When we take a look back at future Oscar-winner Harry Styles’ career (and this is not an advocation), who will he thank? Who would the public thank? Maybe Nolan or Wilde will be cited in his surefire charismatic acceptance speech, but neither I nor the community will ever forget his Sara Lee sketch on SNL when he first hosted in 2019. Was it electrifying to hear “Wreck me, daddy” in front of a live audience? Certainly, even if it ran the risk of becoming cringeworthy in mainstream heterosexual mouths. We have Bowen Yang and Julio Torres to thank for this skit (both as writers, Yang as featured cast member). While Styles is making his way through Marvel and awards bait, Yang and Torres have foraged wonderful spaces for queer audiences to feel comforted (and somewhat confronted) in their stories.

Yes, Yang refers to SNL in the new movie, Fire Island, when he excitedly describes Gays in Space to his love interest, Charlie (James Scully). At its simplest advertised form, Fire Island is a refashioned Pride and Prejudice. It is also a multi-hyphenate of other styles: buddy comedy, savage depiction of the dog-eat-dog world of the gay community, and pop culture fanaticism (Yang hosts the weekly podcast Las Culturistas with Matt Rogers, who also appears in the movie). Talks of SNL and the failure of Quibi (where this movie, originally a series, was supposed to air before its closure) seems to be on par for the casual punch-up course. Truthfully, I know next to nothing about Austen novels, but nonetheless: Yang and fellow comedian Joel Kim Booster are Jane and Elizabeth, respectively (but really Howie and Noah by their given character names).

Now, if Fire Island was Craigslist, Howie would be the type to peruse missed connections, while Noah would opt for m4m personal ads. Every year, Howie and Noah, with their rest of their friend group, take a weeklong vacation to the island. Due to unforeseen financial circumstances, this particular week will be their last one. Noah makes it a mission for Howie to get laid, even if he becomes overbearingly pushy (for a reason that could be within the Austen law of nature, he imposes a rule to not “put out in the Meat Rack” until Howie gets his). When Howie meets Charlie, their relationship is pinged as unlikely, as Charlie belongs to a group of men deemed to be higher status due to wealth and “less than 7% body fat.” There are a lot of male characters that come into the story, which may track with Austen’s troupes, but the other important romance is between Noah and “Mr. Darcy,” aka Will (Conrad Ricamora). Will, with stiff demeanor and fitted polos, shows Noah the cold (and toned) shoulder, to which Noah cheekily fights back. Essentially, if the men are not making out, they’re baring teeth.

The hype surrounding the film is warranted, as Yang and Kim Booster are at the forefront of queer Asians making the jokes instead of being the butt of them. The inside scoop in the gay community displayed in Fire Island will be non-news for anyone who has tinkered with Grindr and seen unabashed declarations of racism and toxic masculinity (“No fats, no fems, no Asians”). I won’t pretend to be as much in the know (I found out about Sniffies a month ago), but the feeling of isolation from a group that should be the most accepting can feel like the most scorning. It’s not the difference in interest (in this, I identify with Hannah Gadsby’s sentiment in Nanette: “Where are the quiet gays supposed to go?”) and Fire Island is not scorching its own earth to shame those who love to hook up, but many people will recognize the emotional distancing that can occur in any large-group setting. Andrew Ahn, who has explored the “terminal loneliness” that Howie experiences through his other directorial feature Spa Night, uses some of his spacing magic to show that even when surrounded by gyrating, lean bodies, we can feel that emptiness gnawing inside.

However, this emotion is secondary to the film’s main course, which is mostly meet-cute romance and acceptance. Will learns to crack a smile and is all the better for it, Noah learns that hooking up isn’t always the answer and is all the better for it, some men will be scum and will not be better for it, etc. I can’t say for sure if it’s an Austen paint-by-numbers filled with gay dilemmas and checkpoints (“Do you even know if he’s on PrEP?” Noah inquires), but there are moments that remind us that having fun on vacation doesn’t always mean getting high on ecstasy at a beach underwear party. It can be basking in the warm sun even if you’re doing it alone. At the very least, if you can’t tone it, tan it.

Fire Island
2022
dir. Andrew Ahn
105 min.

Now streaming on Hulu