I’d been Frankie, toying with different angles to better show off my body, aiming for the kind of standoffish allure that suggested more could be elicited and demanded should you know how best to ask. Shrouded in a darkened movie theater, I felt the pang of recognition. These first images of Eliza Hittman’s film Beach Rats struck a little too close to home. He knows what he’s looking for and is all too happy to click away from any man who may not fit what he covets. There’s a rehearsed, almost weary rhythm to these digital encounters. There, he coyly interacts with half-naked men who egg him on to show more and, later still, to meet them. Content with his pictures, he soon lights up his computer, turns on his webcam, and signs on to a video chat room called Brooklyn Boys. It is through these scattered selfies that I first meet Frankie, a lithe young man all too curious about his uncontrollable desire for other male bodies. The eyes may be obscured by a perfectly placed baseball cap, but their hunger is undeniable. Then another flicker, another pose and then another and another and another. The screen flickers alive and I get a glimpse of a toned torso in a rather dirty mirror.
