A minute-by-minute log of my bizarre Sapphic Sunday night

An actual image of me at the Sapphic Spotlight Party

On Sunday, July 26, 2026, I went to a Spotlight Sapphic Party at the Dallas lesbian bar Sue Ellen's. Up until two weeks-ish ago, I'd never heard of a "Spotlight Party", which consists off people wearing one of three different colored wristbands (each tied to the colors on a spotlight) indicating what kind of dynamic they're looking for in other people (red=just here for the music, green=flirting, yellow= looking for friends). 

Given that I have about as much luck finding queer lady/lesbian/sapphic love on those wretched dating apps as Max Rebo does delivering a subpar tune, I decided to go out and experience this event for myself. After all, I'm much better at dating events in person than on those apps, including at a lesbian speed dating event that occurred at Sue Ellen's back in February. However, this Spotlight Party turned out to be...a catastrophe. If this evening was a natural weather event, people would call it a tornado that decimated a town.

One upside of these kinds of evenings? They make for interesting writing! I decided to write down my highs and unfortunately, more plentiful lows in this Spotlight Sapphic Party, but not in a traditional essay format. I want to take you, dear reader, through this event on a minute-by-minute basis. I arrived at 6:52 PM and, given how every second seemed to stretch on eternally, it only seemed fitting to lean into the time aspect for this write-up. I present to you a minute-by-minute record of my Spotlight Sapphic Party experiences.

6:52 PM: My Lyft has dropped me off! It's time to go. I'm all gussied up in a cute flowery dress and colorful makeup. Time to see what's possible in here.

6:53 PM: Not too many people here, but that's natural. It isn't even 7 PM, after all. I look around for a folding table or some kind of base area where the Spotlight Sapphic Party host is giving away wristbands. My peepers don't spot such a destination. 

6:57 PM: Looking across this domicile's first floor, I finally find the wristbands! They're right by the DJ booth! I just grab a green one (the event's organizer is gabbing it up with the DJ), put it on my wrist, and return to the bar area.

7:01 PM: Everyone in this bar is cloistered into either platonic or romantic duos at the bar. Nobody single is just sitting around with a green wristband. Hmmmm. Okay, time to go upstairs, go to one of those comfy chairs, and read my book (Easy Riders, Raging Bulls by Peter Biskind) until more people show up.

7:05 PM: Sometimes it pays off to bring a book everywhere I go. Still, as I flip through the pages and fight off tiredness (the couch is cozy!), I have to chuckle. Before I go out to these events, I always have daydreams of entering a bustling bar full of seedy debauchery and writhing bodies, like a scene out of Babylon. Into these dens of physical intimacy and people putting themselves out there, perhaps I'll encounter someone I can make a long-term connection with. I always get my expectations up...and then I enter a very down-to-Earth realm where people are sipping drinks at the bar quietly.  Then it's time for page turning rather than flirting or hand holding.

7:14 PM: While I'm reading and have my gigantic headphones on, two men approach me while carrying trays of banana bread. They inquire if I want to buy their sweets. I say no. They proceed to ask me further questions about Sue Ellen's. I offer terse, one-word answers until they proceed off to the next potential consumer. I wanted to meet hot gay women, not male-identifying banana bread salespeople.

7:26 PM: Time to return downstairs. When I do, I see an unexpected person: my best friend's ex! I was hoping to run into some familiar faces here (specifically the pals I always encounter at Sue Ellen's). Not this kind of familiar face! I make sure to stay out of the ex's line of sight like I'm Josh O'Connor evading evil government officials in Disclosure Day.

7:28 PM: Okay, the ex is on one side of the bar's downstairs area. Half of the upstairs area is dominated by some event for older gay men that, as far as I'm aware, isn't open to everyone. A good chunk of the bar is closed off. 

Normally, when I come to Sue Ellen's for Friday/Saturday night upstairs karaoke, I get here early so I can adjust to the noise and crowds gradually getting more extreme. I don't mind having an hour or so of reading in those confines. Here, though, for an event that's supposed to be about socializing from the get-go, it feels odd being confined rather than exhilarated. 

7:31 PM: The downstairs Sue Ellen's dance floor always houses "life-sized" beer pong (which basically means tossing volleyballs into buckets). Tonight is no exception. I secure a table on the dance floor right next to a white lady, who looks like she's only a few years older than me, intensely playing beer pong with another Sue Ellen's denizen.

7:32 PM: Noticing me, this woman immediately begins involving me in her game. I'm her moral support, and she keeps turning to me for uplifting verbiage. She also persistently compliments my makeup and touching my shoulders and arm. Say! Something's happening! This feels like it could be going in the right direction!

