For a moment, Club Kid’s creative rhythm seems easily discernible. Clumsy thirty-something partier Peter (Jordan Firstman) is suddenly given a son he never knew. Once he has to take care of young Arlo, a series of sequences begin where the two are awkward with each other; not everything is going right, yet the individual scenes conclude on an upbeat, humorous note. This already enjoyable artistic cadence seemingly continues with an endearing scene where Peter reads Holes to Arlo. “I loved this book when I was your age,” Peter remarks, “And, look, I’m sorry, but I miss Shia on my screens.”
That last line seems like it’ll be the laugh-inducing sentence that’ll close out this particular glimpse into their evolving connection. Except the camera doesn’t cut away. Suddenly, Arlo declares, “I know how my mom died.” Peter returns to the kid's bedside and, in the span of a single unblinking shot, they have a chat about parents and inner pain. On the surface, they couldn’t be more different. Yet, through their talk, Peter reveals he too has dealt with losing a parent. In between these words, Peter is telling Arlo something pivotal: “you’re not alone.”
In this masterful sequence, Club Kid tenderly subverts viewer expectations to potently depict Jake and Arlo’s bond abruptly deepening. It’s possibly the best Club Kid scene, but it’s far from the only standout material here.
Long before that nighttime interaction, Peter is a (bigger) mess. He’s a 24/7 party promoter in New York’s gay scene whose life basically boils down to doing drugs, dancing, and keeping others aloof. Coasting through life and alienating his loved ones, Peter’s life gets turned upside down when Arlo shows up at his doorstep. Accidental sexual congress with the boy’s mother “a decade or so” ago has given Peter the last thing he wants. Immediately, their interactions are fraught with vomit-heavy problems.
Peter struggles taking care of himself. Now he’s nurturing another, much more vulnerable human being? Firstman’s script movingly follows Peter and Arlo gradually connecting, all while Peter’s queer pals provide a perfect found family for the orphaned youngster.
I now totally understand what it must’ve been like for Gen Xers to hear characters talk like themselves in 90s indie films or 60s counterculture devotees hearing their own existential concerns voiced in New Hollywood features like The Graduate. Throughout Club Kid, these characters chat and joke exactly like me and my friends do. People nonchalantly referencing tweets like they’re passages in a book, gaggles of gays reciting famous speeches from lady pop stars, the way conversations can turn from ribald irreverence to raw vulnerability on a dime…all those things I hear constantly in my social circles were finally on the silver screen. It was at once surreal and comforting.
Identification does not a great movie make. However, so vividly capturing distinctly 2020s gay social experiences encapsulates Jordan Firstman’s specificity as a writer. That quality is accentuated through Club Kid’s tremendous casting courtesy of Carmen Cuba. How is everyone in this movie so perfectly performed? Club Kid’s casting echoes Josh and Benny Safdie or Sean Baker’s works in realizing anyone can live in New York City. This place is full of colorful characters and that means anyone, no matter their screentime, can leave an impression.
In Peter’s apartment alone, Colleen Camp as Peter's kind neighbor kills it with every one of her line deliveries (her comment about watching War Horse and viewing Peter "as a friend" especially slay). As Peter's roommate Nicky, Eldar Isgandarov is similarly hilarious with his amusing mixture of meekness and decisiveness. With performances like these, just sticking around this apartment would render Club Kid a riot.
Yet there are also immensely endearing turns from further people in Peter’s life, including the captivating Saturn Risin9 as the DJ Saffron (finally, some super accurate trans girly rep). Kirby Howell-Baptiste shows up on-screen for one scene yet sears herself into your brain with her confident aura. Diego Calva, meanwhile, has such adorable chemistry as a potential love interest for Peter. On paper, Club Kid might sound like something you’ve seen before (everybody’s made the obvious Big Daddy comparisons for a reason). However, art largely is built on familiar narrative foundations. Even vintage comedies like The Shop Around the Corner or It Happened One Night were built on classical storytelling beats (even beyond those existing in their respective source materials).
It’s always execution, not necessarily the starting concept, that makes or breaks a motion picture. On that front, Club Kid passes with flying colors. Just those richly idiosyncratic performances alone imbue Club Kid with glorious originality. Firstman’s script further accentuates that individuality through lingering on Peter and Arlo’s smallest interactions. Letting their conversations simmer and uncovering the pathos in these hangout vibes tremendously benefits the proceedings. Beyond the aforementioned Holes scene, a tender conversation in an Uber home where Peter tells his son “you’re so cool” stands out as an incredibly moving example of these storytelling tendencies.
Ditto the two walking around sharing profanities, much to the chagrin of some passersby. These elements further ensure Club Kid feels excitingly original, not to mention emotionally absorbing. Such segments also allow Club Kid to demonstrate its immense visual chops even in its most intimate stretches. Firstman and cinematographer Adam Newport-Berra skills are apparent in a moment where Peter and Arlo walk into a location that will someday soon be the former character's new club. Though still under construction, they’re so excited about the space’s possibilities. Warm gold light pours in through the windows as the duo dances around in an unblinking wide shot. The joy over their connection and the future’s rich potential informs inviting and striking lighting.
Even long before this “awwww”-inducing segment, Club Kid’s opening scene establishes the visual finesse permeating the proceedings. Here, an inebriated Peter and his equally intoxicated buddies stumble into a taxi while singing a Rihanna ditty. The camera captures them in an unbroken take in a fixed position while repeatedly spinning 360 degrees around inside the automobile. It’s like the camera’s been taped down on a turntable. Constant turning conveys the disorientation all these drunken queers feel in their uninhibited state. However, the image doesn’t lapse into incoherent shaky cam to communicate this reality. On-screen visuals remain crisply coherent, vividly placing viewers into a hardcore partyer’s headspace. Plus, having the camera capture multiple characters subtly establishes Club Kid’s story stretching far beyond Peter.
All of those rich visual details emerge in a single sequence transpiring before Club Kid’s title card emerges. Such memorable imagery abounds in the ensuing film, as do vibrantly realized personalities, immensely quotable humorous lines (somehow Firstman’s script makes a joke involving someone “arrested for multiple counts of child abuse” hilarious), and immensely affecting poignancy. Best of all, these ingredients exist in a feature that doesn’t bend over backwards catering to the straights.
Something like Emilia Pérez features LGBTQIA+ characters as anomalies. There’s only one trans woman for miles. No larger queer populations exist. Club Kid, meanwhile, commits to unabashedly queer storytelling full of our culture, witticisms, and richly varied communities. Jordan Firstman’s immensely confident directorial debut is here to have a good time and move the soul rather than worry if heterosexual audience members will get certain references or alienating straight viewers who "don't mind gay people...so long as they're not in my face about it." Club Kid is like a Janelle Monáe or 100 gecs song; deeply and loudly queer, but also so artistically powerful that folks from any walk of life can enjoy it. Having its creative priorities straight (no pun intended) is one of many ways Club Kid delivers a crowdpleaser cinematic beat you’ll never forget.
