BFI Flare: Queering the Archive

 Almost a week into the festival and I have finally completed a feature! And what a film! Ultraviolette and the Blood Spitters Gang is a French art doc with an extraordinary backstory. Director Robin Hunzinger collaborated with his mother Claudie to tell the story of Emma and Marcelle, two young women who met in 1923 and had a love affair which played out in the latter stages in letters sent by Marcelle to Emma (Robin's grandmother and Claudie's mother). After Emma's death, the two descendants found the letters and have used them to narrate this beautifully realised, affecting story of persistent desire. 

It took me awhile to realise most of the images were not of the two lovers but from found footage also also from art films. I recognised scenes from Meshes of the Afternoon and Mädchen in Uniform but the credits revealed work by Leger, Dulac and Moholy-Nagy as well. It's a bold move to drop those into such a personal story. I also admired the strong use of archive footage, the queering of images of women in the countryside, women dancing, women on bicycles, women wearing ties. This was truly a queering of the archive. 

Separated by work and academic commitments, Marcelle writes passionately about her feelings for Emma but also about her own life philosophy, stating she has "le goût de la vie". Diagnosed with tuberculosis, she finds herself confined to a sanatorium, where she meets three other rebellious young women and the four of them form a gang. A very queer gang. Marcelle, despite her love for Emma, is quite happy to play the seducer and even brags about it in her letters. Who knew a sanatorium could be such a pick-up joint, especially in 1928?

There are resonances for current day concerns: young women lying in beds in close proximity, attended by doctors, none of them wearing masks. Young women facing death from a communicable illness. Marcelle writes of her friends facing death, which she refuses. She wonders if a lost friend will return to visit. She has the most brilliant way with words, and one wonders if she went on to become a writer, as one of her friends did. 

Needless to say, there can be no really happy ending, not with fatal illness and impending world war. I felt shaken at the end and thrilled to have made the acquaintance of such vibrant beings from another time.

BFI Flare: Shortsighted

 By now I would have hoped to have seen several films and be mulling over themes arising in ye olde fest. But, owing to technical problems, I have not seen any features and only a handful of shorts, all of them available online for free. 

Among this year's crop of Five Films for Freedom is the evocative Frozen Out (dir Hao Zhou), an arty exploration of dislocation through a series of gorgeous static shots of a man marching through snowy settings while a voiceover asks searching questions like "Where am I?". All five films are available to view until 27 March.

Among the shorts available on the BFI player is Do This For Me (dir Marnie Baxter), which unfolds as a bit of a mystery as five women gather in someone's home and record a series of videos addressed to a missing member of their group. This felt a bit like a web series to me and the ending is a bit abrupt, but the women's gossipy interplay is quite well done. 

Reflections

 Here we are in the shortest month of the year and I have been reminded of several anniversaries. It's natural to offer some reflection on days gone by. 

For example, I was startled to note that the last week marked the birthdays of both Audre Lorde and Kurt Cobain. And what would those two have made of each other? I remember their deaths in 1992 and 1994, respectively, and was immensely saddened by both events. While one was much older than me and the other was a peer, I had enough distance to not mourn personally, but from a distance, wondering what else would they have done?

That has often been a question I have posed myself in hard times: what else might I do? It always spurs me on, thinking about things I might yet accomplish. 

Which brings me to a rather more personal anniversary, as it was seven years ago this week I was diagnosed with breast cancer. Seven years, three diagnoses, three treatment regimes, the works. Still here. Still curious. Still wondering what more is there? Loads more, I think. 

The Stuff of Nightmares: Cats

So, I finally got round to watching Cats last night. It had never made much impression on me, thought it was a big hit on Broadway in the 1980s when I lived in New York and I have liked some other Lloyd Webber shows. 

And then the film came out in 2019. Oh, my. Savage reviews, memes, parodies. But, you know, people like to exaggerate. How bad could it be? Cover me. I'm going in. 

So, it is possible to watch things simultaneously on streaming services with certain apps. My friend L. and I arranged to have a "Netflix Party" to watch Cats in our separate abodes. I pressed Play and off we went. First thing popping up on my screen: the subtitle "Thrilling music". Well, No. It was bang average scene-setting. 

And then the cats appeared, first a timid cat, then street cats. And they were standing on all fours, with hands sticking out and twitchy ears and bits of whiskers and I mean: WTF? Who designed this madness? Are they cat-like humanoids? Humans in cat costumes? What is the concept here? 

And then they started singing in posh English accents. So, they're English cats? In what time period? Hard to tell, as the set design was some kind of weird steampunk vaguely Victorian looking but not really. 

Idris Elba popped up with yellow eyes. Dame Judi Dench popped up with a long fur coat. Rebel Wilson had zippable skin. Poor Jennifer Hudson, the best thing by far in this monstrosity, had an entirely human face with some sad whiskers. She got the only decent song, Memory. Poor Taylor Swift--she had a great entrance, being lowered on a crescent and then had to effect an English accent for her one song. 

By this point my friend and I were openly speculating what drugs the creators of this spectacle were on. She thought LSD and I suggested absinthe. Actually, Lloyd Webber was on coke when he wrote the score. But Tom Hooper, the director, what the hell was his excuse? 

I amused myself during the duller parts by googling who was who and came upon the intriguing notion that cat buttholes were digitally removed in the lengthy post-production. This cheered me up enormously during the 110 minute running time. Finally, it was over. "We did it!" L. typed. Really, we should get medals. 

Someone ran with the butthole concept and here is the evidence. Enjoy. Don't have nightmares. 

Christmas with Netflix

 Much as I would love to offer an end-of-year Best Of full of visits to the cinema, it just hasn't been that kind of year. :)

However, I have managed to visit an extraordinary place full of folk wisdom, romantic encounters and fake snow: Christmas with Netflix. 

It was a few years ago I made my first visit and since then I return annually, the mist lifting on 1 December and closing on 31 December. So many fascinating characters have come my way: hard-bitten executives, heartbroken writers, quite a few social influencers. All of them seeking meaning in their broken lives. And lo! All it takes is a few life lessons offered by the spirit of Christmas. Wow. 

This year I sampled no fewer than 11 Christmas-themed films on Netflix and wowzers. There are some actual rank duds out there. I'm looking at you, A Wish for Christmas. Netflix makes originals but also draws from other networks and my tip is avoid the Hallmark ones. 

But some do actually punch above their weight. I have been pleasantly surprised by the Princess Switch trio, the most recent of which arrived this year. Filmed in Scotland, too, after previously using Romania as a location. 

Single All the Way offered an interracial gay couple as the protagonists, with amusing supporting work from Kathy Najimy and Barry Bostwick. 

Christmas with a View features a chef with stubble and resort manager who could double for Meghan Markle. Great scenery, shame about the script. But Patrick Duffy with a man-bun! Vivica Fox making gingerbread houses! Canadian mountains!

But my favourite Netflix viewing was actually a film I avoided at the cinema two years ago: Last Christmas. Definitely a Whamageddon, as it features the title track many, many times. But it wasn't the wan rom-com I thought it would be. Emma Thompson speaking Serbo-Croat! Henry Golding showing some emotion! Emilia Clarke singing! A lesbian couple! And a message about family conflict and trying again. Plus, a cameo by Broadway legend Patti LuPone. What's not to love?

See you next year. 

