Directed by: Sam Feder

Every now and then, you see something that changes your entire way of viewing the world. As a white, lesbian-identifying, non-binary person, how I do have a critical relationship with the trans experience? I know what it’s like to be mistaken for a man. I know what being an out queer person for 30 years feels like, but I don’t know what it feels like to be a pre- or post-op trans man or woman, and I will never know. 

I do know that I want to understand, and I want to listen, and I want to amplify voices saying important things about this, in any small way I can. But it’s not my voice that needs to be heard, it’s theirs. If by writing this I can get you to immediately put down whatever you’re doing and listen to these voices, then that’s what I will do.

I’m hoping that from there you’ll do exactly what I’m trying to do, which is deliberately search of more trans voices, bringing appropriate critique to the ones who try to put shame on the trans experience, and bringing more positive trans experiences into my own cultural and personal life.

I treasure my trans friends, and I have been horrified in the past at what I saw in media depictions of trans people. This was especially true once I became critically aware, and I truly understood the impact that Hollywood representation makes in people’s lives. 

Over the years we see these horrid media representations as individual events. We’re disgusted, yes, but we can just switch it off and move on. Trans people feel the accumulation of it, much like as a lesbian I felt the accumulation of negative lesbian and bisexual characters over the years. Only in documentaries like Disclosure where you see negative representations one after another in detail do you comprehend the sheer horror of it all. 

Much like in The Celluloid Closet, which played a role in my early understanding of gay and lesbian history on film, Disclosure explains what cumulative damage this negative representation inflicts on the lives of trans people, and just as importantly, how it shapes society’s reactions to trans people.

Disclosure is transformative. I knew all of the movies and shows they talked about, but I was seeing it all again in a different light, through different eyes. That’s the purpose behind documentary filmmaking generally, but this… was powerful. Again, I don’t believe that after watching a 2-hour film that I now know what being trans feels like, that’s not what this is. 

Mid-way through this documentary, where the subjects talk about the litany of Hollywood films where the standard reaction to the trans reveal is to vomit, I cried. I openly wept, not just at the insanity of it, but the knowledge of how many of these films were lauded, how many Oscar nominations handed out, how many times we watched things like it and didn’t give it the critical eye and backhand it deserved.

Bravo to the courageous trans men and women who spoke their truth to this invasive camera, who revisited this trauma, who had the sheer decency to step forward, take off a piece of the armor that protects them, and say we are here to put an end to this.

There’s nothing about this documentary I don’t love. I love the way the camera lingers on their reactions and takes no prisoners. I love the way the subjects are fierce in their criticism, while working through their own complex reactions to getting any kind of media representation at all. Again, much like gays and lesbians through the 80’s and 90’s, they cling to each and every moment of positivity they can get from what is on the screen, even if the overall message turns out to be toxic.

For instance, I watch the The L Word (original series) now, and I see how badly Max (Daniela Sea) was treated. At the time, Max was the only trans character as a regular on a mainstream TV show anywhere, so it’s amazing he was there at all! But still…it hurts. Even Queer as Folk, which I loved for it’s groundbreaking treatment of gay men, was generally not kind to the trans community. 

It’s acknowledged here that the negative response has included this idea that transgender women are attempting to appropriate the spaces and experiences of women, and that this is harmful to “real” women struggling with the abuse and trauma they’ve gotten from men.

I reject this. Not the trauma women face which is so obviously real, but that trans women in women’s spaces somehow harms women. This is not like white people putting on blackface or appropriating the cultures of people of colour. Trans women ARE women, they don’t want to displace or harm women, they are trying to find places for their true selves. Plus they live under the same ridiculous standards of beauty and suffer the patriarchy as all women do, with the added bonus of trans otherness.

So many thoughts, so many feelings. So many things that were said that are so simple and complex at the same time that it blew my damn mind. So many hours of unpacking this that I’ve had to watch it again and again to take it all in.

I’m back to my original statement. This film changed my life and I don’t want to go back to the way I was before. Disclosure is vital viewing, not just for queer people, but for the population at large.

What is this? Is it a road movie? A farce? A fever dream where Miley Cyrus makes a cameo appearance ?(I’ve had those). Is it noir? Is it a comic book? Did Ethan Coen and Tricia Cooke wake up one day and just go “the world needs more lesbian road trip movies” and then dropped acid while writing the screenplay?

I don’t know, but whatever It was, I’m here for it.

It’s bawdy, and brilliant and I loved it and I don’t care who knows it. It’s got the tone that Itty Bitty Titty Committee should have had if way back then the writers and producers had had the guts to do it. Drive-away Dolls is quite simply a madcap, genre-bending romp that destroys the road movie trope by gleefully peeling out of its own lane and swerving into chaos.

But let’s address the elephant in the room – there’s some bad reviews out there. From what I can tell, Drive-away Dolls copped flack mostly for being joyfully queer. All those bros who would have followed the Coen Brothers to the death if they’d just stayed in their nice, friendly, straight space finally found that there is indeed a bridge too far. Well, screw them is all. I’m incredibly sad I did not see this film at a festival with a room full of drunk lesbians. Man, that would have been a kick.

The film opens with a premise that, in less talented hands, might seem almost too pedestrian. Due to various bad decisions, two best friends, Jamie and Marian, decide to take a spontaneous cross-country road trip, only to find themselves possessing a briefcase that a cavalcade of eccentric criminals want for hilarious reasons.

What distinguishes "Drive-away Dolls" is not just its willingness to embrace the absurd, but the caliber of its cast and THEIR commitment to the absurdity. Jamie and Marian (Geraldine Viswanathan and Margaret Qualley) have a comic timing so precise it borders on telepathic. Also, I’ve never seen Beanie Feldstein funnier than she is here as Jamie’s psycho cop ex-girlfriend who only has a few scenes but they’re all pivotal and completely over the top.

As exciting a talent as Qualley is – just as delightfully watchable as her amazing mother Andie McDowell – the deadpan role is the harder to play, and Viswanathan serves as both the “straight” woman and a secret agent of chaos. With a single arched brow or sardonic line reading, she can tilt an entire scene sideways, and she brings an emotional core to the film that counterbalances Qualley’s pure eccentricity.

Also - the name of Pedro Pascal’s little more than a cameo character is “penis collector”. Just…amazing. A delicious ten minutes of the film centers on them encountering a women’s soccer team with a butch captain. This film never met a lesbian cliche it didn’t love, but there’s so much love for queerness here, it actually works.

The film’s pacing is brisk but never rushed, giving every gag room to breathe and every set piece a chance to escalate to its full, chaotic potential. For a lesbian film that’s also the world’s longest dick joke, they did actually manage to keep the gutter humor to a minimum, introducing slapstick where needed and subverting the expected, such as having a couple of bickering, straight evil henchmen (“goon 1” and “goon 2” in the credits - outstanding) who are as queer and married as any married couple could possibly be.

Jamie and Marian’s journey, for all its weird, sexy detours, is ultimately one of self-discovery and love. Jamie wants to rescue Marian from her self-imposed emotional and physical celibacy, and Marian just wants Jamie to show her some respect, and to maybe eat less pussy. That they eventually meet in the middle to the satisfaction of all with a delicious, unapologetically gay happy ending. No lesbians dying here, either existentially or in bed. Huzzah!

Like any good MacGuffin, what’s in the briefcase that everyone is chasing turns out to be largely irrelevant, though we do find out what it is. Road movies are never about the destination anyway. The whole point of this genre is the journey, and that’s one aspect of the road movie trope this writer and director embraced with gusto.

Directed: Tig Notaro and Stephanie Allynne
Written: Lauren Pomerantz

Apparently, the answer to “did we need another coming out film?” was yes, at least to first time directors Tig Notaro and Stephanie Allynne. Unfortunately, it felt seriously dated the second it landed on the streamer.

This works better as an exploration of female friendship rather than the promised quirky coming out adventure of queerness in your thirties that is in all the promos. This is an obvious marketing fail.

Jane (Sonoya Mizuno) and Lucy (Dakota Johnson) are in their early thirties and are longtime best friends (which every woman knows is the most damn well complex relationship there is). Jane is a career woman on the rise, while Lucy has sublimated her artistic talents in a dead-end job. They are each other’s opposites, but their knowledge of and love for each other is (meant to be!) profound.

When Lucy admits she is gay, it throws Jane for a loop. How could she not have known this fundamental thing about her best friend? She overcompensates by becoming the greatest, most queer-friendly advocate ever, going so far as to kiss a stranger in a gay bar (a cringey, wasted cameo from ER Fightmaster) which actually just highlights how self-centered she is. The strain of Lucy’s indecisiveness pushes their friendship to its limits.

