In the humid, languid embrace of a Brooklyn summer, Lucio Castro’s Drunken Noodles unfurls as a captivatingly unforced and intimate character study. The film opens with a scene that, for some, might initially raise eyebrows, yet it immediately and unequivocally establishes the movie’s distinctive, non-judgmental tone. A young, gay grad student, happily adrift for the summer in the city, connects with a studly food-delivery cyclist in a public park. The two find an unlit park corner, finding immediate physical connection before casually sharing a leftover order of slurpy, post-coital pad kee mao on a nearby bench, all before they even bother to exchange names. For those who hold deep-seated biases against the perceived casualness of modern digital dating and instant hookups, this languid, humid, and perfectly played scene will undoubtedly confirm every preconceived notion. However, Castro, with his remarkably empathetic lens, imbues it with a profound sense of gentle, easy intimacy and an unforced energy that permeates the entire film. This early sequence reveals a deep, almost anthropological understanding of the charged, albeit fleeting, connections that can be forged even in the briefest of erotic encounters, setting a remarkably open and authentic tone for the character study that follows.
Following the ambitious, and often challenging, genre experimentation of his more recent film, After This Death, Castro gracefully returns with his third feature to the familiar, yet ever-fresh, woozy, sensuous territory of his acclaimed 2019 debut, End of the Century. Drunken Noodles, in contrast to its predecessor, presents itself as a slighter, more mischievous work, less burdened by sprawling existential inquiries and instead playfully attentive to the intricate nuances and textures of fleeting carnal encounters. The Argentine director’s warm, nonjudgmental gaze on youthful, libidinous play is a bracing and much-needed asset in what continues to be a markedly sexless era for cinema, even within the typically more adventurous arthouse and LGBTQ+ film circuits. This refreshing and candid approach to intimacy, free from sensationalism or moralising, alone makes the film a compelling watch. Its easy charm and genuine portrayal of contemporary queer life suggest it is already poised to become a cherished queer cult item, a film that will resonate deeply with audiences seeking honest and unvarnished explorations of connection and desire.
The film’s languid, soft-spoken tempo is largely and effectively set by the magnetic lead performance of Laith Khalifeh as Adnan. An art student spending his summer cat-sitting for a wealthy, absent uncle in New York City, Adnan is portrayed with an intriguing and captivating mix of impassivity and inquisitive curiosity. With his perfectly groomed, on-trend moustache and just-oversized-enough wardrobe, he effortlessly embodies the archetype of a practised urban hipster, further accessorised by his seemingly cool internship at a hole-in-the-wall Williamsburg gallery. Yet, subtly beneath this carefully constructed cool exterior lies a faintly anxious naiveté that, over the course of the film’s three meticulously structured chapters – presented in reverse chronological order – proves to be a magnetic force, consistently drawing in a diverse array of men, of various ages and types. This non-linear structure is one of the film’s most intriguing and rewarding choices, as it slowly and deliberately peels back layers of Adnan’s emotional landscape, revealing the complex motivations and lingering questions that underpin his exploratory spirit. Rather than providing immediate answers, the reverse chronology encourages the audience to piece together Adnan’s experiences, deepening the mystery and the eventual understanding of his character.
In the film’s opening (but chronologically last) chapter, Adnan’s initial tryst with the DoorDash cyclist, Yariel (Joel Isaac), evolves beyond a one-off encounter into a tentative, primarily physical relationship. A halting, somewhat awkward attempt at a formal date later unfolds at the intimate gallery Adnan is minding, where an exhibition of deliciously transgressive folk art is on display. These vibrant, intricately embroidered tapestries, depicting men engaged in various, vigorous scenes of orgiastic activity and BDSM roleplay, are an audacious visual feast – an intriguing blend one might cheekily describe as “hard-cottagecore.” Whether entirely intentional or not, these provocative and uncensored pieces of art seem to provide a peculiar yet fitting template for a later, more expansive group get-together between Adnan, Yariel, and a gaggle of fellow delivery riders. This scene is presented by Castro not with explicit detail, but as a teasing, almost artful, still-photography montage, a rude tangle of jockstraps, helmets, and bare flesh that feels like another installation on an unseen gallery wall, masterfully maintaining the film’s artistic and observational sensibility even in its most explicit and uninhibited moments. It’s a playful nod to the art Adnan curates, blurring the lines between art and life, observation and participation.
