The Living End (Gregg Araki, 1992)
Gregg Araki likes boys with hair that falls into their hair while they slouch under leather jackets, fucking other boys with little gold crosses swinging from their necks
tapping out the times that this has happened before and again.
There is something about Araki’s filmmaking, especially The Living End, that reaches deep inside of me. Luke is HIV positive and takes a switchblade to his wrists to see doom trickling down his arms, licks his lover’s blood from his face. No one in this film is afraid of drama except the film critic, who doesn’t want to get close to the questions running through his boyfriend’s veins. Rather, the answer. The camera is close and trembling, television resolution makes the final sunset take on the angry oranges of a nuclear blast. The end may be nigh, but at least neither of them have to bother to quit smoking.