Passing

I was quite keen to watch the drama Passing which has arrived on Netflix recently. Adapted from Nella Larsen's novel by Rebecca Hall, who also directs, it's an unexpected debut for the actor turned filmmaker: a 1929 novel set in NYC about the conflagration that erupts when two old school friends reconnect as adults. 

It turns out the storyline of a black woman passing as white had personal significance for the writer-director. I find the concept fascinating for many reasons, but never having read the novel I approached the film in a state of ignorance. 

Passing

Irene, a married woman who lives in Harlem, runs into her former schoolfriend Clare in a chi-chi restaurant, where (it is suggested) both are passing as white. Clare invites a rather reluctant Irene back into her life and the latter realises that Clare's racist husband has no idea his wife is passing. The stage is set for dramatics and the rest of the film unfolds under this tension.

For me, the film of Passing is only partly successful. Ruth Negga as Clare conveys exuberance and flirtation and it definitely feels like Clare is performing the role of a white wife and mother. She actually reminded me a lot of Carol Aird, as played by Cate Blanchett in Carol from her blonde wig to her big gestures and meaningful looks. 

As Irene, Tessa Thompson has the less showy part, but as the film takes place from her POV, the audience has some investment in her character. Nevertheless, I felt the dynamic between the two characters was unclear and I wanted to see more of them and their backstory, rather than the two husbands, the maid, or the white literary lion who hangs around Harlem, commenting on racial difference and whether Irene can tell who is passing. “We’re, all of us, passing for something or the other,” she tells him. 

Indeed, it has been suggested that Larsen's novel was not just about racial passing but sexual, as the relationship between Clare and Irene seems fraught with unspoken desires and complications. I definitely detected some frisson between them but that aspect was definitely downplayed in Hall's telling. 

As I anticipated, things go horribly wrong and the ending is ambiguous and a bit frustrating. No spoilers here. But we really, really do need to know what kind of feeling was shared by Irene and Clare before we can make up our minds. I found the film quite slow, a bit ponderous and not that emotionally involving. However, I will definitely be seeking out Larsen's novel to find out more. 

Monika Werkstatt: MANIA D. / MALARIA! / MATADOR M_Sessions

Quite the undertaking this, as Monika has delved into its back catalogue to focus on three M bands involving founder Gudrun Gut: Mania D., Malaria! and Matador. The musical release offers contemporary artists remixing old tracks, while a second LP offers some rarities, some demos and live tracks. There was also an exhibit that ran in Berlin last week, as well as a forthcoming book I have not seen. 

I was struck by how cohesive the sound was on the remixes, although they were done by artists ranging from AGF to Natalie Beridze and covered all three bands: lots of muttered vocals, bleeps and the odd shrieking sax. It does suggest these bands were ahead of their time, lo- fi in sound but bringing in lots of futuristic touches, such as cut-up vocals, bleeps and odd percussion. The Matador tracks were the least familiar to me, probably the most melodic and conventional but still off-kilter. 

The live tracks which cover 1980-1983 do make me wonder what audiences thought of Malaria! back in the day, what with Bettina's wailing sax and imperious vocals. Wish I'd been there. 

London Film Festival shorts

I didn't actually get to the BFI London Film Festival this year (again), but did watch some of the shorts available on the BFI Player. I watched two programmes, Weird and Wonderful World and My Identity, No Crisis. 

All of the films I really enjoyed came from the latter programme, as the former was long on atmosphere and quite short on satisfying story-telling. Plots and character development I kind of like. 

So, the best of the films I saw included 5 Stars (dir Remi Itani, UK), a drama staged as a documentary in which a women interacts with three Uber drivers over three rides, repeatedly fielding their questions about where she's from. From such a loaded question comes a lot of observations about racial identity and who really belongs, especially as all three drivers have origins outside the UK. Such a clever and knowing film. 

Play It Safe (dir Mitch Kalisa, UK) is a drama set in drama school, as Jonathan tries to negotiate the difficulties in being the only black student in his class. The final scene, which seems to go on for ages, is notable for focusing on the horrified reactions of his classmates, rather than him, as he acts out his assignment. Very well made and tense. 

My favourite, however, was Egungun  [Masquerade] (dir Olive Nwosu, Nigeria) in which Salewa returns to her home country from London to bury her mother. At the funeral she reconnects with someone from her childhood and the stage is set for drama and possible romance. I was cheering the couple on. Really, this could be turned into a feature. Someone, get it made!

Mistress of the Dark Shines Her Light

 Great to hear that the Mistress of the Dark, Elvira, has been sharing her life with a ladyfriend for 19 years. But are we really surprised? The camp innuendo, the raised eyebrow and the enormous beehive have always marked her as in on some old, queer joke. And it reinforces the connection between horror and queerness. Fab. 

Elvira, born Cassandra Peterson, has just released her memoirs, marking 40 years inhabiting the persona of the Mistress of the Dark, and I am trying to remember when I first saw her. Possibly mid-80s on some late-night TV show, which would make me a wide-eyed teen, ready to be inculcated into a cult. 

1981 was also the year that the Oak Ridge Boys released their quite popular cover, "Elvira", celebrating: 

Eyes that look like heaven, lips like sherry wine

That girl can sure enough make my little light shine

Coincidence? I think not. 

Boisterous Longing

 I blame SOTUS. There I was shielding at home in spring 2020 and innocently clicked on a suggestion from Netflix. A series about Thai engineering students? Sure, why not? And that, my friends, was my introduction to boys love dramas. BL, for those in the know. Yaoi for those up on their Japanese anime. The adventures of young Kongpob and his push me-pull you with his senior Arthit had me gripped. 

Here I am 18 months later on my sixth or perhaps seventh BL drama, all variations on a theme: young, good-looking scholarly guys wearing crisp white or pink shirts looking up from their books or screens to exchange meaningful glances with others of similar demeanour. Will they or won't they?

Arthit and Kongpob

Some of them are quite badly acted or clumsily shot. The sound in 'Cause You're My Boy was an abomination.  But then there is always some kind of drama to hold the interest. I even know several actors' handles: Singto, Krist, Off, Gun... They have quite the giddy following, especially among straight women which is the target market. So, it's sort of gay but not gay. 

Ironically, women don't get much of a look-in and the female roles are pretty identikit: a bratty sister, a well-meaning mother, a vengeful ex. Occasionally, there is a BFF as in Puppy Honey, but, really, it is all about the dudes. Once I understood the set-up, I accepted this fact and got quite immersed. Currently, I am watching a mastercut of all Pete and Kao's scenes from Kiss Me Again, meaning I can skip all the straight storylines. This will set me up to watch the rest of Our Skyy so I can see how all of these dramas play out. Then I shall have to find other diversions. 

But the best bit of watching BL? The YouTube comments, especially on the GMMTV episodes. Oh, my, they are a riot! Viewers from the Philippines to Europe weigh in on their favourite characters and actors and the writing is better than the shows. Pass the pink milk!

Aliens at 35

 This week saw the 35th anniversary of the release of Aliens, the epic sequel to 1979's Alien and a rare example of a sequel that matches or surpasses the original. I actually saw Aliens before I saw the original, as I was too young to watch such a violent film in 1979. 

But Aliens. Wow. Sigourney Weaver in control, jaw clenched, eyes blazing, guns firing. Carrie Henn bringing wide-eyed youth to Newt. Michael Biehn as the honourable grunt. And of course Jenette Goldstein bringing the butch to Vasquez. I loved this film when I saw it as a teenager. 

