Hasta La Gadget!

NEW YORK — Born in the suburbs of Seattle to a close-knit middle-class American family, Omar said he felt pressure to live up to his family’s expectations, as a man and as a Muslim.

An award-winning queer filmmaker is producing a series of short documentary-style films that examine the dynamics surrounding modern day gay culture, particularly in terms of online dating and dating apps.

From filmmaker Tim Marshall comes “TORSO,” a new international film experiment exploring the world behind the online gay community — one torso at a time. Through the documentation of brave and honest interviews, Marshall wants to shed light on the lives of these men beyond their dating profiles and break down body image stereotypes.

“TORSO” started in Sydney, Australia in 2013 and continued shooting throughout 2014 in Reykjavik, Iceland and, recently, Los Angeles. The Sydney series is available for viewing online and the Los Angeles series will premiere as an interactive installation in July as part of Outfest Los Angeles.

In order to better understand “TORSO” and the filmmaker’s goals with this project, the Huffington Post chatted with Marshall this past week about his work.

The Huffington Post: What inspired this project?
Tim Marshall: Whilst living in Australia and using online gay dating apps, I would constantly find myself feeling inadequate. I do not have “the perfect body,” and being on these apps began to bring out insecurities about that. I would think, maybe I do need to get a personal trainer and start guzzling protein drinks so I can have a body that is stereotypically “desirable” to gay men.

The other thing that I noticed was starting to set in with my constant use of these apps was a tendency to make quick judgements and assumptions about people. I know a lot of guys who are guilty of sharing around people’s less than perfect Grindr profile photos with their friends and joking and laughing about it together.

I realized, with the immediacy and nonchalance of the new types of connection now available to us, maybe we are becoming disconnected from the human behind the pixels in a profile picture. If you can’t sell yourself in the space of a small pixelated square, you may end up feeling a lot of rejection.

I wanted to explore this new world of gay dating and sex culture and look at both its personal implications and universal experiences. I also wanted to address the diversity of physicality within the gay community and celebrate that.

What did you learn from doing this project?
I lost so much of my bitterness towards these apps by undertaking this project. By exploring the humanity within these apps, I made some wonderful connections and had the privilege of hearing many incredible stories. Although some people recounted having lots of negative experiences in online/app-based dating, there was also, conversely, so much positivity. These new communication technologies have facilitated life-long friendships, have created easy ways for individuals to connect with and find support within their communities, and have also helped people start to feel confident about themselves where they may have been judging themselves harshly, and were surprised to find they attracted people who they were convinced were “out of their league.”

I also learned that nearly everyone has been tricked by someone on a gay dating app at some point — for instance, having a guy show up at their house who looks nothing like their picture (or is significantly older). One guy even had someone tell him he was 19 online, only to confess that he was 45 right before they were going to meet. You’re obviously thinking, How did he think he would get away with it? Multiple people told me that when a person shows up at their house looking nothing like their picture, they feel so awkward about confronting them about it that instead of risking a confrontation, they just go through with having sex with him, letting him get away with the lie! Of course there are also plenty of guys out there who have no problem telling someone to leave if they feel deceived.

What was the most surprising thing you discovered throughout the course of production?
I was pleasantly surprised by the honesty of the individuals I interviewed. People were willing to be so candid with me about their experiences. I think the anonymity of the project helped with this. Quite often at the end of the interview, I would have the guy tell me if they felt empowered by this experience. I ask everyone I interview to tell me about their torso. The answer I almost always get is “it needs more work” or “I’m trying to get a better torso.” When I show them the footage, the response is often, “Oh I actually look pretty good!” Not surprisingly, we are our own biggest judge.

Something else that surprised me was the difficulty I had finding men with extremely muscular and “gym fit” torsos to be involved. Many other individuals were eager to have their say about the gay world online — how it perpetuated or shattered stereotypes about body image, and how it personally affected them. Although, to be fair, to all the really muscular guys who ignored me, I should be clear that I am only finding participants to be involved in the project by contacting them on these online gay dating apps, and many people find it strange that instead of asking for a “dick pic” I was asking to come around to their house and film them with their shirt off (and NO it’s not porn, much to the disappointment of some men).

I’d also like to comment on the upcoming premiere of the Los Angeles TORSO series. The series will premiere as an interactive transmedia installation. Audiences will engage with the series through an app that simulates the Grindr experience on iPads in a cinema foyer. Watching these interviews is a personal one-on-one experience, similar to using the gay dating apps. I want to comment on and get the audience thinking about the casual aesthetic choices and judgments we make, and I love the idea that people may choose what interview to watch on the app based solely on the appearance of a person’s torso. I also want this series to begin to document an important and fascinating time in digital interaction. I expect everyone will be surprised by the stories they encounter.

TORSO Los Angeles will be free to view in the REDCAT foyer July 18 and 19. Check out one of the TORSO series’ videos above and then for more info and to watch other clips, head here.

