Somewhere deep in the recesses of The Criterion Channel is a bunch of obscure cinema that has filled the past few years with memorable nights. Somewhere just past Working Girls (1986) and Variety (1983) is a film that piqued my interest late one night. Closing in at roughly 75 minutes, Kamikaze Hearts (1986) was an indie film about queer artists in the porn industry. Reading reviews, I became intrigued by the idea that it was a mix of documentary realism with narrative fiction. Somewhere in there was a greater truth about what it meant to be a performer. Not only that, but it was a conversation with their lover and the struggles to feel connected to someone who is always playing a part.
I was colored intrigued for many reasons. For starters, I grew up on mockumentaries and find the idea of blurring realism and fiction to be a fruitful topic in the right hands. While we haven’t had too many great examples outside of Sacha Baron Cohen, I think those who can infuse reality with a chaos agent can reveal some greater truth about life. To be honest, I wasn’t completely sure what to expect, but I had to assume that if it’s made it this far after 40 years, it was saying something meaningful, whether about the industry it was depicting or the greater human condition.
To kick things off, one thing should be known about myself. I am fascinated by people who are publicly vulnerable and capable of expressing themselves in ways that put them at risk of ridicule. It’s not in a way of pitying them, but maybe an attempt to create deeper empathy and understand how someone feels free of moral constraints. How does one free themselves from what holds the rest back? On some level, I think I become too engrossed in wishing I could understand the metaphysical nature of every nerve ending, and how a body reacts to the stimulation that I could never achieve. It’s impossible, and yet through cinema, we can at least attempt to get close.
Kamikaze Hearts is a fascinating movie. I know that the notion when somebody hears that the protagonist is a lesbian porn star named Sharon Mitchell (a.k.a. Mitch) to think this is closer to smut than commentary, but that is to ignore some realities that director Juliet Bashore wants to explore. It’s the same logic that Paul Thomas Anderson and Ninja Thyburg would later delve into with differing success: these are all just people trying to make a living. The framework of the film within a film is the opera Carmen. As they film different acts, the score plays in the background on a vinyl player. I’m not too versed in said opera to provide a play-by-play, but I have to believe that there are artful layers to this story. Even as every line feels improvised and 80% of the run time feels like more of a behind-the-scenes hangout, there is some sense of obligation to the craft. It’s where Mitch and her lover Tigr’s real conflict begins to arise.
Unless something happened while my head was turned, there are no penetrative acts in the film. Even as scenes are shot and characters enact pleasure, Bashore is more interested in an invisible kind of pleasure that may or may not be there. To her, these are just performers with bodies. They’re often caught in between erotic states, forced to contemplate what it means to feel confident in their sexuality. There’s even discussion of attempting to break free of pornography and go mainstream. While the audience never sees that potential glory, they do get exposure to the mundanity of a film set. There are endless mishaps. The make-up crew is constantly reapplying work and flirting with the performers. It’s full of small moments that reflect other sacrifices, such as patience, to make the shots work.
If there’s anything penetrative about the film, it comes on an emotional level. Even as characters bare all, there is little sense of genuine pleasure to be found. The framework of the film is about fact and fiction, and nobody embodies that better than Mitch. Something is mesmerizing about a character who nowadays would be considered genderqueer trying to keep people guessing about how they feel. There is never a sense that the audience understands who they are except for the fact that they’ll do anything for attention. In a sense, performing is their drug and they need to be high on it at all moments. If they can get someone to have a reaction, then it’ll have been worth it. Throughout various monologues, Mitch discusses an addiction to being on film without being able to look at the camera, as if it’s akin to staring into the viewer’s soul. To them, porn may be the most personal form of acting one can do but it’s also more about the sensations and desires that come with being looked at. As a result, Mitch will pull her legs over her head for a few dollars or flirt with just about anyone in the cast. There is something so impersonal that they cease to feel real even as they’re the core of the story.
Tigr, on the other hand, is less likely to fall under the crowd-pleasing antics. The most interesting moments of Kamikaze Hearts are the ones where Mitch and Tigr are stuck away from the crew just talking about their love life. Both have a sense of aimlessness that is keeping them from greater potential. They want to believe that this career will one day end and “real life” will start, but it’s all so hopeless. Rights for LGBTQIA+ members in the 1980s were worse than it is today. At best it would involve both having to do better jobs lying to themselves in public and avoiding potentially being outed. All they have to some extent is each other, and that’s tragically the hardest glob of glue holding them together.
