Hollywood has been cranking out films about unprepared men thrust into fatherhood since the silent movie days when Charlie Chaplin’s Little Tramp found a littler tramp on his doorstep and raised the ragamuffin as his own in 1921’s “The Kid.”
Since then, we’ve seen unwitting uncles (John Candy’s Buck), a triad of dads (“Three Men and a Baby”) and self-absorbed workaholics rethinking their priorities (Dustin Hoffman in “Kramer vs. Kramer”). But we’ve never seen an instant parent quite like Jordan Firstman‘s party promoter Peter in “Club Kid,” the Cannes Film Festival sensation that Firstman impressively directed and wrote for himself.
We meet Peter in a whirlwind, strobe-heavy blur of an opening sequence that takes us through a disorienting parade of coke-and-ketamine-fueled nights in New York’s underground queer club scene. Everyone wants a piece of Peter. His energy (and the drugs he sells) guarantee a good time. It’s a thrilling introduction, shot on 35mm on location in New York City, and the throbbing bass is still bumping around my skull.
When Peter stumbles back to his rent-controlled apartment, his downstairs neighbor Evelyn (Colleen Camp) gives him the once-over while telling him that she just finished Steven Spielberg’s “War Horse” and that “it’s as good as they say.” Peter doesn’t hear her. (Probably the bass is ringing in his ears too.)
“You ever just lose 10 years?” he asks Evelyn.
It turns out he has done just that. The night we’ve witnessed actually took place a decade ago. And one of its episodes included a hetero hookup, part of what began as a threesome with a hot dude and British tourist, Leonora (Paris Petitjean). Peter had forgotten about it until one of Leonora’s friends, Edison (Kirby Howell-Baptiste), knocks on his door, her arm around the beautiful 10-year-old recently orphaned Arlo (Reggie Absolom). Now this Peter (Pan) is going to have to grow up — fast.
If you know Firstman, it might be as an actor in the HBO series “I Love LA” or perhaps Sebastián Silva’s 2023 black comedy “Rotting in the Sun,” in which he played a heightened, vapid version of himself. You may also know him as an online provocateur, sharp and self-aware. Those familiar with that Jordan Firstman might be shocked to watch “Club Kid” and discover that the guy on the screen — and the creator behind the camera — is being utterly, hopelessly sincere with his feature film directorial debut. Get ready to wipe away a tear or two.
That disarming, open-hearted earnestness makes “Club Kid” a crowd-pleaser, albeit one that retains Firstman’s edgy comedy and insider knowledge of queer New York nightlife, as well as a lived-in awareness of how, over time, the nightlife can fray your soul. And just as Peter is ready to bid the scene an Irish goodbye, in walks Arlo, opening up an unlikely path to adulthood that astonishes Peter, a man-child who doesn’t own a single appropriate T-shirt that he can give to his newfound charge. (The one emblazoned “I love Björk and bareback” that Arlo initially picks out goes back into Peter’s closet.)
The thing is, Arlo really does love Björk, not to mention the Cocteau Twins, Elliott Smith and Massive Attack. Preternaturally poised and absolutely adorable, Arlo seems genetically engineered to fit into Peter’s chaotic life and thrive. He’s perfect. Too perfect. Given the tragic circumstances that brought him to Peter, you wait for the moment when grief and anger bubble up. That happens, if briefly. And then Arlo goes right back to being the coolest kid ever, except for maybe being lactose intolerant, but with all the plant-based swaps available these days, that’s hardly a deal-breaker.
Peter does tell Arlo that “it’s OK to be sad in my house,” confiding that he suffers from low self-esteem. This feels like Firstman trying to give some dimension to Peter, but it’s broad and lacking conviction. I’d say a bigger problem for Peter is that he drops $300 on some vinyl. Is there no Urban Outfitters near his apartment?
These issues nag a bit, but just a little because the loving chemistry between Firstman and Absolom is so real and tender. You can also forgive some of the shallower character notes because “Club Kid” is really funny, populated with a superb supporting cast that includes party girls Miss Benny, Alaska Riley and Saturn Risin9 as members of Peter’s rambunctious inner circle, Diego Calva as a child psychologist helping Peter (and, against his better judgment, falling for him) and Cara Delevingne, biting as a spiraling fellow promoter. Best of all is Eldar Isgandarov, playing a self-described “queer philosopher” who goes from couch-surfing at Peter’s place to moving in with Evelyn. He and Camp are so great together that, given the power, I’d green-light a spinoff feature pairing them without hesitation.
So there’s a lot to like. So much that when the film’s inevitable complications arrive — because, c’mon, somebody has to question the wisdom of Peter raising this kid — you feel a lump in your throat the size of a coke pile at one of Peter’s parties. If that comparison feels a little indelicate, it’s very much in keeping with the freewheeling spirit of “Club Kid,” a sentimental journey where the house music plays all night long.
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