briggs’ inventiveness in her world-building, it’s a bit of a let-down to find the central plot to be relatively formulaic.

Nevertheless, Blood Bound was an immensely entertaining and enjoyable read with an exciting climax and meaty denouement (an improvement over the first book’s conclusion). A great read for a rainy Sunday afternoon.

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See also my review of the first Mercy Thompson book, Moon Called.

Overall Quality 4.5 / 5.0 (fun, engaging story)
Gay Inclusive? Moderately – two secondary (but important) gay characters
Gay Positive? Very – both characters are well-rounded and fully fleshed-out

A supernatural (or urban fantasy) mystery adventure. Mercy Thompson is a sassy, free-spirited, and no-nonsense walker – that is, a shapeshifter who can transform easily from human to coyote, thanks to her Native American heritage. She lives in a world shared by werewolves, vampires, witches, and the fae (fairy spirits, ranging from gremlins to ogres to mythological monsters).

She has an uneasy but generally congenial relationship with the werewolf pack next door. In fact, she finds herself torn between the pack’s Alpha (Adam), and a former werewolf flame (Samuel). The romantic triangle is not resolved in this book – in fact, it’s not resolved until the end of Book 3.

The romance takes second place to the main story – a mysterious attack on Adam’s pack that leaves Adam on the verge of death and his (human) daughter Jesse kidnapped. Who would perpetrate such an attack? And why?

Briggs brings a lot of strengths to the book, including great characterizaton and a well-conceived alternate universe in which magic and supernatural creatures are real. The world-building (seeing how the supernatural elements fit into the “real” world) was just as interesting to me as the main plot. Briggs even manages to work a little social commentary into her world-building. The fae, for example, have recently been outed to the public, and most of them have been moved onto reservations.

Gay-wise, Adam’s pack includes a gay werewolf named Warren (who was a cowboy before he was turned), and his boyfriend Kyle. They are close friends of mercy’s, and both of them are sensible and helpful fellows with meaty parts in all three books.

A brief explanation why I included the negative stereotypes of heterosexism and gay without agency. The werewolf world is apparently even less accepting of gays than the normal world, and apparently Warren had a hard time of it until he was finally welcomed by Adam. Well, a harder time of it, because some of Adam’s other werewolves still do not deal well with him. It’s great that Adam is not prejudiced, and it paints his characters nicely, but it’s frustrating to see a gay man requiring a popular straight man’s “approval” to be accepted by the rest of the group.

I don’t weight these factors heavily, however. Yeah, I would have preferred if gayness were no big deal in the werewolf world. But even so, Warren and Kyle are two great characters, and Briggs (through protagonist Mercy) clearly cares about them. Major kudos to Briggs for writing them into the story, making them such great characters, and giving them some substantive scenes.

Story-wise, a minor complaint: the story weakens near the end. In part to increase tension, and in part to conclude the novel’s central mystery, the plot becomes convoluted and twisted as it winds to a conclusion. It’s a little hard to follow, and it throws the novel’s pacing off. Still, the author manages to end the book with a bang, and how’s this for a recommendation: I finished the book and immediately went out and bought the next two.

Overall Quality 3.5 / 5.0
Gay Content 5.0 / 5.0
Gay Positivity 4.0 / 5.0

Homosexuality has a largely unhappy history in Western civilization. Thank God for men like Magus Hirschfeld (1868 – 1935), who stood up against prevailing conventional “wisdom,” and used science and basic respect to advance the cause of gay rights. Hirschfeld studied homosexuality scientifically; although we might disagree with some of his conclusions (he felt homosexuals were an “intermediate” sex), he dedicated his efforts to advocate on behalf of gay people.

The Einstein of Sex is a biopic which explores Hirschfeld’s life and work. The film is surprisingly engrossing. It’s fast-paced and well-acted, and it’s fascinating to watch the tension between Hirschfeld’s tireless work on behalf of other gay people with his inability to process his own homosexuality in a healthy way.

The props, set design, and cinematography also deserve special mention, especially considering the film is a low-budget independent feature. Each component contributes significantly to the film’s interest and success, and many scenes look like recreated photos from that era.

The film contains quite a bit of male nudity, but it never feels out of place. In a couple of scenes it comes close to gratuitousness, but it never crosses the line.

