Queer Aussie neo-noir BODY BLOW knows the power of the penis (Movie Jawn)

Queer Aussie neo-noir BODY BLOW knows the power of the penis (Movie Jawn)

by Elijah Fischer, Staff Writer

From the very beginning, Body Blow emphasizes the “power of the penis.” This isn’t anything new for neo-noir, or even noir itself: wherever a policeman goes, the penis looms everpresent. It infects the mystery he solves, it creeps up from the dark underbellies he has to turn over. Cop and man have to become interchangeable, bonded by violence and appetite, any explosions of his urges are excused by virtue of the badge. But writer-director Dean Francis brings an unsettingly modern light to the age-old power of the penis, one that sets his film apart from the sea of De Palma imitators and Coen-wannabes. In a world of “no-fap” podcasts, cuck cages, and sexual repression of all kinds, the inevitable bubbling over of masculine urge all neo-noirs know is a cold and soulless eruption, one that Francis has no problem bringing to the wet alleyways of Sydney’s seedy gay district. 

Body Blow follows Aiden (Tim Pocock), an undercover cop assigned to a beat in the gay district of Sydney, Australia. In an attempt to battle a debilitating sex addiction, Aiden has become obsessed with “no-fap,” an online philosophy that believes abstaining from any kind of sexual pleasure–whether it’s intercourse or masturbation–is the only way to remain in control of your body, mind, and soul. His conviction becomes challenged when he meets Cody (Tom Rodgers), a drug addict and sex worker, who seduces him into his world of crime and debauchery. When Cody’s pimp and dealer, drag queen kingpin Fat Frankie (Paul Capsis), begins blackmailing Aiden, the lovers get dragged on a rollercoaster ride of revenge and chaos that they can never come back from.

Between its synthy soundtrack and its neon-soaked visuals, Body Blow’s Arakian influences are hard to miss. The film drips with queer nihilism and self destruction, which is driven to new extremes by how its script incorporates the sexual repressions of the internet age. At one point, chastity cages come into play, but rather than appearing as a form of kink they’re used by Aiden in a brutally medieval attempt to prevent any attempts at pleasure. We see a strange new frontier in queer storytelling, where the biggest concern is no longer the presence of the closet, but rather living in a world where queerness is “tolerated” but not accepted, and where the baggage of yesteryear has not been purged from the psyches of today’s young queer men and women. Francis expertly taps into that alienation, the loneliness of a community where trauma drips through generations. Sydney is hardly a dark and grimy city, and yet through Francis’s lens, it becomes an apocalyptic epicenter of a community tortured by sexual hangups.

Tom Rodgers is the standout among the cast, having to juggle confidence with vulnerability and managing both beautifully. As Cody, he channels Mae West, Rita Hayworth’s Gilda, and even Luke from Gregg Araki’s The Living End as he becomes a queer femme fatale for the new age. He looks at Aiden the way a cat might look at a mouse, and that teasing, hungry look only becomes more devious and more intriguing as more of Cody’s mysteries are unravelled. Pocock nails the reserved and steely manner of Aiden, which makes it all the more easy for him to catch the audience off guard when he threatens to fuck someone so hard “his eyes will pop out of his head.” Pocock and Rodgers’ chemistry is what the film rests on, and they carry it with ease as their messy relationship threatens to bring the entire city of Sydney down on top of them. 

Where the film stumbles is when it loses focus from Aiden and Cody’s relationship. Musical interludes are always fun, and corruption within the police department adds a nice bite to the mystery aspect, but at times the interruptions from our lovers can feel like runtime-padding rather than necessary additions to the story. It might give the talented ensemble something to do, but it distracts from the true meat of the film in a way that is less than welcome. In spite of this, the film manages to keep itself relatively tight within its 99 minute runtime, tying every thread up neatly at its climax in a bloody, bullet-holed bow. 

Body Blow is a refreshingly sleazy queer film that knows how to use its sleaze sparingly and impactfully, something that feels like a lost art in today’s cinematic landscape. It maintains its ghostly noirish atmosphere even as it sinks into car chases, shootouts, and BDSM. Francis makes the city feel hollow, the gay district feel haunted, and the suburbs feel like they sit at the edge of the earth. It is, at its core, a neo-noir entrenched in modern queer folk, capturing all the loneliness and longing that lurks in the heart of a culture that has been through hell and back.

From: https://www.moviejawn.com/home/2025/9/23/body-blow-2025-review