On Ramiel Petros’s daily walks through West Hollywood, he began to spot the same old man at the Holloway Motel — always holding a glass of wine, with a Chihuahua and computer in his lap. It’s an image that many long-time residents in the area, as shown in the new documentary The Last Guest of the Holloway Motel, have become familiar with.

“I’d come up with some canon on who he might be. He must own the building, maybe he’s being evicted, and he’s fighting the city!” Petros tells The Blade. “[Co-director Nicholas Freeman and I] walked over and shouted up to him from the street. He told us that it’s becoming a homeless shelter, and we walked away thinking there was a good four-minute short film.”

The man also casually mentioned that he used to play soccer. After Petros and Freeman, who met while studying film at NYU Tisch, decided to do some research, they realized they had been talking to a professional soccer player with a one-of-a-kind story. That man became the basis for Petros and Freeman’s directorial debut.

The title, The Last Guest of the Holloway Motel, of course, refers to Tony Powell, a British football player who never came out to his teammates, vanished from sports around 40 years ago, and moved all the way to West Hollywood with the goal of leaving his former life behind. He wound up managing the Holloway Motel for 20 years, which the film follows closing down as it is converted into a homeless shelter through the new Holloway Interim Housing Program.

Filmed over the course of two years — a journey the filmmakers say unfolds to the audience as it unfolded to them in real-time — the 94-minute doc explores how a professional soccer player wound up being the manager of a motel. Powell looks back on his life’s legacy, losing loved ones to the AIDS epidemic, and why West Hollywood became his permanent home after moving overseas in the early ‘80s.

“Tony’s losing his job and his home that he’s had for 20 years — we just so happen to be there right at that moment when he’s trying to figure out how to reinvent his life at this stage. This is a very emotionally-charged period,” Freeman says.

“If we had met him five years earlier, I don’t know that any of that would have happened,” Petros adds.

The filmmakers found Powell to be “completely open and off-the-cuff” about some topics, while there were many things he kept “close to his chest” throughout filming. Petros says, “What we found pretty early on was there were some things he could talk about for hours — him talking about being a soccer player and traveling, and all the exciting stuff with the motel. And as we would film, we’d come across these little moments like, ‘Have you ever been in love? Do you ever want kids?’ Like a rubber band, you’d see him snap inwards.”

The film also showcases how West Hollywood has developed over the years, and why it’s become such a safe place for queer people moving to California from around the world.

“I’m growing up in an entirely different generation than Tony did. I don’t think I can ever truly comprehend what it meant to never see another gay person, and then come to a place where suddenly it’s not a secret — you can be happy, you can fall in love!” Petros says. “I remember he really wanted to stay in West Hollywood when he was leaving, he just couldn’t afford to, and he was really struggling to say yes to an apartment just 10 minutes away.”

While Powell lived in England for 35 years, West Hollywood eventually became the place he lived the longest. Petros says, “It’s a really beautiful place, and we don’t take for granted that it’s not available everywhere in the world. And the community! Oh my god, probably our favorite day filming was getting to the street interviews … It has the most energetic characters you’ll ever find.”

This month, Holloway Motel had its week-long run at the Lumiere Music Hall in Beverly Hills. But on the festival circuit, the film has already traveled around the world, premiering at the Tribeca Film Festival in June 2025 and even going all the way to the U.K for BFI Flare, where Freeman says many people recognized Powell from his soccer-playing days. “It was incredible to feel that history and the people who recognize him from that era,” Freeman says.

“In the film, something Tony learns is that he never gave the people who care about him the opportunity to prove it, and he made assumptions about how they would respond to him. The regret he’ll have going forward is that he didn’t do it sooner, and not that he [came out at all],” Petros says. “It’s really meaningful that queer people watch this film and say, ‘I want to be open with my family that I’ve always assumed would turn their backs on me.’”

And of course, Powell has seen the film. So what did he think?

“He’s a man of few words; he’s not very expressive in many ways when you want him to react, which is hilarious,” Freeman says, recalling how Powell’s reaction is perfectly indicative of his honest character. “But after we showed him the film, he said, ‘Wow, that was a lot more professional than I thought it would be!’”

Uncloseted Media originally published this article on May 26.

By SPENCER MACNAUGHTON, BELLA SAYEGH, and LAURY PEYSSONNERIE | You may know Peppermint as a runner-up on season 9 of “RuPaul’s Drag Race.” Or for her stint as the first trans competitor on the runaway hit “The Traitors.” Or for her relentless activism at a time when the Trump administration is waging an unprecedented attack on the LGBTQ+ community.

Now, Peppermint is getting set to be one of New York City Pride’s official grand marshals. And she’s doing that while upholding the legacy of the trans women of color who were at the Stonewall Uprising in 1969.

In this episode of “UNCLOSETED, with Spencer Macnaughton,” Spencer sits down with Peppermint to hear about what it means to be a Black trans woman at the forefront of the LGBTQ+ movement during the second Trump administration.

(Uncloseted Media video)

SPENCER MACNAUGHTON: Hi everyone, welcome back to UNCLOSETED with me, Spencer Macnaughton. Today, I have the great pleasure of speaking with Miss Peppermint. She was a runner-up on “RuPaul’s Drag Race,” she was the first trans contestant on the runaway hit, “The Traitors,” and now she is the grand marshal for this year’s New York City Pride. Peppermint, thanks so much for speaking with me and Uncloseted Media today.

PEPPERMINT: Hello, I’m so happy to finally be with you. This is great! Hello, Uncloseted!

SM: Yes, we’ve done many collabs and you’ve definitely amplified our work, and you’re just such a huge advocate in the community so we’re thrilled to connect with you formally in this way. So, you were recently named the grand marshal for New York City Pride. How did that come about and what does that exactly mean? What is your duty if you’re grand marshal?

P: You know, I’m still trying to figure it out, but don’t tell them. Obviously, most parades and marches, and probably all of them traditionally, have a grand marshal who’s somebody that they honor who’s like one of the people at the very front of the parade as it goes through. And so I’ll be joined by some other fabulous grand marshals as well. I’m sharing the spotlight with Dominique Jackson, with Bernie Wagenblast, who New Yorkers will know as one of the voices of the subway system, and also Bowen Yang. And Gays Against Guns was just announced, and I’m so excited to share the spotlight with them.

SM: Yes, and you wrote, or you mentioned in a recent interview that you said, “Being named a grand marshal for New York City Pride is deeply meaningful, not just as an artist, but as a Black trans woman standing in the legacy of those who fought for us to be here.” That’s Marsha P. Johnson, that’s Sylvia Rivera. And through history, those voices, the voices of trans women of color have, for many parts since 1969, been erased from that conversation, right? So how meaningful is that to you as a Black trans woman to be in this space now in 2026, especially given the political climate we’re experiencing?

P: I am continuously dedicated to using whatever platform I have, whether it’s before I was on TV, since I’ve been on TV, still using my platform to advocate for the LGBT community, including, obviously, trans folks. As someone who is trans, it does feel good to know that they are, “they” meaning the New York City Pride, they hold some reverence for the legacy of trans women of color, of trans people in general and their contribution and to the legacy of Pride. The march is a sort of recreation of the very first time that the community marched to commemorate what happened in 1969 at the Stonewall Uprising, where, you know, the police came to raid the bar, Stonewall, the legendary gay bar Stonewall in the Village, and the community fighting back.

