It might not surprise you to know that John Cameron Mitchell begins this interview in bed. Not his own bed, but a queen-size at the InterContinental Hotel in Toronto, where he was promoting the North American premiere of his latest film, Shortbus, just last month.
It also might not surprise you to know that Mitchell -- a performer/director renowned for his work in New York's drag/indie/art-house scene -- is not in bed alone. Rather, he lolls in the sheets with his leading lady and friend, the actress and CBC Radio host, Sook-Yin Lee.
Lee and Mitchell are not having sex, of course -- Mitchell is gay and Lee, by her own self-deprecating admission, is "repressed" -- they are posing for a photographer. The film they're promoting is all about sexual freedom and love, so the John-and-Yoko setup seems fitting. Several minutes later, once the cameras have packed up and Lee has kissed him goodbye, Mitchell resumes his director role, in a stiff-backed wing chair near the window.
He is soft-spoken and slight, with none of the theatrical affectations one might expect of the man who spent years playing a transsexual Euro glam rocker in Hedwig and the Angry Inch, first off-Broadway and then in the acclaimed movie version (which he also directed and wrote).
Dressed in a little boy's striped jumper, jeans and socks, Mitchell exudes a bashful innocence that suggests he's a bit of loner. A quiet misfit. It's an assessment he doesn't dispute -- one that gets to the heart of his latest film.
"I grew up a freak as a military brat in a very conservative Catholic environment," he says. "Even if I wasn't gay I probably would have felt like a freak. Everyone feels like a freak at some point. Everyone's ridden the shortbus at some point in their lives."
It's this sense of isolation -- and connection -- through intimacy and sex that Mitchell explores in the movie, an ensemble piece about a random group of New Yorkers who gather at a sexual salon (named Shortbus).
"All the people in the film are trying to connect. And yet the metaphor of the orgasm comes to represent the only place where you're truly alone. On paper being alone seems a lot easier. It just seems so impossible in practice. As does being with someone, and yet it's ideal at the same time. All of the characters are asking themselves, are they going to be alone or not?"
While Mitchell, 43, is sweet-voiced and philosophical, his movie begins brazenly -- with the hard-core stuff. "I knew people would be waiting for the sex so I wanted to get it out of the way up front," he says with a smile.
Imagine, if you will, an extremely flexible young man fellating himself, followed by an even longer scene in which Lee and Raphael Barker, who plays her husband, have sex -- with full penetration -- in various locales in their home including the floor, the doorframe and a stability ball.
Taking a page from Mitchell's book, I also cut right to the chase. Why, I want to know, was it necessary for the actors to have real live sex -- an act that can so easily be simulated for the cameras?
"I'd turn the question around and say, why is there an assumption that it shouldn't be in the film? No one says 'Why did the actor need to cry there? Why couldn't they have simulated it with menthol drops?' So by the same token, when you ask, 'Did you really need to penetrate?' Well, no. But I'd argue that the audience can tell whether the emotion is real. And if they don't buy it they step out and say, 'Oh God, here comes another fake sex scene.' "
Still, it was the rehearsal and audition process that was perhaps the most unusual part of this very unusual film. After casting a group of actors and non-actors (all of whom responded to a classified ad seeking performers willing to have sex on camera), Mitchell gathered the 40 finalists in a Lower East Side theatre, played a giant game of spin the bottle and showed them one another's audition tapes. They were then asked to grade each other according to sexual attractiveness on a scorecard.
Once the main players were chosen, Mitchell gathered his cast together for a few weeks in a loft. There they played games, fooled around, did trust exercises, and developed the story, which Mitchell took away and wrote as a script.
As for the sex, Mitchell remains unfazed. "Why is it necessary? Why is any art necessary? If it works for people, it works, if it doesn't, it doesn't. It's just another paint in the paint box. A particularly charged one because of the culture we live in."
