Movies
Restored ‘Caligula’ is still no classic
Sumptuous trash that’s worth seeing on the big screen
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Anybody who loves movies knows the thrill of returning to an old favorite for a repeat viewing; it allows us to appreciate things we missed before. Alternatively, re-watching a bad movie (or at least, one you disliked) can help you find a new perspective on it – but that comes with the risk of discovering that it’s still bad, and then you’ve wasted a couple of hours that you’ll never get back.
But what if it’s a “bad” movie that is technically not the same movie anymore? Does it deserve another chance?
No, that’s not a riddle. It’s something to ponder before deciding to experience the newly re-edited and re-constructed 4K re-release of 1979’s “Caligula,” the notorious historical epic about the famously unhinged titular Roman emperor, which featured a boldly stylized reconstruction of its ancient Roman setting, a youthful Malcolm McDowell in the title role, and a roster of distinguished British actors adding their prestige in support. Controversial even before the cameras started rolling, it was an ambitious multi-national production that spared no expense in bringing the despot’s personal rise and fall to the screen in all its lavish and debauched glory – conceived by none other than porn magnate Bob Guccione, the founder and editor of Penthouse magazine.
As in its original form, helmed by Italian filmmaker Tinto Brass, the movie opens as Caligula – heir to the throne of his increasingly deranged great uncle, the Roman Emperor Tiberius, who rules from a private island sanctuary and spends most of his time satisfying his perverse sexual appetites – fears that the old man views him as a threat to his power and decides to get ahead of the problem by disposing of him first. This, of course, makes Caligula the new emperor, and from there the tale depicts a chronology of his reign, in which his own lust for power – and other things – transforms him into a depraved tyrant. That’s not great for Rome, of course, but it ends up even worse for Caligula. We won’t spoil what happens, but you can look it up in any history book about the Roman Empire if you want to know.
The production was, to put it mildly, a mess. Guccione hired Brass to direct, and contracted renowned author Gore Vidal to write the screenplay, only to wrangle with both over creative differences. Vidal was eventually fired, and Brass assigned to adapt his script – but in the end, conflicts over the approach to sexual content led Guccione to remove Brass from the process and hire a team of editors to assemble a final cut according to his own specifications. He also snuck into the studio after-hours to film additional scenes of un-simulated sex featuring several hand-picked “Penthouse Pets,” which were then inserted into the movie to provide the flavor of softcore eroticism he assumed audiences would expect from his “brand.”
He may have been right about the audiences – “Caligula” was a box-office hit, a status no doubt fueled by international outrage from conservatives who decried it as “pornographic.” The most expensive independent film in history, it made back its cost and then some – but critics largely tore Guccione’s long-in-the-works pet project apart (legendary film reviewer Roger Ebert famously walked out on it), and though it had its defenders, it quickly achieved status as a notably embarrassing “flop.”
Cinema lovers, however, have a habit of favorably reassessing the film failures of previous generations, and inevitably, “Caligula” gained a reputation over the years as just such a movie. Enter Thomas Negovan, a film historian who discovered nearly 100 hours of unused footage – rejected takes, deleted scenes, and other material abandoned in Guccione’s final vision for the film – and undertook a full re-creation of the originally conceived “Caligula” as far as was possible, replacing every frame of footage from the 1979 release with alternate takes and reincorporating abandoned elements to create a stunningly restored new version in an effort to realize screenwriter Vidal’s original conception as closely as possible.
The resulting film, dubbed the “Ultimate Cut,” premiered at 2023’s Cannes Film Festival, where it earned praise from critics who cited its success in restoring both the movie’s artistic integrity and thematic cohesion, as well as its expanded showcase of the strong performances from McDowell (fresh from his breakthrough “Clockwork Orange” role when cast here) and future Oscar-winner Helen Mirren, as Caligula’s wife Caesonia. It restores at least some of Vidal’s intended theme highlighting the corruption that comes with absolute power – though not the openly gay author’s stronger emphasis on queer sexuality, a major point of contention with Guccione despite his willing inclusion of explicit same-sex and bisexual intimacy. Those moments largely take place as part of the background, a scenic element establishing the moral decadence of its title character’s reign and presenting a fetishized representation of queer coupling that – like all of the movie’s sex – seems more performative than passionate.
Even so, it’s a better film than it was, particularly in a restored print that emphasizes the rich color of Silvano Ippoliti’s cinematography and the “seventies chic” re-imagination of Ancient Rome by production designer Danilo Donati. McDowell’s performance, seen in its fleshed-out entirety for the first time, reclaims a coherent arc that was lost in the original cut, while Mirren’s work is similarly expanded to reveal a layered nuance that somehow anchors the movie’s extremities to a recognizable humanity. Additionally, Negovian’s work in de- and re-constructing the original film is praiseworthy for its meticulous devotion to delivering a unified whole.
At the same time, there are missteps that alternative footage can’t correct. “Caligula” still plays like a confused art house costume drama duped into becoming an exploitation film. Gratuitous sex and over-the-top violence are still the predominant tactics for eliciting audience response, and while the “star” performances – even legendary ham Peter O’Toole’s Tiberius, a case study in untethered-yet-irresistible overacting – and an elegantly trashy visual aesthetic lend it a semblance of artistic dignity, it can’t quite overcome the disingenuousness inherent in its blend of “serious” themes with blatantly exploitative underpinnings.
All of which begs the same question presented by the classic thought experiment called “The Ship of Theseus,” which asks us to contemplate whether a vessel that has had all of its parts replaced over time can still be considered the same vessel. It’s a moot point, however, because “Caligula” – disavowed even in its new incarnation by director Brass – is still plagued by the creative conflicts that marred its production. Its various elements seem to work at confused cross purposes, undermining any effort to impose a genuine sense of depth or artistic unity and leaving us with something that, despite the earnest contributions of many of its participants, still feels like a cynical effort to pass off porn by dressing it up as art.
Not that we’re judging that; in fact, we’re encouraging you to catch “Caligula: the Ultimate Cut” during its road show rollout in theaters, which commenced earlier this month, before it releases on VOD and streaming platforms later on. It might still be trash, but it’s sumptuous trash, and that’s always worth seeing on the big screen.
Movies
Trans star helps convoluted ‘Cuckoo’ coalesce into more than a creep show
Schafer infuses familiar character with Oscar-worthy depth
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Sometimes, casting the right person in a role can make or break a movie.
Consider “Cuckoo,” the buzzy horror film now in theaters nationwide, which turns a formulaic premise into an edgy and provocative thriller thanks to the presence of lead player Hunter Schafer, the breakout trans co-star of HBO’s acclaimed “Euphoria.” Her role might have been played by any young actress of appropriate age and sufficient talent, but carries a much more palpable weight both because of what she brings to it and because of how her director – sophomore German feature-filmmaker Tilman Singer (“Luz”) – chooses to present her.
That role is Gretchen (Schafer), an American teen raised by her recently deceased mother and now forced to move in with her father (Marton Csokas) and his new family just as they relocate to a remote town in the Bavarian Alps, where the owner of a resort he designed wants him to work on an expansion. Already feeling like a stranger within the household – which, besides dad’s second wife (Jessica Henwick), includes a perplexingly mute young stepsister, Alma (Mila Lieu), who has begun to experience unexplained seizure-like episodes since Gretchen’s arrival – and still grieving the loss of her mom, she’s not thrilled about the added isolation of living in a remote and sleepy mountain town. Making matters worse are her misgivings about the resort and the community that surrounds it, not to mention the vaguely threatening vibe she seems to sense behind the benevolent manner of Herr König (Dan Stevens), her dad’s overly polite and aggressively gracious boss.
