Sundance 2024: “Love Lies Bleeding” Is a Queer and Carnal Neo-Noir Western

Autostraddle is back at Sundance, reporting daily with queer movie reviews from one of the world’s most prestigious film festivals. Follow along for our coverage of the best in LGBTQ+ cinema and beyond. 

“Careful where you sleep here, it’s dangerous.”

It’s rural New Mexico in the late 80s and everyone is glistening with sweat and desire. An ugliness permeates the landscape coupled with the threat of violence. This is the world of Love Lies Bleeding, Rose Glass’s darkly funny and queer neo-noir western about love, family and revenge. In the vein of films like Thelma & Louise and the Wachowski Sisters’ Bound, we are taken on an unforgettable, brutal journey.

The quiet Lou (Kristen Stewart) works at a grimy gym cleaning toilets and being bored out of her mind when Jackie (Katy O’Brian) and her impressive muscles saunter into her life. Jackie is a young bodybuilder from Oklahoma, training for an upcoming competition in Las Vegas and looking for a job. Lou is instantly smitten and a late-night hookup quickly becomes a blooming romance filled with passionate sex, eggs, and steroids. Lou — turned on by Jackie’s growing muscles — gets her lover started on the juice. Jackie moves and starts a waitressing job at a nearby gun range. But Lou was a loner for a reason and once this new woman enters her life, her troubles start to catch up with her.

Lou’s sister Beth (Jena Malone) is married to the abusive JJ (Dave Franco) but refuses to leave. So Lou stays, bringing her new girlfriend into the complicated family dynamic. And as if that isn’t enough, Jackie’s boss is Lou’s estranged father (Ed Harris) — also named Lou — and he uses their relationship to try and reconnect with his daughter. No one knows for sure where his wife is and two nosy FBI agents are curious about that mystery. Glass crafts a caustic web of familial and professional entanglements that threaten to derail Jackie and Lou’s love story. But it’s not just fate that’s interfering — there’s also the steroids.

Not much is known about Jackie’s past aside from the implication that she can’t go home again. She’s young, impulsive, and dedicated to getting as big and strong as possible. But as her steroid use spirals out of control, she starts to lose her grip on reality. Lou can see it, but she doesn’t want to let her go. And when Beth ends up in the hospital badly beaten, it sets off a bloody chain of events as Lou fights to protect herself and Jackie as they try to avoid the police and get out of town. Complicating matters is Daisy (Anna Baryshnikov), Lou’s jealous and suspicious ex-lover who will do anything to get her away from Jackie.

Full of twists and turns, Love Lies Bleeding blends its noir elements with pure body horror as Jackie transforms into something beyond human. Her strength both scares and excites Lou and their attraction to each other is brash and carnal. Stewart and O’Brian have explosive chemistry, gazing at each other with an intensity that feels both too soon and eternal. It’s almost as if fate has brought them together to look after each other. Though lacking in physical strength, Lou gets her power from love, devoting herself to looking after Jackie no matter what. Just as Jackie is addicted to steroids, Lou is addicted to her.

There aren’t many lesbian films like Love Lies Bleeding. Glass’s sophomore feature is a truly unique vision of two misfit women who blow up their lives and the world around them. Expanding on the themes of her debut Saint Maud, Glass once again explores the poetry of brutality and the transformation of the body for worship as well as pleasure. There’s no one way to describe the nature of love or what it takes to hold on to it. Even with only two films under her belt, it’s clear that Glass is fascinated with desperate women. Not simply to gawk at them, but to push us as an audience to descend into madness alongside them, if only for a short while. 

Love Lies Bleeding is an exciting, instant classic that will hopefully usher in a new era of unapologetically weird lesbian cinema.

Love Lies Bleeding will be released in theatres on March 8. 

Sundance 2024: A Queer and Trans Festival Recap

Drew Burnett Gregory is back at Sundance 2024, reporting daily with queer movie reviews from one of the world’s most prestigious film festivals. Follow along for her coverage of the best in LGBTQ+ cinema and beyond. 

I’ve been covering film festivals at Autostraddle for over four years. At first, I just reviewed a selection of queer titles, but starting with Sundance 2021, I began writing capsule reviews for every movie I watched. Usually, this post comes out at the end of the festival as a round-up — this year, for Sundance 2024, we tried something different.

Because Sundance has continued to split their festival between in-person and virtual screenings, most of the movies I watched could be watched by all of you at-home during their viewing window. That’s why this year I released my capsule reviews daily as I watch the films. I hope this gave some of you the chance to not only read about the films, but watch them for yourself! And, if not, don’t worry. Most of these films be released sometime in the next year.

I love writing about queer film — and a lot of these movies are queer — but I also believe there’s a great importance for queer and trans critical voices to respond to a wide range of cinema. I’m honored to have been one of those voices for another year at Sundance.

I Saw the TV Glow (dir. Jane Schoenbrun)

Read full review. 

Brief History of a Family (dir. Jianjie Lin)

At first glance, Jianjie Lin’s debut feature appears to be an understated (and sexless) take on what I’d call a Teorema story and what audiences today might call a Saltburn. A mysterious stranger is welcomed into a bourgeoisie (or even wealthier) family and one-by-one the stranger develops connections with each person, tearing the family apart.

But Brief History of a Family approaches this familiar tale through the specific lens of China’s one child policy that began in 1980 and lasted until 2016. With a microscopic eye, the film zooms into the dynamics of this family and the ways they adjust — and fail to adjust — to the arrival of someone who becomes a second child, a new sibling. It’s a restrained work with occasional bursts of violence that may resonate more deeply with those more familiar with and affected by this policy, but that I still found rich and compelling through a broader lens. Many families are a combustive mix of contrasting energies waiting to explode.

Tendaberry (dir. Haley Elizabeth Anderson)

Part neorealist drama, part multimedia fantasia, Haley Elizabeth Anderson’s striking debut is a character study cracked open by its protagonist’s curiosity. Kota Johan plays Dakota, a 23-year-old who works at a drugstore in Brooklyn and spends her free time hanging with her Ukrainian boyfriend. When he returns to Kyiv to take care of his sick father, Dakota’s life begins to fall apart as challenges compound.

With its handheld cinematography — both gritty and dreamy — and its Brooklyn setting, the film recalls the work of Eliza Hittman. But its voiceover narration and use of archival footage feels unique to Anderson and to the inquisitive worldview of her main character. After over a century of cinema, it’s rare to get a portrait of New York that feels fresh, and yet by seeing the city through the specificity of Dakota, Anderson succeeds.

The film meanders with some chapters of Dakota’s life and interludes of Dakota’s thoughts feeling less essential for the story being told. But given Anderson’s cinematic talent and Johan’s on-screen presence, even these moments are compelling to watch. It’s a film as unruly and magnificent as the character and city it portrays.

Kota Johan in Tendaberry

Love Machina (dir. Peter Sillen)

Martine and Bina Rothblatt want their love to live forever. That’s why nearly two decades ago they began recording “mindfiles” and eventually uploaded them to a humanoid robot modeled after Bina, named Bina48.

Martine, the inventor of satellite radio, is a trans woman. And there’s something compelling about this future-minded CEO who feels no limits in her work, her gender, her love, or even her eventual death. There is a compelling story to be told about this couple who have four children together and refer to themselves by a combined name. (They prefer to think of themselves as one entity rather than two.)

But this documentary falters in its attempts to contextualize their story. While the film does allow space for those who question the actual intelligence of Bina48 and the complications of using a Black woman as a model for a robot largely designed and handled by white men, the film still feels too safe in its approach to this complicated story. As much as I despise the recent onslaught of supposed “AI” and its impact on multiple industries, I’m hesitant to ever dismiss any technology outright. And yet I found myself frustrated with the framing that Martine’s transness is somehow a signifier of her futurist perspective. Trans people are not a sign of the future. We have always existed. Humanoid robots, however, have not.

Powerful people seeking a cure for death have also always existed. They have not succeeded and nothing about this surface-level documentary convinced me that will change.

Frida (dir. Carla Gutiérrez)

Read full review.

Black Box Diaries (dir. Shiori Ito)

Is the point of journalism to gather and present facts or to reinforce the narratives of the powerful? This is what I often question when people fetishize objectivity in journalism.

A young journalist herself, Shiroi Ito used her investigative skills for her own case after she was sexually assaulted by established journalist Noriyuki Yamaguchi. While unconventional for someone to be both the subject and the reporter, it was her only option when ignored by law enforcement — due to antiquated Japanese rape laws and Yamaguchi’s connection to then Prime Minister Shinzo Abe.

Ito’s case — and her book Black Box about the case — helped launch Japan’s Me Too movement. This documentary is a personal account of Ito’s fight to have her voice heard, as well as a display of much of the primary evidence she gathered. It also shows the journalistic possibilities of someone being both subject and reporter. There is a truth revealed in this telling that wouldn’t be possible without Ito’s own voice. We are allowed to see not only the facts of her case, but the immense toll this fight takes on her life. To not witness that part is to not witness the entirety of the truth. Sometimes a polished presentation of information is even more incomplete than subjectivity.

Watching the film, Ito is impressive in her courage, in her commitment to justice and truth and creating a better society for all. But the most important parts of the film are when she lets us see her exhaustion, the passage of time, the cruelty. Even the most impressive activist, the most impressive survivor, the most impressive journalist, is still a human being.

Malu (dir. Pedro Freire)

A portrait of three women — and three generations in Brazil’s volatile 20th century — Pedro Freire’s debut is a layered and captivating character drama. The titular Malu (Yara De Novaes) is a former stage actress living in 1990s Rio with her religious mother (Juliana Carneiro Da Cunha) and her younger queer friend, Tabira (Átila Bee). They are frequently visited by Malu’s daughter Joana (Carol Duarte), also an actress, who is torn between her radical mother and conservative grandma.

Anchored by four stunning performances, Freire doesn’t hold back, allowing his characters to fight as hard as they love. Their conflicts are fundamental, going beyond the interpersonal and encompassing issues of politics, illness, and generational trauma. There are gulfs between these characters — especially the three women — that no amount of care can traverse.

A film as much about generational disappointment as it is personal and familial disappointment, Freire deftly explores specific and universal discord while always prioritizing character. This is a remarkable film — a work of urgency, a work of compassion, a work of love.

Carol Duarte and Juliana Carneiro Da Cunha in Malu

Sebastian (dir. Mikko Mäkelä)

Read full review. 

Igualada (dir. Juan Mejía Botero)

While I relish the opportunity to be educated about another country’s political process and to learn more about current Colombian Vice President Francia Elena Márquez Mina, I wish this documentary went deeper. It presents a simple portrayal of Márquez’s unprecedented grassroots presidential campaign and introduction to the Márquez as a person but only hints at complication.

There’s a moment when one of Márquez’s most loyal staffers begins to doubt the possibility of their movement existing within the political structure at all. It’s a question that is not explored further, because the film ends when it should begin. Márquez is named as Gustavo Petro’s running mate and the rest is told in the credits.

Given the threats of violence Márquez faces and her current position in government, it’s understandable that there were limits to what this documentary could be as a film. The archival footage of Márquez over a decade ago shows how committed she was to her community and country long before she became a sensation. With Márquez’s future and the future of Colombia in mind, it makes sense the film could look back with a clearer eye than it looks forward. Ultimately, it’s strategic to lean toward the simple, to lean toward the inspirational — at least, it’s a strategy for a worthwhile cause.

Girls Will Be Girls (dir. Shuchi Talati)

Until she meets new student Sri, 16 year old Mira is so perfect she’s her class prefect. She studies hard, cares about the rules, and seems even more conservative than her vivacious mother. But she’s still a teenager and once she falls for Sri, she’s determined to explore her sexuality with the same success she’s always brought to the sciences.

There have been many stories of adolescent sexual discovery on-screen. Schuchi Talati’s film stands out due to the unique relationship between Mira and her mother. Having married Mira’s father young, at a more conservative time in India when casual dating wasn’t an option for her, she’s as in need of stimulation and freedom as her daughter. This results in a dynamic where she seems to be competing for the attention of her daughter’s new boyfriend — something that less delicately would belong in a psychosexual thriller, but here is alternating sad and human and frustrating and tender. Preeti Panigrahi as Mira and Kani Kusruti as Mira’s mother create characters that are both recognizable and unique.

This film shows the nuanced impact of patriarchy past and present and the unlikely bonds we can form to fight back.

The Mother of All Lies (dir. Asmae El Moudir)

A staggering work of documentary filmmaking, Asmae El Moudir recreates her personal history and a tragic chapter in Morocco’s history with her family as witness. Using miniatures constructed by her and her dad, El Moudir finds a way to capture a story hidden by her grandmother and buried by the government.

With the cinematic eye of the best stop motion filmmakers, El Moudir’s use of miniatures goes beyond gimmick or mere necessity. The recreations are gripping and emotional, the hovering bodies moving the tiny people and objects only add to their power. It’s a combination of group therapy and a journalistic documentation of state violence. The horrors inflicted on people are passed down through the generations — whether or not the horrors themselves are discussed openly.

In the Summers (dir. Alessandra Lacorazza)

Read full review.

In the Land of Brothers (dir. Alireza Ghasemi, Raha Amirfazli)

A triptych of stories about Afghan refugees in Iran, this is a furious work of political filmmaking told through a series of tender stories. Each a decade apart — 2001, 2011, and 2021 — every chapter revolves around a secret, one member of this family concealing something unfathomable in order to protect another.

Iranian filmmakers Alireza Ghasemi and Raha Amirfazli reveal the empty compassion of the surrounding Iranian citizens. Their acts of supposed kindness are as self-serving as their government that only grants citizenship to the family’s of deceased soldiers. There is an immense gulf between the Iranian people and the Afghan refugees that recalls similar dynamics around the world. Almost every place has a select group spared even the knowledge of the hardship that surrounds them.

But the film would not work as a political statement if it weren’t for the performances of Mohammed Hosseini, Hamideh Jafari, and Bashir Nikzad as the chapters’ three leads. They layer their characters’ desperation and grief with a humanity that denies pity. Their characts do what they have to do to survive and to take care of their family, but they shouldn’t have to. No one should have to endure these trials.

While the film is most overtly critical of Iran, it’s impossible to watch this as an American and not feel the impact of our country’s international violence. How many families were made refugees due to the various conflicts of the Cold War? How many more in the wars following 9/11? How many more today as the U.S. backs Israel’s genocide against Palestine? The twenty years of the film are also the twenty years of the U.S. invasion of Afghanistan. How many more families became refugees in those two decades? Where did those people end up? What were they made to endure? What are they still enduring today?

