John Cameron Mitchell Talks Sex and Cancel Culture

Still, looking back he concedes that, “We were a certain time capsule—I was hoping we’d be a bit more of the future.” If there was little like it before (like Nagisa Ōshima’s 1976 sex-drenched arthouse classic In the Realm of the Senses, to which Shortbus pays explicit tribute in the form of a sex toy used by one character), there’s been less even after. In terms of incorporating actual sex into their narratives, only a few arthouse favs of recent years come to mind: Alain Guiraudie’s Stranger by the Lake in 2013, Gaspar Noé’s 2015 movie Love, and 2014’s Nymphomaniac by Lars von Trier.

The making of Shortbus was as unconventional as its finished form suggests. Mitchell cast via an audition website that went up in 2003, specifically calling for people who were comfortable having sex on camera. His concept was inspired by time he spent at Radical Faerie gatherings (“which have a feeling of a bit of a queer Burning Man”) and his friend Creamy’s CineSalon, where, Mitchell explained, “he’d show films and there’d be group sex.” Shortbus was designed to capture the post-9/11 spirit of New York, during which Mitchell recalled “there was a strange solidarity in New York.”

“There was a kindness for a while there,” he said. Looking back, he described Shortbus as “a bit of a last gasp.” To his point regarding the time-capsule nature of the project, Mitchell observed, “Digital culture and covid has crushed getting into the same room and sex in general.”

Mitchell whittled 500 responses to the audition website down to 40, which was then cut to nine who had major roles in the film. Over the course of about two and a half years, Mitchell worked with his actors on their characters. “I was like, ‘Bring what you want to bring to the character. I will tell you what is interesting if you’re willing to go in that direction,’” he remembered. “And if they didn’t want to: Fine, we go somewhere else.” A structure and script were developed, but once the cameras rolled, the actors were encouraged to absorb the screenplay and then put it into their own words. Mitchell previously described this effect as “more like paraphrasing” than proper improv.

Mitchell, who grew up Catholic, described Shortbus as “my own little therapy, as well.” He “grafted [his] own stuff onto” the character of Jamie (played by Paul Dawson, who famously ejaculates into his own mouth during the opening scene). “I really had complexes about sex and the character of Jamie, who has never been fucked and never let someone inside metaphorically, comes from that,” he said. A gay character who describes himself as a former mayor of New York City, Mitchell said, was inspired by Ed Koch, the allegedly closeted mayor of New York during the dawn of the AIDS epidemic, which ravaged the city (its gay population, in particular) during the ‘80s and ‘90s. Mitchell pointed out that during one of the movie’s salons, a character forgives this former mayor character “whether he deserved it or not.” But did Mitchell forgive Koch, whose inaction was widely interpreted as contributing to needless suffering and death?

“I don’t know. I don’t know him,” answered Mitchell. “Perhaps I was forgiving self-hatred.”

I’VE ALWAYS FELT THAT PORN JUST DIDN’T HAVE ENOUGH BANDWIDTH TO HANDLE THE COMPLEXITY OF SEX.

Notions of forgiveness and its apparent absence were clearly at the forefront of Mitchell’s mind during our conversation, which was rather relaxed and open-ended. I pointed out that though Shortbus is very much about sex, the overall effect of its presence suggests that even after the age of supposed full development, people can change and/or learn new things about themselves. Mitchell mused on this, drifting over to the topic of cancel culture and the perceived current societal imperative of ideological purity. “I’m not a cancel culture person,” he explained. “I believe in taking people out of action who need to be taken out of action. But generally, that involves due process.” He recalled being hit on and harassed as a young (perceived) gay man in Hollywood, “the way a young woman would [be],” and said that at that time, in the mid-‘90s, it was just something one accepted. He’s noticed a paranoia amongst straight friends who worry that they’re toxic, and, responding to this notion, Mitchell suggested that there’s all kinds of toxicity out there: “toxic femininity,” “toxic transness,” “toxic non-binariness.” The last one he apparently felt uniquely equipped to observe “being nonbinary myself.”

“It’s funny. I guess I always was,” he said a bit later regarding his non-binary identity. “I mean, most people, if they really think about it, are. I was terrified of my feminine side till Hedwig, and then Hedwig just kind of loosened me up. My male and female energies are flowing in tandem now. Society, of course, calls them male and female. You might define them the way you want. I’m just not a binary person, you know? Hedwig was more of a plea for non-binaryness than for transness because the character is, you know, mutilated. I am too old to change my pronouns because I can’t remember my phone number, you know? But I applaud the movement. I think young people very get very rigid about labels and the appropriateness and the pronouns. I think as you get older, you forget about it. Just like, ‘Oh yeah, okay, whatever. Call me what you want.’”

I am too old to change my pronouns because I can’t remember my phone number, you know?

Mitchell’s off-the-cuff vibe seemed to be guided by the deep sense of security that comes from being allowed to be outspoken without being punished for it. “I’ve been playing nothing but queer villains over the last few years, and that’s paid for my pool,” he joked (he’s played roles on Hulu’s Shrill and HBO’s Girls). He doesn’t actually have a pool, but he said that he did buy a house with the money he made from the upcoming Peacock series Joe Versus Carole, a narrative based on the events portrayed in Netflix’s lockdown smash The Tiger King. “He’s an anti-hero,” said Mitchell of the real incarcerated man he’ll be playing. “He’s someone who is reprehensible and admirable at the same time. I love those roles.”

Acknowledging that his movies tend to be flops during their theatrical runs but accrue followings over time, Mitchell said that he paid no real cost for making a movie as brazenly sexual as Shortbus—save being referred to as a “fringe filmmaker” at one point, which he said he didn’t care about, anyway. Looking back, he doesn’t even see weaving actual sex into a narrative whose heart is at least as swollen as its genitals to be any kind of risk.

“I don’t think of spending your time doing things you want to do as a risk. It’s a risk to not do that,” he said. “It’s a risk to sell your soul. It’s a risk and to do stuff that you’re not proud of. If you make a half-assed film, half-assed people call you. You build it, they will come to it imitating it.”

He continued: “Your soul can shrink and you suddenly go, ‘What was I doing this for?’”