USA, 1990 Director: Jerry
Douglas
Stars: Joey Stefano, Michael Henson, Chi
Chi La Rue, Rick Donovan
Vito (Joey
Stefano) is a man in conflict. As a devout blue-collar Catholic, he's
deeply convicted to maintaining his gruff, proud masculinity but all he
can think about all day long is stuffing his mouth and arse with other
men's' cocks. As Vito drifts between action johns, gay bars and truck
stops, his attraction to men begins to assert itself, and eventually,
he has to confront his homosexuality.
There's little new in this reliable, John Rechy style storyline and
milieu, but More of a Man is a memorable if
imperfect porn film that does some unexpected things with the material.
It contains a pantheonic gay porn cast, with everyone from Mike Henson
and Lon Flexx to horse-hung legend Rick Donovan making appearances
alongside one of the great gay porn superstars, Stefano. The sex scenes
are generally hot and Stefano's look and attitude were never so suited
to a role. Unfortunately, the film does plenty of expected things with
material too, and the intrusion of a shrill Gay Pride/safe-sex agenda
is unwelcome, as are self-warbled songs strangled out of a fat drag
queen's throat, and poor lighting and camera work in one scene make
potentially sensational close ups of a double-penetration barely
visible.
More of a Man begins with Vito clutching a
rosary, praying to be rid of all his "crazy thoughts" (about cock). God
obviously isn't listening, though, as Vito trots straight off to a
cruisy bus station, where he sucks Michael Parks' cock through a glory
hole and then gets fucked as well. Cleaning up at the wash basins,
Parks compliments Stefano on his hungry gay sex style, saying he thinks
Stefano was "born to be fucked". Outraged, Stefano decks Parks with a
flying fist and some anti-gay platitudes before fleeing the scene in a
fit of confused guilty rage.
Across town Duffy (Michael Henson) gives his lover, played by Butch
Taylor, a session of man-ramming to celebrate their anniversary, then
turns up to work, pulling beers at a gay bar where Vito has turned up
in search of solace from drag queen friend Belle (Chi Chi La Rue). The
sparks between Duffy and Vito are all-too-obvious, but sparks may fly
on your remote control when LaRue lets fly with her first ghastly tune
of the movie.
Nervous about his attraction for Duffy, Vito heads for the tattoo
parlour where tattoo artist Rick Donovan claims he only does good ink
work when he has a massive erection. To this end, he produces a vacuum
pump and sucks so much air out from around his already chubby cock that
it plunges huge and juicy between his legs. Poor Vito, tempted anew,
falls to the ground and sucks Donovan dry. Vito's tattoo looks great,
but he is so appalled by his oral hunger that he hurls a brick through
the parlour window on his way out.
Stefano's off-screen best friend Sharon Kane stars in the next scene,
as the female prostitute Vito turns to in the hope of regenerating his
hetero urges. She sucks him off with glee, but isn't aware that all the
while, Vito's dreaming of Duffy. The writing is well and truly on the
wall in the next scene, however, when Vito joins in a massive bar orgy,
where Lon Flexx and scores of other guys make a meal out of Vito right
up on the bar, though as mentioned, Vito getting double penetrated on
the bar room floor in this scene is rendered shadowy and barely
discernible due to poor lighting. Finally, Vito and Duffy consummate
their crush during a Gay Pride parade, where they fuck, kiss and make
coo-coo talk inside a parade float.
For me, this scene contains examples of most of
the film's problems. When Duffy reaches for a condom, Vito growls that
contraception is against his religion, but Duffy pouts that it isn't
against his, and defiantly places it on, while the unseen crowd of
onlookers cheer their gay guts out from the streets. No problem at all
with safe sex, but Duffy's sanctimonious Santa Monica Blvd "religion"
can't hold a votive candle to the erotic charge of Vito's cock-loving
guilt-ridden blue-collar charisma, and much of the greasy heat built up
during the film by that charisma evaporates by the end of this soapy
exchange.
We have to wonder why a man such as Vito would endure such a tortuous
inner journey only to end up inside a Gay Pride float while "It's
Raining Men" or some other such wilted gay anthem screeches on the PA
system. Vito himself seemed happiest and most human in his toilet and
tattoo parlour scenes. I would have preferred to see Vito continue to
indulge his secret desires in all their surreptitious, self-destroying
glory. Being gay and being happy about it has its place, but then so
does being a blue collar Catholic who like a bit of occasional, secret
cock. The two don't necessarily have to come together, the latter isn't
a behavioural flaw that needs correction, and this scene demonstrates
that they are best left apart. Even Stefano himself was allegedly so
bored during this scene that while Henson was dutifully fucking him for
the camera, Stefano leaned back and asked the director if the lighting
for the double penetration scene had worked.
Such a blatant
injection of non-pornographic social-change preaching is anathema to
porn, which, as Quentin Crisp reminded us, only works, like horror
films, when the real
consequences are never shown. If we project from the film's romantic
finale, and wonder what may have happened to Vito and Duffy, we're
reminded that the West Hollywood-based Henson and Stefano (who was HIV
positive) died of heroin overdoses in 1992 and 1997, respectively, and
that Lon Flexx died of AIDS in 1995. Which is the safer and happier
path: finding fast-lane love with your gay bartender boyfriend and
whooping it up on Gay Pride Week, or keeping your sexuality to yourself
and blowing off steam from time to time at a truck stop?