So quotable, such a game-changer and still quite scary, Aliens remains an epic film synthesising horror, action and sci-fi and entrenching Weaver as the iconic action heroine, Ellen Ripley. 

Lesbian Period Drama

 As it's Pride month (and has been for 21 days. Oops. Been busy, ya know?) and um, not really very much is allowed to happen IRL I thought I would post this Saturday Night Live sketch from a couple of months ago when Carey Mulligan hosted. I thought it was extremely well produced and many commenters on Twitter said, "I want to see this film!". I would see it, if only because there are so few lesbian films out there, but, yes, it does, eh, touch on a lot of tired tropes which have irritated some film watchers.  

I see that Bristol Pride's Queer Vision film festival is hosting a discussion online on 12 July called Not another Lesbian period drama! which will consider on-screen representation. In the meantime enjoy SNL's pisstake with a guest appearance by actual lezzer Kate McKinnon. Happy Pride!

xx Alix

Farewell then to the Head Lesbian, Alix Dobkin, who died on 19 May after an aneurysm. Our paths crossed a few times in the 1990s and she offered me some typically barbed quotes for my Deneuve article "From Womyn to Grrrls" in 1993, suggesting certain lyrics that might work as I sought to illustrate parallels between womyn's music and Riot Grrrl. I remember one I selected was "go stick it in some mud". 

The best line, though, was one that did not appear. I knew that Tribe 8, then considered a rather raucous dyke band, wanted to play the womyn's music festival circuit. I pondered how they would be perceived and wondered aloud whether the audience might see some "moshing on the green fields of Michigan". Sadly, this line was cut for space in editing, but I was obviously a seer, because later I heard that not only had Alix introduced the band personally when they played, donning a leather jacket for the occasion, but Ms. Dobkin had actually stage-dived during their set!! In vain have I searched for photos of this momentous event, but I like to imagine it. 

Alix gave them her blessing, I am given to understand, after doing some research on their feminist credentials, but also because she had first-hand experience of this younger generation of dyke. I arranged for her to meet with Jill Reiter, Selena Whang and Kathleen Hanna and they conducted a riotous, thoughtful and uproarious conversation over brunch at her apartment in NYC. I was not present but was sent the proceedings by cassette, along with a slightly out of focus Polaroid of the four of them, arms around each other, captured on the roof of the building. It remains a treasured possession, evidence of generations speaking together and learning from each other. The conversation appeared in edited form in Hot Wire in 1994. Rock on, Alix. 

Saying Something

Kudos to Dua Lipa for calling for frontline workers to get a pay rise. Even playing to the gallery at a Brits ceremony peopled by key workers it was still an excellent way of using her platform for a good cause.

I had heard of the singer for some year but never really listened to her music until last year when I was working out at a gym (pre-pandemic). Several of her tunes popped up on the sound system and in our ballet fit class the instructor had programmed a very catchy number for when we did sideways steps. I only realised later this was Dua Lipa's "Don't Start Now", and I can't hear the song without flashing back to those steps. Once I was in lockdown I listened to Future Nostalgia and decided it was a retro pop classic. Very deserving then of the Brits statuettes handed out this week for best album and female solo artist. Her medley was brilliantly realised. 

Dua Lipa turns up on Song Exploder, the series on Netflix going behind the scenes of notable recordings. The episode that features her centres on the writing and recording of "Love Again", which I found to be one of the less memorable songs on the album. In discussing the formation of the song Lipa gives nods to the co-writers, producers etc. and then someone she describes as her "vocal producer" who apparently told her to smile while singing certain lines. Vocal producer? Is this a thing? Somehow I can't imagine Aretha Franklin or Frank Sinatra having a vocal producer. But, if it works for Lipa, then good for her. 

Cross Over

I was interested to see all the fuss made over Lil Nas X's "Montero (Call Me By Your Name)", which I think is a pretty ordinary song with a pretty nifty video. Good for him camping it up and upsetting the right wing. But it did make me flash back to 1989 when Madonna dropped "Like a Prayer" and really set the cat among the pigeons. Both have upset some quarters with their juxtaposition of Christian symbols and sexuality. I just watched both back to back to see how they converse. 

What's interesting to me about "Montero" is that Lil Nas X plays all the parts and that CGI plays such a big role in stitching it all together. It's quite hilariously phallic and masturbatory--the tree, the pole, him caressing all of these CGI bodies. Offended Christians seem to miss the fact that he kills the devil and steals his essence. It's thrilling to see a young black gay man claiming his power in this day and age. 

"Like a Prayer" positions Madonna as white saviour in a black church and apparently fixing race relations by going to a police station and freeing a wrongly accused black man. In between she experiences ecstatic visions and sings and dances with a gospel choir. My favourite part of this song has always been toward the end when the (unnamed) gospel singer cuts in and starts improvising on the chorus. This is often where radio fades out the song, which says a lot. The video is still quite powerful in its use of Christian iconography and the burning crosses will hold their power for as long as we associate them with the KKK, as Madonna well knew. It's fascinating to see all the comments on the video now from people who are only discovering it through "Montero". Culture feeds culture. 

Poly Styrene: I Am a Cliche

One of my great inspirations in pursuing a DIY ethic is the late Poly Styrene, singer and writer for X-Ray Spex and someone I sadly missed meeting during my time in the UK. Not that I didn't try. I distinctly remember speaking to her manager Falcon Stuart around 1995-96 and trying to arrange an interview, but it did not happen. And I missed the X-Ray Spex reunion gig at the Roundhouse in 2008, the gig that would turn out to be her last, as one of the interviewees in this documentary points out. Styrene's death in 2011 robbed the world of a visionary figure who was ahead of her time. Stuart, who passed in 2002, also appears in archive footage and I was startled to discover the two were lovers back in the day. It is one of many eye-opening moments in this unusual film, whose narrator is none other than Celeste Bell, the daughter of Poly Styrene. 

Or rather Bell is the daughter of Marion (also frequently spelled Marianne) Elliott, but had to get used to sharing her mother with the public figure who was Poly Styrene. Their tumultuous relationship is at the heart of the film, which follows Bell around the various haunts of her mother, as if seeking traces of an elusive figure: Hastings, Hertfordshire, New York City and even India. Bell pops up in brief tracking shots as the soundtrack gives voice to her thoughts while actress Ruth Negga gives voice to Poly's written thoughts. The diary is extraordinary, showing what a brilliant writer Styrene was. If only she had written a novel! And Negga's voice is uncannily similar to Styrene's. If a bio-pic ever appears, she surely must be a shoo-in for the starring role. 

What comes out of the piece is really how much Bell wanted to be the daughter of someone a bit more normal and less volatile than Styrene who was misdiagnosed with schizophrenia before being correctly diagnosed with bipolarism. Bell explains how she grew up with her grandma after many adventures with Styrene including time in a Hare Krishna temple. 

Bell seems to be coming to terms with both this personal legacy and with upholding her mother's creative legacy as she notes how much she treasured working with her mother on her solo album, Generation Indigo. Many other interviewees appear in voice only, among them Gina Birch and Kathleen Hanna, but it is Poly's voice and her relationship with her only child that comes through most movingly. It makes one want to run out and re-listen to Styrene's records. 

BFI Flare: Do the Work

My concluding post from this year's BFI Flare festival is concerned with history, the ways we remember things and the importance of passing on knowledge and skills. Two documentaries illustrate the challenges this presents.

