Gypsy 83

[illusionofjoy]

Saturday night saw myself and joi_division at The Oaks for another feature. This time it was Gypsy 83, the second film from director Todd Stevens. Before I get into the movie, however, please allow me this brief bitchfest about the motorists in Pittsburgh...

Last night, I think I cursed and flipped off more people on the road in the course of one hour than I had total in the past month. At the intersection of Greentree Road and the Parkway Interchange, some moron in a van nearly cut me off making a left turn into the path of the car I was driving. On the interchange from SR 28 to I-579, some cocksucker with the desire to 50MPH on the ramp kept riding my arse all the way through a curve which can only be safely negotiated at 20MPH. In Mt. Washington, as I drove Grandview Avenue, some mustachioed fucker with the visage of a child molester decided to saunter across the street outside of a cross-walk, and then give me a dirty look when I honked at him. I gave him one right back as Joi flipped him off.

The main attraction came, however, when I drove back onto Joi's street in South Side, only to find the parking space in front of her apartment blocked by the infamous Pittsburgh Party Bus. Joi is one of the few people in South Side to possess an actual parking space that is hers and hers alone. Understandably, she gets a little upset if someone blocks her space. This was a repeated offense by the driver of the "Party Bus," so Joi decided to get out of the car and tell him to get out of the way. Meanwhile, I remained in the driver's seat, trying to figure out if I could somehow slither around the offending bus into the parking space now being held hostage. Joi returned to the car just in time for us to witness a vehicle come the wrong way towards us down her one-way street and then commit the further offense of driving on the wrong side of the road, had it been a two way street. I blasted the horn as we both screamed at this new interloper that the one-way signs were not merely placed on the telephone poles for decoration.

I somehow managed to manoeuver the car into it's space about ten seconds before the bus pulled away. Joi told me that when she had told the driver to move, he had curtly responded that she should, "get a life." Had the bus been close enough, I would have picked up some gravel from the driveway and turned the drunken chariot into a moving target. As it stood, I already felt like running after the vehicle and roughing up the driver for his insolence.

And now, our feature presentation (warning: spoilers)...

I admit that I was half-expecting to go into the theatre, watch Gypsy 83 and walk out completely hating it. To me, when something gets advertised as "Goth," then one is asking for an open invitation to travesty. Furthermore, I was already biassed against the concept of a Goth girl obsessed with Stevie Nicks, having experienced the live incarnation of that very circumstance in an ex of mine with whom I no longer associate (and for good reason). Still, the idea of the movie fascinated me since The Oaks had first placed cards in the establishment mid-summer advertising it's arrival in the Fall.

Overall, I was surprised by Gypsy 83 - I actually liked the film. It wasn't a great movie, but a good movie - one that wore it's heart on it's sleeve, yet managed to avoid being annoyingly heart-wrenching. The road-trip premise is simple: this is a film about self-discovery. Our protagonists: Gypsy Vale (Sara Rue) and Clive Webb (Kett Turton) are two freaks stuck in Sandusky, Ohio, home of Cedar Point, suburban amenities, farmland, easy access to the Ohio Turnpike and not much else. Gypsy is in her mid-20s, working at a photo booth in a strip mall parking lot who escapes with Clive, an 18 year old gay virgin pulling 4.0s in school, though their shared love of Stevie Nicks and their general disconnection with the commonality of the world around them.

One night, Clive stumbles upon a website advertising "The Night of 1,000 Stevies," wherein Stevie Nicks impersonators get a chance to strut their stuff at a local Goth club. Despite the short notice, as the event is to be held four days from their discovery therein, Clive convinces Gypsy that this is the perfect opportunity for her. Thus, our two leads jump into Gypsy's Thunderbird and hit the highway.

The road trip itself is a learning experience, with much in the way of disappointment and disillusionment. Todd Stevens, who not only directed the film, but authored the screenplay, pulls no punches. The world has a great potential for beauty, but people prefer to keep it mired in ugliness, more often than not. Even at the physical conclusion of the trip, the metaphorical journey continues. When Gypsy and Clive arrive at the club, finally surrounded by so-called "fellow freaks," they soon discover that the majority of these people are just as vapid and self-centred as the mullets, soccer moms and church ladies who had plagued them in rural Ohio. I was quite impressed that Stevens decided to write this universal truth into the movie. I also liked that he left the conclusion of the film open-ended, which is ultimately more satisfying than wrapping everything up in a neat little package would have been. Hopefully this is not an indication that he is planning on sequels, as I believe this would ruin the charm of the initial film.