7:34 PM: This woman asks me to join her in a prayer before her next play. We clasp hands and I playfully remark, "Gracious Rihanna, guide this ball straight and true."

7:35 PM: This lady then chortles, "Dear Lil' Wayne!" before rambling about how he's coming to Fort Worth in September...and then refers to him by the N-word. This white lady just dropped the N-word and then returned to her game like it was nothing.

7:36 PM: I promptly lie, say I have to meet friends at the front of the bar, and then scurry away. Oh Lord, now I've gotta watch out for her, my best friend's ex, and remember half of the upstairs area is off-limits. I feel like the turtle at the bottom of the pile in Yertle the Turtle, carrying so many different things. I guess I could go back to the publicly available section of the upstairs and read...but I spent all this money Lyft-ing to Sue Ellen's to socialize with sapphics. That's what I'm gonna do, damn it.

7:39 PM: I order a Sprite from the bar. Now I'm getting wild.

7:40 PM: There's a little popcorn machine on the Sue Ellen's first floor where you can scoop yourself a small bowl of popcorn. I also grab some of that. Time for snackin'.

7:42 PM: The DJ's tunes so far are pretty good, but it'd be nice to have some dance floor energy in the songs. Normally the dance floor isn't jumping until 10:30-ish, so the DJ is probably saving all the bouncy tunes for later...but that timetable is for Friday and Saturday. It's Sunday, I can't imagine everyone's staying out until 2 AM today. Why not start things early? These are  the thoughts I'm having instead of "is that attractive dyke flirting with me?"

7:43 PM: My phone keeps beckoning me to check it. First for escape from all the social woes, then to order a Lyft home. I can tough it out, though, I can tough it out, I can tough it out....

7:44 PM: I open the Lyft app.

7:45 PM: NO! I can still do this, c'mon Lisa! Let's get those bearings together!

7:47 PM: A tremendous wave of sleep is also pulling me towards leaving. There are so many damn siren songs to resist.

7:48 PM: As a group of cis-men enter Sue Ellen's, I'm suddenly reminded of how alone I am here. I'm also reminded of that time I came here alone, wound up talking to this random group of people, and a cis-gay guy in the group kept fondling my leg and violating my personal space. What if that happens again?

7:49 PM: I open the Lyft app. I order a ride home.

7:51 PM: Just as I'm told my ride is ten minutes out, a familiar face walks through the door. I've seen them at Sapphic Storytellers events! We hug and chat a minute. I'm not gonna lie, their leather-bound gothic look, complete with cool tattoos and earrings...it's working for me. I might try to be a little more flirty if I didn't have an impending Lyft breathing down my neck. Later the next day, this person will DM me and reveal they only stayed for a few more minutes at this Sapphic Spotlight event after realizing they were too tired to socialize. In other words, not ideal flirting circumstances for either of us.

7:57 PM: After bidding my unexpected pal adieu, I leave the bar. My Lyft ride is here...but I don't see it. Where did they park?

8:01 PM: It takes a few minutes of stressed scrambling in the last few bursts of that day's hot Texas heat, but I finally find the odd place the Lyft driver stopped to pick me up in. I get in, offer the driver my pin number, and we're off.

8:25 PM: I'm back in my apartment. My mind, so often geared towards self-criticism and hatred, is working overtime, telling myself I'm a loser for not sticking around. As I tear off the green wristband from my arm, though, I know I did what I could in an overstimulating and frustrating environment.

 9:31 PM: I treat myself to going to bed early. Tomorrow will be a new day. And probably a better one.

Strong acting and low-key sensibilities help Spider-Man: Brand New Day swing high

In 2006, directors Lowell Frank and future Marvel Cinematic Universe staple Destin Daniel Cretton helmed the documentary Drakmar: A Vassal's Journey. The feature chronicled a teenage boy immersing himself in fantasy role-play to escape the horrors of his existence. Such duality would come to define Cretton’s filmmaking fascinations. In Short Term 12, he explored the nuanced interior lives of at-risk teens often defined just by their mental health struggles. The Glass Castle chronicled a woman grappling with both the toxicity and positivity she associated with her father.

Maybe that means Cretton was always destined to make a Spider-Man movie. After all, from the moment he first appeared in Amazing Fantasy #15 in August 1962, Spidey’s always been about dueling interior urges. Can Peter Parker juggle a normal life and Spider-Man duties? Can he handle this great power and its equally immense responsibilities? Cretton’s experience with similar material and intimate drama serves Spider-Man: Brand New Day remarkably well.

