As any queer moviegoer should understand, gay-inclusive cinema is a dodgy proposition at best. If the film is targeted at a predominantly heterosexual audience, the depiction of a GLBT character can range anywhere from the pseudo-enlightened portrayal of the deaf brother Thad in The Family Stone to the understated eloquence of Brokeback Mountain's Ennis or the prancing clownish choreographer Armand in The Bird Cage.

If the film is targeted at a queer audience, the craftsmanship can range from the sloppy ineptitude of Sordid Lives to the poetic mastery of A Thousand Clouds of Peace. Sadly, more often than not, the lack of quality often eclipses the reassuring content of many films aimed at the gay community. As with Dances with Wolves or an embroidered throw pillow, the creator hopes a noble message is compelling enough to warrant our appreciation.

Such is not the case with director Ron Oliver's Shock to the System, a murder-mystery based on the novels by Richard Stevenson. Donald Strachey (Chad Allen) the openly gay detective and hero of the series, is handsome and wry. He has the scraggly, perpetually tired look that seems so well suited to private investigators. He is neither as butch as a leather-daddy nor exaggeratedly effeminate.

Of course, extremes of behavior exist on both sides of the orientation fence; there are straight men and women who play their roles more as caricature than character. The question is how often gay characters are depicted this way and to what end? Does the character of Jack on Will and Grace function more as a recognizable fixture of the queer community, or an addition to the plague of homophobia?

At the beginning of Shock to the System, Paul Hale (Jared Keeso) a potential client meets Strachey in a dark alley. Hale and Strachey barely have time to introduce themselves before a van nearly runs them down. The next day Paul turns up dead, an apparent suicide. Inconsistencies in the autopsy lead Strachey to believe otherwise.

Investigating the mystery, Strachey learns that Paul, who had been gay, had started claiming his homosexuality was cured. Strachey poses as a prospective patient, going undercover at a clinic where gays and lesbians seek “reparative therapy”.

Shock is admirably low-key here. There's not a lot of Biblical denunciation or browbeating. Still the familiar code words are there. The invocation of God and nature, terms like “lifestyle” and “normal". Even though while at the clinic Strachey has his moments of painful recollection (discharge from the army, his lover's suicide) he challenges the well-meaning and condescending counselors. Shock explores the inevitable damage and diminishment that comes from such therapy without working us over in the process.

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