But, I think what a lot of people didn’t realize is that, yes, trans people, trans women were there on the forefront, but it wasn’t just an attack on the bar. This was an attack on sex workers, people who were homeless and on the street, many of which were femme presenting people, drag queens, trans women. These were the street kids who were working, who were sometimes cast out of their apartment, or kicked out of their homes from their families, and the only places that they could gather were, besides the bar, were also down at the pier and on the street, wherever, and they were, some of them were engaging in survival sex work. And the police, the NYPD, were attacking, constantly harassing, and throwing in jail, and just like targeting trans sex workers, essentially. These were the people who were, and are often, the most vulnerable when it comes to interactions with the police, and those were the people who said, “We are done, we are tired of it.” That story has been whitewashed over time in many ways. One of the very first movies, one of the mainstream movies about Stonewall that we’ve seen, is a bunch of blonde kids from Iowa as the ones fighting back when we know that it wasn’t. Again, it was the street kids, it was the people who were vulnerable. And so their legacy had been erased. And so while we’re hearing voices like Marsha P. Johnson and Sylvia Rivera being mentioned so much, especially in recent years, is because it hadn’t been included so much in the past. And it had been essentially erased. And It’s been restored, and then since then, this administration has tried to erase trans folks from that legacy, taking down the mention of trans from the official website for the Stonewall National Monument, removing trans women, you know, biology, gender, whatever, all these words from all federal government documents and websites. So, I know that was a long answer, but I think it was important for people to know that that’s why it’s important for me and that’s so important to be included in Pride, because it feels like this year in 2026, the same year that the flag came down and went back up, thank goodness, it feels it’s a good time to remind people that trans folks are a very important part of the community.

SM: A hundred percent. And when I hear you speak all that, you are at the end of the day a very brave person, a very courageous person. You have Trump erasing all references to gender identity from all government documents, taking down the pride flag for what reason? And then his administration unveiled a new counterterrorism strategy that maybe you’ve seen that talks about the biggest concern, which is not at all reflected in the evidence, is left-wing extremists and pro-radical transgender people, whatever that means. I just interviewed two extremism experts for a different episode, who talked about there’s not even one mention of white supremacy, even though all of the evidence points to that being the biggest threat. So I wanna know, you’re an advocate, but you’re also a Black trans woman, triple, quadruple jeopardy as it relates to who this administration’s attacking. How does that make you feel going into this Pride month as grand marshal?

P: It really just kind of solidified what I already knew, the absence of white supremacist groups and organizations, and white supremacy as a notion in terms of being a threat, domestic terrorism threat. It’s like the weakest part of that evidence because the biggest part of it was when they removed the proof that the federal government stated in multiple reports that white supremacy was the largest domestic terrorism threat in the United States since the ‘80s.

SM: And just so the listeners know, the Department of Homeland Security quietly removed that threat from documents so the public would not be privy to it.

P: So the absence is just an echo of that, right? Their action of removing that is what really was like, what? I clutched my pearls. So, this latest sort of act is just sort of confirmation of that, and it is terrifying. I want to leave the country.

SM: You want to leave the country? You do?

P: Yeah, part of me wants — of course. I want to continue to use my platform to advocate for what I feel is right. And part me wants to leave, part of me wants to stay and fight. You know, and I, I think like, what am I, what is this country that I want to fight for? I envision like, am I going to stay and fight and want to risk my life for like a bunch of other people that are just like, “Oh well, that’s what happened to the trans people.” Or are we all going to fight? Like, I can’t just fight by myself. We have to fight for each other. Sometimes when we see not only the government putting out documents, official documents on government letterhead that say, “We’re going to name trans people as terrorists.” But then at the end it’s saying, “We will find you and we will kill you.” That’s the part that’s like, well, do I need to wait for them to kill me?

SM: And just to be clear to the people who haven’t read this document, that is a verbatim quote. They essentially list the terror threats, which include, quote, “pro-transgender radicals,” and then they say, make no mistake, quote, “We will find you and we will kill you.” I mean, that’s insane.

P: That’s in the document.

SM: That’s in the document. You mentioned you can’t do this alone. If people are listening to this and they aren’t trans but are concerned and are seeing the stats, what can they do? What can we do to really be there for our trans siblings?

P: When I say, “I don’t want to do it alone,” it’s not so much, I need you to defend me, which would be nice; it’s more that I need you to defend yourself by defending me, is what I want people to know. Like the cis community, people who are cisgender, people who’re not trans, and also people who are outside of the queer community, need to know that if rights are what we have, if equal rights are what a democracy gives you and what you have, an attack on those and removal of those rights for who someone is, who they love or their political beliefs, then it is an attack on that very democracy and an attack on the people of that democracy and the people who value those rights. And so, going after people for who they are and removing their passports, naming them as terrorists, threatening to kill them, banning them from all types of government buildings and bathrooms and holding a job and da-da-da, and healthcare, all these things. The only way they can do that to me is if they change the rules to make it possible to do. Now we have a government that can remove people from all these things. So now that means all they have to do is include, you know, let’s include Mormons as terrorists. You know what? I mean, it took them how long to put out this document. Vegans, whatever, I don’t know. Like they can target anyone. It sounds absurd and preposterous because it is, but it won’t take long for them to widen that group to who they want to focus on next.

SM: And I know you’ve been outspoken in all different places, including mainstream media. You’ve gone on CNN a few times. I’ve seen you on there. And I worked in mainstream media, “60 Minutes,” the Wall Street Journal. And a big reason I left was because I didn’t feel like the coverage was rigorous enough, was fair enough, was frequent enough. How do you think the mainstream media is doing characterizing the issues plaguing the trans and LGBTQ community right now?

P: What is this question? They get an F, for fuck off. They get a terrible F because —

SM: Tell me why.

P: It’s so wild. Yeah, hello. We know that they’re interested because they talk about it on the daily. Every other day, there is mentions of trans people in some way, shape or form, and queer people in general. And so they’re constantly evoking us, talking about us, blaming us, bringing us up, attaching us, associating us, constantly. It is wild that they have so much to say about us and they don’t want to talk to us in general, the mainstream media. They don’t wanna include us. They don’t wanna hear. And I wonder why that is because with many other situations, they would want to go to, sort of like, the subject and speak with them about what it is, or the people who are involved in the story. You want to get their side of the story, except when it’s a situation like this, when it’s the political scapegoat. When it’s the political scapegoat, it actually is imperative that you don’t hear from them, that you just hear about them, because then you can create who they are for other people to sign off on.

SM: I have a friend, Alaina Kupec, and she’s a trans military veteran and she went on Abby Phillip’s CNN “NewsNight,” the 10 p.m. slot, after Trump passed the trans military ban. She was the only trans person on the panel. Other panelists include Scott Jennings, who is a Trump loyalist who has zero expertise in trans issues, but it created this false equivalency debate between Alaina, who was a military person and is trans, and Scott Jennings, as though both of those opinions should be considered equal from a journalistic perspective. How damaging are those kinds of conversations that are airing on shows like Abby Phillip’s that are, you know, sure we say “Americans don’t talk but they talk here,” but the majority of Americans perceive that as news still.

P: Yeah, it’s not news. It’s obviously just entertainment. And, you know, I really was upset with, I mean, I was really grateful to be on the show and have appeared there with another trans person, particularly, I got a chance to go on there.

SM: On Abby’s show?

P: On Abby’s show, pardon me, yes. But I do think that CNN has always served to launder the reputation, to launder the impact, and soften the perception of the very, very, real impact that sort of centrist politics that CNN holds. It really just exists to protect, sort of like capital and protect big business and sort of corporate, the corporate flow of politics that controls policy. And so I’m not surprised, but I think you’re 100 percent right. There is an epidemic, a habit, a vibe that this country has to just, like, take somebody off the street who has no knowledge about anything at all, other than their own opinion when they hear something, and that opinion when they hear, like, “What do you think of this concept that you’ve never heard of but we’re going to give it you and tell us what you think. And then here’s an expert in that, go!” And suddenly, you know, Scott Jennings gets to have an opinion on what I’m doing with my body or what rights I have and you know that thinks it’s harmful, it’s damaging and harmful.

SM: And I don’t want to single out, you know, Abby’s show too much because this happens on many different shows across network news, but to hosts like Abby or to producers on these shows — and I’ve worked in these newsrooms — who really care and really want to do it right, but might hit blocks. What’s your advice as a trans woman who’s experiencing this? What’s your advice to them? The people who are actually shaping the news packages we’re watching and actually do have some agency in deciding what gets to air.