Unfortunately, the narrative structure undercuts the movie’s effectiveness. It’s choppy, rambling, and disjointed. “The Einstein of Sex” tries to cover too much territory:

• a biography spanning Hirschfeld’s entire personal life
• an ode to Hirscfeld’s work on behalf of gay rights
• a pseudo-documentary on the state of gay rights during that era

But this is a single movie, not a mini-series. As a result, everything gets underserved.

So while this film hasn’t earned a top-shelf slot in my DVD collection, I definitely recommend it for at least one viewing. It’s an entertaining slice of important homo-history that’s undertold.

The Gay Positivity score reflects that this movie covers a lot of negative territory ranging from gay-shame to gay-hate, but the central focus in on telling the story of someone who worked positively for gay rights with a tone of hopefulness for the future.

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For more information about Magnus Hirschfeld:
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Magnus_Hirschfeld
http://www.stonewallsociety.com/famouspeople/magnus.htm

Overall 2.0 / 5.0
Gay Content 5.0 / 5.0
Gay Positivity 4.5 / 5.0

The series has hit a new low in Season 3.

The events at the end of Season 2 opened the door for the House of Shadows to return to Dante’s Cove and wreck havoc. Meanwhile, Griffen (Jensen Atwood), a representative of the “council of Tresum,” shows up to throw a wrench into everything by taking Diana’s (Thea Gill) power. Kevin (Gregory Michael) is still Ambrosius Vallin’s (AKA Bro, William Gregory Lee) sex slave, but he is desperately conniving to escape and get back to Toby (Charlie David), who in the meantime is being seduced by straight-boy-turned-gay Adam (Jon Fleming).

After the first season, Here! TV started billing Dante’s Cove as a “guilty pleasure.” I’d say Season 2 was reasonably successful in that vein. Season 3 is just bad, however. Not so bad it’s good, just bad.

Awful, cringe-worthy writing. Check. Lame special effects. Oh, yeah. (Season 2 had much better effects, for some reason). Questionable directorial choices. Yup. Clunky, wooden acting. You know it.

Even the sex and nakedness irritated me! They had a sex scene every ten to fifteen minutes. It bothers me that they used it as a substitute for story-telling. If I want to watch porn, I’ll watch real porn. Full-frontal nudity appeared even more often than the sex. Unfortunately, they really only included one “type” of guy – muscle-bound – and I didn’t really find many of the naked guys that appealing.

To tell you the truth, though, the thing that hurts the show the most: there’s no one to root for. Grace (Tracy Scoggins), previously a villain, became my favorite character this season. Thea Gill was wasted, and they didn’t reveal whether Griffen was a villain or hero until last episode or two. Everyone else turned evil, selfish, or stupid; or they were new, and I didn’t have a chance to develop an emotional investment in their character.

I understand that this is a soap opera, and it’s intended to be over-the-top. They’re aiming for so-bad-it’s-good, but they made some poor choices, and overshot.

On the plus side, Grace’s character gets the royal treatment: she has the best, most evocative storyline. Scoggins takes full advantage of it. Atwood brings a much needed low-key performance to the show. It also remains refreshingly gay-positive.

Here’s my wish-list for Season 4 of Dante’s Cove. The writers of Supernatural take over, and Dean (Jensen Ackles) and Sam (Jared Padalecki) roll into town. Can you imagine the possibilities? I can… Mmmmm.

A gratuitous picture of Sam and Dean from the CW’s Supernatural:

Overall Quality 2.5 / 5.0 (Disappointing and inane)
Gay Content 1.5 / 5.0 (Important gay character)
Gay Positivity 2.0 / 5.0 (The character is positive; his fate is not)

How disappointing. Part I of the miniseries is promising, but Part II moves away from Part I’s strengths and emphasizes its weaknesses. Throw in a serious negative gay stereotype, and color me unimpressed.

A virulent pathogen infects a small town in Utah via a crashed satellite; a near 100% fatality rate ensues. The military puts the Wildfire Program into effect, gathering half a dozen top scientists at a secret laboratory to study the pathogen and create a response. Meanwhile, a reporter (Eric McCormack) tries to break the story, while other government and military personnel engage in some vague, never-fully-realized conspiracy.

