It was quite a present. The story β one of social intrigue, moral ambiguity and brazen man-on-man rumpo β revolves around a secluded, idyllic gay cruising spot in the South of France on the edge of a man-made lake, where man-made men of all ages routinely spend the day sunbathing, swimming and chatting, often nude, as a springboard to sexual acts in the undergrowth.
Notwithstanding the thriller element, it paints a utopian picture all the better to be shattered by the thriller element. The sun glistens off the water.
Blue skies gradually fade to cool evenings. There is ample car parking. Nobody seems to have a job to go to. Consenting adults get to know each other on towels, or not, and partner off, while others simply loiter in the bushes and watch. All the bullshit that goes with heterosexual courtship is refreshingly absent.
Although most of the men in the film are fit, buff and handsome, some are older, fatter, and less idealised looking. Some are single, some are not. Most use condoms, others play a riskier game. The sex herein involves erect penises and ejaculation. Not young men. This was an certificate showing of a film. And yet, as specified, it contained images of strong, real sex. I actually get more out of one of those faked, edited, saxophone scenes in certificate movies, albeit briefly.
But many do and they are better served in this regard than ever before. So is it wrong to pay money to see Stranger By The Lake for reasons on titillation? This is a healthy desire, albeit one perhaps better served at home.
