Does anyone know what buffering is? Is it what mechanics do to cars when they go in for a service? Is it what antique dealers do to their cache of precious finds before they flog them on for a fortune? Or is it what politicians do when they try to dodge answering tough (perfectly reasonable, in other words) questions? Ach no, stupid me, that’s just plain-and-simple lying, innit? As I don’t own a car – shockingly, I can’t actually drive – and don’t own any antiques or hang out with any political sorts, I clearly haven’t got the foggiest what it means, but then I have reached that tricky stage of middle age whereby you become increasingly out-of-touch with contemporary speak.

Fortunately, I have a younger boyfriend who is much more down wiv da kidz lingo-wise, enough to know that the word lingo went out with the Ark, and he informs me that buffering is actually a computer term – no wonder I didn’t know what it meant; oh come on, I’m hardly going to be a tech head if I can’t even get my head around driving, am I? – that refers to the process of downloading data for music and film over t’internet before you can play it back. In the context of this film, not only is the techie definition applicable, but it also works on the double entendre wordplay front because Buffering is an example of that great British tradition, the sex comedy.

Aaron (Connor McKenzy) and Seb (Alex Anthony) are living the queer dream. Well, if your dream is hook up with a cute guy, fall in love and live out your days quietly in the Bristol ’burbs. The only fly in the ointment is that Aaron has lost his job and hasn’t been able to face telling Seb, so for the past three months he’s been pretending to go to work every morning as normal only to sneak back home when the coast is clear. With all this free time on his hands Aaron decides to put his hands to good use and wiles away the endless boring hours doing what every unemployed person or homeworker – one in the same thing I find in this economy – does: he uses his idle paws to develop a rather unhealthy internet porn habit. However, instead of seeing this simply as a spot of self-pleasuring he thinks this could be a money-making scheme to get the couple out of the mounting debt that’s threatening to rob them of the roof over their heads. So, Aaron and his BF start their own cottage industry by – yes, you’ve guessed it – making their own homemade porn to sell.

Trouble is, Aaron doesn’t want to come clean about his dirty business plan with said BF because although Seb is no prude he’s already had a brush with public scandal in the past when he had a teenage fling with a friend’s father who inconveniently went on to become a government minister. So, Aaron in his not-so-infinite wisdom decides to film their sex life secretly and then peddle it on to ever-eager net porn punters, which is a cunning plan that’s always going to work, right? Well, of course not. Let’s face it, it’s got DISASTER stamped all over it and Seb quickly cottons on when he hears the whir of the camcorder hidden behind a cuddly toy in the bedroom. Yes, really.

Naturally, Seb is none too happy about being duped by the person he loves most, but Aaron has the gift of the gab and manages to persuade him to continue with the porn plan, especially when he realises what a filthy lucre-spinner their filth has become. But will they be able to keep up with the endlessly kinky requests of the pay-per-view public? Will the sexy boy-next-boy end up starring in their homo home movies? And, more importantly will Aaron and Seb’s relationship survive the demands of being in-demand porn stars?

Right, first the positives. For starters, the premise is packed full of promise. I think it’s a genius idea to base a sexcom around the bizarre vagaries of the dot.com porn industry because it’s so richly ripe with comic setups and gag opps. The performances are pretty pitch-perfect, too; each actor bounces off one another to create a strong ensemble team effort as well as a pacey ebb and flow to the playing. This is down in no small part to their deft comedy timing which keeps the narrative jogging along nicely. Also, I like the feel of the film. I know that’s a bit of a woolly way of pinpointing why you like a piece of work, but what I mean by feel is when a number of different elements – the lensing, the art direction, the story, the script, the performances – come together in perfect alchemy. OK, with a three-star rating it ain’t exactly a package of pure perfection, but overall it does have an endearing charm about it nonetheless.

And so to the niggling negatives. I know this is going to come across as wildly contradictory considering what I’ve just written in the previous paragraph, but although there was plenty of comedy potential in placing a com in the sit of the sex trade the premise doesn’t deliver on its promise. I feel the main problem is that the film doesn’t push the envelope far enough with the barefaced, bare-arsed bawdiness, which for queer cinema is not a criticism I bandy about often. Here, though, there could have been more throw-your-head-back friskiness and nudge-nudge-wink-wink, naughty innuendo. Instead, it ends up like a tame promise-tease that prudishly won’t go all the way.

The pacing is also a bit off. For instance, Seb moves from angry indignation upon realising that his beloved has betrayed him to ready, willing and able pornster in the blink of an eye – well, about two scenes to be precise – which seems way too fast a mindset shift to me. Ditto with the buffsome neighbour Mitch (Oliver Park), who goes from grunting at Aaron and Seb in a mildly anti-gay fashion to being the third wheel in a much-anticipated threesome sex sandwich at lightening speed. I realise that a cheeky romp like this needs to zip along without too many pregnant pauses delving into the nuances of narrative and characterisation, but you need at least some, even in what is essentially a farce.

And finally, the script. It needed tightening and polishing, which would have made all the difference to the breakneck pacing. Also, for a comedy it feels a tad threadbare joke-wise. It’s not that there aren’t any chucklesome moments – I can appreciate a decent indecent dildo gag with the best of them – but they’re just that – chucklesome. There are no belly-shaking LOLZ, no tears-streaming-down-your-face, might-wet-yourself side-splitters. For a comedy to work the jokes need to come thick and fast in a quickfire staccato, each hitting a beat in a scene and making it come alive. Here, the gags are too thin on the ground so the film never truly tickles the funny-bone.

I had high hopes for Buffering, primarily because it comes care of the same writing duo who brought us Shank (Darren Flaxstone and Christian Martin, who direct here as well as write) which to my mind is one the most breath-of-fresh-air original and viscerally relevant – it depicted the culture of casual youth violence and dangerous generational disenchantment long before this summer’s riots microscoped them shockingly into view – additions to the queer cinema canon for the last 20 years by a very long chalk. This outing, though, falls well short of that lofty benchmark. I understand that the film is meant to be a nostalgic nod to the gentle, oo-er-missus humour of the Carry On days and not some earth-shattering groundbreaker, but, as the saying goes, nostalgia ain’t what it used to be. Ultimately, a sex comedy that isn’t sexy enough or funny enough.

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Buffering [2011]
Studio: TLA Releasing
Released: 5 December 2011
ASIN: B005FXO616

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