Jordan Firstman‘s first Cannes premiere began with him gleefully twerking on the red-carpeted steps of the festival’s Debussy theater, before expressing in his onstage intro how thrilled he was to be “in de bussy.” So far, so expected from the most recognizable gay comedian of his generation, who shot to fame during the COVID lockdown period with a viral run of drolly absurdist impressions and sketches, drenched in queer-coded humor and reference points. Perhaps intentionally, it proved a misleading way to introduce his winning, accomplished debut feature “Club Kid,” which certainly begins as an exhaustingly antic, coked-up rush through the highest, lowest, lewdest reaches of the New York queer club scene — before surprising its audience and protagonist alike with a drastic tonal about-face.
The instigator of the change? A doe-eyed, tousle-haired 9-year-old boy, dropped into this world of house music, casual sex and ketamine benders as if from outer space — or at least from London — to redesign the life of single, dissolute and determinedly uncommitted party promoter Peter (played, with some degree of self-deprecating irony, by Firstman himself).
From Charlie Chaplin’s “The Kid” through to Mike Mills’ “C’mon C’mon” a full century later, we all know what tends to happen in the movies when manchild meets actual child — and the real surprise of “Club Kid,” a breakout crowdpleaser in this year’s Cannes Un Certain Regard program, is that Firstman is happy to follow the formula. Come for the arch, bitchy humor promised by the title and the director’s general social media brand; stay for the unabashed sweetness of the enterprise; leave with the distinct sense that there’s more to Firstman than his online persona. Distributors will be lining up outside this particular club door with wallets in hand.