AIDS Diva

In AIDS Diva: the Legend of Connie Norman, we hear about someone who is presented as forgotten, the trans activist Connie Norman who died in 1996 after a battle with AIDS. She advocated for many communities over her lifetime, moving from Texas to San Francisco and then settling in Los Angeles as the AIDS crisis escalated. Her work covered both street protests and lobbying of the local council, which called upon a range of skills: persuasion, agitation, research, etc. That she had little formal education is even more remarkable, given what she accomplished. Friends and colleagues remember her as someone who would reach out to others and who was a warm, engaging personality, which is backed up by the archive footage of her speaking at marches, debating bigots on television and hosting her own radio show. I did not know her, but our paths may well have crossed in the 1990s as I attended some of the same demos. Even at the end of her life she was still speaking about the work that was left to be done and the importance of collective action. She had wisdom.

Rebel Dykes

Rebel Dykes, my most eagerly anticipated film, centres on the lesbians who lived in London in the 1980s edging into the 1990s and has a plethora of charismatic figures but is very short on cultural context: squats, AIDS, clubs, protests are all in there but are not very well linked or mapped. How much contact did the Chain Reaction set have with Greenham Common dykes? Did the abseiling lesbians know the musical dykes? It is not at all clear and if the aim is to start an inter-generational conversation, why are there no younger voices? I loved the archive material and was keen to get to know the speakers, but was left quite confused. I also felt dismayed  by the lack of nuance in discussions of the so-called sex wars. Life is complex and the more information you put out there, the better. We all need to do the work to record our lives and struggles. Society will never do that for marginalised people. 

BFI Flare: Troubled Teens

 The teenage years are always ripe for cinematic imagining and this year's festival did not disappoint, offering up a summer beach holiday in Sweetheart and a going away party in Dramarama. 

Sweetheart

I actually thought both of these would be fun, light comedies and was startled by the quite heavy themes that emerged, but that is no bad thing. In Sweetheart, A.J., known to her mum as April, goes on holiday with her family to Freshwater, a seaside camp in Dorset. A.J. bemoans the lack of wi-fi and so begins a long week of drama and conflict. The film brilliantly captures the sulkiness of being 17, while adding enough specifics to make A.J. a memorable character who is exploring her sexuality and (it is implied) gender identity. When A.J. meets the lovely Isla, a lifeguard, sparks fly but things don't go to plan. Of course not, as there would be no film. I was impressed by the writing and direction in this Microwave film and look forward to seeing more from film-maker Marley Morrison. 

Dramarama features an ensemble of teens gathering at the Escondido, California home of Rose to bid her farewell before she heads off to New York for uni. They are all theatre geeks and arrive in costume, faux British accents at the ready, for a night of extreme murder mystery posturing. Then a pizza delivery guy arrives and kills the mood. Rivalries escalate, secrets are unearthed and dares are accepted. It's a brilliantly uncomfortable watch as the kids tear each apart psychologically and there are two repressed queer romances on the go, as well. Ouch. A semi-autobiographical story from dir/writer Jonathan Wysocki, it strikes a bittersweet tone as it sends its characters off into uncertain adulthoods. 

BFI Flare: Hot Topics

Today I will look at two documentaries that have screened online at this year's unusual Flare film festival. No Ordinary Man looks at the fascinating life of jazz musician Billy Tipton, while PS: Burn This Letter Please recovers the lives of 1950s New York City drag queens. 

One interviewee in No Ordinary Man explains why Billy Tipton's name is familiar. "It was in a Le Tigre song." That song was, of course, "Hot Topic", but I actually heard Tipton's name much further back and am pretty sure Phranc wrote a song about the musician who died in 1989. Back then the general understanding was that Tipton, who was born a woman but lived as a man, was a frustrated lesbian who thought dressing as a man would help her music career. Later this understanding evolved to recognise Tipton as a trans man. Interestingly, this same pattern followed Brandon Teena, who is also mentioned in the documentary. I pondered this, as nobody in the documentary seemed to really delve into this paradox: we recognise someone as queer but get the specifics wrong. 

No Ordinary Man used an unusual method to canvass opinion on Tipton, convening auditions to play him. Auditionees played out scenes and then offered their reactions. I was confused, however, as to whether there really is a biopic in the works or whether they understood their contributions were solely for this documentary. But, the real emotional heart of the film for me was the interviews with Billy Tipton, Jr., who found his father dying back in 1989 and has had to live ever since with the salacious gossip about his life and whether he and his siblings (never seen) or mother "knew" about Tipton senior. He comes across as rather damaged by life and incredibly grateful that so many trans people revere his father. "I thought I was the only one," he says. Where have we heard that before?

P.S. Burn This Letter Please

PS: Burn This Letter Please starts with a brilliant premise: a stash of letters found in storage in 2014 that turn out to be 1950s missives sent by drag queens to one man, their friend who was travelling for his radio job. And what letters, full of dish and gossip about the scene and its players, all signed with their drag names. Incredibly, many of them are tracked down by the filmmakers and interviewed in the present day to reflect on their lives back then. And what stories! The great Met wig heist lingers long in the memory. A must-see. 

BFI Flare: Arrivals

Still smarting from my woeful performance in the Big Gay Film Quiz (42/80), I am dusting myself off and pondering what might have been. It was all going well until the final round on lesbian couples on TV. I don't watch TV, so it was mostly guesswork. PFFT. 

Sublet

So, to more films viewed online for BFI Flare and I am focussing on newcomers arriving on foreign shores, a theme that features in several films. Top of the list is Eytan Fox's Sublet in which Michael, a mature New York journalist, arrives in Tel Aviv to research the city for his travel column. By rather contrived means he ends up sharing his sublet with Tomer, a young, chaotic filmmaker who shows him around the city. Michael is in a long-term relationship with his insensitive partner who Skypes him sporadically and seems completely emotionally detached. Ugh. It's no wonder he develops an attraction to hot younger guy. But will they or won't they? Well, actually, that isn't even the crux of this wonderful film, which deftly explores intergenerational communication, misunderstandings and family attachments in a beautifully funny and moving way. I found myself crying at some of the revelations in the third act. As Michael John Benjamin Hickey conveys a world of repressed pain and bitter experience while his opposite number Niv Nissim has charisma to burn. 

Boy Meets Boy

Not quite so great is the extremely talky Boy Meets Boy, which starts promisingly with two guys hooking up at a Berlin club and spending the next day together. Harry is a British doctor who finds them, f*cks them and forgets them, while local boy Johannes has a boyfriend but isn't so keen on their open relationship. Over 12 hours or so they wander Berlin and talk.... and talk. Much of the dialogue appears off the cuff but some of it is so on the nose it's painful. For such a short film (69 mins) it really does drag on. And the ending is one of those Eh moments, like what the heck was that about? The two leads are pleasant enough, but it feels like director Daniel Sánchez López thought their chemistry alone would carry the film without an actual plot. It really does not. 

And then there is Kiss Me Before It Blows Up (Kiss me Kosher), whose title(s) promises so much more than it delivers. Honestly, the trailer is brilliant, suggesting a comic farce of culture clashes and lesbian romance. Shira and Maria are about to move in together somewhere in Israel when they accidentally get engaged and their families get involved, sparking chaos. The film's premise is that since Shira is Israeli and Maria is German, there will be laughs aplenty from their two families mixing. Cue trips to the Holocaust museum and jokes about Nazis. No, really. I love bad taste, but this is just cringe, with sitcommy dialogue and clumsy direction galore courtesy of writer-director Shirel Peleg. A pity, as it does attempt to shoehorn in Middle East issues, inter-cultural relationships and some history along the way. Great scenery, too. Juliane Köhler looks pained as Maria's mother, perhaps remembering her great performance in Aimee and Jaguar all those years ago and wondering why someone can't write her something better than this. 

