Gender is more than physical attributes; you have to believe it too.

One day Frankie is a topless dancer and the next she is a man, at least, she thinks so; the problem is her boyfriend isn't so sure. "X,Y" is the odd story of what might really happen if one loses one's sexual identity. It succeeds early on and concludes smartly. It is the kind of gender bender that bravely explores the dark side of a "Freaky Friday" adult style.

Frankie (Melissa Murphy) is a stripper in a sleazy club. She is a smooth attraction and pretty confident shaking what Mother Nature has given her on stage. One night she is startled by a loud siren and collapses while doing a show. She is taken home by her trusting boyfriend, Terry (Jamie Harrold), who believes she has had too much to drink. At the same time Frankie collapses a male audience member falls unconscious as well. Unknown to Terry and club management, this occurrence is not an isolated coincidence.

Terry is a failed medical student who aimlessly works in a used book store and derives his identity from his relationship with his dear stripper girl Frankie. Therefore, when Frankie awakens the morning after she collapses claiming to be a man, Terry is more than willing to do anything to help her find herself. Unfortunately, Frankie is really a man on the inside and one not nearly as compassionate as the women she once was. This leads to a change in their relationship that is anything but conventional. The ultimate result is a chest full of metals, one ugly tattoo, and a fetish that is bloody and particularly relevant given this year's Superbowl half-time show.

"X,Y" is not a film for everyone. In fact, a word of caution should be issued to viewers: this is a film that tells a very dark story about identity and dominion with blood, sex, and piercings. The body switching genre made its resurgence last year with a wholesome remake of "Freaky Friday." As far as 1980s acting divas go, I still have great affection from afar for the shapely acting talents of Jamie Lee Curtis and the "Friday" remake was very nice. "X,Y," however, is the kind of body switch film that this current tattooed, pierced generation could really warm to.

The leads are true to the subject matter playing their unforgiving roles straight. Jamie Harrold plays Terry sad and pathetic. I think that the character of Terry, while exaggerated dramatically for cinematic effect, is one clearly needing of the infusion of reality taking form in the new Frankie. You see, I think that prior to Frankie's internal transformation Terry was content with his shallow and undirected existence built around his girl whose profession is negative and short-lived. It is not until Frankie has her supernatural identity crisis that Terry realizes how pathetic he has become. His descent into depravity displayed in gruesome form in "X,Y" is indicative of what it might take to turn a person's life around. Suicide is painless, living is filled with pain and the suffering lasts a lifetime. Of course, discovering who you are makes it a little easier.

Melissa Murphy is affected and suitably paranoid in the role of the confused Frankie poisoned by an injection of man into her womanly frame. The story freshly mutates the body switch formula by giving Frankie amnesia only letting her remember that "she" is now a "he." And, on her first day in mental male format, it may initially be amusing to see Murphy as Frankie reach to her crouch seeking a penis while attempting to relieve herself in the bathroom. Of course, it may also be thought-provoking at the same time--losing one's sexual identity can ruin a guy's day. Murphy's performance is more than one note because she must expose her body (literally) and not be permitted to, in character, be feminine, rather, she is required to be masculine. This tricky demand is handled with wit and talent right down to the film's concluding moments. Regardless whether we believe ourselves to be something we are not physically, sometimes, biology takes control and resignation is the only way. But maybe, just maybe, there is another way, another choice and maybe it's mental, emotional, and occurs on the inside where no one cares to take time to notice let alone understand.

"X,Y" is not a perfect film. While it's low budget is not a big problem (the tiny special effects and significant make-up work are adequate), a critical shot or two concerning Terry's fetish is frustrating because it is difficult, given the way the shots are filmed, to make out exactly the extent of Terry's various injuries. Without spoiling the story, love and devotion manifest themselves on Terry's body with some wicked piercings compliments of Frankie's new found masculinity.

The subject matter alone will not be everyone's bag. I gotta tell you guys and gals while at Sundance this year, I blindly wandered into a midnight screening of Bruce LaBruce's gay political porno and was simply not prepared for the images flashed before me. Otherwise, little shocks me, especially with the Internet and its constant stream of anything goes personally package via the latest round of email spam--"turn your spud into a stud," refinance your home, and live longer with "human growth hormone (HGH)" are a few of the latest spam offerings. My Aussie journalist roommate at Sundance sported a "Girls Gone Wild" puffy mesh ball cap cocked to one side on his tightly trimmed scalp, go figure, the latest fashion accents escape my wardrobe.

With "X,Y," the Russian born, Harvard educated director Vladimir Vitkin realizes his goal to tell a story of "the precarious nature of existence and love." Shot in 20 days with a Panasonic 24P mini dv camera, "X,Y" looks good and flows well moving the story along briskly. The interior and exterior scenes are vivid with no really noticeable digital video problems. Vitkin wrote the screenplay from a novel by Michael Blumlein and the dialogue is smart and eclectic. His shot choices and pacing builds significant tension during key plot developments and fright where his script requires it. I thought that Vitkin might intend to take his film into the horror genre and darn near does, however, his objective is more art film and less slasher pic. I think that while there may still have been "art" in a horror turn (last year’s hard to stomach “May” is a good example), Vitkin's decision to play things direct and more introspective is welcomed.

This story of Frankie and Terry is not a sweet or likeable one but it is an unusual taste that may set your mind a wandering. These small independent movies I focus so much of my time on can be challenging viewing reminding me of my slow migration away from sweet less abrasive intoxicating liquors and to the embracement of harsh bitter blends—it is an acquired palate. Give me more so that I can experience all, at least, from the safe darkness of the theater.

Jonathan W. Hickman, 2004