Spidey’s on his own. In the wake of everyone forgetting who Peter Parker is at the end of Spider-Man: No Way Home, this web-crawler is living a cramped, lonely existence. He’s taking down every costumed baddie imaginable in New York City. However, in his everyday civilian life, Parker’s living alone in a dusty apartment attic. His best buddy Ned (Jacob Balaton) and former lover MJ (Zendaya) are off at MIT and have no memory of this web-crawler’s secret identity. "I'm doin' it the best I can, living on nobody but me," as the Just the Ten of Us theme song once harmonized.

Dealing with D-list foes like Boomerang and Tarantula alone is one thing. However, soon a new telepathic foe begins wrecking havoc in the Big Apple. Damage Control, and its leader, Bill Metzger (Tramell Tillman), are totally perplexed. Spidey wants to help, but this rival’s presence intersects with some strange new occurrences in Peter Parker’s body making it difficult for him to do basic Spider-Man tasks. This is where Spider-Man: Brand New Day reveals itself a tale of duality and what defines “monstrousness” in a person.  

There’s a low-key scene late in Spider-Man: Brand New Day that evoked a strong “awwwww” from me. No, Brand New Day didn’t pause for some adorable pugs (though I wouldn’t have minded such obvious Lisa fan-service). Instead, it was a wistful character beat firmly rooted in Tom Holland’s prior Spider-Man adventures. Both this sequence’s effectiveness and its relative intimacy speak to Cretton and screenwriters Chris McKenna and Erik Sommers never forgetting the characters throughout Brand New Day.

Granted, that does mean the plot they’ve conjured up here doesn’t reinvent the wheel. Opting for a familiar narrative outline to hang specific character beats on has its disadvantages. Certain “plot twists” are easy to see coming. Meanwhile, frustrating expository dialogue stumbles certain images that would work infinitely better as purely visual storytelling. Thankfully, the script also offers plenty of amiable charms, including its more confined scope. There’s no need for gigantic beams of light shooting up into the sky or whatever was going on in The Amazing Spider-Man 2. Just chill. Let these talented actors flourish.

And flourish they do. Though he’s ten years older than when we first saw him in Captain America: Civil War, Tom Holland still wields an endearing underdog quality truly making him feel outmatched by any foe he comes across. That's not the only skill he brings to this role. Spider-Man has the ability to crawl up walls. However, Holland’s also got a super-power of his own: creating crackling chemistry with any MCU staple he’s paired up with. Following his fun rapport with Robert Downey Jr. and Benedict Cumberbatch in past Spider-Man entries, this actor’s a riot bouncing off Jon Benrthal’s Frank Castle/The Punisher. Constant stints in this red-and-blue super-suit haven’t diminished Holland’s acting chops first established in titles like The Impossible years ago.

Holland leads a commendably solid cast that also includes Zendaya reaffirming why she's one of the better leading ladies of her generation. Even in a CG and superhero-dominated blockbuster, Zendaya's gripping and especially excels in her most aching sequences against Holland. Meanwhile, Bernthal’s an amusing crotchety contrast to Holland’s lead character and Sadie Sink also excels portraying a mysterious new character. No spoilers here, but Sink’s handling of her role’s rawest material is quite potent. See all that humanity, Darren Aronofsky? That’s why your Sadie Sink character in The Whale never worked.

All these laudable performances materialize under filmmaker Destin Daniel Cretton's direction. Happily, he and cinematographer Brett Pawlak bring liveliness to the visuals, including a welcome emphasis on camera movement. Cretton’s camera following Parker plunging off rooftops in unbroken images (rather than just cutting around this action in a string of shots) lends energetic exhilaration to this web-crawler’s swinging escapades. A similar willingness to let shots breathe also aids set pieces like a striking early depiction of that telepathic adversary's abilities.

As a cherry on top, Cretton’s sturdy hand with Shang-Chi and the Legend of the Ten Rings’ various fight scenes resurfaces here. Any of the hand-to-hand Spider-Man skirmishes look terrific, especially a climactic duel between this hero and some The Hand ninjas.

In terms of colorful backgrounds, Brand New Day is more of a mixed bag. There’s more specificity to several sets, including the ramshackle boat Frank Castle calls home. An assortment of quasi-noir-ish nighttime shots where a forlorn Spidey is illuminated by crackling neon signs are also memorable. Unfortunately, some of the grey color grading plaguing other MCU outings like Thunderbolts* is also a problem here. Third-act exterior shots of Roosevelt Island, for instance, rob the location of any vibrancy. The interior of Damage Control’s main building, meanwhile, lacks visual idiosyncrasies.

