Movie Review: “Honeyglue” Sets A New Low For Cancer Dramas

[yasr_overall_rating]
 

After learning she only has three months to live, Morgan flips her conservative protected life upside down. That is where she meets Jordan, a rebellious gender-defying artist, who takes her on adventure of a lifetime.

I have always had a big issue with cancer dramas. For whom are they made, and why? If you have a terminal disease, and the main character lives at the end, it may give you false hope, the last thing you need. If the central protagonist dies, then it just reiterates the point that struggle/hope is futile for us all. If you don’t have a terminal disease, whatever the outcome of the film, it reminds you that it can happen to you any day.

There are so many of them, too. “Love Story,” “Sweet November,” “Stepmom,” “My Sister’s Keeper” and the recent “The Fault in Our Stars,” with its “you-have-to-see-it-to-believe-it Anne Frank sequence,” instantly come to mind as the most jarring. While some valiantly try to sidestep sentimentality and deal with the subject sensitively (if you MUST watch a cancer film, see “Terms of Endearment” (which is at least well-written, acted and directed) or “50/50” (which is at least somewhat funny), the disease, like intellectual disability (see – or rather don’t: “The Other Sister,” “I Am Sam”), or faith (see – or rather don’t: “God’s Not Dead,” “Miracles from Heaven”) is the trickiest of subjects; those films’ borderline-offensive, relentless mushiness blatantly manipulating one into sobbing and/or gagging. They pander to their respective demos, capitalizing on the most personal of issues by stomping them to death. It’s cruel and incredibly offensive.

One can never depict, in 2 hours or less, what it’s truly like to face certain death, to slowly deteriorate, to feel yourself disappear. (Sidenote: Michael Haneke came closest with his heart-shredding “Amour” – but it dealt with Death head-on, artfully, inspiring profound existential rumination, and he is the only filmmaker I can think of that can pull off such a feat). I’m still struggling to find a reason for why one would even attempt such an endeavor. James Bird clearly had good intentions – and the guts – to contribute to the aforementioned line-up of terminal-illness features. His laughably terrible “gender-defying” cancer drama “Honeyglue” further reiterates my point. I have absolutely nothing against gay-themed films, but do YOU want to see a “gender-defying” cancer drama? Case closed.

This one may actually be worth a look, just for how disastrously misguided it is. From the get go, it unabashedly dives into phoniness, with Morgan (Adriana Mather) and Jordan (Zach Villa) making a suicide video, “a farewell video to our family,” followed by the oh-so-poignant credits: “A dragonfly’s lifespan is three months long. In that lifetime, our love story takes place.” (Can’t you just see the filmmaking team, arduously researching the lifespans of different animals, until one stumbles upon the dragonfly, which also – gasp! – happens to be a phrase some transgender people use to refer to themselves – BINGO!) Lo and behold, the damn dragonfly gets another shout-out less than 2 minutes later, in a boisterous techno nightclub, during the following “lyrical meet-cute” that had me in stitches: “What are you?” “What do you mean, what am I?” “Are you a dragonfly?” “I look like an insect?” “Like a dragonfly.” This dialogue, which would make Charlie Kaufman implode with envy, goes on, but I’ll spare you the juicy details (or let you discover them yourselves – unless you have paint drying or grass growing that requires your immediate attention).

After a night of clubbin’ and making out, Morgan and the “rebellious gender-defying artist” Jordan (by the way, note the subtle symbolism in their name similarity – very much in line with the whole “gender-defying” theme) exchange numbers “I’ll always remember this night, kissing the very attractive boy-girl,” Morgan says sexily. “It’s girl-boy,” comes the solemn response. “Your 8s looks like 9s,” he then says, watching her scribble the number. “My 9s look like 8s,” she corrects him. Excuse me while I go wash out all the metaphorical stench out of my mouth. Turns out, Jordan stole Morgan’s wallet – on her birthday, no less, which – you guessed it – happens to be on the same day as his – and proceeds to converse with a bee (no joke!) in the shockingly empty nightclub parking lot, before absconding to his tent on a high-rise roof.

