Review of the film Pillion by Harry Lighton – a sentimental education with a drop-dead gorgeous gay Alexander Skarsgård For his first feature film, director Harry Lighton makes a strong impact with Pillion. The pitch is undeniably very appealing for any gay since it promises the meeting of a shy young man who will experience his first great romance with a man, a biker gang leader and dominator, who will initiate him into submission. And it is Alexander Skarsgård who plays the dom! A singular duo: Colin and Ray The shy boy is Colin (Harry Melling). He is actually a little more than shy. He seems completely in his own world, a bit autistic, lost, not very socially comfortable. He is like an old bachelor before his time and plays in a somewhat folkloric music group with a little costume. He still lives with his parents, doesn’t have many friends and has a limited social life… and one can guess that he has little or no experience with men. What a surprise when he senses an opening with Ray (Alexander Skarsgård), a magnificent and ultra-charismatic man. But Ray is not like the others. He is an ultra macho dominator who is only looking for a submissive. For him the mind is more important than physical beauty. And he sees in Colin a potential for docility. An iconic role for Alexander Skarsgård What an iconic role for Alexander Skarsgård who has never been so beautiful on screen. He and the director go all in and the magnificent blond actor looks like…

In 2025, something remarkable happened in a tiny town of just 7,000 souls resting along the rugged West Coast — it finally hosted its very first Pride celebration. You might think, in a year when so many parts of American life seemed to be taking a step backward on LGBTQ+ acceptance, how could this little place still be moving forward? Yet, progress doesn’t always follow a straight line, and this town’s story shows exactly why hope can take root even in the most unexpected soil. Kay, who grew up there, shared a deeply personal reflection with me, and honestly, their words struck a chord I can’t shake. This town had once been a fort, a hub for logging and fishing — industries soaked in raw, rugged masculinity and the heavy weight of colonial and patriarchal history. It wasn’t exactly a place humming with acceptance or gentle understanding. The air was thick with old, rigid ideas about who people should be — ideas that left no room for anyone who didn’t fit the narrow mold of “male” or “female,” “straight,” or “normal.” Growing up, Kay rarely heard the word “gay,” let alone anything about the vast, colorful spectrum of human identity. Imagine being a kid trapped in a body that felt like a stranger — your own skin revolting against you, your identity invisible and misunderstood. Kay told me about feeling disgusted by their body, struggling with the simple act of dressing or bathing without feeling out of place or ashamed. School wasn’t a refuge; it was a battleground where classmates…

When "Pit Babe: Season 2" rolled onto my screen, I was hoping for a thrilling ride, especially after hearing all the buzz about its slick visuals and high-octane race sequences. But honestly? It felt like stepping into a tangled web where every thread was fighting for attention—and not in a good way. The storyline tangled itself up in so many characters and side plots that I found myself drifting off more than once, desperate for something to grip me. It’s like they threw all their ideas into the mix but forgot to blend them into a captivating stew. Babe and Charlie’s relationship, supposed to be the heartbeat of the show, often felt like a bumpy rollercoaster stuck on a slow climb. Their on-again, off-again vibe made me squirm—especially with that new guy Willy lurking in the shadows, stirring up jealousy and tension. Why couldn’t Babe just have had an honest chat with Charlie? A little communication might have saved us from hours of eye-rolling misunderstandings. Meanwhile, Charlie’s obsession with concocting a serum to “normalize” superhuman abilities feels like a subplot stretched too thin, especially when you throw in Way’s twin-lookalike drama and Tony—yeah, that relentless villain who cheats death like it’s a casual game of hopscotch. Honestly, how many second chances does one bad guy get? The pacing? Oh, it’s a slow burn that too often borders on a snooze fest. By the middle episodes, my finger was itching to hit fast forward so many times I lost count. I get that the producers spared no expense—each race scene is…