How did they make Dakota Fanning profoundly boring? That’s a feat in itself. Lucy lives a quiet life where she orders the same food at the same diner every day, and doesn’t have the courage to pursue any of her passions. Being a lesbian is the first interesting thing she’s ever done. Lucy attempts first to date women, and then to pursue a thing with one of the massage therapists in her practice who is experimenting with being bisexual.

You’re fully permitted to scream “no! that’s the worst idea ever!” pantomime-like at the screen at this point. It is a bad idea, and not sexy at all. Dakota Johnson portrays Lucy’s discomfort by being physically clumsy, but the scenes are so overdone.

Lucy’s art is a badly disguised metaphor for sexuality and self-knowledge. As she gets to know herself, mostly off the back of her sexual awakening, her art blooms again. She quits her job (yet can still afford her fabulous, quirky little apartment! I really really hate that trope) and dives into art, finding self-expression and peace for the first time in her adult life.

Which might have been fine - but then we get the absolute stupidest storyline of the film (and there’s competition) involving Jane trying to move on from her best friend after they argue at a retreat where she’s encouraged to scream by a therapist thoroughly overplayed by Tig Notaro.

If all that sounds fairly trite, you’re not wrong. The real love story here is between the quirky best friends but if that’s the case you need to really lean into that. The banter between them is real but not funny enough. Jane’s psychology is shallow, and even their conflict is dumb. They split over basic traits they would have known perfectly well about each other if their friendship was really as strong as we’re led to believe.

If you are reading this and think you’ve seen it all before, you really have. If you’re a hardcore fan of Notaro, Johnson, or Mizuno, (Hello! Me! Dakota!) you might watch this just to say you’ve seen that odd queer film, but this is a classic case of a vanity project gone wrong.

In their earnestness to represent, they forgot that the number one thing that’s needed is a story that feels authentic to your queer audience, not playing to the (straight) cheap seats. I’ve read a lot of straight reviewers who loved this. They’re wrong.

Written: Elliot Stern
Directed: René Bonnière

 La Femme Nikita was the original TV adaptation of the 1990 Luc Besson film of the same name, masterminded by Joel Surnow (creator of 24). LFN really started the whole female spy formula that was later perfected for Alias.

Along with shows like Roswell (remember the tabasco sauce campaign?) LFN was in the original tranche of shows that had such a rabid online fanbase that when cancelled after the fourth season with no wrap up they revolted. There was such enormous fan pressure, the producers funded an additional 8-episodes, and it was the perfect ending.

From the moment this blonde glamazon debuted, it seemed inevitable that Nikita would get a mission where she had to seduce another woman. The woman in question was perennial scifi/fantasy guest star Gina Torres. Torres is a versatile actor with an indefinable sensuality and a resume of wonderful work in Firefly, Alias, Xena, and Suits to name just a few.

Nikita is one of those tortured TV women with a difficult destiny. Like Buffy, she was made to suffer and suffer some more. Like Buffy, as a rule there is generally comic relief enjoyed by the characters to allow them and the audience a bit of a breather, but not so with LFN. This was week after week of unrelenting darkness, treachery, despair and death.

Nikita clings desperately to her own sense of morality and has no time for fun. She's dangerous, sexy, achingly vulnerable, and every time she lets her guard down even the people who love her make her pay for it.

The only reason Nikita isn't "cancelled" (killed) by her superiors is because everyone recognises her value to them as a survivor. She be impulsive and impertinent, but she gets the job done. Everyone assumes that if they put her in the field often enough one day her luck will run out and the Nikita problem will take care of itself. It never does.

I don't think "Open Heart" is the only indication that Nikita swings both ways, but it’s the most explicit.Nikita infiltrates a women's prison to stage a break with a Red Cell (bad guys) operative named Jenna. A bomb has been implanted into a Red Cell assassin and Jenna is the only one who knows the bomber's identity. Nikita must gain Jenna's trust, all the while intending to betray her.

When Nikita saves Jenna's life in prison a friendship is formed and an attraction grows. The two women kiss briefly, and it’s obvious that whatever darker motives either have, the kiss affects them more deeply than either could have expected.

They make their escape, and Jenna is immediately captured and interrogated, but nobody can make Jenna crack. They send in Nikita to try and distract her, and it seems to work. Jenna asks Nikita if she felt anything for her, and Nikita admits her desire.

The two women play with each other's emotions, but they play with ours as well. It's always intense on LFN when Nikita develops real feelings for someone. In her cocoon-like existence Nikita's emotions are rarely let out to play, and here the experiment has curious results. For the first time in ages she seems shocked by something that she's feeling, that she's experiencing something new.

But the point of LFN is that Nikita is a closed book, to everyone, even us. The whole thing could have been a sham. Jenna  might have been in love with Nikita, she might have been acting. Who really took advantage of who? It’s a real mind-bender and each time I see it I change my mind.

Either way Nikita is a sex bomb, and it was lovely to see her mark of the week be a woman to allow a different side of her character to shine through. It unleashed a thousand fanfics, so job well done really.

Directed by: Tali Shalom Ezer
Written by: Joe Barton

You know when you really really wanna love something but you can’t? That describes almost every Elliot Page film I’ve seen except Juno and Whip It. He has an alarming habit of being the best thing in less worthy projects, which says a lot about the industry and how it’s difficult to fit someone so original into the usual boxes. Elliot Page has regularly given masterclasses in acting throughout his career, and My Days of Mercy was no exception.

This is also a truly interesting premise, though it suffers from egregiously preachy tendencies. Lucy Moro (Elliot Page) and her young brother and older sister are involved with the anti-death penalty movement, and they travel in an RV all over the country to attend protests. Mercy (Kate Mara) is a regular protestor on the other side of the issue.

The premise is relatively simple, though the script does its darndest to make it complicated. Lucy and Mercy meet at a protest, and their eyes lock in instant curiosity, despite being on opposing sides. They begin at first a sexually charged friendship and communicate in person and on skype. This blossoms into a relationship as they keep meeting, accidentally and intentionally, at various protests.

Mercy has become involved in the pro movement because of a man who killed her cop father’s ex-partner. Lucy and her siblings are working their way through the court system to prevent their father from being executed for killing their mother. The lovers obviously lock horns on the issue that divides them, but in all other ways they’re oddly compatible, and the chemistry between them is sizzling.

It is in fact when Page and Mara are given free rein to play with that chemistry that the film sings. Mercy is an aggressor with more outward confidence in herself and what she wants, but she’s concealing a devasting secret. Lucy is shy and bumbling but so achingly honest. Page has a way of conveying deep feelings of angst and betrayal in a way that feels so sickeningly real it hits you in the gut. They never quite fit, in this odd but glorious way.

A sub-plot where Lucy’s sister is sleeping with their father’s defense lawyer is just too much plot for this short film to handle, and the machinations of the appeals for their father are cold and mechanical—especially since we are also exploring whether he is guilty or not. The film needed to be one thing or the other, and trying to cram so much in did none of the storylines any favours.

This is an issue film at the end of the day. It’s trying to make a point about capital punishment, but it does so in an extraordinarily unsubtle way, right down to calling one of the characters Mercy and making a reference in the film itself. It hits all the expected tropes of the court appeals process and family trauma.

This side of the film is so paint-by-numbers it makes us complicit in constantly wanting the focus to move back to the relationship, which ironically is exactly how Lucy feels. Mercy is a way out for her, an escape from this dismal existence, which makes it all the more painful when Mercy’s double life comes to light.

The film also doesn’t find a way to fully convey with the intended emotional impact what it must feel like to stand in a chamber and watch someone put to death, no matter which side of the issue you’re on. This should have been a watershed moment, but is undermined with character bickering and conventional filmmaking choices that fail to hit the right beats.

To conclude the film, somehow Lucy must find a way to go on and discover who she is on her own without the crutch of her sister, the court case, the protest movement, or even Mercy to sustain her. Again, Page’s brilliance pulls us through, and we can’t help but ache for Lucy and the journey we have known from the beginning she must undertake.

It’s maddeningly inconsistent, and well-meaning but contrived. The performances are consistently strong across the board but the filmmaking isn’t. If the film hadn’t been backed by so much talent and firepower woudl I have expected, or been happy with less? I don’t know. I do wish the director and writer had made so many different choices, but it’s a fundamentally solid watch if only just to see two actors like Page and Mara really connect the way they do.

Note: Yep, this is tricky. Elliot Page the actor is he/him, but the character he’s playing here was she/her. That’s what I’m sticking to.

