Good Luck to You, Leo Grande. And to All of Us.
Currents
People cannot truly be free if they are not sexually free. We imagine that all we must do is shake off the antiquated attitudes of generations past, but it’s not enough to discard puritanism. We must embrace our sex drive. True freedom comes not from ceasing to stifle sexuality, but in proudly and actively owning it — even if it clashes with society’s expectations. This is the heart of queerness, in its most universal sense — and it applies every bit as much to straight people as it does to LGBT folks. In this, Good Luck to You, Leo Grande (2022) is a modern-day parable of two people with wildly different sexual histories who both nevertheless share similar struggles to be their most authentic sexual selves.
The film — an original screenplay by Katy Brand with the feel of a stage play adaptation — consists almost entirely of two characters in a room. A room that offers no distractions and nowhere to hide. Director Sophie Hyde uses the characters themselves as the scenery. The film takes place on their faces, their bodies, and their souls. Everything is laid bare. Stars Emma Thompson (whose performance earned her a Golden Globe nomination) and Daryl McCormack are perfect together. It’s arthouse cinema at its best: elegant, well-crafted, insightful, honest, and unpretentious; a strong message without the preachiness; originality without the avant-garde pointlessness that film students pretend to enjoy. It grips you, and it doesn’t let go.
In the film, British retiree Nancy Stokes (played by Emma Thompson) has spent decades teaching adolescents about religious precepts and the dangers of sex by day, while trapped in a passionless marriage by night. Upon retirement, Nancy finds herself suddenly free when her husband dies. But a lifetime of prudishness and sexual unfulfillment have left their mark. She has never slept with anyone but her late husband. She has never performed or received oral sex. She has never had an orgasm. So she employs the services of an Irish male escort named Leo Grande (played by Daryl McCormack). He’s everything she’s not — young, confident, bisexual, and sex-positive — but in the end, they both turn out to be exactly the person the other needed.
The opening montage is fun and sexy from the first note, as we see Nancy and Leo in the minutes leading up to their first meeting. Nancy could hardly be more buttoned-up if she wore a straitjacket — neurotic, full of anxiety, fussing with her clothes in the hotel room. Leo is all sinew and fluid, vulpine motion as he strolls toward their appointment. Tall, dark, and handsome, he radiates effervescence and infectious joy. The magical build-up shatters when the two meet. You could cut Nancy’s awkward (and very, very British) tension with a machete. She isn’t just a square; she’s a cube — one in need of being chiseled away to reveal the beauty inside. Nancy feels she’s been missing out on an essential dimension of what it means to be alive. But like so many of us, she feels uncomfortable, self-conscious, and conflicted — unable to shake off society’s bygone yet persistent pruderies and the hypocrisy of her role in propagating them. She yearns to be more sexually free and adventurous, but she tries to talk herself out of it at every turn.
Calling it like she sees it. #LeoGrandeFilm NOW STREAMING only on @Hulu. pic.twitter.com/NNWhHmXZi4
— Good Luck To You, Leo Grande (@LeoGrandeFilm) June 22, 2022
Leo, for his part, is suave, charming, and self-possessed; with both a sage wisdom that contradicts his young age and an innocence verging almost on purity that belies his trade. Watching the film, I jotted in my notes, “Leo is the bodhisattva of gigolos”, only for Nancy to put it far more relatably when she refers to him as a “sex saint.” And indeed, it is with the patience of a saint, a wry tongue, and a sympathetic ear that Leo coaxes Nancy out of the shell that she and society have conspired to cage her in. Good Luck to You, Leo Grande is like watching a prison break of the soul in slow motion. And not just for Nancy, but for Leo, too.
For all his good looks, sexual prowess, and smooth bravado, Leo Grande is not what he appears. He seems outwardly at peace, always knowing the right thing to say, the right move to make. He does everything but levitate in the lotus position — until their conversations (and Nancy’s prying) trespass into his personal life and past. As Nancy opens up about her tedious marriage, boring son, and unruly daughter, she also probes Leo about himself. His clients include men, women, old as well as young, and non-sexual as well as sexual desires. We see the first cracks in his mask when the conversation leads to the topic of his mother and brother. Leo says that they think he works on an oil rig, a ruse he claims to go to some lengths to keep up.