Hamideh Jafari in In the Land of Brothers

Agent of Happiness (dir. Arun Bhattarai, Dorottya Zurbó)

Following Amber, a man who works for the Bhutanese government’s happiness index, this documentary reveals the impossibility of measuring something as complex as a good life. At first, it appears the story will be a simple portrait of rural contentment as individuals explain their happiness by their children and number of cows. But as Amber contends with his own dissatisfaction as someone undocumented and unmarried, the film spends time with other Bhutanese people struggling to find joy.

One of these individuals is a trans woman who describes her fear, her loneliness, and her desire to be more beautiful. And yet, like gender, happiness is not a binary. Some of the film’s most touching — and happy! — moments are between this woman and her loving mother. It shows even when we’re faced with hardship, we can find respite in those who love us fully.

Well-balanced between its various real life characters, Agent of Happiness also succeeds in showing the absurdity of a government measuring happiness while being the cause of misery. Amber and his family are denied citizenship despite being born in Bhutan. Many individuals interviewed say they can’t even consider happiness when they’re so busy working. When the — very high — happiness rating flashes on-screen before the credits, it shows this whole endeavor to be a charade. Numbers can’t capture human emotion — but the tender and astute snapshots of this documentary succeed where the data fails.

Reinas (dir. Klaudia Reynicke)

Toward the end of the film, mostly single mom Elena (Jimena Lindo) admits things are bad in the politically tumultuous Lima of the early 90s, then adding, “But we’re privileged.” It’s that privilege that allows most of this film to have the laidback vibe of a largely uneventful family dramedy. The father of Elena’s kids (Gonzalo Molina) has returned just as they’re set to leave the country and he’s full of jokes, charm, and lies. There are mentions of a curfew, but otherwise the focus is the family.

But bourgeois privilege is insufficient protection. And the abrupt tonal shift in the film’s last act is a fitting reminder of the often blurred lines between our intimate dramas and the political dramas taking place around us. With an excellent soundtrack, strong performances, and a formal patience that matches the film’s plotting, this is a strong work that balances the micro and macro of life.

Desire Lines (dir. Jules Rosskam)

Read full review.

Love Me (dir. Sam and Andy Zuchero)

A love story between a satellite and a smart buoy taking place long after the extinction of man, Sam and Andy Zuchero’s debut is funny, devastating, and undeniably audacious. None of this would work without the incredible performances from Kristen Stewart and Steven Yeun as both an influencer couple the smart buoy idolizes and the human manifestations of the buoy and satellite in their shared cyber space.

While the film is less original when it explores the challenges of human marriage, it’s wonderful when its satellite and buoy are searching for humanity and companionship. An immense amount of emotion is projected on the buoy and satellite even in their natural forms — and this is without the humanizing animation of a movie like Wall-E. Like last year’s Crimes of the Future, this film is a showcase for Stewart’s comedic talent. Even when she’s just a voice represented by a crude avatar, she’s able to communicate as much with humor as she is with pathos in the film’s more painful moments.

.There’s some fun hints at sexual and gender queerness in a scene where the sentient beings question whether this influencer couple is indeed their best representation. I wish more time was spent on this moment and with an expansiveness of physical self akin to their internal explorations. While not without its imperfects, Love Me shows what’s possible when sci-fi focuses on character, performance, and ideas over big budget effects and non-stop action.

Kristen Stewart and Steven Yeun in Love Me

Sue Bird: In the Clutch (dir. Sarah Dowland)

The most interesting aspect of this documentary portrait of the famous basketball player is that it’s unafraid to be, well, uninteresting. While it touches upon her parents’ divorce, her injuries, and some tough losses, there isn’t much story in this story. Based on this film, Sue Bird seems to be just a really incredible athlete who worked really hard throughout her career. The makings of an Oscar-winning biopic this is not.

But plenty of male athletes have received documentaries simply for being great at their sport. And it’s enjoyable to watch what ultimately amounts to a highlight reel for Bird with commentary from herself and the people in her life.

The film also takes time to show how women’s sports have changed since Bird began. From minimal press attention to bringing Nick Carter to the ESPY’s as a beard to playing overseas, through Bird the film shows how things have improved and how there’s still a long way to go.

For many, the real draw of the film are the cute little moments captured between Bird and Megan Rapinoe. The two of them recount their first meeting at the Rio Olympics, but even better than the polished montage of their relationship are the glimpses of their relationship throughout. It’s very cute!

Power (dir. Yance Ford)

Read full review.

Dìdi (弟弟) (dir. Sean Wang)

Recently nominated for the Best Documentary Short Oscar, filmmaker Sean Wang’s debut feature thrives on its specificity. Yes, this is a coming-of-age movie that follows familiar beats. It still feels wholly unique because it’s specifically set in the summer of 2008 and specifically takes place in Northern California. It specifically focuses on a Taiwanese American boy who is a younger sibling and has an artist mother and a mostly absent father. It’s specifically about Chris Wang.

Each facet of Chris and Chris’ life is explored with an eye for detail. The 2008 setting doesn’t merely evoke nostalgia — it allows for a nuanced examination of how racism and pressures of masculinity manifested at that time and in this place. It has the cringe-filled moments of humor and the tender moments of emotion one might expect from the genre, but here it’s all servicing several ideas and experience often under-explored, or, at least, rarely explored this well.

Izaac Wang as Chris, Joan Chen as his mother, and Shirley Chen as his sister all give deeply felt performances, capturing the fraught bonds and inherent intimacies of a family. Every year there are wonderful coming-of-age movies made about women and queer people — this is the smartest and most effective straight boy coming-of-age movie I’ve seen in a long time.

Never Look Away (dir. Lucy Lawless)

Lucy Lawless begins her directorial debut about war photographer Margaret Moth by centering Moth’s longtime lover who she began dating when she was 30 and he was only 17. That man recounts their meeting and how Moth upended — and derailed — his life with her furious hunger for pleasure and control.

It’s a bold choice in a documentary that’s ultimately rather celebratory. But it reveals Lawless’ willingness as a filmmaker to capture her subject in full. To celebrate Moth’s unique personality and accomplishments is not dependent on smoothing over her complications.

Lawless takes this same approach in covering the many wars, conflicts, and genocides, Moth captured throughout her career. There’s a matter-of-factness in the interviews and recollections of these moments of recent history. It’s an approach worthy of its subject who seems to have had both a deeply felt compassion for humanity and a deep disdain for its cruelty. And it’s an ethical necessity at a time when similar atrocities — or, in the case of Israel’s violence toward civilians and journalists, the same atrocities — continue today.

As one interviewee states, if something is not recorded it will never change. If something is recorded it also might not change. This documentary records Moth and the violence she encountered. It might do nothing. It’s still important to look.

Stress Positions (dir. Theda Hammel)

Read full review.

Layla (dir. Amrou Al-Kadhi)

While recent years have brought an influx of movies about drag performers, this is the first I’ve seen where the performers lament having to work brunches and corporate events. It’s the understanding of the lived experience of drag as a job that allows the world of Layla to feel lived in and real.

Amrou Al-Kadhi’s debut feature is constructed like a romcom. Their titular protagonist meets a white normie at one of the above mentioned corporate events and after a night of partying they begin to date. Unfortunately, from the beginning it’s clear this pair isn’t going to work. It’s not just their differences in race and class and queerness, there’s also a lack of true connection. Their relationship is built entirely on projections.

Ultimately, this is not a romcom — it’s an indie dramedy. And, while there’s a lot of truth and care brought to the world of the film and to its themes, I wonder what it might’ve been like if more time was spent in Layla’s community and less with the doomed romance. Or if the lack of connection in the romance was withheld longer, so we, as an audience, could go on the same emotional journey as Layla.

But in a cinematic landscape where so many versions of this story are told poorly, Layla is a welcome respite. Like its protagonist, it may be imperfect, but it puts on quite a show.

Bilal Hasna in Layla

Grace (dir. Natalie Jasmine Harris) (short)

Read full review.

A Real Pain (dir. Jesse Eisenberg)

At Sundance 2022, Jesse Eisenberg’s directorial debut was one of my least favorite films, so what a nice surprise to see his voice grow into this lovely dramedy. Following cousins on a trip to Poland to visit their recently deceased Holocaust surviving grandma’s old home, Eisenberg has crafted a new take on the odd couple story. The cousins are perfectly written for Eisenberg and co-star Kieran Culkin and it’s so fun to watch them bounce off each other and the people around them.

Eisenberg’s previous film was invested in question of how to exist in the world with privilege. But where that film had a mean self-importance, this has a tender uncertainty. It’s a very Jewish film in the ways it asks questions without providing answers. It’s at once a Warsaw travelogue, a buddy comedy, and a meditation on how to live in our cruel world. With a balance of tones and an attention to character, Eisenberg has found his own worthy cinematic perspective.

Handling the Undead (dir. Thea Hvistendahl)

I love slow horror and this Danish zombie movie is definitely slow. The problem is the pace isn’t necessarily in service of anything all that interesting. The characters are thin and the thematic depth doesn’t go far beyond “the challenges of accepting death.”

But even if I found this film to be underwhelming, the craft on display is undeniable. It’s beautifully shot, well-acted, and has a gorgeous score. Director Thea Hvistendahl has a history in commercials and music videos and there are sequences within this feature that are stunning on their own. This is the kind of film that’s frustrating not because it’s bad, but because of how much talent is on display. This film’s unfulfilled potential has me interested to see what Hvistendahl does next.

Suncoast (dir. Laura Chinn)

With an unsubtle and inconsistent 2005 setting, a poorly structured and broadly written script, and an awkwardly apolitical point of view, Suncoast is the biggest disappointment of the festival.

This is a personal story for writer/director Laura Chinn and I appreciate her desire to tell a story close to her own adolescence. The most compelling part of the story — the young protagonist’s brother is in the same hospice facility as Terri Schiavo — is true to Chinn’s experience and it’s frustrating this unique experience is too often surrounded by stock characters, plot contrivances, and an overwrought approach to material that didn’t need artificial emotion.

There are debates to be had about the film’s focus on being the caregiver to someone sick and how it presents the Schiavo case, but frankly it isn’t strong enough on a fundamental level to argue about its politics. Nico Parker gives a great lead performance and Laura Linney and Woody Harrelson are reliably excellent (even if Harrelson’s character is a baffling addition to the story) — it’s not enough to salvage the script.

While it may still elicit tears due to its subject matter, Suncoast smooths out its emotion with an attempt at crowd-pleasing that only creates distance.

Nico Parker, Ella Anderson, Ariel Martin, and Daniella Taylor in Suncoast

Ponyboi (dir. Esteban Arango)

Read full review.

Good One (dir. India Donaldson)

A confident work of subtlety and truth, India Donaldson’s debut feature captures the unique experience of being gay and hanging out with your dad and his best friend.

17 year old Sam (a perfect Lily Collias) isn’t exactly excited to go on a hike/camping trip with her dad (James Le Gros). But it’s what he loves to do and it’s how they bond and it’s what’s expected of her. He has another young kid with his second wife and Sam seems to enjoy the time with her dad. Her dad’s best friend’s son is not as easy going — he opts out of the trip leaving Sam alone with the two men.

This isn’t a film of heightened drama, but of quiet betrayals. Over the course of a few days, Sam is confronted with the failures and continued failings of these adults. Good One is extremely specific to these characters and to the experience of being a young woman around old men and to the experience of being a queer young woman around old men. This film wasn’t labeled an “LGBTQ+ Story” by Sundance and that’s a real oversight — not only because Sam is explicitly queer, but because Sam’s queerness is deeply ingrained in the way her dad and his friend treat her and even more so in how she responds to them.

This one is for all the queer girls who were forced to parent their parents, who learned to out dad their dads.

Sundance 2024: “Ponyboi” Is a Crime Drama with Cowboys, Springsteen, and an Intersex Lead

Drew Burnett Gregory is back at Sundance, reporting daily with queer movie reviews from one of the world’s most prestigious film festivals. Follow along for her coverage of the best in LGBTQ+ cinema and beyond. 

The thing you need to know about Ponyboi is that it’s so fucking fun.

It’s true writer and star River Gallo has crafted a movie with intersex representation unlike anything we’ve seen before. It’s true there is an emotional arc of an intersex sex worker struggling to forgive his family for the surgeries forced upon him as a child. It’s true the film is filled with a range of violence and heartbreak.

But, my God, is this film FUN.

The brilliance of Ponyboi — an expansion of Gallo’s short film of the same name — is the way it wraps itself in both a romantic fantasy and a delicious crime story. You can see the beats one might expect from a Sundance film focusing on an underrepresented identity. But they’re presented with laughs and gasps and eroticism.

Ponyboi is about an intersex person named Ponyboi (Gallo) who works as a sex worker out of a laundromat owned by pimp/drug dealer Vinny (Dylan O’Brien). Vinny is about to have a baby with Ponyboi’s best friend Angel (Victoria Pedretti), but Vinny and Ponyboi are also fucking on the side. Vinny is trying to get Ponyboi to switch from testosterone to estrogen and to get his tits done — less because that’s something Ponyboi wants and more because it would be good for business.

On Valentine’s Day, Ponyboi’s melancholy life is upended when Vinny’s shitty latest batch gets them in trouble with some gangsters. Ponyboi wants to run away — possibly with sexy cowboy Bruce (Murray Bartlett) — but first he needs to refill his hormones. All before Vinny or the gangster catch up with him.

The genre conventions aren’t just a way to serve an ignorant audience intersex knowledge. Gallo, director Esteban Arango, and the entire cast are having a blast playing in this world. O’Brien is alternately hilarious and terrifying as a cliché Jersey boy and Pedretti is alternately hilarious and heartbreaking as a cliché Jersey girl. All the gangsters flounce around with the subtlety of a Tarantino movie. And Bartlett is a fantasy of masculinity come to life. All of these ingredients combine for a plot that may not be original outside of its lead, but does always remain tight and propulsive.

The first scene with Bartlett is especially wonderful as his cowboy Bruce and Ponyboi flirt over a shared Jersey love of Bruce Springsteen. Their duet of “I’m On Fire” that could have been trite, feels only hot and sweet with performers this talented.

There are multiple ways to read the reality of the action on-screen. I love that the film lives in the fantasy space without over-explaining. Is Bruce a fiction? Maybe. Is he any more fictional than the crime plot of Ponyboi’s life? Not really. Are these genre conventions any more absurd than the horror movie of operating on children to conform their bodies to socially constructed ideas of gender? No.

Reminiscent of the Wachowskis’ Bound, Ponyboi is a queer cinema genre pastiche that understands a movie can be artful, emotional, and incredibly entertaining.

My only complaint is that Springsteen’s “Pony Boy” doesn’t play over the end credits. But that’s okay — “I’m On Fire” is better anyway.