Directed by: Emma Seligman
Written by: Emma Seligman and Rachel Sennott

Did I like this movie at all? No. However, I’m self-aware enough to recognize that I am not the target demographic. If you’re young, or just love cringe or “loser” comedy, then this rollicking, high-spirited, somewhat insane ride will be just your thing. Think esbian version of all those hetero comedies about losing your virginity to the person of your dreams, from Porky’s, through American Pie, and everything in between.

That being said, if you make a like for like comparison with Bottoms and something like Booksmart, or even Crush, there’s night and day between them in terms of writing and establishing emotional connection. Still, there’s plenty of nerdy, funny queer kids out there who will feel completely seen by this.

So – here’s the deal in case you are not quite sure what all this is about. PJ (co-writer Rachel Sennott) and Josie (the always-great even in things that aren’t worthy of her Ayo Edibiri) are best friends lusting after a couple of cheerleaders. (Isn’t the cheerleader thing done to death? Just saying.)

After a misunderstanding involving a football player (Nicolas Galitzine who is everywhere right now) they are mistaken for badasses and proceed to try and get girls by starting their own fight club. The first rule of this club is that everyone must talk about it, or else how will people know they are now cool? Only, it spirals out of control, especially once the loopy Hazel (our Disney princess Ruby Cruz) and other madcap girls get involved.

Radical feminist empowerment this is not. Just by adding queer people to a story doesn’t make it less insane, or even comprehensible. The plot swings wildly for the fences and is oddly violent for a high school movie. Look, I love a good Total Eclipse of the Heart sequence as much as anyone, and honestly this is easily the best scene in this film, but even that wasn’t enough to stop the twitch I had to fast forward constantly through the skin-crawling awkwardness, which I admittedly have a low tolerance for.

I get it though, we deserve our trash as much as anyone. It was high time we started getting our share of this genre, and I’m utterly glad it exists for that reason alone. This is going to be great for queer kids who are crying out for representation in high school (but hey, maybe watch Clea Duvall’s High School series instead?) or anyone who is tired of super-serious queer cinema. Everything doesn’t have to be life or death.

Bottoms relies on fast-paced cuts and constant, almost stream of consciousness dialogue. It zigs and zags so fast that most of the actually funny, incisive humor gets completely lost in the muck.

But the way some lesbian critics, and many straight ones, have been fawning over Bottoms made me anticipate some kind of second coming of lesbian Jesus. I’ve even read that it “flips the script” on the genre. It doesn’t. It falls into the same well-worn tropes as all the others. It’s not a great film—it’s a way to while away some time and has not progressed the cause of queer cinema forward one inch. My only issue is that I think maybe it was meant to.

Go in knowing it’s an absurd, unhinged, horny-as-fuck, nutty thing that devolves into absolute chaotic plot hell. Relax, have fun with it, and if that’s what you’re looking for, you’ll love it.

Created by: D.C. Moore

If you believe this lustful, blackly funny story of the lives of the Countess of Buckingham and her vain, gorgeous son George, you’d think everyone in seventeenth century England was queer. Who knows? Maybe they were. But it has most certainly gotten to the point lately where I feel like I’ve seen Nicholas Galitzine’s bare skin more often than my own.

While he has certainly become a hero amongst the boys for daring to take on some of the most talked about queer roles in Hollywood of late, it’s the girls we’re here to talk about.

The acting in Mary & George is note perfect, but what else would you expect from this cast? More though, the writing is delicious, the sets and costumes stunning, and the music just divine. It thunders along at a heady pace, keeps the shock factor to where it will be most effective, and it’s just so snide and clever. There, all the superlatives are out of the way. And all these things are true, you can safely believe the hype.

But I’m pissed. I am annoyed at something in the plot I don’t want to disclose because it’s a giant spoiler, but you know that there’s really only one thing that tends to get queer people this irate. I get why it was done, and I would even applaud it if it weren’t such a cliché, but just know, despite anything else I write from here, I was uncomfortable with the whole thing form that point.

The story follows Mary of Villiers who, understandably underwhelmed with her lot in life, contrives to use her two greatest assets—her shrewd brain and her gorgeous son—to raise both their fortunes by embedding themselves (ahem) in the court of King James.

Don’t mistake this for a biopic. It’s based on historical figures, but this is pure entertainment. There’s a lot to romp through in just seven episodes and romp it certainly does. It starts out more deliciously funny and darkly comic, then skews heavily into drama as the episodes unfold. Nobody is safe, not even the titular characters, and people rise and fall in mean, witty, gory, and downright cunning ways.

Even an evil social climber needs companionship though, and Mary (Julianne Moore) finds a co-conspirator in Irishwoman Sandie (Niamh Algar) who she meets in a brothel and falls in love with, as far as anyone of her ilk can. Sandie is a cross between a pirate and a courtesan. She has nothing to lose and rolls the dice with the despicable Mary who she seems to love, fear, desire and loathe in equal measure.

Sandie has a conscience and tries to abide by it, not that this does anything to reel Mary in. Honestly, she’s too good for this. She’s the kind of queer character we all want to lift out of the muck and write other, happier, raucous stories about. This is the kind of character who audiences write fanfiction about. Algar does an excellent job holding her own with Moore, which is difficult under normal circumstances, much less when Moore has been ordered to literally chew the scenary.

Still, both women represent something our culture forgot for so long—just because history was written by men doesn’t mean they were the only ones in it. We need these stories about women to help our imaginations fill the gaps in our taught and written history. There are shades of Yorgos Lanthimos’s The Favourite in here—a barmy plot, with powerful, sexual, ambitious women run amok, taking down all the men who dare to get in their path.

In the end, George and Mary are the only players that matter, and they must outwit even each other to survive. The plot skews Shakespearian at the close, being both a tragedy and a comedy of errors.

We wonder how low everyone can finally go before they are annihilated, and who, if anyone, will be left standing. What legacy will be left behind, and who really cares? There are winners and losers, but there are no happy endings here, only destructive, clever, devious people fighting and scheming for their lives in a bawdy, historical, gorgeous setting.

We are reminded both thematically and obliquely in the script that we all die, we are all consigned to history somehow, and will have no say in how that history is written, so you may as well just live for the now.

Written and Directed by: Lasse Hallström

Truly, it feels Lasse Hallström has attempted to rewrite art history with this revealing portrait of one of the most important and neglected female artists of all time. Adding a queer element—which has been the subject of conjecture but never definitely proven—adds a layer for us to see Hilma af Klint through her passions, of which the love and company of women was obviously one.

Hilma af Klint was an artist who personified “ahead of her time”. Hilma was so far ahead in her beliefs, in her expression of gender, and especially in her art, that she only had her first real exhibit at the Guggenheim in the 1990’s, which is still their largest attended exhibition of all time.

There was no knowledge of her work before the late sixties. She’s considered one of Sweden’s most important artists, and certainly one of the originators, if not THE originator if you believe the film’s conjectures about being Kandinsky’s inspiration, of abstract or non-figurative art. There seems to be no doubt now that her works from 1906 predated Kandinsky’s 1911 letter declaring himself the founder.

That is not to say that you need to be particularly into art to watch the film—you most definitely don’t. You can, if you like, simply see it as a well-made film about a truly fascinating figure in history, who created some extraordinary works. However, you can read this film on a whole other level, and Lasse Hallström deftly gives us that choice. It wouldn’t surprise me to see Hilma used in Film Studies in future as a treatise on how to represent and reflect the artistic process in film.

Hilma af Klint saw “beyond the visible” into an unseen, spiritual world. She created art as an expression of her faith and was a true believer in both God and in what she called the High Masters, or spirits who commissioned her to create. Later she would begin to create more intellectually and was able to explain what her paintings meant to her. She evolved over time but always painted exactly as she saw the world.

Hilma is a true family affair. Lasse Hallström is writer/director (really there’s little doubt he’s an auteur at this point). Lena Olin and Tora Hallström, the director’s wife and daughter, play the older and younger Hilma respectively. We know how talented Lena Olin is, but this is Tora’s first real starring role. I sincerely hope she’s now considering throwing in her day job because she is so expressive and soulful in the lead.

The queer element comes in Hilma’s intimate relationship with fellow painter and spiritualist Anna Cassel, another Swedish painter of the time. They are parted midway through by a schism, and we don’t truly feel how strongly Hilma relied upon Anna emotionally until the end. We know she relied financially upon her friend and lover, but the Hilma we see just before death finally comes to see the spiritual connection she had with Anna, which is a tearjerking revelation.

