Hey, it was just Pride Month! And sure… I may be a touch tardy on the publication of this instalment, but so was literally every country on the legalization of same-sex marriage. The true reason for this article’s late delivery: I was learning Polari. The remainder of this article will be written in the coded UK language, just after I smoke a little fogus (Tobacco). Aunt Nell! I am a naff feele omi vada for clevie and jubes; I palaver as not to mogue. Come to think of it, why do you even care if this comes out in June? If you’re only watching queer cinema in the month of June, what the fuck is wrong with you?
I don’t like getting too sappy about watching movies, but films’ most pertinent capacity is as a vehicle for perspective. Experiencing somebody else’s story is at the core of my love for cinema. It’s why I love this god-damn hobby. It’s why I will continue watching movies up until my fingers and toes swallow their own nails, and my eyes glaze over. Welcome back to Who Put That On?
Before we hop into my selection of gay movies, we have to tip our confused dramatically sized top hats to a queer icon: The Babadook. What a fucking guy—I am aware that he is actually a supernatural anthropomorphic manifestation of grief, but he uses he/him pronouns.
Nine years ago, The Babadook accidentally became a gay figurehead (maybe hyperbole, but I’m sticking with it) after a Netflix glitch accidentally labelled the 2014 Australian horror classic as an ‘LGBT Film.’ This resonated with the community, considering he is a well-dressed, misunderstood individual who comes out of the closet much to the cis family’s chagrin. He also seems to have attachment issues with those who give his poetry attention. When asked about her film’s queer status, director Jennifer Kent responded, “I feel it’s really quite beautiful, but I still have no idea why… I mean, I kind of do.”
Show Me Love (aka Fucking Amal) (1998) Dir. Lukas Moodyson
Are you a lesbian in a small town who wants to relive/is actively battling the thralls of teenage angst? Then this charming, rough around the edges, Swedish coming-of-age drama is sure to give you something to obsess over. Show Me Love follows Agnes, a reclusive and hesitant music-obsessed sixteen-year-old, and Elin, a showboaty popular girl whose sensitivity flashes as soon as she sets down her drink.
Moodyson seems to truly understand the depths of the cruel, self-involved sixteen-year-old mind, and his expression of this flip-floppy cyclone behaviour comes across as urgently true. Even outside of the character’s gripping hormone-soaked outbursts, Show Me Love is built on a foundation of often-mundane and authentically clunky youthful exchanges. This is complemented by handheld camera work, close-ups, and unique zooms that really hammer on the head of realism. The would-they-won’t-they dynamic between Elin and Agnes is exercised with precision, and it makes you want to scream. This is a simple story that’s told with verisimilitude *sucks up enormous strand of drool that’s been approaching the floor*, alongside realism’s most vicious symptom: awkwardness.
Banger scene: Elin is hittin’ the classic Romeo rock toss at the bedroom window—instantly shatters it and bolts. While Show Me Love tactfully dodges the clichés of the romance genre, the film also seems to bypass several tired expressions of queer cinema. The dynamic between Agnes and her father is touching and unexpected, sexual tension isn’t forced or magnified, and—sure, Agnes writes a yearn-y poem to some new wave—but the film sticks its landing on a track that defies the usual ‘buried gays’ trope.
I recommend watching Show Me Love sitting in the back of an off-brand moving-truck rental *NOT U-HAUL* drinking a syrup-heavy glass of chocolate milk.
Hedwig and the Angry Inch (2001) Dir. John Cameron Mitchell
Have you accepted Jesus as your personal lord and saviour?
No, but I’m a fan of his work.
Hedwig and the Angry Inch is a glam rock odyssey of impressive magnitude that thrashes before its viewers’ eyes with such punk and creative vitality that it feels insufficient to watch anything else. Take it from a guy who hates rock operas. I have to do spoilers for this one; consider yourself warned.
