Nowhere: Enduring Intricacy

In response to Hollywood’s commercialization of the art of filmmaking, it is increasingly important to recognize the originality and creativity that is often overlooked in favor of safer, more traditional work. Eccentric films with resonant emotional, cultural, and personal impact cannot be measured by the standards established by, for instance, The Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences. Gregg Araki, a filmmaker recognized for his contribution to the New Queer Cinema movement of the 1990s, is one such artist, boasting an impressive filmography of unique, surprising, challenging, funny, and beautiful stories. His 1997 film Nowhere can be viewed as the summit of his expression, holding nothing back when it comes to the expression of himself and of queer youth. Nowhere, although not a commercial success at the time of its release, has become a cult classic, specifically in the queer community. This is due to the film’s unabashed portrayal of LGBTQ+ youth and its place within Gregg Araki’s filmography; Nowhere is part of a series entitled the Teenage Apocalypse Trilogy, rounded out by The Doom Generation and Totally F***ed Up. These three films distill Araki as a creative visionary, featuring his proclivity for neon lights, debauchery, existentialism, and the balance between vulgarity and honesty. Araki gives an undeniable voice to the large demographic of queer youth through the ironically small personal intricacies of his characters. In Nowhere, a network of almost twenty characters undulates and interacts over the course of an eventful day; one character calls it “Armageddon Day” and predicts the end of the world. As strange science-fiction elements infiltrate the film, the audience is forced to change perspective on the characters’ experiences. The nihilistic tone and eccentric story contribute to Nowhere’s cult status. The film’s longevity has ensured its place in the cinematic zeitgeist and should cement it in art history as well; its use of color synonymous with the 1990s, surprising dialogue, impressive emotional core, and place in the New Queer Cinema movement render it an effective and hopeful capsule of film and general aesthetics at the end of the 20th century.

Described upon its release as “Beverly Hills 90210 on acid,” Nowhere is an unpredictable and stimulating film following a group of high school students living in Los Angeles at the turn of the 21st century. Dark, portrayed by James Duvall, is convinced he is going to die soon and captures his world on a camcorder. Rachel True plays Mel, Dark’s commitment-averse girlfriend. The story follows the couple and their friend group the day of the infamous Jujyfruit’s party. Each of the characters has a unique storyline leading up to the event, allowing the film to explore many facets of complicated teenage life. Even more unique are the names of the characters: Dark, Montgomery, Lucifer, Zero, Egg, Cowboy, and Handjob, to name a few. As paths cross in Nowhere’s reality, affairs become increasingly entangled before inevitably snapping.

First, the audience is introduced to Dark, his girlfriend Mel, and her girlfriend Lucifer. Dark wishes he could have Mel to himself but simultaneously has eyes for Montgomery, a boy in his Modern Society class. At The Hole, a breakfast spot, we meet Alyssa who tells Montgomery that today is “Armageddon Day,” the day the world is supposed to end. We meet Dingbat, Egg, Cowboy, and others who mention a Kick The Can game before Jujyfruit’s party. Sweet, innocent Egg meets Jaason Simmons’ unnamed Teen Idol, a meta play on his Baywatch role. A romance is sparked between the two. 

After Dark leaves The Hole, he stands at the bus stop smoking a cigarette. Three valley girls chat superfluously until, across the street, Dark sees a lizard-like alien creature wielding a gun. He fumbles for his camera, but the alien quickly vaporizes the valley girls, leaving only their steaming retainers behind, and disappears. It seems that Dark is the only one who has witnessed this. Meanwhile, Cowboy confronts drug dealer Handjob about his boyfriend Bart’s addiction; he then finds Bart under the influence and tells him he must get clean. This begins a series of scenes depicting different relationship types between the characters; they range from tender conversations to ruthless sexual encounters. Then, the group assembles for a game of Kick The Can at their school. They each take a tab of acid before playing and Montgomery takes off for the locker rooms; there, he meets the lizard creature and is vaporized. All that remains is his cross necklace.

Elsewhere, the Teen Idol and Egg drink alcohol and watch television, including a clip from televangelist Moses Helper. The Teen Idol soon takes advantage of her intoxication, brutally raping her before she escapes. At home, she watches the Moses Helper, clearly enamored with his idea of heaven as tears and blood stain her face in a striking close-up shot. Simultaneously, Bart watches from his room, tears in his eyes. Both characters commit suicide that night. 

