- Director: Patric Chiha
- Writer: Patric Chiha
- Producer: Vincent Lucassen; Ebba Sinzinger
It's like watching an amateur version of Fassbinder's Querelle mixed in with a tedious cinéma-vérité fly-on-the-wall documentary...although everything feels scripted and [badly] rehearsed.
All these young men talk about is money, their families, money, their wives, money, their kids, money and screwing the 'gays' - for money. It's so damned offensive! One of them even says that there not enough 'gays' around...he wants more...money!
Some [critics] have mentioned the warmth that this films exudes...the camaraderie between the 'boys' - what a load of politically corrected bollocks! They are gay4pay rent-boys who don't understand a thing about fidelity or loyalty. They are all young fit men...pulling the wool over everyone's eyes...persistently whining ooooh there are no jobs - when the fact of the matter is, they would rather screw any old hole than to do a decent day's work...even the gullible 'gays' have been conned...winning nominations and awards at LGBT film festivals...for what? For this parasitical form of homophobia!?!
The free movement of people within Europe Union is a violently contentious subject...this film ensures that it will remain so...for a very long time to come.
Shouldn't we be building bridges rather than destroying them!?! How about making a film showing the efforts that member states are making...trying to get these young men off the street and into legitimate work??? It would be a very short film indeed...because, this is their preferred form of employment!
Vienna as a non-stop nocturnal land and doss house, the flip side of its daytime persona, devoid of schmaltzy waltzes and ‘Mozartkugel’ chocolates. The protagonists of this documentary are young Bulgarian Romani who have wound up in Vienna due to poverty and the need to earn money for their families, and who are now offering their services at a hustler bar called ‘Rüdiger’ in the working class Margareten district. They wait, smoke, drink, play pool, dance, show off, fool around like young bulls, talk about their meagre excesses, their families and prostitutes, exchange experiences and information about the ‘bizness’. In the midst of a clash of cultures and traditions, they lead lives caught between worlds, between reality and illusion; transitory, deceptive, and fleeting.
Gus Van Sant meets James Bidgood meets Pasolini: Brothers of the Night is a hybrid, imbued with a rich baroque semi-darkness, deliberately and disturbingly oscillating between documentary and dramatised scenes. This is no moralising know-all ballad about hustlers, but rather a tender and empathetic hymn to the grim poetry of survival and the solidarity amongst the ostracised and the outsiders.