Suspecting that things here are not entirely what they seem, she resolves to run away, but a successful escape requires money – so when König offers her a job at the reception desk, she takes it despite her better instincts. Naturally, this puts her right in the cross-hairs of whatever ominous conspiracy may be surrounding her, something she realizes when she disregards warnings never to stay at the resort after dark and narrowly escapes an attack from a terrifying figure in the woods. Though local authorities dismiss the incident as a prank, she is soon approached by the police chief himself (Jan Bluthardt), who is conducting a secret investigation of his own and seeks her help.
We won’t reveal what they find out, exactly; it’s enough to say that things revolve around a secret project to preserve a local species with an unusual means of reproduction. Besides this and the fact that Singer’s film draws heavily on both body horror and sci-fi elements to spin its harrowing narrative, the only thing you need to know is that, like so many relationships on social media, it’s complicated.
That’s a double-edged observation; as Singer’s film begins to unwind the twisted tale at the core of its premise, the revelations come at us fast and furious, resulting in a feeling that there are too many “moving parts” of which we must keep track, and a subsequent decision that it is too much work to do so. This has less to do with the details surrounding the menacing (and possibly misunderstood) “presence” that provides much of the movie’s more visceral thrills than it does with the convoluted escalations of its plot; more plainly said, in crafting a suitably gripping climax the story devolves into an implausible B-movie showdown built on unlikely reversals and hard-to-bridge gaps of logic, with Stevens’s character essentially filling in for the mad scientist defending his lab against torch-wielding villagers bent on destroying his well-meaning but misguided experiment. As a result, it loses a good deal of steam – as well as some of the good will it earns with its intriguing premise and effectively orchestrated slow build toward the final act – before getting us to the big finale.
Fortunately, despite the messiness of its denouement, “Cuckoo” ends on a strong note. In the wake of what we’ll describe as its suitably apocalyptic endgame, it leaves us with the unexpected suggestion that the solution in overcoming a perceived threat to our existence lies not in extreme, all-or-nothing viewpoints, however passionately or understandingly they may be held, but in finding a middle path between them. The key, in Gretchen’s case, is attached to compassion and a feeling of shared humanity, and not in self-validating personal ideologies that are ultimately more about ourselves than the things we think we need to defend or protect.
If anything can be credited with rescuing Singer’s movie from its reliance on genre formalism and overcomplicated storytelling, it’s Schafer’s performance. She embodies Gretchen’s achingly recognizable teenage nihilism to a tee, tapping into a universal feeling of being on the “outside” and allowing it to fuel our engagement in her story even when the plot goes over the top and off the rails; but what makes her performance indispensable to Singer’s purpose is also what gives his film significance far beyond its measured success as a thriller. While Schafer is unequivocally a trans woman, Gretchen’s gender identity is never explicitly disclosed; though the “trans-ness” of the performer invites a valid interpretation of “Cuckoo” as an allegory about transphobia, or about the necessity for queer people to find “chosen families” to replace the ones into which they are born, these possible readings of the film exist among many others, and the character’s gender is ultimately irrelevant. Though admittedly, thanks to the involvement of another outsider, a female-presenting traveler named Ed (Àstrid Bergès-Frisbey) who shows up to provide Gretchen with a glimmer of hope and a potential escape route, there’s an unflinching queerness that underlies the film’s entire perspective.
Through that lens, Schafer’s work here represents a landmark in the sense that she has become a lead performer in a relatively prominent film as a trans actress in a role that neither addresses nor needs to address her gender. That’s nothing to be scoffed at, whether or not one can fully surrender to the grotesque pleasures of Singer’s unapologetically shock-centric script and direction, but what is perhaps more important – at least in terms of the work itself – is that she takes a familiar stock character (the “final girl”) and infuses it with the kind of depth worthy of an Oscar-bait performance in an A-list “prestige” film. She shines neither because of nor in spite of her trans identity; rather, she shines because of her talent.
It’s worth mentioning that Stevens works hard to overcome the melodramatic writing behind Herr König and, as much as possible, mostly succeeds; and while most of the film’s other performances are decidedly less “showy,” the entire cast manages to keep us engaged enough to accept the movie’s potentially campy (not the good kind) conceits. Likewise, even if his screenplay gets muddy for a while in the third quarter, Singer’s shrewdly balanced blend of genre tropes and artistic vision as a director never wavers, keeping us not only invested but thrilled by his style even during his movie’s silliest moments.
All that makes “Cuckoo” a great choice for a date night that can also be a not-so-guilty pleasure – and when it comes to the movies, you can’t ask for much more than that.
Movies
‘Ganymede’ transcends camp to achieve genuine queer horror
An astute piece of social commentary
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In Greek mythology, a young mortal named Ganymede possessed such beauty that Zeus himself chose to abduct the boy to Mount Olympus – which wasn’t such a bad deal, considering Ganymede was granted not just immortality to go along with his new job as cup-bearer to the gods, but eternal youth and beauty as well.
That’s not, however, how the story gets told – or rather, twisted – in the new movie “Ganymede,” the latest queer indie gem to debut on VOD platforms this summer, which uses the myth as the launchpad for a horror story that manages to be both campy and creepy at once. Directed by partners Colby Holt and Sam Probst (from Holt’s original screenplay) and set in a small town in the modern-day Bible Belt, it centers on high school wrestling star Lee (Jordan Doww), the only son of a deeply religious local politician (Joe Chrest) who runs his household with an iron fist. When gay classmate Kyle (Pablo Castelblanco) makes an effort to befriend him, he quickly develops feelings that put him at odds with his conservative upbringing; small-town gossip, as well as a dark family secret surrounding his mother (Robyn Lively, in a deliciously hysterical performance), soon have him under the controlling eye of his church’s fanatical pastor (David Koechner). Even more terrifying, his mind is being invaded by a ghostly, sinister presence that seems determined to drive him toward madness and self-destruction – unless Kyle can get to him first.
Like many of these queer-centric genre pictures, “Ganymede” emerged from the festival circuit, securing acclaim and awards throughout its run. With its unconcealed LGBTQ focus and religious homophobia at the core of its horror, it’s plain to see why it would strike a chord with queer audiences, especially in a time when conservative pushback against queer acceptance dominates the public conversation.
For “mainstream” horror fans, however, whose appreciation of the genre is generally focused on fright and gore rather than on the subtextual nuances of its tropes, Holt’s movie might not be the terrifying experience it aims to be — largely because he and Probst do not hide their LGBTQ perspective between the lines. It’s clear from early on that the gay love story upon which the plot hinges is exactly what it appears to be, and further, that it’s where our sympathies belong.
More than that, “Ganymede” inverts the supposed moral order of traditional, old-school horror narratives by framing the forces of religion – or at least, a weaponized form of it – as the source of the story’s true evil. Despite the “haunting” that plagues the film’s young protagonist from almost the very beginning, the supernatural elements of the story (spoiler alert) remain localized within his own mind, only manifesting in the real world – with one important but ambiguous exception – through his reactions to them, and it doesn’t take a film scholar to figure out that they are not the real threat to his well-being. For Holt and Probst, the evil doesn’t come from outside the real world, but from within the darkest corners of a stunted human imagination that projects its own pre-programmed ideas onto that world and treats anything that conflicts with them as an existential threat. In truth, it’s the same message one can find in horror classics from “Bride of Frankenstein” to “The Wicker Man” to the notoriously gay “Nightmare on Elm Street 2” – but in this case, it is delivered not by implication but by direct and obvious assertion.
It’s this point that might keep Holt’s film from satisfying the conventions of traditional horror filmmaking, but it’s worth observing that it’s also this point that makes it stand out. By refusing to conform to generic expectations, it represents a powerful cultural shift, in which the queerness of its premise no is no longer a transgressive statement of countercultural themes, but in fact becomes the “normal order” that is being threatened by perverse powers that seek to tear it down – and those perverse powers are the very “norms” that have so long cast all “otherness” in a monstrous light.
