"That Man: Peter Berlin" is an excellent 2005 documentary directed by Jim Tushinski (author of Van Allen's Ecstasy) about a German (born in 1942) who came to America and excelled in that quintessentially American goal of recreating himself. He had learned photography in Europe, photographing many celebrities and rejecting sexual advances from Rudolf Nuryeyev. On the piers of Manhattan, Fire Island, and (primarily) in San Francisco, a shy German named Armin with an androgynously beautiful face (with greenish blue eyes and a cleft chin), along-legged sculpted body, washboard abs, and a very large basket became a pornographic fantasy: a Tom of Finland drawing living and breathing and cruising. (Tom of Finland did eventually draw him.)

With long blond hair in a cut that some call "Prince Valiant" and others "the Dutch pageboy from the paint cans," a red bandanna tied around his neck, shirtless or with open vests, high boots, and bell-bottomed pants that were tighter than tight to outline his basket, he was filmed by his friend Ignatio Rutkowski (who was completing art school) in "Nights in Black Leather" (1972). It was both artier than most gay porn (then or now!) and focused on what became the Peter Berlin persona: intense, wordless cruising for the sake of cruising rather than to obtain sex. ) He was billed as "Peter Burian"in it, and changed when another actor with that name protested.)

An ad designed by the poseur ran in the gay magazine The Advocate week after week, and the movie, made for next to nothing, made a fortune, none of which the star accrued. He then made his own movie, "That Boy" (1974)—"made" in pretty much every sense. It is entirely picturing the Peter Berlin persona. In addition to starring in it, he produced, directed, photographed, and edited it. Although it would seem that he had taken control over his image, he says the distributor pocketed most of the profits.

Thereafter, he made a few short films and took many still photographs of himself (including some notable double exposures in which he appears to be—and probably was cruising himself) and was also photographed by Robert Mapplethorpe (who invited him to Fire Island).

Porn flicks have a generally short life, but the extremity of Peter Berlin's poses and the extended c•ocktease of "That Boy" have been remembered by some for more than three decades. He is not my "type" (being blond and seemingly catatonically self-absorbed), but is an icon of a type with considerable appeal to some others.

He could not be bothered with commerce, not so much refusing as ignoring offers to be in ads or further movies. He did, however, continue to cruise in San Francisco. I am surprised that I never saw him when I was out and about during the late-1970s. (Given his costuming, it is impossible to have seen and not noticed him!)

In his 60s, he continues to have a sensational body, continues to dress to show off his assets, and still has the same haircut (whether it is platinum or white, I couldn't tell). He says that "Peter Berlin was never young." That is, when he created the Peter Berlin persona, he was already 30 (though he looked young).

And (surprise!) he can talk. His voice is not high-pitched, but does not fit the tough image he has always projected. And although he has continued to strut his Peter Berlin stuff, he has a domestic side (the Armin under the Peter, somewhat reminiscent of the hausenfraü Marlene Dietrich at home in contrast to the carefully managed public appearances she made). He recalls making chocolate and vanilla pudding (from scratch, of course) for his terminally ill lover James, who enjoyed swirling the two together. Oh, yes, and this man seemingly in-love only with his own reflections, had a lover from 1976 until James died. (BTW, despite being blue-eyed, James was much more my "type" than Peter Berlin ever was.)

He has a sense of humor, even a bit of sense of humor about his own sexuality and carefully constructed and maintained image! At least he laughs in recounting being attracted one morning in Paris to what turned out to be a reflection of his own image.

Armin lives in an apartment up the hill from the Castro that is a shrine to Peter Berlin. From being the manufacturer of repetitions of his image, he has become a curator of his photographs of himself. This sounds very Norma Desmond, and as in "Who Is Harry Crumb," part of the fascination of the documentary is wondering if the subject is altogether sane. My conclusion is that he is.

Life has dealt him some might blows, including his father dying in the last days of World War II, the family's impoverishment, AIDS striking down James and many friends. His literally endless cruising (he says he has not f___ed anyone since he came to America) must have frustrated many of those he lured, but kept him HIV-negative.

As several other interviewees (Armistead Maupin, John F. Karr, John Waters) make clear, Armin engineered his look and maintain it with a determination that may be pathological but is certainly awe-inspiring. I have referred to "self-creation," but this is inadequate. Self-fetishizaiton is more like it. Exhibitionist, for sure. And narcissist beyond the nth degree.

Several observers suggest that Peter Berlin is the Garbo of gay erotica. She made quite a few movies before quitting. He really only made two. She continues to be sighted around Manhattan (by day), as he continued to go out (at night) to cruise, his body and self never on offer, but feeding on being desired.

I think that a better analogy would be to Mae West, who invented herself much more than Garbo invented her screen persona. Also Mae West lived her stage-and-screen persona all the time, for decades after her triumphs. There's also the analogy of fetishized prominent outcroppings for both of them. Both pushed their sex appeal to grotesquerie. (Garbo wanted not to be noticed (as did Dietrich when she felt she could no longer maintain her image); West and Berlin continue/d to want to be noticed. (The analogy breaks down insofar as West seemed interested in sex, Berlin only in being desired. The tease for West seemed to be foreplay; for Berlin it was the sole event, an end-in-itself.)

I think that anyone who can put aside (bracket) whether s/he has any interest in the image Peter Berlin manufactured and sustains, can find the extremity of his commitment to building and maintaining an image and/or a new self interesting. I'm not expecting this documentary to appear on PBS's "American Masters" series any time soon, though he really is/was a master—with an extremely constricted palette. (There is very little nudity in "That Man," enough to make clear that the bulge was real), just as "That Boy" and his fetishistic self-photographs are of him dressed (fetishistcally and very, very tight-crotched, but covered by at least a filament of fabric).

DVD is loaded with bonus features, including a director commentary track which I have not played, and a photo gallery that doesn't work on the copy I have. There is considerable additional footage of interviews with Pter Berlin and others (including Jack Wrangler, who comes across as charming and not narcissitic). They are interesting for someone who finds the movie interesting. They supplement what is in the documentary, but there is none of it that I would insert into the movie, which seems to me very well structured and runs 80 minutes.

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This is today's contribution to this year's g/l writeoff. It is certainly about someone who overcame any shame about his sexuality or his body! For other postings, see http://www.epinions.com/content_4763263108. Liking to double-dip, it also aimed at Christ-Jarmick's erotic-movie writeoff (though whether it is homoerotic or autoerotic, I'm not sure).




Recommended:
Yes

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