Having never read The Andromeda Strain by Michael Crichton, I cannot say how closely the plot adheres to his original story. I suspect it diverges quite a bit.

Part I of the miniseries does a great job of maintaining and building tension and suspense, emphasizing the laboratory portion in a sort of Center for Disease Control-style CSI. The reporter and government conspiracy aspects come across as pure fluff from the very beginning. The bevy of false-start subplots doesn’t help. Unfortunately, Part II dwells more on the fluff than on the lab; and events in the lab take a definitive turn for both formulaic and speculative-in-the-extreme as the story winds to an eye-rolling conclusion.

The miniseries includes a gay character: one of the medical scientists, Major Bill Keane (Ricky Schroder). I am impressed with the inclusion and the way the script handles the inclusion. When discussing family relationship with another doctor, Keane comments, “If you don’t ask, I won’t tell.” The other doctor then opines that the “Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell” policy is ridiculous.

His sexuality plays no role in the conflict. I have heard the inclusion criticized according to the “relevance” argument. Keane’s sexual orientation is not germane the plot, therefore, that exchange should not have been included. But that necessitates that any time a gay character shows up in TV or film, their sexuality has to become part of the drama. That’s overdone, and negative by implying that being gay is such a Big Awful Thing that it must cause tension. It’s refreshing to see a gay character included just for the sake of diversity.

*** Moderate Spoiler Warning – To explain the Gay Positivity Score, I have to divulge something that happens near the end. I do not spoil the resolution to the primary conflict. Please stop reading if you don’t want to know. ***

Major Keane dies at the end. Another character also dies, but only because he has to retrieve something from the Keane. I find no compelling reason in the plot why any of the scientists had to die. I was so irritated by the development I nearly stopped watching then and there.

Two overarching stereotypes appear over and over again in the portrayal of gay people. If you’re gay, either you are bad, or bad things will happen to you. Through sheer repetition, it associates “gay” with “bad,” and inculcates the attitude that gay is worse than straight, instead of just different.

The situation is improving as TV and film produce more diverse and balanced portrayals of gay people. But the negative stereotypes persist, thanks to efforts like The Andromeda Strain.

Overall Quality 3.0 / 5.0 (a good story with a couple of serious weaknesses)
Gay Content 2.0 / 5.0 (important gay character)
Gay Positivity 4.5 / 5.0 (would have been ideal but for one major cliché)

Closely tied to the film Star Trek: First Contact, the story opens with a brief prologue following the events of the film. The book’s main story, however, takes place as a flashback set shortly after the Enterprise-E is commissioned. (The Enterprise-D was destroyed in the movie Star Trek: Generations ).

Chiaros, a lone planet located in a desolate and empty section of space called the Geminus Gulf, has applied for Federation membership. However, the Romulans are also vying for possession of the planet and the Gulf. Social instability in the Chiaran civilization gives the Romulans ample opportunity to manipulate local politics and create a dangerous situation for the Federation. And no one can understand why: as far as anyone can tell, the Geminus Gulf is an absolutely worthless territory.

In the meantime, the Federation’s secret spy organization, Section 31, is conspiring with the Romulan Tal Shiar to effectively cede the planet to the Romulans in exchange for some tactical information. As part of their effort, Section 31 contacts Lt. Sean Hawk (played by Neal McDonough in First Contact) to recruit the young and promising (and gay!) officer (1).

Section 31 was created in the Federation charter, and has the ability (largely due to a complete lack of oversight) to take extraordinary, and otherwise illegal and immoral, actions in order to protect Federation interests. Deep Space Nine introduced the organization in “Inquisition” (Season Six, Episode No. 142).

I’ve never particularly cared for Section 31 as a source of drama. In Rogue, I have a couple of issues with it that detract from the reading experience.

First, the raison d’être for the organization rings hollow to me. Michelle Erica Green, writing for TrekNation, states the dilemma well:

“Unfortunately, it’s difficult to make any character sound intelligent while parroting Sloan’s explanations of the reasons for the group’s existence — basically, the argument runs that the Federation can’t maintain its existence under its own peaceful charter, so it needs a top-secret division to break all its rules in the name of saving it, even if that division’s actions (ranging from assassinations to stopping proto-warp civilizations from traveling into space) violate everything the Federation represents” (2).