The bottom line for most film audiences, of course, be they queer or not, is whether the movie succeeds in scaring them – and if we’re being honest, it does so only in the sense that it confronts us with the horrific bigotry and abuse that is heaped upon LGBTQ existence from right-wing religious hate. That means, even for queer audiences, it’s not so much a horror movie as it is a disturbing allegory about the torment of being forced to suppress one’s true self in order to feign the safe conformity required for self-preservation. Frankly, that should be scary enough for everyone, regardless of whether the movie adheres to accepted genre form, to keep them trembling in their shoes over the prospect of a world dominated by such a deranged mentality; after all, it’s not just queer people who stand to be subjugated, suppressed, and worse in a world controlled by a strict and deeply biased interpretation of outdated beliefs – it’s anybody who would dare to suggest that those beliefs might deserve an extinction as final as the one experienced by the dinosaurs.
Going a long way toward making the whole thing work – besides the sureness of Holt’s direction, that is, which fully embraces the traditions of the genre (hence the aforementioned campiness) while treating the story as a realistic thriller with genuinely high stakes – is a cast that delivers performances several cuts above what we are use to seeing in such movies. Doww is a compelling and convincing lead, who never devolves into over-the-top histrionics, while Castelblanco triumphs in embodying the determined heroism required of his position in the plot while still maintaining an unashamedly femme-ish queer persona; we never doubt his ability to turn the tide, nor the natural and unforced chemistry the two actors find together. They find stellar support from the aforementioned Lively, as well as from Chrest – a domineering patriarch who would be the most terrifying figure in the film if it weren’t for Koechner’s chillingly authentic pastor, whose buried self-loathing is nevertheless painfully clear as he bullies and tortures the young Lee in the name of “conversion.”
Which brings us back to the significance of the title, and its roots in Greek mythology, where it was born as a tale of transcendence; in the warped minds of the film’s religious leaders, it becomes the opposite, a story of deliberate corruption perpetrated against so-called “decent” men by monsters who tempt them with “unnatural” desires. More than anything, perhaps, it’s that flourish of the screenplay that makes “Ganymede” an astute piece of social commentary, whether or not it succeeds as a horror film; in warping the understanding of that ancient tale into a justification for cruelty and repression, it underscores the toxic effects of clinging to a dogma that pretends to be truth while casting other viewpoints as the products of malevolent influence. That’s a delusion that has reached crisis levels in American society – and it’s why “Ganymede” is a must-see whether it’s a true horror film or not.
Movies
‘Four’ divas make ‘Fabulous’ fun
Ignore the hackneyed Hollywood conventions and enjoy the cast
![](https://www.losangelesblade.com/content/files/2024/08/Susan_Sarandon_and_Bette_Midler_and_Sheryl_Lee_Ralph_and_Megan_Mullally_in_The_Fabulous_Four_insert_courtesy_Bleecker_Street.jpg)
Thanks to increasing lifespans and a tendency for older Americans to maintain an active lifestyle, a new Hollywood genre has become a staple over the last few decades – the “senior buddy movie,” in which an ensemble of older stars assembles for a wacky comedy, typically involving a group vacation.
“The Fabulous Four,” now in theaters, might just be the definitive example. It brings together a quartet of mature leading ladies guaranteed to bring the over-50 female crowd out for a “girls’ night” at the movies – and since that quartet features not only bona fide “gay diva” Bette Midler alongside Susan Sarandon, but Broadway veteran Sheryl Lee Ralph and queer fan-favorite Megan Mullally, it’s likely to bring out a lot of the over-50 LGBTQ crowd, too.
This high-octane ensemble portrays four friends who lived together in the New York City of their youth: Marilyn (Midler) the perennial “life of the party” who “married well” and now flaunts her unstoppable zest for life on TikTok; Lou (Sarandon), her more studious college roommate who has gone on to a career as a cardiac surgeon; Alice (Mullally), a singer whose career enables her gleefully hedonistic lifestyle; and Kitty (Ralph), who has turned a green thumb into a successful business selling legal cannabis. When the recently widowed Marilyn – now transplanted to Key West – announces her whirlwind engagement to a new man, she naturally invites the old gang to be her bridesmaids. It’s the ideal scenario for a reunion, but there’s an obstacle: former bestie Lou wants nothing to do with her, thanks to a breach of trust years before, and she can only be persuaded to join the trip if Alice and Kitty conspire to bring her under false pretenses. It’s hardly a spoiler to say they succeed, but getting her to Key West is only half the challenge. In order to make Marilyn’s wedding the joyous occasion she hopes, a suitcase full of old resentments, convenient excuses, deliberate blind spots, and hidden regrets has to be unpacked first. And that means a lot of uncomfortable (and hilarious) confrontations that just seem to escalate as the big day draws closer.
That all might sound a little heavy on paper, but in practice it comes off lighter than air. That’s largely due to a heavy reliance on the charms of its four stars, who form a surprising mix of talents that melds into a far better flavor than might be expected. Their chemistry as an ensemble puts us at ease that things are going to work out fine before the conflict has even been fully revealed, which makes it easier to forgive the formulaic recipe their star vehicle is built on. “Fabulous Four” is a movie that hinges on tropes, contrivances, unlikely coincidences, and right-on-schedule resolutions. It unapologetically discards any pretense at believability early on, assembling a seemingly mismatched collection of “types” and throwing them into an adventure that seems almost deliberately predictable – despite relying on a series of surprise twists to fuel its fluffy-ish narrative. Yet somehow, with the infectious talents of its four stars to drive it, this assemblage of prosaic plot devices manages to become something too delightful to criticize. Indeed, it almost seems to delight in its own implausibility, even to the point of including more than one self-referential “winking” moment to let us know it’s in on the joke.
That as much as anything is a sign of the refreshingly feminine sensibility that infuses the film from the ground up. With an all-female team of primary creators – director Jocelyn Moore and screenwriters Ann Marie Allison and Jenna Milly – behind the scenes, there’s a nonchalance about its silliness, part of which may come from a deliberate embrace of old-fashioned Hollywood “hokey-ness” but which also feels like an intelligent disregard for the need to make audiences suspend their disbelief. There’s also an unmistakably progressive worldview built right into its core, most obvious in the fact that it shows us four aspirational women, who have made successful lives for themselves on their own terms, but reflected as well by multiple other threads throughout the movie – including a subplot involving Kitty’s strained relationship with her conservative Christian daughter – and a generally liberated attitude toward things like sex, drugs, and breaking a few rules now and then. Most of all, perhaps, it reveals its liberal heart in the way it stresses kindness, embracing the personal growth embodied in forgiveness between friends while still honoring the validity of the feelings that makes the forgiveness necessary in the first place. In a time when public opinion is perhaps shaped more by outrage and “cancel culture” than it is by empathy and understanding, that’s a soothing message to receive.
Of course, like any of these types of movies, how much one appreciates “Fabulous Four” is largely going to depend on how much one appreciates its stars – though in this case, it’s hard to imagine anyone who wouldn’t. Midler, whose screen work has included a lot of outlandish comedies such as this one, is at the top of her form here, balancing her gifts for comedic panache and emotional sincerity to make an endearing character out of one that might, in other hands, come off as self-absorbed and unlikeable; likewise Sarandon, suitably cast in the more serious role, makes sure that Lou never becomes overly dour, even in the moments when it might seem appropriate, and while it might seem a bit of a stretch to see how these two women could have become such deep friends, these two actresses never let us doubt it for a second.
Even so, it’s arguably the other two members of the movie’s central ensemble that steal the show. Ralph, a longtime showbiz dynamo whose double-Emmy-winning role on “Abbot Elementary” has given her a late-career boost and introduced her talents to a much wider audience, shines as the affable, no-nonsense Kitty – a character meant for actress Sissy Spacek, who dropped out before production began due to a schedule conflict – and brings a welcome dose of Black energy (not to mention diversity) to the movie’s vibe. It’s probably Mullally, however, who elicits the most laughs, deploying all her beloved “Will and Grace” schtick to turn Alice into a reborn version of Karen Walker who uses her powers for good. How could that not be irresistible?