Next day, a doctor informs Morgan’s distressed parents Dennis (Christopher Heyerdahl) and Janet (Jessica Tuck) of the grave news: Morgan’s cancer is spreading – and fast. “I’m afraid it’s irreversible,” the doctor says oh-so-gently. “The swelling in her brain is only going to get worse…It’s difficult to say how long…Three months, maybe…” What a bomb to drop! Bailey (Booboo Stewart), Morgan’s brother, doesn’t want to “hear this shit” and storms off, while the parents weep at the futility of it all.

Jordan returns Morgan’s wallet, and a romance ensues, filled with all the aspects you’d expect in a love story between a transgender artist and a cancer-stricken patient: prejudice (racism, sexism, ageism, metabolism – you name it, it’s here), high-pitched melodrama that makes “The Young and the Restless” seem Fincher-esque by comparison – and dragged-out, painful scenes of atrocious acting. Adriana Mather fares worst in the central role, her lips barely moving when she tries to emote, her expressions static as her character disintegrates on screen. The fact that Zach Villa, his character an embodiment of every “gay artist” cliché in the book, pulls off some of his lines and actually casts a semblance of an impression in this dreck just makes me wish he were in a project better suited to his talents. Poor guy. He valiantly tries – and fails – to develop any chemistry with his on-screen partner. The rest of the cast have seen better days too, especially the great Amanda Plummer, stuck here in a thankless role as Alice, Jordan’s trailer-trash mother.

There are too many ill-judged sequences to count; in fact, I don’t think there was a single moment that worked. There’s the scene of Morgan playing Inspector Clouseau with the “dragonfly boy” that is so atrocious you really kinda have to see it to believe it. Same applies to the dinner scene, where Morgan introduces Jordan to her family, the camera wildly spinning around the table as if it were on drugs. “Honeyglue”’s poor production values are especially apparent in the animated interludes, which hammer the film’s themes into your head remorselessly.

The sub-plot involving Jordan owing money to his ex-girlfriend Misty (a shrill Fernanda Romero) drags the film further into the pits of hell. The obligatory head-shaving sequence is scored to the worst-possible song they could have picked. There is a wedding ceremony – another musical montage of archival footage designed to melt your heartstrings but instead plucking at them till they’re shredded. Morgan and Jordan’s wedding night is yet another lovemaking montage (there are 398 montages in this film). At the end they become “outlaw bandits,” and the film completely skids off the rails (it involves a kidnapping, and the most idiotic request ever committed to celluloid). And really, shut the fuck up about the damn dragonflies already – it’s bringing back memories of that horrid 2003 Kevin Costner film, which doesn’t help matters at all! I threw up more times during “Honeyglue” than its protagonist did from the chemotherapy.

As for the dialogue, I’ll just let the following Shakespearean verses speak for themselves: “It’s not what I got, it’s what I want.” “And what is that?” “You.” (Gag reflex, full throttle!); “He expresses himself, that’s what’s important. Not everyone is brave enough to do that.” (True that!); “It’s about self-liberation, freeing yourself from the shackles of conformity.” (How poetic!); “Morgan is a gay lesbian.” “I’m so confused – does that mean he’s a straight homosexual?” (I’m confused too, but for many other reasons); “I have a brain tumor.” “A brain tumor? Like what, a tumor in your brain?” (No silly, I’m talking about unicorn confetti); “What happened to your face?” “Someone broke my heart, and it spread to my face.” (Hahahaha!); “I just want to put her back inside me so we can start all over again.” (Yuck!); “She needs to be outside so she can fly” (No comment on this one) … One line particularly reminded me of a scene from the classic comedy “Airplane”: “Jordan, have you ever been arrested?” (“Have you ever seen a grown man naked, Billy?”)

No amount of good will can save this repetitive film from being an utter bomb, an insulting, confused mess that displays zero understanding of what it truly feels like to rapidly approach the inevitable. Based on this evidence, director James Bird (who also wrote and produced) should stick to his day job…let’s just hope it has nothing to do with oncology.

“Honeyglue” opens in New York June 3rd & L.A. June 10th