When movies are labeled as “controversial,” the effect is often akin to Oscar Wilde’s quip that “there’s only one thing in life worse than being talked about, and that is not being talked about.”

Indeed, a whiff of controversy can be the best publicity of all, turning a movie that might otherwise have been no more than a blip on the cultural radar into the buzziest “hidden gem” of the season – and “Blue Film,” a two-character psychosexual drama about an encounter between a male sex worker and a much-older client, is a perfect example. The debut feature of filmmaker Elliot Tuttle, it was rejected for inclusion at last year’s Sundance and SXSW festivals before finally premiering at the Edinborough International film fest; and even then, some audience members were walking out of the theater in disgust.

It’s easy to see why, really. The taboos it breaks run far deeper than just frank depiction of queer sexuality to rattle some among the ones most hard-coded into our cultural DNA, and the directness with which it pushes past our comfort zones is merciless. It begins with Aaron Eagle (Kieron Moore), a Los Angeles “fetish cam-boy” who specializes in financial humiliation and domination, proudly performing for his online fans by fondling his stacked physique on camera while deriding them with homophobic slurs and other forms of verbal abuse. He also taunts them by bragging that one of them is paying $50,000 to be abused in person overnight.

When he shows up for the gig, he’s greeted by an older man in a ski mask (Reed Birney), who wants to begin their session by asking him questions on camera about his personal life. Aaron agrees, but makes up the answers, only to have the client call out his lies; the mask soon comes off, revealing that the man behind it is Hank Johnson, a teacher who had been fired from Aaron’s home town middle school after attempting to molest a student in the boys’ restroom, and who confesses that he has spent his life savings to set up this meeting because he was once “in love” with Aaron from afar. Claiming he doesn’t want a sexual experience, but simply the chance to “get to know” each other and achieve a kind of closure in his old age, he convinces a wary-but-intrigued Aaron to stay, setting the scene for a night of charged conversation, true confessions, and secretive soul-baring, which leads them to discover unexpected common ground.

It’s clear from even the barest description that Tuttle’s movie is not designed for all audiences. Even within the “niche” of queer cinema, these are “problematic” characters: sex workers, despite years of growing acceptance and decriminalization, are still largely stigmatized by the culture at large; and as for convicted pedophiles, you’re more likely to find tolerance for them in the halls of government than on a big screen. Yet in “Blue Film,” these are the characters we get, and as a result, it’s a movie in which almost everything that is said or done has a layer – and often, several layers – that’s likely to be objectionable to someone in the audience.

That’s not by mistake. In his director’s statement, Tuttle calls his film an “essay on perversion,” born from “the accumulation of a lifetime of private thoughts regarding sex, fetish, and relationships,” and fueled by his frustration with what he calls the “conceptualization” of sex on the screen. His purpose in presenting a two-person “echo chamber” is an exploration of how these sexually stigmatized individuals find a “reckoning with the ways in which they can and cannot connect with those around them,” in which his explicit intention is to make sex on the screen “feel uncomfortable, scary, and laced with significance.” It’s safe to say that he succeeded.

Of course, it would be easy enough to stave off the discomfort “Blue Film” creates for us to sit in by dismissing the whole thing as deliberately sensational, if not for the fact that it’s so well done. Tuttle directs it like a thriller – a fitting approach, considering the uneasy dynamic between its characters, each of whom might easily be operating with malicious intent, and the generally “sketchy” circumstances of their arranged meeting – and he uses the resulting tension as a subliminal undercurrent that keeps us feeling unsettled. When things do begin to get sexy (because of course they do, Hank’s protestations of wholesome intent notwithstanding), he plays into the anticipated uneasiness of sexually squeamish viewers by layering in some particularly ominous strains from Isaac Eiger’s moody electronic score; it feels like we’re about to see something horrible, when in fact we don’t even get any full-frontal nudity.

In fact, it’s in these sexual moments – which, though explicit enough to get the point across, never feel pornographic – that “Blue Film” may deliver its most directly transgressive imagery. Though both men are adults, participating in consensual acts, what we are watching is probably the ultimate sexual taboo of all, not because of what we see but because we know the fantasy being played out in their minds. It’s unsettling, perhaps even for the most open-minded fetishists out there, yet in the unvarnished honesty with which the movie strives to deliver its uncomfortable truths, it somehow plays as something almost sweet.

As always in a film that presents characters who push the limits of our ethical and moral boundaries, the actors carry the weight of responsibility for transcending (or at least tempering) our judgment of them; in this case, the two star players face a monumental task, and they rise to it with unflinching commitment. Birney, a Tony-winning actor who also served as an executive producer on the film, has the more challenging burden, but he defies the odds by bestowing Hank with both the grace of a man who has learned how to endure shame and the cageyness that comes from a life of keeping it hidden. Moore, an up-and-coming British actor (recently seen in the gays-in-the-military series, “Boots”), leans into the aggressive toxicity of his fetish “Dom” persona with a ferocity that makes the “sub” vulnerability he slowly makes visible feel even more delicate; indeed, they both navigate the spectrum of that dynamic in a way that emphasizes its subtle fluidity, and “Blue Film” could not work without their contributions.

But work it does, for those who are able to get past their many layers of discomfort over its subject matter; it will speak most directly to those who have already come to embrace their own alternative sexualities, who understand that sex work can be empowering, who recognize that forbidden desires are not a choice and can find empathy for those who must live with them. Still, a movie that acknowledges (among other things) the validity of rape fantasies, the ancient cultural traditions of pederasty, and the transcendence of self-loathing through fetish is a movie that has appeal for only a particular kind of viewer; and with “Blue Film” coming to VOD platforms June 12, you to decide if you’re one of them.

Celebrate the start of Pride month at the Queer Magic Dance Party at the Black Cat on Saturday, June 6. Doors open at 9 p.m.

There will be pole performances and demonstrations, a free photo booth with glitter bar, a queer vendor market, tarot readings by Skye Marinda Tarot, a drag performance by Sapphica, and dancing to a blend of smooth R&B, Afrobeats, hip-hop and pop by Slammer & Saba. Tickets are $20 at the door or $15 (plus fees) in advance, purchased here.

Local queer journalists will celebrate Pride this weekend at the annual NLGJA-DC Pride Happy Hour event at Trade (1410 14th St., N.W.) on Saturday, June 6, 3-5 p.m. Admission is free.