It’s also worth mentioning warmly wrapped supporting turns by silver-haired hunks Bruce Greenwood and Viggo Mortensen, whose presence as potential romantic interests feels irrelevant but nevertheless welcome.
Yet even with this stellar cast and all its positive energy, “Fabulous Four” is ultimately the kind of movie that will be appreciated mostly by the people it’s aimed at, and even then its markedly sunny liberalism might be off-putting to a considerable portion of the target audience. That means whether or not we are able to see past its hackneyed Hollywood conventions and appreciate its clear message not to take things too seriously, you might not be a fan.
But let’s face it, if you love seeing divas do their thing on the big screen – and we’re betting you do – it’s definitely worth an afternoon matinee to find out.
Movies
A jubilantly queer ‘Anthem’ for a world beyond borders
A story of human experience that happens to be about LGBTQ people
![](https://www.losangelesblade.com/content/files/2024/07/Eve_Lindley_in_National_Anthem_insert_courtesy_Variance_Distribution.jpg)
In a season that has so far failed to deliver the kind of big-ticket Hollywood must-see “prestige” blockbusters we enjoyed with the “Barbenheimer Summer” of 2023, it’s a relief that there is so much under-the-radar indie content out there to fill in the gaps.
That’s especially true, perhaps inevitably, when the story resonates with “minority” populations and is told by someone from among them who shares their longing to see themselves represented on the screen – and the perfect case in point can be found in “National Anthem,” the first feature-length work from photographer/filmmaker Luke Gilford, which is currently enjoying a limited theatrical run a year after an acclaimed debut at 2023’s SXSW Festival in Austin.
Inspired by his photo monograph of the same name, Gilford’s movie takes place in rural New Mexico and centers on 21-year-old Dylan (Charlie Plummer), a day laborer struggling to provide for his alcoholic mother (Robin Lively) and pre-teen brother (Joey DeLeon) while dreaming of escape. Hired for an extended job at a ranch outside town – headquarters for queer rodeo stars Pepe (Rene Rosado) and Sky (Eve Lindley), and home to the diversely gendered commune of pan, poly, and non-conforming “misfits” they’ve gathered around them – he is soon drawn into the fold by feelings he’s used to keeping secret. In particular, he has feelings for the beautiful and headstrong Sky, who shares a mutual spark with him despite her loyalty to Pepe. Emboldened by their growing relationship, he begins to revel in the freedom he feels within his newfound community – but even as he tries to bring his two worlds together, mounting tensions in both threaten his newfound sense of liberty with a rude awakening that just might leave him without a place in either.
Expressed in a paragraph, that premise is easily recognizable as a queer coming-of-age story, but there’s something about the film’s expansive heart that makes it much more than that. Boiled down to its simplest essence, it’s the kind of narrative – centered on a kind-hearted underdog of a dreamer and charting his path toward transcendence of the obstacles that lie in his way – that has appeal for anyone, queer or straight or anywhere in between. Thanks to Gilford’s compassionate approach to the material, not to mention a savvy grasp of the complex politics of human emotion and a thrillingly open-ended outlook on sexuality and gender that manages to feel more celebratory than it does transgressive, it becomes not just an authentic story about queer experience, but a story about human experience that happens to be about queer people.
Much of how it achieves this is by the way it treats its love story; though it may cover a lot of other angles, “National Anthem” places most of its bets on romance. Indeed, it aims to emulate the passionate tales of love-at-first-sight found in the old-school Hollywood classics we all grew up with, and hits the mark with palpable accuracy despite complicating it with layers of gender, orientation, and pansexual polyamory. Lushly romantic, with as many emotional ups and downs as any tearjerker and a powerfully sexy chemistry that comes through despite the film’s tastefully “PG” presentation of eroticism between characters, it’s as lushly romantic and emotionally engaging as any mainstream Hollywood fantasy. That might even signify a major part of the film’s agenda; if a love story taking place outside the “norm” of cultural conformity can feel so right in a big-screen fantasy, then why shouldn’t it feel that way when it’s an off-screen reality, too?
Much of the reason it feels so right, of course, has to do with the screenplay (by Gilford with David Largman Murray and Kevin Best), which infuses both Dylan and Sky with relatable layers of feeling and makes them achingly human; but it also hinges on the performers in the roles, and thankfully both are perfectly cast. Plummer, whose performance earned exuberant praise during the film’s festival circuit run, wins our hearts from the beginning, conveying a guarded tenderness and sense of longing that never seems forced; but it is when Lindley’s Sky enters the scene that the screen truly lights up with her blend of headstrong self-determination, nurturing patience, and unbridled sexuality. It’s one of the best-written trans roles we’ve seen, focusing not on any suggestion of “otherness” – indeed, her trans identity is never even mentioned, simply left to be self-evident in the most gloriously empowering way possible – but presenting a fully-fleshed out person having a universal experience, and it’s played by a gifted trans actress whose charisma makes the perfect magnet for Plummer’s puppy-dog adoration. She’s on a journey of her own, and she makes it come to life for us as if she were born to do it.
The film handles its other relationships with equal depth, with Lively giving a deft turn that finds compassion and redemption for the neglectful mother she portrays and an endearingly genuine juvenile performance from newcomer DeLeon. A particular standout is nonbinary actor Mason Alexander Park, whose subtly layered energy as a commune member who becomes both a friend and a “maternal” figure to Dylan brings an important calming presence.
Still, it’s ultimately Gilford who is the star of “National Anthem.” Combining a powerful visual aesthetic – which captures the mythic vastness and Americana of its New Mexico setting while infusing its intimate scenes with a luminous aura of inner light shining through into the world – with an assured sense of the emotional “blueprint” of his narrative, he creates a star-crossed love story for the ages, made all the more powerful by the “outsider” status of its characters. Instead of making them curiosities, he finds a way to uplift them all, even as they stumble, fall, or fail. He paints a portrait of this queer rodeo “family” that has room to accept everybody, without labels or judgements or conditions beyond basic respect, and it’s beautiful.
That, of course, is where the title comes in. In taking the familiar landscape and tropes of the American Western genre – which, in spite of its modern-day setting and focus on matters of queer identity, “National Anthem” is unquestionably influenced by – and reinventing them with a queer cast of characters identifying across all the spectrums (and in some cases, multiple spectrums), Gilford’s movie encourages us to say “yes,” to follow our bliss, to take the plunge and explore the things that call to our hearts, and it suggests that, in doing so, we can build the world we want around us as we go. It suggests that, in a world based on comfortable constructs, we can always change those constructs to make things better.
That’s what his characters do, and in so doing become a sort of “nation within a nation,” perhaps, by choosing to live outside the oppressive tide and find one’s own “American Dream” – and it’s truly a land of the free and a home of the brave.
That’s a bold message, perhaps, and a timely one in this particular election year.
a&e features
Coming-of-age story ‘El Paisa’ on PBS
Film continues successful run across L.A. film festivals
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By GISSELLE PALOMERA | CALÓ News — “El Paisa” will be featured nationally as part of the 2024 PBS Short Film Festival starting Monday, July 15, shortly after winning the award for Best LGBTQ+ Short at Cannes International Film Festival. In its 13th year, the PBS Short Film Festival features 15 independent films chosen for their impact and reflection of American life, culture, lived experiences and family dynamics.
The film continues its successful run across Los Angeles film festivals, sweeping awards for Best Short Film, Best LGBTQ+ Short Film and several Jury Awards.
The film is a product of the Latino Public Broadcasting. The Digital Media Fund, designed to provide resources for independent Latin American filmmakers to create digital short form programs for online distribution in collaboration with an existing public television platform such as PBS.
