52 lUStpUt
NOVEMBER 21, 2008
Little City, Big Spirit
For a burg of its relatively petite size and stature,
Portland is a haven for queer cinéphiles of ail stripes
by Christopher McQuain
STEAM PORTLAND
WHERE IVIE KJ
LOVE IVIE IM!
steam room
whirlpool
wrote my first film review for
Just Out about 10 years ago;
Todd I laynes glitter rock epic
Velvet Goldmine was th subject.
Little did I know th.it I won d continue
to write on film for Just ( )ut inique in queer me-
dia anywhere, I now realize better than 1 did then,
for its personality, relevance, boldness and vi-
sion rhis far down the line, or that 1 laynes him
self would soon be calling rhe Rose City home.
Long before I attempted my own foray into
writing, however, 1 was a defiant filmgoer and Just
( hit reader (“defiant" because most movies, let
alone semimonthly queer periodicals, were strictly
contraband in my fundamentalist Christian home).
Experience hid thus shown me time and again how
remarkable a place Portland was to have grown up
gay and cinephilic. 1 look back nowand realize how
privileged I was to have initiated my first sexual
and cultural experimentations in an environment
that, surprisingly for a burg of its relatively petite
size and stature, offered so much nourishment and
opportunity tor someone like me.
Objectively speaking, it’s clear that Portland is
a haven for queer cinéphiles of all stripes, whether
one looks at our preponderance of independent,
queer-friendly film venues or our disproportionate
concentration of internationally celebrated queer
filmmaking talent, the richness of the city’s film
scene is a self-evident delight, yet another bragging
point when doing the boastful-Portlander thing for
our friends and family from other, lesser cities.
I lowever, in hopes of offering a more personal,
close-up (and, I hasten to add, ultra-subjective)
view from the place where my own experience
as a young gay Portlander intersects with our fair
city's long-standing hospitality toward its queer
citizens and its movie lovers, 1 humbly offer these
particularly vivid cinema-related snapshots.
The year of Ms Own Private Idaho, both in rhe
cinema world and in my own lite. The film is still
widely discussed and acclaimed, but this evening.
it’s an event, and my heart is racing. Pm 15, and an
older friend whose support during my coming out
has already been invaluable takes me to see Van
Sant’s film on its opening night. It’s the first
movie' I’ve ever seen. It’s playing at KOIN Cin
emas, which at that rime occupied rhe same rari-
fied position—arthouse central downtown—that
Fox Tower does now, and the theater is sold out,
the first rime I’ve ever seen such a crowd. We’re
lucky to get seats, and we have to sir in the very
front row, craning our necks to see, all of which
only adds to rhe film’s mystique.
The buzz and anticipation for Idaho has been
building; 1 know from advance publicity that River
Phoenix and Keanu Reeves play Port la nd-based
male prostitutes and that local home electronics
magnate (and late-night television ad star) Tom
Peterson is in it. There are murmurs and cries of
recognition as our characters’ dramas unfold in and
around recognizable landmarks; raucous laughter
greets one character’s put-down of Beaverton.
Nothing, however, could have prepared me
for the Campfire Scene. If you’ve seen the film,
you’ll never forget it: While on a road trip and
huddling over a fire they've built, Phoenix, as a
vulnerable gay young man, bravely confesses his
love for his friend Reeves, who is only as gay as
it takes to piss off his rich father, rhe mayor. The
offer is tenderly yet unmistakably rejected by rhe
Reeves character. It is utterly heartbreaking. Pm
moved to tears so quickly, it’s embarrassing. I lie
awake all night making myself ache by replaying
the exchange over and over in my head. (1 still
tear up every time I see it.) Before 1 knew who
video lounges
weekly specials
toys
lubes
aromas
»
STEAr/!POPTLANO.CaM
rrs HOT HERE