One of the oldest and most provocative questions in art history is what counts as art? That question becomes even more layered when we look at gay-themed films. Are they art? Are they pornography? Or something else entirely?
Last week, in my post “Can Gay Porn Be Considered Art?”, I explored how even pornography can rise to the level of art when it’s created with intention, craft, and meaning. This week, I want to turn to films—particularly gay-themed ones—and ask: where do they fit on the spectrum between art and pornography?
Let’s start at the beginning: Are films art?
The answer from an art historical perspective is a resounding yes. Cinema, from its very birth, was hailed by some as the most modern and democratic art form—capable of bringing storytelling, image, sound, and emotion into a single, immersive experience.
But when sex enters the frame, things get complicated—particularly for films with queer themes.
Consider Red, White & Royal Blue, which generated considerable buzz in the gay community for its romantic and tender love scenes. The two leads engage in intercourse—though we see no frontal nudity or penetration, and most of the actual sexual act is in the facial expressions of the two main characters. The narrative focuses on their emotional and political stakes as much as their physical passion.
But compare that to Shortbus, the groundbreaking 2006 independent film featuring gay and straight characters exploring sexuality, intimacy, and loneliness. It famously includes unsimulated sex scenes—autofellatio, rimming, ejaculation, and more—woven into a story about connection in New York City. Despite its graphic imagery, many critics and audiences hailed Shortbus as an art film because the sexual content was in service to its humanistic and narrative vision.
Then on the other end of the spectrum are campy, sex-forward comedies like the Eating Out series or Another Gay Movie, which parody and revel in gay hookup culture with winks, nudity, and humor. These films are explicitly about sex, but in a light, comic, self-aware way—not quite pornography, but certainly not subtle. In the same vein, we might put certain HBO shows (The White Lotus, Euphoria) or Minx (on HBO/Starz), which features an extraordinary amount of male frontal nudity but uses it to explore the 1970s porn industry with a feminist and comedic slant.
So, where do we draw the line between art and pornography?
It’s not always clear—and, as you pointed out, it may well be “in the eye of the beholder.” In general:
- Pornography tends to have a singular, utilitarian purpose: sexual arousal and entertainment. It doesn’t usually ask its audience to reflect, empathize, or wrestle with deeper meaning. However, even pornography can be considered art, as I wrote about in last week’s post, “Can Gay Porn Be Considered Art?”—and I think it can be. When crafted thoughtfully, with aesthetic intention and emotional resonance, even porn can rise to the level of art.
- Art, even when explicit, usually serves a broader purpose—telling a story, exploring vulnerability, interrogating social norms, or celebrating intimacy.
That doesn’t mean art can’t also be arousing—just as Mapplethorpe’s photographs or Greek kouroi might still thrill us centuries later. The difference lies in intent and context.
Many of these films (and TV series) deliberately blur the line. Shortbus was attacked by some as pornography precisely because it showed real sex acts, but defended as art because it was about loneliness, connection, and what it means to be human. Meanwhile, Red, White & Royal Blue was criticized by some for being too tame, choosing romantic convention over sexual candor—but it, too, is art, in the sense that it tells a story about love and identity.
Even campy comedies like Another Gay Movie or series like The White Lotus are part of this conversation—using nudity and sexual humor partly to titillate, yes, but also to satirize and expose cultural hypocrisy.
Personally, I tend to agree that much of what we call pornography is shallow and transactional, whereas even the most sexually explicit arthouse films still aspire to say something about the human experience. Then again, as I’ve also noted, some modern “art” (abstract or otherwise) can feel just as empty or pretentious to some of us as porn can.
We as gay viewers—long denied honest representations of ourselves—have often sought out films that blurred the line between art and eroticism, because sometimes that’s where we feel most seen. Cinema remains, perhaps, the most widely consumed art form in the gay community—precisely because it can contain beauty, sex, tenderness, and critique all at once.
What do you think? Have you seen a film (Shortbus? Minx? Another Gay Movie?) that you felt crossed a line—or one that made you feel understood? Does the presence of graphic sex diminish a movie’s artistic value for you—or enhance its honesty?
Let’s keep the conversation going in the comments.
Joe
The Closet Professor 