At Jujyfruit’s party, Dark confronts Mel about her commitment to their relationship. Dark sees the alien creature getting a beer from the fridge, but it is clear that he is the only one seeing it. After an argument about money, Alyssa’s boyfriend Elvis attacks Handjob, eventually killing him. The party breaks up and Dark winds up at home. He records a video diary but is interrupted by a tapping at his window: it’s Montgomery having just been returned to Earth after his alien abduction. He and Dark lie together, confess their feelings for one another, and find a peaceful happiness in the wake of all that has happened. Then, Montgomery begins to cough uncontrollably, intensifying until his body explodes into a gory mess. Left behind is a large humanoid insect. “I’m out of here,” it says, before leaving Dark alone to grapple with the weight of the day.

The film’s shocking ending is only fitting in Gregg Araki’s world. In his work, Araki abides by reality while elevating the film with elements of a deviant universe; things are familiar but not as they seem. Araki came of age in California in the 90s. His intersectionality as a gay, Asian man, in addition to his punk culture inclinations, shaped his worldview and later gave way to his bold, contrarian films. Araki studied film at UCSB and USC, making his directorial debut in 1987. He made low budget, independent films until 1992’s The Living End, his third film, received critical acclaim. From there, he began the Teenage Apocalypse Trilogy. Totally F***ed Up, The Doom Generation, and Nowhere, released from 1993 to 1997, are kaleidoscopic explosions of teen angst, isolation, sexuality, identity, and relationships. The films are brazen and polarizing; critic Roger Ebert expressed his distaste for the latter two. However, the films are beloved by the margins and have since been dubbed cult classics. 

Araki returned to prominence with his 2004 film Mysterious Skin. Joseph Gordon-Levitt and Brady Corpit star as former Little League teammates who were sexually abused by their coach. Now eighteen, one is a sex worker and the other is convinced he was abducted by aliens. The film was lauded for its depiction of trauma and cemented Araki as a director with general appeal and universal insight. He was awarded the first Queer Palm at the Cannes Film Festival for his 2010 film Kaboom. He later ventured into television, even directing an episode of Netflix’s Dahmer. Through all of his works, Gregg Araki’s voice is clear and resounding. His attention to aesthetics and stylization in combination with his precise, idiosyncratic dialogue make his involvement undeniable. This potency has placed his films in a self-contained universe, a genrefication that strengthened his cult following. 

One of the most notable elements of his world is the presence of extraterrestrial life. In Nowhere, alien abductions seem to forewarn the apocalypse. The recurring alien, named in the credits as Roscoe, is a looming presence in Dark’s life. If Mysterious Skin is any indication, Roscoe reflects the things that haunt Dark. He is visible only to Dark when he is shown by the bus stop and at Jujyfruit’s party. However, it is important to note that Montgomery, before being abducted in the locker room, feels Roscoe’s hand on his shoulder and screams when he turns and sees the creature. This links the perceptions or psyches of Dark and Montgomery. Their connection is exemplified upon their reunion in the film’s final scene. Montgomery expresses his desire for true love, something Dark has been yearning for all along. In contrast to the audacious sex scenes earlier in the film, this tender moment of connection is relieving. For a moment, it seems that Montgomery might deliver Dark from his teenage despair. However, Montgomery is more doomed than Dark; when we first meet him on the L.A. streets, he stands near a bench reading “GOD HELP ME.” Similarly, above the heads of the bus stop valley girls is “REPENT NOW” in spray paint. As much as the audience may want to doubt the end of the world and the grim fates of some characters, the mass of apocalyptic symbols make the truth undeniable. 

Another striking and essential element of Nowhere is captured in the title. The set design of the film is otherworldly and it is often impossible to denote where a scene is taking place. For instance, the characters get breakfast at The Hole, a place that looks like a nightclub with its black walls spotted with glowing white orbs. Additionally, the bedrooms of each character are intricately personalized and seemingly endless. Even the school locker room is lit in colorful neon. These surreal design choices create an almost liminal space in which the story takes place. Eventually, one’s immersion in the story suspends disbelief and this sense of detachment becomes Araki’s advantage; once the audience accepts the divergent universe that the narrative takes place in, it is no longer a distraction. The complex scenic design, especially of the bedrooms, becomes highly revealing about the intricacies of the characters. Because Nowhere is so stylized, a rewatch often yields new discoveries; its cult status brings devoted fans who are dedicated to understanding the film as deeply as possible. 

