#300Letters doesn’t start cooking right away. The spicy, gay Argentinian “anti-romcom” warms up slowly as writer-director Lucas Santa Ana tees up the film’s intriguing premise, then commits to the generally well-scripted follow-through.
The basic point-and-shoot camerawork does the script, co-written by Gustavo Cabaña, no favors, but the storytelling engages, along with the attractive cast. Cristian Mariani and Gastón Frías star as crossfit-crazed Jero and queer underground poet Tom, boyfriends who have become a gay “It couple” in Buenos Aires by sharing their unlikely romance on TikTok via The Tom and Jero Show.
It seems the show’s over, though, when Jero (as in Jeronimo) arrives home on their first anniversary to find Tom has left him a dastardly surprise. Two surprises: Tom has actually left him, vanishing completely. And he left behind a gift box of 300 neatly printed letters explaining his reasons why.
So a forlorn Jero, usually hanging around his gorgeous garden pad in his boxer briefs, digs into the box and starts reading for answers. In venom-dripping voiceover, Tom narrates each missive, as flashbacks deconstruct his and Jero’s not-love story one vicious letter at a time.
Tom’s detailed diary of their relationship opens with his snarky recap of their first meeting, a Grindr hookup on Valentine’s Day. Deeming Jero a “cheesy, childish,” superficial gay, based on first impressions, Tom doesn’t appear to change his opinion much during their time together — but apparently, the phenomenal sex is what keeps him hanging on, and on.
That, and a selfish urge to flip his bitchy takes on Jero into spoken-word poetry. Throughout their relationship, Tom uses Jero ruthlessly as fodder for his art — a savage, though obvious, statement about how a poet, or filmmaker, or any artist might excavate the lives of their lovers and friends to keep their own creative juices flowing.
#300 Letters: Gastón Frías
It is subtly powerful to see letters and poetry wielded as primary weapons. Even in Tom and Jero’s image-conscious, AI-assisted world of TikTok videos and Grindr profiles, a badass poet can still wound with the written word.
Yet, Tom isn’t a one-note villain twirling a poison pen, and Frías’ performance is nuanced enough to reveal the self-doubt and insecurity that would lead Tom to self-sabotage. He’s also an adept presenter of Tom’s acid-laced poetry, and most importantly, he has no trouble convincing us Tom would stick around for sex with Mariani’s Jero, despite apparently thinking the guy’s a boring himbo.
Carrying more of the screen time, Mariani is not so nuanced in his delivery, or persuasive in his characterization, but he exudes an appealing, puppy-dog sense of romance. Jero believes in love, like he believes in CrossFit. Tom, on the other hand, scorns romance and commitment almost as much as he looks down on so-called superficial gays like Jero.
Bruno Giganti — star of the flagrantly homoerotic 2022 drama Horseplay — is amusing if also a bit wooden as Jero’s cross-fit confidant Estéban, exactly the sort of vapid gay bro Tom rants about in his poetry. Meanwhile, Jorge Thefs finds depth in their portrayal of Tom’s gender-nonconforming friend Q, who supports Tom, while also checking him for using his art against people.
The film doesn’t romanticize either side. And both parties are provided desirable alternatives, on Grindr and in real life, as the story toggles between past and present, finding its rhythm despite dropping story threads left and right. The couple’s TikTok fame ultimately isn’t essential to the plot, and neither is a supposed mystery surrounding the real-life identity of one of Jero’s faceless online admirers.
The mystery disappoints, though not the admirer, who adds another sexy hookup to the film’s depiction of a bustling queer scene in Buenos Aires. If anything gets a romantic glow-up here, it’s Argentina’s capital city, shown as a perpetually sunny, uncrowded queer metropolis where the next handsome man is always just a swipe away.
#300Letters (★★☆☆☆) is available to rent or purchase on digital VOD platforms, including Apple, Prime Video, Google, and YouTube. It’s available on DVD on Amazon. Visit cinephobiareleasing.com.
“I hope to one day make a movie musical,” says Tina Romero. “I would love to do a fantasy piece. I am trying to put all the pots on the burner and see which one I can get to boil. Because it's a miracle to make a movie, and it's a miracle to get all the pieces in place. But I am salivating to make another one.”
For now, the LGBTQ world — and beyond — is salivating to see Romero’s debut effort, Queens of the Dead, a vibrant, unapologetically queer take on the zombie genre her late father turned into a horror institution.
Made in 1968, George A. Romero’s Night of the Living Dead remains a truly terrifying game-changer in horror. It’s the film all others bow down to, replete with classic lines (“They’re coming to get you, Barbara”) and gruesome depictions of zombies feeding on human viscera. Both Night and its 1978 follow-up, Dawn of the Dead, formed the first two parts of a trilogy that spawned dozens of imitators, remakes, and even a second trilogy from George himself.
I remember doing the time warp in a living room. As a gay kid in the suburbs of Seattle who loved black-and-white monster movies like Bride of Frankenstein, I was drawn to The Rocky Horror Picture Show in late-night viewings on cable. Overloaded in image and sound, Rocky Horror had everything: a spooky old mansion, creepy caretakers, a young couple in danger, rock and roll.
And still more: Patricia Quinn's blood red, disembodied lips. Barry Bostwick's buttoned-up Brad Majors dressed down to his high-waisted tighty-whities. Tim Curry's Dr. Frank-N-Furter, a mad scientist in fishnets and heels. And, of course, that writhing bundle of muscles, bulging in gold booties and briefs, the credit to Frank's Frankensteinian genius, Peter Hinwood's Rocky Horror, the film's titular Adonis.
Adapting Alysia Abbott's acclaimed memoir about growing up with a single gay dad in '70s and '80s San Francisco, Fairyland shapes the unconventional coming-of-age story into a moving, warmly funny portrait of a bygone era of queer life and liberation.
Told from the point of view of little Alysia -- wonderfully played in her screen debut by Nessa Dougherty -- the film, like the book, which is subtitled A Memoir of My Father, focuses on the myriad ways her dad Steve's choices come to affect and influence the person she turns out to be.
A writer and a poet, Steve Abbott is portrayed by Scoot McNairy, whose awards-worthy performance really is the heart of the film. He and Dougherty forge an endearing onscreen rapport beautifully conveying how precocious Alysia, a budding writer herself, looks up to her scruffy, artsy daddy with unconditional trust and admiration.
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