I managed to pull the amyl-nitrate-soaked hankie out of my mouth long enough to stuff some popcorn down my throat, and that man-made butter goodness reminded me that I was, in fact, in a movie theater watching the reprint of Cruising at Film Forum—and not, as I had been fearing, an undercover cop tackling the mounting pressures of being undercover both as a policeman and a homosexual. Never since Bud Abbot stood dumbfounded, and probably shit-faced, after being told by Lou Costello that Lou wanted to make The 30-Foot Bride of Candy Rock solo, has there been such a dejected and confused "straight man" as Al Pacino's Steve Burns.

The film opens on the beautiful, brown water of the Hudson River. A tug boat pulls in close to a strange parcel floating in the murk, and we discover it is a disembodied, decaying arm. Back at the coroner's office the mysterious rogue arm is filed in the CUPPI (Circumstances Undetermined Pending Police Investigation) drawer. This sends Police Captain (Paul "Don't Call Me Paulie" Sorvino) Edelson into action, enlisting rookie cop Steve ("You Can Call Me Al" Pacino) Burns to go undercover in the gay/leather world and earn his gold badge the hard way as he tries to find a killer of homosexuals. This isn't your grandfather's police work.

The first question is just why Burns is chosen? Captain Edelson's initial lines are cryptic, yet speak to possible suppositions or rumors on the force as to Burns's sexual tendencies. Do his coworkers feel that Burns is of the gay-but-doesn't-know-it persuasion? Burns seems to greet the news of his undercover assignment with the same ho-hum lethargy that Barney Miller's Wociejowicz greets assignments of his in-drag central park sorties to allure would-be rapists. Once immersed in the life, however, Burns seems...um... comfortable. This is one reason why the movie has such an ambiguous quality to it. Did Burns actually turn into a killer himself? He's quick with a knife, as he proves in the park. Did Bailey's roommate (James "He'll always be Ajax from Warriors to me" Remar) kill Bailey? OR... Does Burns truly put the "bi" in ambiguous and is that Burns's live semen in a dead Ted Bailey's mouth at the end of the film—years before those "Got Milk?" ads? These questions and more lead to the possibility that Burns has crossed over and discovered his gayness—and what's more—to the outrage of gay rights groups everywhere... discovered his proclivity for murder.

Ironically, Friedkin is the director who gave us both gay epics The Boys in the Band and Cruising. One can imagine the characters from The Boys in the Band going through a decade-long transformation into the cast of Cruising—a Mr. Rogers-like changing from cardigans and capezios into leather MCs and boots. As one butch john says, "I got a need to be worshipped." ...Indeed. There's also a rather borscht-beltish running gag throughout the film. Burns constantly refers to Captain Edelson as Edelstein, and is repeatedly corrected by the Captain. At the film's resolution, Burns correctly calls him Edelson, and the Captain playfully responds: "That's Edelstein." This sort of everyday good-natured ribbing takes on sly intent on the part of Friedkin, as the whole nature of the film deals with identity, both mistaken and surreptitiously assumed. It is this question of identity that still confuses watchers of the film today. However, Cruising's elliptical nature is what ensures continued interest in the film today. Well... that and the outlandish sight of Pacino's amil-nitrate-induced tarantella—a modern-day Nero dancing to the strains of the skin-fiddle in his brain, while all about him gay New York burns.

With all the subtlety of a double-handed reach-around, Joe Spinell and Mike Starr's characters, policemen who may not really be policemen, further confuse the already murky plot boiler. As the film starts its inevitable crawl away from the peeled eyes of even the most vigilant movie-goer, one thing you can hang onto is the story's ample humor, either intended or otherwise. This ranges from the more obvious of director parlor tricks such as the toaster popping up with freshly tanned bread to coincide with the rising of Steve's hard on, to surrealist touchstone of the hankie-choosing scene, to the unintentional chuckle over a few of the more amorous of the "atmosphere" players who wear nothing more than moustaches and jockstraps.

Speaking of jockstraps, I'd be remiss if I didn't mention Big John Slade (who the hell knows his real name), the six-foot-something black man clad in nothing more than a jockstrap and Mounties hat who enters the police interrogation scene with the express purpose of dumbfounding both suspects and audience members alike. He is responsible for many laughs himself, but believe me, they're intended jocular respites. Friedkin knew we'd need something to get us over the sight of Pacino hog-tied naked on a hotel bed.

Speaking of which, the hotel scene begs a question: Did Steve Burns sabotage the audio equipment, to get himself past his moment of Homoerotic sexual truth with Slick. One could argue that Steve was turned on by him, as witnessed in Slick pointing out Steve's hard-on outside the club in the meat-packing district (a location that's too easy to joke about). Perhaps if the cops didn't rush in quick enough, Steve might have had the... out... he needed to at least make peace with his own curiosity. Instead, the premature ending of this moment for Steve simply sends him into a deeper tailspin as to what might have been, and what might still be in the future. In the interrogation, Steve seems as out of sorts as Slick, and even in some respects more upset than Slick at the police effrontery to their St. James-room privacy. To use police parlance, did Steve want his pole smoked?

What, then, to make of the appearance of the big, black, jock-strapped cowboy? If you've read this far, you must know the wonderfully odd character to which I am referring. If you don't, you're no doubt on your way to Blockbuster, where the salesman will answer your query for Cruising with a confused glare and the suggestion of one of their eighty copies of Out to Sea with Matthau and Lemmon. In any case, Sonny Grosso, the real French Connection's real Cloudy—and an advisor on Cruising—has said that this officer served the purpose of striking not just fear into the suspect they were trying to get information out of, but to create a scenario that no lawyer, judge or jury would ever believe, should the suspect decide to tell the story at trial. That said, Friedkin has concocted this police scam's cinematic equivalent: a scene so offbeat that no moviegoer would be able to explain the scene to anyone else. "No, no, he only slaps him anytime the guy asks to see his lawyer..."

A movie so good that Powers Booth is reduced to a store-clerk cameo? Yes, this movie is that good. Purposefully elliptical, and accidentally funny, this film puts Gerald Walker's novel on its feet, shoves a yellow hankie in its back pocket, and pisses right in its face. Amidst the gurgling, and audience laughter, you hear another sound.... Footsteps walking down the street, chains jingling on the belt of someone you do not want to meet. Remember, there's a killer out there. You're shocked back into reality. "Why am I laughing?"

From big, black, jock-strapped cowboys to transvestite-abusing police impersonators, this movie's got something for everyone. Who needs blood? How about semen? A mixture of blood and semen? Yeah, Cruising's got you covered.