Sex on film has existed for as long as film itself. Art is meant to reflect the entire spectrum of human emotional connection, and the good ol’ genital IKEA instructions are no exception to that. However, what a lot of erotically-tinged films tend to run into is an issue of balance: satisfying the urges of the brain and the… other brain, as it were. This is especially true in the realm of documentary cinema, where sexual activity is often attached to the production’s own aims for realism. And with this look at famous ex-porn-star Jonathan Agassi, it somehow manages to maintain that balance, and yet mishandle it at the same time. The depiction we get of Agassi is one that ends up hitting a lot of unfortunately familiar points when it comes to stereotypes attached to the industry: neglected childhood, daddy issues, a need for an ulterior identity (the title is a quote from Agassi himself); it may be true to the man himself, but it doesn’t make for particularly revelatory content. If anything, it keeps reaching moments of cringe when it shows Agassi discussing elements of his work, even watching some of it, with his mother. As a basis for the inner family drama, it holds up okay, but it ends up getting lost in the speedy shuffle of the rest of the footage. If anything, that problem exists with most of what we are shown. We get ample exposure to Agassi at work, along with his foray into drug use to keep himself going, but rather than making for a vital look at either him or his place within the business, it comes across like its ultimate fate will be as a collection of scenes that gay men, straight women and the odd straight man will watch on mute ‘for the articles’. It lacks the subversive fire of a Bruce LaBruce feature, the insider’s insight of Wash Westmoreland or even the personal liberation of John Cameron Mitchell. Even more so, it lacks the vitality that documentaries need to establish their own existence, as its timing doesn’t feel particularly urgent, the context is sparse, and the insights made… Actually, that last one may be its strongest attribute, as even with its lingering shrug of an impact on the audience, the process of participating in this production appears to have had a lasting effect on Agassi himself. His working relationship with director Tomer Heymann seems to have given him some kind of closure in regards to his relationships with his work and his family, namely his father. It’s the kind of outsider’s eye effect that shows documentary filmmaking as its own branch of therapy for those involved. And to that end, it’s difficult to be too harsh about the film as a whole, since it gave at least one person in the world a chance for clarity. But from the outside looking in, it’s just as difficult to vibe with that kind of confession outside of its own bubble. Jonathan Agassi Saved My Life, 2018. Directed by Tomer Heymann.  SYNOPSIS: A filmmaker captures the highs and lows of a world-renowned gay porn star. Jonathan Agassi Saved My Life, the latest documentary feature from Israeli filmmaker Tomer Heymann, starts and ends with its titular subject on a stage. Illuminated by sharp, colourful lighting, his every move is watched by a packed crowd of hundreds, maybe even thousands. But the public profile of Agassi, an internationally-acclaimed star in the world of gay porn, only tells half the story. Filmed over eight years, Heymann’s fly-on-the-wall approach chronicles Agassi’s swift, awards-laden ascent to the top of the industry, from his native Tel Aviv to Berlin where he also finds work as an escort. But his rise is bittersweet: behind the door of his very ordinary apartment in the German capital, behind the fame, fortune and flamboyance, lies a compelling story about a man battling depression, drug addiction and past identity struggles. It’s here where Heymann’s lens lingers longest, capturing with striking honesty the spiralling effects of Agassi’s eccentric, demanding lifestyle. At first, the porn industry offers liberation from the pain of an adolescent life marred by ridicule and bullying: a platform upon which he can finally find a true sense of himself. As his story unravels, however, and painful personal details come to light — an emotionally distant brother; an estranged father — it becomes a veil to paper over the cracks of a troubled, lonely existence. This is far from a cutting indictment of Agassi’s occupation, however (though the film is never blind to the very real risk of exploitation it brings). It is, rather, crafted as an intricate, intriguing character study about a man on the verge of self-destruction. One scene late on, shot with distressing rawness, shows Agassi experiencing a particularly unpleasant comedown. As his body writhes on the floor and his wails echo about the room, it is a sobering reminder of how appearances can so often be deceiving. In the end, Heymann’s film remains hopeful. Beyond the warm intimacy that emanates from Agassi’s regular Skype calls and shopping trips with his adoring mother — a love that transcends stigma and sexuality — there’s a strong feeling that the film itself carries an important catharsis for its subject. “It seems I am all the things I say I’m not” a teary-eyed Agassi finally admits. And, in that sense, the film’s title lives up to its promise. Jonathan Agassi might have just saved his own life. Flickering Myth Rating – Film: ★ ★ ★ / Movie: ★ ★ ★ ★ George Nash is a freelance film journalist. Follow him on Twitter via @_Whatsthemotive for movie musings, puns and cereal chatter. |