Ponyboi is streaming for the rest of the day on the Sundance virtual platform.

Sundance 2024: “Grace” Is a Beautifully Constructed Black Queer Short

Drew Burnett Gregory is back at Sundance, reporting daily with queer movie reviews from one of the world’s most prestigious film festivals. Follow along for her coverage of the best in LGBTQ+ cinema and beyond. 

The most beautifully shot film at Sundance 2024 isn’t any of the buzzed about features that will sell for millions — it’s Natalie Jasmine Harris’ short film, Grace.

It’s not just that the photography is pretty — although it certainly is — it’s that every moment is captured exactly as it should be. The camera is stationary when it should be. The camera is handheld when it should be. Close-ups and wide shots are used to great effect.

I’m a big proponent of shooting on film, but it’s only worth it when the entire visual approach is motivated by character and story. It’s more than worth it here.

Grace is about a 16 year old girl named Grace in the rural 1950s South. She’s spent the summer getting close to another girl — all the excitement, uncertainty, and intimacy of young queer love — but, as she prepares to be baptized, she questions whether she needs to repent for her feelings.

Harris, whose previous film Pure was one of my favorite shorts at Newfest 2021, trusts in her craft. Many shorts feel the need to have an obvious hook or an easy twist — or are obvious samples from an already written feature — but Grace is a simple moment in time enriched by a depth of feeling. The attention to detail in everything from production design to performance allows the film to stand as a contained work of art. It washes over you during its ten minute runtime like the sea washes over its protagonist at the film’s end. A mix of heartbreak and beauty.

Cinematographer Tehillah De Castro previously shot Tahara and How to Blow Up a Pipeline, so it was not surprising to see her name appear in the credits. She’s one of the best cinematographers working today. Not one of the best up-and-coming, not one of the best at shooting indie queer movies — one of the best period.

Harris’ excellent taste in collaborators doesn’t end with her DP. Again, the production design, editing, and performances are all exquisite, and everything is brought together by a gorgeous score from Taul Katz and Damsel Elysium.

When people lament the amount of lesbian period pieces, I think they’re actually complaining about a predictability. It’s not the period setting — it’s the sameness of stories and the sameness of who’s on screen.

Grace may work as a contained short, but I hope someday soon Natalie Jasmine Harris gets to make a feature length period piece. If this is what she can do in a ten minute Kickstarter-funded short, I can’t even imagine what she’ll conjure with more time and a bigger budget. I hope we’re lucky enough to find out.

Grace is now streaming as part of Short Film Program 5 on the Sundance virtual platform.

Sundance 2024: “Stress Positions” Is a Queer Farce With Bite and Depth

Drew Burnett Gregory is back at Sundance, reporting daily with queer movie reviews from one of the world’s most prestigious film festivals. Follow along for her coverage of the best in LGBTQ+ cinema and beyond. 

The two narrators in Theda Hammel’s debut feature Stress Positions each speak with the syntax of literary fiction. No one has told them they’re in a farce.

Whether literally or figuratively, everyone in this film is better at writing than they are at living. Or, maybe, we’ve become a world better at writing aka storytelling aka narrativizing than we are at living. Or, maybe, it’s absurd to make generalizations about our entire world based on a handful of toxic queers living in Brooklyn.

Stress Positions is about Terry Goon (John Early), a washed up party gay whose rich older husband has left him for an even younger man. It’s also about Terry’s 19 year old Moroccan American nephew Bahlul (Qaher Harhash) who is a model and is living in Terry’s (his husband’s) ramshackle brownstone because he is “very injured.” (He has a broken leg.) And, finally, it’s about Karla (Hammel), a bisexual (self-identified lesbian) trans woman in a relationship with a cis lesbian (Amy Zimmer) who wrote a successful book about her transition.

The film is bookended by narration from Karla, but it’s Bahlul we hear from most throughout. He’s pivoting from model to writer and we hear snippets from his life story that he’s jotting down in a little notebook. Is your life so interesting? Karla questions before informing Bahlul that fiction is freedom.

Is transness a sort of fiction? Does that make it untrue? “I wanted to kill myself and this sort of helped,” Karla states with the sardonic edge she delivers many of the film’s best one-liners. What kind of escape can the reinvention of transition provide? What will fall short?

For a film that is laugh-out-loud hilarious from beginning to end, there’s a lot of thematic density here. The satire of ignorant privileged Brooklynites is there for laughs, but underneath these (well-executed) easy jokes is something grander about the disconnect between people. And not just because it takes place in the summer of 2020.

Bahlul’s (white) mom raised him to believe his uncle Terry was evil. It’s fascinating to watch him discover the truth to be far less grand and far more pathetic — but maybe just as sinister. If being queer does not grant us a unique immorality or a unique moral superiority — if these are just stories people tell about us and we tell ourselves — then where does that leave us? To abandon the fictions is to confront the minutiae of our feelings and failures, to face the feelings and failures of the world around us.

For the characters in Stress Positions, the fiction of queerness (and even the fiction of nonfiction) are attempts to keep the world theoretical. Karla’s story is that she’s a lesbian — even if she lusts after just about every eligible boy she meets. How one labels their own sexuality doesn’t matter. But some of Karla’s self-narrativizing is not as harmless.

Ultimately, the way these characters engage with the world and their world is as performative as Terry disinfecting his food deliveries. He thinks it’s keeping him safe, but many of our greatest fictions are ones we believe ourselves to be fact.

Don’t let all my pondering mislead you. Again, this is a very funny movie. Most post-Old Hollywood American farce is a pastiche of that era. It’s thrilling to get a film that understands what made the comedy in those films work while discovering something wholly its own. The privileged Brooklyn setting may have people recalling mumblecore and its off-shoots, but this is far broader and far smarter than that. If anything it recalls early Almodòvar in its filtering of the genre through a new lens.

Since seeing Theda Hammel in her production of Wallace Shawn’s Marie and Bruce, it’s been clear she would approach the path of being a “Trans Artist” in a way uniquely her own. This film does not disappoint. It’s the clear work of a trans auteur, a writer/director/actor/composer who understands it’s as important to take formal risks as it is to entertain.

Fiction may be freedom, but not all fiction is free. Stress Positions is free.

Stress Positions is now streaming on the Sundance virtual platform.

Sundance 2024: “Power” Is an Effective Introduction to the Violent History of American Policing

Drew Burnett Gregory is back at Sundance, reporting daily with queer movie reviews from one of the world’s most prestigious film festivals. Follow along for her coverage of the best in LGBTQ+ cinema and beyond. 

During the first moments of his documentary on the history of American policing, director Yance Ford (Strong Island) asks the audience for curiosity or, at least, suspicion. Then he concedes it’s up to each individual viewer to abide by this request.

Through talking head interviews, archival footage, on the ground interviews, and narration, Power lays out a clear timeline of the police from their origins to the present. It begins with slave patrols, militias tasked with stealing Indigenous land, and officers maintaining order among the working class. It then moves into the first official police forces in major cities, the blurring of police and military, the violence against social and class movements, the War on Drugs, Stop and Frisk, and the failure of diversified law enforcement.

Most of this information will be repetitive for anyone interested in the topic, but, as a Netflix documentary under 90 minutes, this is a film with a clearly defined audience. It is meant to be an introduction — a teaching tool ideal for classrooms or for adults open to change.

While Ford pointedly pulls back from showing certain footage in full, there are still a lot of upsetting images included. But if these images were enough to move those with privilege out of complacency, the abuses of the police would have ended long ago. And so it’s not the emotional plea that’s essential here — it’s the intellectual one.

Despite the short runtime, Ford is thorough in providing American Policing 101 alongside a primer on the way race manifests in this country and how that has developed — and developed alongside policing — over time.

One of Ford’s most compelling archival finds is a documentary from 1970 narrated by actor Ben Gazzara. It’s fascinating to see how policing was discussed over half a century ago and to witness the fundamental fallacies pumped into our culture about policing even then.

A section on the Kerner Commission that shows sympathetic white people passing the report out to other white people to try and change minds is harrowing in its familiarity. The government response to this report was to increase police funding. The government response to the 2020 protests was the same.

Ford includes a montage of almost every president since Lyndon B. Johnson bragging about their increase in police funding. It’s these repetitions, these cycles, that hit hardest. It’s not cynicism — it’s just reality. As journalist Wesley Lowery states, American policing has conceded nothing. They’ve doubled and tripled down on their power.

Understanding the police as a tool of racial and class subjugation and seeing how that has functioned in the U.S. and abroad — one interviewee notes that, yes, the police have been militarized, but also the military has been policified — is essential in fighting back in the present and in the future.

I’m glad this film exists as it’s easier to point people toward a short Netflix documentary than it is to get people to read a book. But the film does an excellent job showing how different groups have not only assimilated into whiteness but assimilated into American policing. I’m not sure if the problem is a lack of education about the police or a lack of will among those with any power to destroy these systems.

Those with the most power will never concede it. Many with even less won’t concede either. And so we return to Ford’s initial request. Are enough people willing to consider this history with curiosity and suspicion? How large of a majority is needed to fight the powerful minority that grants these individuals their violence? This film does not have the answers. But it prompts more people to start asking questions.

Power documentary will stream on Netflix later this year. 

Sundance 2024: “Desire Lines” Is an Experimental Documentary About Transmascs Who F*ck Men

Drew Burnett Gregory is back at Sundance, reporting daily with queer movie reviews from one of the world’s most prestigious film festivals. Follow along for her coverage of the best in LGBTQ+ cinema and beyond. 

Watching Jules Rosskam’s experimental documentary, Desire Lines, I had to remember there was a time I didn’t know trans people could be gay.

It feels absurd now. While I certainly know some straight trans people, the vast majority aren’t just queer, they make dyketactics or faggotry — or both! — their entire personality. But, once upon a time, I questioned my own ability to be trans, because I had only dated women and my understanding of transness was still shaped by the theories of 20th century pioneering cishet doctor Harry Benjamin.

Desire Lines is about Ahmad (Aden Hakimi), an Iranian American trans man, embarking on his own queer journey through gay and trans history. He arrives in a liminal space of an archive run by a transmasc named Kieran (Theo Germaine) — an archive that literally transforms into the past taking Ahmad from looking at a photograph to suddenly being in a bathhouse.

Ahmad is learning about the history of cis gay men and the history of transmasculine people who fuck cis gay men and figuring out where he fits in. As he researches — and time travels — the film embraces more conventional tools of documentary like archival footage and interviews with a wide variety of queer transmasculine people.

Of course, Lou Sullivan is a major part of Ahmad’s journey and the film’s archival footage. And while there may be nothing new in this inclusion for trans people who have been out for a while, it’s worth noting that the only documentaries that exist about Sullivan are still the two shorts by Rhys Ernst (watch here and here). He may be famous in the community, but he’s not famous in the world at large — which means he’s not famous for trans people who are either new to their transness or new to that part of trans history.

Many of the interviews feel similar. Not much in Desire Lines hasn’t already been said at many trans hangouts. And yet, there’s still a value to having these varied experiences captured on-screen.

Ultimately, that’s what the film is about: the importance and magic of an archive. It’s about the experience of discovering there have always been others like you and the necessity to make this experience more accessible for all.

For queer trans guys who are not in community with other queer trans guys, I can imagine there will be an immense comfort in hearing such a vast range of relationships to one’s genitalia, to the types of sex one has, to what words are used during sex, and to who people have sex with. It can be a cinematic version of that first trans party you attend when you learn not only are you not alone, but you’re actually kind of cliché.

And for trans people who are not in need of this education, there’s still something touching about witnessing a character go on this journey. The dreamy sequences that take place in the past are lovely, especially an erotic moment between the two lead actors in a recreated bathhouse.

To be trans is to constantly be discovered. Every decade cis people act as if we’re new and every year a trans person invents themself and finds our history. The longer I’m out — approaching seven years — the more exhausted I am by the former and the more heartened I am by the latter. Every newly out trans person deserves a Kieran guiding them through the archive.

At least, until there are enough Kierans and enough Ahmads to change the world and this history is known to all.

Desire Lines is streaming on the Sundance virtual platform January 25-28.

Sundance 2024: “In the Summers” Is a Different Kind of Queer Coming-of-Age Story

Drew Burnett Gregory is back at Sundance, reporting daily with queer movie reviews from one of the world’s most prestigious film festivals. Follow along for her coverage of the best in LGBTQ+ cinema and beyond. 

Vicente is in his car outside the small airport of Las Cruces, New Mexico waiting for his kids. He’s nervous. His hands are shaking. He smokes to calm himself or just to have something to do. The flight attendant exits the airport with his two kids, tomboy Violeta and girly Eva, and he does his best to shift into father mode.

The movie shifts too. This opening moment is one of the few we’re with Vicente, the rest alternating between Violeta and Eva. This brief glimpse will endear us to him even as he hurts his kids. We’ll know he cares. We’ll know he’s trying his best. But it doesn’t ease the hurt. It might even make it worse.

Alessandra Lacorazza’s debut feature, In the Summers, is split into four sections, four summers where Vicente’s kids visit from California. The film spans over a decade as Violeta and Eva are played by three different actors.

Even as a child, it’s obvious Violeta is queer. But her dynamic with her father and her sister and the rest of the world is as complicated as queer existence often is in life. Vicente has a respect for Violeta, a clear favoritism built on their shared masculinity — even though he still has homophobic outbursts. It’s Eva who faces the most rejection from her father, even as it’s Eva who is most desperate for his love.

It’s also not as simple as Violeta being masculine and Eva being feminine. Especially as they get older, those lines are blurred as Eva evolves into her own kind of tomboy. Violeta is more emotional while Eva is hardened. Eva skateboards and excels at pool and both Violeta and Eva attach to local dyke bartender Carmen.

The greatest strength of In the Summers are these well-written, realistic, complicated characters and watching how the change — or don’t — and how their relationships change — or don’t — over time. Lacorazza’s sharp writing is paired with several excellent performances including Réné Pérez Joglar (aka rapper Residente) as Vicente, Emma Ramos as Carmen, Leslie Grace as Vicente’s girlfriend Yenny, and Lío Mehiel and Sasha Calle as the eldest versions of Violeta and Eva.

But it’s the middle versions of Violeta and Eva who are the heart of the film — old enough to be fully aware, young enough to leave down some of their defenses. Allison Salinas and Kimaya Thais give phenomenal performances that are a testament to their burgeoning talents and Lacorazza’s talent as a director.

Each part opens with a video still life marking the next chapter. It’s a nice cinematic flourish and I wish the film had more like it. In the Summers is at its best when it supports its writing and performances with a clear form — a sweaty party in shallow focus, an accident lost in darkness. Too often the film falls back on a flat naturalism that doesn’t quite fit with its snapshot memory structure.

