Max (Ruaridh Mollica) is like many young writers I met in my 20s. Ambitious, smart, rather dashing when talking about an art he’s passionate about, which in his case, is literature and the work of enfant terrible writer Bret Easton Ellis. Max is a touch cocky for a freelancer, he’s known to accidentally alienate friends and colleagues with harsh words, and thinks he knows better than his editors. However, unlike most reasonable writers, he’ll stop at nothing to find inspiration, even if it puts him in danger.
On his quest for the bestselling debut novel, Max takes on the persona and name of Sebastian – which also gives this movie its title – to go undercover as a sex worker in search of stories to tell. He learns the new digital sex work landscape, meets clients of all kinds, and flits from one’s bed to another’s couch, typing away about the encounters once he’s back in the safety of his computer. But his muse comes with the very real dangers of sexual assault and abuse, especially if any of his clients were to learn the truth about why Sebastian is really doing in their home. At the same time, the 25-year-old writer is facing off against the whims of the publishing industry, requests to be more active on social media, and morphing himself into becoming a celebrated author – with the pressure that his work will live up to expectations.
Written and directed by Mikko Mäkelä, “Sebastian” plays like a cautionary tale about toxic ambition. From the start, our main character Max is vocal about his goals, with the hunger to move up shining in his eyes, even as he’s missing deadlines to chase flashier assignments. It’s almost unpleasant to watch how desperately he wants to climb the ladder before the years catch up to him. At one point, he compares himself to his hero and sadly notes how he’s already older than when Bret Easton Ellis was when he first arrived on the literary scene. As both Max and Sebastian, Ruaridh Mollica delivers a nuanced performance, navigating the young writer’s fears and confidence with equal measure. He plays the character sympathetically even when he’s at his most petulant or manipulative. Yet Mollica’s scenes with Jonathan Hyde, who plays one of Max’s older clients seeking companionship, are beautifully tender – like an antidote to the movie’s harsher scenes.
As with his difficult hero, Mäkelä can be also tough to figure out. In trying to run away from the trappings of a tragic queer story, which Max even points out in a tense meeting with his publisher, the movie ends up running right into some of its own tropes, especially in the sour moments of Max’s escapades. Our protagonist is shown to be rather isolated, very much in his own head, and keeping others – as well as the audience – at bay. When he’s left alone, he is at his most vulnerable, sometimes crying but we’re not entirely sure why – does he regret following his yearning for success? Does he regret the emotional toll of sex work? It’s also not quite clear what drove Max to picking up sex work for the sake of his book, although its encroachment into his life and free time plays out pretty organically with his ambitious personality. Mäkelä and his cinematographer Iikka Salminen draw on a dark color palette shaped by the fluorescent lighting of newer buildings and hotels, and the occasional venture into the warmth of a client’s home and the neon refuge of clubs. It’s as if the room itself will set the tone for the encounter-to-come, and perhaps it’s why when something goes awry, there’s a sense of betrayal, the destruction of safety in the harsh light of a reality check.
Mäkelä’s follow-up to his feature debut “A Moment in the Reeds” is a complex portrait of an artist as a young man. Drawn into Max’s story by Mollica’s passionate performance, “Sebastian” follows the highs and lows of chasing fame, surviving the sting of rejection, and navigating the threat of being found out for using intimate hookups for public consumption in the pages of a would-be bestseller. In close-ups of Max, Mäkelä shows his audience the fleeting moments of unease, desire, pain, and lust in these encounters. There is so much left unsaid in the tense meeting of strangers who size each other up then give in to each other’s arms. Yet for all its gloomy aesthetic, there is something life-affirming about the kindness of a stranger who wants to read your work and the power that comes with owning one’s own words and stories.
