A dominatrix brings her trust-fund client to heel. He adds his own personal splatter to the Jackson Pollock print on the wall. A voyeur watches his neighbour use yoga stretches to pleasure himself. A former mayor talks about not doing enough about AIDS back when he was still in the closet. A pretty gay couple decide to spread the love by inviting a third party into their alliance. Their sex-therapist has never had an orgasm.

All of these stories intersect at an underground New York salon where omnisexual carnality reigns while Yo La Tengo serenade. The movie is Shortbus, the eagerly awaited sophomore effort from director John Cameron Mitchell, and the bacchanalia of writhing actors are copulating for real.
Unsimulated sex on film is hardly new. For all the ridiculous kerfuffle surrounding the certification of 9 Songs in 2005, Michael Winterbottom’s boring portrait of sexual intimacy was hardly up there with the ‘incestuous’ fellatio of Pink Flamingos or the egg insertion from Ai No Corrida (a scene hilariously parodied in Mr. Mitchell’s new film). So what makes Shortbus so special? Well, for one thing, everybody is having a good time. Watching the shock tactics of The Brown Bunny or the dreary penetrative shots from Catherine Breillat’s Romance, one could be forgiven for reaching for a chastity belt. Characters rarely smile in such projects and they certainly don’t have fun in the bedroom. Few expressed surprise when Karen Lancaume, one of the lead actresses in the miserably hardcore Baise-Moi, took her own life last year.
“It was an aesthetic thing,” John tells me. “Whenever you see sex on screen, it’s always presented in a really negative or boring way. It’s so joyless and it’s as clichéd as anything you’ll find in porn. I always think the people involved must be working out some guilt. Shortbus isn’t a plea for free sex. Sex is just a vehicle, an illustration that we’re all in the same lifeboat. A lot of the characters are actually working through various traumas. Free sex won’t save you. But, you know, better sex just might help us.”
Though tabloid-speak would have it as ‘the gay orgy film’, Shortbus is more concerned with people than with bodies. A warm, delightfully sweet fairy tale, even the title (taken from the American school buses used for disabled or gifted children) speaks of inclusiveness. For such a project to work, a lengthy pre-production period was required. John initially gave interviews to journalists about Hedwig And The Angry Inch, his hugely successful debut feature, in return for advertising space to get the word out. From 500 audition tapes received, he chose nine interesting people to play the central characters.
“It was important to avoid agents and stars,” he says. “We wanted people we could hang out with for years afterwards. We didn’t want exhibitionists or gay people or straight people. We wanted diversity. We needed people who could create the story with me. For this kind of project, it was important that the actors felt safe. We worked on and off for two-and-a-half years. I’ve always admired Cassavetes and Altman and their ability to collaborate. That’s what interested me. We workshopped through everything we wanted to do and felt comfortable doing, and at some point I spent three weeks writing a conventional script from it all.”
The results are joyful. In the world of Shortbus, orgasms can be marked by the arrival of a marching band while magnificent queens provide a beautifully withering commentary from the sidelines. In the tradition of Woody Allen, the film never takes itself too seriously, preferring to gently satirise the therapy speak and neuroticism of its New York milieu.
“We wanted to make something funny and thought provoking,” explains John. “It really pisses me off when artists teach purely with despair. If you create something hopeless, it’s just reportage. What are you supposed to synthesize out of that?”
John Cameron Mitchell’s playful vision of an entire city climbing into bed together is, in common with most American films of the past five years, a post-9/11 movie. Recalling that time, Shortbus climaxes – quite literally – as New York emerges from a major blackout.
“I was with most of the cast during the black out,” says John. “It was a really beautiful moment. It could not have happened before 9/11. But as everyone began to realise it was not a terrorist attack, they all came out into the street. There was no violence. People had street parties. The marching band you see in the film really did come out to march. People who had lived in apartment blocks for 20 years suddenly met their neighbours for the first time. I wanted to emphasise that possibility of harmony. I also wanted to remember everything that’s good about New York and America because these things are easily forgotten during the Bush administration. I’ve always found the image of the Statue Of Liberty to be extraordinarily moving. It reminds us that this is a land of refugees. You can feel the lifeblood flowing in from other countries. When you think about Irish history, it was a place of salvation. And America is still that place. It’s still a forum for ideas. Long before the most progressive European countries got to thinking about gay marriage, it was a possibility in Hawaii. If you’ve got no place to go, come here.”
Smart, articulate and infectiously positive, it’s easy to understand why John Cameron Mitchell has become the gay spokesman of choice for American TV shows such as Politically Incorrect. He admits, however, to having mixed feelings about the role.
“Don’t get me started,” he sighs. “Just because I’m gay doesn’t mean I have any interest in the gay mainstream. It’s so completely boring. I understand the psychology. You’re dealing with people who felt they didn’t belong and now they that’s all they want to do. What’s so great about conformity or belonging to a marketing niche? I put it all down to low self-esteem.”
Happily, the young film maverick seems to have no such hang-ups despite an ostensibly conservative background. Born in El Paso, Texas, to a US Army general and a Scottish mother, John grew up on army bases in Colorado where he attended Catholic schools. He also spent a year at boarding school with Benedictine monks in Scotland.
“I know, the fallen Catholic, I’m such a cliche,” he says. “All that sex and violence and the body and blood of Christ. But when you grow up gay you become acutely aware of the difference between the surface and the reality, how everything is coded. I was walking around Rome this past week and I kept seeing sculptures by big queens. St. Theresa pierced by angels? Don’t tell me there isn’t a sexual outlaw responsible. But I had a really great, supportive upbringing. My dad was one of the good generals, the sort that should have been put in charge when instead guys like Rumsfeld got the post. My mom was a teacher who always encouraged us to be creative. We moved around a lot, so being gay and always the new kid, I was usually a double outsider. I just immersed myself in stories and comic books. So that has left me with an interest in narrative, my mom has made me an artist and my dad has brought out the benevolent dictator in me. I could only be a director.”
Then he laughs. “I think my parents preferred Hedwig to Shortbus though.”