This is one of those films that I felt really, really, belonged on a stage. The moody, sometimes seedily provocative settings; the occasionally jazzy soundtrack; a lighting and a visual style very much shot from a POV (even peeping) perspective all create an intimacy that falls a bit flat on the screen, but could work far better in a theatrical setting using our own naked eye. I'm genuinely convinced that Harris Dickinson is going to amount to something as an actor. Regardless as to whether you think this is surreal nonsense, or something altogether more ethereal, there is no denying that for a young, straight, man, Dickinson has a self confidence and honesty about his acting that really cuts through. Ostensibly about a group of sophisticated rent boys - or "raconteurs" as they prefer, this is not in any way seamy. It's seductive - even teasing at times, but it isn't about sex; even sex workers. It's about this young man using art as a (slightly contrived) conduit for his aspirations for friendship, acceptance and of his determination to do what he needs to do when he needs to do it - but not to allow that behaviour or attitude to become habitual or toxic. The story, insofar as it actually matters, is poor though, almost irrelevant. The film is presented as a disjointed collection of instalments that don't really deliver on any level; the overall narrative is just a bit too fanciful and boy, can it be slow at times. Indeed, it's not a very good film, this - the stuff of a vivid imagination that would take someone of greater experience than auteur Steve McLean to hone it into better shape - but flawed as it undoubtedly is, it's a visually compelling series of mini-stories held together well by a man not afraid to push his boundaries and show us he can act.