The Digital Media Fund prioritizes submissions in the genres of science, biography, history, health, personal storytelling, art, cultural documentary and narratives. The fund allocates between $10,000 and $30,000 dollars for the projects, depending on the proposal. Submissions are now closed and will reopen next year.
“El Paisa,” is an East L.A.-set coming-of-age story featuring an unlikely duo that begins to deconstruct the traditional expectations and roles of gay men within Latin American culture.
Film director Daniel Eduvijes Carrera says the film is reminiscent of his own story as a queer son of immigrants who struggled to embrace his own identities as he grows up on the unforgiving streets of L.A. riddled with barrio gang violence.
Carrera says he felt completely isolated due to his queer identity growing up. In a director’s statement, he says there was some level of support from his Latin American identity within his own family of nine siblings, but when it came to embracing or even understanding his queer identity, he was completely at a loss.
It wasn’t until Carrera walked into his first gay vaquero bar on his 21st birthday and witnessed the embodiment of masculinity entwined with queer culture he only dreamed of as a kid that it made sense to him that his queer identity could in fact co-exist with his Latin American identity.
Carrera is now an accomplished voice in filmmaking, using his perspective and lived experiences to create stories that deconstruct the societal norms that marginalize queer people within Latin American cultures. He has gained notable fellowships, grants and prestigious recognition for his voice in the filmmaking and entertainment industry.
The film will be available to watch across all PBS platforms that include the PBS App, YouTube and PBS.org.
This story was produced by CALÓ News, a news organization covering Latino/a/x communities.
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If there is any downside to living in an era when movies about queer people are finally plentiful, it’s that sometimes the best of them are overshadowed by bigger, splashier films and end up getting lost in the mix.
Two such titles are a pair of indie projects, both of which focus on “outsider” queer characters, newly available on the VOD market after brief-and-limited theatrical runs; each of them deserves a better fate than that.
The first of these, “Big Boys,” was a major hit in the 2023 queer festival circuit, winning multiple awards (including Outstanding Lead Performance honors for its young star, Isaac Krasner, at LA’s Outfest) and emerging as an audience favorite. It’s easy to see why.
Written, produced, and directed by Corey Sherman, it’s a small, slice-of-life story centered on Jamie (Krasner), a bright-but-awkward 14-year-old trying to navigate the dual challenges of growing up as a chubby gay-and-closeted teen, who sets out (along with his slick and more confident older brother Will, played by Taj Cross) on a camping trip with favorite cousin Allie (Dora Madison), though he’s initially disappointed when he finds out her new boyfriend Dan (David Johnson III) is also coming along. His attitude changes, however, when the interloper turns out to be a handsome young man who wears his physical “chunkiness” with an easy confidence. Yes, it’s an instant and impossible crush, leading to a weekend adventure that pushes awkward boundaries for all four campers. But aside from his attractiveness, Dan also emerges as a positive role model for Jamie, who begins to find a confidence of his own.
Equal parts bittersweet coming-of-age story and uncomfortable-yet-endearing comedy, Sherman’s movie wins us over early on, largely through the strength of Krasner’s performance; the young actor exhibits not just the comedic chops necessary to get laughs from even his most painful moments, but the vulnerability to make them ring true. Seemingly unafraid of exploring his own identity through his character, he turns in a tour-de-force which stands up to comparison with some of the greatest “young actor breakthrough” performances of all time.
He’s given an ideal foil in Johnson, whose easygoing charm as Dan still allows us subtle hints of an internal process that keeps him from coming off as callow and clueless – something that pays off well in the film’s quiet-but-heart-stirring climax, which is best left unspoiled here. Madison also provides invaluable support with a performance that captures the conflicted impulses that come between youth and adulthood, and Cross successfully gets past the casual toxicity of his aggressively hetero-centric character to remain sympathetic.
It’s a stellar collection of performances from an ensemble of relative newcomers, and it goes a long way toward endearing “Big Boys” to a presumably queer audience, which will likely find resonance in the way they each – especially Kasner – convey its theme of trying to claim and define one’s young identity when it goes against the grain of the world around you. But it’s ultimately Sherman, who drew heavily from his own experiences growing up as a plus-size queer kid in creating the film, that deserves full credit – not just for putting it all together, but for having the courage and determination to deliver a queer story that foregoes the glitz and glamour of “gay romance” and connects with the lived experience of viewers who may feel left out of the typically glossy mainstream depictions of queer life.
Cut from a similar cloth is “Cora Bora,” starring “Hacks” fan favorite Meg Stalter as the title character, a bisexual musician who might just be the poster child for clueless self-centeredness. Openly rude, unrepentantly shallow, and blatantly manipulative, she steamrolls her way through life seemingly oblivious to the impact her attitude has on others. Having departed her native Portland – and left behind longtime girlfriend Justine (Jojo T. Gibbs), though ostensibly maintaining a “long-distance open relationship” with her – to pursue a music career in Los Angeles, success has proven elusive. She decides to make a surprise visit back home to re-evaluate, only to find that a new girl (Ayden Mayeri) has moved in to take her place. When her attempts to reassert her claim in the household just make matters worse, Cora is forced to recognize that both her professional and personal lives are a shambles – but can she find the humility it will take to get “real” enough to repair them?
Directed by Hannah Pearl Utt from a screenplay by Rhianon Jones, “Cora Bora” also relies heavily on the talents of its star player. Statler, in a turn that lends a darker, more desperate edge to the comedic persona that has made her “Hacks” character one of that show’s biggest assets, is at once monstrous and endearing, a ridiculously broad yet shrewdly-drawn caricature of modern bourgeois boorishness that serves as a fragile cover for something deeper and – without spoiling anything – profoundly traumatic. The journey we take with her is at once hilarious and powerfully affecting, echoing a time-honored comic tradition of transcending pain by finding humor in a pain that feels universal.
She’s aided by an equally gifted supporting cast, with both Gibbs and Mayeri finding enough heart to keep either of their characters – the other two points of the film’s romantic triangle – from being positioned as a “villain,” and a convincing turn from Manny Jacinto (known for his breakout “himbo” role on TV’s afterlife comedy “The Good Place”), as a character that would otherwise seem too good to be true, lending credibility to an eventual resolution that hinges on a pile of coincidences that would seem absurd without his sincerity. There are also appearances from other familiar faces in cameo roles – such as Margaret Cho as part of a polyamorous commune and Chelsea Peretti as an outraged dog owner – which serve as highlights in a movie already rich with them.
Both “Big Boys” and “Cora Bora” are linked by a common thread. Each of them features a queer protagonist, of course, but they are outsiders even within their own community. Ultimately, their struggles are born of a perspective that separates them from the rest of the world, a lived experience that others around them do not and cannot fully share. It would be easy enough for either film to make its lead character the butt of the joke, but neither of them makes that choice. The humor comes through their relatability, rather than from their “otherness,” and that makes all the difference. Despite these films’ occasional painfulness, their kindness is what comes shining through – not just toward their misfit characters, but toward the misfits in the audience, too.
For our money, that’s what the world needs a lot more of these days, and it places these two hidden gems among 2024’s best releases so far.
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Movies
Gender expression is fluid in captivating ‘Paul & Trisha’ doc
Exploring what’s possible when you allow yourself to become who you truly are
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Given the polarizing controversies surrounding the subject of gender in today’s world, it might feel as if challenges to the conventional “norms” around the way we understand it were a product of the modern age. They’re not, of course; artists have been exploring the boundaries of gender – both its presentation and its perception – since long before the language we use to discuss the topic today was ever developed. After all, gender is a universal experience, and isn’t art, ultimately, meant to be about the sharing of universal experiences in a way that bypasses, or at least overcomes, the limitations of language?