Hedwig and the Angry Inch follows protagonist Hansel Schmidt (Ben Mayer-Goodman [young], John Cameron Mitchell [old]): a gay, rock-obsessed German teenager and survivor of an abusive upbringing. After falling for the American Sergeant Luther (Maurice Dean Wint) in Communist East Germany, the older man proposes they marry in order to legally be together in West Germany. The cost: Hansel must leave something behind. After a botched sex-change operation, the pair get wed, but Luther’s adulterous ways are revealed after only a year, and Hedwig, once Hansel, finds herself all alone. The next day, the Berlin Wall falls, and her sacrifice is rendered purposeless.
The present day sees Hedwig spiteful and touring in the shadow of her past lover and certified cutie Tommy Gnosis (Michael Pitt), who has stolen Hedwig’s songs and made it big. I’d be remiss if I didn’t discuss Hedwig and Tommy’s relationship, which walks this film into some controversial territory. Hedwig met Tommy while babysitting, and their relationship evolves as a product of grooming. Between this abusive (while still love-driven) romance and the pressured nature of Hedwig’s sex change, it could be argued that this film misunderstands/misrepresents what it is to be trans, in a way that feels steeped in 20th-century miseducation and Hollywood extremism.
I am not a trans person, and I don’t feel comfortable making this decree, but it simultaneously feels irresponsible to avoid mentioning the subject entirely. With that said, I think Hedwig and the Angry Inch can still be read with an understanding of the cyclical trauma lathe and its commentary, while extreme, may ring true to someone’s own experience. While certainly imperfect in its use of stereotypes and grace, Hedwig and the Angry Inch is still a monumental and moving experience, and while it may not be the cleanest-cut piece of cobblestone, the film stands as a prominent brick in the highway of acceptance and representation in cinema.
Mitchell’s performance as Hedwig is phenomenal. The writing in this film is S-tier, and you’ll find yourself doling out quotes like gummy bears (that’s a weird reference). The film is cut with marvellous animated sequences—illustrations that are so idyllic and inspired, it feels devastating to return to the harsh realities of Hedwig’s past. This arc reflects the transformation and sanctuary that performing becomes for Hedwig, and it provides the film with an impressive and visceral bodily experience.
Outfits 10/10. Soundtrack 10/10. Quotes 10/10. Energy 10/10. This film also taught me not to put bras in the dryer—there is that perspective magic I had mentioned.
I recommend watching Hedwig and the Angry Inch with a good group of friends. Afterwards, read, discuss, criticize, adore, and get back to me.
Rocky and Hudson: The Gay Cowboys (1994) Dir. Otto Guerra and Adão Iturrusgarai
Just like Brokeback Mountain but better. (I haven’t seen Brokeback Mountain. Please don’t sacrifice me.)
I won’t lie, this may be a tactless choice for the list, but I can’t help myself; I looooooove slapstick cartoons. Plus, fewer than five hundred people have logged this on Letterboxd, so I’m soooooo arcane, soooooo tapped in. When I die, I want to be discovered like an ammonite fossil, sucking my own dick.
You know how I keep harping on that cheesy perspective bit; Rocky and Hudson: The Gay Cowboys is not an enlightening film. On the other hand, this film features spinning wheels of feet, ‘fifteen seconds later’ title cards, evil villain face mask pulls, songs about dry nasal mucus, an anthropomorphic horse that when requested to ride does a tornado spin into a standard quadrupedal steed, and a lesbian punk rock grandma.
Rocky and Hudson: The Gay Cowboys is based on a Brazilian comic strip by the same name. The film is broken up into two episodes: The Automatic Gun of Dr. Brain and On The Road. These episodes are curiously distant from each other in thematic maturity. The first segment sees Rocky and Hudson battling the malevolent Dr. Brain, who hunts the couple down using a flying gun that can speak. It runs like a standard episode of Scooby Doo, outfitted with bizarre asides and expected penis jokes. The On The Road segment reads more like a boyish homage to some Hunter S. Thompson fever dream. The whole vagabond bender has the distinct feel of a lo-fi Simpsons edit down to the soundtrack, down to the dreamy sky, down to the senseless alcoholism, down to the literal Bart and Homer cameos.