It may be why Tigr is the tragic figure. As the audience is potentially mesmerized by the industry and production of this film, she is left in a bit of disillusionment. There are shady directors with notorious addiction struggles. They hide behind the quip of “I pay the bills, so do as I say” despite being otherwise unlikable and a bit abusive. They claim to have answers, but it’s evident that nobody does. As a woman, she is used to being undermined and have her only praised for her body. Even then, she looks at Mitch and wonders what value it even has. This is supposed to be lesbian porn, so why is a presumably heterosexual male pervert in charge? So much of the framework falls apart and suddenly what starts as this wonderful carnality devolves into loneliness and isolation. It’s less about any fulfillment in completing this story and more about just surviving. For what is not clear.
Again, the use of bodies in the film is less for any exploitative purpose. Even as actresses appear naked on screen for lengthy periods, it is less for any pornographic use. It is more to reflect the levels of vulnerability that they face. The few moments of sexual pleasure in the film are simulated, creating a sense that what’s underneath is fake or misleading. Given that Tigr is often stuck watching Mitch in that state is intriguing because there’s not really a sense of jealousy over that. Instead, it’s more a sense that despite Mitch’s acting for the camera, Tigr is getting just as much raw honesty as her co-star. No matter where they are, Mitch is hiding something that makes Tigr very insecure.
What helps to make the story work is that every level of this film has a conversation about realism and artifice. Many could argue the subject of porn is the greatest example of this as performers often have to hide emotions to sell a scene for an audience they’ll most likely never meet. The fact that the entire cast is made up of actors in the industry only furthers that debate. It adds something impersonal and even exploitative even in the best scenarios. There has to be a willingness of self to break free of the artifice of doing it for yourself and realize a public audience is now in control. It’s the same for the central romance that exists amid a cast of innocent bystanders just having fun and composing endless conversations that are a delight to drop in on. In a different world, Kamikaze Hearts could be even longer as it creates a fly-on-the-wall approach for less relevant plot beats to form. As it stands, it captures the anxiety of feeling alone in a room, as if your talents are only there for consumerism and not some actual appreciation.
Then, of course, the idea of documentary has always been up for question. Years before, Orson Welles made one of the quintessential pseudo-mockumentaries with F for Fake (1973) where he told the audience he would only tell the truth for an hour before shifting into fiction. Given that there was a small wave of similar films like This Is Spinal Tap (1984), I have to believe Kamikaze Hearts is a more renegade version that is trying to take a real intellectual discourse around not only whether its documentary technique means everything is real, but if they can find truth within fiction. By having the actors improvise, are they saying something greater? It’s staged in a lot of sense, but what are the limits? Blending all of this together only adds to the surrealness of an industry that can be cruel and consume the innocent when they’re not aware. If you don’t have a good head about yourself, odds are that fiction will blur with reality way too quickly and your whole life will be lost. It's something that may feel true for pornography, but can be for any profession in general.
I think another reason that Kamikaze Hearts is an excellent movie worth discovering is simply because I don’t think I’ve seen queer representation like this before. With the caveat that I haven’t seen a lot of 20th-century queer cinema, I have tried to fill in the gaps where I can and usually find my heart beating extra fast when I find one that “gets it.” I’m talking about a film that captures the longing and desires of what it means to be alive and be more than your identity. Mitch and Tigr are explicitly queer with Mitch possibly even showing signs of transmasculinity. They work in an industry that is taboo already but is even more niche for them. With that said, each character is flawed, and even as they try to separate work from personal, they inevitably intertwine with a documentary filming their every move. Suddenly there isn’t a moment to turn off the camera and be extra vulnerable. You have to just go for it, and it can come at the cost of being judged. After all, how many times has someone acted irrationally less because of their mindset and more because they felt suffocated by a public audience?
I’ll openly admit that the end of the film saddles a bit on the bleak side, though even then I don’t think that Bashore is necessarily anti-porn. If anything, Kamikaze Hearts attempts to demystify it and allow viewers to consider the humans behind the entertainment. They are more than objects. They’re people attempting to live rich and full lives, but often feel stuck because of social stigmatization. It’s a tough road to lead and presumably for those involved here, it’s the one that made the most sense. Everyone is trying to stay real, but what is real when making fiction? In a landscape of metafictional cinema, this one stands out for how I come away unsure of where the lines are really drawn. Do the characters love each other? Is what they’re making presumably art? Will there be a more optimistic second act? For something that lasts only 76 minutes, it manages to linger with a triumphant force.
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