P: My ask is, bring trans people on, at least to talk about the trans issues that you mentioned every day. But besides that, bring trans people on to talk about what’s going on with Medicare. Bring trans people on to talk about what’s going on with the war. Whatever. Bring trans people on to talk about more because those things impact us as well. The simplest thing is gender-affirming care. Gender-affirming care and issues of gender-affirming care, the government telling people what decisions they can make medically with their own body, ties directly with reproductive justice and access to abortion, and making your own medical decisions for your own body. That’s something that we can all talk about. That is an intersection that you could bring a trans person on to talk about.

So I would ask of those other creators, bring trans people on to talk about everything that you wanna talk about, Honey. We got lots to say, and we can add something to the conversation because we have a very unique perspective.

And then beyond that, my advice to CNN is you would want to follow what the other podcasters will be doing and having them on because you will be sealing your own demise and become a lot less relevant than you already are if you don’t.

SM: The least surprising thing from this interview is that you’re very interesting. I want to stick on media though for a second because right now you must know that the Ellisons, billionaires, own Paramount, right? And they, who are MAGA loyalists and they have really reshaped the narrative at CBS News, bringing in Bari Weiss, who is an opinion columnist, but Paramount also owns MTV, which airs “RuPaul’s Drag Race,” which you were a finalist on. Ru and the show have been a groundbreaking TV series as the most successful Emmy award-winning reality TV series of all time. They have been progressive trailblazers for many different reasons for LGBTQ rights. There’s been no messaging on the fact that Paramount’s owned by the Ellisons. Should there be? Should they stay with Paramount? What are your thoughts on that?

P: It would be wonderful to see anyone on that show speak out against sort of what is happening in our country with regards to the control over politics and policy and the intersection again of money with politics, especially as related to the Ellisons and the purchase of Paramount. We’ll know when the takeover is complete, when RuPaul is like, “I love Larry Ellison,” cause that’s probably happening. They’re gonna get a script. So let’s just wait for them to get a script and start talking about how great President Trump is, whatever, I don’t know. That’s what I envision happening is they will try to either cut “Drag Race” or use it as a tool to parrot what they want to say. I hope that doesn’t happen, but it’s either one or the other. They’re either gonna get rid of the show, but it’s such a ratings juggernaut that I imagine they’ll probably try to reshape “Drag Race” and take out any political messaging.

SM: That’s what I think about though. Ru has so much money, she doesn’t need any more money, right? And the show is such a ratings juggernaut [that] they could go somewhere else. They have enough power from a ratings perspective that they don’t have to be with Paramount. They’re enough of a product there that they could dip out. Do you think they should dip out given the political climate?

P: I don’t know, I guess I have mixed feelings on it. I certainly see a world where Paramount, CNN, anything under this new umbrella is going to have to follow what their owner and boss wants. Every show, every network that’s been sort of sucked into the umbrella is gonna have to fall in line. That’s what fascism is about. You follow directions. And so I think that’s in the future for the show if they don’t leave. If they don’t leave, then it’s probably going to, just they’ll either be disbanded or we’ll wake up one day and there’s gonna be this weird messaging coming out of drag or something like, where’s the lip sync? Suddenly they’re like forcing us to say the Pledge of Allegiance, but with Donald Trump’s name in it. Like that’s what’s gonna happen. That’s what happens in fascism. Do I think they should? I don’t wanna see a “RuPaul’s Drag Race” that’s teaching us how to march in a certain way. So I don’t know, because by that point, it won’t even matter. But I think if they could just go online and start doing it on YouTube or whatever, I think they could do that. But I think ultimately no linear, traditional television is safe. They own most of it.

SM: It’s so interesting. You know this from being on camera. I know this from being behind the scenes that there are always little things that the viewer might not realize happen. And I wonder over at Paramount, while they’re putting together “All Stars” or the next season, whatever it is, the little decisions that could be being made in the final script. And I think that there might be a lot of silent things to the next season that we don’t realize have been edited out to appease the big bosses who are MAGA loyalists. And those are just the things we’ll never know.

P: We’ll never know. And I would be so surprised if they, it would be smart of them to just leave Drag Race alone. Drag Race is a wonderful thing because it’s, because it features wonderful drag entertainers. That’s what’s so great about “Drag Race,” in my opinion. But I don’t rely on Drag Race to get my political anything.

SM: I hear you. Fascinating conversation about media, I could talk about it forever, but we’re going into Pride 2026, right? And we are now six years after the explosion of the Black Lives Matter movement after George Floyd’s murder that spawned into a submovement, the Black Trans Lives Matter Movement. And I’m curious, a lot of that has faded, at least from national international conversations, right? Where do you think we are now in 2026?

P: I think we are in a state of emergency, for sure. I think this administration has been successful. That’s where I think we are. It’s like a wild sort of, a wild, wild west. Do I think we need another moment? I mean, hopefully not, considering that what galvanized people was the death of an unarmed Black man. No, I don’t want that to happen, but it continues to happen on the daily and that we’re not marching in the street about it means that the sort of news cycle focus isn’t on it. And I’m grateful to see that people were able to become temporarily activated. And so I think we benefited from that, but I do think that it allowed people to sort of revert or to sort of jump to this automatic sort of social media style performative advocacy or reaction, which I think is a natural human response maybe in this situation. So by that matter, people posting a black square and thinking that they’ve done their part, fine, obviously it wasn’t enough. What I would like to see is instead of another sort of mainstream BLM moment is an awareness that yes, racism exists. Yes, transphobia exists. Yes, we have to fight those things, but also organizing and at the community level, connecting in sort of a mutual aid way so that we can’t say, “Oh my god girl, I can’t go out and protest because I’ll lose my job and I won’t be able to pay my rent.” Well, if we can make a way for your rent to be paid, you can go out in protest whether you lose your job or not, and then you don’t care and you’re more likely to challenge the system. And so that is where I want people’s minds to go because it’s gonna be necessary to withstand whatever’s coming.

SM: I want to be respectful of your time. That was great, that was an important answer so thank you.

I think out of all the people we collaborate with, there’s a lot of people who want to amplify our work, but you really are at the top of the list for people who are like I don’t care if this post hasn’t popped or isn’t going to get me more followers or I just want to do this and I can tell your advocacy is absolutely authentic and selfless. How did you get here?

P: That’s a good question. I wonder, I sit around asking myself, why am I doing this, like what in the world, but I’m just like driven to it, you know? And it’s something that I would be doing whether I’m alone, whether I am with people, whether there’s a benefit of it or not, it’s not something that I’ve seen that people can do to make money or things like that, most of what I do now is advocacy and all of it is unpaid. And I do it because I care about it and I will continue to do it. But it also means that I’m extremely vulnerable to not being able to survive because I’m not spending my time doing the things that it’s necessary to do to survive. I just want to make sure that we’re able to live and have basic rights, which means, you know, advocacy. And I think it started along, I mean, it definitely started a long time ago and it evolves over time. You know, I think I got it from my grandmother. She was heavily involved in civil rights and so that’s probably where it came from. I don’t know if it’s genetic or if it was just instilled as I was watching, but it’s here now.

SM: And when you got celebrity from “RuPaul’s Drag Race” and other things like that, how did that affect it? Because the celebrity status would have made you in a whole different ballgame with it, I would imagine.

P: Yeah, I remember thinking when I got on “RuPaul’s Drag Race,” I was basically, yes, my platform sort of multiplied and sort of exploded tenfold, which I’m grateful for. And I remember thinking, well, I’m basically doing exactly what I’ve always been doing the entire time, just on a larger scale. I believe I’m quite the family-friendly entertainer and personality. But I’m sure that there’s people that have been like, “Let’s not hire her because she might say the wrong thing.” I’m sure that I’ve suffered that, but it doesn’t change that if I lose every follower I have, I’m still gonna be doing the same thing. I’ll just be back to where I was before I started this stuff. And so, you know, that’s kind of my thought on it.

SM: I love it, and I feel like that is a beautiful place to stop. I could talk to you for a long time, but Peppermint, so grateful that you’ve given us your time. Thank you so much for speaking with me and Uncloseted Media today. This has been a really rich conversation.

