BOY-O-RAMA
Why Rhythm & Blues hasn’t become a cult classic by now should be a mystery to anyone interested in the gay scene and its cultural by-products. A hilarious send-up of the world of male escorts in 1990s London, Rhythm & Blues (2000) was released around the time of the feel-good musical comedy Priscilla, Queen of the Desert and perhaps suffered by comparison. Originally attacked for bucking the trend toward uplifting, heart-warming stories that seem moralizing today, Stephen Lennhoff’s street-smart spoof replaces syrupy piety with pure camp and a dash of raw Warholiana—while also avoiding the soft-porn diversions of a Bruce La Bruce. Oddly enough, the film (already ten years old) evokes such classic 1970s heterosex comedies as No Sex, Please, We’re British! and the Carry On series with their stock-in-trade of sex-crazed pranksters played by the likes of Kenneth Williams and Leslie Philips (famous for that lecherous “helloooo!” line). But in Rhythm & Blues the heroes are all poofters, the dialogues are cleverer, and the plot is smartly stepped-up with queer twists and cheeky tweaks à la John Waters. And while no Divine graces its scenes with her raunchy magnetism, an irresistibly silly cast of characters takes up the slack, enjoying a fun-filled romp through the world of rent-boys, sex shops, bad art collecting, and other crimes against respectability.
When pretty-boy John (played by Paul Blackthorne of “24” and “ER” fame) shows up one day in the classic cruising grounds of a London cemetery, he is immediately sized-up by two outrageous drag queens who’ve already staked their turf. But the new kid on the block wants to make a bigger splash. Before the queens can get their chops in, John has teamed up with Byron (Ian Henderson), a motor-scootering skinhead and hustler who persuades his new friend to join the Boys Galore Escort Agency, in dire need of “a few good men.” The desperate proprietors Mitzi (Gary Fairhall) and Bethsheeba [sic] (Sue Tilling) are quick to recognize John’s earning potential. Within minutes, John and Byron are dispatched to the London mansion of one Bad Daddy, the agency’s most extravagant and beloved customer (Angus MacInnes of Hellboy, Witness, Star Wars). Meanwhile, a murderer has claimed a second victim from London’s club scene, grabbing the headlines and spreading fear through the gay community. Who might the murderer be? Rest assured, the sex-workers at Boys Galore have all been thoroughly vetted! But there’s something about Bethsheeba’s latest recruit—too perfect by half—that worries her. If only she could put her finger on it….
Later, Bad Daddy holds court in a sumptuous setting of fine antiques, objets d’art, first editions, and two intimates: his full-time partner, French puppeteer and would-be designer Jean-Claude and an ex-RAF officer named Harold, starved for new blood but looking for love. Byron’s and John’s arrival prompts a very fine discourse from Bad Daddy on the culture of rent boys, or what he calls “rhythm and blues”: an exchange system in which rich, cultured men like himself raise up the more beautiful, teachable boys from the flotsam of everyday life. John seems ideally suited for Bad Daddy’s pedagogy, while Byron, with his rough-trade manners, is beyond hope. “Stop interrupting me!” Daddy finally shouts in the midst of his squabbling company, “Can’t you see I’m pontificating? Do people interrupt the Pope when he pontificates? This is MY Vatican!” Ignoring him, Byron leaves the room to go to the toilet where he promptly shoots up.
A wild night of frivolity, drugs, private avowals and promised favors ensues. John struts his stuff in a private photo shoot and discusses philosophy with Harold (What IS better? Blakean friendship or Nietzschean will to power?) More rent boys are required; the agency is short, but some new boys are quickly rounded up, interviewed, and delivered to Bad Daddy’s badass address. This doesn’t prevent a progressive gay activist from trying to spoil the fun, but he’s quickly identified and rejected once Mitzi and Bethsheeba ferret out his hostile views of the British Monarchy. There’ll be no political interrogation of this agency’s swanky clientele!
And still another gay man’s mutilated body has popped up! Could it be the work of John—that seductive philosopher? Or Byron the addict (done because they was too menny)? Or perhaps Bad Daddy himself, indulging his cynical erotics of “rhythm and blues”? But now it’s time for a puppet show: the ridiculous “Garden of Love,” Jean-Claude's unintentionally funny allegory of failed artistic pretentions. The pageant elicits only eye-rolling and yawns from the party until the unexpected arrival of Byron, who, in a violent, drug-induced fit, attacks the puppets—and DROPS DEAD! Now the fun really begins!
Promoted as a film “with the good taste not to have any,” one could also say that Rhythm & Blues has the good sense to keep us guessing and amused with its boisterous mix of ribaldry, irony and grace. With a deft, witty script by Michael Jones and original songs by Marc Almond, Rhythm & Blues offers a refreshing, yet sly, tribute to sex, friendship, and male beauty that almost any fairy-minded person will enjoy. The film deserves a second look.