Nevertheless, this is a film that prioritizes character and that is where it excels. Watching Mehiel and Calle synthesize Violeta and Eva’s childhoods into their adult selves recalled the last chapter of Moonlight — pretty much the highest compliment I can give.

When we leave Violeta and Eva they’re in their early 20s, still so young. They each have so much growth left to stumble through, so many more chapters to live. In the Summers is a queer coming-of-age movie that understands childhood and adolescence are just the beginning — our memories shape us for the rest of our lives.

In the Summers is streaming on the Sundance virtual platform January 25-28.

Sundance 2024: “Sebastian” Fails in Its Self-Critique of a Gay Sex Work Story

Drew Burnett Gregory is back at Sundance, reporting daily with queer movie reviews from one of the world’s most prestigious film festivals. Follow along for her coverage of the best in LGBTQ+ cinema and beyond. 

Even Max’s publisher is disappointed to hear he’s writing about sex work. It is kind of a “stock character of queer literature,” he sheepishly admits.

But he promises he’s bringing something new, a modern day story of sex work in the internet age where his protagonist will be without shame. This is the part he shares. The part he doesn’t share is that he himself has become a sex worker as research.

Mikko Mäkelä’s Sebastian first appears to have some self-awareness around its protagonist. His love of Bret Easton Ellis, his angst around only having a short story collection published by 25, his empty espousing of literary theory. But Mäkelä is either too fond of Max or relates too closely to Max to give his film the bite it requires. Instead it ends up with the same flaws as the character at its center.

Despite what Max claims, sex work in the internet age has been plenty explored on the page and on-screen. In fact, every year I’ve covered Sundance, there has been at least one film — from Pleasure to Work to Good Luck to You, Leo Grande to The Stroll and Kokomo City. A common profession, and a common day job among artists, there’s plenty of room for more movies about sex work. But sex work as a topic is not enough to make a story interesting.

Max, the tourist sex worker, is not the only stock character on display. There’s the pathetic man, the mean man, the man who surprises Max with group sex, and the man who develops a tender relationship with Max, because he reminds the man of his deceased partner. These figures may be tropes for a reason, but Max is too enamored with these boring characters as interesting material. Not only is he new to sex work, he appears new to stories about sex work.

The ease of Max entering this profession only faces one hiccup — a prospective client who rejects Max upon seeing a face pic. There’s something interesting — and funny! — about Max’s entitlement and self-esteem being undermined by someone suggesting he isn’t hot enough to be charging 200 pounds. Unfortunately, Max starts working out more and this thread is dropped with him quickly returning to high demand.

It’s not just that the film fails to reinvent its trope-filled story. There are also inconsistencies in Max as a character. He’s framed as ambitious and eager, but then he falters in his culture writing day job and in an important literary space. Of course, an ambitious person can still self-sabotage. Unfortunately, here it feels less like character nuance and more like plot convenience. This was a story that needed the bite of a filmmaker like Fassbinder or, for a more recent example, Ira Sachs’ Passages. Instead Max experiences the same gentle treatment from Mäkelä as his privilege allows him to receive in publishing.

The film is well-made and well-acted with a strong central performance from Ruaridh Mollica as Max and a standout performance from Jonathan Hyde doing a lot with a lot as one of the clients. I just wish the acting and craft were servicing a story that had more to say about sex, sex work, and the literary world.

Sebastian circles around the idea that to be a successful sex worker or a successful author in the internet age, you have to put forth a persona on social media. Alas with Max a luddite averse to even being on Instagram, this feels more like a slipped in gripe rather than a central thread.

Who has the right to tell which stories? How important is persona to an artist’s success? How has the internet changed all of our various economies? These are all questions I care about and find worthy of exploration. Instead Sebastian gets distracted by a middling version of a story almost as old as its protagonist’s new profession.

Sebastian is streaming on the Sundance virtual platform January 25-28.

Sundance 2024: “Frida” Documentary Lets the Queer Disabled Communist Speak

Drew Burnett Gregory is back at Sundance, reporting daily with queer movie reviews from one of the world’s most prestigious film festivals. Follow along for her coverage of the best in LGBTQ+ cinema and beyond. 

In Catherine Lacey’s Biography of X, her protagonist explains why she had to write a corrective biography of her enigmatic artist wife: “Now that Mr. Smith’s false narrative was out there and I was in our cabin alone, I had nothing to do but avenge him and his lies, to avenge reality itself, to avenge everything.”

I thought of this explanation while watching Carla Gutierrez’s documentary, “Frida,” a work that aims to tell the life story of one of the twentieth century’s most famous artists in her own words. With another feature documentary already released in 2020, a docuseries released just last year, and, of course, the 2002 Oscar-winning biopic starring Salma Hayek, it’s fair to question if we really needed another documentary about Frida Kahlo. But every life — like every story — can be altered by its framing. And Gutierrez’s reframe is one worthy of existence.

Using Kahlo’s own words from diaries, letters, interviews, and other writings, Frida has the artist narrate her own life along with the words of friends and lovers including two-time husband Diego Rivera. (All performed by actors, of course.)

The lack of talking heads is supplemented by visuals consisting of photographs, archival footage, and animated renditions of Kahlo’s paintings. While the animation is well-done, there is something that feels counter to the film’s perspective to manipulate Kahlo’s art rather than simply portraying it. Watching the film, I yearned for a more radical approach that allowed for stillness as we listened to the voices.

But the words themselves are excellent. Due to her self-portraiture and her tokenization as one of the few women allowed into the canon, Frida Kahlo the person is often flattened. Not here. The film displays her intelligence and poetic voice, as well as her day-to-day frustrations as person and as an artist — a woman artist in a male world, a Mexican artist in the US and France. She’s vivacious and despairing and annoyed and bored. The film doesn’t force her to always be Frida Kahlo, famous artist. She’s allowed to just be Frida.

And who is Frida? Gutierrez doesn’t shy away from her queerness — with sexuality or gender — nor does she reduce her communism to a brief mention. A lot of time is also spent on the accident that caused her to live with chronic pain. It’s not framed as inspirational or depressing — it just is. Every aspect of Kahlo’s life and worldview and art was shaped by being a queer disabled communist.

The best parts of the documentary focus on Kahlo’s time in the US and France, allowing her to express the absolute disdain she felt for the bourgeoisie and the rich. There’s an understanding that these spaces are required for success in the arts while also a relatable exhaustion at this requirement. French surrealist André Breton is not credited with “discovering” Frida’s work, but rather lambasted for displaying her art alongside random Mexican trinkets — as if her worth as an artist was dependent on her ethnicity as curio.

Centering her voice is also valuable in portraying her illness. There are moments of immense grief — especially related to her miscarriage — but mostly there is just the mundane frustrations of living with chronic pain.

And, finally, this approach is divine when Kahlo — and her lovers — are discussing sex. “It’s good to have sex even when one is not in love,” Kahlo says before detailing the sensitivity of her breasts. It’s delicious to hear about her many affairs with men and women from her own voice and from theirs.

Every year at Sundance, there are a handful of portrait documentaries that were either produced by or are quickly bought by major streamers. Many of these are straight forward portraits unworthy of their fascinating subjects. While Frida may be imperfect, I admire its ambition and its less conventional approach to form. I also admire its commitment to portraying a version of Kahlo more controversial than her iconography.

If she’s going to be one of the famous women in history, she should be famous as queer, as disabled, and as a loud and proud communist. That is the biography Frida Kahlo deserves.

Frida is streaming on the Sundance virtual platform January 25-28.

Sundance 2024: “I Saw the TV Glow” Celebrates the People and Shows That Shape Us

Drew Burnett Gregory is back at Sundance, reporting daily with queer movie reviews from one of the world’s most prestigious film festivals. Follow along for her coverage of the best in LGBTQ+ cinema and beyond. 

When I interviewed Jane Schoenbrun about their debut We’re All Going to the World’s Fair, they mentioned their next film was written during the early months of physical transition and would be “about the egg crack.” That film is I Saw the TV Glow and it’s a mix of styles, ideas, and emotions fitting for that chaotic moment in a trans person’s life.

I Saw the TV Glow is about Owen (Justice Smith) who we fall through time alongside from 7th grade (played then by Ian Foreman) until somewhere well into his adulthood. He’s a quiet kid who loves his mom and fears his dad. He doesn’t share the interests of his peers — except 9th grader Maddie (Brigette Lundy-Paine) who loves a fantasy show called The Pink Opaque that Owen isn’t allowed to watch because it airs after his bedtime. Oh and because his dad says it’s a show for girls.

The Pink Opaque is an obvious stand-in for Buffy and Schoenbrun has a lot of fun recreating that era of teen fantasy show. Maddie educates Owen on “monsters of the week” and “big bads” and then begins slipping him VHS tapes so he can actually watch the episodes.

I Saw the TV Glow does for television and cool older girls (who might not be girls) what We’re All Going to the World’s Fair did for the internet and inappropriate adult men. The bond that forms between Owen and Maddie is deeply recognizable both in how tightly they connect and in the gaps they cannot fill.

By remaining truthful to the quiet awkwardness of many closeted trans girls, Schoenbrun has given themself a challenging task. Owen is fearful and self-conscious in ways that are pointedly alienating. After delivering the best line of the film, Justice Smith lets out his only laugh and one of his few smiles and it feels like a relief. That relief is quickly snatched away.

Because Owen — and, to an only slightly lesser extent, Maddie — are so internal, the film is at its best in its moments of quiet. The film’s masterful visuals, haunting sound design, poetic score, and cinematic flourishes combine to create moments that are transcendent. Schoenbrun confirms themself here as a singularly talented filmmaker unafraid to take risks — stylistically and emotionally.

But, from the beginning, the lines between Owen’s life and the world of The Pink Opaque are blurred. Schoenbrun allows characters to mimic the sort of overwrought dialogue and monologues found in Buffy and other teen shows. It’s fascinating to see this style used to represent trans teenagehood instead of Buffy’s cis girlhood, but it’s a choice I found myself admiring more than connecting with. Teenagers and newly out trans people both believe they’re discovering new ways of thinking and feeling that other people have been thinking and feeling for centuries. I experienced this myself and there’s a poignant nostalgia to seeing that represented on-screen — there’s also occasionally a distance.

Schoenbrun is currently working on an adaption of Imogen Binnie’s Nevada and it’s a fitting union of artist and material. Despite all the Buffy references, it’s that book that feels most closely tied to this film. Reading Nevada years into my transition — and after reading several books from trans authors inspired by Nevada — I felt grateful for its existence while experiencing a similar distance from the moment of transness it portrayed.

During that same interview, Schoenbrun told me they started working on We’re All Going to the World’s Fair before knowing they were trans, and they felt obligated to honor that uncertainty in the film itself. They’ve made a similar choice here — even though they were further into their transition during production and post-production, they honored the emotions of those early moments this film was written. There’s something quite vulnerable and quite rare about an artist trusting the person they were in the past. It’s easy for us — especially as trans people — to be so eager for the future that we ignore even the present. I love that Schoenbrun has resisted that temptation.

I Saw the TV Glow is about the art that shapes us, even if someday we grow beyond it. The film warns against looking at this art with dismissal or disdain. To do so is to look at our past selves with these same negative emotions. To do so is to deny our full personhood. To do so is to deny the tools we need to move confidently into the future.

I came to Buffy even later than I came to Nevada. But as a teenager, there was other art — good and bad — that shaped the woman I am today. And, next to me, also experiencing that art, was someone I thought was a girl — another queer human — who shaped me even more.

The two of us often sat side-by-side, staring at a screen, dreaming of the people we might someday become.

I Saw the TV Glow will be released by A24 later this year.

“Mutt” Is a Snapshot of Relatable Trans Chaos

This review of Mutt was originally published during Sundance 2023 and contains mild spoilers.

“I feel like I’m in a bad short film at Outfest.”

This was one of my go-to jokes the first couple years after I transitioned. Rejected by a family member? Denied my gender marker change at the DMV? Texted by my crush moments after being harassed off public transit? I’d roll my eyes. Bad trans movie vibes.

What I was really feeling was that my problems were not unique. There can be a solidarity in our shared experiences, but there can also be an erasure of the self. I’m not experiencing these things because I’m me — just because I’m trans. This joke was a defense mechanism to not acknowledge how painful it was to be rejected by loved ones and the world, how painful it was to have my individuality taken away just as I was finally becoming myself.

I thought about my joke while watching Vuk Lungulov-Klotz‘s stellar debut, Mutt, about a trans guy named Feña a year or two into transitioning. We follow him throughout a 24-hour period that includes many clichés of trans life: seeing a pre-transition ex, being asked invasive questions about surgery, reconnecting with a sibling, having an issue at the bank because of a name change.

Watching Feña I thought about my joke and I also thought about the fact that when I made this joke I’d never actually been to Outfest. The trans stereotypes I’d actually seen on-screen were far more harmful than these common experiences. And, in the years since, as I’ve sought out trans media (and attended Outfest), I’ve learned these experiences aren’t actually portrayed very often — certainly not well. Vuk Lungulov-Klutz portrays them so well.

Mutt is split into three overlapping parts. The first follows Feña as he reconnects with his ex-boyfriend John. They dated before Feña transitioned, Feña broke John’s heart, there are a lot of unresolved feelings between them. The second part finds Feña’s sister Zoe showing up unannounced at the restaurant where Feña works. Their mom was transphobic, Feña hasn’t been in Zoe’s life even though she has a very Gen Z attitude toward gender, there are a lot of unresolved feelings between them. And, finally, the last part is Feña picking his dad up from the airport. Feña’s dad lives in Chile, he blames himself for Feña’s transness, there are a lot of unresolved feelings between them.

The stakes of this movie are high but in a very casual, slice-of-life sort of way. Feña needs to find a car he can borrow to pick his dad up so his dad doesn’t think he’s a fuck up. Feña still has feelings for John but isn’t even sure John would be into him now that he’s a guy. Feña needs to get his sister back home before his mom finds out she left. The obstacles that get in the way of these goals are gigantic and mundane — missed calls, locked doors, hurt feelings.

The whole cast is fantastic — the history of these three relationships felt so deeply between the performers. Lio Mehiel makes Feña endearing in his chaos and relatable in his pain. It’s easy to fall in love with him even if, like John, you can assume he’d break your heart. Cole Doman as John adds so many layers to this heartbreak. It is a feat to get me to sympathize with the cis (possibly straight) man who feels scorned in a trans movie — Doman and the sharp writing achieve just that. And MiMi Ryder as Zoe is a burst of complicated energy, Alejandro Goic as Feña’s dad a burst of complicated melancholy, each when the film needs it most.

