Hovering afew meters above the city from the window seat of acrowded bus, London (Victor di Marco) ponders how daylight has always been “denied” to him. He is aman of the night, aself-described “question mark limping happily through the streets.” It is apoignant reflection, but one that contradicts the film that follows for, while London believes himself to belong to the enveloping hours of dusk, it is the all-revealing hues of daytime that come to elucidate his great dilemmas, but also the moving power of his beliefs.
This misunderstanding is one that permeates not only London the character, but alsoLondonthe film. Di Marco and co-director Márcio Picoli, partners in art and life, begin their film by ushering the viewer into the sensory overload of asex dungeon. London is ayoung dom whose nights are split between realising the fantasies of anonymous men and confiding in his best friend, also aqueer disabled sex worker.
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The London we see within these stuffy walls is built on confidence, having found within the anonymity of the dungeon the powerful aphrodisiac of freedom. ButLondonspends little time within that space, the story rapidly shifting towards daytime and the film’s guiding conundrum: after years of medical uncertainty, London is offered the chance of adiagnosis. If the neon-lit rooms of the dungeon stood for emancipation, the black and white of those defining words on paper seem to the man its very opposite.
When it hones in on this very dichotomy,Londonfinds rare moments of inspiration. An MRI machine becomes atorture chamber, two striking red lights forming apointed target as the whirring of cogs is cut by the heavy breathing of the man trapped within. That same red colours the plastic wrap London uses to envelop his leg brace before entering the playroom, his splint turning into his very own kinky boot. One morning, he stumbles upon an outdoor Zumba class, his body at ease alongside older women who so freely shake their hips from side to side. That happenstance leads him to Helena, amature lover who helpsLondonestablish an effective parallel between disabled bodies and ageing ones: the luck of along life inevitably comes with accessibility requirements – why are we still so unwilling to navigate conversations on disability when it affects usall?
Alas, from this midpoint,Londonbegins to spread its narrative tentacles with the eagerness of first-time filmmakers hungry to tackle many concerns at once. Instead of fine-tuning the well-laid-out questions of the first act, Di Marco and Picoli introduce aprocession of side plots that range from London’s little sister having trouble adapting at school to anever-before-mentioned big trip to London (the city, not the film or the character). This sparseness is aggravated by acollection of scenes that are either heavy on expository dialogue about the little-spoken realities of disability or overplayed emotional outbursts – both only end up diluting the nuance of the conversations that preceded them.
This lack of focus is bothersome, but not enough to fully obfuscate the promise of the Brazilian filmmaking duo. Di Marco and Picoli have asharp sense of style, pulling out music in favour of the guttural potency of human and mechanical sounds: when capturing brief moments of intimacy, we hear the pointed pops of sucking and licking; when relaying the claustrophobic nature of public exposure, the screeching sounds of horns flood the film’s soundscape as if awarning. These moments, although weakened by aclumsy plot structure, still makeLondonaworthy formal offering and aprecious calling card for its young helmers.