"Vacation": Skyler Gisondo as the victim in a cringy homophobic scene, with adult penises to make up for subjecting you to it

 

I didn't see the original National Lampoon's Vacation (1983), due to the vocal homophobia of star Chevy Chase.   I'm definitely not going to watch the sequel, Vacation (2015), in which  Rusty, the kid in the original (Ed Helms), tries to take his family on the same woebegotten journey.  Richard Roeper called it "a vile, odious disaster populated with unlikable, dopey characters bumbling through mean-spirited set pieces that rely heavily on slapstick fight scenes, scatological sight gags and serial vomiting."  Plus the plot synopsis looks horribly heterosexist, with eldest son James (Skyler Gisondo) in search of the Girl of His Dreams.  But I am going to check for beefcake, and then review a horribly homophobic scene that I found by accident on youtube

Beefcake: James shows his chest (top photo). Stone Crandall (Chris Hemsworth), married to Rusty's sister, walks around in his underwear, displaying a bulge.  Plus he "accidentally" displays his penis in a vacation photo.

On to the cringy homophobic scene: 

 The family is staying at a sleazy motel.  James plays his guitar at the sleazy hot tub.  A girl drops by to flirt with him.  

Medina: I have a penis.

James (shocked, transphobic): What?  Um...

Medina: It's written  on your guitar.  

He explains that his brother wrote it there as a prank, and goes on to make his move, Just then, Dad shows up (but Medina thinks that it's just a random perv)

Dad/Perv: I'm just a stranger passing through town, but I couldn't help noticing how incredibly handsome this young man is. You got a girlfriend?  Or boyfriend, heterosexist idiot  -- but then, Dad probably knows that his son is straight.

James: (Painfully embarrassed.) No.

Dad/Perv: No girlfriend?  Cute boy like that, somebody's gonna snatch you up.

Medina (to James): Do you want me to call the cops?  

James: No.  Dad/Perv hasn't done anything illegal yet.  But...why doesn't James tell the girl that it's his Dad, being embarrassing?

Dad/Perv: And he plays guitar. Dream boy!  Make a muscle!

Skyler: I'd rather not.

Dad/Perv: Take your shirt off, make a muscle.  Don't be shy -- show us what we're working with.  

As Dad/Perv approaches the hot tub, Medina asks James if he'll be ok, and scrams.  

Dad: Dang it!

James: Dad, why would you do that?

Dad: I saw you talking to her, and figured you could use a wing man. Oy!

In most U.S. states, it is a crime to propose sexual activity to someone under the age of consent or expose them to erotic material.  Commenting on their erotic desirability is technically legal, unless you are their parent, teacher, or in a position of authority.  Skyler Gisondo here is 18 or 19, but his character is 14.  Dad is pushing the boundaries of legality, and has gone far beyond what is appropriate. 

Left: 17-year old bodybuilder. Attractive, but not hot until next year.

 

This exchange keys into the myth that gay men are all hanging around schoolyards, trying to pick up teenagers (ephebophilia)  -- or 12 year olds (pedophilia)  

Another review says: "All homophobic, xenophobic, scatological grossout, with some rape and pedophilia “jokes” for flavor."  You mean it gets worse?

Grown-up penises after the break:

"Double Vision": Based on the Foreigner song, with nude pics of Gideon and Keefe

Gideon has had a crush on Keefe for two years.  During the Kelvin/Keefe breakup, he sees his chance to move out of the friend zone. He hopes.

Feelin' down and dirty

Feelin kinda mean

I've been from one to the other extreme

Fill my eyes with that double vision.

No disguise for that double vision.

When  it gets through to me, it's always new to me

My double vision gets the best of me

Today I had a good time,

But I ain't got time to wait

I want to stick around till I can't see straight

More after the break

Indiana University: My first visit to an adult bookstore

I "figured it out" during my senior year in high school, but my real "coming out" was at the beginning of my first year in grad school at Indiana University.

As an undergraduate at Augustana College, I had worked hard, very hard, to find gay people, and I found a few -- my ex boyfriend Fred; an Episcopal priest in Des Moines; Prfessor Burton, who held handcuff parties for campus hunks.  You had to go through word of mouth, through a friend of a friend of a friend.

Now I was at a vast university with 40,000 students, and as far as I could tell from conversations and signals and interests, every single one of them was heterosexual.

My friends, classmates, and coworkers all, without exception, maintained the "what girl do you like?" whine of my childhood.  I had to leave Playboy magazines in my room, and think of logical reasons why I didn't have a girl on my arm every second.

My classes were as empty of gay references as they had been at Augustana.  Every writer who had ever lived was heterosexual.  Every poem ever written was written from man to women.  The Eternal Feminine infused all our lives.

And, as far as I knew, this was the way life was everywhere and for everyone.  A vast emptiness, hiding, pretending, unyielding silence.

That Saturday night I had been watching Silver Spoons and Mama's Family in the 13th floor tv lounge of Eigenmann Hall.  At 9:00, my roommate Jon said "Let's go to the grad student mixer.  I'm hot to get laid tonight."

I had no interest in getting laid.  At least, not as Jon understood it.  But I walked with him across the vast, silent campus, past empty buildings, past towers of Indiana limestone erected by heterosexuals long ago, to the Memorial Union, where a party for heterosexual grad students was in session.

Then I said goodbye and went to the campus library.  There were uncountable millions of books in the vast stacks, rooms as long as a football field, but only two listed under "homosexuality" in the card catalog: the memoirs of Tennessee Williams, and Nothing Like the Sun, by Anthony Burgess, about Shakespeare's romance with the Dark Lady of the sonnets.

I walked alone down Kirkwood Avenue, past student bars and little Asian restaurants and hamburger stands.  Just before the Baskin Robbins closed at 10:00, I stopped in and bought an ice cream cone.  Two scoops, strawberry on the bottom and Rocky Road on the top.  30 years later, I still remember that ice cream cone.

There was a gay bar in Rock Island, a dark closet bar with a nondescript name and no windows, where you entered through the back so no one could see you.  But surely Bloomington was too small for such a place.

 I stopped into a weird eclectic bookstore called the White Rabbit. No gay books -- it was illegal to display them openly, as Fred told me when I found his secret bookshelf two years ago.  So I bought a novelization of the 1980 Popeye musical starring Robin Williams, set in the port town of Sweethaven:

Sweet Sweethaven!  God must love us.
Why else would He have stranded us here?

A church tower had a cross that lit up white at night, and I looked up it and prayed "Why did you strand me here?"

I wandered for a long time through quiet residential streets, houses where heterosexual husbands and wives were asleep, their children in the next room surrounded by "what girl do you like?" brainwashing toys and games.  I walked past a public park, but was afraid to go in.  After dark, monsters roamed through the dark swaying trees.

It occurred to me that I was one of the monsters.  After all, being gay was illegal in the United States.  I was a criminal.  (Actually, Indiana's sodomy law was repealed in 1976.)

Somehow I found myself at a small, nondescript building on College Avenue.  The sign on the marquee advertised "Adult Books."

They probably wouldn't stock any gay porn.  But it wouldn't hurt to check.  The most they could do is call me a "fag."

More after the break