Not just a movie title, but an honorific conferred by Playgirl magazine on its readership's annual favorite centerfold. For the year 1992, that was Dirk Shafer, thus officially inducted into the army of male sex symbols who in their private lives prefer males themselves. A pregnant topic for a movie, no doubt. But not this movie, written and directed by the selfsame Dirk Shafer, in the form of a "mockumentary" about his experiences during his year-long reign, with real footage from TV talk shows (Phil Donahue's, Joan Rivers's, et al.) and a handful of as-themselves performers intermixed with Spinal Tap-style falsifications. These latter, by a wide margin the bulk of the material, are so ill-conceived and even inconceivable (cinéma-verité coverage of a Win-a-Date night on the town, all the way into the lucky lady's hotel room at evening's end), and so badly, broadly played, as to reduce the informational interest to less than nil. Unless perhaps you can take an interest in the spectacle of self-satisfaction. (1996) — Duncan Shepherd
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