We know, we know; debate about the “purpose” of art is almost as fraught with controversy as the one about gender identity, but it’s still undeniable that art has always been the place to find ideas that contradict or question conventional ways of viewing the world. Thanks to the heavy expectation of conformity to society’s comfortable “norms” in our relationship with gender, it’s inevitable that artists might chafe at such restrictive assumptions enough to challenge them – and few have committed quite so completely to doing so as Paul Whitehead, the focus of “Paul & Trisha: The Art of Fluidity,” a new documentary from filmmaker Fia Perera which enjoyed a successful run on the festival circuit and is now available for pre-order on iTunes and Apple TV ahead of a VOD/streaming release on July 9.
Whitehead, who first gained attention and found success in London’s fertile art-and-fashion scene of the mid 1960s, might not be a household name, but he has worked closely with many people who are. A job as an in-house illustrator at a record company led to his hiring as the first art director for the UK Magazine Time Out, which opened the door for even more prominent commissions for album art – including a series of iconic covers for Genesis, Van der Graaf, Generator, and Peter Hammill, which helped to shape the visual aesthetic of the Progressive Rock movement with his bold, surrealistic pop aesthetic, and worked as an art director for John Lennon for a time. Moving to Los Angeles in 1973, his continuing work in the music industry expanded to encompass a wide variety of commercial art and landed him in the Guinness Book of World Records as painter of the largest indoor mural in the world inside the now-demolished Vegas World Casino in Las Vegas. As a founder of the Eyes and Ears Foundation, he conceived and organized the “Artboard Festival”, which turned a stretch of L.A. roadway into a “drive-through art gallery” with donated billboards painted by participating artists.
Perera’s film catches up with Whitehead in the relatively low-profile city of Ventura, Calif., where the globally renowned visual artist now operates from a combination studio and gallery in a strip mall storefront. Still prolific and producing striking artworks (many of them influenced and inspired by his self-described “closet Hinduism”), the film reveals a man who, far from coming off as elderly, seems ageless; possessed of a rare mix of spiritual insight and worldly wisdom, he is left by the filmmaker to tell his own story by himself, and he embraces the task with the effortless verve of a seasoned raconteur. For roughly the first half of the film, we are treated to the chronicle of his early career provided straight from the source, without “talking head” commentaries or interview footage culled from entertainment news archives, and laced with anecdotes and observations that reveal a clear-headedness, along with a remarkable sense of self-knowledge and an inspiring freedom of thought, that makes his observations feel like deep wisdom. He’s a fascinating host, taking us on a tour of the life he has lived so far, and it’s like spending time with the most interesting guy at the party.
It’s when “Art of Fluidity” introduces its second subject, however, that things really begin to get interesting, because as Whitehead was pushing boundaries as an in-demand artist, he was also pushing boundaries in other parts of his life. Experimenting with his gender identity through cross-dressing since the 1960s, what began tentatively as an “in the bedroom” fetish became a long-term process of self-discovery that resulted in the emergence of “converged artist” Trisha Van Cleef, a feminine manifestation of Whitehead’s persona who has been creating art of her own since 2004. Neither dissociated “alter ego” nor performative character, Trisha might be a conceptual construct, in some ways, but she’s also a very authentic expression of personal gender perception who exists just as definitively as Paul Whitehead. They are, like the seeming opposites of yin and yang, two sides of the same fundamental and united nature.
Naturally, the bold process of redefining one’s personal relationship with gender is not an easy one, and part of what makes Trisha so compelling is the challenge she represents to Paul – and, by extension, the audience – by co-existing with him in his own life. She pushes him to step beyond his fears – such as his concerns about the hostile attitude of the shopkeeper next door and the danger of bullying, brutality, and worse when Trisha goes out in public – and embrace both sides of his nature instead of trying to force himself to be one or the other alone. And while the film doesn’t shy away from addressing the brutal reality about the risk of violence against non-gender-conforming people in our culture, it also highlights what is possible when you choose to allow yourself to become who you truly are.
As a sort of disclaimer, it must be acknowledged that some viewers may take issue with some of Whitehead’s personal beliefs about gender identity, which might not quite mesh with prevailing ideas and could be perceived as “problematic” within certain perspectives. Similarly, the depth of his engagement with Hindu cosmology might be off-putting to audiences geared toward skepticism around any spiritually inspired outlook on the world. However, it’s clear within the larger context of the documentary that both Paul and Trisha speak only for themselves, expressing a personal truth that does not nullify or deny the personal truth of anyone else. Further, one of the facets that gives “Art of Fluidity” its mesmerizing, upbeat charm is the sense that we are watching an ongoing evolution, a work in progress in which an artist is still discovering the way forward. There’s no insinuation that any aspect of Paul or Trisha’s shared life is definitive, rather we come to see them as a united pair, in constant flux, moving through the world together, as one, and becoming more like themselves every step of the way.
That’s something toward which we all would be wise to aspire; the acceptance of all of our parts and the understanding that we are always in the process of becoming something else would certainly go a long way toward making a happier, friendlier world.
Movies
New Cyndi Lauper doc brings overdue spotlight to queer ally
‘Let the Canary Sing’ captures a unique, era-defining star
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Every era in our cultural memory has given rise to popular artists that helped to define them, but few can be said to have made as definitive an impact as Cyndi Lauper in the early ‘80s. Splashing onto our airwaves and across our television screens (courtesy of the newly minted MTV) with a defiantly upbeat and colorful blast of society-shifting energy, her proclamation that “Girls Just Want to Have Fun” caught the world off guard with a feminist anthem disguised as a good-time party song, and her sense of quirky punk style became an iconic influence over the “look” of an entire decade. In some ways, you could almost say Cyndi Lauper was the ‘80s.
For many people who grew up or came of age during her rise from unknown girl singer to pop music phenomenon, that might be the extent of their knowledge of her life and career. Despite the success (and Grammy Award) she achieved with her first few hits, the ever-roving eye of public attention inevitably moved on to the next new superstar, and her later efforts – while not exactly ignored – never managed to garner as much attention.
That doesn’t mean she has been inactive, though, as her die-hard fans (and there are many) well know; this is especially true in the queer community, where she has long been recognized and celebrated as a staunch ally – which is why it seems apt that Pride month should coincide with the release of “Let the Canary Sing,” a new documentary profile of Lauper that premieres on Paramount Plus this week.
Directed by Emmy-winning documentarian Alison Ellwood, “Canary” takes its name from a comment made by the judge in a legal case that opened the door for Lauper’s stardom – no spoilers here, you’ll have to watch the movie to find out more. It undertakes the telling of a well-rounded and comprehensive life story to cast that stardom in a new light. Maintaining a comfortable sense of chronology, it begins with Lauper’s childhood, growing up in Brooklyn (and later, Queens) in a close-knit family as the middle child of three with a divorced single mother, and follows the trajectory of her life – rebellious, risk-taking teen to driven, passionate artist and activist – through her love of music, her rise to fame, her struggle to evolve in an industry that rewards predictable familiarity, her emergence as an LGBTQ advocate, and her expansion into a genre-leaping artist whose reach has extended beyond pop culture to earn her renown for her versatility. It also covers her accomplishment as the first woman to win a Tony Award as sole composer of the music and lyrics of “Kinky Boots,” the Harvey Fierstein-scripted drag-themed Broadway musical which made a star of Billy Porter – and nabbed her another Grammy (for its Original Cast Recording), to boot. Bolstered by extensive current interview footage with Lauper herself, as well as elder sister Elen, younger brother Fred, and other important figures from her personal and professional life, it finds an arc that reveals its subject as an authentic and uncompromising visionary dedicated to “lifting up” the entire human race.