The narrative then gracefully, yet dramatically, flashes back to the previous summer, revealing Adnan’s pivotal encounter with Sal (Ezriel Kornel), the bearish, sixtysomething artist behind the very tapestries we’ve just witnessed. Their meeting, which takes place while cycling through the serene upstate woods, sparks an instant, unspoken chemistry that quickly leads into nonchalant and unburdened sex. This encounter, however, proves to be more than just a physical liaison; it then steers the film, with a willfully loopy abandon, into unexpected moments of outright magical realism. This particular stylistic choice, which adds a profound sense of whimsy and dreamlike quality, becomes a recurring motif, reappearing later in the narrative to further blur the lines between reality and Adnan’s inner world. The subsequent chapter then rewinds the timeline only a day or so further, subtly revealing poignant and essential context for Adnan’s exploratory spirit that underpins his actions and emotional journey in the previous two chronological sections. This gradual unveiling of his past provides a deeper understanding of his search for connection and self-discovery.
While Drunken Noodles predominantly focuses on the liberating freedoms and occasional solitary spells of single living and unattached encounters, it also offers quietly sharp and surprisingly insightful observations on the bittersweet rewards and often subtle restrictions of gay coupledom. One particularly slyly witty scene sees Adnan sharing with his amused, long-term partner a deeply personal and somewhat perverse memory of inchoate childhood sexuality. This candid moment reveals the first of many secrets in a rich sex life storied with passing, private encounters, meticulously collected and cultivated by our hero even as he engages in what appears to be an open, loving, and committed relationship. It highlights the complexities of personal histories within shared lives. The film’s dreamily whimsical epilogue, meanwhile, executed with a delicate touch, pivots to quietly make a compelling and beautiful case for the profound beauty, inherent freedom, and unexpected richness that can be found in complete solitude, offering a poignant counterpoint to the earlier explorations of fleeting connections.
Throughout Drunken Noodles, everything feels apt and pleasingly on the fly, mirroring the drifting, ruminative, and spontaneous nature of its subject matter and Adnan’s journey. The filmmaking itself is commendably never strenuous or overworked, a deliberate choice that significantly contributes to the film’s overall easygoing and natural charm. Castro’s editing employs casual, economical slices, allowing scenes to breathe organically and allowing connections to unfold with an unhurried, natural rhythm. Cinematographer Barton Cortright’s exquisite use of airy natural light, often combined with deep, sweat-dampened colours, creates a palpably sensuous and almost tangible atmosphere that makes Brooklyn feel like a vibrant, living character itself, humid and brimming with possibility. Other dedicated crew members deserve significant credit for their impressive multitasking efforts, most notably Yegang Yoo, who is responsible for both the film’s sparse, irregularly rhythmic score, which perfectly complements its drifting, contemplative mood, and its subtly character-attuned costumes, which speak volumes about Adnan’s personality without overt exposition. This thoughtful scale and spontaneous style of production perfectly suits Castro’s drifting, ruminative interests as an artist – here centered on the celebration of everyday ecstasies and unexpected fantasies, both of the flesh and of the mind, that can be found in something as seemingly simple as a leisurely woodland walk, the intriguing curve of a perfectly presented derrière, or the comforting, greasy warmth of a shared takeout carton of noodles. Ultimately, Drunken Noodles is a film that bravely celebrates connection in its myriad forms, recognising its beauty and complexity, even if only for a fleeting, unforgettable summer.
Drunken Noodles is now playing as part of the Melbourne International Film Festival.
