The fact that Kevin DiNovis' debut feature, Surrender Dorothy, won the Grand Jury Prize at the 1998 Slamdance Film Festival should be a warning signal to anyone expecting something even remotely mainstream. Surrender Dorothy is startling, gripping, disturbing, and out on the film making edge. It's the kind of movie that we don't see enough of because its commercial prospects are so limited. This kind of picture is unlikely to appeal to typical movie-goers (or, for that matter, even to a significant portion of the art house crowd), and, as a result, directors stay away from this sort of in-your-face excursion into psychological deviance and obsession.
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The repeated shots of the same bare loft and the same two men trying to make the best of their respective situations recalls the poverty and desperation at the heart of Dustin Hoffman and Jon Voight's relationship in Midnight Cowboy, but Surrender Dorothy doesn't possess the same humanity. It starts grim, gets grimmer, and ends grimmest of all.
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In test screenings, DiNovis was himself surprised that some filmviewers were repelled by the apparent homosexual element and would have been more accepting of the film if Lanh were indeed a woman.
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However, Surrender Dorothy, sort of a Singapore Sling for the gay festival set, belongs in its own depraved little realm. Both well made and intensely unsettling, this study in gender manipulation and personality suppression is not for the easily offended but makes for a great walk on the cinematic wild side.
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A startling, brilliantly unsettling tale of Trevor, a busboy who takes home the forks of his favorite female customers and masturbates over them. Afraid of women when separated from their eating utensils, he finds himself falling in love with Lanh, his long-haired junkie roommate. Hey, maybe the guy will start dressing up as a gal in exchange for drugs, and then maybe. ... "I'm not a faggot! I'm not a faggot! I'm not a faggot!" Lanh/Dorothy insists as Trevor eventually fucks him. Trevor agrees. In his eyes, Dorothy is a little girl in the making. Perfect performances united by sensational direction. Imagine The Crying Game as written by the Marquis de Sade.
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