Chop Suey

This film is a documentary directed by Bruce Weber, who is an internationally famous photographer. Weber's specialty is in photographing male nudes and Chop Suey is full of male nudity (all done tastefully). In particular, the film highlights (or celebrates) the physical beauty of one Peter Johnson, an actor/model with a great and lean physical build. Weber's camera is in love with Johnson. The film also highlights Weber's other passions, including the music of singer Frances Faye, as well as the "coolness" of actor Robert Mitchum. Chop Suey is basically a cinematic scrapbook of one man's passions and interests. There is hardly anything that can be called a "story" to link the various episodes that occur in this film together. But the film is distinguished by its excellent use of black and white (as well as color) photography--so it at least looks good (as one might expect, being photographed as it is by a professional photographer). However, ultimately one gets the sense that Chop Suey will appeal mainly (or perhaps only) to those (i) who also share Weber's passion of looking at great looking guys (often nude), and/or (ii) who find the idea of watching a film that often feels like a feature-length version of Calvin Klein's Eternity commercial even remotely appealing. If you don't fit into either of the above categories, heed my warning and skip this baby.

This movie came out briefly in one theater in Los Angeles and then disappeared. Why I don't know, because it was a fascinating look back into the gay life in the 50's and 60's when everything was kind of hidden and hush-hush. The other fantastic thing about it was its focus on the great singer Frances Faye. Mention her name now and most people would have a blank look on their faces - which is too bad because this great talent deserves more recognition. I just can't understand WHY this movie hasn't been released on DVD. Something is wrong because every other film -good and bad- eventually is put on DVD. This film is GOOD..........so come on guys - get it out there!!!!!!

Bruce Weber's movies are the upscale gay man's version of those Starbucks jazz CD's. There's something authentic in there somewhere, but in the making it's been banalized out of existence Everything in Weber-World reeks of white terrycloth bathrobes, running with terriers on the beach, cheekbones, white teeth, gaily laughing women in pajamas, and all the other images that are permanently encoded in our brain as Polo-specific. Weber can be photographing a thalidomide wino or the desiccated face of a seventyish Robert Mitchum, and somehow it all comes out like the glossy welcome brochure at an A-list hotel. CHOP SUEY purports to spread wider and dig deeper as it is Weber's record of his obsession with Peter Johnson, a high-school athlete Weber commemorated in torrential, Dantean detail. But Weber continues to pretend that he's only interested in "beauty"--and that his interest in Johnson stems from the wrestler's being what Weber could never be (beautiful, I guess). There's no sex in Weber's voiceover explanation of his Aschenbach-like dwelling on this gorgeous nobody, and thus Weber is able not to be homosexual. Weber plunges into denial as passionately as he falls into reverie. He means for the movie to be a fantasist's autobiography, and also a highly self-conscious arrangement of Weber in the history of American photography (quotes from Dorothea Lange, Walker Evans, Diane Arbus, Richard Avedon and Larry Clark abound). But what comes across is a guy who is trapped in an upmarket carnival of surfaces. Weber is more interested in his Josh Hartnettesque models' torsos and legs than even in their faces; for Weber, pornography is not a projection of a psychological state but simply a record of physical perfection. He seems to throw uglinesses at us in this movie as a means, again, of denying his own predilections. He may enjoy presenting us with an old, ugly female cabaret singer, or the mummylike visage of Diana Vreeland, but he certainly has no interest in copulating with them. So why put up this front of "romanticism"? There's nothing romantic about the movie--maybe partly because, unlike masturbatory artists from Genet to Larry Clark, Weber doesn't investigate or push or worry his desires. He doesn't even take them at face value. He fanatically perfumes them. This makes everything feel hollow, personalityless, and fake--just like the stuff Weber makes at his day job.

There are interesting pieces here of and about Bruce Weber's likes and dislikes. Maybe if a professional editor had put it together for Biography, I would have felt more satisfied. Instead, I spent $8 at a film festival on it. For an autobiography, almost nothing is revealed about Bruce Weber, other than he likes to look at photographs, shoot interesting people, especially beautiful teenage boys, and listen to jazz. The director of "Crumb" would have made a much more interesting and cohesive film.

This is a lush and sometimes loud film by the photographer who brings you the A&F catalogue every 3 months, Bruce Weber. His previous subjects were the jazz "great" (my own anti-jazz bias) Chet Baker and the obscure if not downright lost film "Backyard Movies" that I've lusted after since seeing it one bleary night in Minneapolis, when, 1992?

Mr. Weber's unerring eye for beauty and culture are pleasantly shared, as is his fantastic photo collection, his historic archival footage with the likes of Diana Vreeland, editor of Vogue magazine, the slacker surfing champions that are "Nixon's Neighbors," an obscure English adventurer, and his own personal and professional anecdotes.

And, oh yeah, he shares Peter Johnson with us. (A man/boy with two names for "penis," though that cheap joke shortchanges his phenomenal looks and carriage.) Mr. Johnson is alternately the direct subject and the audience for the stories in Chop Suey.

The book "Chop Suey Club," already a collector's item, is so obviously a labor of love, and the movie lets us in on some of Peter Johnson's allure and charm. Still, Johnson is not exactly a presence to be reckoned with, though his modeling is clearly in the heart-stopping/stellar range. It's slightly embarrassing to watch the young Wisconsin father sit through old stories told by aging queens, until he whips out the atrocious aplomb apparent in his still photos by dancing with a big black poodle.

Mr. Weber practically comes right out with his infatuation for Peter Johnson, telling the story of a parallel gay editor/straight model relationship, "...nobody loved you better." Then in the narrative, "...sometimes we photograph what we're afraid we missed." "Chop Suey" wants to keep history alive while extolling keeping history alive; as told through a survivor in a 31 year lesbian partnership, "I thought I lost my best friend, but I have all these photos and memories and she's still with me. That's the way it's supposed to be."

I longed for quiet in some of the more lyrically poetic image sequences. I thought the underwater shots of swimming dogs and boys in gowns, or the boys sleepy in the back seat of a car, black and white film stock creamy, movement slowed to a languid, trippy pace, invited a more sparce aural accompaniment, images lingering slightly longer.

I would give this film a full ten out of ten if it didn't feel so much like a vanity project. A generous vanity project to be sure, but still, I tend to feel somehow duped or guilty if I overly enjoy watching such blatant narcissism.

I saw it 3 times.