Older and younger Hilma have uncanny synchronicity. There’s barely a blip between her mannerisms and voice at different ages, and we never lose Hilma’s point of view. This isn’t a sentimental film either, neatly sidestepping criticism often levelled at biographies focused on women. The camera simply observes unless it is prudent to intervene for the sake of the story. Hallström employs just enough expressionist technique to help us understand the relationship between Hilma’s art and thoughts.

Hilma af Klint lived an extraordinary life, and this is a deeply skilful portrayal of that life. She never lost faith in her own vision even when under attack for it, except for one brief, problematic period where she relies inexplicably on the flawed opinions of one man. She shunned her pre-determined role on society and forged her own path, with the help of the strong and eclectic array of women who became important in her life.

Many (male) critics have been self-congratulatory at their ability to “see through” Lasse Hallström’s work here. They complain Hallström represents Hilma’s beliefs with some kind of feminist agenda and as “truth”, which is absurd, and her behaviour as rational, which he absolutely does not. Hilma is the most unreliable of narrators, her trauma and deeply problematic relationships with people show us that.

Hallström’s script consistently throws non-believers in Hilma’s path, including her own lover, and these voices of doubt give us a way to negotiate what is real and what isn’t. We are encouraged not to believe everything but to know that she believed it, and to see the world though her singular, powerful vision which translated to sublime art.

The Hilma af Klint depicted by Hallström is flawed, often callous, quite possibly delusional, but always interesting, and now her art and life is here to inspire us for all time.

In the spirit of “if you support us then we’ll come to the party”, let’s celebrate TUBI making a new film for Wynonna Earp by indulging in some old school queer content.

I’ve scoured the TUBI database for their existing content and come up with some overlooked classics that you might enjoy next time you’re looking for your WLW or queer fix.

WLW Film

Elena Undone: https://tubitv.com/movies/620720/elena-undone
Cross-cultural emotional journey for two women, one who falls in love when she has a family and the other who falls against her better judgement. Here’s my review!

Palitan - https://tubitv.com/movies/705163/palitan
Suppressed feelings come to the surface between two women who were once lovers.

Good Kisser: https://tubitv.com/movies/602305/good-kisser
When deciding to add a third wheel to your party becomes more emotional trouble than you thought.

Girl Play: https://tubitv.com/movies/100015329/girl-play
Two actresses in a play discover feelings off the stage. Here’s my review!

Princess Cyd: https://tubitv.com/movies/602287/princess-cyd
A teenager figuring out where she belongs in the world falls for a neighbour when visiting her aunt in Chicago.

Raven’s Touch: https://tubitv.com/movies/327035/raven-s-touch
For Dreya Weber fans like me! A mother goes camping with her kids and meets a stranger. They help each overcome their own past traumas.

And Then Came Lola: https://tubitv.com/movies/549424/and-then-came-lola
Classic, fast-paced film about a woman racing across San Francisco to try and save her job and her relationship. Perfect for Jill Bennett and Cathy DeBuono fans.

A Marine Story: https://tubitv.com/movies/602285/a-marine-story
Another Dreya Weber - An ex-Marine is discharged and mentors a young, troubled queer woman thinking of joining up. Classic from the don’t ask don’t tell era.

More Beautiful for Having Been Broken: https://tubitv.com/movies/584797/more-beautiful-for-having-been-broken
Absolute weeper but great if you want a serious emotional journey and better than usual acting for an indie.

Heterosexual Jill: https://tubitv.com/movies/330571/heterosexual-jill
Michelle Ahlen is always a hoot and makes real emotional connections with her audience on nothing budgets.

Trans - Must See!

Boy Meets Girl: https://tubitv.com/movies/526164/boy-meets-girl
A transgender woman in Kentucky dreaming of getting out to make a better life discovers that old friends may be more than they appear.

Documentary

(a)Sexual: https://tubitv.com/movies/677402/a-sexual
An exploration of people who experience no sexual attraction and the highs and lows of their lives.

A film can be excellent even if I personally did not enjoy watching it. Silver Haze was that kind of film. Having spent my time in the dirt growing up, I found it somewhat triggering to be faced with this gritty slice of life that pulls no punches about growing up poor and traumatised in London. There’s no doubt Sacha Polak has produced a beautifully shot and stunning film, but it wasn’t at all a pleasant or entertaining experience.

Silver Haze has an awful lot to say, and a short amount of time in which to say it. There’s one or two storylines too many here, but they all have their hard and soft moments. Polak sets up this grisly reality just so they can showcase moments of transcendent beauty. We feel the soothing cool of water versus the sharpness of fire. The warmth of a hug versus the shock of violence. Pleasurable moments are few and far between, but that’s all the more reason why they need to be absorbed while they’re here.

The story follows Franky (in a devastating performance by Vicky Knight), who is a nurse, and a trauma victim. After almost dying in a fire as a child, she bears both the physical and emotional scars as best she can, but at the film’s beginning she is starting to crack under the weight.

Franky meets Florance (Esmé Creed-Miles) at work in a moment of kindness, after Flo has been hospitalised following a suicide attempt. The two begin to meet up outside the hospital, and Frankie finds herself drawn to Flo’s energy and poetic, free-flowing beauty. It feels free, and so much different from her trapped current reality.

Frankie is then introduced to Flo’s extended family- her grandmother and disabled younger brother- and while Flo descends into a kind of madness, the family adopt Frankie as one of their own. They are all lost souls trying to carve out moments of happiness within the struggle. Unfortunately, Flo is truly mentally unstable, and as much as Franky struggles to hold on to this newfound love, she’s not surprised to see it unravel.

Franky’s sister Leah (played by Vicky’s real-life sister Charlotte Knight) has an abusive relationship, is convicted of a crime for defending herself, and decides to turn Muslim. To Franky it seems bizarre, but no more bizarre than the rest of the things in their lives, and she sincerely loves her little sister, so she takes it in stride.

This is a visual slog through a life that many would consider not worth living, and Frankie has her own doubts at times, but she simply keeps on going. Her resilience, optimism, and capacity for love are mind-blowing, as is her capacity for spontaneous anger and violence. She dances with joy at a rave, then throws Molotov cocktails through windows. She can fight or comfort at the drop of a hat. She is a mass of wounds, and bounces between extremities.

Her newfound attraction to women plays with her head, but she physically works through it, transforming both emotionally and physically to cope with this new facet of her life. If there’s any hope it’ll bring joy and relief from her dismal world, Franky will embrace it. After all, what does she have to lose? In fact, the only thing she doesn’t seem to be able to meet head on is the trauma from the past, which drags her inexorably down, forcing her to find a way towards living with it in peace.

Apparently the story was partially inspired by Vicky Knight’s own life, which doesn’t make the whole thing easier to watch. Bring your fortitude, your compassion, and your patience to this one. It rewards the effort, and much like Franky’s life you will find moments of joy within the ugliness.

Written: Ronald D. Moore and René Echevarria
Directed: Avery Brooks

An obsessive fan base has been both the greatest asset and the greatest curse for all of the Star Trek spin-off series that have been created. We demand that the writers pay as much attention to continuity in the Star Trek Universe as we do. After all, they get paid to do just that. I know a lot of fans who happily do it for free.

The Trill have been one of the giant screwups of Trek. They're also one of the most interesting Trek races ever invented. Initially introduced in Star Trek: TNG, the Trill are humanoids with the ability to join with a long-lived, wormlike symbiotic species to enable their consciousness to continue from host to host over a huge span of time.

The idea is that each host contributes to the life and experiences of the symbiont, while the symbiont brings to the host a wealth of long-lived experience and wisdom. Once joined, the host and symbiont blend into a single entity, if the symbiont is removed the host dies. It is normal for a symbiont to live inside both male and female hosts over the course of its lifetime.

In ST:TNG, joined Trill could not use transporters (it caused trauma to the symbiont), the symbiont could be temporarily placed inside a human host (as it was with Riker), there were no rules mentioned about the romantic life of the symbiont and who it could or couldn't be with, and the original Trill we met, Odan, chased Beverly Crusher through the span of three different hosts. (Unsurprisingly, Dr Crusher finally rejects Odan when he becomes a woman.)

Jadzia Dax had no problems with transporters. Ezri Dax had to receive the Dax symbiont when Jadzia died because she was the only Trill onboard the ship when the symbiont went into distress. Finally, with "Rejoined" we are given the concept of reassociation, which forbids joined Trill from resuming romances that their symbionts had in previous hosts.

Sound complicated? It is, and overly so, but the writers were looking for a way to spice up Jadzia's love life, so they came up with this concept and we got an episode that tiptoes Jadzia into bisexuality. All this is to say that yes, the episode had holes big enough to fly the Enterprise through. However, for all the lesbian fans of Jadzia Dax this episode was also manna from heaven.