Second, the two men who work for Section 31 in the novel just seem dumb to me. I mean seriously, how naive can you be to think that the Romulans are going to hand over tactically important information in exchange for possession of what seems to be a worthless world? Have these people never heard of the “too good to be true” principle? Do you think they might be suspicious and try to do a little due diligence before breaking Federation law?

This particular criticism leads me to my mixed feelings on the plot itself. Fundamentally, it’s a pretty good story: multi-layered, suspenseful, exciting, and thought-provoking. It probably would have made a superior movie to either Insurrection or Nemesis.

Mangels and Martin do an amazing job with the established Enterprise crew as well. Each of the characters sound distinct and exactly like they do on the shows, and Mangels and Martin manage to throw in a number of references to the movies (especially First Contact, of course) and the television shows that were a lot of fun to identify.

But Section 31’s foolishness undercut the story’s tension and distracted me from fully engaging with the plot. Also, the story takes too damn long to get going. By 100 or so pages in, I was hooked. But it took 100 pages! I probably would have stopped reading if I hadn’t been so interested in the gay content that is so rare for Star Trek.

And Mangels, who is openly gay, and Martin handle the gay content extremely well. A major negative cliché does rear its head. If you’ve seen First Contact, you know what I’m talking about, an unfortunate stereotype that the authors inherit from the movie. I suspect they would have happily opted for a different outcome for the gay character if they could have.

Instead, this book almost serves as a love letter to a character who may be the sole good gay person in semi-official Star Trek canon. They are pitch perfect in their portrayal of Lt. Hawk. They don’t even really comment on his gayness; it’s just part of the fabric of the story and of the social milieu of the Federation. It’s a total non-issue, and they mention Hawk’s partner Keru Ranul as a natural part of Hawk’s life. The authors present Hawk himself as a prodigy, unusually bright and skilled, and clearly possessing a thoughtful and moral nature. He makes an excellent hero.

I mention that Lt. Hawk may be the only good gay character in semi-official Star Trek canon, but I must emphasize the “may be.” It’s not exactly clear cut. For one thing, Star Trek novels do not count as “canon.” Paramount Pictures expects them to adhere as closely as possible to established Star Trek material, and Paramount must approve any Star Trek book project. The vetting process suggests that the books have at least semi-official status, particularly if nothing in the Star Trek canon (the movies and television series) directly contradicts them.

However, Andy Mangels

“admits there were some problems with the Paramount licensing and [he] worried the character’s sexuality might be edited. He goes on to say, ‘Paramount licensing was very quiet about the book’s contents, and made sure that Rick Berman and Brannon Braga (the Trek TV producers) did not see it before it went to press. There was some concern that the gay elements would be forcefully removed if Berman and Braga saw it. Once it was at the printer, it was given to their office. I never heard if there was fallout or not, but the book got publicity all around the world’” (3).

It’s worth noting that Rick Berman, who produced First Contact, released a statement in conjunction with the film specifying that Lt. Hawk is heterosexual (4).

Hawk’s sexuality is not even slightly ambiguous in Section 31: Rogue. He’s gay, happily partnered, and positively portrayed. Yay! Albeit with one pretty serious negative item. I scored a little higher on the Gay Positivity scale than I normally would given that negative issue, but I was so happy with the rest of the portrayal I decided to be a little more relaxed with the score.

Overall, it would probably take a pretty serious Star Trek fan to really get into this story. If that’s you, or if you’re interested in meeting a gay character in the Star Trek universe, I definitely recommend Section 31: Rogue.

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For more posts on all things gay in the Star Trek universe, check out my Gay Star Trek Main Page.

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(1) Does the story sound vaguely familiar? In fact, it’s loosely similar to “The Mind’s Eye,” Episode No. 91 of Star Trek: The Next Generation. In that episode, the Romulans supply forged Federation weaponry to the citizens of Krios in order to destabilize the Federation’s relationship with the Klingon Empire.

(2) Michelle Erica Green, “Section 31: Rogue and Shadow,” TrekNation.com, 19 May 2001, http://www.treknation.com/reviews/books/section_31_rogue_shadow.shtml (retrieved 5 May 2008)

(3) Michael Ricci, “Forbidden Gay Frontier: Where Star Trek Hasn’t Boldly Gone,” AfterElton.com, 20 April 2006, http://www.afterelton.com/archive/elton/TV/2006/4/startrek3.html (retrieved 30 May 2008).