BFI Flare: Spooky Worlds

The Greenhouse

Continuing my festival viewing are two films I saw back to back, the dramas Jump, Darling and The Greenhouse. The former features the last performance of the late Cloris Leachman, an actress I grew up watching on TV. Here she is unrecognisable as an elderly widow living alone in a big house who is thrown together with her tearaway grandson when he comes looking for a handout. Leachman is the highlight of the film which features glimpses of a powerful family drama and intriguing characters without really delivering. The ending is a shock for all the wrong reasons. 

However, The Greenhouse really impressed with its odd mix of comedy and drama overlaid with sci-fi. A woman living with her mother in rural Australia discovers a portal to the past in a nearby greenhouse. The unusual family features two mothers and several adopted kids, all of whom bicker and have their own issues. As the daughter visits the greenhouse to witness times from her own life she bumps into the surviving mother. Spooky! Queer! Bonkers! 

BFI Flare: Messy Lives of the Creators

As all of the Flare viewing this year is online, I have been playing catch-up with all of the titles available. Today's post centres on the personal and creative lives of two twentieth century European icons: artist/writer Tove Jansson and auteur Rainer Werner Fassbinder. 

Tove

I count myself as someone who has never read the Moomins series that made Jansson's name. Yet, her life fascinates me, having viewed a documentary many years ago formed from her home movies. So, I knew a bit about her later life living on a remote island but nothing of her earlier years. Tove, a biopic by Zaida Bergroth, picks up Jansson's story as WWII is coming to an end and she is suffocating living at home with her parents. Striking out on her own to set up her own live-work studio in Helsinki, she embarks on a life as a visual artist and bohemian. And how. Within the first twenty minutes of the film she has taken as her lovers not only an MP but the daughter of the mayor! Everybody appears to be married, but also playing around. Honestly, the Bloomsbury crowd had nothing on the Helsinki set. It is a beautifully crafted drama of a woman seeking creative and personal satisfaction and giving not a jot about convention. 

As its title makes clear, Oskar Roehler's Enfant Terrible offers a view of filmmaker Rainer Werner Fassbinder as a drama queen creating chaos wherever he goes. Fassbinder's creativity was prodigious, fuelled by drink and drugs and his sexual appetite was equally active. During the film, which spans 1967-1982, he collects a crew of hangers-on and lovers who appear to be dedicated to him and his films, returning again and again. Why is not clear. He is rude, obnoxious, arrogant, insensitive and prone to throwing violent tantrums. Were his films that good? I don't buy the whole tortured genius as an excuse for wretched behaviour, but the film offers a vision of Fassbinder as performer on his own stage. In the title role Oliver Masucci is outstanding, conveying Fassbinder's aggression coupled with hints of vulnerability and fear. 

For those wanting to delve into Fassbinder's back catalogue the BFI Player is offering a selection of his work. Drama guaranteed. 

Five Films for Freedom 2021

 Today is the opening of BFI Flare, this year online, and as usual it coincides with the launch of Five Films for Freedom, the shorts selected to go online for all to see during the festival to promote LGBT+ lives around the world. 

Actually, all of the shorts are online this year, but these five are the ones the British Council will be spotlighting throughout the festival, so give them a look. I found the most affecting to be Pure, a sweet tale of budding romance allied with self confidence. 

More on BFI Flare in the coming days.... 

More Moxie

Watching the Netflix drama Moxie*, I was piqued by feelings of nostalgia and bang up to date anger. Women banding together to protest male violence? Zines? Protests? Vigils? All quite relevant to the situation unfolding in the UK after the murder of Sarah Everard, a woman snatched from the streets of London and found dead a week later. #shewasonlywalkinghome was trending while I watched and I viewed the awful footage on Twitter of police, one of whose number is the suspect, attacking vigil attendees that night. It was shocking. And yet not. 

Moxie

Women fearing for our safety on the streets is nothing new. And sadly other cases of women disappearing and being found dead attracted next to no attention even recently, among them Blessing Olusegun.

But, it was still refreshing to watch a drama about high school students in which the main relationship is between female protagonists, in which a mother is able to pass on her love of Riot Grrrl to her daughter and in which difficult issues of race, class and sexual violence are raised, albeit briefly in the case of the two former. I do wish there had been a bit more diversity of desire as well. One kiss between teenaged girls at a gig was not quite the representation it could have been. Kudos to Amy Poehler for picking up a YA book to develop in this way. We await real action on male violence, as well. 

*force of character, determination, or nerve

Historical Drama Fact and Fiction

Does it matter of an historical drama is factually incorrect? I thought about this after a recent viewing of the Netflix drama The Dig. I enjoyed the film, was swept up in the emotion and mood of the piece, especially the misty views of the Suffolk coast. Carey Mulligan and Ralph Fiennes turned in bravura performances as landowner Edith Pretty and excavator Basil Brown as they uncovered an historically significant archaelogical find. Afterward, curious about what I'd seen, I went online and did some digging of a different sort to find out more about these figures and the others depicted in the film.

It's no secret Edith Pretty was 21 years older than Mulligan at the time she is depicted in the film. Equally, supporting characters' ages have also been changed and this has prompted some Twitter rage. The Dig is an adaptation of a novel based on actual events, so there is some leeway for depictions. We can all speculate why the producers could not find a 56-year old actress to portray Pretty, while having no trouble finding a 50-something to portray Brown. Indeed. I suppose for people like me who had no knowledge of the Sutton Hoo find the film more than justified the factual errors by bringing to light the personages of Pretty and Brown for us to appreciate. After all, Brown was lost to history, as the British Museum which took over the treasure erased his name from the record. The Dig at least restores some credit to both of them. 

Sound on Sound: Imogen Heap

On a similar tip to my last post, here is a fascinating chat between two electronic musicians, podcaster Caro C and her guest Imogen Heap. It takes in such topics as rats in a barn and wearable tech. I remember seeing Heap do a live soundtrack to a silent film, and I was impressed at her energy, dashing to and fro between instruments. Now she seems to have settled on "gestural gloves", which I didn't even know was a thing. This is a total geek-out. Enjoy. 

Directors on Directors: Olivia Wilde & Emerald Fennell

While on the hunt for some cultural podcasts to explore, I stumbled on this conversation posted to Variety earlier this month, in which directors Emerald Fennell (A Promising Young Woman) and Olivia Wilde (Booksmart) praise each other's work and compare notes on directing. I found it so fascinating to hear their experiences of being in the director's chair and doing it their way. 

While my own directing has been limited to shorts and no-budget work, I had a spark of recognition in hearing them say how unhelpful the paradigm of the tortured tyrant as director is. Why not be more egalitarian? Listen to suggestions? Keep the actors in the loop of the shoot? It all makes a lot of sense. They also have their own quirks and interest in details which is what makes work personal. As Wilde says at the end, "Be weird, be bold, make it yours." 

BFI Flare launch

As with everything else screen-related over the last year, Flare's annual launch went online. So, no programmes or cake presentation, but the usual montage of clips from the films was screened. I was a bit late getting to the correct Facebook page, as it was not well sign-posted, but did see some familiar faces presenting the clips. The key points are that the festival will screen this year on the BFI Player and all the shorts will be free. 