The basic plot (without technobabble) is this. A Trill science team arrives on DS9 to perform experiments led by Dr Lenara Khan, a joined Trill. As it happens, when both the Dax and the Khan symbionts were joined to previous hosts they were husband and wife. This is the first meeting of the two symbionts since Dax's unfortunate accidental death. When the two symbionts meet again in the bodies of their new hosts, sparks fly.

Funnily enough, the gender-switch is never really mentioned. Instead of dealing with the "gay" issue, the writers turn the whole thing into an unsubtle metaphorical social taboo called "reassociation", or getting together with a lover from a past life. The odd thing is, they could have just played the story straight, I mean gay, and it might have made more sense. Perhaps they thought the concept would play better to conservative Trek audiences wrapped in cotton wool, and considering the backlash that occurred when the episode aired, perhaps they were right.

The taboo carries dire consequences. If two symbionts reassociate, their hosts are exiled from the Trill homeworld, so when the current hosts die their symbionts will not be joined to new hosts and the symbionts will themselves also die (seriously, more bullpucky because Jadzia had her symbiont transplanted onboard DS9 the season before, proving it can be done anywhere, and Julian Bashir has become quite the expert on the subject).

After trying desperately to ward off feelings they both share, Jadzia and Lenara succumb to their passion and... kiss. Later on, Jadzia saves Lenara's life in an accident and they vow on the spot never to let anything come between them again. But, Lenara's courage fails her and she caves to societal pressure to leave, and Dax is heartbroken.

When it is this veiled in metaphor, does it even count as a queer story anymore? I say yes, and here's why. Lenara freely admits that she's never had so much trouble separating her feelings from those of a past host. The reason for this is obvious—the attraction between symbionts isn't the only attraction going on here. Jadzia and Lenara are attracted to each other as well. That's what makes Dax so unwilling to accept this taboo when she's been the first to champion all matters of Trill honour and duty in the past. She's in love with this woman.

The point is that fear and intolerance should never get in the way of love, a classic gay TV message. Homophobic Star Trek cretins who try to explain away the storyline in terms of the symbiotic relationships to get it to fit into their limited mindset are deliberately obfuscating the point. The episode tells us a lot about Dax's strength too, and how far she's willing to go for love. Dax is a true romantic at heart and awfully stubborn. "Rejoined" sets the stage nicely for the interracial Klingon/Trill romance later in the series.

Susannah Thompson and Terry Farrell both do a pretty good job, especially with acting romantic tension while speaking line after line of furious technobabble. Lenara despises herself for her own weakness, and is in awe of Dax's strength of will and moral certainty. It's a nuanced performance from Thompson (not something Trek is usually guilty of) and so different from the raw sexuality of the Borg Queen she went on to play in Star Trek: Voyager.

Whether you agree that "Rejoined" was successful or not, it certainly caused a stir. As a political statement it falls flat (this was an early example of "sweeps lesbianism"), but I'm willing to forgive a lot of that simply for that kiss that I never thought I would see on Star Trek.

Almost every serious lesbian critic lists The Watermelon Woman in their top ten lesbian films of all time. I do not (though I recognise its importance), mostly because I prefer this one, Dunye’s later work that presented a searing picture of what life is like for women of colour inside the hellhole that is the US prison system.

Stranger Inside is a powerful portrayal of a life the vast majority of us can only begin to imagine. Young women, some of whom have been incarcerated the entire of their adult lives, live and breathe inside the warped world of the prison system. They build bonds, cultivate relationships, form family groups, and of course, make enemies. There is a whole other society behind bars with a whole different set of rules.

The point best made by Dunye in Stranger Inside was that despite the fact that these women are hidden away, those basic needs that affect us all don't stop applying just because they're in jail. They crave love and acceptance, family and friendship. They look tough and act tough, but underneath the difference between "us" and "them" isn't so great.

Treasure Lee (Yolanda Ross, in her film debut), can't really remember a time when she wasn't in jail. She's done her time in juvenile detention and now she's being moved up to the State Facility for Women. But Treasure has a secret desire. She has been told that her mother, a woman named Brownie, died when she was young. When Treasure learns that State is lorded over by a lifer named Brownie, she begins to hope. What if what she heard was wrong, what if this Brownie is her mother?

Once Treasure arrives at State we meet a cruel array of characters who surround her in the horrendous place she has landed in. They range from the guilty to the innocent, from women who killed for pleasure, for revenge, for self defence. Women who'll kill now for fun, and women just trying to do their time quietly and peacefully. There are drug dealers, white supremicists, junkies, and twinks. The best Treasure can hope for is to find her own footing, and find a place within the spiderwebs of artifical family structures and caste systems that rule this alien society.

Treasure's reunion with Brownie and the relationship they build is a complex one. You simply can't say anything in this environment can be considered a "happy" ending, but Treasure finds a kind of contentment and security in the relationship that she's never had before, that is until she realises that Brownie sees her more as another gang member whose loyalty she enjoys than as a daughter. Brownie is a businesswoman in an aggressive marketplace. You exploit any advantage or you go down.

Sexuality is treated simply in the film, without too much exploitation and fanfare. It's used as another way in which women escape reality, or bond with one another, or as a form of control. After all, you need every skill you've ever learned, in prison or on the streets, to survive inside. If you're lucky you find people you can count on, women with an integrity that they cling to even in this nasty, dirty world.

Stranger Inside is a claustrophobic, harrowing experience that is held up on the shoulders of some enormously talented, unknown actresses. Only Rain Phoenix has a famous name, and she delivers the kind of performance you'd expect from someone in such a talented family.

Dunye spent four years researching for this study of women's prison life. In many ways I felt like I was watching a documentary, so thorough was the production design and so gritty the acting. HBO have hit upon subject matter that is revealing and socially vital. We must examine what purpose incarceration really serves in our society—is it really that much better than dropping these women on a deserted island with knives and letting them fight it out until only the fittest survives? How can we call ourselves civilised if we allow this to happen?

But Dunye tries to find the humanity in it all, and only undermines her efforts by wearing her politics firmly on her metaphorical sleeve. Despite being a bit on the preachy side, Dunye's point is well made—this is an evil, self-perpetuating outrage where daughters follow their mothers into the life and nobody on the outside seems to give a damn about changing anything. This is not the clean world of Orange Is the New Black. This is reality.

Written: Kim Newton
Directed: Greg Yaitanes

If there was ever a lesbian episode meant to titillate the male audience (a perfect example of what Liz Friedman coined "Sweeps Lesbianism") it is this rather amusing episode of Fastlane, an expensive show that never quite made it out of the starting blocks before Fox pulled the plug. (Something that became an annoying habit over at Fox over the years actually.)

The only reason it even remotely works probably has something to do with the fact that the writers wisely kept it ambiguous whether or not the lead character Billie (Tiffani Thiessen) was bisexual. The makers of the show did drop a few hints that might have been explored more later, but the fact that this undercover assignment came so easily to Billie was a plus and it played as a sexy and fun piece of television for both men and women.

Each episode of Fastlane revolved around a single case where Billie, Van and Deaq, an elite undercover police squad, took on the rich and famous at their own game. The three cops used the tools and clothes of busted, rich criminals in order to mix and mingle in the glamorous criminal underworld.

In this episode they take on a couple of female house robbers who have inconveniently stolen $500K from Deaq's house that the unit was going to use to bribe and bust a corrupt witness and send a murderer to jail. Usually Van and Deaq would swing in and seduce the cash from under the women's unsuspecting noses, but this time there's a twist. The robbers are lesbians.

Cue Billie to save the day. She successfully manages to seduce one of the robbers and convinces the gang to pull off a job on Billie's made-up ex-husband who is supposedly screwing her over in their divorce. After they're busted, Sara (Jaime Pressley) is persuaded to give up the $500K in exchange for a deal.

The best parts of the episode are undoubtedly the seduction scenes. Billie works overtime, dragging Sara into a web of lies and gaining her trust. The two women have cool chemistry, better than most lesbian stunt episodes I've seen, and they seem to come together in a way that is believable, despite the obvious time constraints. They're not in love, but they could be one day, and Billie is genuinely sorry to have to betray Sara when the time comes.

Billie is the aggressor, the one who initiates almost all the sexual contact. Even when she isn't being watched by her target she shows no discomfort in the lesbian world, she brushes off another woman's advances with kindness not disgust, and never seems to have anything but respect for other women. For a show directed squarely at the action-oriented set, I was impressed.