(4) “Gay Trek Rumor Light Years Ahead of Reality,” GLAAD Alert (Archive), 23 August 1996, http://www.glaad.org/publications/archive_year.php?year=1996 (retrieved 5 May 2008).

Just your average boy-meets-girl, girl-sends-boy-on-impossible-quest, boy-meets-fallen-star-who’s-a-girl, boy-falls-in-love-with-star, what’s-a-boy-to-do kind of fairy tale.

Specifically, a star named Yvaine (Claire Danes) falls into Stormhold, a magical realm completely contained within England. Our hero Tristan (Charlie Cox) promises to retrieve the fallen star for Victoria (Sienna Miller) in order to win her hand in marriage. But others also seek the star for more sinister purposes. The fratricidal sons of a recently deceased king want the enchanted gemstone that knocked poor Yvaine out of the sky, because the heir who retrieves it becomes the next king. Additionally, a fantastically sinister witch (Lamia, played by Michelle Pfeiffer) desires the star with the hope of cutting out Yvaine’s heart and eating it, and thereby gaining immortality and renewed youth.

The diverse plot threads interweave – and coalesce at the finale – organically, poetically, and cleverly. The screenplay, direction, and cinematography demonstrate a gestalt effect wherein the result is greater than the sum of the parts. Altogether, “there is a narrative flow that makes you want to be swept along” (1). Kudos to Matthew Vaughn (director and screenwriter), Jane Goldman (screenwriter), Ben Davis (cinematography), and Gavin Bocquet (production design)! The magnificent and sweeping imagery of the movie, and the dramatic musical score by Nan Eshkeri, serve to accentuate the mythicality of the tale, and lend an epic feel to the fairy tale.

The actors contribute to the gestalt effect and help the story shine. Michelle Pfeiffer is radiant in her role as evil witch Lamia. She provides depth and humanity to an otherwise cartoonish, classic fairy tale villain, and her own enjoyment of playing the character comes through. She owns every scene in which she appears. And my goodness, she has aged gracefully and gorgeously!

Claire Danes has certainly grown up (into Gwyneth Paltrow) since her days on the TV series “My So-Called Life.” Her attempt at an English accent threw me at first, but she brings a soft-edged sarcasm to Yvaine that I enjoy. The unusual character makes for a challenging role; and although there are some miscues, on the whole Danes navigates the role ably.

In fact, she and the adorable Charlie Cox enjoy an easy on-screen chemistry that makes their love story believable and adds texture to the film. Cox plays Tristan as a sweet-natured, endearing, fumbling lad who grows into a good-natured, heroic, and dashing protagonist.

Thematically, the metaphor-rich, mythic movie has a lot going for it. Most obviously, “Stardust” is a love story that also asks what true love means. Common fairy tale form demands that the hero go on an epic quest in order to win the heart of his true love. But “Stardust” posits that true love demands nothing in return: no quests, no prizes, no proof.

Furthermore, “Stardust” emphasizes the importance of looking past the surface. Nothing is quite what it seems; and in the realm of Stormhold, that truism is taken to extremes! No character turns out to be what they seem. The story allows various characters to reach inside and find their true selves; it also forces exposure of the characters trying most desperately to be what they’re not. “Each character undergoes a transformation that reveals his or her hidden, truer self, and potential for both good and for evil” (2).

That being said, the movie misses some wonderful opportunities to probe more deeply by tending toward the lowest-common-denominator presentation of many of its characters (more on this shortly), and failing to stray too far from fairy tale convention. “Stardust” is a quirky tale in many ways, innovative in a few, but revolutionary in none. Perhaps we will someday have a fairy tale that is unmistakably contemporary in tone and texture, if not content, but “Stardust” is not that tale.

Still, “Stardust” is a fantastic, lovely story. “While many big stars grace the cast, the film’s real star is the sense of wonder and boundless possibility that [this] magical world creates: [that] even a country boy can become a dashing hero and find true love with a fallen star” (3). The movie is sweet and charming, with feel-good positive messages, and awe-inspiring presentation. “Stardust” will appeal most to those who enjoy love stories and/or fantasy tales. Otherwise, its charms probably won’t have much sway over the viewer.