Discussion surrounding Nowhere is often divisive as the wide-ranging content resonates so differently throughout the audience. Independent film scholar Henrique Brazão latches onto the film’s relation to Y2K and the fear surrounding the beginning of the 21st century. In his featurette “The End of Everything: Millennium Anxiety in Gregg Araki’s Nowhere,” Brazão focuses on a scene between Cowboy and Bart and how their most pivotal scene differs in aesthetic from the rest of the film. He notes the camera angles, shot composition, minimal dialogue, fast editing pace, and emotional weight as major elements making the scene stand out. In contrast to the loud music and sharp dialogue of most other scenes, Cowboy confronts Bart about his addiction in a rare moment of quiet and sensitivity. Brazão describes the scene as a “micro-romantic tragedy” and connects it to cultural condemnations, claiming it “makes a moral statement against excess… Bart embodies the consequences of succumbing to a lifestyle of continuous self-destruction.” This scene adds a dynamic edge to Araki’s effective portrayal of an unsettling and uncertain time period. More blatant symbolism, such as the recurring alien figure, is an obvious nod to the dread associated with the late 90s, but to reveal these universal feelings in a personal, emotionally charged scene is a testament to Araki’s range and talent.

Other scholars place more focus on the form of film and how Araki uses it to reflect his beliefs. In an article for Film Quarterly, James M. Moran connects Araki’s iconoclastic views and his creative use of the film medium. Entitled “Gregg Araki: Guerilla Film-maker for a Queer Generation,” the article chronicles Araki’s roots in the underground Los Angeles film scene. His foundation there makes him an outsider in Hollywood, but he uses his influence to promote his alternative filmmaking and the cultural messages therein. Moran further inspects Araki’s politics, contextualizing The Living End within the AIDS crisis and his filmography within the Gay Liberation Movement. He also reacts to the reception of Araki’s characters as stereotypical or negative portrayals of queer people, stating that “Araki recasts them in a gay-centered universe, and thus liberates them from their function as "Other" typical of straight Hollywood productions.” These deviations from the commercial film industry’s standards are what positions Araki as beloved on the fringes and polarizing in the spotlight.

What Moran calls a “gay-centered universe” could be the very same elevated reality observed in regards to the stylistic set designs. This connection would explain the need for a world that is visually quite different from ours; because of how queer people are “othered”in reality, the gay-centered world of Nowhere would be impossible within the recognizable. Araki uses his contrarian command of the film medium to build a universe more free, colorful, interplanetary, and punk than reality. This place is home to characters who express themselves because they have never been told to suppress themselves. 

Another notable connection is between the recurring Roscoe, religious motifs, and Henrique Brazão’s idea of millenium anxiety. Throughout the film, Dark’s anxiety brews as he searches for someone to share his thoughts with. He eventually finds solace in Montgomery and the two relate over their desire for true connection and solid ground in an uncertain world. As revealed during Montgomery’s abduction, the two boys are the only ones capable of seeing Roscoe. This phenomenon becomes more striking once Montgomery is contextualized as a Christ figure; his blonde hair, heterochromatic blue and green eyes, relative innocence, and characteristic cross necklace raise questions about the relation between the biblical rapture and the alien takeover that Roscoe forewarns. These events, one ever-present throughout Christianity and the other a new threat of the modern age, exacerbate the fear and instability at the time of the film’s release. Additionally, the existential worry shared by Montgomery and Dark strengthens their relationship, making its end all the more painful and shocking. 

Since my first viewing of Nowhere, I have been enamored with its universe and character network. It immediately became a new favorite film of mine and, each time I watch it, I discover more idiosyncrasies that feel timelessly relatable. To me, the most intriguing aspect of the film is the disjoint relationship between each character or pair. The affairs of Dark and Mel are separate from those of Bart and Cowboy, for instance. There is a lack of causality among the diverse storylines that reflects the film’s hopelessness; at the end of the world, eccentricity and self-expression seem to be the only valuable endeavors. Additionally, because of the many separate stories, Nowhere provides something for everyone. The film has many points for discussion but could also be taken at face value. The pleasing aesthetics and witty dialogue could be part of a typical Hollywood film, a conclusion prematurely declared in the eye of the critical masses. Alternatively, these elements should be used as access points for the general public to seek a deeper understanding of the film. Nowhere is a unique specimen, staying entertaining while inviting abstract thought. Through its stylized visuals, unique form, and mysterious forces up for interpretation, Araki’s work is a cornerstone of the New Queer Cinema movement and should be immortalized among the most impactful, revealing, and challenging films in history.