It's flashy, it's sexy, it's designer bubblegum for the eyes for those people who sat through all the The Fast and the Furious movies and enjoyed them. It is even well written in places. But for all we're offered here, I think definitely catch it if it pops up in late night reruns, but don't break something trying to hunt this down if you missed it. Tiffani Thiessen is the best thing in this, all grown up from her 90210 and Saved By the Bell days and still looking for a project that suits her talents.

Wanna see some Fastlane action? The seduction scene in very loooow fi!

Creator: Eliot Laurence
First Run: 2020-2022 (3 Seasons) - (Spoiler alert for the whole series)

Fantasy TV usually has to get two things right to succeed. First, fans must believe in the world that's been built. Second, fans must fall in love with the characters within it. For all its faults later in its run, the creators of MFS got those two things spectacularly right.

MFS has a passionate fan base for good reason. It has a beloved canonical queer couple, a compelling non-canon queer ship, plus an ensemble cast of women playing characters with authority, strength, purpose and power. It boasts a distinct, cinematic aesthetic that influences costumes, sets, lighting and cinematography. It also boasts a rich, (mostly) internally consistent, complex fantasy world.

Imagine the Salem witch trials ended in a truce, but in exchange witches must use their powers to defend the country, leading to a system of compulsory military conscription which is embraced by some, tolerated by many, and deeply resented by others. Power structures and bloodlines evolve, and witch society is now in a fractured state of haves and have nots, with outcasts and rebels choosing to either run or fight back.

MFS is wildly ambitious, with big, high-concept stories to tell, but MFS was too niche to attract a huge audience. It screened on an America-only network, was unabashedly queer, had morally-complex scifi themes, intricate plots, and a limited marketing budget. That doesn’t scream mainstream. But what it doesn’t lack is vision.

Those big dreams caused it to occasionally derail. Considering this ran from 2020 to 2022 it’s kind of amazing it got made at all. With more episodes, no pandemic, and less bad luck like the accident that saw breakout star Taylor Hickson forced to miss half of season three (she's fine, thankfully), they could have taken more care with the unravelling of all the complex plot points. The last three episodes try to tell more story than most shows try to tell in entire seasons, and MFS felt awkward and rushed towards its conclusion as a result.

There is no doubt though that late season one, all season two, and the first two episodes (and other parts) of season three are near-flawless fantasy television. Hard core fans adore the beginning of season one as well, as this period is heavy on worldbuilding and romance, but the show was still finding its feet. It’s a technical masterpiece, gorgeously shot, and rewards repeat viewing.

Our three MFS heroines, Tally Craven (Jessica Sutton), Abigail Bellweather (Ashley Nicole Williams) and Raelle Collar (Taylor Hickson), all have different, conflicting reasons for being in the army. They are thrown together as a Unit for basic training and soon realise they have a unique bond and complementary powers.

Outside the army, dodgers run from the draft, while terrorist organisation The Spree kills civilians to make a political point against conscription. The scene is set early for witch-on-witch turmoil, but eventually they realise that witches need to stop fighting each other in order to face a bigger enemy hell-bent on their destruction.

The matriarchal world of MFS puts women in the seats of power. It also disregards heterocentrist norms. There's witch and civilian, there’s definitely male and female (which causes non-binary issues unexpectedly addressed in season three), but there's no gay and straight.

These women celebrate sex with whomever they wish to have it. Sexual energy is a power source, and their sex lives are a natural, essential part of existence, like sleeping and breathing. The writers give sex and romance a lot of air time - all perfectly M-rated - and the show is all the better for it.

What MFS did very well was establish emotional bonds between characters. The fiery, unit relationship of Raelle, Tally and Abigail is addictive. Their drill sergeant Anacostia Quartermain (Demetria McKinney) is a strong presence, and her unexpected bond with terrorist Scylla Ramshorn resonates. General Sarah Alder is a beast of a role and Lyne Renée owns the bombastic side of her, but her greatest moments are the quieter ones she shares with Tally and Anacostia.

The canonical couple is Raelle and Scylla. Hickson is note perfect for Raelle - she’s scrappy, disrepectful, and tormented. Amalia Holm gives Scylla her bad girl rage and darkness but also her playfulness and humour (and amazing eye colour). Together they’re angsty, flawed, and share off-the-charts chemistry. There is a startling level of queer representation, something only matched in fantasy TV by Wynnona Earp and Lost Girl (bless these brilliant Canadians), plus potentially Warrior Nun, and Willow.

MFS has something perhaps only Lost Girl shares with it - in your face sexuality, with women taking and controlling their own power. Hickson and Holm portrayed a multi-faceted, complicated, unequivocally sexually-charged relationship from the pilot to the finale. There’s no ambiguity, no queerbaiting, and their love was interwoven into all major plotlines. They have rich, in your face intimacy, both physical and emotional. This is not normal, and it’s so much fun.

Ironically, in season three Scylla laments to Raelle she wishes they had more time. Considering when it’s said, I think the MFS writers inserted it in protest. Characters literally move mountains, get tortured, travel vast distances, are redeemed, fight battles, and escape sticky situations in off-camera asides that are told to us to basically move the story along. We don’t see it. The same story stretched across another season (or two) would have been captivating.

Still, this all-inclusive, feminist fantasy world with a queer vision is riotously entertaining, sometimes violent, and shamelessly romantic.

PS - Taylor Hickson redeemed the entire concept of lesbians kissing each other’s fingertips. I’m not even sure she knew it was a tired trope before she busted it, but she made it her love language. I’m either going to have to rename this site, or dedicate it to her!

Motherland Fort Salem Photo Gallery

Redemption by Flora Leo (feat. Amalia Holm)

Written and Directed: Yan Yan Mak

Director Yan Yan Mak is trying to say an awful lot here in a short amount of time. Not that over two hours can be considered "short" in terms of running time, but considering that there are at least four separate stories being interwoven within this narrative covering a timespan of 15 years, the two hours seem jam packed. Not all of it is content that we really need, but all of it does serve a purpose.

Flavia is thirty, seemingly happily married to Ming, with a young daughter named Ting Ting. Flavia tells us flippantly that she went from high school to University to teaching, never really leaving school. As the story progresses, we find that this simplistic overview of Flavia's life leaves a lot out. In fact, she's repressing long-held desires, and something will happen to force her out of her comfortable, but meaningless existence.

In a chance encounter, Flavia meets Yip, and despite the difference in their ages (Yip at first claims to be 18, then admits she is 23) the attraction between them is immediate. Flavia denies her feelings at first, forcing Yip to do all the chasing. Then, in what should be happy moment of surrender, Flavia begins to remember why she ran away from her feelings for women in the first place.

Told in flashback with a dreamy, washed out effect, Flavia recalls the time she spent with her first lover, Jin. Despite being from the past the tale being told feels so immediate, which is fitting considering the force with which the memories are imposing themselves upon her now Flavia is letting herself remember.

The two girls meet in high school, have a passionate romance, and move in together when they go to University. Jin becomes politically active, (Yan Yan Mak cleverly dates the flashbacks by placing Jin in the chaos surrounding the Tiananmen Square Massacre of 1989) and gradually loses focus about who she is. At the same time, Flavia's mother finds out about the romance and demands for it to end.

Flavia eventually gives up Jin for the sake of her family. All these revelations are told in short snippets. By the time you find out why Flavia feels so guilty about her desires, we are well into the final third of the film.

Meanwhile, two of Flavia’s female students go missing one day and it is revealed that they ran away because their parents found out about their relationship. One of them is being shipped off to Canada to live with an older sibling. Once found, the girls beg Flavia for money to help them run away, but sensibly she refuses.

I'm not certain why it would be Flavia of all the teachers the girls would run to. It is not public knowledge that she had a similar affair in her youth. It seems like one of those cinematic circumstances that we are simply asked to accept, though the introduction of the students was just one storyline too many for a film already overloaded with plot.

Flavia also finds out that her parents are getting divorced. It's the final straw really. Why should she stick around in a marriage of lies when even that is no guarantee of longevity and happiness? With her memories haunting her, she runs back to Yip.

Yip has turned her life around, hoping that when Flavia comes back they could have a life together. She has picked up the threads of her former career as a singer (and truly, she isn't bad at it) and found a cheap but cosy house to live in. She's just waiting. As she says, she's patient; she knows she loves women and she knows she wants Flavia. She's willing to hang around as long as it takes Flavia to figure out the truth.

It is this transformation, Flavia's emergence from the cocoon of heterosexual life, that gives "Butterfly" its title. As Yip says, Flavia was born to fly - she just cut off her own wings early in life to suit the wishes of everyone else.