The film may well have a difficult time finding an audience. In fact, the movie should have done better box office thus far. But “Stardust” has received relatively little publicity, and the studio seems uncertain how to market it. And even though it’s based on a work by well-known and respected author Neil Gaiman, neither he nor the book have the name recognition of many other book-based fantasy films. It’s unjust that “Eragon” (2006) did better box office in its first few weeks than this beautiful story.

“Stardust” is probably more comparable to “The Princess Bride” (1987), or perhaps “Willow” (1988). Many reviews have noted the comparisons. Both “The Princess Bride” and “Willow” are unconventional fairy tales which didn’t find a core audience until release on video and DVD, after which they achieved cult followings. Indeed, the similarity is particularly striking between “Stardust” and “The Princess Bride,” which share a narrative style, light-hearted approach, and true-love story.

But an important difference separates the two: “The Princess Bride” benefits from a relentless sense of humor that helps broaden its attraction; it’s as much comedy as fantasy. Along those lines, “The Princess Bride” eschews the conventions of fantasy and fairy tales in favor of skewering them with satire. While “Stardust” doesn’t take itself seriously (it’s just a fun movie, and knows it), the fantasy emphasis, relatively conventional fairy tale form, and lack of a comedy-all-the-way vibe narrows the demographic appeal.

I have tried to do my part, though. I saw it first on a Friday, and then went again the following Sunday. I’ve talked this movie up to anyone who will listen. And I’ll be first in line to buy the DVD. Let me state it plainly: unless you hate fantasy or love stories, watch this movie!

That is not to say the film is perfect. Minor inconsistencies pop up repeatedly, likely stemming from the adaptation and condensation of the book. Then there are two things about this movie I simply don’t like. Well, more precisely, one thing I don’t like and another about which I have mixed emotions.

I don’t like the sexism of the film. It’s very conventional regarding sex roles. All the women in the film fall into one of two distinct categories: damsel in distress requiring rescue, or evil hag. These folks would probably have a heart attack if they ever met Xena the Warrior Princess.

True, Yvaine has a dramatic moment at the film’s climax, “and it would seem for a moment that women’s agency has been recovered and the gender story of the movie has been somewhat redeemed. But then Tristan asks her why she didn’t use her special powers earlier in the story. Her answer, ‘I can’t shine without you’” (4). The only women who exercise personal agency, power, and/or independence, are evil.

The sexism creeps into other areas as well. For example, Captain Shakespeare (Robert De Niro) teaches Tristan how to swordfight and be a pirate, while teaching Yvaine how to dance and play the piano. Not to mention that when he dresses the two, he directs Yvaine to the silky gowns, because those are of course the most sensible clothes for cross-country adventuring.

Apparently the sexism doesn’t bother too many women, though. As mentioned, I’ve seen the movie twice. I had two female companions my age at the first viewing, and they walked out of the theater chatting wistfully about meeting prince charming someday. My mother saw the movie with me the second time, and I explicitly asked her if the sexism bothered her, and she said, no, it’s just like any old-style fairy tale.

For myself, I agree with Debbie from the blog Body Impolitic: “Lots of fairy tales are like that: 21st century ones don’t have to be, and shouldn’t be” (5).

I understand the book (which I have not read) is much more nuanced regarding characters and relationships. It would seem the movie sacrifices shades of gray for black-and-white, and takes a reductionist approach to all its characters by fitting them into familiar, conventional roles.

Which brings me to the other item, about which I have mixed emotions: the gay content. It’s never explicitly spelled out that one character is gay, so I’ll put it in the “gay vague” category, but it’s pretty obvious what the filmmakers intended. The portrayal is more disappointing than insulting, and decidedly mixed: kudos for inclusivity and friendly treatment; scorn for negative stereotypes.

(WARNING – Moderate Spoiler as I discuss the gay content and positivity in greater detail)

Robert De Niro plays Captain Shakespeare, a pirate with a fearsome reputation who aids Tristan and Yvaine. In fact, his role is absolutely crucial in the movie and impacts multiple subplots. But he has a secret softer side.