That would sound hyperbolic – and probably more than a little disingenuous – if Lauper did not come across so palpably on camera. Whether it’s footage from a decades-old Letterman show or newly filmed commentary shot specifically for the film, her “true colors” come shining through (forgive us for that one, we couldn’t resist) to provide ample evidence that, even if she didn’t always know where she was going, she always knew it would be the direction of her own choosing. Indeed, as the movie makes clear, much of the reason behind Lauper’s fade from the pop spotlight was the result of her refusal to repeat herself, to compromise her own path by delivering pale copies of the formula that had made her an “overnight success” after 15 years of trying. Although the documentary doesn’t insinuate this, it’s impossible for us not to suspect that homophobic backlash following her public embrace and advocacy of the queer community – something surely intertwined with her close bond to sister Elen, an out lesbian who is positioned in Ellwood’s film as a key pillar of both emotional and artistic support in Lauper’s life – may have had something to do with the mainstream music industry’s ambivalence toward her as she pursued her artistic impulses beyond the flashy appeal of her debut album.
In any case, “She’s So Unusual,” as a debut album title, proved to be an ironic foreshadowing of the very reasons she was unable to “stay in her own lane” well enough to remain in the good graces of a public (or, perhaps more truthfully, of record executives) that only wanted more of the same. Lauper has never been one to conform, and it’s made her vulnerable, like so many other unrelenting female voices both before and after her, to the mainstream insistence on reinforcement of the comfortable over the breaking down of boundaries.
“Let the Canary Sing” captures all of this succinctly, yet with layered and sophisticated nuance, as it pays its tribute to a pop icon whose seminal work has continued to resonate after more than 40 years. Unavoidably, perhaps, it sometimes feels like a “Behind the Music” episode or a “puff piece” for an artist about to launch a new project – indeed, Lauper announced a “farewell tour” of 23 cities, as well as a “companion piece” greatest hits album release, on the eve of the movie’s streaming debut – but it pushes past such irrelevant comparisons thanks to the palpable sincerity conveyed onscreen, not only from her, but from all the people in her orbit whose comments about her are included in the film.
Of course, it must be said that anyone who’s not a “Cyndi Lauper fan”, whether by virtue of generational gaps or personal tastes, will probably not be drawn to watch a filmic love letter to her, and that’s a shame. It (and she) has the power to make viewers into true believers not only in her talent, but in her message of acceptance, inclusion, and unconditional love. Part of that, hinges on Ellwood’s skill as a filmmaker and teller of real-life stories, but the lasting impact rests on the persona of the star herself, who exudes a genuine air of transcendence and makes us not only feel instantly comfortable, but completely “seen” and validated, no matter who we are or which spectrum we might be on.
It’s hard to fake the kind of sincerity that makes that possible, and nothing about “Canary” suggests that Cyndi Lauper has any interest in being fake, anyway.
Movies
Lesbian, bi, trans stories dominate queer crop of summer movies
Comic book adaption, horror thrillers, and more on the way
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Summer is almost upon us, and that means it’s time to look ahead toward another season of movies – but for queer movie fans, the typical “popular” summer escapist fare might not have quite the right appeal. Not to worry: the Blade is here to offer up our usual list of titles to watch for.
Backspot (May 31, in theaters) Helmed by nonbinary Toronto filmmaker D.W. Waterson in their feature directorial debut, this Elliot Page-produced sports drama has been described as “Whiplash” for competitive cheerleaders. Focusing on ambitious cheerleader Riley (Devery Jacobs of “Reservation Dogs”), it’s a heavily queer-themed coming-of-age tale that weaves romance with hard-hitting “behind-the-scenes” as she and her girlfriend, selected for an all-star squad, square off against a hard-edged head coach (out queer “Westworld” star Evan Rachel Wood) who demands a drive toward perfection – forcing Riley to confront her own crippling anxiety to keep her dreams from crumbling into dust. Also starring Shannyn Sossamon (“A Knight’s Tale”), Kudakwashe Rutendo, Thomas Antony Olajide, and Wendy Crewson
Let the Canary Sing (June 4, Paramount Plus) Billed as “the story of music’s most authentic superstar,” this career-spanning profile of queer-adjacent pop icon Cyndi Lauper from award-winning documentarian Alison Ellwood delivers a chronicle of her ascent to stardom and an exploration of her impact and the legacy that she has bestowed through her beloved music, iconic style, unapologetic feminism and fearless advocacy. There’s not much we can say about this one except that it’s a perfect treat for fans – and an enticing invitation for future fans – to get a close-up look at a legend who has truly earned her status.
Queendom (June 14, in theaters/on demand) Filmmaker Agniia Galdanova is behind this award-winning SXSW documentary, which follows queer Russian performance artist Jenna Marvin as she takes to the streets of Moscow to stage theatrical protests against the country’s Putin-led authoritarian regime – all while working behind the scenes to escape her homeland and flee to a place where her queer identity isn’t a crime. Coming in the middle of Pride month, it’s a potent reminder that – in many parts of the world – queer people still live in fear of homophobic suppression, but it’s also an inspiring story about the risky business of speaking truth to power.
Summer Solstice (June 14, in theaters) It should go without saying that telling trans stories is important right now, and this film from Brooklyn-based director Noah Schamus is exactly the kind we need. Following trans man Leo (Bobbi Salvör Menuez) as he hustles his way through a life of auditions, acting classes, barista jobs, and “situationships,” it segues into a thoughtful exploration of interpersonal gender politics when an old friend – cisgender and straight Eleanor (Marianne Rendón), takes her on an impromptu weekend getaway in upstate New York. Dealing with the new dynamics (and old emotions) of relationships after transition, it’s a movie which goes a long way toward revealing both the commonalities and the unique complications that ultimately make any trans story, told authentically, into a human story.
Cora Bora (June 15) If you’re a fan of Max’s queer-friendly queer-favorite series “Hacks,” you’ll need no introduction to the comedic personality at the center of this “dramedy” from director Hannah Pearl Utt. Out bisexual comedian and actress Megan Stalter stars as a “failed girl musician” who sets out not just to revitalize her career prospects but to win back the affections of her ex-girlfriend – and forges a new life path for herself in the process. Stalter, known mostly for her endearingly painful, over-the-top comedic portrayals of deluded-but-inextinguishable confidence, gets an opportunity to show a much wider range of layers here than she’s been allowed to explore before – but don’t worry: she’s still hilarious! Jojo T. Gibbs, Manny Jacinto, Ayden Mayeri, Thomas Mann, Chelsea Peretti, and queer comedy icon Margaret Cho also star.
Fancy Dance (June 21, in theaters/AppleTV) This debut feature from filmmaker Erica Tremblay is also the eagerly awaited return to the big screen of Indigenous American actor Lily Gladstone, whose Oscar-nominated turn in last year’s “Killers of the Flower Moon” not only made history but made them into a star. Here, they play a queer hustler who becomes the guardian of her niece (Isabel DeRoy-Olson) when her sister disappears. Trying to stay one step ahead of a deadbeat dad (Shea Wigham, “White Lotus”) and an American justice system that is weighted against the rights of Indigenous women, they hit the road into the backcountry of their Oklahoma reservation on a quest to find the missing mother. The “buzz” is already predicting another Oscar nod for Gladstone, but whether or not that’s just Hollywood hyperbole, it’s sure to be one of the summer’s must-see picks.
Sing Sing (July 12, limited theaters/August 2, wide release) Speaking of last year’s Oscar nominees, powerhouse out-gay-thespian-of-color Colman Domingo is the lynchpin of this based-on-a-true-story prison drama about a wrongly convicted inmate at the notorious correctional facility who finds solace in a rehabilitation theater program, mounting productions with fellow prisoners and rising above the crushing isolation of incarcerated life. Intense and topical, yet also inspirational and uplifting, it debuted at last year’s Toronto International Film Festival alongside Domingo’s other starring vehicle, “Rustin” – and his performance in it was praised as superior, Oscar nod notwithstanding. Consider that alone a recommendation to add this Greg Kwedar-directed real-life tale to your watchlist.
