Having the straight Tom Cavanagh and Ben Shenkman play the unwilling gay dads in Breakfast with Scot may seem like a disappointment, but this quirky, surprisingly refreshing comedy has a few tricks up its sleeve.
When Sam’s (Shenkman) brother can’t be located, his now dead ex-girlfriend’s 11-year-old son Scot is sent to live with Sam and his no-nonsense former hockey player partner Eric (Cavanagh). But Eric, who managed to hide his homosexuality in plain sight by playing pro hockey, is nonplussed when little Scot arrives. A mincing, prancing little boy, reeking of gardenia-scented hand products and prone to wearing his mother’s charm bracelet, Scot (Noah Bernett) is a far cry from the self-consciously masculine Eric.
And while the usual tale of love conquering prejudice unfolds, what separates Breakfast with Scot from the usual gay indie film pack is Eric’s internalized homophobia. He’s continually embarrassed by the uninhibited Scot and finds their public outings humiliating. And when a co-worker encounters Eric on an ice rink with Scot, Eric goes so far as to pretend that he doesn’t know the little boy flapping his arms and swirling around the ice with all the élan of a professional figure skater. Seeing gay men shudder at the sight of gayer men is a phenomenon that’s very rarely discussed, let alone captured on film. But there it is on Eric’s face, in all of its twisted nuances.
Closeted at his new job as a sportscaster, Eric refuses to define himself by his sexuality. Yet he also refuses to acknowledge Sam’s place in his life. One gets the feeling that when Sam enrolls Scot in school and stops short of identifying Eric as his partner on the emergency contacts list, his refusal is born of Eric’s wrath on previous occasions.
And this strangely affecting storyline is given added weight by casting the straight Cavanagh as Eric. After all, the interplay between actor and role (“I’m just playing gay, please don’t pigeonhole me or question my sexuality.”) is remarkably similar to Eric’s own insecurities, living in fear that his macho image as a brawling hockey player will be destroyed if news leaks about who he really is. And so watching Scot happily twirl around in front of a department store mirror, exclaiming over the cut of an overcoat, is almost unbearable for him.
But if Eric feels like any number of gay men who go stony-faced at the sight of an effeminate man, Scot is far less realistic. What 11-year-old boy, no matter his sexuality, hasn’t yet learned that school bullies don’t enjoy being kissed good-bye? In order to clearly delineate how uncomfortable Eric is with Scot, screenwriter Sean Reycraft has gone overboard in making Scot comfortable with who he is. After all, any sixth-grader should know that transforming oneself on Halloween from a hobo to a pretty hobo with the aid of a compact smuggled into school isn’t necessarily the best idea in the world.
When Sam’s (Shenkman) brother can’t be located, his now dead ex-girlfriend’s 11-year-old son Scot is sent to live with Sam and his no-nonsense former hockey player partner Eric (Cavanagh). But Eric, who managed to hide his homosexuality in plain sight by playing pro hockey, is nonplussed when little Scot arrives. A mincing, prancing little boy, reeking of gardenia-scented hand products and prone to wearing his mother’s charm bracelet, Scot (Noah Bernett) is a far cry from the self-consciously masculine Eric.
And while the usual tale of love conquering prejudice unfolds, what separates Breakfast with Scot from the usual gay indie film pack is Eric’s internalized homophobia. He’s continually embarrassed by the uninhibited Scot and finds their public outings humiliating. And when a co-worker encounters Eric on an ice rink with Scot, Eric goes so far as to pretend that he doesn’t know the little boy flapping his arms and swirling around the ice with all the élan of a professional figure skater. Seeing gay men shudder at the sight of gayer men is a phenomenon that’s very rarely discussed, let alone captured on film. But there it is on Eric’s face, in all of its twisted nuances.
Closeted at his new job as a sportscaster, Eric refuses to define himself by his sexuality. Yet he also refuses to acknowledge Sam’s place in his life. One gets the feeling that when Sam enrolls Scot in school and stops short of identifying Eric as his partner on the emergency contacts list, his refusal is born of Eric’s wrath on previous occasions.
And this strangely affecting storyline is given added weight by casting the straight Cavanagh as Eric. After all, the interplay between actor and role (“I’m just playing gay, please don’t pigeonhole me or question my sexuality.”) is remarkably similar to Eric’s own insecurities, living in fear that his macho image as a brawling hockey player will be destroyed if news leaks about who he really is. And so watching Scot happily twirl around in front of a department store mirror, exclaiming over the cut of an overcoat, is almost unbearable for him.
But if Eric feels like any number of gay men who go stony-faced at the sight of an effeminate man, Scot is far less realistic. What 11-year-old boy, no matter his sexuality, hasn’t yet learned that school bullies don’t enjoy being kissed good-bye? In order to clearly delineate how uncomfortable Eric is with Scot, screenwriter Sean Reycraft has gone overboard in making Scot comfortable with who he is. After all, any sixth-grader should know that transforming oneself on Halloween from a hobo to a pretty hobo with the aid of a compact smuggled into school isn’t necessarily the best idea in the world.