P: Absolutely. I do want to remind people to tune in to the last job I held, which was “Survival of the Thickest” on July 2, right after New York City Pride.

SM: Absolutely, we can plug that also in the show notes. So yes, thank you again, Peppermint. This was fantastic.

P: Awesome, thank you.

Season 3 of “Survival of the Thickest” featuring Peppermint launches July 2 on Netflix.

It’s the connections that filmmakers cultivate over the years — whether it be the series regular they know from writing on a hit show over a decade ago, or simply knowing the person who cuts a certain actor’s hair — that can bring moments full circle. For Los Angeles-based horror director Mike Zara, that full circle moment came when casting his directorial debut, Horrified, which is currently raising finishing funds.

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Assembling a cast with names like Julie Benz (Dexter), Busy Philipps (Dawson’s Creek), Ron Perlman (Hellboy), Jim Rash (The Way Way Back), and Doug Jones (The Shape of Water) would be a tall order for any major Hollywood production. But Zara’s mix of personal and industry connections, which he’s been developing for over 20 years as a writers’ assistant on shows like The Client List and GCB and a staff writer on TNT drama Major Crimes, has helped his film garner industry attention prior to post-production being finished.

“We are truly an independent film. Even though we’ve got stars like Ron Perlman, Busy Philipps, and Julie Benz,” Zara says. “I don’t think a movie with this small of a budget has ever had this many stars in it!”

Described as a meta horror comedy and a love letter to Wes Craven films like A Nightmare on Elm Street, Horrified follows a famous scream queen (played by Benz) attending a horror convention with the goal of snagging some quick money. But of course, things don’t go as planned, with the masked killer of the character’s famous franchise resurrecting and threatening the lives of everyone at the convention.

“We’ve had a bunch of interest from buyers, but we’re not going to show the movie until it’s done,” Zara says of his independent feature. “But what I will say is talking to them, one person said, ‘You’ve done a good job because we heard about your movie and it hasn’t even been released or distributed.’”

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A post shared by Julie Benz (@juliebenzmft)

The film’s producing partners include the Tulsa-based Rebellium Films, which helped the crew land a tax incentive deal in the state of Oklahoma — the city of Tulsa’s first film tax incentive deal. The Art of Elysium, the L.A.-based arts charity that worked on the Oscar-winning short The Singers, assumes the role of fiscal sponsor. However, shooting in L.A. was out of the question.

“Being a TV writer myself, I’ve seen productions move away from here, and there are just less and less shows shot in Los Angeles. When looking at Horrified, there was no way we were going to be able to make the movie here,” Zara says. “It’s [also] supposed to take place in a middle-of-nowhere town, so this character feels like a fish out of water.”

Zara continues, “Because it’s still a lottery here, too. In other states, you just have to submit, and if everything checks out, you get approved. But with a lottery situation, you just don’t know what you’re going to get. At least what I’ve seen here in L.A. is these huge productions getting the greenlight, but the little guys like me… I’m just not seeing it as much. But I hope that’s changing because it would be great to film here [in the future].”

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As a queer filmmaker who wrote 2020’s Letters to Satan Claus, the first queer Christmas movie for Syfy, Zara embraces camp — or what he specifically calls “bloody bubble gum. It kind of tells you what it is, which, yes, there’s that bright, shiny poppy thing, but there’s something darker and bloody. There’s something below the surface where you’re saying something.”

Zara concludes, “Even though the film isn’t queer necessarily, it’s me directing and writing it, and we have some openly queer actors in the film and some smaller queer characters. I have an eight-foot drag queen in a runway scene. I named her Sephora! It’s always going to be in my work, and I’m proud of that.”

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As our beloved Pride Month draws near, discussions on queer identity and resistance feel especially appropriate, particularly for the time that we are all currently in. With his forthcoming book Shameless: The Making of Black Gay Identities in LA, sociologist Terrell J. A. Winder explores how Black gay men in Los Angeles navigate stigma while building lives that are deeply rooted in self-worth, community, and queer Black joy. Drawing from years of research and personal reflection, Winder challenges many longstanding academic ideas about shame and “spoiled” identities, instead centering the resilience and creativity of Black queer communities.

Set against the cultural backdrop of our City of Angels, his book examines how Black gay men cultivate chosen families, affirming spaces, and authentic forms of self-acceptance in a society that consistently marginalizes us. From the legacy of Jewel’s Catch One to the everyday acts of vulnerability and care that sustain community, Winder reframes stigma as something that can be resisted, transformed, and ultimately rejected. In our conversation, Winder discusses shamelessness, “unspoiling,” and what an affirming future for Black queer people could look like.

The title Shameless resonates hard. What does “shamelessness” mean in the context of Black gay identity formation? 

For many Black gay and queer individuals, shame and the process of learning that their identities are shameful is a common part of growing up in the US. We might hear negative things from family members, classmates, teachers, the media, etc. All of these messages create the need for shamelessness. The title is a call to all Black gay and queer people to shamelessly accept all of themselves, no matter the negativity; it is an invitation to reject stigma. 

You introduce to your readers the concept of “unspoiling.” Can you walk us through what that process looks like? 

For many sociologists and researchers who study stigma, or in other words, negatively marked identities, the researcher Erving Goffman’s idea that these socially unacceptable or contentious identities were “spoiled” resonates still. Many people who experience a stigma might try to “pass,” where they hide their socially negative attribute, or to “cover,” where they downplay the significance of an unaccepted identity. 

Instead, I show how several young men in the book push back on the idea that they should try to make other people comfortable around them. In effect, these young men decide to prioritize their own comfort over the comfort of people who have an issue with their Blackness or queerness. In the book, I show how community organizations, media representations, and chosen gay family networks can be places where young men learn not to just simply accept negative things about their identities but instead can develop tools to reject stigma in everyday life. 

You describe how Black gay men more often than not navigate competing pressures around masculinity. How do these types of internal negotiations gradually yet surely sculpt one’s identity over time? 

Across the life course, these competing pressures and messages about masculinity can solidify in different ways related to a number of factors. For example, do you have a supportive social network like a “gay family” that might model different forms of masculinity? Do you have a father or father figure who tells you it’s okay to show emotion? Did you grow up hearing that your single mother couldn’t raise a “real man?” These are the types of internal struggles that many of the young men whom I studied encountered. Their varying expressions of masculinity are shaped by those experiences close to them with family and friends, but also through external factors like media representation. 

Sometimes having positive reinforcement to embody masculinity in the way you’d like can result in a sculpted identity that is more expressive and free to experiment. However, being surrounded by a majority of negative messaging and sanctioning of your masculinity expression often leads to one of two choices: 1) you push back against the negativity or 2) you fall in line. While these identities do become more solidified over time, I hope that the book serves as a reminder that we are all able to continually rework our relationship with masculinity and femininity throughout our lives. 

That question “Should I act more masculine to pass?” is pretty loaded. What did your research reveal about how men resolve or live with this very specific tension? 

I think anyone who has ever felt less masculine around other men has considered this question. In the study, the stakes of this question often shaped the response to that tension. For example, some young men discuss feeling that their physical safety was threatened, and thus they elect to express a more masculine persona to avoid physical harm. However, not all of the young men felt that the potential for this physical danger was an acceptable reason to “pass” and instead advocated for facing these threats head-on, no matter the potential consequences. 

That is where the “unspoiling” emerges. It became clear that for some of the young men that I studied, it was more important that they were true to themselves and their own expressions of masculinity and femininity than to accommodate other people who put pressure on them, whether physically or verbally, to be more masculine. 

Your work shines a spotlight on how stigma operates on multiple levels (race, sexuality, gender expression). How do these layers interact with each other in everyday life? 

We often think of stigmas as individual or not layered, or even forget that people are navigating multiple stigmas simultaneously. However, the young men in this study are considering the boundaries of their racial, gender, and sexual expressions daily. The men in this study discussed hearing both positive and negative messages about their Black identities growing up, but very rarely did someone hear anything positive about their non-heterosexual sexuality. 