Jin went wandering the world, eventually returning to Macau to become a buddhist nun. This decision finally gives her peace (and I think these travels would make a fabulous sequel), and she urges Flavia to finally find her own peace at any cost.

The only real criticism you can make of this film is that in trying to fill Flavia's life with richness and detail, Yan Yan Mak tries to do too much. She introduces too many plotlines and characters so there are loose ends everywhere. It is all about Flavia and her journey, but we begin to care for the characters around her, and it is a shame their stories fall by the wayside in order to follow Flavia's choices.

I wanted to know more about Jin's political anguish and the strong, wilful girl who catches her eye all-too-briefly. I wanted to know what happened to Flavia's students. I wanted to know how Ming and Flavia finally resolved the custody of Ting Ting.

Also, and this could simply be a cultural thing, the sex scenes between Flavia and Jin, and then between Flavia and Yip, seem oddly restrained. They are explicit, sexy scenes, with little restraint put on how much is shown. Just for some reason the kissing itself seems awkward, like the actresses were barely touching lips.

In general though I was riveted to Flavia's story, and felt her despair. Josie Ho is a wonderful talent, as is Joman Chiang, the young Jin, who played her small but vital role with a smouldering glare and disdainful sneer, covering a deeper confusion. The cinematography is lush and distinctive.

As Flavia finally sits in the dark watching home movies of her past with a smile rather than tears, she has come a long way. It is a journey that so many queer people face, and going on this journey along with these characters is a joy you shouldn't miss.

The entire film is available with English subs on YouTube.

Written and Directed: Ned Farr

I'm always talking about how it is better to have a film with an excellent story and characters than it is to have one that looks pretty, but isn't it wonderful when a film has both?

Don't be fooled, the film isn't even about gymnastics, or really even a gymnast for that matter. Yes, the lead character Jane (Dreya Weber) was a gymnast in her younger days, but an unfortunate accident ruled out her Olympic dream. The film is named for the Jane that was, but not the Jane who will be.

In the twenty years since, Jane's lived in an unhappy marriage, taken anti-depressants just to get by, and has religiously schooled her body to keep it looking almost as young as it was when she was competing. Seriously, she's buff. Lots is made in the film of the fact that she's 43 and that well-muscled. Really, some of her feats of raw strength are astonishing.

One day Jane wakes up and realises she somehow forgot to have a child, and now it's too late for her to conceive naturally. To have a baby through IVF she needs to confront her clueless husband, but he's gotten so used to ignoring her existence that she has to switch porn on the TV to remind him to come and have sex.

In frustration, and with a prescience about what she needs to become happy again, Jane wanders into a local gym and meets Nicole, a trainer and aerialist. Nicole convinces Jane to join her and a Korean dancer named Serena (the simply gorgeous Addie Yungmee) to get an aerial act together and take it to Vegas. Jane is intrigued at first, then grows to love her new high-flying existence.

Jane's best friend who has been through three divorces and is now stinking rich, is passionate about the project and provides the push to help Jane get over her fears, even helping finance their act. That passion rubs off on Jane - when Nicole is called away in an emergency, Serena and Jane begin to train alone, and their aerial chemistry blossoms into desire.

Writer/director Nick Farr has created a love story of uncommon visual and emotional strength from unusual subject matter. Yes, the ignored wife plot is standard, but Farr has the good sense not to dawdle there, instead pouring all the film's emotional energy into glorious scenes of the two women and their acrobatics.

Same goes with adopted Serena's backstory of being closeted and finding it hard to come out to her conservative, Jewish parents. The tension remains between the two women and isn't sucked into a side story, which at first I thought was an odd omission, but now I realise actually strengthened the film.

The pace, visuals and "follow your heart" storyline reminded me more than once of Patricia Rozema's When Night is Falling. This film is as good as that one (no, it really is!), and in some ways better because it doesn't get distracted by it's own symbolic cleverness.

Jane is simple, she likes simple things and simple pleasures. Weber's face reflected all her character's inner complexity and growing lust for life, while the supporting cast were good enough to accentuate the main plot and not to get in Weber's way.

The final acrobatic sequence is so sexy, an absolute stunner, as are the scenes of the two women and their growing attraction to each other. The music is gorgeous and matches the film. The whole thing feels so damn professional, with only the tiniest of moments here and there to remind you that it was made on a shoestring. Filmmakers with or without money take note, this is how it should be done.

You don't need to be revolutionary to make something that resonates. Saving Face is so touching, so moving in its simplicity. Complimentary comparisons were made with other films that have played the culture-clash card well, such as The Wedding Banquet, Bend it Like Beckham and My Big Fat Greek Wedding. This may be a big call, but I think Saving Face is better than all three of these films.

Saving Face deserves the same mainstream success all of these independent films have enjoyed. Treading on a little well-trodden, romantic comedy genre ground doesn’t at all diminish the originality and freshness of the film. First-time director Alice Wu has been dubbed the lesbian Ang Lee, and there are far worse things to be called, especially if this is your debut feature.

The story centres around brilliant young cosmetic surgeon Wilhelmina Pang (Michelle Krusiec), who doesn’t discuss the fact that she is gay with her mother (Joan Chen), even though Ma knows very well having walked in on Wil and a lover two years before. In serious denial, Ma keeps trying to match-make Wil anyway, and Wil goes along with it because she's a good Chinese daughter. It is at a community mixer that Wil has attended to keep her mother happy (where the dance floor is like an hilarious form of speed dating) that Wil sees Vivian (Lynn Chen) for the first time. The attraction between them is intense and immediate.

Vivian is the daughter of Wil’s boss. She’s a talented ballerina with dreams of breaking into modern dance. While Wil is shy and introverted, Vivian is sexy, knows what she wants and how to get it. She pursues Wil, breaking down her defenses bit by bit until finally they begin a tentative but steamy romance.

One day Ma turns up on Wil’s doorstep. She’s pregnant and she’s not saying who the father of the baby is. Ma has been thrown out of her father’s house in shame and the burden suddenly falls on Wil to help her. Between her demanding mother, her backbreaking job and her intense new romance Wil is overwhelmed. The rapid shift back and forward between subtitled Chinese and English serves to emphasise the cultural and emotional bind Wil finds herself in.

Wil decides that the answer to her problems is to try and marry her mother off. The mother and the daughter have a rapid role reversal as Wil sends Ma off on a succession of bad dates, all of which make Ma more and more depressed because secretly she’s still in love with someone else, the father of her baby. In the meantime, Wil's closeted status and workaholic ways start to wear thin with Vivian.

In true, bittersweet, romantic comedy style the lovers suffer a rift, Ma backs herself into an emotional corner, the Pang family suffers a devastating loss and Wil is left to try and unite all the different elements with interesting results. She makes a lot of mistakes, but always has the best of intentions. In the end she's forced to realise that saving face isn’t half as important as being happy, and that being happy means standing up for what you want, and who you love.

Michelle Krusiec and Lynn Chen are talented women who have sizzling chemistry. From their first eye contact to their first date, through their blossoming sexual relationship, the two actresses don’t put a foot wrong. While Krusiec has a fairly extensive list of appearances, Saving Face was apparently the first script Chen ever read when she decided to pursue acting seriously. She couldn't have asked for a better beginning.

Chen has a wonderful, sardonic humour and excellent comic timing, while Krusiec lights up every scene with befuddled naiveté, like she can't quite believe any of this is happening to her. Joan Chen as Ma gives the film an experienced, firm anchor. Her dignity and strength mask a deeper vulnerability that she gives us only calculated glimpses of. On top of all that, she’s never looked more beautiful.

I laughed, I cried, I was surprised and yet had all my expectations met. Perhaps in the last ten minutes or so everything is tied up in too neat a package—I can see Wu receiving criticism for her overly optimistic conclusion—but because the rest of the film is so strong, I revelled in every sappy moment of it. After all, straight audiences get this kind of soul fulfilling, romantic fantasy all the time. It’s not like the lesbian film canon is bursting at the seams with romantic comedies. Our cinematic happy endings are way overdue, realistic or not.

In Saving Face, Alice Wu has many things to say—about family, love, coming out, achieving personal happiness—and she says them all eloquently. Wu ploughs the rich humour of her own remarkable cultural heritage without disrespecting it. She mixes it with the angst and excitement of coming out, blends in some cross-generational confusion and produces a story that is at once strange and yet completely familiar.

It truly feels, when all is said and done, like the things that drive us and divide us at any age are ultimately the same, the only real differences are in the fine print. Damn I hate to gush, but just see it. See it now. 

