Melbourne Queer Film Festival 2023 Review: BIRDER, Be Careful Who You Blindly Trust

As much as people might like to view western countries as being more accepting and liberal, the fact is, there is still a very conservative attitude that pervades society when it comes to sexual activity. It's not surprising that anyone whose interests fall outside of a very strictly heteronormative lifestyle, as it were, would seek out safe spaces where they and their fellow adults can engage in consensual sex acts without judgement or fear.

Of course, safety is never gauranteed, and Nate Dushku's feature directorial debut Birder looks at a predator who finds just such a safe space, and turns the trust of its inhabitants to his advantage. A film that expresses both the naturalism of a more open sexual identity and the danger that comes from automatic confidence and acceptance of a stranger in a certain environment.

When we first meet Kristian (Michael Emery), he's alone at a campsight, burning clothing. Whether it's his own or someone else's, we don't know, but he is quick to erase any trace  of himself and move on. He makes his way to a nude queer campground, apparently known to those in the region and community, for anyone who wants to have some sexual adventures in a queer-positive and safe environment. Kristian is quickly accepted by the others there, a variety of queer ranging from cisgender and white like himself, to the more effeminate stereotype, to couples who also swing, and the lone woman among this ragtag group. Since Kristian is open to anything, they are open to him. But soon we see Kristian's true intentions, as one by one, he starts to kill the other campers.

The mind of any cinephile fan of thrillers and/or queer cinema will immediately think of the brilliant 2013 film Stranger by the Lake, and no doubt Dushku was inspired by that story (also set in a rural space that allowed for gay men to indulge in their sexual activities without fear, or so they assumed). In this case, it's the killer whose perspective we are following; and even though we have his subjective experience of these few days at the campground, the distrust we have in his character is immediate, and the juxtaposition of the naturalistic camera and performances versus Kristian's 'nice guy just trying to have kinky sex' performance that hides his true intentions, is enough to make even the most battle-hearty film watcher squirm.

You want to yell at the other characters to not trust Kristian - just because he is queer and has come to this space, does not make him safe. And perhaps Dushku and screenwriter Amnon Lourie push this a little bit, that not one of the other campers would be suspicious of him, someone none of them had ever met, even after everyone he has sex with seems to disappear. But a person like Kristian relies on spaces like these, or perhaps more accurately, people who want to be trusting and open, who have themselvea been questioned so long by society, that it's not in them to question those who also want to have a space to explore themselves and other consenting adults.

Kristian calls himself a birder - whether he means this in a more literal sense, as someone who likes to birdwatch, or if this is a kind of code for particular sexual interests - well, it could be either or both. These campers are people who are used to having to speak in code - and in some ways they continue to do so, but this is also where that code is 'normal', since 'normal' in this place is whatever is safe, consensual, and nonharmful. But of course, Kristian doesn't abide by these rules, though his victims don't know it until it's too late.

Emery's performance is chilling - he knows exactly how to play his cards, and which ones to show, when. He can turn on the specific kind of gay charm that he knows will signal his status, but also feigns just the right amount of danger to ellicit arousal - maybe the audience can see this charm a little too easily, but he knows the people he's dealing with - no one wants to believe that their trust has been misplaced, especially in this space. He knows whom he can safely kill and whose absence will be more readily noted. We imagine the body count is much higher than just from this one week.

The sex scenes themselves are about explicit as they can be (all done with full consent and an intimacy coordinator), which lets us understand, or at least observe either with interest or horror (or both), how danger can be arousing and how someone could get caught up in these moments that their own safety is not crossing their minds. Keeping with the low budget tone and naturalistic dialogue and behaviour of the characters, this makes the thriller aspect more pronounced - we want these people to have meaningful conversations and hot sex, and not have to die for these pleasures.