Also, as Black gay men, we are often tasked with navigating intersectional stigmas like the burden of HIV stigma. Every day, each individual must choose how to respond to stigma on their own terms; the young men in this study often do a mix of things depending on the specific situation. I think what’s most important is that we learn how to reject the internalization of stigma–the book offers a few ways to get there. 

You also highlight how undoing stigma is the responsibility of the stigmatizer. What does accountability look like in this context? 

Yes, I argue that we spend too much time teaching people how to cope with stigma instead of focusing on the stigmatizer and their role in creating it. As someone trained as an elementary school teacher, I think of stigma like bullying in a classroom: while we want children to protect and advocate for themselves, we ultimately recognize that the bully is the problem, not the bullied person. Accountability means refusing to ignore moments when others are being denigrated for who they are and asking ourselves when we are bystanders, stigmatizers, or capable of intervening. What people dismiss as “jokes” or “boys will be boys” can have lasting consequences. It is also important to recognize that someone experiencing stigma may still perpetuate it toward others, which is why everyone must reflect on how they contribute to either reinforcing or reducing stigma in the lives of those around them.

At the same time, you show how many folks develop internal strategies to survive and thrive. What are some of the most powerful forms of resilience you observed in your many years of research? 

Some of the most memorable examples of resisting stigma came from men who had endured profound hardship. One young man shared that despite being beaten and stabbed for being Black and gay, he still proudly embraces those identities everywhere he goes. I do not take lightly the courage it takes for someone to remain true to themselves while knowing they may face harm for it. Throughout my research, I was also deeply moved by the vulnerability and resilience shown when Black queer men shared their fears and experiences within community organizations and chosen families. Simply seeking out and building these affirming spaces felt like a powerful act of resilience and self-preservation.

How do you reconcile the gap between aspirational representation and lived reality, especially in a city like Los Angeles? 

I think it’s important for everyone to aspire to something, especially for people whose lived realities are filled with challenges. In Los Angeles, specifically, we have a city full of promise but also a city filled with disappointments. Every day, Angelenos must make the choice to move the needle towards a better city and a better community. 

You explore Black queer history in LA, including the creation of alternative spaces. What about Jewel’s Catch One is so unmistakably essential? 

Jewel’s Catch One, or “The Catch,” remains an iconic space in Black queer history in Los Angeles and beyond. Created by and for Black queer people at a time when many were excluded from predominantly White queer spaces, it provided a vital place for community, celebration, and belonging. Even as queer gathering spaces continue to close across the country, places like The Catch remain essential for navigating stigma and fostering resilience. In 2025, it was officially recognized as a Historical Cultural Monument by the city of Los Angeles, cementing its cultural and historical significance.

Figures like Jewel Thais-Williams helped build community in the face of exclusion. What lessons can these stories provide younger folks today? 

Jewel Thais-Williams is a great example of someone who resisted the stigmas associated with being Black and queer and created a space for others like her to come behind. I start the book off by discussing some of the ways that, over time, younger generations forgot, or even undervalued, how important it was to have a space like Catch One–they let the stigmas associated with the neighborhood override the importance that it served as a cultural institution. 

I hope that we, instead, can remember just how critical spaces created by Black queer people in the face of stigma are to our collective well-being as a community. Jewel Thais-Williams’s legacy should be a lesson and a model for how we can intentionally carve out space in a world that often relegates our lives to the margins. 

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How do younger generations of Black queer men today compare to those you studied in your research? 

I suspect that younger generations are still experiencing negative messages and navigating stigma in similar ways to how the men in my book did. However, one major change is that the proliferation of social media examples of Black gay men has diversified significantly, with social media content created by young people on platforms like TikTok and Instagram. One great example of this is the many queer prom-posals that we get to witness on social media; the generation of men that I studied mostly attended proms with their “girlfriends.” 

Additionally, we are in a moment where people are trying to censor the reality that people of different sexualities or races even exist in our society. Changes in community organization funding, access to sexual healthcare, and diverse media representations all threaten to curb the gains Black gay men (and other queer communities) have made in the effort to combat stigma. Yet, I still believe that the younger generation is boldly freer because they have online connections and access to feel less isolated–that is a powerful tool. 

What do you hope readers outside queer Black communities take away from Shameless? 

I hope the book can help anyone navigating stigma think differently about their relationship to their own identities and recognize that they do not have to carry that burden alone. While I wrote it to challenge scholarly narratives about stigma, it was equally important that it offer practical value by encouraging people to seek supportive communities, affirming representations, and expanded definitions of family and care. I also hope the book encourages people to reflect on the ways they may contribute to stigma in the lives of others, even while navigating stigmatized identities themselves. Ultimately, the book is both a call for self-reconciliation and an invitation to ask how we can lessen the burden of stigma for those around us.

What does a really-truly-deeply “unspoiled” future look like to you, for Black queer men, and for society as a whole? 

To me, an unspoiled future means recognizing that everyone has the right to exist fully as they are without fear of harm or exclusion. For Black queer people, this would mean embracing both identities without facing physical, emotional, or psychological harm and finding joy, belonging, and community in that intersection. A truly unspoiled future also requires people to recognize the humanity in others, even when they live or love differently from themselves. Ultimately, it calls on all of us to reflect on whether we are helping lessen stigma or contributing to its continuation.

It was nearly 60 years ago when über-queer icon Andy Warhol pronounced to the world his prediction that “in the future, everyone will be famous for 15 minutes.” While it may have been an overstatement, we’re now experiencing the future he was talking about; and though it remains statistically impossible for “everybody” to achieve fame, that doesn’t mean that we can’t all “feel” like we’re famous. If social media has delivered any gift to the human race, that might just be it.

In the real-life dystopia that is 2026, Warhol’s 1967 quip has become a kind of cultural mantra: influencers are more famous than movie stars, podcasters can shape political policy, and anybody with a “hot take” can change the way we perceive even the most fundamentally held opinions. Whether or not this is progress is probably a moot point; it’s the reality we live in, and we have a government full of “cosplaying” charlatans to prove it.

That’s why Alex Russell’s “Lurker” – a 2025 Sundance favorite that’s now streaming on HBO Max after a limited theatrical run last summer – cuts so close to the quick. A psychological thriller exploring the dynamics of power and control within the entourage of a rock star, it strikes some uncomfortably familiar chords for an era when “bootlicking” seems to have become a national pastime.

It centers on Matthew (Théodore Pellerin), a young Angeleno who lives in his grandmother’s apartment and works in a trendy designer boutique on Melrose Avenue. When rising pop musician Oliver (Archie Madekwe) brings his entourage to the store one afternoon, Matthew sees a chance to make an impression; plugging his phone into the shop’s sound system, he plays a song that he knows the pop star admires – and minutes later, he’s been given a backstage pass to Oliver’s next concert and invited to hang out with the star himself.

Their relationship continues to develop quickly at the show. Though he’s met at first with some discomfortable hazing from members of the entourage, by the end of the evening he’s on his way to becoming part of the inner circle. Chosen by Oliver to become his “official documentarian,” he’s soon a fixture in the entourage himself, sparking jealousy from members higher in the “pecking order” than he is; but Matthew is better at the game than they suspect, and despite their attempts to keep him in his place, he uses his proximity to Oliver – and a few surgically precise acts of sabotage – to rise quickly to the top.

Staying there, however, is not so easy. Within the volatile social politics of the entourage, he must always be on guard, and his efforts to thwart others from displacing him become increasingly ruthless. Eventually, he crosses a line, resulting in a fall from Oliver’s grace and his ejection from the group; but being close to fame leads to its own kind of fame, and Matthew has worked too hard to give it up so easily – even if it means using his Machiavellian powers to go after Oliver himself.