Again, it’s never established clearly that he’s gay. He may merely be a mincing transvestite. But in Hollywood, that’s usually code for gay. The stunt casting of De Niro for this role, and his completely over the top performance, does prompt some laughter, but sometimes it was the kind of chuckling that’s half because it’s funny, and half because I-can’t-believe-he-just-did-that. As Orson Scott Card says, the laughs he earns are “hearty but cheap, like a character in a lowbrow sketch-comedy show. I’m not saying it’s not funny; I’m just saying it doesn’t fit in this
movie” (6).

The aspect of the character that bothers me the most is his ultimate lack of agency, which defies the logic of the story. Captain Shakespeare teaches Tristan how to fence. At the beginning of the movie, Tristan tests his fencing skills, and turns out to suck hardcore at it. After Shakespeare’s done with him, he’s a master with a blade. And yet, when Shakespeare himself is later threatened by Prince Septimus (Mark Strong), he’s completely at the mercy of his aggressor. What?!

Oh, right, I forgot. Because gay men are weak, of course, and couldn’t possibly overpower a straight man. In fact, Tristan’s training ends with his requisite victory over Captain Shakespeare, followed later by Prince Septimus completely overpowering Shakespeare, who then must be rescued like the aforementioned damsel in distress.

I do see some off-setting factors that make the gay positivity mixed rather than purely negative.

1. The inclusivity. Frankly, “Stardust” has broken new ground by including even a “gay vague” character. It’s a wide-release, fantasy-genre, fairy tale-style, family-friendly movie with gay content in it. It speaks poorly of the gay-friendliness of the fantasy genre at large that such inclusion should be remarkable. But there it is, and for this particular film, I have to say kudos. I really do appreciate the gay element, even if it is minor and clichéd. I feel frustrated being so grateful for crumbs, but considering other fantasy movies give the gay community nothing, I have to take what I can get. And the inclusion has a gay-friendly vibe to it. Largely because…
2. …the character is a good guy, and the script and story treat him sensitively (relatively speaking). His crew ultimately accepts and embraces him, even though they always knew he was “woopsie.” And Captain Shakespeare aids the protagonists tremendously, imparting wisdom, important skills, and saving their lives. It could be argued the character serves as reminder that even effeminate guys can be commanding and possess warriorly skills; Tristan starts the movie as a very poor fencer, and it’s Captain Shakespeare who teaches him the impressive and successful swordplay he later employs.
3. The film even implies a happy ending for Captain Shakespeare, as he flirts with a handsome lad during the movie’s denouement. Or, as AfterElton.com phrases it: “Hot fop action” (7)!
4. The subplot is thematically rich. If they’re going to be clichéd about it, they might as well mine the stereotypes for as much meaning as they can. And happily, they do. The role provides a nice point-counterpoint to the whole gender role issue, to reputation versus being true to oneself, and to the outside mask versus the internal truth.

Of additional gay interest:  Rupert Everett has a minor role,  and Ian McKellen narrates.

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(1) Ebert, Roger. “Stardust.” Chicago Sun-Times.
http://rogerebert.suntimes.com/apps/pbcs.dll/article?AID=/20070809/R EVIEWS/70710009/1023, 10 August 2007 (5 September 2007). Please note, I am quoting a positive line from Ebert, but I don’t want to misrepresent his review: he gave the movie a decidedly lukewarm reception.

(2) Tubbs, Gregg. “Movie Review: Stardust.” UMC.org.
http://www.umc.org/site/c.lwL4KnN1LtH/b.3090985/k.72C0/Movie_Review_Stardust.htm (5 September 2007) More than a review, Tubbs’ piece aims to stimulate discourse on the deeper meaning of the movie.

(3) Ibid.

(4) Debbie. “Neil Gaiman’s Stardust: Evil Crones, Decorative Maidens, and One Shackled Mother.” Body Impolitic. 12 August 2007. http://laurietobyedison.com/discuss/?p=417 (5 September 2007)

(5) Ibid.

(6) Card, Orson Scott. “Stardust: the book and the movie.” Uncle Orson Reviews Everything. 12 August 2007. http://www.hatrack.com/osc/reviews/everything/2007-08-12.shtml (5 September 2007).

(7) Juergens, Brian. “Stardust? More Like Fairydust!” AfterElton.com Best. Gay. Week. Ever. 16 August 2007. http://www.afterelton.com/bgwe/08-17-07?page=0%2C3 (5 September 2007).