I have had a nose through the online programme and am quite excited about the long awaited world premiere of Rebel Dykes, a post-punk documentary which has been offering WIP screenings for some years now at conferences. Other docs focus on Billy Tipton and Gloria Allen. Biopics on Tove Jansson and Rainer Werner Fassbinder are also in the mix. And the late Cloris Leachman stars in Jump, Darling, which sounds intriguing. 

Here is the festival trailer.

The Botanical Mind: Art, Mysticism and The Cosmic Tree online

 One of the many casualties of the COVID crisis was this exhibit, scheduled to open last year at Camden Arts Centre in London. However, the gallery grasped the opportunity to move the exhibit online and indeed reflect on how its themes resonate in this peculiar time we are living through. 

Indeed, why wouldn't you reflect on how nature forms patterns, how it perseveres, how the living world operates through an interaction of plants and animals? There is much to unpack in these concepts. This introductory video introduces many of the concepts and there are also playlists and podcasts on the exhibit website. 

Pauline Boty's Nightmare

 While I have been in lockdown I have kept myself busy taking online courses, the most recent of which included Pop Art and Modern Sculpture. It was in the former that I made the acquaintance of the incredible talent that was Pauline Boty. A new name to me, she blazed brilliantly and briefly in the 1960s, creating striking Pop Art paintings that satirised sexual mores of the time, while also acting and broadcasting. Sadly, she died at 28 in 1966.

Like so many women artists Boty's star ebbed after her death and her paintings languished in family barns for many years awaiting rediscovery by discerning critics. 

This video is an excerpt from a documentary by Ken Russell and features music by Delia Derbyshire. 

Flare online: Our Dance of Revolution

Phillip Pike's documentary on Toronto's black LGBTQ community feels like a throwback to an era when community, coalition and activism were everyday words in the vocabulary. That Black Lives Matter now thrives on these terms is an interesting note thrown up by the film which covers an enormous amount of ground during its 102 minutes.

Our Dance of Revolution

Pike focuses on a handful of key events and groups such as the foundation of a group house, the AIDS crisis and current conflicts. If some of these feel rushed, there is much to discuss. Interspersed throughout the archive footage, interviews and current-day protests are performances of poetry that give another facet to the unfolding story. The use of the arts in this documentary was something I appreciated: dancing, singing and performing are all important ways for a community to express itself. It reminded me very much of the community I came out in in San Francisco in the early 1990s. As one interviewee says, it's hard to be angry all the time.

A few things I found odd: the drag queen Michelle Ross is shown and lauded but never interviewed; singer Faith Nolan appears repeatedly in a group interview, but is never named or interviewed; an activist called Sherona Hall is mourned, but her death is not explained. Perhaps there is a longer version that clears up these points, but the film celebrates a community forge in struggle but moving forward into its power with passion and determination.

Flare online: A Dog Barking at the Moon

A Dog Barking at the Moon is a film about family drama and is also made by family in that it is written and directed by Zi Xiang and the cinematography is by her partner, Jose Val Bal. They also co-produced it. One would think that this would lend it a cohesive feel, but that is not the case. A young woman and her husband fly into China to stay with her parents before her baby is born. The mother is angry, as her husband wants a divorce. The daughter advises her to get the divorce or stop complaining. So, the stage is set for family drama, but the film is a frustrating watch. 

A Dog Barking at the Moon

For one, the cinematography is almost static. Entire scenes play out as wide shots that drag on and on with no camera movement and little action. The story moves back and forth in time with very little explanation and then suddenly scenes are dropped in that make no sense, the actors interacting with no props or costumes on a stage. I wish that lent it an air of intrigue, but I was just bored most of the time.

The actress playing the daughter barely shows a flicker of emotion, massively underplaying, while her mother lashes out in furious rages, chewing the scenery. The other characters barely register and it is confusing to keep track of the different family members, especially as there are so many flashbacks. I had an inkling that two characters shown as young women might develop into something interesting, but this did not seem to be happening. 

And then in the last 15 minutes, wow--suddenly there is drama, character, emotion and a painfully played out reaction shot. I can't say it makes up for the previous 90 minutes but at least there was something to watch. A dance number, flashes of colour and life. And then it ends, oddly. 

Flare online: Rettet das Feuer

Continuing with the oh-so-topical self-isolation viewing, I watched the doc Rettet das Feuer, directed by Jasco Viefhues. I was keen to see this story of an artist living with HIV in 1990s Berlin, although not familiar with him or his work. Sadly, by the end of the film, I still felt I knew very little about him. Jürgen Baldiga, we learn, was a photographer and artist whose words and images fill the screen throughout the film, his diary entries read out by the filmmaker. 

Rettet das Feuer

 But the film spends most of the time in an unnamed archive (I guessed the Schwules Museum) with unnamed people poring over his donated works. I tried to work out who was who but failed. First names are thrown around but it is very hard to assign a name to a face or understand their relationship to this man who seemed to be very important to them.

Nor is any context given for Baldiga's life--where did he come from? What was Berlin like at that time? What was the drag scene that he photographed like? What was the situation for people with HIV? All of this information is withheld from the viewer and so we are left with black and white photos and chaps sitting in white rooms. I was completely nonplussed. It feels like an extended home movie where you have to already know who everybody is. Very frustrating.

Flare online: Good Grief

So, to the first post of this year's Flare, cancelled to all in person, but happening in various forms online. I do not have access to the BFI player where many films are screening, but I do have the limited screeners available to press online, from which I shall be selecting.

The first feature viewed was My Fiona, an impressive debut from writer-director Kelly Walker. Tackling the thorny subject of grief and surviving, My Fiona picks a delicate path through denial, bad object choices, staying put and moving on with great élan. Jane has to pick up the pieces when her business partner Fiona takes her own life. When she takes on caring responsibilities for Fiona's son Bailey to relieve the burden on Fiona's widow Gemma, it leads to drama and a lot of unresolved feelings coming to the surface. Oh, my.

If it loses a bit in the last 15 minutes, that only shows how well the preceding 85 has been presented. I had a giant "Oh, No!" moment about half-way through, which I will decline to reveal. But it's a big 'un. The leads, Jeanette Maus and Corbin Reid, are outstanding and the boy is super cute, displaying his own anguish and anger at the departure of his mother in an understandable way. I quite liked how Walker dropped in bits of dry humour throughout, without it coming off as glib.

I have also viewed several shorts, the outstanding find of which is Fawzia Mirza's I Know Her, a hilariously relatable 3 minutes of pillow talk which features another big reveal which I must keep scrum about. Awkward does not cover it. Mirza was the lead and writer in Signature Move three years ago at Flare, but I have not seen any of her previous directorial work.

Do catch Five Films for Freedom before it ends on the 29th. My favourite is the short doc, When Pride Came to Town, which pits a small-town Norwegian LGBT community against Christian conservatives who don't want Pride to come to town. Oh, to be a fly on the wall when the filmmakers interviewed the committed Christian who admitted she once liked women and even looked like a boy (!) but then realised what she really needed was Jesus. Awks.

Self-isolation

So, things have taken an odd turn, eh? Two weeks ago I was planning to attend Flare, visit Bristol next month, start a new job, etc. And now I find myself at home most of the time, quite busy but quite  bemused.

Never mind. The last few days have brought a host of social connections, from FaceTime chats about writing, to drag aerobics to an enjoyable cabaret session, the latter two courtesy of Facebook Live.

