I am not aware how strong is the state of repression and bigotry that governs or not Caribbean societies, but the director and writer of this film is a Bahamian; it is then a shame that the way he addresses these issues derives from a sitcom approach. This is enough to stall matters into a regressive political state.
The boys share a nice dance, and dancing the way they do it, popping out of bed instead of doing the sex routine, and do "how they feel like", as one of the two admonishes, is something we do not come to expect from gay themed movies. This much is true. It is also true that the soundtrack is good, but it is like it does all the work that should be put into a more cinematic approach.
The stories do not interconnect, they are left on the device of some sort of nebulous plea that should run by itself. And then, at the film's final spin, the script abandons its spine for an unabashed melodramatic, quasi-metaphysical last seal that brings the house down.
We then gather lines spoken before that foreground that sentimentalized last installment that comes out of and into the blue. This is bad, and it is a pity because the two leads are good, though Jonny Ferro is better by far.
And then the summer-drenched cinematography proves that colors only are God's children in this film, and humans fail to connect with them, unless it is at the moment of their death. This does not sing the blues, it is just irrelevant.
The boys share a nice dance, and dancing the way they do it, popping out of bed instead of doing the sex routine, and do "how they feel like", as one of the two admonishes, is something we do not come to expect from gay themed movies. This much is true. It is also true that the soundtrack is good, but it is like it does all the work that should be put into a more cinematic approach.
The stories do not interconnect, they are left on the device of some sort of nebulous plea that should run by itself. And then, at the film's final spin, the script abandons its spine for an unabashed melodramatic, quasi-metaphysical last seal that brings the house down.
We then gather lines spoken before that foreground that sentimentalized last installment that comes out of and into the blue. This is bad, and it is a pity because the two leads are good, though Jonny Ferro is better by far.
And then the summer-drenched cinematography proves that colors only are God's children in this film, and humans fail to connect with them, unless it is at the moment of their death. This does not sing the blues, it is just irrelevant.