Slick, stylish, and as hypervisual as any viral pop music video you can imagine, Russell’s sardonically amoral exploration of fame – or rather, the desire for it – is as much a satire as it is a psychological drama, but it plays like a horror movie. Matthew is a protagonist cut from the same cloth as the title character of “The Talented Mr. Ripley,” a schemer whose endearingly awkward appearance masks a devious purpose and a diabolical mind. Oliver, whose creativity seems more about his “vibe” than his actual music, is charismatic but aloof, beneficent but mercurial, and seemingly blind to the massive ego that hides beneath his “chill” persona. There’s a kind of tension between these two characters that feels distinctly romantic, even homoerotic, and though it’s expressed only through subtext, it provides a palpable edge that makes their relationship feel dangerous – as if this were a love story in which anyone who tries to come between them is likely to get hurt.

As to what they actually feel about each other, “Lurker” keeps quiet about it. Matthew “reads” like a queer character, but his inner life is never revealed to us save through the conclusions we can draw from his behavior, and Oliver seems so much in love with himself that nobody else can compare; even so, there’s something between them that plays as much more intimate than the enthusiastic “bro”-ish affection that they exhibit together. 

In the end, however, the “love story” here is not about romance, nor even sex; it’s about fame. Matthew, even if his own creative talents may be more solid than Oliver’s, is enamored primarily with fame; perhaps he longs for importance, for a life of more excitement and opportunity than his thankless existence as a low-level retail employee, and as the movie proceeds it becomes clear that he is willing to go as far as he has to go in order to achieve it. For Oliver, maybe it’s about the longing of the famous for something more than sycophantic lip-service, for finding the adulation of his fans personified in an authentic, tangible, and individual form. Whatever it is, there’s very little love involved.

Of course, there’s an unavoidable comparison to be made between the mentality on display in “Lurker” with the prevailing trend in our American consciousness, in which performative loyalty and opportunistic friendship feel like the order of the day; from the fickleness of “fan culture” to the escalation of outrage-baiting on social media to the barely-concealed cutthroat narcissism on daily display in our very government, the message that comes through loud and clear is a chilling throwback to the Reagan-era “greed is good” philosophy: loyalty, feelings, and friendship are for suckers, and the most vicious player is the winner who takes it all.

As usual in a character-driven piece like this one, it’s ultimately the actors who make it work; Pellerin (a Canadian actor who won his country’s equivalent of an Oscar for “Family First” in 2018) is the lynch pin, and he delivers an endlessly fascinating portrait of obsessively determined duplicity that we find ourselves rooting for him even as we recoil from the coldness of his tactics; Madekwe captures the vapid pretension of a pop artist who has faked his way to success, but infuses Oliver with enough well-meaning sincerity that we can still feel a little bit sorry for him. In a smaller role, Hannah Rose Liu (“Bottoms”) makes an impression as the manager who keeps Oliver’s life running, offering an anchor of relative sanity in a sea of madness. 

Russell’s taut and tantalizingly opaque screenplay manages to capture all these things and more into a compact narrative that keeps us engaged while weaving its observations seamlessly into the plot, and his direction – which somehow yields an expansive scope through an intimate and sometimes frenetic focus – reinforces the unpredictable instability of fame, status, power, and the social hierarchy that governs them all. There are occasionally twists that feel a bit too convenient to be believable, but all in all, it’s a solid piece of cinematic workmanship.

There is only one ‘magic’ word to describe The 40th Anniversary of Pee-wee’s Playhouse: fantastic.

Hosted at the Greek Theater as part of Netflix is a Joke, the streaming service’s yearly comedy festival, this event commemorated four decades of this pivotal program influencing modern artists. The evening was a variety show packed with a jaw-dropping lineup of stars; whether it be musical acts like The B-52s and Devo, or comedians like Patton Oswalt and Cheri Oteri, more than a dozen celebrities came out to show how much this series means to them. It featured memorabilia from the original set, clips from unaired episodes, and tributes to the many performers who made the show so unforgettable for millions of children then and now. And, in keeping with Pee-wee’s Playhouse traditions, the 40th Anniversary even got its own magic word for attendees to scream about whenever it was uttered: fantastic. 

Above all else, The 40th Anniversary Of Pee-wee’s Playhouse honored how this show continues to influence artists today. It was a monumental series that encouraged everyone watching to go after what they truly wanted in life, no matter how ‘weird’ those dreams may be. And for LGBTQ+ watchers especially, it gave thousands of young viewers the confidence they needed to be their most authentic, absolutely oddest selves, even after the TV was turned off. 

“Listen, no matter who you are, there was someone in puppet land to make you feel safe,” said Bob the Drag Queen, as the RuPaul’s Drag Race season eight winner stepped onto the 40th Anniversary stage. She was, of course, referring to the setting that Pee-wee’s Playhouse inhabited, a home filled with countless puppets (often personified pieces of furniture, animals, and the occasional dummy) and people who went on wild adventures with Pee-wee. Every watcher had their favorite character, but Bob came onstage ready to honor one beauty in particular: Miss Yvonne. 

A dolled-up queen who always boasted about her looks, the Drag Queen spoke about how uplifting Miss Yvonne was for her young audience. “We often talk about how beautiful Miss Yvonne is, but I feel like we don’t often talk enough about how inspirational Miss Yvonne truly is!” Bob explained. “We live in a world that is constantly telling people to shrink themselves, to doubt themselves, to be humble, to wait for permission — and Miss Yvonne did the opposite of all of that! She decided who she was…and maybe [that’s something to learn from, because sometimes becoming who you are starts with believing it before anyone else does.”

It’s a message of self-acceptance that resonated throughout Pee-wee’s Playhouse; Pee-wee encouraged children to be their strangest, realest selves…by always being his strangest, realest self. He played with gender expression and constantly criticized cultural norms, with many episodes telling children that their voices matter (no matter what the adults around them say). For queer viewers, this was a monumental lesson in ignoring anyone who tells you you’re ‘wrong.’ Through Pee-wee’s Playhouse, they not only got to see someone who shirked cultural norms, but were finally told that it was okay to be different than how society told them to be. 

Pee-wee’s message of self-love is what spurred many artists onto the successful careers they have today. And for Julio Torres and Patti Harrison, this allowed them to create the anarchic artistry that audiences were lucky to see at the 40th Anniversary. 

It’s hard to characterize Julio Torres’ set, largely because the Problemista and Fantasmas star spent most of it desperately reaching for a can of Diet Coke mounted on a pole above his head. Dressed in a bedazzled suit once-worn by Pee-wee himself, the late Paul Reubens, Torres barely spoke about the show this event was commemorating. He instead lamented about the indignity of his situation (being deprived of Diet Coke) and how he yearned for the ease of youth (when he always had Diet Coke). Yet while he barely Pee-wee’s Playhouse, Torres’ irreverent humor — and the way he plays with surrealism and color schemes in every project — illustrates how much Pee-wee’s Playhouse continues to influence his current work. 

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One of the 40th Anniversary’s true highlights was Patti Harrison, who spent her first minutes onstage monologuing about her difficult childhood and the impact Pee-Wee’s Playhouse had on her younger self. “I’m really honored to be here,” she timidly began. “I truly feel like I owe so much of what I get to do now and who I am today to artists like Paul Rubens and Pee Wee’s Playhouse, and getting to have that growing up…I feel very fortunate.” 

Harrison then went on to describe the horrors of her childhood, the abuse she endured from bullies, and the nonstop torture she faced daily…before cleverly using the secret word to make the entire Greek Theater shout with glee at her traumatic storytelling. 

After this, Patti reverted to the hilariously vulgar comedy she’s known for, but the performer never stopped crediting Pee-wee’s Playhouse for inspiring countless queer performers to pursue their art today. Between screaming about her mother’s body and poop jokes she reminded the audience that many LGBTQ+ artists wouldn’t have gone after their dreams if not for the lessons taught by this show. She ended her time onstage with a perfect summary of everything this event represented, shouting at everyone in attendance: “Stay freaky, stay weird, and long live Pee-wee!”