I intend to cover Flare entirely from online viewing as the festival has been, like so many other social events, cancelled. It won't be the same, of course, but the show must go on.

Keep safe, stay in if you can and keep doing art.

Poly Styrene Weekender

Coming up is the Poly Styrene Weekender, which seems to only be one day, 1 June, but it's packed full of activity.

Disappointingly, I cannot attend but am very excited to hear there are an exhibit, a biography and documentary in existence celebrating the human dynamo that was Poly Styrene. A punk legend, she wrote for and fronted X-ray Spex before going solo and then vanishing from the public eye for many years. I attempted to make contact with her when I arrived in the UK in 1995 but never did and she was taken far too soon, in 2011.

But let's celebrate her wonderful achievements in music. This is one of my favourite songs ever, an excoriating 3-minute examination of identity.

This is a very odd profile of her which appeared on the BBC in 1979, hinting at some existential melancholia.

And this is her last release. Enjoy.

BFI Flare: the Great Deception

So, to the final day of BFI Flare although I shall avail myself of the online screeners to do more posts later. If there has been a trend in this festival it seems to be a move away from happy endings and even decisive endings. I can only think of one film that offered a conventional happy ending and that was a woman joining a threesome so not that conventional.

JT LeRoy

Tonight's closing film was JT or JT LeRoy or, as imdb has it Jeremiah Terminator LeRoy, so perhaps the distributors have yet to settle on a title. The uncertainty suits its subject, a shape-shifting author revealed to be two women in a great literary scandal that passed me by in the early noughties. I had vaguely heard about it but was never invested in the original books, fictionalised memoirs of a gay teenager who did sex work. Or so the devoted readers and celebrity endorsers thought. In fact, Laura Albert, a frustrated novelist living in San Francisco, had created the works under the LeRoy nom de plume and then enlisted the help of her partner's sister, Savannah, to provide the face of JT. As played out in JT et al, it's quite fascinating to consider their intentions and how caught up they both became in becoming what Savannah (Kristen Stewart playing it low-key) calls a tearaway teen or words to that effect.

I had concerns over just how queer the story would be and how well it would suit Flare, but it turned out to be quite polymorphous. There is an interesting thread about taking on another body that is quite resonant of trans identity issues. Savannah hints at gender dysphoria and is only too happy to avoid carbs in order to keep "curves" away. She also has a fling with a glamourous actress who is apparently based on Asia Argento. Laura (Laura Dern unleashed), for her part, has previously done sex work and dated women and is quite happy to have phone sex with the aforementioned actress to keep her sweet. It's quite astonishing to think that it happened or at least a version of it did: this is Savannah's story and she was heavily involved in making the film. Her brother even provides the music.

Even more bizarrely, Courtney Love, one of the original duped celebs, turns up in a small role as an LA producer who wants to turn one of the novels into a film. I only realised when her name came up in the credits, and I had to go back and work out which role she played as she is unrecognisable. Hole's "Celebrity Skin" is used over the credits, adding an extra meta reference. The film raises many important questions that linger: what is truth? how much reinforcement do we need from others? who gets to be a public voice?
And true to form, the ending leaves us hanging as Savannah looks to New York for her next move. It's worth googling all involved to see what they did next.

BFI Flare: Fantasy + Reality

Just before I set off to visit BFI Flare on the Southbank yesterday, the news broke that the great Agnès Varda had passed. "Oh, No! I expected her to live forever!" was my absurd thought. But, why not? Cinema should allow its makers to live forever and Varda, who almost made it to 91, had a life full of extraordinary experiences and important work. I hope she gets all due recognition from upcoming cinematic gatherings across the globe. I spent this morning watching her turn at the 2017 Governors Awards and marvelled at how few prizes her films accrued from the big festivals. Quel dommage.

My visit to Flare was a mixed bag--couldn't get into Making Montgomery Clift; discussed Whigs and Tories in the reign of Queen Anne; and saw my last film at the festival, Marie Kreutzer's psychological puzzle, The Ground Beneath My Feet. If I say that everyone around me was abuzz afterward, it will give some flavour to this film. I would say it is my favourite so far, but that does not mean I understand it. I had seen some of Kreutzer's previous work, so knew that she does not make it easy on audiences. Her debut The Fatherless was a masterful family drama-cum commune portrait that grappled with memories and their impact in the present.  

The Ground Beneath My Feet wrestles with the pressures of family and work on the psyche while playing with reality and fantasy. What we wondered at the end was: "What was real?" Businesswoman Lola is constantly on the go jetting between Vienna and whatever city houses her current project restructuring failing companies. She has a secret affair with her boss Elise on the go but does not seem happy. Meanwhile her sister Conny has been sectioned after yet another suicidal episode and Lola treats her with disdain, making arrangements but offering precious little human emotion. As the film unfolds, she keeps receiving phone calls from Conny, improbable as this may be as the woman is locked up with no access to a phone. So, who is calling her? Cue Twilight Zone theme. Sadly, Kreutzer was sick and unable to attend the screening to answer our myriad questions, but I found the film quite gripping and at times witty in its delineation of Lola's tightly controlled life, with a scene in which she puts her sister's cat into pet care offering some much-needed levity. The scenes in which she is sexually harassed by clients and gaslight by her lover are grimly true to life. Agnès V would approve.

Knife + Heart

 My other big find of the fest is Yann Gonzalez's wild Knife + Heart, which improbably stars Vanessa Paradis as a lesbian producer of gay male porn in 1979 Paris. From the moment I heard Malaria's "Thrash Me" playing on the soundtrack in an early club scene I felt I would love the film, even if that song was released in 1983. Paradis plays the domineering but alcoholic Anne who runs a company churning out skin flicks while attempting to reconnect with her ex Lois who just happens to be the company editor. Cue mega dyke drama as Anne makes drunken phone calls and begs and pleads for Lois to come back. Anne ends up in an enchanted forest trying to track down a long-dead bird that may be connected to a series of murders. And then things get really weird. The film is wildly uneven in tone, referencing Cruising and a host of other films while paying hommage to both porn and the process of old school film-making: the cuts, rewinds, and grain of actual film. The credits reveal it was shot on Kodak, as should be the case. I loved it but I imagine others may not be so keen.

I also viewed Canadian drama Giant Little Ones, though I have no idea what the title means. Floppy-fringed teen Franky finds himself turfed out of his perch as one of the cool kids once a drunken fumble with best friend and alpha male Ballas becomes the talk of the school. While sidelining the plotline of whether Franky is gay, the film really zeroes in on toxic masculinity, peer pressure and the pleasures of finding friendship in unlikely places. Plus Kyle Maclachlan pops up as Franky's out dad. A pity Maria Bello as his mum isn't given that much to do, other than make reassuring noises. Franky's relationship with Natasha allows both to explore barriers and inhibitions and his dad gives sound advice when he says something like, "Pay attention to who you are attracted to and don't worry about putting a label on it."

BFI Flare: Virtual Lives

This year my viewing is a combination of online and in-person visits. It seems fitting then that the two films under scrutiny feature teenagers who seek connection in the possibilities provided by the internet as well as in their rather bleak surroundings.