There’s something haunting about Morrer Como Um Homem (To Die Like a Man), a film that dives into the turbulent life of Tonia, an aging drag queen wrestling with love, identity, and the creeping shadow of mortality. At its core, the movie promises a poignant exploration of selfhood and desire, but somehow, it gets caught in its own tangled web, leaving me with mixed feelings swirling in my mind. From the moment it opens in grim darkness—two soldiers caught in a violently intimate encounter that abruptly leads us to a strange, quiet house inhabited by trans women—you’re nudged into a world that feels both raw and surreal. Yet, as the storyline tumbles forward, the initial spark kindles into something slower, muddier. Tonia’s infatuation with Rosario, a younger man whose flaws are as glaring as his charm—that toxic cocktail of affection and abuse—should have been heart-wrenching. Of course, it almost is, but the relentless back-and-forth between them begins to feel more exhausting than emotional. I kept wondering, Why does Tonia sink so deep into this damaging love? It’s a bit like watching a beautiful flower desperately grow through cracked concrete—defiant but fragile. Eventually, you stop asking for neat explanations and start accepting that their connection must run deeper than surface wounds. Then there’s Tonia’s son—the wandering ghost in the story—whose sporadic appearances add a confusing echo rather than clarity. Same guy from that violent opening scene, yet the film never quite ties the threads together, leaving me puzzled about his role. Honestly, those moments felt like whispers carried off by the…

“Amar Sin Miedo (Love Without Fear)” paints its story against the sun-dappled, cobblestone charm of Taxco, Mexico—a city so captivating that it practically steals the spotlight. I have to say, from the moment the camera lingers on its vibrant streets and rustic rooftops, I was hooked by the setting alone, instantly adding Taxco to my dream travel list. But as for the story itself? Well, it left me tangled in a web of mixed emotions. At its heart, “Amar Sin Miedo” tries to whisper a message about embracing life’s fluidity—letting your heart wander, stay open, and savor new experiences without hesitation. That invitation felt genuine, like a gentle breeze urging one to break free from rigid expectations. Yet, the film’s execution left me scratching my head more than once. The way these two men connect feels oddly stitched together rather than unfolding naturally. There’s this unusual abruptness in Leo’s sudden advances—where moments before, affection or attraction seems invisible. It’s as if the film flashes a neon sign that says, “Hey, something’s happening here!” but forgets to show us the sparks that should’ve lit the fire. Josh, an American photographer visiting with his Mexican girlfriend, embarks on what begins as a romantic exploration filled with nostalgic recollections of her childhood. On their first night, a heated argument fractures their harmony, counterpointed sharply by a tender public proposal he witnesses in the square—a poetic contrast that immediately hooked me. But when the girlfriend falls ill and Josh wanders alone, chance throws Leo into his path—the very man from that proposal scene. Together,…

There’s something almost hypnotic about Jonathan Agassi Saved My Life, a documentary that dives headfirst into the turbulent, glittering world of one of gay pornography’s brightest — yet most fractured — stars. I found myself drawn into Jonathan’s story, not just because of the flash and fame, but due to the raw humanity pulsing beneath it all. This is a man caught between two worlds: the dazzling, taboo realm of adult entertainment and the aching loneliness of personal identity. Jonathan Agassi, splitting his life between the energetic streets of Berlin and the sun-soaked corners of Tel Aviv, built a name in an industry many still whisper about but few understand. And yet, beyond the glitz and the muscle, beyond the neon lights and endless cameras, this film reveals someone grappling with profound pain — a man chasing fantasies that don’t fully belong to him, all while wrestling with the ghosts of a fractured family past. Watching him interact with his mother, the one constant in his life after his father walked away during his childhood, adds a deeply moving layer to the narrative. Their bond isn’t just familial; it’s a lifeline, a fragile thread holding Jonathan’s world together amid chaos. The documentary, lovingly crafted over eight years, unfolds like a slow burn. Not just a peek, but a plunge into the highs of his career and the crushing lows of his battles with depression and addiction. At times, it’s brutally honest — especially in scenes where Jonathan’s body convulses in the throes of withdrawal, his cries reverberating painfully through his…