I had been at my friend’s house in the city for a fun evening with a dynamic group of women who had gathered there, and it was a beautiful night. The weather had been pretty miserable and rainy for the preceding days and the stillness of the air amidst the bustling Manhattan streets was both welcome and refreshing. My husband had been at an event in the city that evening as well and was planning to pick me up. He was in Midtown and I was on the Upper West Side. We both thought that he’d be done first, but there was a long wait to get his car from the parking garage. And so I began to walk.

I’ll just start walking South on Amsterdam and you drive North whenever you get the car. We will probably cross paths somewhere around 72nd, where it intersects with Broadway, I texted him.

Sounds good, he responded.

And my shoes were relatively comfortable (for wedges), and I walked these familiar streets, marveling both at how much had changed and how much more had not in the eight years since we had moved out of Manhattan and made our home in the suburbs. The memorial chapel where I had attended the funeral for the grandfather of my childhood best friend was still there, as was the restaurant across the street where I went on one of my worst first dates. There was a new yogurt place, a nail salon I had frequented often when we still lived in the city, a wine store in the same location as before that had since been renamed, and yet another new yogurt place.

I’m in the car and will be heading up 8th. Where are you? He inquired.

Low 70’s on Broadway. I wrote back.

Stop wherever you are right now, and I’ll come get you, he texted me.

I walked the remainder of the block to get to a corner, making it easier to let him know exactly where I was and to get a better view of his car as he came up the street. As the neon sign got closer, I began to smile. I’m here. I thought. Of course, I’d end up here. I took a picture of the diner on the corner and sent it to him.

I’m here!

Be right there.

It was the West Side Restaurant at 69th and Broadway. Our place. The scene of our first date — quite unofficial, and yet seemingly out of every romantic comedy that ever starred the likes of Tom Hanks, Julia Roberts, Hugh Grant, Meg Ryan, John Cusack or Rene Zellweger (though not all at once).

It wasn’t supposed to be a date. I know this, because I wouldn’t have been wearing ratty old pajamas,or taken my makeup off first. It was pouring. It was 4 o’clock in the morning. It was the two of us laughing as this veritable stranger, a friend of friends of mine, held an umbrella over my head and I groaned as I stepped one of my flip-flopped feet into one of the murky puddles that had formed.

We sat in a booth by the window and I paid no attention to the fact that my hair was piled atop my head in a messy bun as we stayed there talking from the dark hours into the light. I had pancakes drenched in syrup and he had scrambled eggs and french fries. The sun rose. The rain stopped. We kept talking.

Neither of us will say that it was love at first sight, but we will both confidently say that it was something. There was something there. A spark. Chemistry. A recognition that this was different than anything either of us had experienced before.

We spent three hours in that booth in the early-morning hours of Labor Day of 2002.

And then we dated, got engaged, got married, bought a house in the suburbs, had a baby, had another baby. And it was all so easy. And it was the hardest thing either of us had ever experienced. Our hearts soared and our hearts were broken — both at the hands of others, of fate, of each other. And romance fizzles as you concentrate on the kids, on your job, on your mortgage, on real life.

And you think he’s forgotten it all because he’s not the romantic type.

And sometimes you think he’s forgotten you.

And then it’s your 35th birthday and you find yourself hoping he’ll go all out and make a big deal. That he has some grand gesture planned, despite knowing that’s not his thing. But you hope so anyway because it’s your thing.

And he’s noncommittal on how you should dress and just says nice and tells you that whatever you pick out will be fine. And what in the damn hell does that mean? It’s right up there with festive, or party attire. And you tell your friends that you have no idea what he has planned when they ask in the days leading up to your birthday. And you feel ridiculous building this up in your head because it’s so trivial but you do it anyway because that’s who you are and it’s what you do. And he says it’s a surprise and when you get in the car and realize he’s taking you to Manhattan in your sort-of fancy outfit you find yourself getting excited that maybe he is planning something big and begin thinking of Michelin stars and amuse bouche and multiple courses.

And he parks the car. And you begin walking together. And you are running late because the kids took a little longer saying goodbye and goodnight before you left and you’re concerned about missing the reservation but he assures you that it will be fine. And he still won’t tell you where you’re heading as you listen to your heels click-clack on the uneven sidewalk.

And then you round a corner and you are here. And you begin to cry a little when you realize that it will not be fancy and there will be no amuse bouche and most certainly no Michelin star chef and that you are supremely overdressed.

And it could not be more perfect.

And that he remembered.

And that he remembers you.

And though there are no reservations at New York City diners, he had called ahead to ask them to save us that booth.

And I had pancakes drenched in syrup and he had scrambled eggs and french fries.

And my fancy birthday dinner came to $26 (with tip).

And there wasn’t anywhere else I would have wanted to be, given the choice.

Just as there is no place I want to be than across from him in that booth, or in that car the other night.

Or any other night.

This post originally appeared on Scary Mommy.
You can follow Jamie at JamieKrugAuthor.com, as well as on Facebook, Twitter and Instagram.

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