Parky at the Pictures (DVD 21/7/2011)

One of the most striking instances of wisdom after the event was Mark Rappaport's documentary, Rock Hudson's Home Movies (1993), which trawled through his features to identify moments when Hudson either made knowingly covert reference to his sexual preferences or openly mocked his macho image by adopting camp mannerisms or attitudes. Amidst the snide asides and egregious exaggerations, Rappaport demonstrated a shrewd eye and a considerable knowledge of his subject. But the visual quality of the clips and the use of Eric Farr (who looks nothing like Hudson) as the actor's alter ego seriously distract from the often astute observations. The thesis opens with Rock Farr recalling a young Roy Fitzgerald's obsession with Jon Hall, as he (or, rather, his stunt double) plunged from the rigging of a sailing ship into the ocean in John Ford's 1937 melodrama, The Hurricane. He knew from that moment that he wanted to be a movie star and was also vaguely aware that he was going to have to suppress his true self in order to achieve his dream.

But German exile Douglas Sirk seemed to delight in alluding at Hudson's nature in films as diverse as the musical Has Anybody Seen My Gal (1952), the Western Taza, Son of Cochise (1954), the costume adventure Captain Lightfoot (1955), the Korean War saga Battle Hymn (1957), the flying drama The Tarnished Angels (1958) and the classic soap operas Magnificent Obsession (1954), All That Heaven Allows (1956) and Written on the Wind (1957). When assembled this adroitly, the extracts do seem to suggest a concerted effort was afoot to leak Hollywood's worst kept secret. But the hints came thicker, faster and even more unsubtly in Hudson's trio of romantic comedies with Doris Day - Pillow Talk (1959), Lover Come Back (1962) and Send Me No Flowers (1964) - in which he consistently appeared to be more at ease in the company of best buddy Tony Randall than the demure Ms Day.

If anything, the insinuations are at their most blatant in Howard Hawks's scurrilous comedy of emasculation, Man's Favourite Sport? (1964), in which Hudson is mistaken for an expert angler and has to disguise his distaste for fish from the smitten Paula Prentiss. But, having made his point, Rappaport can't resist pushing it too far as he strings together a series of casual remarks that are contrivedly associated with HIV. The suggestion that just about every conversation that Hudson had with a male co-star approximated to cruising is equally specious. Moreover, it's a shame, as such sensationalism cheapens the picture's impressive scholarship and contrasts starkly with the sharpness of the sequence in which Hudson pulls out of embraces with actresses including Day, Elizabeth Taylor, Dorothy Malone, Lauren Bacall, Angie Dickinson, Cyd Charisse and Julie Andrews.

For the record, Rappaport also quotes Anthony Mann's Winchester '73 (1950), Raoul Walsh's The Lawless Breed and Sea Devils (both 1953), Jerry Hopper's Never Say Goodbye, George Stevens's Giant (both 1956), Richard Brooks's Something of Value, Charles Vidor's A Farewell to Arms (both 1957), Joseph Pevney's Twilight of the Gods (1958), Robert Aldrich's The Last Sunset (1961), Robert Mulligan's The Spiral Road (1962), John Frankenheimer's Seconds (1966), John Sturges's Ice Station Zebra, Francesco Maselli's A Fine Pair (both 1968), Andrew V. McLaglen's The Undefeated (1969), Blake Edwards's Darling Lili (1970), Roger Vadim's Pretty Maids All in a Row (1971), Ralph Nelson's Embryo (1976), Corey Allen's Avalanche (1978) and Guy Hamilton's The Mirror Crack'd (1980). But, just in case anyone is tempted to draw the conclusion that Hudson was somehow involved in a 30-year campaign to out himself through his screen utterances, Rappaport does have Rock Farr concedes that the star had nothing to do with writing the dialogue that now seems so studded with innuendo.

Among the other features cited are Howard Hawks's Bringing Up Baby (1938) and I Was a Male War Bride (1949) and these Cary Grant vehicles recur in Rappaport's other revisionist take on Hollywood's secret love affair with homosexuality, The Silver Screen: Color Me Lavender (1997).

Besides Dan Butler taking over from Eric Farr as the narrator interacting with freeze-frame cut-outs, this follows pretty much the same format in seeking to show how the studios peppered their pictures with cheeky inferences throughout Hollywood's Golden Age. Once again, Rappaport selects his clips cleverly. But he doesn't take the trouble to identify the sources and this reinforces the sense this is more an opportunist grab-bag than a rigorous piece of research. Moreover, the argument too often feels strained and one wonders whether Rappaport might have been better advised to concentrate on the shift in tone that occurred during the war years and consigned such so-called `sissy' actors as Franklin Pangborn, Edward Everett Horton, Eric Blore and Erik Rhodes to the cinematic margins.

The tribute to these dapper 1930s sidekicks appears genuinely affectionate. But an air of smugness quickly descends upon the contention that Walter Brennan was more than just a grizzled crony to the likes of Gary Cooper and John Wayne or that Bob Hope and Bing Crosby spent much of their Road movies flirting with each other.