Mutt is not just about a trans guy having regular trans experiences. It’s about Feña. Just like I wasn’t losing my individuality every time I faced a common challenge of trans life. I was still me. Within each of these experiences are the details that make us who we are beyond our transness, within our transness.

The more beautifully constructed, specific trans stories that are told — like this, like Something You Said Last Night — the less vague these relatable experiences will become. I hope someday a trans person is having a cliché talk with their parent and thinks, “My God. I feel like I’m in Mutt.”

Mutt is now streaming on Netflix.

Having Some Film Festival FOMO? Here Are Six Queer Movies You Can Stream Right Now

If you feel like there aren’t a lot of queer films, you’re wrong, but it’s not your fault.

I’ve been covering film festivals since 2019 and have been lucky enough to see a wide variety of recent queer films from all over the world. The clichés and limits of representation that mar mainstream film are much less prevalent with these festival films.

The problem, of course, is festivals are not accessible to most people. And the movies that sell at these festivals and get big splashy releases are rarely queer. Even when sales do occur, the state of streaming leaves many films behind.

An example: my favorite movie from Sundance 2022, Mars One, sold to ARRAY who had a deal with Netflix. That deal has expired and now the film is not available anywhere. My least favorite movie at that same festival, Am I OK?, suffered a similar fate. It did have a splashy sale to HBO Max but amid the Warner Bros. merger it got forgotten and still has not been released. Whether I love it or hate it, no movie deserves to be buried.

But there is some good news! A lot of great queer festival movies from last year have been released. And while we wait for the films from this year’s TIFF, I wanted to highlight some queer films you can watch RIGHT NOW.

How to Blow Up a Pipeline — Streaming on Hulu

My favorite film from last year’s TIFF is now streaming on Hulu! That’s right. This exact minute if you have a Hulu account — or know someone who has a Hulu account — you can watch a super gay thriller about a group of ecoterrorists! With a tight script and an excellent cast that includes Ariela Barer, Sasha Lane, Lukas Gage, and Jayme Lawson, this is a perfect pairing of art and entertainment. Watch this one on the biggest screen you’ve got.

All the Beauty and the Bloodshed — Streaming on Max

The other stand out from last year’s TIFF is now on Max. Laura Poitras’ portrait of photographer, activist, and one of my personal heroes Nan Goldin documents Goldin’s fight against the Sackler family. Like Goldin’s own approach to photography, Poitras created a collaboration with her subject. This feels more autobiography than biography and that personal touch deepens the connections between Goldin’s art and her political fury.

Nothing Compares — Streaming on Paramount Plus

Another great documentary portrait from last year’s festivals, Kathryn Ferguson’s film aims to give Shuhada’ Sadaqat (known professionally as Sinead O’Connor) her proper due. Made with Sadaqat’s participation before her recent death, the film shows the cruelty of our culture and how Sadaqat was able to rise above it. She never stopped making music and she did so on her terms according to her own values. The entertainment industry didn’t know what to do with her — she was just too good for them.

Dry Ground Burning — Streaming on The Criterion Channel

Blurring the lines between documentary and narrative, this Brazilian film follows real-life sisters as they try to survive under Bolsanaro’s regime. Rather than take a straightforward approach, this film turns their story into a dystopian epic. Some moments feel real; other moments feel straight out of an action movie. One of the most unique queer festival movies from last year, this tale of a lesbian oil gang is mesmerizing from beginning to end.

Dos Estaciones — Streaming on The Criterion Channel

Another movie on the Criterion Channel! Téresa Sanchez is remarkable as Maria, a butch tequila factory owner whose hair stylist is a trans woman. The stunning cinematography and Sanchez’s performance make this an arresting experience despite its languid pace. This is not the kind of movie to half-watch while on your phone, but if you’re patient, the rewards are plentiful.

The Cow Who Sang a Song Into the Future — Available to rent

I tried to focus on films available to stream with subscriptions but trust me this movie is worth the rental price. A surreal fantasia about womanhood and the natural world, director Francisca Alegria brings forth a totally unique vision. The film isn’t specifically about transness but it does include a trans girl in its vision for womanhood and its vision for the future. So much trans cinema — even at festivals — tells the same stories. It’s a joy to feel included in something so bold and original. We need more queer films this bold and artful.

I hope you enjoy these films! Exciting queer festival movies come out every year – sometimes we just have to look a little bit harder to find them.

“The Cow Who Sang a Song Into the Future” Presents a Radical Vision

This review for The Cow Who Sang a Song Into the Future contains very mild spoilers. It was originally published as a part of our Sundance coverage in January 2022. The Cow Who Sang a Song Into the Future is now in theaters. 

A trans girl’s mom insists she’s still her son. She tells her daughter to wear boy clothes before they visit extended family. The girl looks in the mirror and cries. We’ve seen this before.

When I tell you this early scene in Francisca Alegria’s remarkable The Cow Who Sang a Song Into the Future is the only thing we’ve seen before I really truly mean it.

I have a high tolerance for languidly paced art films — blame a lonely adolescence and the Criterion Collection — but it’s a rare treat to watch a film that’s deliberate, enigmatic, and easy to recommend. Even if you’re not sure what’s happening, Alegria’s film never loses your focus. Its formal control, inventive imagery, and well-drawn characters are enough to make this not only a compelling film experience, but a really, really fun one.

This is Alegria’s first feature and it feels like the arrival of a totally new voice. The only person I can compare her to is Apichatpong Weerasethakul — ghosts, animals, surrealism, queer — and even that feels reductive to both filmmakers. Even though the film is thought-provoking rather than instructive, it’s clear that Alegria knows exactly what she wants to say and how she wants to say it. She is an artist I immediately trusted. I didn’t always need to know where her story was going or what it was doing — I could just enjoy the experience.

Most of my reviews at Sundance, I’ve written immediately after finishing the film. This one I’ve been sitting with for a few days. And in those days the experience has crystalized into something profound. I’m hesitant to declaratively say what this movie with singing cows and spontaneous orgasms is about, but to me it is about the lazy harm we inflict on women and nature. It is an intimate story about one family and a vast story about the Earth.

The film works so well because that intimate story is strong on its own. The family drama aspects of Alegria’s creation are grounded and impactful even if it’s everything else that makes it so unique. Mía Maestro as the film’s mysterious catalyst, Leonor Varela as a doctor and single mother, and Enzo Ferrada Rosati as her trans daughter all give exceptional performances as women trying to find their ways in a dying world. Rosati is especially wonderful and proof that even if a character is young and still figuring out their gender, casting an actor with shared experience will always lead to a better film — especially when the actor has such a natural tenderness and charisma.

If it feels like I’m being cryptic regarding the movie’s plot, it’s not because it’s actually that complicated. It just feels insulting to a work of art I found so rapturous to diminish it to a log line. I want people to experience its unfolding plot with the same awe that the rest of the film conjures.

With every passing year it gets harder to make a film about our poisoned Earth that remains hopeful. And yet this film succeeds. Maybe it’s the movie’s ghosts that make that possible. Even if our world is already dead, there’s still time for resurrection. There’s still time to end cycles of trauma in our families. There’s still time to change how we treat other living creatures — be they human or animal.

This is a film that deals with the natural vs. the unnatural, that confronts a history of female oppression. Trans women are included in the natural, trans women are included in that history. It may seem like a small detail, but it feels powerful to be included in this song into the future. So often we’ve been silenced in the past.

The State of Queer and Trans Film After the 2023 Sundance Film Festival

Feature image by Unique Nicole/Getty Images

We hope you’ve enjoyed all of our Sundance 2023 coverage the past couple weeks! It seemed only fitting to end with a proper convo between us both about our experiences covering this year’s fest. Our favorites, our biggest disappointments, the state of queer film — we’re here to discuss it all!

Drew: How was your trip??

Shelli: IT WAS LOVELLLLLYYY!!! Yes I was excited for movies but also all I know about Utah comes from Big Love (and terrible laws) so I wanted to see it and it was fucking majestic going up that mountain to Park City! And it was my first Sundance in general! Getting to go IRL was great, being selected as part of the PII was even better, and seeing a million movies no matter how chaotic it was to get from spot to spot was a blast!

This obvs isn’t your first Sundance buuttttt how did you get the digital vibes this year?!

Drew: Good! I love that Sundance has continued to have an at-home component even as they’ve returned to in-person. Every festival should do that! I love movie theatres, I loved bouncing around TIFF in-person, sitting in the exact same spot when I lined up early enough, but festivals have long been inaccessible in lots of ways and at-home components help with that.

It’s also fun that we can publish a review and then our readers can buy a $20 ticket to some of the titles and watch them that weekend instead of waiting for wider distribution.

Shelli: That’s honestly why I was never able to go to Sundance In-Person ‘cos it’s SO EXPENSIVE. Staying in Park City or SLC alone is expensive and then just being there is wild expensive. Like, if you don’t have a press pass or mad money I can see how it can be tight to go and actually enjoy, so the accessibility of being able to watch from home and pick and choose films is a big vibe.

We talked about what movies we were excited for before it all started, purely based on our own research and film love but — did any of the ones you were excited for pan out to be dope?

Drew: Yes! First of all, I loved Gush. It reminded me of when I lived in New York and would go to the Anthology Film Archives to just watch random experimental films — maybe high, maybe sober — and not know what I was watching but feel it expanding my brain.

I also really enjoyed The Disappearance of Shere Hite and found it to navigate the whole “being about a second wave feminist” thing with much more thought than past films focusing on that era of feminism. But also I live on Letterboxd and know you didn’t like it as much as I did! Which is part of the fun of having two of us covering the fest.

Shelli: LOL I love Letterboxd so much ‘cos it really does make us covering it together even more fun ‘cos I get to be like “Oh Really that’s how she feel? Lemme ask her about that one.” I watched Shere Hite but kept getting pulled in and out of it all. And I never got around to Gush! That’s the thing with festivals though, I feel like we can be mad ambitious with the amount of movies you wanna see but — it’s just not gonna happen.

Drew: There are so many movies!! And I do think with this fest I tried not to push myself. I watched Shortcomings — which we’ll get to — and felt myself fading. And then I was like you know what I think I’m done with Sundance this year.

Shelli: What we both watched that we were excited for though was The Stroll!

Drew: Yes!! I liked The Stroll a lot! And I watched it back to back with Kokomo City which was really perfect viewing.

Shelli: Speaking of Letterboxd, in your review you said you loved when it felt like Kristen was just reminiscing with her friends, and THAT is what I loved about it. I loved that she was just chillin’ and talking to her homies like “Let’s talk about our stories that we were there for and take it from there.”

I actually got to go to a panel with her and Zackary and they talked so much about making sure the joy wasn’t left out of the story, and that often gets lost on heavier subjects when it’s someone on the outside in charge of the story.

Drew: It really shows the difference between a documentary made about a subject and a documentary made by a subject.

Shelli: EXACTLY.

And please – Shortcomings was a ride that I very much couldn’t wait to get off of and some people won’t leave me alone about it.

Drew: Hahaha I told Carmen this but it reminded me of a Woody Allen movie and that is obviously not a compliment. Which is frustrating because I actually love movies with pointedly unlikable protagonists! This one just didn’t really work for me.

Shelli: The thing about being a critic of sorts is that I think people are confused. Just because I say my take on a movie and don’t enjoy it, is not me being like “Don’t go see it,” unless I explicitly say….”Don’t go see this.” And just because I don’t like a movie does not mean I don’t know the importance of it existing, especially when it’s made by or featuring a cast and crew of marginalized folks. ALSO ALSO ‘tho, just ‘cos it’s got marginalized people in and around it does not mean i’m going to be like “This is incredible” and I just thought Shortcomings was tiptoeing around a lot!

And that’s the vibe! Like, I don’t need all the characters to be likable and sweet, and I think when that’s mentioned in a review, folks think THAT is why I didn’t like it, when in reality it’s like…no that’s not it.

Sherry Cola is a fuckin’ star tho lol

Drew: Yes!! Over the past years of being a critic I’ve really had to figure out a balance in what films I write about and how I write about them. For example, if there’s a super independent film made by people who don’t often get to make movies and it’s bad, I just won’t cover it. But with bigger films — even bigger indie films — I think it does a disservice to not engage with the work critically. Not doing that leads to a lot of mediocre art.

Shelli: I AGREE

Drew: But yes absolutely just because one of us has an opinion doesn’t mean it’s fact. It’s literally an opinion You hating Carol does not make Carol disappear from my Blu-Ray collection lmao

In fact, I’m like oh cool this person I respect has a different opinion from me tell me more!
I learn so much from people with different opinions than me.

Shelli: If so many eyes are on it and I sit here and say I love it even ‘tho it’s bad, then we just get more bad shit and EYEDONUTLIKEDAT

AND SPEAKING OF CAROL LOL…. Eileen.

Drew: That is the one movie I’m so sad I couldn’t watch from home. Because I know I’d have opinions about it.

Shelli: I have been desperately trying to find out how to get you a screener but I feel like my chances are slim ‘cos they will 1. read my review and 2. find my tweets about Carol and put it together and go “Absolutely not.”

Drew: I have a high tolerance for movies where cis white women glance at each other. But a low tolerance for movies that try to make law enforcement sexy. So I really don’t know where I’ll land with this one.

Shelli: If you don’t mind me saying, we talked before about my excitement on it and how you were wary of trusting this director with the story and I must say, after seeing it, I should have listened to you and looked past seeing Anne in period costuming.

Drew: I do love Anne Hathaway though and I love that the worst people online seem to have given up their hate campaign toward her. This is off topic but the response to The Last Thing He Wanted baffled me. I think someday people will look back on it in the context of Dee Rees’ fifty plus year career and be like oh this was actually good.

Shelli: I never understood the hate towards her! Ella Enchanted is a fuckin’ masterpiece and she’s just a happy white woman from what I know.

Drew: Did you notice any trends, specifically in the queer movies? Like how are you feeling about The State Of Queer Film after this fest

Shelli: The main theme I saw was that queer people can be shitty people too.

Drew: Wow I’ve noticed that theme from my life.

Shelli: The Persian Version, Shortcomings, Thriving (a short), My Animal, all kinda showed queer people being terrible and blaming a lot of shit on others.

Drew: I’d also throw in Mutt with that

Shelli: I WAS GONNA SAY MUTT! And it’s something I truly fuck with because just like I’m done with the Magical Negro trope I’m done with the Queer People Are Sweet Trope

Drew: Yes absolutely. When done well it’s really just expanding the humanity we’re allowed to show on screen.

Shelli: Film feels like it only has space to allow growth for different groups like 20 years at a time. In the past few years or so (like three), we have been seeing queer people in film outside of trauma and pain. It’s evolving to see us as everyday folks who can be terrible, romantic, sweet, murderous — and also just happen to be queer.