Rocky and Hudson: The Gay Cowboys is certainly distant from the quilted richness of the queer silver screen, and it may feature moments of insensitivity. Beyond its garish and pot-hole-ridden execution, it’s just a real fucking fun ride that most anybody can enjoy, even if that means turning off the volume.
I recommend watching this for free on YouTube before you do something scary, distinctly thankful for YouTube’s Portuguese-to-English auto-translate.
Outrageous! (1977) Dir. Richard Benner
I bet she’s a revolutionary. She’s even built like a revolutionary.
Anne is gay, Martin.
It figures.
Despite its title, this is my understated, charming little Canadian pick that I feel deserves more attention. Did I watch this for a film class many, many moons ago and remember it like a dream? Sure! Do I remember enjoying it thoroughly and having a distinct impression that its potent characters navigate a myriad of striking industrial settings with lucid perseverance? Also, sure!
Based on Margaret Gibson’s short story Making It, Outrageous! begins with the endearing and troubled Liza (Hollis McLaren) escaping from a hospital where she is being treated for schizophrenia. Robin (Craig Russell), a hairdresser aspiring to be a drag star, is getting ready to go out when Liza buzzes his place. She needs a place to stay, and Robin lets her in. A touching scene follows, in which Liza is smothered by the ‘bonecrusher,’ a being from the ‘other place—the place where they laugh at her,’ and Robin helps coach her through, pressing the figment from her spirit. Liza’s condition shows itself in full intensity, and Robin, in a moment of tenderness, promises not to turn her back into the frightening hands of the mental institution.
Craig Russell’s and Hollis McLaren’s performances are what define Outrageous! They both ooze an ancient desire to be seen and successful, and their shared moments on screen are driven by an infectious sense of play. Robin’s on-stage performances are naturally dazzling and plenty silly, captured with a hypnotic ‘70s scruff. His impressions of stars like Bette Davis and Mae West involve true talent, his songs strike a nerve of mesmerizing sensitivity, and Liza sews Robin whatever he needs.
Outrageous!, like many Canadian films, is about survival. It’s a message that isn’t pressed down the viewer’s throat but navigated with a subtle and often dread-inducing underpinning that permeates the plot and collects in Toronto’s greyscale air. Parties feel like sanguine reprieves as you come to expect that when the camera cuts, we’ll see our characters checking their mounting bills with temple-touch dismay. Both Liza and Robin are scrutinized by everybody in their lives—criticized for living together, pursuing their dreams, and for being themselves—but by leaning on each other’s shoulders, speckled with joyous dander, they endure, ultimately finding something steady, fulfilling, and beautiful. No gay graves in this one.
I recommend watching Outrageous! on a Cabbagetown fire escape with a roommate you love, legs dangling above each other’s futures.
This was a tricky exercise, funnelling one of the best film traditions into a four picture stack. I tried to emphasize flicks that feel underground, or at least semi-buried, but the truth is there are endless phenomenal gay films.
There is no more compelling film tradition than queer cinema, and to close this list to four films feels hilarious. Here are a few more obvious, but essential queer gems that stand out in my watch history: Watermelon Woman (Cheryl Dunye, 1996), anything from John Waters, but Pink Flamingos (1972) has always been a fave, The Handmaiden (Park Chan-Wook, 2016), Milk (Gus Van Sant, 2008)—controversial take: I didn’t much care for My Own Private Idaho (1991), duh—Paris Is Burning (Jennie Livingston, 1990), Persona (Ingmar Bergman, 1966), Mysterious Skin (Gregg Araki, 2004), and we’ll end with a classic and a banger, The Birdcage (Mike Nichols, 1996).