Rappaport comes closer to the mark in discussing the sexual ambiguity of the characters played by Danny Kaye, Clifton Webb and Cary Grant's longtime roommate Randolph Scott. The consideration of Jean Cocteau and Luchino Visconti's respective use of soft-focus sensuality in photographing Jean Marais and Massimo Girotti in Ossessione (1942) and Alain Delon in Rocco and His Brothers (1960) also seems sensible, as are the insights into the ménage between Lizabeth Scott, John Hodiak and Wendell Corey in Lewis Allen's Desert Fury and screenwriter John Paxton's need to change the victim of prejudice from a gay man to a Jew in adapting Richard Brooks's novel, Crossfire (both 1947). But Rappaport returns to shakier ground in suggesting a gay subtext to Jerry Lewis's teamings with Dean Martin.

Butler's commentary is sometimes acute, but the incessant presentation of lines out of context too frequently leaves them sounding like the spoof dialogue that Woody Allen wrote to transform Senkichi Taniguchi's Key of Keys (1965) into What's Up, Tiger Lily? (1966). Consequently, it becomes increasingly difficult to take Rappaport's contentious, but far from preposterous thesis seriously and those keen to learn about Hollywood homophobia should seek out a more considered survey, like Rob Epstein and Jeffrey Friedman's The Celluloid Closet (1995).

Jean-Claude Schlim makes an impressive feature debut with House of Boys (2009), an ambitious 1980s rite of passage that mixes brash musical numbers with poignant melodrama, as the regulars of an Amsterdam nightclub discover the cruel realities of AIDS. Spiritedly played by a cast of newcomers that is well supported by the likes of Udo Kier and Stephen Fry, this is as visually bold as it's thematically sensitive. But it also largely avoids the sentimentality that has undermined so many similar pictures.

Eighteen year-old Layke Anderson is out to parents Chris McHallem and Sascha Ley. But few at his Luxembourg school know about his sexuality beside gal pal Gintare Parulyte. After the latest brush with the bullies who make his life a misery, Anderson decides to head to Holland and Parulyte is eager to accompany him. However, she quickly ditches him for a man and Anderson is forced to seek sanctuary in the House of Boys, a club-cum-brothel managed by drag queen Udo Kier and den mother Eleanor David..

Starting out behind the bar, Anderson soon makes friends with Oliver Hoare (who was abused by his father), Mohican grafitti artist Luke Wilkins and Steven Webb, who is saving for a sex change. But he can't get close to American Benn Northover, who, despite being the star of the show and prone to turn the odd trick, insists he is straight. However, when he discovers that girlfriend Emma Griffiths Malin has aborted their child, he becomes Anderson's lover. But, soon afterwards, Northover is diagnosed with one of the city's first cases of HIV and he moves in with Anderson and David after Kier asks them to leave the club. He battles on with the help of doctor Stephen Fry and nurse Joanna Scanlan, but too little is known about the virus to save him.

Whether it's Kier doing a Marlene Dietrich impression or Anderson rippling through the dance routine that makes him an instant sensation, the club sequences are presented with a panache that owes much to Caroline de Vivaise's costumes, Christina Schaffer's production design and cinematographer Carlo Thiel's vibrant use of reds and blues. However, the colour scheme becomes more subdued as Northover declines and this visual restraint is matched by the scripting and performances.

The flashbacks to the childhood encounters between the young Northover (Loïc Peckels) and parents Jules Werner and Nora König are less convincing, while Hoare and Webb's backstories are more than a little clichéd. But, otherwise, this is a thoughtful and timely reminder of the impact that AIDS had upon the gay community and the prejudices to which its first victims were subjected by frightened friends, as well as ignorant homophobes.

Passion and violence make for equally dangerous bedfellows in Nicolo Donato's Brotherhood (2009), as sergeant Thure Lindhardt is dishonourably discharged from the Danish army for making a pass at one of his men. Frustrated at having to move back with shrewish mother Hanne Hedelund and milquetoast father Lars Simonsen, Lindhardt seizes upon the friendship offered by Nicolas Bro at a party and soon finds himself drawn to his neo-Nazi group.

Having gone above and beyond during a raid on a refugee hostel, Lindhardt becomes a trusted lieutenant, much to the disgust of rapid homophobe David Dencik, whose brother Morten Holst is passed over for promotion because of his drug problems. However, when Bro billets Lindhardt with Dencik to makeover a seaside cabin for far-right activist Claus Flygare, they are unable to control their lust. But they know their secret could prove fatal if it's ever discovered by their bigoted comrades.

Scripted without hyperbole by Donato and Rasmus Birch and played with an unsettling ferocity, this is a gripping study of the extent to which prejudice is rooted in insecurity. Attracted by their camaraderie rather than their ideology, Lindhardt fixes on the fascists as a means of boosting his deflated sense of manliness. Yet he retains the egotism that prompts him to take reckless risks and, thus, his second breach of institutional discipline is inevitable without being melodramatic, as, even within the ranks of men trained in the use of violence, he cannot relinquish the flicker of compassion that roots his sexual activity in a desire for human contact rather than simply in a need for physical satiation.