In the future, humanity encounters an alien race called the hwarhath. A superficially adversarial relationship develops; our two people do not declare war, but skirmishes, spying, and abducting enemy agents are common on both sides. The book opens with the initiation of diplomatic proceedings, at which it is discovered one of the human abductees, Nicholas Sanders, has been assisting the hwarhath for some twenty years. Military Intelligence attempts to kidnap Nicholas for questioning, using our protagonist Anna – who researches alien intelligence – to help them.

“Ring of Swords” makes for a fascinating, fast read. The prose is crisp and clean, unlittered by flowery language or needless subplots and secondary characters. The author has a story to tell, and she lets it unfold with a minimum of fuss or verbal excess (something that can’t be said for many fantasy novels, but which the sci-fi genre seems to do much better). The story recalls C. J. Cherryh’s Chanur series in its adept exploration of an alien culture dealing with humanity. The feminist bent of the story (and the heroine’s name) also made me think of L. E. Modesitt’s fantasy series, the Spellsong Cycle, whose protagonist Anna finds herself – through no fault of her own – in trying circumstances but manages not only to make the best of them, but to master them.

The novel definitely holds interest for the gay reader in that, as one minor character observes, “We have found an entire culture, maybe an entire species, that does not practice heterosexuality, except maybe…as a perversion” (61).

I found Arnason’s exploration of the sexual culture of the hwarhath fascinating: the separation between genders, the primacy of females over males, etc. I never really understood if homosexuality was practiced among the hwarhath because they were all inherently homosexual and always had been, and in their past had only endured heterosexual intercourse in order to procreate. Or if they were simply socially conditioned to engage in same-sex relationships because of the strict gender divide. Either way, I found the cultural norm she created very believable.

I can almost imagine a similar culture evolving somewhere on earth, under the right circumstances: women, for whatever reason, remain completely separate from men. Intercourse is allowed by the culture only under relatively rare and carefully controlled circumstances in order to procreate. Outside of that experience, men and women do not fraternize; so if they are to form intimate, romantic, and sexual relationships, it must be with members of the same sex.

That leads us to a fractious question, however. Can a person who is biologically heterosexual find true satisfaction in a homosexual relationship? Part of me thinks, why not? If the person is open-minded enough about the source that fulfills their sexual and emotional needs, what difference does the gender make?

But that’s a slippery slope into the argument that a gay person could find satisfaction and fulfillment in a heterosexual relationship, i.e., that a gay person could, for all intents and purposes, change. If only they were open-minded enough. And I have a much bigger problem with that proposition. It’s very close to saying that homosexuality is not real, but some kind of illusion or disordered sexual identity. It’s obvious that situational homosexuality exists here on earth, e.g., in all-male environments like prison or under specific circumstances like adolescent experimentation or gay-for-pay pornography. Those are very different scenarios from someone whose gayness is intrinsic and inborn.

At one point, we meet a hwarhath who is, gasp!, straight. And miserable about it! Apparently there’s no organized straight subculture among hwarhath like we find a gay subculture among humans. Nicholas has a very interesting response upon discovering this hwarhath’s heterosexuality: “I wanted to say, the universe is very large, and most of it is cold and dark and empty; it’s not a good idea to be too picky about who you are going to love” (191). I never understood if Nicholas was “really” gay; or “situationally” gay because he’s a human male with sexual needs who’s only ever exposed to other men who regularly practice same-sex relationships. I generally consider portrayals of the latter kind to be less gay positive, because it’s less affirming of a gay identity, but I also consider that point to be relatively minor. It can be an awfully fine line between “really” gay and “situationally” gay, as I phrase it.

I should note, the book makes clear that future humanity still does not consider homosexuality to be “normal” and implies that it’s less socially or morally acceptable. Nicholas is amused at one point in the novel by the idea of “a bunch of people sitting around on Earth, trying to decide what kind of homosexual pornography will present humanity in the best light” (235 – my favorite line in the novel).

Great characters, a compelling plot, crisp narrative, and thought-provoking themes make “Ring of Swords” a recommended read. Check it out!

As an aside, for a (non-science fiction) movie that re-imagines human culture as predominantly gay with a different take on the relationship between males and females for procreation, check out “Almost Normal” (2005).