Deadpool & Wolverine (July 26, in theaters) It’s rare for us to include a big-ticket comic book film in our list of upcoming queer titles, but we can’t ignore the appeal of this new Marvel entry in which the two title characters are thrown together for a mission that will rewrite the history of the “MCU” forever. Sure, it sounds like a convenient way to hit the “reset” button and take the blockbuster franchise in a new direction – but it’s also the irresistible culmination of a longstanding “man-crush” held by the “canonically pansexual” Deadpool (Ryan Reynolds) for X-Man MVP Wolverine (Hugh Jackman), fueled enthusiastically by both stars since long before this clever concept vehicle ever got greenlit. Directed by Shawn Levy, and also starring nonbinary actor Emma Corrin in their first “villainous” role, it features Morena Baccarin, Rob Delaney, Leslie Uggams, Karan Soni, and Matthew Macfadyen, too – and while it may not be highbrow cinema, based on the irreverent, borderline absurdist tone of both the “Deadpool” comics and the previous film installments made from them, it’s likely to be a lot of fun.
Cuckoo (Aug. 9, in theaters) Last but not least, this German-American co-production – a “Shining”-esque horror tale about a family vacationing in the Alps that find themselves endangered after discovering the resort town in which they are staying harbors a web of disturbing secrets – will undoubtedly draw the attention of hardcore horror fans. But it also has strong, built-in queer appeal in the form of its transgender star, Hunter Schafer (“Euphoria”), who takes on her first starring film role as the movie’s “final girl.” Dan Stevens, Jessica Henwick, Jan Bluthardt, and Martin Csokas also star, with direction and screenplay both coming from Tilman Singer.
Movies
Queer ‘TV Glow’ a surreal horror gem
Challenging and surprising us in a way that feels thrillingly audacious
![](https://www.losangelesblade.com/content/files/2024/05/Justice_Smith_and_Brigette_Lundy-Paine_in_I_Saw_the_TV_Glow_insert_courtesy_A24.jpg)
In an age when so much of our consciousness is fixated on screens, it’s no surprise that the year’s most effectively soul-shaking horror film so far should be about precisely that.
It’s certainly not the first movie to take on the topic. Using television and computer screens to evoke creepy chills was a “thing” even before David Cronenberg used “Videodrome” to blur the lines between the physical world and the electronically conveyed imitation of it we often substitute for the “real thing.” In “I Saw the TV Glow,” however, the focus is not so much about the natural fears that arise from our reliance on technology to help us navigate our lives – the dangers of artificial intelligence or the violation of privacy to manipulate us or make us vulnerable – as it is about something much more primal. Filmmaker Jane Schoenbrun’s second feature might center on our fears around pop culture obsessions and the dangerously delusional fantasies they inspire, but its real agenda lies in a somewhat less obvious direction.
Tapping into shared millennial memories about the kid-friendly fan-culture fodder our televisions fed us in the 1990s, Shoenbrun’s movie revolves around Owen (Justice Smith), whose early teen years take place within that era. Reserved, anxious, and out-of-step with the conventional expectations embraced by his parents (Danielle Deadwyler and Limp Bizket frontman Fred Durst), seventh-grade Owen (Ian Foreman) finds himself drawn to lesbian ninth-grader Maddy (Brigette Lundy-Paine) when he spots her reading a book about a TV show called “The Pink Opaque.” His fascination, partly fueled by the “forbidden” nature of a series that airs past his strictly enforced bedtime, leads the two into a secretive friendship, in which they bond over the quirky fantasy it presents – in which two teen girls with a psychic connection battle monsters together despite living on opposite sides of the world – and come to experience it as an escape from reality, which reflects and helps to alleviate their own respective unaddressed personal traumas.
Fast forward to roughly a decade later, when Owen, now working in a go-nowhere job at the local movie multiplex, reunites with his former friend – surprisingly, considering that she had disappeared around the same time that their favorite TV obsession was canceled abruptly, with a never-to-be-resolved cliffhanger left as a final discordant note. She tells him a disturbing tale of being trapped inside “the world of the show” after memories of “The Pink Opaque” began to blend with reality in her mind, suggesting that their own identities are somehow tied to its two heroines and that its outlandish mythology is somehow more “real” than the lives they remember living themselves – and triggering a similar process in Owen after their encounter leaves him questioning his own memories of the series and its influence over his fate.
Anyone who has seen Schoenbrun’s debut feature – “We’re All Going to the World’s Fair” (2021), which, like “I Saw the TV Glow,” premiered to acclaim at the Sundance Film Festival, putting the nonbinary filmmaker in the upper bracket of rising talents to watch – will know that their unique narrative approach has a way of keeping the viewer off balance, and that’s something that works brilliantly to give the newer feature its disconcerting impact. Though it incorporates elements of the “body horror” subgenre to elicit some squirmy moments, it’s more unsettling than outright scary, achieving its creepiness by undermining our perceptions and reminding us of the unreliability of memory – in essence, by removing the illusion of certainty from our experience of reality, calling everything we assume about it into question. We aren’t the first to note the similarities between the filmmaker’s approach and that of David Lynch, whose disorienting nonlinear style would have obvious parallels to theirs even if it wasn’t peppered with visual callbacks to some of the latter director’s iconic work; far from being mere imitation, however, it’s the use of a shared visual language to take us on a surreal and sometimes nighmarish journey, which operates under the malleable rules of dream logic as it shape-shifts its way through a narrative that feels as much like free-association as it does a story.
What makes it particularly effective is that it captures the kind of cultish fandom those of latter generations feel around the precious TV memories of their youth – frequently around the kind of loopy, outlandish sci-fi fantasy shows like the one at its center – and the reasons why such pop culture fodder have such appeal for anyone who, like its two protagonists, feels like an outsider in a world that seems to have no place for them. We’ve all felt like that at some time or another, no matter which generation we are from, so we can relate – just as we can relate to the experience of revisiting a show we loved from our youth and finding it different than we remembered, something this movie deploys brilliantly to hook us into its premise and spark our own paranoid fantasies about mind control over the broadcast waves, supernatural or otherwise.
But while Shoenbrun’s film succeeds masterfully at triggering all those “hidden message” fantasies that emerge in our pop culture – the hubbub over “backward masking” on rock albums comes to mind, or the uproar over the demonic influence of role playing games like “Dungeons and Dragons” – it delivers a much more existential level of fear almost through its stylistic approach alone. By challenging not only our memories of the past but our perception of the here-and-now, “I Saw the TV Glow” pulls the rug out from under our belief in a concrete reality. Further, by following its saga through several stages of life – it follows Owen over a course of 30 years – it drives home the inevitable connection between aging, loss of control over our own minds, and ultimately, death itself as the fate which awaits us all.
Yes, that sounds pretty grim, and melancholy to boot – but after all, why shouldn’t a horror film embrace those qualities? And like the best horror films, this one finds a transcendent beauty in the twisted darkness it shows us, even if it offers us little – beyond the escapist fantasies we cling to from our youth, that is – to comfort us as we face the grim uncertainties of our own lives.
How it accomplishes that is something we’ll leave you to discover for yourself, but we would be remiss not to note the movie’s deeply queer/trans subtext – both its lead characters are ostracized for non-conformity in their sexual or gender orientations, though most of that is conveyed “between the lines” rather than explicitly explored – which brings a tangible and resonant layer of metaphor to the proceedings.
Admittedly, “TV Glow” might not be the kind of horror film for all fans of the genre – its nonlinear style and surrealistic resistance to concrete interpretation are sure to alienate those looking for a more easily-digestible experience. Nevertheless, it’s a rare genre film that steps outside its expected boundaries to challenge and surprise us in a way that feels thrillingly audacious – and that’s more than enough for us to jump on board.
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