Stonewall

In these evolving times when gay issues are finally taken seriously and the LGBTQ dialogue is continuously expanding, we've never been more primed for a defining film about the plight of the LGBTQ community to not simply be "tolerated" but recognized, accepted and respected. And what better backdrop than the 1969 Stonewall riots when the fight for gay rights truly became a movement?

So it saddens me to report that the well intentioned new film "Stonewall" is not that film. And I am aware that putting such a responsibility on one movie might not seem fair, but when your creative team is helmed by an esteemed and out director, Roland Emmerich, and a celebrated, award-winning screenwriter, Jon Robin Baitz, then taking on the seminal moment of gay empowerment should at least capture the essence of what Stonewall stands for.

But instead of probing what led to such a defiant act on the parts of unlikely heroes who decided that night, June 28, 1969, would be the night they would refuse to be pushed around, to be bullied, to be treated like second-class citizens any longer -- instead of examining that stewing anger and where it came from, and how it truly galvanized and forged a community, we are given an antiseptic depiction of one young man's road to self-acceptance and rebellion, amidst the backdrop of the uprising. Isn't that almost exactly what the 1996 Nigel Finch film version did? (And more effectively, I might add.)

My complaints have nothing to do with the early grousing about a whitewash of the characters based solely on seeing the trailer. (Shame on all media outlets for even running those insipid reports without having seen the entire film first.) Diversity is present in the movie, though arguably not featured prominently enough.

Regardless, what about the real stories that came out of those nights of insurrection? To say they're given short shrift is an understatement.

Rather, we are presented with the saga of a fictional pretty white boy from Indiana named Danny (Jeremy Irvine), who is thrown out of the house for crushing on his best friend Joe (Karl Glusman), the hottie high school quarterback, who is happily fellated by Danny but is "not a fag." (The film frequently flashes back to these soapy sequences.)

Our protagonist flees to New York City, where he immediately encounters a gaggle of drag queens, thieves, prostitutes and other "deviants" who act as a surrogate family. They include Ray/Ramona (Jonny Beauchamp), a flamboyant, Judy Garland-worshipping hustler who befriends Danny and introduces him to the now-infamous, mob-run watering hole, the Stonewall Inn. There, Danny is seduced by Mattachine Society leader Trevor (Jonathan Rhys Meyers) who speaks in platitudes and gives the boy a place to stay.

Along Danny's journey of self-discovery he encounters (and is skeeved out by) a lecherous old queen; he is forced to trick, bursting into tears as the older john goes down on him; and he is brutally beaten by police after a raid where gay men are having sex out in the open. Of course, Danny wasn't partaking. He's too squeaky clean for that. The only sex scene that comes close to depicting any intimacy -- it's between Danny and Trevor -- is so tame, rushed and dimly lit, that it barely registers.

"Stonewall" is spayed of any real sexual content or nudity. It's as if Baitz and Emmerich were so desperate for mainstream acceptance that they forgot to pay any attention to the reality of gay life and, most offensively, the sense of struggle felt by so many who were persecuted for whom they loved. In their need for Danny to be identifiable, he's rendered generic and almost completely emasculated.

Now, I realize that a lot of good mojo went into this project. Emmerich, the blockbuster helmer of "Independence Day," "Godzilla" and "The Day After Tomorrow," was inspired by the plight of gay homeless youth, and he toiled to get the financing (sad to hear, in this day and age), which may account for the too-many concessions to commerciality. In addition, Baitz is one of our country's best playwrights and creator of the inspired series "Brothers and Sisters."

But... there's no real blood or guts to their film, just a mess of clich�-ridden quasi-counterculture characters that often feel like they're rehearsing a community theatre production of "Rent." (The standing-on-the-car tableau during the riots is just laughable.) Emmerich never seems to settle on a style or tone either, ping-ponging from '50s film melodrama to '70s TV crime show with doses of "Midnight Cowboy"-wannabe frames tossed in.

When we finally arrive at the riot sequence, it is a tremendous letdown. From the director that gave us so many stupendous action flicks, you'd think these scenes would pop with a sense of urgency and danger, but there is little bite, intensity or insanity to them, and the stakes feel awfully low. That seething, explosive, hotbed feeling -- that defiance that was years in the brewing -- is strangely, and unforgivably, absent. What's present is grandstanding and prattling.

Baitz's script is beyond disappointing. The dialogue is often wince-inducing and obvious, with some incredulous speechifying before the brick is actually tossed. Danny's line "I'm getting the feeling like I just wanna break something" is supposed to denote his growing anger and frustration, but it just feels forced and silly.

Still, with all of that noted, there is a very good reason to see "Stonewall": the ensemble, most of whom rise above the clich�-ridden, maddeningly melodramatic, seriously self-important material and deliver better-than-decent performances, beginning with a star-making turn by Jonny Beauchamp.

His is a take-charge, nuanced performance that is heartbreaking, funny, painful and real. Beauchamp's Jonny is a dreamer but also a realist. He cares about his friends and truly loves Danny. To say he steals all his scenes is doing him a discredit. He's no thief. He earns all his moments.

Jeremy Irvine has a difficult time, since Danny is so generically written, but he manages to maneuver through the bland stereotype and emerge not just unscathed, but triumphant. He delves into Danny just deep enough that we feel his anguish and believe in his arc, usually despite the lines he's forced to speak.

Beauchamp and Irvine are so good together and have such good chemistry that it's exasperating that the powers that be deemed it that Danny is unable to return Ray's affection. Why? Because perfect looking blonde farm boys don't love androgynous, longhaired drag boys? That's just so 1980s!

Joey King is a find as Danny's younger sister, Phoebe, boldly resisting authority and remaining loyal to her brother. It's a very honest portrayal.

Otoja Abit nicely plays the true life African-American Marsha P. Johnson. It's just a shame there wasn't more screen time allotted.

And that brings me back to the real life heroes of Stonewall. There are terrific docs out there that highlight these figures ("Stonewall Uprising," "Before Stonewall," "After Stonewall," to name three), but it's a damn shame the creatives here wasted a great opportunity.

At the end of the film there's a scroll indicating what happened to the few real figures depicted in the film that is rendered pretty meaningless to most, since they were peripheral characters at best and we never got to care about them.

"Stonewall" was never going to please everyone. And I wasn't expecting "Selma." But I was hopeful. Perhaps in another twenty years a truly bold and daring filmmaker will attempt to tell a more palpable and veracious version of this identity-defining LGBTQ story. Until then, we have "Milk."