'Another Gay Movie' Sucks ... In a Bad Way

Like Clay Aiken, some people – and some things – don’t need to come outta the closet. “Another Gay Sequel: Gays Gone Wild” should’ve been locked in there. As someone who was so over the first film’s recipe – throw “American Pie” in blender, mix with fairy dust and wah-lah! – just a few minutes in, my expectations for the insanely disgusting, totally unfunny and always utterly disturbing flick were as high as that of a one-night-stand. Which the film has plenty of, by the way. In fact, that’s pretty much the plot, and I use that word loosely – as loose as the horned-up quartet in this movie.

Andy, Jarod, Griff and Nico (played by Jonah Blechman – the only unlucky actor from the original to reprise his role, and the transitions are handled well in an opening sequence) head to Fort Lauderdale, Fla. for spring break, entering the “Gays Gone Wild” contest – and whoever can get the most action comes (excuse the pun) in first place. RuPaul is the statuesque co-host Tyrelle Tyrelle, along with Sandi Cove (The Lady Bunny), and queer blogger Perez Hilton plays, and steals, every scene he’s in. Like Paris Hilton does in every film she’s been in (which are?).

As a religious zealot (converted while blowing a priest in the bathroom on “TransAmerica” airlines), Hilton pops up way too often, turning every scene into something more disastrous than Amy Winehouse. Worse, though, is the film’s awareness of the stereotypes it plays on and tries to elicit laughs from: Gays are slutty, and gays get STDs. Funny? Not so much.

Perhaps the most glaring – and head-shaking – moment comes when one of the guys (whose name I can’t recall since none of the characters, besides Nico, were more than hot, nice-assed, nice-chested, and without any other redeeming qualities) re-imagines his slutty ways as a “Dawn of the Dead” sequence: He’s being chased by a bunch of dead guys he’s slept with. First thought? AIDS – which, especially with the rising HIV infection rate in youth, isn’t funny. At all.

There’s also a nasty bit involving a dad telling his son to follow his heart, not his hole, and then, in front of his son, sticking a butt-plug up there. And the sex noises? They sound like the sound of a kid having fun on a Slip ’n Slide. Both might’ve been kinda funny on the page of Todd Stephens’ script (he also directs), but to see it on film, I couldn’t stop ew-ing. At the end, “Another Gay Sequel” alludes to a third in the series – something involving space (please let it get lost there!), and the film, which is as cohesive as a drunk driver, also tries substituting aw for ew. But with an hour-and-a-half of gags involving barf, ass toys and mistaking super glue for lube, I pulled out long before. D-

Celine vs. Mary

Janet Jackson might’ve bailed on us when she rescheduled her Saturday gig for Oct. 28, but that semi-sexy (and really, really uncomfortable) feeling we’ve come to expect from her soft-core musical porn was satisfied by ... Robin Thicke? The soulful dude masturbated his mic, cooing lines like, “You’ve been a bad girl. Someone’s gonna have to teach you a lesson,” during his opening set for Mary J. Blige, one of two divas who performed over the weekend. Between her self-help banter, and seeing Celine on Friday, I was part of two shows where I was merely a subatomic fleck among a crowd so estrogen-heavy I was worried I’d be subconsciously converted. 

To read about what went down (or, during Mary's show, up), check out Between The Lines on Thursday. In the meantime, check out these Celine clips of her performing at the Palace: 

The Good ...

The (Hilariously!) Bad ...

Briiiiitney!

Spank me. First, I neglect my blog (yes, I'm long overdue for a post – but I've been busy writing for Out magazine's Popnography.com). Second, I kinda-sorta like Britney's "Womanizer." Yeah, it sounds like a lost track from "Blackout," and I didn't come close to peeing my pants, but the overly repetitive song sticks in your noggin like gum in your hair. So, yes, with its knee-jerk synth beat in overdrive and that creepy deep-like-Barry-White voice, it's also semi-annoying, but like fantasies of getting thrown down on the bed by Usher, I can't get it outta my head. 

'What It Feels Like For' ... Madonna's Brother

A few weeks ago, I spoke with Madonna's brother. Here's part of the story, which is in the current BTL (and at www.pridesource.com): 

“I don’t hate my sister,” Christopher Ciccone – commonly, as he says, introduced as Madonna’s brother – so candidly tells us, as if his tell-almost-all memoir would lead us to believe otherwise. And it probably has. Word was, prior to dropping in mid-July, that Ciccone’s book chronicling his move from Rochester Hills to help his big-dream-destined sister achieve superstardom was being published to stab her in the back for all – and we’re talking a lot, according to best-seller “Life with my Sister Madonna” – she put him through. Not true, says Ciccone, 47.

“That was never my goal,” he reveals from Los Angeles. “I could’ve written that book when I was angry, but I have my own self-respect. I would’ve had to face the world after writing that book. I would’ve been on the defense. Constantly. And I would’ve had to face myself every day, and I don’t feel that way about her.”

The question is: Should he? According to his diva-dishing memoir, Madonna made him her garbage can (spitting throat lozenges into his palms before she hit the stage), used him as a gay PR tool by outing him to the Advocate in 1991, and staged a scene at their mother’s grave – inviting an upset Ciccone along, too – for her documentary “Truth or Dare.”

He vowed, early on in his career as Madonna’s dancer, dresser and confidante, to never talk to the media about her, to lie to protect her, to be there whenever she needed him. But like the gay icon’s ever-evolving career, Ciccone’s in a different place. A place of peace with the past. A place where he can finally tell his story without feeling angry. A place where he can now be known as more than simply Madonna’s brother.

So Friggin' Infectious!

If I could whistle, I'd do it to this song.

Life After Death

Without a question, "Six Feet Under" is my favorite show. Ever. I'm still not over the fact that it ended – and my second family (yes, I'm that obsessed) is dead. That's why I was like a kid at a carnival when I was able to chat with Alan Ball, the creator of the edgy HBO drama, which – sadly – completed its five-year run in 2005. Now, he's got a new series, "True Blood" – and though it, after watching the first two episodes, trumped "SFU," it's definitely worth sinking your teeth into. Here's a taste of my article, out Thursday. 

When Claire Fisher drove into her family’s future during the series finale of “Six Feet Under,” fans of the five-season-running HBO drama likely wept much like they had lost someone in their own life. Alan Ball did – and then he quickly moved on.

“It didn’t take me time to move away from ‘Six Feet Under,’” the out creator says during a conference call with LGBT press. “When we ended the show, I was ready to end it. … All of us who worked on the show sort of grieved the show as the show itself was ending. And it was really sad, and everybody was hugging and crying.”

When his tears dried, his eyes sucked up every page of Charlaine Harris’ “Southern Vampire Mysteries” – and he was wholly enthralled by the author’s entertaining take on vampires. Plus, the shift from something as real as death to the totally unreal world of vampires in his new HBO series “True Blood,” which airs at 9 p.m. Sept. 7 on HBO, was like taking a dip in a pool on a warm day. There are still deeper themes, but the human condition – which Ball has often tackled in “Six Feet Under,” movie “American Beauty” and his latest film “Towelhead” – veered toward something far less dramatic (but equally edgy) and, well, less human.

“I got so sucked into this world,” he recalls. “Each chapter ended with a cliffhanger, and I would end up reading seven chapters when I had basically said to myself, ‘I’m only gonna read one chapter, ’cause I have to get up tomorrow at 6 a.m.’”

Cyndi, Marry Me Already!

Much to my surprise, Cyndi Lauper, who I interviewed before the True Colors show in Michigan, sent me a signed photo of her! I practically creamed my pants in my office. I still might.