The moment the opening voice-over drifts into our ears, with the visuals of art materials, a combination of prickly backstories and a kind of creative therapy appear to be on the menu. Johanna Gustin‘s candid, organically witty short film, Dicks That I Like, paints an intriguing picture from the off. The assemblance of women at what is essentially a clay art class, with the ambience of the room – which is hazed in gorgeous orange light – is playful and pensive.
The host, and narrator, is candid about the references to toxic masculinity and that some men clearly do not deserve a sculpture of their penis to represent them in any sort of way. The laughter in the room, then, is not really comparable to kids drawing dicks on their school desks or moulding a generously sized penis with plasticine. These ladies bring humour and resentment and all manner of historic experiences to their current art project, that the physical construct of manhood does kind of align with the stories they could tell. This is not necessarily a genital creation contest.
This very reviewer is a member of the human race that owns the subject of this smart, enlightening short film, in his trousers. And it does make you reflect on the role we play as men, standing in front of these women whose lives may well have been trampled on somewhat by the so-called protective sex. The notion is vague with nobody specific to blame here, but the metaphoric finger-pointing is direct, apt and derives much deep thought.
Perhaps we are all made of clay after all, made by women hundreds of years ago with the forethought of the impact we have had on them. The title itself, then, surely refers to the refined presentation of a man, rather than the one nature provided. Of course, there are thousands upon thousands of tales to be told from females who have embraced, endured the males that have come and gone. This short film – which could / should have been far longer (pun absolutely intended) – brings us these viewpoints through a literally more creative mode. Lest we forget, the clay-moulding itself is an art form. And Johanna Gustin’s filmmaking here is an art piece that has our attention.