As I said to Joi after we left The Oaks (in between dodging mad motorists and idiot pedestrians), this film touched a nerve with me. There is one scene, when Clive is talking to a group of locals at the club in New York. They ask him about Poppy Z. Brite. When it becomes apparent that Clive has no idea who Poppy Z. is, they all sing out, "poseur" in unison. Gypsy comes to her friend's defence, saying that they should try being freaks "out in the real world."

It is true - when one grows up different in a city, one has an easier time of it than when one grows up as the lone local freak. If you were to replace Sandusky, Ohio and New York, New York with Potsdam, New York and Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, you would be edging somewhat towards my personal story (albeit, one where I was never called a poseur, but if someone had, I would have gladly thrown a drink in their face).

There is something about a small town that pushes against you and makes you want to push back even harder; it makes you want to be an even greater challenge to the norms than you already are. I remember walking around downtown Potsdam all done up, silently daring people to say or do something. It was almost as if I wanted them to prove my assumptions about them correct and they were usually happy to oblige. Conversely, when one grows up in a city, one can be a freak and people barely bat an eyelash. The vacuum the urban Goth grows up in is one of jaded elitism - been there, done that, saw the movie, the book was better. I doubt that any velvet-clad, eyeliner wearing kid in New York has an inkling as to the kind of abuse their rural brethren go through. It is doubtful that they care either, but then again - why should they?

The urban Goth gets elitism bred into them from day one, having been handed club life, easy access to obscurity and a greater degree of acceptance to them from day one. In general, shocking the masses is more difficult in the city and most kids can't afford such extremes. The rural Goth has to fight his or her way out of their circumstance, kicking and screaming. The rural Goth can shock the masses with just a little bit of black lipstick. The rural Goth has no clubs to go to, has never heard of the Virgin Prunes but loves Bauhaus and has no idea what it's like to be surrounded by his or her "own kind."

The fact of the matter remains that it isn't always such a great thing to be surrounded by one's "own kind." I've mentioned before to Joi that there were times, since I moved to Pittsburgh, that I almost liked it better in Potsdam when I was a subculture of one. There are certain aspects of being rare and special that are appealing. If you find another freak in small-town America, the two of you are pretty much forced to stick together, against the world, or at the very least, you have a common bond which results in some lively and understanding bitchfests. It has been my observation, not only in Pittsburgh, but in my travels to New York City, that when enough Goths get into a room together, they cease to be united as outcasts, but turn into a very ugly self-cannibalising entity. It is as if the outcasts, full of an ego which one served as a self-defence, now find these egos have become like cancers and the body is consumed violently. The outcasts no longer are united against those who have cast them out, but become disjointed in a futile attempt to purify their own ranks. It is sick.

Gypsy 83 concludes with Gypsy staying in New York while Clive goes back to Sandusky. The credits roll on their uncertain futures, leaving us with only their journey up until that point to reflect upon. One wonders what will happen to our young protagonists beyond the final curtain call...and it is best left that way. Gypsy 83 isn't a great movie, but it is a good movie and it is one that made me think...and reflect. There will be those who simply won't "get" it, but for those in the know, this film will end up being a little gem in their DVD collection.

Comments

[dragonflydani.livejournal.com]

"The world has a great potential for beauty, but people prefer to keep it mired in ugliness, more often than not."

This coming from you just amuses the fuck outta me.

"There is something about a small town that pushes against you and makes you want to push back even harder; it makes you want to be an even greater challenge to the norms than you already are. I remember walking around downtown Potsdam all done up, silently daring people to say or do something."

Can you say beth and i? *lol*

"The rural Goth can shock the masses with just a little bit of black lipstick."

I once completely tackled the only boy i ever knew to wear black lipstick in Corry and made him tell me where he bought it, we've been friends ever since.

"that when enough Goths get into a room together, they cease to be united as outcasts, but turn into a very ugly self-cannibalising entity. It is as if the outcasts, full of an ego which one served as a self-defence, now find these egos have become like cancers and the body is consumed violently"

I once told a goth that he was just like everyone else, and had to dodge projectiles, but it's so true. People who consider themselves "goth" think the world owes them something. They think that estrangeing themselves from the "norm" will make them unique, when in all actuality, it just places them in another norm.
Life is beautiful.

[psychopoof.livejournal.com]

I remember hearing about that movie but didn't know it was out yet.
Thanks for the review.