This was the true message of The 40th Anniversary Of Pee-wee’s Playhouse and the series it was created to celebrate. The event not only showcased memorabilia and memories from the show — though that was certainly a wonderful aspect of it — but offered a long list of performers whose careers testify the impact Pee-wee’s Playhouse had on everyone lucky enough to watch it. Through this anniversary, the queer community is reminded of how our culture was shaped by the unbridled, chaotic joy that Pee-wee’s Playhouse embodied in every episode. 

And with over 40 years of inspiring artists, there is only one word that truly describes the legacy of Pee-wee’s Playhouse that LGBTQ+ people can still learn from today: great.  

Just kidding. Fantastic. 

Last week’s grab of nine Tony nominations for the new Broadway revival of “The Rocky Horror Show” – coming in the midst of the ongoing 50th anniversary of the cult-classic movie version – seems like a great excuse to look back at a phenomenon that’s kept us “doing the Time Warp” for decades.

It’s a big history, so instead of attempting a definitive conclusion about why it matters, I’ll just offer my personal memories and thoughts; maybe you’ll be inspired to revisit your own.

First, the facts: Richard O’Brien’s campy glam-rock musical became a London stage hit in 1973; that success continued with a run at Los Angeles’s Roxy Theatre in 1974, and a Broadway opening was slated for early 1975. In the break between, the movie was filmed, timed to ride the presumed success of the New York premiere and become a mega-hit – but it didn’t happen that way. The Broadway show closed after a mere handful of performances, and the movie disappeared from theaters almost as soon as it was released.

This, however, was in the mid-1970s, when “cult movies” had become a whole countercultural “scene,” and the film’s distributor (20th Century Fox) found a way to give “The Rocky Horror Picture Show” another chance at life. It hit the midnight circuit in 1976, and everybody knows what happened after that.

When all of this was happening, I was still a pre-teen in Phoenix, and a sheltered one at that. It wasn’t until 1978 – the summer before I started high school – that it entered my world. Already a movie fanatic (yes, even then), I had discovered a local treasure called the Sombrero Playhouse, a former live theater converted into an “art house” cinema; my parents would take me there and drop me off alone (hey, it was 1978) for a double feature. I remember that place and time as pure heaven.

It was there that “Rocky Horror” found me. The Sombrero, like so many similar venues across the country, made most of its profits from the midnight shows, and “The Rocky Horror Picture Show” was the star attraction. I saw the posters, watched the previews, got my first peeks at Tim Curry’s Frank, Peter Hinton’s Rocky, and all the rest of the movie’s alluringly “freaky” cast; when I came out of the theater after whatever I had watched, I would see the fans lining up outside for the midnight show. I could see their weird costumes, and smell the aroma I already knew was weed, and I knew this was something I should not want to have any part of – and yet, I absolutely did.

After I started high school and found my “tribe” with the “theater kids,” I was invited by a group of them – all older teenagers – to go and see it. I had to ask my parents’ permission, which (amazingly) they granted; they even let me ride with the rest of the “gang” in our friend’s van – with carpeted interior, of course – despite what I could see were their obvious misgivings about the whole situation.

It would be over-dramatic to say that night changed my life, but it would not be wrong, either. I was amazed by the atmosphere: the pre-movie floor show, the freewheeling party vibe, the comments shouted at the screen on cue, the occasional clatter of empty liquor bottles falling under a seat somewhere, and that same familiar smell, which delivered what, in retrospect, I now know was a serious contact high. 

As for the movie, I had already been exposed to enough “R” rated fare (the Sombrero never asked for ID) to keep me from being shocked, and the gender-bent aesthetic seemed merely a burlesque to me. I was savvy enough to see the spoof, to laugh at the lampooning of stodgy 1950s values under the guise of a retro-schlock parody of old-school movie tropes; I “got it” in that sense – but there was so much about it that I wasn’t ready to fully understand. Because of that, I enjoyed the experience more than I enjoyed the film itself.

I’m not sure how many times I saw “Rocky Horror” over the next few years, but my tally wasn’t high; I drifted to a different friend group, became more active in theater, and had little time for midnight movies in my busy life. I was never in a floor show and rarely yelled back at the screen (though I did throw a roll of toilet paper once), and I didn’t dress in costume. Even so, I went back to it periodically before the Sombrero closed permanently in 1982, and as I gradually learned to embrace my own “weirdness,” I came to connect with the weirdness that had always been calling me from within the movie. Each time I watched it, I did so through different eyes, and they saw things I had never seen before.

That process has continued throughout my life. I’ve frequently revisited “Rocky” via home media (in all its iterations) and special screenings over the years, and the revelations keep coming: the visual artistry of director Jim Sharman’s treatment; the dazzling production design incorporating nods to iconic art and fashion that I could only recognize as my own knowledge of queer culture expanded; the incomparable slyness of Tim Curry’s unsubtle yet joyously authentic performance; the fine-tuned perfection of Richard O’Brien’s ear-worm of a song score. The excellence of “The Rocky Horror Picture Show” revealed itself in new layers with every viewing.

There were also more intimate realizations: how Janet was always a slut and Brad was always closeted (I related to both), and how Frank’s seduction becomes the path to sexual liberation for them both; how Rocky was the “Über-Hustler,” following his uncontrolled libido into exploitation as a sex object while only desiring safety and comfort (I related to him, too), and how the “domestics” were driven to betray their master by his own diva complex (I could definitely relate to both sides of that equation). How Frank-N-Furter, like the tragic Greek heroes that still echo in the stories we tell about ourselves, is undone by hubris – and anybody who can’t relate to that has probably not lived long enough, yet.

The last time I watched (in preparation for writing this), I made another realization: like all great works of art, “The Rocky Horror Picture Show” is a mirror, and what we see there reflects who we are when we gaze into it. It’s a purely individual interaction, but when Frank finally delivers his ultimate message – “Don’t dream it, be it” – it becomes universal. Whoever you are, whoever you want to be, and whatever you must let go of to get there, you deserve to make it happen – no matter how hard the no-neck criminologists and Nazi-esque Dr. Scotts of the world try to discourage you.

It’s a simple message – obvious, even – but it’s one for which the timing is never wrong; and for the generations of queer fans that have been empowered by “The Rocky Horror Picture Show,” it probably feels more right than ever.

Jason Collins, the first openly gay man to actively play for a major professional sports team, died on Tuesday after a battle with brain cancer. He was 47.

The California native had briefly played for the Washington Wizards in 2013 before coming out in a Sports Illustrated op-ed.

Collins in 2014 became the first openly gay man to play in a game for a major American professional sports league when he played 11 minutes during a Brooklyn Nets game. He wore jersey number 98 in honor of Matthew Shepard, a gay college student murdered outside of Laramie, Wyo., in 1998.

Collins told the Washington Blade in 2014 that his life was “exponentially better” since he came out. Collins the same year retired from the National Basketball Association after 13 seasons.

Collins married his husband, Brunson Green, in May 2025.

The NBA last September announced Collins had begun treatment for a brain tumor. Collins on Dec. 11, 2025, announced he had Stage 4 glioblastoma.

“We are heartbroken to share that Jason Collins, our beloved husband, son, brother and uncle, has died after a valiant fight with glioblastoma,” said Collins’s family in a statement the NBA released. “Jason changed lives in unexpected ways and was an inspiration to all who knew him and to those who admired him from afar.  We are grateful for the outpouring of love and prayers over the past eight months and for the exceptional medical care Jason received from his doctors and nurses. Our family will miss him dearly.”

NBA Commissioner Adam Silver said Collins’s “impact and influence extended far beyond basketball as he helped make the NBA, WNBA, and larger sports community more inclusive and welcoming for future generations.”  

“He exemplified outstanding leadership and professionalism throughout his 13-year NBA career and in his dedicated work as an NBA Cares Ambassador,” said Silver. “Jason will be remembered not only for breaking barriers, but also for the kindness and humanity that defined his life and touched so many others.”

“To call Jason Collins a groundbreaking figure for our community is simply inadequate. We truly lost a giant today,” added Human Rights Campaign President Kelley Robinson in a statement. “He came out as gay — while still playing — at a time when men’s athletes simply did not do that. But as he powerfully demonstrated in his final years in the league and his post-NBA career, stepping forward as he did boldly changed the conversation.”