Did you see a theme running through the queer films?!

Drew: With the queer docs and Cassandro which is a biopic, I definitely saw an attempt to grant people humanity who maybe in the past were seen as caricatures.

Shelli: Damn that’s true and I’d add the Little Richard doc into that too. I’m guilty of seeing him as such before I watched this doc, if I’m being honest.

Drew: Yes! And ultimately I think a movie like Mutt where we get to see a realistic trans guy maybe being a little shitty to his ex is accomplishing a similar thing to a documentary that shows Little Richard’s inner struggles that led to periods of internalized homophobia.

Shelli: Docs high key won the festival for me this year by the way.

Drew: Me too!

Shelli: Did you feel hella let down by anything you watched?

Drew: It’s funny because I liked The Persian Version. But I still feel disappointed I didn’t love it. I really appreciated your review and it does highlight the things I did love about it. But I wish the modern day love story had been either left out or expanded upon. It’s ultimately a story about a mother and a daughter so maybe I’m making too much of this one element. But I’m sensitive to a cis straight man in drag being the comic relief!

I’m always trying to check in with myself as a critic and examine my biases. Which sometimes manifest in not understanding certain experiences but also can manifest in being sensitive to certain tropes even if they’re being done in a way that’s pretty harmless. It just seemed like a missed opportunity to underline the queerness of the story and the POV. I know it takes place in the mid-00s but it didn’t need to feel like a movie from the mid-00s in its treatment of sexuality and gender.

Shelli: And that’s fucking fair, ‘cos I was so wrapped up in the story of mum and daughter that I didn’t clock it until I read your review on Letterboxd. I’m sometimes so wrapped up in a story that on a second or third watch is when things that were big for some folks click for me. That’s the dope part about conversations like this (and even just reading other folks reviews) is that I am not looking for my thoughts to be changed on the film, I’m moreso trying to be like “Damn, I didn’t think of that” and carry it into how I am watching films in the future.

Drew: Yes!! And also one thing being meh in a work of art doesn’t make it bad. That’s something I think is important — that we can understand why something may not work for someone or for a certain group of someones without dismissing it outright.

Shelli: Sidenote: Another theme I keep seeing in queer films is “White person with POC partner” and omigosh I’m high key so tired of it — and it kept going this year.

Drew: From putting together the big lesbian movie list, I can confirm this has been going on for years and really sucks. Especially when it’s a white filmmaker wanting diversity points but not thinking about race and how it changes their story.

Drew: Was there anything you were really let down by?

Shelli: Sometimes I Think About Dying really really let me down! I was so excited for it! I feel like it was oversold and didn’t deliver and damn I was sad about that.

Drew: I also really disliked that one.

Shelli: I’m not a huge fan of Megan Stalter but I swear that wasn’t the reason lol

Drew: I am a fan and hated it so can confirm haha

Shelli: Also I almost typed “Sometimes I Think About Dykin'” and that would be a movie I’d watch.

Drew: !

Shelli: But all in all – It was a good fest. I feel like the queer slate of films didn’t deliver as much as I’d hoped, but we’re getting pulled out of the box where queer folks in film are either teaching or begging to be seen as human AND queer, and for that I’m high key grateful.

Drew: Yeah not to be a snob but the films I’m always going to gravitate toward are really singular visions like Animalia and Heroic. L’immensita and to a lesser extent Mutt had that. But for the most part the queer films didn’t feel quite of that ilk.

Shelli: I don’t think that’s snobbish at all! I’m always gonna go for the ones that are imaginative and hit the heart — but not in too much of a “Let me teach you about dykin'” kinda way. Perhaps that’s why I loved The Persian Version so much.

And no one asked but the best movie to come out of Sundance for me this year was Rye Lane — I refuse to stop talking about it. It’s the best romcom I’ve seen in like a decade, and it is officially one of my top 5 fav films.

Drew: Omg okay I noticed you saw Rye Lane multiple times?? I was so impressed by that. Like I simply must see this film because to rewatch during a festival?? That’s real love.

Shelli: HELLO I SAW RYE LANE 5 TIMES

Drew: FIVE?? That brings me so much joy. I love when festivals lead to that kind of discovery.

Shelli: I watched it two and half times online back to back and twice in theatres. It’s how I closed out my fest and I wouldn’t have had it any other way.

Drew: Beautiful

Shelli: AND I DIDN’T EVEN CARE THAT THERE WAS NO DYKIN!

Drew: That’s how you know a movie is special

Shelli: I love talking film with you!

Drew: I love talking film with you!

Shelli: Thanks for chatting with me!

Drew: Next fest we’re going to go together and party. Park City or idk Cannes won’t know what hit em.

Shelli: Drew — they are not going to be able to take how smart we are and how hot we look. And that’s something they just gonna have to deal with cos it’s happening.

Sundance 2023: A Queer Festival Recap

Last week, while Shelli was covering Sundance in Park City and I was watching from home, the Oscar nominations were announced. Maybe you were happy with the decisions, maybe you weren’t, but one thing is certain — this announcement was the result of over a year of campaigning and buzz.

Film festivals are one of the primary places that buzz begins. It’s why it’s so important that the first responses to films out of festivals aren’t solely those of cis straight white men working for major publications. The initial responses to films can decide which films get sold, what kind of releases they’re given, and what kind of attention they — and the people involved in their production — garner over the next few years.

I hope you’ve enjoyed the work Shelli and I have highlighted with full reviews the past week. But we both saw so much more — including lots of straight films we still have opinions about! That’s why for every festival we also do capsule reviews for everything. Of course, our voices matter when it comes to on-screen dyke drama, but they also matter for the film world at large. That’s how real change can occur.

Click the links below to jump directly to each review, or scroll down to peruse all of them!

Drew’s Capsule Reviews

Sometimes I Think About Dying
Kim’s Video
Gush
Little Richard: I Am Everything
Fancy Dance
Cassandro
Animalia
Theater Camp
The Persian Version
Going to Mars: The Nikki Giovanni Project
Mamacruz
The Disappearance of Shere Hite
Heroic
Bad Behaviour
Shortcomings
Kokomo City
The Stroll

Shelli’s Capsule Reviews

Mutt
The Doom Generation
Little Richard: I Am Everything
Drift
The Pod Generation
My Animal
Aliens Abducted My Parents and Now I Feel Kinda Left Out
Young. Wild. Free.
You Hurt My Feelings
The Stroll
Theater Camp
Scrapper

Drew Burnett Gregory

Sometimes I Think About Dying (dir. Rachel Lambert)

As someone who wrote an introduction to Chantal Akerman on this very website, I’m obviously a fan of movies about lonely and depressed women that capture their protagonist’s headspace by being pointedly boring. Unfortunately, this approach needs to be done well to actually work. The movie tries too hard to make Daisy Ridley’s Fran a boring regular person that it ends up feeling like the filmmakers have never actually met anyone normal. Her depression doesn’t resonate, her relationships feel even thinner than they’re supposed to, and the whole thing ends up feeling unspecific and dull.

Kim’s Video (dir. David Redmon, Ashley Sabin)

While this documentary mostly consists of filmmaker David Redmon showing off his basic film knowledge, musing on his purpose in the universe, and harassing random Italians, this story about a famous video store and its enigmatic owner does have its charms. Redmon’s entitlement and audacity may grate but his persistence does result in a rediscovery of the film collection, run-ins with the mafia, and a full-on heist. I just wish Redmon and co-director Ashley Sabin had been more successful in capturing any one of the multiple threads of the story. The documentary doesn’t work as a tribute to film. It doesn’t work as a portrait of store owner Yongman Kim. And it doesn’t work as a comedy thriller. But it comes close enough that I hope Steven Soderbergh or the oft-mentioned Coen Brothers see the potential on display and turn this into a narrative.

Gush (dir. Fox Maxy)

Fox Maxy in Gush

Movies are not puzzles waiting to be solved. This is true for mainstream experimental narrative work and it’s true for experimental experimental work like Fox Maxy’s debut feature. There is so much going on in this film — on a thematic level and in Maxy’s playful form. To appreciate it doesn’t mean understanding every moment. It just means engaging with it, thinking about it, discussing it, and, before all that, letting it wash over you as an experience. For me, the moment that stood out was when in one of their video diary segments, Maxy says, “It’s hard being a celebrity.” It made me reflect on the interview between Tyra Banks and Naomi Campbell they keep cutting back to — about the pressures of celebrity, the pressures when regular people carry the weight of celebrity without the resources. The burden people have to package our traumas, our joys. The community and pleasure that can sit alongside that burden. Maxy blurs the lines between cinema and online spaces in a way that at times is a lot of fun and other times feels like the stuff of nightmares. These are just some of my initial thoughts. What’s great about a film like Gush is how different each of our experiences might be, how a moment, an image, may return to me in days to come and make me think of the work in a totally new way.

Little Richard: I Am Everything (dir. Lisa Cortés)

Coming soon to HBO Max, this portrait of Little Richard finds ways to go beyond the genre conventions of the life-spanning biographical music doc. While it certainly succeeds in providing an overview of Little Richard’s life, features lots of great performance and interview footage, and outlines his great importance to music and culture, it’s at its best when it’s doing more. I love the choice to have contemporary Black artists perform moments in his life that weren’t filmed. Not only is it dynamic to watch, but it shows Little Richard’s far-reaching influence beyond the white artists that appropriated his style. As stated in the title, the film lives in Little Richard’s vastness, in his contradictions, and with that it encompasses so much necessary context. He may have originated rock n’roll, but the film does an excellent job showing the lineage that came before him — musically and culturally. Ultimately, this is a fitting tribute to a complicated Black queer icon who deserved more in his life and deserves more in his death.

Fancy Dance (dir. Erica Tremblay)

Since first seeing Lily Gladstone in Kelly Reichardt’s Certain Women, I have been waiting for her to get the parts she deserves. Finally that time has come. Later this year she’ll star in Scorsese’s Killers of the Flower Moon and at Sundance she’s the lead of Reservation Dogs writer/director Erica Tremblay’s debut feature. Here she plays Jax, a queer woman taking care of her niece and searching for her missing sister on the Seneca-Cayuga Reservation. I wish the film hadn’t felt the need to continuously raise its already high stakes and had trusted the central relationship between Jax and her niece. Gladstone is so good and the film works best when it focuses on her interior life and the family dynamics rather than the sometimes forced genre conventions. We need more films about queer Indigenous people, more films that address the continued impact of colonialism, more films that portray how Indigenous children are taken away from their homes and communities, more films that give voice to the epidemic of Murdered and Missing Indigenous Women. Despite its flaws, this is a worthwhile watch for those reasons and for the lead performance. Hopefully, even more Indigenous artists get the chance to tell these stories. And hopefully Lily Gladstone becomes a major star.

Cassandro (dir. Roger Ross Williams)

I know so little about lucha libre that if my friend Daniel hadn’t talked to me about it beforehand I wouldn’t have known this was based on a true story. So keep in mind that’s my context here. But I really, really liked this movie. It doesn’t feel the need to over-dramatize the story or fit into too many sports movie clichés. It trusts that the story itself and the emotional beats of life will be enough. And it trusts its central performances from three of the most attractive actors alive — Gael García Bernal as Saúl/Cassandro, Raúl Castillo as his secret lover, and Roberta Colindrez as his trainer. A tribute to the strength of faggotry, this story of embracing your full queer self is a crowd-pleasing triumph.

Animalia (dir. Sofia Alaoui)

Oumaïma Barid in Animalia

One of the best surprises of the festival, this Moroccan movie about a pregnant woman trying to reunite with her wealthy husband amidst an alien invasion is equally visceral and thematically dense. With a strong central performance from Oumaïma Barid and remarkable cinematography, the experience of watching the film is arresting enough that its elusiveness becomes an asset rather than a hindrance. The protagonist doesn’t know what’s going on through most of the film and neither do we as it continues to reinvent itself moment by moment. In the end, its many threads unite and it reveals itself to be a film that not only has sharp class critiques but even more complex questions about what it means to be human in a world that ignores so much humanity.

Theater Camp (dir. Molly Gordon, Nick Lieberman)

It’s impossible to watch a mockumentary about over-the-top theatre people and not think about Christopher Guest’s iconic Waiting for Guffman. But while that film leaves you in misery — for better or worse — this film leaves you with something like hope. It’s not that the humor is less biting and less satirical. (I promise if you’ve ever felt traumatized by a theatre teacher there will be plenty to recognize.) It’s just that the ultimate conclusion is something more akin to a tribute to the theatrical settings where youthful misfits have long found homes. With a perfect cast of adults and an equally charming cast of talented kids, Theater Camp is a nostalgic crowd-pleaser done right. It also has a magnificent musical finale

The Persian Version (dir. Maryam Keshavarz)

I’m a big fan of Circumstance and was really excited for this dramedy from Maryam Keshavarz based on her own life. I admire its ambitions and for the most part don’t mind its wild tonal shifts. It stays interesting and entertaining and feels like a loving tribute to a complicated mother-daughter relationship. The only thing about the film that really didn’t work for me was the central romance. Not because it’s with a cis man! It just feels either underdeveloped or overdeveloped. As is he feels like a one-note joke which is frustrating when there was a chance to get deeper into the main character’s shifting queerness — especially since that’s what initially caused the split with her mom. It’s fine to have a cis straight man dressed in drag. I’m just not sure that it was the most interesting choice for this particular story.

Going to Mars: The Nikki Giovanni Project (dir. Michèle Stephenson, Joe Brewster)

A critique I often see leveled at biography docs is they don’t dig deep enough. Maybe they provide a cursory introduction for people who aren’t familiar with the subject and their impact but they don’t reveal anything new. Sometimes this is true — sometimes, I think, we want to know too much about the people we admire. What makes this portrait of Nikki Giovanni so special is it makes her contradictions, her elusiveness, her boundaries, part of the film itself. It does provide an introduction to the poet — showing how she was and is radical, was and is important — but it also just spends time with the person herself. I love how much we learn and I love much we don’t.

Mamacruz (dir. Patricia Ortega)

While the poster of an older woman kissing a Jesus sculpture suggests an edgy work of blasphemy, Patricia Ortega is far more interested in creating a sweet and sentimental portrait of self-discovery. Kiti Mánver stars as Cruz, a woman with a disinterested husband, a daughter following her dancing dreams in Vienna, and a pre-teen granddaughter left in her care. Like her own mother, Cruz is a seamstress and she uses her talents to make garments for the church sculptures. After stumbling upon porn by accident, her sexual desire is unlocked. My favorite moments of the film are when she’s spending time with other women at her sex therapy group. They feel equally funny and meaningful. I do wish we got to learn a bit more about Cruz’s mother and what led Cruz to take such a different path from her. There’s some really great mother/daughter, intergenerational threads that almost work and I wish they landed just a bit better. But, as is, this is still a well-acted and heartwarming tale of sexual awakening.

