Without further ado - the film that made Canadian indie film geeks like myself perk up and actually pay attention to what legislation the Tories have been sliding under the radar way out there in Ottawa’s House of Commons. Unless you were living under an iceberg last winter, you probably heard about Bill C-10, an arduous list of technical changes to tax laws that includes a specific provision that would allow the Heritage Minister to withhold tax credits to a production if it is considered “contrary to public policy.” If you know anything about Canadian production budgets, you understand that virtually any film or television created in this country depends on such credits. Therefore, some might say that this Bill is indeed censorship. One of the largest advocates of the Bill is evangelical minister Charles McVetey, head of the Canadian Family Action Coalition. Recently on The Hour with George Stroumbolopolous, McVetey specifically targeted Young People Fucking as a movie that “Canadian people don’t want their tax payer dollars funding.” As a law-abiding, tax paying citizen, I decided I had better confirm this declaration for myself.

According to YPF co-writer Martin Gero, the title of the film was only meant to be a working title that he and writer/actor Aaron Abrams were planning on altering as soon as someone in either development or distribution asked them to change it. Much to their amazement, no one ever did. As controversial as the title is, it is exactly what this film is about. Young. People. Fucking. A typical romantic comedy would spend the first 89 minutes building the sexual tensions between the two lead characters while exposing them to a series of misunderstandings to keep them apart, until the very last scene when they finally toss away their differences and embrace in a final, mind-blowing kiss. And then proceed to live happily ever after. Even the films that actually do involve the leading couple ‘getting it on’ generally either include an intercut clip of metaphorical fireworks during the sex scene, or do a cut-to the lovebirds lying in a sweaty, exhausted mess in bed, lighting a cigarette. It makes you wonder if the writers of these movies might actually be virgins.

The brilliance of YPF is that we see the story that unfolds beyond the first kiss, when two consensual people (or in one instance, three) are alone, in a room, at their most vulnerable position. Is that not where the real story (and often comedy) transpires within a relationship anyway? There is no demystification, no real surprises, just the trials, tribulations, and triumphs of the horizontal humpty hump.

The film is comprised of five simultaneously occurring vignettes, each having its own beginning, middle and end - or rather its own Prelude, Foreplay, Sex, Interlude, Orgasm, and Afterglow. In “Friends,” Chris tries to kill two birds with one stone by helping her best friend Matt get over his “psycho-fucking” girlfriend while getting her own pipes serviced at the same time. The “Exes” fool themselves into thinking that they are grown-ups who can maturely carry out a platonic relationship now that a sufficient amount of time has passed since their break-up. In “First Date,” Ken, the office charmer (read: slut), tries to carve yet another notch in his whittled down bedpost by taking out his beautiful, young co-worker, Jamie. During “Roommates,” Gord’s hormones get the best of him as he sucks up his pride and asks his rival roommate, Dave, to join him and his girlfriend in the bedroom at her request. And lastly, my undisputed favourite, the “Couple” tries to spice up their dwindling sex life (as well as free their minds of that pesky Ian Ziering setback).

Because the film was shot in only five locations between five different stories, the writing had to be good – and it was. The film’s content simply must have been inspired by bedroom war stories experienced first-hand by both Gero and Abrams because the details are just too real not to be true. I found myself sitting in the theatre in amazement thinking, “I had no idea these things happened to other people!” If I couldn’t actually picture myself in that same bed thinking those very thoughts, I’ve at least sat at a coffee shop across from my best friend telling me the same anecdotes about her most recent rendezvous. This really is the ultimate sexcapade movie for this generation’s twenty and thirty-somethings; it’s smart, honest, and real. Not to mention funny – knee-slappingly so at some points.

Inevitably, the film’s controversial title will turn some people away. And really, it’s just as well because those are exactly the people who wouldn’t enjoy the movie anyway. Charles McVetey, you would fit in to this category. And while I acknowledge Mr. McVetey’s attempt to save our tax dollars from producing atrociously obscene content for our theatres, I’d kindly ask him not to speak for me when defining offensive material. Young People Fucking was partially funded by my own tax payer money, and you know what? I’m fucking proud of that.