Shortbus is an ideal antidote to bland romcoms, a sexually explicit exploration of modern relationships that takes in homosexuality, threesomes, and problems achieving orgasm along its delightful way. If nothing else, it functions as a good barometer for potential partners: I’m all in favour of its libertarian stance, and anyone who’d act shocked by it is not someone I’d want in my boudoir. Think of it as Moulin Rouge with its kit off: it’s got the same kind of glorious bohemian utopianism, only without the budget and with a cast of unknowns.

The film is adventurous in its structure as well as its content. We get to see the characters alone and together in a series of vignettes connected by delightful computer graphics that make New York out to be a loveable cartoon of a place. It would have been easy just to take a camera out onto the streets, but by opting for the digital route director John Cameron Mitchell starts to create the otherworldliness that characterises Shortbus, assisted by the eclectic music of Yo La Tengo.

Shortbus itself is a club, or perhaps more accurately what anarchist writer Hakim Bey called a Temporary Autonomous Zone. It’s a place where normal social rules are suspended, where people create and participate in their own forms of entertainment rather than merely act as consumers of corporate schlock. It’s popular with a diverse crowd, some of whom are there for alternative cabaret acts, others to join freeform orgies.

Sound fun? It is. Bey’s concept of Temporary Autonomous Zones was based in part on what he termed Pirate Utopias, the free-for-all groupings that lusty buccaneers lived in. And his writings were embraced by the free party culture who created their own suspended realities for urban ravers out in woods and fields. There’s a lot to be said about having your own piece of paradise.

The film concerns itself with three main groups of characters: the Jamies, two guys called Jamie looking to invite a third man into their relationship; a sex therapist who’s never had an orgasm; and a dominatrix who can’t connect with normal relationships. One way or another, wouldn’t you know it, visits to Shortbus sort them all out.

And that’s fine: it’s refreshing to see sex portrayed positively and credibly onscreen, and the film embraces its particular approach wholeheartedly. The making of it too was something like a T.A.Z., created by a process of devising and improvisation rather than rigid scripting. It shows, in ways that work well in the context of this story: a scripted film tends to create hierarchies of performance that don’t exist in Shortbus; here, everyone exists in their own right, equal to everyone else, and that fits its democratic nature.

The film itself makes no apologies for its pro-sex stance, and there’s no reason it should. One word of caution for anyone planning to emulate Hakim Bey’s inspirational message: his name is a pseudonym for the rather less fantastic sounding Peter Lamborn Wilson, well known for his attraction to young boys, the details of which are unpleasant in the extreme. Come to think of it, pirates weren’t as much fun in real life as Johnny Depp makes them seem, either. The concept of a T.A.Z. is fabulous, but it seems you’ve got to be just as careful who you invite to yours as you would be about any other social event. So much for the erotic anarchist scrum of Shortbus? Maybe. But there’s nothing to stop it being an inspiration, something to be guided by in the same way that others geek out to Star Wars. Given a choice between polishing Darth Vader’s helmet, and getting my own seen to, I know which I’d prefer…

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Also on a political note, Random House have changed the use of the word ‘twat’ to ‘twit’ in Jacqueline Wilson’s book for children My Sister Jodie on the basis of 3 complaints. Please feel free to voice your opinion: their email address and my communication to them follows…

To: childrenseditorial@randomhouse.co.uk
Subject: tw@s

Congratulations Random House,

you’ve submitted to the conservative sensibilities of less than a handful of concerned parents, and changed the text of Jacqueline Wilson’s book ‘My Sister Jodie’ on that basis. What about the nearly 150,000 buyers who DIDN’T complain, who maybe felt that the word was entirely appropriate in the context it was used? Perhaps we can look forward to a new edition of the diaries of Ann Frank in which Nazis don’t appear, for fear of causing offence.

Not impressed,

– Adrian Reynolds