The lesbian "subtext" on Babylon 5 is the ultimate story of what might have been.

If Andrea Thompson had chosen to remain on the show despite the fact that she was not getting as much screen time as she wanted, the Susan Ivanova/Talia Winters storyline could have been as groundbreaking as many of the other elements of the show. As it was it became ultimately as unsatisfying as Star Trek: DS9's dabble with Dax's bisexuality—a brief flicker of excitement followed by heartbreak.

It began the way many great romances begin, with outright hostility. Ivanova hated everything Talia Winters stood for—the PsiCorp, her upbringing, and being a quietly obediant telepath. Susan demanded of others what she demanded of herself, which was unwavering honesty, fierce determination and the ability to see beneath the outer layers of bullshit that cover everything and everyone. As far as she was concerned, Talia Winters was a victim, and as corrupt as her organisation, whether she knew it or not.

As it turned out, Ivanova was right, but not in the way anyone thought. Just as Talia showed signs of breaking out of the constraints of the PsiCorps and the two women had taken the first steps down the path to real intimacy, the implanted personality was triggered by Lyta Alexander and the personality of Talia was erased, probably forever. Talia was a victim, albeit an unknowing one.

The loss of the possible lesbian relationship was not the only disappointment. All the character development invested in Talia Winters over the first two seasons of the show was wasted in one fell swoop. We would never find out why Kosh had used the ViCaR to record Talia's personality. We would never know what greater significance the telekinetic powers gifted upon her by Jason would have in the grand scheme of things. Would Talia and not Lyta have been the eventual hero, the telepath who helped rescue Sheridan, defeat the Shadows and take down PsiCorps? Would Marcus have ever been introduced, and would that have been an interesting bisexual love triangle? (OK, wishful thinking, but still...)

So many unanswered questions. Eventually Ivanova's feelings finally boiled down to one tortured confession of love to Delenn during the ceremony of rebirth, "I think I loved Talia". The last time Talia Winters was ever mentioned was a brief allusion to her by Bester as he described her dissection and study by PsiCorp scientists. All senseless and horrifying, especially for hard core Talia Winters fans.

Claudia Christian once joked that she was proud to have played the first bisexual, Russian Jew on television. She confirmed in interviews time and time again that Ivanova and Talia did indeed sleep together in "Divided Loyalties", and that a kiss was planned but ultimately not filmed.

Instead what we got were broad hints allowing for a less "troubling" interpretation for those SciFi fans not comfortable with Ivanova's alternative sexuality. A cop-out in other words, a shame of Xena-esque proportions, though even the repressed Warrior Princess got to kiss her bard in the end.

If the plan was to take Talia out, leave Ivanova and their romance out of it. Here we have not quite the evil/dead lesbian stereotype, but not far from it. What could have become a high point in the history of genre television ultimately stands out as a conspicuous low point in what was otherwise a TV series rightfully beloved by many, including me.

Written: Cheryl Cain
Directed: James A. Contner

Let's begin with a brief history of Firefly. Imagine a spaghetti-western on the frontiers of space, with spaceships instead of stagecoaches and where folks speak a dialect like English that's been dragged through a Chinese gold mining town. Now picture that show being created by the man behind Buffy the Vampire Slayer.

Firefly is set 500 years in the future onboard a small firefly-class spaceship called Serenity. It had exciting plotlines, an ongoing arc, an ensemble cast most shows would kill for and a showrunner (Joss Whedon—despite eventually proving himself to be a dick) with proven long-term vision in genre television. So how could it possibly fail?

Here’s how. Fox screwed around with the airing order, the timeslot and anything else they could possibly screw with until it was finally cancelled. They just didn’t know what to do with it. It went on to become one of the best-selling DVD box sets of all time. A movie called Serenity was commissioned to finish telling the story. The movie was great, but five more seasons of TV would have been better. Bitter? Just a bit.

Of all the stories told on Firefly, "War Stories" was my favourite. The episode introduced new sides to almost every character onboard Serenity, including finding out that Inara takes female clients.

Inara is a companion, which in Firefly terms is a high-priced courtesan, conceptually like a Japanese Geisha. Amongst even companions though, Inara is considered exquisite, so much so that her clients don't choose her, she chooses them. Inara travels aboard Serenity, partly because she enjoys the freedom, and to be close to Captain Mal Reynolds, who she is secretly in love with.

Inara takes clients from planets where Serenity and her crew have their own business. In "War Stories", while Captain Mal and Pilot Wash are off delivering medical supplies, Inara takes in a Senator from the planet for the evening, and we find out that Inara takes on female clients only when they are particularly special in some way.

Inara's bisexuality is common knowledge, but the appearance of a female client takes the crew by surprise. As the Senator comes onboard, Kaylee (the ship's cute engineer) is transfixed by the image of the two women, both richly-dressed and speaking with the polite manners of the upper classes. Kaylee blushes and stammers, but mostly she's simply intrigued by the glamour of it all.

While the women are alone together, Inara explains her sexual preference. She finds it liberating to be with a woman. She can relax, be herself, and not put on the seductive show generally required by men. The bedroom scene is sexually-charged, tasteful and erotic.

"War Stories" uses almost every character on Serenity to their best advantage. We see their strengths and weaknesses and we learn what the crew can accomplish individually, and as a team. Couple that with some of the series' funniest one-liners, nice special effects and the bisexual sub-plot and this makes for forty-two minutes of pretty spectacular television.

There could have been so much more, dammit. I suppose though we should be grateful for what we did get, and I'd still urge anyone who hasn't yet experienced this particular TV Universe to buy a box set, settle in and immerse yourself, because with Firefly even the theme song is cool.

Written and Directed By: Clara Stern

Don’t go into this thinking that it is a kind of hard core sports movie, because it really isn’t. This is a quiet, emotional character study that attempts to illuminate the world of a young person and her struggles with familial drama, anxiety, personal ambition, and gender dysphoria.

Sounds heavy? Well, it is at times, but at other moments it is joyous, triumphant and just downright silly, which mirrors nicely what this kind of journey towards self-discovery really is.

Mira (Alina Schaller) is captain of her semi-pro ice hockey team in Vienna, Austria. She works on her family’s ancestral vineyard, has a fractious relationship with her mother, and helps to take care of her grandfather who is developing dementia. In the background lurks sorrow – her brother Paul is missing and there’s an unknown tragedy in their past, causing a rift in their family.

Mira is talented but she’s so insular that she’s not reaching her potential, as either a player or a captain. When their coach recruits a star player, Theresa (Judith Altenberger), they slowly form a bond through hanging out after practices together. Mira’s brother Paul comes back into her life, and all three of them spend time at bars getting drunk and acting out strange personas designed to help Paul face the tragedy in his own life.

Mira’s nights out impact her life too – her ice hockey suffers, but she starts to push back against her mother’s coldness and develops real feelings for Theresa. She also, in the film’s most interesting theme, explores her non-binary side with others for the first time. There’s something deep and raw at play beneath her skin, and the more she accepts herself, the more attracted Theresa becomes to her. A delicate intimacy develops that is a counterpoint to the rough and tumble of the ice-hockey world.

In time though, we know the play acting must cease. Mira must find a way to bring this hedonistic side of her personality into balance with her life so she can keep progressing while not losing the things she loves. She also needs to find a way to bring Paul back to their family, at least long enough to start healing the rift that’s suspended them all in misery.

Alina Schaller succeeds in walking a difficult line between introversion and self-protection. In one scene, she is dressing for a night out and we see her in front of a mirror, hiding her breasts with her hands and tucking them behind her arms, an effort to explore her transmasc side. In another, she overcomes her reticence and celebrates with the team in the bus by lip syncing to Macklemore, her playfulness rising to the fore.

These scenes help us celebrate this journey with her, to really root for her in the battle between her past and her future. The fledgling relationship with Theresa might be fleeting, but it is an important step in bringing the real Mira alive. That they can use their sexual tension and emerging love to forge a successful partnership on the ice is an obvious but ultimately triumphant metaphor.

There are many storylines competing for attention, so much that it feels like we are watching four different films at once - the ice hockey, Paul and the family drama, Mira’s gender discovery, and the love story. While the complexity is admirable, the balance isn’t quiet right. I found myself wanting less Paul bar antics and more of Mira’s gender exploration. I suspect this is subjective based on how connected the viewer feels with each piece of the plot.

Whatever the path, Mira does end up where she needs to be, and becomes equipped to make the right decisions for herself going forward. It isn’t an ending that’s entirely wrapped up in a neat little bow, but it is genuinely satisfying. Seek this out!