The Disappearance of Shere Hite (dir. Nicole Newnham)

There was a lot I didn’t know about Little Richard, the Indigo Girls, and Nikki Giovanni that I learned from the docs at this festival. But I have a confession — I didn’t even know the name Shere Hite before this film. As someone interested in gender and sexuality and feminism — and James Bond — this seems wild to me! But the film is titled as it is for a reason. Shere Hite was cast off in the late 80s and early 90s along with feminism, exiled to Europe until her death. I loved learning about her in this dreamy portrait that matches her combination of intelligence, beauty, and mystery. It’s a fairly straight forward biography doc but told with a real artistry. Second wave feminism is often — fairly — dismissed for its conservatism and I loved learning about this bisexual pro-sex, pro-sex work icon who was right in the middle of it. The world never changed as much as Hite wanted it to, but it did change and it will keep changing no matter how many battles we lose.

Heroic (dir. David Zonana)

Santiago Sandoval Carbajal in Heroic

François Truffaut once said, “Every film about war ends up being pro-war.” Steven Spielberg once said, “Every war movie, good or bad, is an anti-war movie.” While both of these pithy statements are obviously reductive, film history shows Truffaut to be far more correct. There are exceptions — The Battle of Algiers being a very notable one for me personally — but for the most part even movies that aim to show the brutality of war and the military end up glorifying it. David Zonana’s remarkable film Heroic succeeds where those have failed. While it is not a war movie, it is a military movie, and it excels in ways that similar films from Full Metal Jacket to last year’s The Inspection did not. With beautiful, dreamy cinematography and a memorable performance from first time actor Santiago Sandoval Carbajal, Zonana creates a harsh portrait of masculinity and nationalism. The critique goes beyond the bootcamp conditions and the desperation of its lower class, Indigenous protagonist. The film is clear that the goal is turning boys into heartless killing machines for the good of the state — and the most powerful in the state. I have never seen an American military film with this level of political clarity and few with its artistic merit.

Bad Behaviour (dir. Alice Englert)

There are a lot of interesting ideas in this disjointed debut from actor Alice Englert — I just wish they came together with more cohesion and worked more scene by scene. Jennifer Connelly and Ben Whishaw are having a lot of fun but Englert — who I usually like — isn’t a good enough actor to sell her writing. (And the less said about Dasha Nekrasova the better.) Movies don’t need a conventional structure — shown many times in the work of Englert’s mom Jane Campion! — but this film felt unstructured without purpose. The dialogue is neither grounded nor stylized and none of the film’s multiple plots feel complete. That said, I love that Shelli loved this and reviewed it for the site! This is exactly why it’s so great to have two critics at the same festival. Go read her review for a different take!

Shortcomings (dir. Randall Park)

Randall Park’s directorial debut has a pointedly unlikable character. Ben is negative and pretentious and directionless and hypocritical. At times he’s even cruel. What works well about this anti-romcom is he’s all these things in a way that feels real. Justin H. Min is insufferable in a way that’s fun to watch — especially in the scenes with his best friend, a heartbreaking lesbian played by Sherry Cola. Where the film is less successful is in the writing of Ben’s longtime girlfriend, Miko, played by Ally Maki. It’s one thing when a minor character like the one played by Tavi Gevinson is comically, irredeemably annoying, but with Miko it ends up being a hindrance to Ben’s journey and the film as a whole. If she was a more realistic and grounded person it would emphasize Ben’s miserable nature. Instead his inexcusable actions end up feeling justified. Well, almost justified. I’m still on her side even if she’s poorly written.

Kokomo City (dir. D. Smith)

The first of two documentaries at Sundance focusing on Black trans sex workers and directed or co-directed by a Black trans woman, Kokomo City has the urgency of the present. The four main subjects may be sharing their stories from years past but D. Smith keeps an energy to the editing that creates a feeling of immediacy. It’s a smart choice given who the audience seems to primarily be — Black cis men who desire these women in secret and Black cis women who chose not to know. Smith and the featured women tell these stories with humor while making sure to emphasize the seriousness of their lives. They deserve to work without fear of arrest and murder. They deserve to not work and have other opportunities if they want. They deserve to be fucked for love, not money or for love and money, whichever they prefer. I hope we see more films from D. Smith soon because this is an assured and confident debut.

The Stroll (dir. Kristen Parker Lovell, Zackary Drucker)

Kristen Parker Lovell in The Stroll

Where Kokomo City aims to capture the present, The Stroll aims to reclaim the past. Director Kristen Parker Lovell begins the film reflecting on her involvement as a subject in a doc about trans sex workers made by a cis person in 2008. Now she’s here to tell her own story — and the story of so many trans sex workers who worked in the Meatpacking District. The film is at its best when Lovell is sharing her memories and reminiscing with old friends. But, for those who don’t know it, I’m glad the wider history is also laid out so well. It’s told in a way that’s all-encompassing while still feeling personal. I hope people who need it are reminded that we must decriminalize sex work, defund the police, close Rikers, abolish prisons, and hold hate in our hearts for Rudy Giuliani and Mike Bloomberg. This is a celebration of those who survived and a tribute to those who did not.

Full Reviews on Autostraddle

L’immensità (dir. Emanuele Crialese)

Mutt (dir. Vuk Lungulov-Klotz)

It’s Only Life After All (dir. Alexandria Bombach)

Slow (dir. Marija Kavtaradzė)

The Night Logan Woke Up (dir. Xavier Dolan)

Shelli Nicole

Mutt (dir. Vuk Lungulov-Klotz)

Leo Mehiel in Mutt

Have you ever read the book Alexander and The Terrible Horrible No Good Very Bad Day when you were a kid? Maybe Feña did ‘cos he is very much having a long-ass day, filled with a bunch of surprises that aren’t necessarily good. He’s very much just trying to live his life — even if it is messy — and multiple people are putting their shit onto him in like a 24-hour period, but he’s no saint either. My favorite thing about this film is the performance from Lio Mehiel, who portrays Feña beautifully. The movie feels like a chaotic day in the life of someone who is continuing to learn the layers of who he is and how others view him, both within and outside of his transness.

The Doom Generation (dir. Gregg Araki)

I’d never seen this movie, but as a lover of niche-ass 90s movies, it sat on my watchlist forever. It’s been there so long because it’s not available to stream and a physical copy is expensive as fuck — there are some that are cheap but I’ve heard stories of people getting ripped off. So when I heard it was playing at Sundance, A RESTORED VERSION ALONG WITH A Q&A WITH THE DIRECTOR, I was amped. This is a movie I feel can only have been made in the era it was. It’s the story of a surprise road trip gone awry and the ending kinda fucked me up in a not-so-good way but yeah — it is certainly a movie that was made.

Little Richard: I Am Everything (dir. Lisa Cortés)

Yes, he is a queer icon but gotdamn I didn’t know all this about Little Richard! Born in Macon, Georgia he is the actual godfather of Rock n’ Roll. I knew him as such, possibly because of the family I grew up in, but I was unaware of his past. He was a reverend, had money issues, battled with drugs, and took a very public stance on his own queerness which included openly putting himself back in the closet. I learned the story of a man who wanted his just due and made damn sure that he was going to get it.

Drift (dir. Anthony Chen)

Heavy and very traumatic kinda from start to finish. Jacqueline has fled Liberia and is now in Greece. She has no money and nowhere to go, all she has are her memories. The story is told half in the present where she is trying to survive on the island (where her British accent comes in hand), and half in the past where we see her life in London (where it seems she had a girlfriend?) and in Liberia with her family. Graphic visuals of Black death and assault were not the only thing to take me away from the film, it was very slow and a few of the flashes of her past felt misplaced in the story. It seems too focused on the trauma of the past, instead of telling the story of a woman who is trying to move forward.

The Pod Generation (dir. Sophie Barthes)

The message sent to many girls as we grow up is to do it and want it all — career, fun, friends, love, and children. When the time comes, we’re given such a short period of time to make the decision to participate in all or some of them, especially having children. But what if you didn’t have to pause your life to have them? In The Pod Generation, starring Emilia Clarke and Chiwetel Ejiofor, they live in an AI-filled future where the entire process of having a child — from conception to delivery — can happen inside a pod at a pastel-hued office. An odd and playful film (with a dash of dejection) that shows how easy it could become to outsource humanity.

My Animal (dir. Jacqueline Castel)

Okay so yes, this was a fun steamy little vibe. They are def doing the whole hormonal monsters that live inside teen girls thing in the exact way I was expecting them to, but just with a little more visual pizzazz. It’s nice to know that even lesbians who are mythical creatures also have dyke drama! Also, when oh when will Amandla Stenberg choose a role where their queer love interest is Black?

Aliens Abducted My Parents and Now I Feel Kinda Left Out (dir. Jake Van Wagoner)

This was the purest thing I saw at Sundance. It was at the top of my watchlist and I ended up seeing it at a screening that was full of kids and it basically doubled the experience. A film where an adorable kid thinks his parents were abducted by aliens and he has been on a search to find them for ten years. It’s a love story — romantic, self, and familial — and Will Forte is in it so, duh, you know it’s going to be good. Also, the writer is kind and silly and that matters a lot to me.

Young. Wild. Free. (dir. Thembi Banks)

Algee Smith and Sierra Capri in Young.Wild.Free.

This movie relied heavily on aesthetics and then way too much on a twist. It’s not the only one that did it this year at Sundance either. Brandon (the stupid talented Algee Smith) is the oldest of three siblings and it’s all starting to weigh a bit too heavily on him. One night, he’s out for a snack and gets robbed by Cassidy (Sierra Capri), who turns out to be the entirely too manic pixie girl of his dreams. It’s too easy to do a very light comparison to say Natural Born Killers or Bonnie and Clyde, but so much of it was far too predictable.

You Hurt My Feelings (dir. Nicole Holofcener)

Julia Louis-Dreyfus in You Hurt My Feelings

Julia Louis-Dreyfus is a white woman I care a lot about and she was the perfect fit for this film. I mean, it was literally written for her so that should be taken into consideration. A sweet little romcom about a writer who gets sad when she finds out her husband hasn’t enjoyed her writing in years. Little to no dykin’ present (I wasn’t expecting any ‘tho) and a fun little story about what it’s like to be in love with a writer. If you are, you may be entitled to compensation.

The Stroll (dirs. Kristen Parker Lovell & Zackary Drucker)

Being in charge of our own story is important. I didn’t need the reminder, but this film made me double down on the feeling. A documentary on The Meatpacking District in NYC told through the stories of the trans women of color who were a vital part of its history. I was actually at a panel with Kristen (Zachary was there too!) and she said that in so many documentaries about Black trans women, they always leave out the joy. So she did it herself, she made the documentary she wanted to see and showed us history, personal stories, reality, and so much fucking joy. Her subjects also expressed that in most docs they leave out the good parts, the happiness, and the positivity. So it was beautiful to watch them tell stories in a space where they felt like the full picture was going to be shown this time. This one was dope, and I had the added pleasure of watching while having in my heart exactly what the director wanted to exude and I can absolutely say that she nailed it. A beautiful portrait of Black and brown trans sisterhood and history.

Theater Camp (dirs. Molly Gordon & Nick Lieberman)

Molly Gordon and Ben Platt in Theatre Camp

Every generation deserves its own Best In Show or Waiting for Guffman mockumentary so that years later, they can make a reference at a party as a mating call to find their people. This movie was a delight Ben Platt, Molly Gordon, and Noah Galvin wore multiple hats of writing, starring, or directing a movie about a theatre camp that is on its last leg. The improv was hilarious, the script was already great, and then you add in Amy Sedaris, Ayo Edebiri, and Patti Harrison and you’ve got gold. I watched this in a theatre full of folks who were obviously former theatre kids and it actually added to the experience instead of making me terrified.

Scrapper (dir. Charlotte Regan)

This was good, like really really good. Was really excited to see this one too and it did not let me down. Georgie (Lola Campbell), a 12-year-old girl loses her mother and has been living on her own ever since. No one knows but her best friend Ali (Alin Uzun) and he’s been helping her keep her secrets. She’s been doing just fine taking care of herself, she keeps the flat clean, pays the bills, and even has her grieving down to a schedule but then she gets a surprise visitor. Jason (Harris Dickinson) hops the fence and says that he’s her dad. She’s never met him and so, of course, she doesn’t want him or his help. This story could have gone really sad but it didn’t. It made space for Georgie to keep her strength and resilience (a trait that no child should have to have) while allowing her to find softness in the relationship with her father as he tries to make amends. A sweet story with just the right amount of drama, and a great debut performance from a new actress!

Full Reviews on Autostraddle

Bad Behaviour (dir. Alice Englert)

Eileen (dir. William Oldroyd)

Rye Lane (dir. Raine Allen-Miller)

Shortcomings (dir. Randall Park)

The Persian Version (dir. Maryam Keshavarz)

Sundance 2023: “Shortcomings” Tries To Explore Desirability Politics But Falls Short

This review of Shortcomings contains mild spoilers.

Autostraddle is back at Sundance. Drew Burnett Gregory and Shelli Nicole are coming to you daily for the next week with LGBTQ+ movie reviews from one of the most prestigious film festivals in the world. Follow Drew and Shelli on Twitter for more!

Ben (Justin H. Min, After Yang) is a film snob, a struggling filmmaker, and an asshole. He is the manager of a local cinema — and has an obsession with blonde white women. He checks them out when he’s out with his girlfriend, only watches porn that features them, and hires them at his job even if they are unqualified. He has a whole-ass girlfriend, Miko (Ally Maki, Toy Story 4), who he isn’t really supportive of and doesn’t seem to like very much. She’s Asian, politically driven, and high-key tired of his shit. After a big fight where she calls him out and asks him to finally admit that he doesn’t really want her, she heads to NYC for a gig. He uses the time to explore his desire for white women (even though they aren’t broken up) and tries to figure out why he wants what he wants.

I promise you this isn’t my read on the film lol, it’s literally in the description notes of this Randall Park directorial debut. Ben has a best friend, Alice (Sherry Cola, Good Trouble), who is a dyke that is almost as insufferable as he is, two peas in a pod and all that. She’s in the closet to her family, not big on monogamy or honesty, and leaves broken hearts all around town.

These characters sound horrible, but they are meant to be; as you watch, you might despise them more and cringe at their decisions. When it came to Alice I actually dug that she wasn’t the greatest person, but the character (how she was written and her arc) felt lazy. The marketing made it seem like her story of using him as a beard was going to be central to the plot. In reality, it was mentioned but not really explored, BUT there is continuous dykin’ with the character so THERE IS THAT! She also wasn’t used as someone’s moral compass so THERE IS ALSO THAT!

