TWINK

The professional relationship between actor/writer Wade Radford and director Jason Impey which has seen them impress through the likes of SEX LIES AND DEPRAVITY and BOYS BEHIND BARS continues to blossom...

In this latest offering, we're invited into the home - and the mind - of former male prostitute Quinn (Radford). Now 23 and reporting to have retired from the business, he addresses off-screen documentarian Impey's camera and tells the viewer that he began fucking for money in his teens, primarily making gay pornography under the alias Caden Daydream. The trouble was, he didn't always get paid for his efforts.

Quinn lives a drunken, drugged-out existence in a hovel of a flat. His peeling bedroom wallpaper is covered in graffiti which clues us in to both the bitterness that swells inside Quinn, and the swipes that Radford and Impey are having against not only the marketing and digestion of modern media, but the sticky relationship between the filmmaker and his muse: the 'industry' will "rape you!", we're told right from the start.

Impey (heard but never seen) points his camera unflinchingly at Quinn as he drinks spirits, pisses, smokes copiously and occasionally passes out. In-between, he coaxes anecdotes from his subject - the more sordid the better, he encourages him - and reasons that he aims to "dispel myths and rumours" about Quinn's former profession when the young buck challenges his motives.

Stories of threesomes with hot European men ensue, complete with "burning piss" consequences. Initially Quinn seems rather cocksure, his sneer suggesting a brassy refusal to analyse or regret anything that's gone before. But as the alcohol sinks deeper into his system and Impey's quizzing becomes more pressing, the cracks appear: Quinn is suddenly visibly haunted by some of the things he's seen.

This leads to him turning the tables on his inquisitor at one point, questioning his desire for documenting people's lives on camera and arguing that Impey is no less exploitive than the pornographers Quinn now holds a grudge against.

The camera, alternating between handheld urgency and tripod stability, stays in Quinn's pasty face. Impey clearly hopes to provoke more outbursts from his subject, but instead receives aggressive requests for sex and threats of violence when he understandably declines the inebriated Quinn's advances.

Synopsising TWINK (for the uninformed, the title is gay slang for a young man of slender build and very little bodily hair - something Quinn moulding himself to be during his time as Daydream and now resents having lost) from there onwards is difficult. The film is short - 68 minutes - and, in essence, consists of the above content for the bulk of its duration. It's a podium for the musings, rants and despairs of the lead character (and possibly the artist portraying him?) which covers everything from the lie of reality TV and the futility of vanity to the heartbreak of family and how we never truly know who in life is exploiting who.

The script, partially improvised I'd wager, given the long takes of monologue, is very good. It's tight, intelligent and thought-provoking in equal measures, while being sassy enough to offer regular bouts of humour and expletive-riddled shock descriptions.

While Impey does his best behind the camera to keep the documentary questions flowing, this really is Radford's show all the way. A natural actor, he delivers another consistently watchable, sincere performance that brims with fury and bitterness and yet always possesses just enough of a defiant smirk, a mischievous glint in the eye, to suggest a hint of optimism required to prevent this from being overly bleak fare. If you've ever read any of his astute poetry, you'll know that this is very much his style.

The minimalist design of the film's look - the filthy, unkempt flat with angry slogans scrawled on the walls in Magic Marker - works to surprising effect. Another asset is Charlie Armour's melancholic piano score. Impey uses it sparsely for maximum impact.

If at any point you wonder where all of this is headed, stick around for a harrowing final act where the piano and the grisliness combine in an artistic, erotically cathartic manner that can't help but evoke NEKROMANTIK.

We were sent a screener disc of TWINK to review, directly from Impey. The film looked great in 16x9 with strong sharp visuals, well-lit interiors and natural colour schemes. Likewise, the English 2.0 audio was problem-free.

I understand at the time of writing this - June 2014 - that the film is at the BBFC awaiting certification and will then be released officially in the UK. That's great news, and hopefully this is just the first of Impey and Radford's engaging, challenging collaborations to win a DVD release on these shores.

Review by Stuart Willis