When their plane is prevented from going to Dallas because of torrential rain, business travelers Les (Matthew Broderick) and Natalie (Alice Eve) are forced to confront a day spent in Albuquerque, in Neil LaBute’s Dirty Weekend. Les is blustery and petulant, feeling that the weather is a personal affront from the airline, while Natalie is more reasonable, and the mostly inert first act mostly involves standard issue complaints about travel. The first hint of intrigue appears when Les suspiciously states his desire to go into town, with the flimsy pretext of buying some “Indian knickknacks” for his high school age children. Natalie is reluctant to be separated in case a flight opens up and accompanies Les, who acts shifty and clearly wants to be left alone. But the extended time together allows them to open up about their personal lives. Les reveals that his last time in Albuquerque he did something totally out of character; got drunk to the point that all he can remember is leaving a bar with an indistinctly gendered person and hugely enjoying a very different kind of sex than he’s used to. Natalie is supportive of his tentative sexual exploration and lowers her turtleneck (British Natalie calls it a polo neck) to show the leather collar she wears while working. She’s a sub, and her dominant partner wants a tactile reminder of their relationship. With their new camaraderie, Les and Natalie set out, with the help of a moronic Shakespeare enthusiast of a cab driver, to find the bar where Les met his lover, which unsurprisingly turns out to be a gay bar. At the bar, Les and Natalie both find a partner for their dirty weekend, allowing them to reflect on their personal desires.
Dirty Weekend is modestly enjoyable, with a few funny moments along with a few misfires, but it never feels anything more than slight. While it’s refreshing to see such a lengthy and frank conversation about sexual exploration, the problem is that the film is little more than conversation. The first hour or so (of 93 minutes total) is essentially one long talk between the two protagonists with inconsequential changes to the background scenery taking us from the various waiting rooms of the airport and hotel to nondescript Albuquerque restaurants. Film critics love to throw the criticism “stagy” at movies made by playwrights, but Dirty Weekend is so visually uninspired that it could have been on the radio. When Les’ previous night out is finally made clear, it’s with a small wrinkle on essentially what most of the audience would guess was coming. Which isn’t completely a fair criticism; Dirty Weekend isn’t trying to constantly shock the audience with more outrageous revelations like The Hangover, but the long buildup and LaBute’s resume do lead to expectations of something more stunningly outré. Indeed, the real surprise of the film is its gentleness, its light touch in poking fun at buttoned-down Les while still taking his mixture of fear and desire seriously. Broderick and Eve both deliver strong work as characters unexpectedly confronted with new opportunities that give perspective on their current lives. Dirty Weekend is not one of the must-sees of this year’s Tribeca, but it’s an honest and affectionate look at dealing with unknown desires.