Internalized racism is tough and it sucks. The amount of unlearning you have to do is wild, but you have to want to do it. This movie is written in a way where it’s like they don’t want us to think internalized racism is the issue Ben is facing, he just likes what he likes and it’s everyone else that’s making it a big deal. If that’s the case, fine — but make THAT movie. The movie where he isn’t gaslighting his girlfriend when she questions him on his desire, but instead tells her she’s right and they break up. The movie where he isn’t feigning anger when people stare at him when he’s holding hands with a white woman, but instead being happy when they stare because they think he has “leveled up” (his words not mine). Basically what I’m saying is, stand on your shit.

This movie feels too scared to say what it really wants to say. If they made a movie where the vibes were “I only desire white women and it has nothing to do with internalized racism and IDGAF what you think”, folks would be like, “Wow that’s weird but go off I guess.” I would also be like, “That’s weird” — but I’d respect it a whole lot more, ‘cos in its current state it’s tiptoeing around desire, fetishism, hypocrisy, and disposability, and it’s unnecessarily confusing.

I would like to know if I were going to see a movie where someone has an obsession with white women (again, this is not my take on what happens in the film! It is LITERALLY in the film description that gets sent out), is mean to his marginalized girlfriend, and then gets it chalked up to growing pains but… that’s just me.

It’s a new version of an old subject that has been talked about in certain communities forever. It’s literally a tale that’s old as time — but the acting is killer — so I guess it’s worth a watch.

Sundance 2023: “Joyland” and “Slow” Center Their Cis and Allosexual Characters With Surprising Success

Autostraddle is back at Sundance. Drew Burnett Gregory and Shelli Nicole are coming to you daily for the next week with LGBTQ+ movie reviews from one of the most prestigious film festivals in the world. Follow Drew and Shelli on Twitter for more!

Two years ago a movie called CODA won Sundance. It went on to win Best Picture at the Oscars. Its title refers to someone like its protagonist, a child of deaf adults. It’s a movie about a hearing girl who wants to sing and it was celebrated as a landmark in deaf representation.

Hollywood and film industries around the world have long explored people and identities they view as “other” through the “normal” people who interact with them. You can see it in a Kenyan-based movie starring Meryl Streep and Robert Redford (another Best Picture winner), you can see it in shows like Orange is the New Black that use an expected protagonist as a way in to tell more diverse stories.

When it comes to LGBTQIA+ film and television, we have often been the side characters of our own stories. We’ve seen this occur again and again from classic tropes like the gay best friend to less talked about but still pervasive tropes like the poorly written trans women teaching a cis man about life.

This year at Sundance there are two romances that seem to continue in this tradition — one about a cis man and a trans woman and one about an allosexual woman and an asexual man. The former is about the cis man, the latter is about the allosexual woman. And yet, despite their choice in protagonists, they’re two of the most specific, well-crafted films at the festival.

When I first saw Joyland last year at TIFF, I went in filled with the suspicion I always have watching a trans film made by a cis director. What stereotypes would I be subjected to? What trauma would I be forced to witness? Or, worst of all, how flat and underwritten would this trans woman be?

Thankfully, my worries were assuaged — in part, because this is not a trans film.

Saim Sadiq’s debut feature is about a cis man named Haider (Ali Junejo) who gets a job as a backup dancer at a burlesque theatre. He keeps this a secret from his traditional patriarch of a father and from his progressive wife Mumtaz (Rasti Farooq). His secrets increase when he falls for the lead dancer, a trans woman named Biba (Alina Khan).

This is not Biba’s film — it’s Haider’s and his family’s. But unlike other films that use a trans character in this way, there’s a feeling that Biba could be the lead of her own film. Even if we only get glimpses, a peak into her life through Haider, she’s a full human being. Haider may be using her as a symbol, an inspiration for his own desire for freedom, but the film is clear that she is more than that in the world.

Some of this is due to Alina Khan’s performance. Since it became more common for trans actors to be cast as trans characters, many performers have been the reason their characters resemble a person beyond the cis imagination. Biba is the star of her own show — literally — and when Khan is on-screen, she’s the star of this film. She’s alluring when seen as an object and grounded in the moments we get to see more.

And we do see more. This is not a film where the actor is the only positive aspect of the character. There’s a distance between the film’s perspective and the character, but it’s a respectful distance. It acknowledges Biba’s womanhood and her humanity beyond Haider’s exploration.

Joyland aims to deconstruct a multitude of confining gender norms in modern Pakistan. Biba is just one part of that exploration. This is a traumatic story, but Biba is not the recipient of that trauma. Sadiq, unlike so many cis filmmakers before him, is wise to let Biba live her life off-screen.

Marija Kavtaradze’s Slow takes a similar approach to its exploration of sexuality and gender. But while Biba was just one part of Joyland’s tableaux, this film almost has co-leads.

Elena (Greta Grinevičiūtė) is a professional dancer whose approach to dating has been exclusively one-night stands and situationships. She meets sign language interpreter Dovydas (Kęstutis Cicėnas) and there’s an immediate spark. Maybe this is the guy she’s been waiting for, maybe this is someone she could be serious with. Then Dovydas tells her that he’s asexual.

I’m not sure what the experience of watching this film will be like for someone who is ace. While much of the film is focused on the central relationship, the majority of the scenes where they’re not together are with Elena. We see her other relationships, we see her friendships, we see her dancing. Our moments alone with Dovydas are brief.

Elena is not a model of an allosexual partner to an asexual person. Her initial reaction is awkward and throughout their relationship she doesn’t seem to really accept Dovydas’ needs — or be able to communicate her own.

But Elena and Dovydas are in love. They have a chemistry that rivals the best on-screen romances. Spending time in that love, with these people, is a gift. They do communicate sometimes, they try. Both actors are exceptional and even better together. It results in a relationship that feels real. Painfully real.

Dovydas is not perfect. He has his own struggles in communicating his feelings. But even though Elena is the protagonist, and even though she doesn’t always respect his needs, the filmmaker does. When the two characters are on-screen together, the camera gives them equal weight. When Elena disappoints Dovydas, we feel that disappointment as our own. We feel a desire for her to change — not him.

There is an immense lack of stories about asexual people. There should be, and will be, more stories that have asexual protagonists, where the plot is not concerned with an allosexual person being taught asexuality 101. This is not that story. But it is a beautiful, romantic film about Elena and Dovydas, two people who love each other, two people who try.

Even though I myself am a hearing person, the success of CODA left me frustrated. Forty plus years after CODA co-star Marlee Matlin won an Oscar and twenty plus years after an independent masterpiece like Compensation, it seemed absurd to be told that CODA was an important stepping stone for deaf stories. There are deaf writers and directors who have their own stories to tell, who should be getting this funding, this praise. But the mainstream only likes marginalization on their own terms.

Joyland and Slow should have filled me with a similar frustration. They did not. Maybe it’s because they’re grounded art films from Pakistan and Lithuania rather than a mid-budget American crowd-pleaser. But I think it’s deeper than that.

The ignorance that Haider and Elena have is painful for Biba and Dovydas. They are our protagonists, but they are not our heroes. These films don’t suggest an air of confidence — an attitude that they are representing trans and asexual lives. They just do it. They create real characters and let them live in the world.

Every story can be told, if it’s told right. I want media that centers people that have long been ignored on-screen, but not every artist should tell those stories. There are other stories to tell with us that are not about us.

Joyland and Slow show the value of those other stories. They show how to do them right.

Sundance 2023: “Rye Lane” Is a Flawless Story About a Blossoming Black Love

This review of Rye Lane contains mild spoilers.

Autostraddle is back at Sundance. Drew Burnett Gregory and Shelli Nicole are coming to you daily for the next week with LGBTQ+ movie reviews from one of the most prestigious film festivals in the world. Follow Drew and Shelli on Twitter for more!

I was very nervous to write this review. I had/have so much to say about it, am so proud and excited that a film like this exists, and loved it so much — but I only have a limited amount of words to put all that emotion into. I also wanted to make sure that I said everything just right so that as you read this you understood my complete and utter obsession with this film.

I walked into Rye Lane as my last screening on the evening of a very long day. Excitement can be tiring, and with all the excitement I’ve been feeling during Sundance, I am fucking exhausted. Rye Lane woke me up and gave me the push I needed to get me through the rest of the night AND the festival.

Yas (Vivian Oparah, Teen Spirit) and Dom (David Jonsson, Industry) are strangers, both with hearts at different degrees of broken. One early afternoon they meet at an art show where they are supporting different folks in one couple. As they leave the art show — fatefully heading in the same direction — they chat while walking down South London’s Rye Lane. Yas finds out that Dom is on his way to meet up with his ex and that sets into motion what will turn out to be one hell of a day for them both.

Writers Nathan Byron and Tom Melia, and director Raine Allen-Miller came together to knock this film out the fucking park. The story is smooth, leaves no gaps, and doesn’t skip a beat. The camera work is stunning and adds to the story to keep you invested in where everything is going. Especially in the tight shots when Dom and Yas are facing each other, you can see the want in their smiles — not to be naughty — but to just keep going, to keep moving, to keep learning each other, and do what it takes to not let whatever this day is turning out to be, end.

My heart rate went up and my cheeks were sore with the passing of each scene. I love love and holy fuck did I love this film. Every scene, every moment, every minute of this film is so well done, wonderfully written, and beautifully shot, that I almost begged to sit in the theatre and watch it again from the top. In fact, I also had 5 hour digital access to the film so the next day — I watched it twice.

We talk so much about representation and diversity in films, we have panels and write articles about what can be done, but the pace to achieve it all seems so slow-moving. Rye Lane is the first film in a while that made me feel like someone is actually listening. They managed to show the beginnings of Black love thru a comedic lens that’s not slapstick but still funny, not traumatic but still honest, and then the cherry on top was that both leads (and the majority of the cast) were VISIBLY BLACK.

I don’t care that after all these years, I still want to see myself in films. We have to start admitting that some of what connects us to the pop culture we love, is that perhaps unknowingly, we’re looking for ourselves. The song you love that inspires you so much is ‘cos it tells a story you want to make your own, that piece of art that moves you so is ‘cos its evoked some feeling in you that you’ve been searching for. Yes — we can like things just to like them but if you explore just a bit more, maybe there is something else there.

I saw myself in Yas, in the physical way yes, but also so far outside that. She compliments strangers, loves fashion, and is an introverted extrovert who has a softness that only a select few get to see. She’s corny and a bit nosy, she’s secure but scared, and she willfully helps and encourages others but is still getting a grip on doing just that for herself. Like, who told these writers all my business?!

This film is a tad queer (I WON’T TELL YOU WHERE ‘COS IT’S A SURPRISE), and even tho it’s not deeply queer it’s still very important to me. I don’t need queerness in every film to love it or to see myself — there is so much more to me than being a dyke — but I do need more films that reflect parts of who I am. Rye Lane did that and reminded me that I’m not asking for too much.

This is 100% the best film to come out of Sundance for me, and I can say that full well knowing that I’m still here for a few more days with 20 or so more films to watch.

The soundtrack (Stormzy is on it!), the colors (deep oranges, strong greens, and lusty browns!), the writing (witty and romantic!), the costume design (expressive and fly), and the fact that it mostly takes place all in one day (my FAV sub-genre of films) all made this a phenomenal film going experience for me.

A perfect film with a perfect pair of strangers. I can’t wait until it’s out in theatres ‘cos all I wanna do is take another stroll down Rye Lane.

Sundance 2023: “The Persian Version” Tells a Brilliant Queer Story Through Art & Family Secrets

This review of The Persian Version contains mild spoilers.

Autostraddle is back at Sundance. Drew Burnett Gregory and Shelli Nicole are coming to you daily for the next week with LGBTQ+ movie reviews from one of the most prestigious film festivals in the world. Follow Drew and Shelli on Twitter for more!

Hey, remember yesterday when I was like “Our moms are real people too, and maybe they have shit going on that we don’t know about that could be a key to understanding our relationship with them!”? WELL GUESS WHAT?! I saw Maryam Kesharvarz’s The Persian Version and it screamed at me that EYE WAZ CORRECT!

This film marks the Iranian-American director’s queer return to Sundance! She was there in 2011 with Circumstance, another queer film that low-key has some character similarities to her latest film.

The Persian Version is a time jump film, we hop back and forth from the 50s to the early 2000s with Leila (Layla Mohammadi, My Love) a QUEER WRITER (yes that deserved all caps) and only daughter of Ali (Bijan Daneshmand, House of The Dragon) and Shirin (Niousha Noor, Kaleidoscope). One year at Thanksgiving — also the anniversary of her grandfather’s death — her mother admits that she is not vibin’ with the queer shit, calls Leila selfish, and tells her (and her girlfriend that she bought with her) to leave. After that, their relationship hits a quick and sharp decline; it already was strained, but now it’s nearing non-existent.

So you might be reading this and be like “Ugh, another movie where a queer person gets kicked out the family for being queer” and essentially you are correct. But what makes this one different to me, is that the queer character isn’t taking to heart that something is wrong with them. Oftentimes when this happens to characters in film, they go so far inward. They put it all on themselves to figure out “What is wrong with me?” instead of asking others “What is wrong with you?”

Leila, to me, hadn’t done anything but be herself in a family that was asking her not to be since she was younger, and not just in terms of sexuality. She played basketball, wore mismatched outfits that she loved, and wanted to write, while her family — namely her mother — wanted her to not be “so much.” She didn’t discourage her but she didn’t particularly encourage her either. So in her adulthood, when her father’s health is in decline, she inserts herself back into the life of her family and in doing so learns family secrets from her mamajoon (Bella Warda, Radio Dreams).

These secrets allow her to see and understand her mother more — but doesn’t excuse her actions. I loved that, because even though someone has had pain in their past, it doesn’t give them a free pass to mistreat you in the future, even if they are family. It can help you understand where their actions are coming from and allows them to extend grace, and that’s all you can ask for.

Kesharvarz wanted to tell an immigrant story, and the film is based on her own life. It’s about an Iranian-American family, and it’s one of three films (including Shayda and Joonam) at Sundance this year by an Iranian woman. All three allow the stories of Iranian women to be told and for their voices to be heard, while countless others are fighting to not be silenced and being jailed, beaten, and murdered while doing so.

I often talk about how film can be fun and silly, but my favorite part about it is connection. Kesharvarz uses family secrets, pop culture, and lived experiences to connect us to a full and sweet story of mothers, daughters, and womanhood. There are twists and surprises, but what I took away most is the importance of understanding. We may never know every detail of someone’s past, but as you learn it a bit of understanding can go a long way.