Nevrland

 Nevrland is a debut feature from writer-director Gregor Schmidinger who attended the screening with his lead actor, first-timer Simon Fruhwirth. The film is billed as horror which set up expectations of scary things emerging from the shadows. Instead the film delivers a dazzling mix of bewildering images and creepy sound design that builds up atmosphere but never delivers a satisfying plot. 17-year-old Jakob lives in an all-male household somewhere in Vienna but in an insular, grey world which always seems to be dark. He goes to work at an abattoir processing pigs and experiences flashes of an alternate world in which he is in a green forest or diving into a lake. After a mental breakdown, he meets mysterious Kristjan online. This character seems to be North American and yet is name is spelled Germanically, just one of many confusing details. As their relationship unfolds, Kristjan exposes Jakob to many firsts, such as tripping and visiting an "underground club" where the teenager seems to return time and time again in increasingly fraught circumstances. Is it real? Is it part of his metal illness? Who knows? Schmidinger reeled off a string of influences in the post-screening Q&A, which included Kubrick and Noe but also Jungian psychology and the film suffers from over-intellectualising and under-emotionalising. What should be a stunning climax of Jakob breaking free from his repression feels like a set piece. Schmidinger clearly has vision and great technical skill but this film feels more like an exercise than powerful story-telling.

The Spanish film Carmen y Lola is also a frustrating watch, for different reasons. Two 17-year-old gypsy girls, the titular characters, fall in love in Madrid but are held back by their community's lack of acceptance. The story-telling is languid to the point of soporific but the two characters are intriguing, soft-spoken Lola wanting to pursue studies but realising she has few opportunities and sassy Carmen initially following her destiny of marriage and children before rethinking. Lola knows she likes girls and goes online to search, but then backs out of any meetings, while Carmen seems to be a model het. But life is not that simple. The supporting character of Paqui is left underwritten and her relationship to Lola is never clear--boss? best friend? crush object? The setting is striking and the glimpses into modern-day gypsy life are revealing but the story reaches no great dramatic resolution and one is left pondering how the story might have been more sharply told.

BFI Flare: the Swarm

My first visit to BFI Flare yesterday coincided with the big anti-Brexit march and, consequently, I found myself in Waterloo station buffeted by hordes of blue-hatted folk carrying quite amusing and thoughtful placards. Some were even making them as they waited to move on, hand-lettering their messages in felt tip pen. Everyone seemed determined, energised and focused--quite unlike the government! It made me terribly proud to be un-British, as it were.

Tell It to the Bees

Anyway, on to the festival, where I viewed a feature, Tell It to the Bees, and a shorts programme, Challenge Accepted. The former reminded me a bit of Carol, if that were set in a small Scottish town and everyone dressed in black. Actually, it is a bit different. There is an upper class-lower class romance, a child and a villainous husband combining in 1952. But Tell It to the Bees has an odd surrealist cast, most notably in its depiction of the titual bees. The child, who is the narrator for the tale of repressed lesbian love, is a budding bee whisperer and it is his ability to call forth the bees for a key swarm (no spoilers) that forms a key moment in the plot. The lovers, buttoned down Dr. Markham (Anna Paquin) and down on her heels single mum Lydia (a radiant Holliday Grainger), are not welcome in the town any more than the interracial romance of her sister-in-law is. A price will have to be paid.... It is a pleasure to see Anna Paquin, whom those of a certain age will remember as the girl in The Piano, all grown up and back playing a Scot. Even more intriguing that she is the key influence on the child, a role reversal of sorts. The chemistry works well between her and Grainger and if the ending is a bit puzzling, it's an affecting film.

The swarming reminded me of a scene in Vita & Virginia, the opening night film I saw in preview, in which Virginia Woolf rushes out of a house and is confronted by a murmuration of black birds that suddenly descend on her, pecking at her as she cowers and flaps. But they are all in her mind, as the members of her party look on in bemusement. I also felt bemused but for different reasons. Oh, dear. Where to start? How about the casting? Gemma Arterton as Vita Sackville-West? The two would have been about 30 and 40 when they met. Arterton is 33 and her co-star Elizabeth Debicki, playing Woolf, is 28. Moreover, as we all know, Sackville-West was an androgynous woman. Butch, we might say now. She favoured tweeds and extravagant hats and disguised herself as a man to pursue her affair with Violet Trefusis, as depicted in Portrait of a Marriage, in which she was memorably portrayed by Janet McTeer. Watching Arterton and Debicki, one sees in them more of the Sackville-West/Trefusis coupling than Sackville-West and Woolf.

Vita & Virginia

 Arterton, a fine actress, plays Sackville-West as a coquettish, lovestruck puppy dog, batting her eyes at Debicki and then playing hard to get. Her Vita is a power femme, not the "scandalous ruffian" of Woolf's description. Debicki, meanwhile, tries valiantly to grasp the complexity of Woolf, her repression, her wit, her fantastic way with words. But most often she is reduced to staring off vacantly into space. It is a most frustrating film, fraught with contemporary touches like a club soundtrack more at home in Heaven and jarring addresses to camera. That type of eccentricity worked brilliantly in The Favourite. But here it smacks of a director, Chanya Button, not quite sure what to do with the material. Ironic, really, for two such accomplised writers to be left so high and dry.

And then there was Challenge Accepted, which was led by people of colour, though this was not mentioned in the notes. There really should have been a trigger warning for Masks, which presents a budding romance between two girls disrupted by a mass shooting clearly based on the Pulse attack in 2016. The insistent gunfire was incredibly disturbing, but the film, a student project, was of a very high standard. Other films in the programme seemed to be proof of concept projects, establishing a premise but not really seeing it through. I was most taken by Piscina (Pool), a Brazilian drama in which a woman seeks out a woman from her grandmother's life. The references to the Second World War were poignant and if it tailed off at the end, leaving the audience and the elderly woman hanging, well, there was quite enough to suggest a longer version would be well worth a watch, as would Concern for Welfare, an Aussie short in which a trainee police officer finds herself out at work but still closeted at home.

As I made my way home in the evening, thwarted by a disappointing lack of seating at the BFI, I found myself among the returning swarm of the march, more placards waving, hats being doffed and plenty of selfies being taken, as the people had their say.

Dorothea Tanning

In a marriage made in heaven, Tate Modern gives Dorothea Tanning her first retrospective in 25 years, meaning her first posthumous one. Born in 1910, Tanning only died in 2012, her life and career spanning the 20th century, with all that implies. The exhibit is a wide-ranging delight, offering eight generous rooms encompassing 100 works.

Children's Games, D. Tanning

 I found myself wandering open-mouthed through the space, agog at her wild imagination. I had seen her works online but never in-person and found standing inches away from the oil paintings an illuminating experience. Who knew Children's Games (1942) was so tiny? Such detail and such emotional power in a painting smaller than an A4 notebook. And side-by-side with Eine Kleine Nachtmusik (1943) a more spacious work connected by the grouping of transfixed girls in tattered clothing. The two could be scenes in the same film. Interestingly, they also connect with a later work in a different room, Maternity (1946-47), with its spaced-out mother, babe in arms and their human-faced dog. With this, Tanning carried Surrealism into the post-war years.

Even decades later she was still offering jarring juxtapositions with her fabric sculptures. These were displayed across one large room but several were encased or placed in corners, which my friend K., a sculptor, found irritating, as sculpture should be seen from all sides. The ones that were presented in the round were extraordinary. The giant Pincushion to Serve as Fetish (1979) looked like a spiny shark to me, beached on a low plinth. Other works offered variations on two figures embracing or wrestling or fighting. One is not sure. I found it to be quite contemporary, suggesting nightmares, dystopias and dysfunctional relationships. Stranger Things, indeed.