“He was and will always be a legend for the LGBTQ+ community, and we are heartbroken to hear of his passing at the young age of 47,” she said. “Our hearts go out to his family and loved ones. We will keep fighting on in his honor until the day everyone can be who they are on their terms.”

The Los Angeles Blade is honored to join forces with Asian Americans Advancing Justice (AJSOCAL) and Okaeri (a program of Little Tokyo Service Center) to celebrate both AAPI Heritage Month and to kick off Pride, hosted at The Abbey on Tuesday, May 19th at 6:30 pm. The evening will feature West Hollywood Vice Mayor Danny Hang and actor Nhut Le from HBO Max’s hit show, Peacemaker.

This event, free to the public, is part of Los Angeles Blade’s commitment to spotlight and support the efforts of the the non-profits who provide resources to other minority groups within the queer community. This past year, the Blade has had the privilege to build relationships with both AJSOCAL and Okaeri, highlighting the stories of the organizations’ history, staff leaders, and clients.

AJSOCAL is the leading civil rights advocate for the Asian American and Pacific Islander (AAPI) community. Their services are open to individuals of all races and ethnicities, without restriction. The organization combats discrimination, provides free legal services and workshops across Southern California for low-income community members and anyone in need, and drives policy change from the local to national level. AAPI Queer Joy is AJSOCAL’s initiative to become more inclusive and representative of the AAPI community by recognizing the intersectionality of the AAPI and LGBTQ+ communities. In partnership with a coalition of Queer Trans Asian Pacific Islander (QTAPI)-serving organizations across California, they identify and highlight the specific needs of the QTAPI community. Based on the coalition’s guidance, AJSOCAL advocates for inclusive policies that empower the QTAPI community and allow all to thrive.

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Jeffrey Deguia, AJSOCAL’s LA Regional Policy Advocate, commented to the Blade about the joint event, “I’m excited to be celebrating our beautifully diverse AAPI LGBTQ+ (or queer, trans API or QTAPI) community with the LA Blade and one of my favorite community partners, Okaeri at this year’s AAPI Heritage Month & Pride Month happy hour! Being proudly QTAPI means I’m celebrating every part myself, which means I’m celebrating my Filipino heritage and my resilient queer and trans community. Tonight is a reminder that we don’t have to choose one, and that being fully authentic in both of these identities is what Pride is all about.”

Okaeri is a community-driven project of Little Tokyo Service Center. Its mission is to create visibility, compassionate spaces, and transformation for LGBTQ+ Japanese Americans (Nikkei) and their families by sharing their stories and providing culturally-rooted support, education, community-building, and advocacy. They envision a safe, loving, and accepting world for LGBTQ+ Nikkei and their families where all identities are celebrated, respected, and embraced. The organization started out in 2013, when Marsha Aizumi, the Japanese American mother of a transgender son, wondered why there were no resources for LGBTQ+ Nikkei. She organized the “Okaeri: A Nikkei LGBTQ Gathering” conference, gathering together over 200 attendees in its debut. Now, Okaeri provides programs and community services to meet the needs of the Nikkei LGBTQ+ community.

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Matthew Yonemura, Okaeri’s Assistant Program Director, shared, “Okaeri is so grateful for the collaboration we have with our fellow Queer Trans Asian Pacific Islander (QTAPI) community members. Okaeri has experienced so much change over the last couple of years, and it became increasingly difficult in 2024 and 2025 to hold in-person events. Being able to collaborate with AJSOCAL for happy hours like this is so important in Okaeri’s effort to be in the community. Okaeri means “welcome home” in Japanese, and gatherings like this are a way to welcome new members into the Okaeri community home.”

The evening will be a fun, casual happy hour open to all. The Blade will be on hand with our latest print issue, dedicated to AAPI Heritage Month. Vice Mayor Danny Hang will be in attendance to make a few remarks and help kick off the evening. As an added bonus, actor Nhut Le, who has become a runaway hit personality from HBO Max’s Peacemaker for the past two seasons, will join the festivities. Le has had the opportunity to infuse his character, Judomaster, with elements from his own queer and Vietnamese identity.

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Le wrote to the Blade, “It’s an interesting intersectionality, straddling both marginalized groups. I’ve encountered forms of discrimination in both, I’m too gay to be a good representation for the AAPI community or I’m too Asian and they don’t want tokenism or fetishism. It’s crucial that representation spans the whole gamut because even if one person somewhere feels seen and a little less alone and that their life is worth living, then it’s important.”

Come join the Blade, AJSOCAL, Okaeri, and Le at The Abbey on Tuesday, May 19th, from 6:30 to 8:30 pm. For more information, email the LA Blade publisher at [email protected].

Amielynn Abellera grew up with a nurse practitioner mother and a doctor father, so perhaps she was always destined to appear in a show like The Pitt. Looking at popular media as a Filipino child, though, she never saw “authentic representation” when watching shows about healthcare workers.

“If I did have representation, I would have been more curious and more celebratory, and want to investigate more and ask [my parents] questions,” she tells The Blade. “It’s never too late, and now that there is representation, it’s really making waves across the Filipino and Filipino-American community to initiate conversations.”

Acting on HBO Max’s The Pitt, as she has since the very first episode, carries a deeper meaning for Abellera, who plays the steady and empathetic Nurse Perlah. The second season once again follows a full 15-hour shift in the ER, this time taking place on the Fourth of July.

Abellera reflects on Perlah’s journey: “As a nurse, she is really good at her job, she’s really calm and composed and confident. She knows how to protect herself in such a challenging career. That has been part of how she’s able to get through it. In this season, on this particular day, she hits some challenges, and we start to see a little bit of that armor crack — just a tiny bit.”

It’s been a breakthrough role for Abellera, who previously appeared in episodes of The Cleaning Lady, Bosch: Legacy, and NCIS. The unique filming style of The Pitt, where every episode is synchronized with one hour in the hospital, has given Abellera a new experience altogether: “It feels very sporadic, very panicked, and very immediate.”

“It does feel like I’m waking up at five in the morning, starting a shift, and doing a 12-hour day. Sometimes, the reality mixed with the not-reality and the pretend can sort of meld together,” she says, while adding with a laugh, “I’m not a nurse, I’m nowhere near anything being a healthcare worker, of course, but sometimes you end up thinking, ‘I can actually put an IV in!’”

As she looks back on the season at large, one episode that stands out to her is Episode 3 (titled 9:00 A.M.), which incorporated the 2018 Tree of Life synagogue shooting that took place in Pittsburgh, where the show is also located. In a poignant moment, a Jewish patient named Yana (played by Irina Dubova) connects with Perlah, who wears a hijab.

“Quite honestly, I didn’t know so much about the shooting until we started working,” she says. “I really loved how simple the scene was, in terms of it being two people just connecting and caring for each other in that moment, and also acknowledging this bigger thing. It took both Yana and Perlah by surprise — the feelings that came up for them. I remember even filming it; it took both of us by surprise.”

When I ask about bringing both Filipino and queer representation to the show, Abellera says “I know I sound like a broken record. But I’m so proud, and it’s such an honor to be able to represent the Filipino community as healthcare workers. It’s such a big part of Filipino history and my personal history.”

On the show, she’s also found solidarity with Isa Briones and Kristin Villanueva. “Something I like about the three of us is we’re three different dimensions of Filipino,” she says.

Beyond the community she’s cultivated with her cast on-set, The Pitt has been celebrated across the entire industry, most recently winning the ensemble in a drama series prize at the Actor Awards and, of course, the Emmy award for best drama series. The Actor Award recognition was especially notable since it brought the main cast together on stage. With Season 3 already in the works, one can only imagine how many more awards the show will nab.

“I don’t think anybody knew that we were so hungry for this type of going back to how television used to be,” Abellera says, noting the 15-episode order for Season 2. “It’s taken all demographics by surprise.”