A very different sort of coastal liaison concludes Marco Filiberti's David's Birthday, which irresistibly recalls Olivier Ducastel and Jacques Martineau's Cockles and Muscles (2005). Opening at a stylised stage production of Wagner's Tristan and Isolde, the action quickly switches to the Italian Riviera for the kind of ghastly family vacation in which Joanna Hogg has come to specialise. But, while its ending is entirely predictable, this is never as self-conscious or mannered as either Unrelated (2008) or Archipelago (2010).

Despite the fact that work commitments increasingly keep them apart, Michela Cescon and Alessandro Gassman invite old friends Maria de Medeiros and Massimo Poggio to spend the summer at their seaside villa in Sabaudia. They are also expecting Cescon's nomadic brother, Christo Jivkov (who is still mourning the girlfriend who committed suicide two years earlier) and their 17 year-old son, Thyago Alves, whom De Medeiros and Poggio haven't seen since he was a boy.

Having dropped his eight year-old daughter with De Medeiros's sister, Poggio returns to his psychiatrist's office to keep an appointment with ageing Piera Degli Esposti, who seems to be caught in an emotional tug of war with a woman she detests. However, Poggio is soon to find himself in a similar situation, as he becomes besotted with Alves, who has grown into a strapping youth who is charmingly unaware of either his beauty or the effect it has on others.

Teenager Maria Luisa De Crescenzo is also smitten on first sight and insinuates herself into the charmed circle with more success than middle-aged couple Paolo Giovannucci and Eleanora Mazzoni. However, while De Medeiros fails to notice her husband's growing fixation with Alves (even after he forces himself upon her during the night and humiliates her over dinner), the newly arrived Jivkov does. But he is too wrapped up in his own misery to challenge Poggio and, as a consequence, tragedy strikes on Alves's birthday.

A magnificent performance by Maria de Medeiros holds this handsome, if formulaic film together. Conscious of her intellectual inferiority and determined to prevent her marriage from becoming as strained as Cescon and Gassman's, she defers to Poggio at the first hint of tension. Consequently, she fails to pry when he becomes increasingly preoccupied and it is inescapable that she should become the victim of his treachery. But her naturalism keeps Filiberti and Deborah De Furia's scenario from becoming overly operatic, although no such restraint is imposed upon Roberta Allegrini's cinematography that too often lapses into the commercial glossiness that makes the story seem unnecessarily superficial.

Filiberti also attempts to incorporate too many sub-plots, with De Crescenzo's bid to seduce Alves winding up in the same cul-de-sac as the feud between his parents, Degli Esposti's struggle with her sister over the care of her mentally handicapped son and the rumour that Jivkov might have been responsible for his depressive lover's death. But, while it never quite reaches the intensity of Dirk Bogarde's obsession with Björn Andrésen in Visconti's Death in Venice (1971), it bears comparison with recent gay outings like Ferzan Ozpetek's Loose Cannons (2010).

Finally, the polish could also do with a little scuffing in Fernanda Cardoso Bloomington, as this teacher-student romance seems to exist in a Lesbian Neverland between a Hollywood studio and a Mid-Western campus where nobody has to work hard to attain their heart's desire and all problems are solved with a shrug, a smile and a reassurance that everything will be okay. Yet, despite its credibility issues, this is an amiable drama that is engagingly played by its striking leads.

Having spent the past six years as a child star on a sci-fi show, Sarah Stouffer is looking forward to being treated like just another grown-up at college. However, mother Katherine Ann McGregor keeps scolding her for wasting her talents and trying to hide from the recent death of a trusted friend, while study group buddies Erika Heidewald, Chelsea Rogers, Ray Zupp and Kamden Roberts don't quite know how to treat a reluctant celebrity. Psychology tutor Allison McAtee has no such problems, however, as she takes a shine to Stouffer when she first meets her in professor Donald A. Becker's office and Stouffer is quite prepared to ignore the rumours that McAtee is a heartbreaker who ruins careers and may well also be a vampire in the witness protection programme.

Stouffer puts up little resistance when McAtee makes her move at a fresher's drinks party and the pair soon become inseparable. Yet when agent J. Blakemore calls Stouffer to inform her they are making a feature version of Neptune 26, she is tempted by the challenge of recreating her character on the big screen. Moreover, she is determined to beat the competition tilting for the role and enjoys the fawning of the aspiring John Dreher during the auditions.

But McAtee is disappointed that Stouffer is so willing to postpone her studies to pursue a dream and is stung when she only introduces her as a friend at a producer's soirée. Worse follows when they are snapped together by the press and Becker takes a dim view of McAtee consorting with a student. As they drift apart, the besotted Zupp makes a move at a frat house bash and Stouffer suddenly knows which choice she has to make.

Everything feels just a touch de trop in this lesbian love story. McAtee and Stouffer are too photogenic, their milieux are overly idyllic and their situation is impossibly contrived. Yet the performances are deft and Cardoso leavens the soapier elements with a playful wit and a slightly transgressive sense that the couple's relationship is more based on mother-daughter feelings than sexual ones.