Lust in Space TEENAGE QUEERNESS AND CONNECTION IN SAMUEL VAN GRINSVEN’S SEQUIN IN A BLUE ROOM
In September 2018, a forty-year-old Sydney man allegedly drove to the home of a thirteen-year-old boy and sexually assaulted him on the front lawn. The attacker and victim had reportedly connected on a hook-up app, exchanging photos and personal information before the teenager eventually ceased contact. News coverage suggested that the man, who was charged with sexual intercourse without consent, only stopped when the boy’s mother came running out of the house, having heard his screams.1 By contrast, Australia has also seen incidents in recent years of straight teenagers using gay-dating apps to lure same-sex-attracted older men to public places before robbing, threatening or assaulting them. In more than one instance, the young attackers viewed themselves as vigilantes, motivated by both homophobia and a desire to take action against, in the words of one assailant, ‘faggots and paedophiles’.2
Matters of sex and age hold particular sensitivities in the queer community; many grow up hearing religious leaders claim, falsely and from the pulpit of hypocrisy, that homosexuality and paedophilia are inextricably linked. The recent international phenomenon that is Call Me by Your Name (Luca Guadagnino, 2017), which received criticism for its depiction of an ostensibly consensual relationship between a seventeen-year-old and a twenty-four-year-old,3 is proof positive that this division is far from reconciled.
These complex concerns, which encompass ethical, sociocultural and political considerations, come to the fore in Samuel Van Grinsven’s confident, highly aestheticised debut feature Sequin in a Blue Room (2019). The micro-budget,