Leo’s cool facade unravels completely in a later meeting when Nancy, prompted by the connection she feels between the two, announces that she’s discovered his real name, apart from his escort persona, “Leo Grande.” Revolted and furious at the crossing of this boundary, Leo’s rage clashes with Nancy’s motherly (if inappropriate) concern, bringing his deepest pain to the surface. He reveals that his mother doesn’t think he works on a rig, but rather that she disowned him as a teenager after discovering his queerness and sexual exploits. The hurt and shame over this part of himself are why he continues to lie to his brother. We see Leo in a new light; vulnerable, insecure, a work-in-progress every bit as much as Nancy. Nancy’s intrusions, and her insistence that Leo take pride in who he is, drive an upsetting wedge in their relationship, but it opens a door in Leo’s mind.
The story eventually comes full circle when the two have their final meeting, this time in the hotel’s cafe. Leo tells Nancy that he’d opened up to his brother and been accepted, and Nancy apologizes to a former pupil for slut-shaming her as a student. To the woman’s jaw-dropping astonishment, Nancy goes on to describe her relationship with Leo in the starkest possible terms and recommends his services. Nancy and Leo seem to be new people entirely, and the smile they share before ascending to their room could not have been more liberatory were it accompanied by the sounds of chains breaking and clanking to the ground. What follows is the steamiest scene of an already sexy tale. The climax of the film is, shall we say, a double entendre, and Nancy, no longer requiring Leo’s services, titularly wishes him good luck before the two part ways in genuine and mutual gratitude.
At its heart, Leo Grande is a story about two people coming to accept who they are and growing into more complete versions of themselves together. Just as Leo helps Nancy embrace her sexuality, Nancy helps Leo overcome the stigma of being an escort. It’s a story about sex — the beauty of sex, the antiquated attitudes around it, and the ways in which we all repress ourselves, from the most loveless celibates to sex workers themselves. It’s about overcoming obstacles and embracing our own sexuality — whether those obstacles come from within, like Nancy’s deep-seated reservations to explore herself, or from without, like the judgment Leo faced from his mother. These themes are more relevant than ever.
Like a nun in a micro bikini, modern society is a living contradiction. Among Americans, who otherwise cannot agree on whether the sky is blue, 92% view birth control as morally acceptable, as do 81% for divorce, 76% for premarital sex, and 71% for same-sex relationships. Pop culture has never been racier, our clothing more provocative, and our digital landscape more saturated by porn. Scratch the surface, however, and things are not as they seem. Life in the 21st century is not exactly the Brave New World that yesteryear prophesied. We swathe ourselves in the trappings of sexual freedom, but we don’t live it. Young people are as politically unconservative as it is possible to be, but sexually, they might as well be living in a convent. And it’s not just them. We are all having less sex — and for an increasing number of us, nearly none at all. We are not only marrying less but partnering less. Forget sex lives; we increasingly don’t even have social lives. Over 37% of Americans report using the internet “almost constantly.” The number of people with ten or more close friends has declined by over 60% in the past 30 years, while the number of those citing no close friends has risen by 300%. Something needs to change.
Nancy and Leo both come to realize what we all must: that the values we purport to hold are not only held back by prudish and repressive attitudes toward sex, but that they cannot truly be expressed without positively embracing them. When Nancy repudiates her past behavior and speaks openly and proudly of her sexual desire and promiscuity, she does not merely abandon sexual conservatism; she affirmatively expresses a more liberal, open, and empowered outlook. Similarly, when Leo brings his brother into his confidence, he is not simply removing a barrier, but stepping fully into himself as a man unafraid to be sexually free and different. We don’t all have a Leo Grande or a Nancy Stokes to walk into our lives and guide us to a more actualized version of ourselves, but we have something infinitely more powerful. We have each other — if only we would put down our phones, unplug from our escapisms, and go out into the real world and meet.
Good Luck to You, Leo Grande (2022)
Rated R. Running time 1 hr 37 minutes. Watch on Hulu.
Published Jan 16, 2023