“Casa Izabel” unfolds like a whispered secret tucked away in a forgotten corner of 1970s Brazil—a time simmering with unease beneath its oppressive political climate. The story invites us into a mysterious retreat where cisgender men shed their daily masks and step into their female alter egos, creating a fragile bubble of freedom under the watchful eye of Izabel, the aging transvestite matriarch. Honestly, I found this premise both haunting and oddly tender, like stepping into a hidden garden where forbidden desires bloom amid the thorns of societal judgment. Imagine a remote mansion, cloaked in secrecy, where champagne flows as freely as the laughter behind carefully applied makeup and silk gowns. Men trade their rigid identities for glittering dresses and aliases, dancing with reckless joy—even chasing wild boars in heels! It’s a surreal playground, almost like a dream where the constraints of the outside world melt away. Yet, beneath this glittering facade, shadows gather. Izabel, once the vibrant heart of this sanctuary, now fades into frailty, leaving the reins in the hesitant hands of a caretaker and her enigmatic son, who too embraces femininity in this hidden realm. What really gripped me was the tangled web of human emotions simmering below the surface—the caretaker’s fear, tinted with suspicion that the older man she keeps captive is connected to a dangerous revolution; her own secret affair with a man who’s revealed as a covert cop; and the simmering resentment in her son’s heart, quietly nurturing a storm. When everything finally erupts in a tragic catastrophe, and the house is set ablaze…

Terry and Julian (UK Sitcom) – A Whimsical Dive into Camp Comedy If you ever find yourself yearning for a sitcom that dances on the edge of convention, “Terry and Julian” is a wild ride you won’t soon forget. This British comedy, which aired on Channel 4 back in 1992, only lasted a single season—just six episodes, each a brisk twenty-something minutes. But what it lacks in length, it more than makes up for in sheer audacity and charm. From the get-go, “Terry and Julian” throws out the rulebook. The show doesn’t just break the fourth wall—it practically bulldozes it, inviting the studio audience right into the heart of the action. I still remember the moment when an unsuspecting audience member was whisked onto the set, handed a bouquet, and sent back grinning. It’s as if the show itself reached out and gave the viewers a cheeky wink, saying, “Hey, you’re part of this madness too!” The premise is deliciously absurd: Julian, a flamboyant TV personality with a wardrobe that could make Elton John blush, moves in with Terry, the ultimate everyman—awkward, earnest, and just a bit geeky. The contrast between the two is pure comedic gold. Julian doesn’t just redecorate Terry’s drab flat; he transforms it into a pink, frilly fever dream straight out of a Barbara Cartland novel. Poor Terry’s life is turned upside down, and his pint-sized, moustachioed policewoman fiancée Rene is none too pleased. Honestly, I found myself rooting for Terry, even as Julian’s antics had me snorting with laughter. The dialogue is a playground of…

Be Happy! (Spain) — My honest thoughts When I went to see“Be Happy!” I thought to myself: “Okay, this is a musical, maybe a bit quirky, but surely there’s some kind of storyline tying it together.” Oh, I was wrong. This is not some flimsy plot — it’s like trying to hold water in your hands. You think you’ve got it, and thenpoof, the water’s gone. The film drops us into a jumble of chaotic characters: Peter, a Freudian psychiatrist married to a Finnish actor; David, a young Brit living in Banyoles addicted to Grindr; Coco Lamour, a French actress with a Parisian vibe; Maria, another psychiatrist; Betsy, David’s mother in Cadaqués; and a whole crowd of others — Albert, Gilda, Daniel, Usha… It’s as if the director invited every quirky friend they’d ever had and told them, “Sing something, anything!” And sing they do. My god, do they sing. About eighty percent of the film is people bursting into song without warning, as if possessed by the spirit of karaoke night. The rest? A few scattered lines of dialogue that feel like they were scribbled on the back of a napkin at lunch. I kept waiting for an “aha” moment, a scene that made me go, “Ah, now I get it!” Instead, I saw repeated lyrics, seemingly illogical odd camera angles, and dizzying edits. Yes, there’s a main thread — David and Daniel’s rocky romance — but calling it a “gay film” feels a stretch. Maybe only 10% of it touches on queer themes; the rest… well, I don’t…

