LUSTER

Luster is billed as a "sexy romantic comedy," which is very misleading, because the film is not in the least bit sexy, romantic, or funny. The fact that it tries to be all these things, and its conviction that it succeeds, makes its failure that much more excruciating.

The movie takes place over one weekend in the life of Jackson, a blue-haired, punky, homosexual independent record store employee whose frightening skinniness would make Calista Flockhart look like a hippopotamus. He wakes up Friday morning after an orgy and heads off to work, daydreaming about some guy that he drunkenly remembers having the hots for the night before.

To make a long story short, we're introduced to a variety of men in Jackson's life: the preppy gay boy who is "in love" with Jackson despite the fact that they have never once held a conversation, who hangs out at the record store every single day hoping to catch his eye; Jackson's cousin (!) from Iowa, who inexplicably shares Jackson's penchant for gay incest; Spike, the closeted rock star who discovers Jackson's horrendous poetry and wants to use it as lyrics for his next album; some guy from the Thursday night orgy, who gets off on being beaten to a pulp; and the straight best friend who's secretly in love with him.

Luster was quite obviously made on a shoestring budget. Sure, that explains the maddeningly static camera, the wooden acting, and the reminiscent-of-porno quality audio. But does it excuse the fact that it would be an enormous stretch to call each line-speaking entity on screen a "character"? Does it excuse the gaping void in this film where you would normally find "motivations"?

It can't be easy to make a film, and this was clearly an early effort, but my generosity only goes so far. By the ending of this movie, which can be seen approximately a million miles away, my generosity was long gone: I wanted my money back.