Reviews

RAISING VICTOR VARGAS
dir. Peter Sollett, U.S.
Samuel Goldwyn Films

In the aftermath of countless sex romps and docu-"dramas" by the likes of Larry Clark and Harmony Korine, the teenaged tryst has become a frequent subject of shame and mockery, something to be laughed off with self-congratulatory nods and winks or, as in the case of Clark and Korine, couched in cautionary tales or irreversible humiliation. It seems somewhat out of the blue, then, that any film, let alone one by a first-time director, should come along to give underage sex the respect that it truly deserves. But that is exactly what Peter Sollett and his debut feature Raising Victor Vargas have done, re-integrating such lost concepts as intimacy, foreplay, and love back into the mix. Which isn't to say that Sollett's version of teenaged lust soft-pedals the clumsy logistics the act involves. His realism is every bit as gritty as, say, that of Clark's Kids, only Vargas doesn't resort to urban stereotypes and moral imperatives to earn its street credibility. Victor (Victor Rasuk), a self-proclaimed ladies' man, might carry himself like a walking cliché when strutting around Manhattan's Lower East Side with a tank top slung over his shoulders; at home, however, his cocksure bravado threatens to alienate him from his family.

This alienation manifests most visibly in the haphazard advice he dispenses to his impressionable, pre-teen brother Nino (Silvestre Rasuk). When asked how to "talk to girls," Nino learns to lick his lips to keep them from getting chapped. Indirect questions about masturbation, meanwhile, yield stiff denials from Victor, not to mention contempt for even raising the subject. When Nino is subsequently caught in the act by his devoutly Catholic grandmother (Altagracia Guzman), Victor somehow gets the blame for his brother's autoeroticism. His womanizing has unleashed a sexual plague on the household, and Grandma wants him out. Facing virtual disownment, Victor must now struggle to reconcile his outdoor persona with his indoor realities.

At the center of this struggle is the demure Judy (Judy Marte), whom Victor invites home one day for an afternoon nightcap. Unimpressed by the bed he shares with his brother and the general squalor of the Vargas tenement, Judy dismisses Victor's sexual advances but nevertheless grants him boyfriend status. "Go tell all your friends," she instructs. Like Victor, Judy is also preoccupied with reputation, only her motives for securing it are more machiavellian than those of her newly minted boyfriend. Victor may fancy himself a pick-up artist, but Judy considers him "bug spray": an unthreatening sexual novice whose bullshit machismo might just do the trick in fending off the neighborhood catcallers.

The disparity between Victor's ego and Judy's manipulation would seem to pit boy against girl in a by-the-numbers battle of the sexes. But Sollett's predisposition towards conflict ultimately gives way to an even stronger inclination in the scheme of adolescent life-compromise. This transition becomes evident as Victor's best friend, Harold (Kevin Rivera), and Judy's best friend, Vicki (Krystal Rodriguez), embark on their first sexual encounter with one another. After a string of failed sexual overtures, Harold asks Vicki to take off her glasses so that he can get a better look at her face, which he smoothly compares to that of Julia Roberts. Blushing, Vicki denies his request and turns the tables, calling on Harold to remove his glasses first. The couple finally settles on removing their eyewear simultaneously, at the count of three. This bit of foreplay is enough to melt her resistance: the clothes can now come off one awkward leg at a time. But by the time Vicki lights up an after-sex cigarette, we realize that the conquest has been hers, not Harold's.

The negotiation of consensual sex between minors requires intelligence and sensitivity, two traits that have traditionally escaped the lobotomized cipher that movie audiences have come to recognize as the archetypal teenager. What's most shocking about Vargas's depiction of adolescence isn't the revelation that kids are having intercourse beyond the watchful eye of legal guardians, but that they aspire to something better than miscarried attempts at adult fornication, something more intimate, like love. -STACY MEICHTRY