When I first heard about “Shoshana Halutz Merkazi” (or “Kicking Out Shoshana” as it’s known in English), I admit, my curiosity was piqued mostly because Gal Gadot stars in it. You know how it is—her presence alone often shoots up your expectations, right? But boy, was I in for a letdown. Watching this sports comedy felt like biting into a flashy-looking candy that turns out to be stale inside. The film traces the strange journey of Shushan, a superstar soccer player for a Jerusalem team, who’s suddenly coerced into faking being gay to escape the wrath of a menacing gangster. Sounds like the setup for an insightful or at least funny story, but instead, it fizzles into a confusing mess that neither tickles your funny bone nor offers a genuine take on the heavy subject of homophobia. Let me paint you a picture: Shushan’s world flips upside down after a clumsy flirtation gone awry with Mirit, a girl tangled in her own nightmare involving a ruthless figure named Mr. Black. To keep Shushan alive, Mr. Black forces him into an impossible public lie—claiming he’s gay. And this is where the chaos begins. Instead of solidarity, Shushan faces venom from his teammates, apathy from his management, and the cruel jeers of fans who mockingly rename him “Shoshana.” It’s downright painful watching how quickly admiration turns to scorn, revealing a harsh, unsympathetic world cloaked in the guise of sportsmanship. What followed felt like a carousel stuck on a slow, dreary spin. In an attempt to capitalize on the situation, Shushan’s agent ropes…

Sexual abuse within the Catholic Church has been a dark shadow haunting countless stories and screens worldwide, and “Le Silence des églises” plunges headfirst into this unsettling abyss. I’ve seen my share of films tackling this painful topic—some full-length dramas, others raw documentaries—but each time, a knot tightens in my throat. It’s that gut-wrenching mix of betrayal and helplessness that lingers long after the credits roll. Even though I’ve wrestled with whether to highlight such brutal realities on my blog, this film demanded that I do so. The story spins around Gabriel, a man haunted by the ghosts of his childhood, stirred anew when he hears the echoing innocence of a Catholic school choir’s famous CD. Suddenly, memories flood back—the cold corridors, the seemingly kind smile of Father Vincey, and the sinister undercurrents beneath the sacred walls. Picture a young boy enraptured by praise and trust, only to be ensnared by the vampire-like manipulation of a priest who cloaks his cruelty in God’s name. What chills me most is how systematically the abuser works, cleverly wrapping twisted control with threats of divine wrath, shredding innocence while shrouded by religious devotion. Even more heartbreaking is the blindfold worn by parents, oblivious or unwilling to see the nightmare unfurling beneath their feet. How many times have I heard whispers of such silence, how often has faith become the cruel barricade against truth? And then, fast-forward fifteen years—Gabriel, battle-weary and brimming with rage, arms himself with a gun, torn between vengeance and justice. When he finally confronts Vincey, the flood of memories hits…

Set against the gritty, rain-slicked streets of Limerick, Cowboys & Angels unfolds like a bittersweet coming-of-age diary, giving us a peek into the tangled lives of two very different young men navigating the chaos of youth in a modern city. Though it first hit cinemas over two decades ago, and the visuals now feel a tad stuck in the fashion of the late ’90s, there’s still a raw, electric pulse that courses through the film—capturing the heady cocktail of sexual freedom, frenetic energy, friendship, and the darker shadows of drugs and crime that peppered that era. Watching it, I couldn’t help but feel like I was stepping into a time capsule, one where innocence and danger danced hand-in-hand beneath the city’s dim lights. Shane, fresh-faced and stuck in the dull hum of a government job, lands Vincent as his brand-new roommate—an outspoken, flamboyant fashion student whose energy is nothing short of contagious. It’s the classic tale of opposites attracting, but with a twist: Vincent is a whirlwind gently coaxing Shane out of his protective shell. There’s something almost poetic about how Vincent drags the shy Shane into the pulsating nightlife, pushing him to taste the vivid colors of freedom that the city’s nights offer. I found myself rooting for Shane’s fumbling attempts to connect with a barista girl who, sadly, isn’t quite on the same page—a reminder of how tender and heartbreaking first loves often are. Then there’s the twist of fate—drugs creeping into their lives as Shane inadvertently gets pulled into a risky world just to scrape together enough…