Such drab shortcomings stand out since Spider-Man: Brand New Day otherwise happily embraces comic book silliness. If you can have a movie where Spider-Man fights a bunch of ninjas, why not? Ditto for a showdown between this web-crawler and The Hulk. There’s also a well-realized set piece involving Brand New Day’s antagonist telepathically “hopping” from one random New Yorker to another, similarly thriving on comic book tomfoolery. These bombastic tendencies even seem to have inspired the vibrant super-suit Spider-Man waltzes around in.

Man, I love this outfit. The uber-bright colors. The textures on the web lines across his chest. The black circles around the eyes, everything looks fantastic. Costume designer Sanja Milkovic Hays and her crew should take a bow. Finally, The Amazing Spider-Man 2 no longer houses the best live-action Spider-Man costume.

Combining these outlandish elements with the effective small-scale character drama makes for a mighty enjoyable moviegoing experience. Not a sublime one on par with Spider-Man 2, the two Spider-Verse masterpieces, or this year’s best big-budget voyages (like The Odyssey or Project Hail Mary). What needs grand theatricality (like Michael Giacchino’s sweeping and sometimes downtrodden score) gets it in abundance. Meanwhile, Short Term 12 veteran Destin Daniel Cretton doesn’t forget the people (including mighty effective glimpses into everyday New York) necessary to make the theatricality worth caring about. Like I said, Spidey's "doin' it the best I can, livin’ on nobody but me." Leaning on that reality underpins Spider-Man: Brand New Day’s greatest strengths.

Trans Performers Will Not Capsize Your Movie. They Will Only Enhance It.

Koko Da Doll in an interview segment from Kokomo City

Koko Da Doll is phenomenally absorbing in Kokomo City. She is one of the central interview subjects in this 2023 documentary helmed by D. Smith, which focuses on a quartet of Black trans women who happen to be sex workers. Koko Da Doll radiates conviction any time the camera lingers on her. Smith's intimate filmmaking is perfect for highlighting every inch of this woman's multi-faceted personality. One especially poignant piece of testimony from Koko Da Doll comes when she confronts the past, present, and future of her relationship to transness. 

"Seeing other trans girls on reality shows and other stuff brought attention...I was just like 'they don't want to hear or see no trans girl,' and then seeing trans girls on these reality shows gave me light...if I can use the music to reach the people...I really want to send a message, I want them to hear me. And for the girls that can't speak, I want to be the girl that speaks for them."

Three months after Kokomo City's Sundance 2023 premiere, Koko Da Doll was killed. This woman in her mid-30s, with so much life ahead to live, was cruelly ripped from this mortal world. 50% of trans lives lost in 2023 that were recorded by the Human Rights Council were Black trans women. This is not anamoly confined to the year Koko Da Doll was murdered. 

In 2019, an NAACP report tragically noted that "the murder of transgender people is significantly underreported because data collection is often incomplete or unreliable" as well as the reality that "transgender women of color face enormously high rates of homelessness, unemployment, negative health outcomes, rates of depression and suicidal ideation, discrimination in their families, unjust treatment when seeking help from law enforcement, and homicide due to their transgender identity." Melinda Butterfield's June 2026 piece "Eryka, Juniper, Persia, Murry & Jane Doe: Murder, social murder, and trans genocide", meanwhile, provided a heartbreakingly comprehensive glimpse into the prevalence of trans dehumanization in 2026.

Koko Da Doll is gone. She is not forgotten. She lives on in how she personally impacted people. Her music is still entering people's eardrums. And then there's the Kokomo City footage she appears in. Her dreams, her glorious personality, they're still there on the silver screen.

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This past weekend, The Odyssey opened to massive box office numbers that included scoring one of the biggest non-Deadpool domestic openings ever for an R-rated movie. This came after a bunch of people who make what sure look like Nazi salutes in public threw online tantrums that Black women and a trans man were in the movie. Naturally, this discourse didn't impact the box office or critical reception one bit. Elliot Page, a trans male performer that right-wingers drive themselves nuts thinking about, showing up in The Odyssey only increased the movie's star power rather than diluting the box office. Meanwhile, Barbie remains one of the biggest movies of the decade so far. 

Featured in its cast as a doctor and DJ Barbie? Hari Nef. A talented actor, writer, and model, who just so happens to be a trans lady. She could show up as just another one of the gals in Barbieland, deliver killer comic lines, and even get called beautiful by Ryan Gosling's Ken without either the world imploding or Barbie's box office cratering. Trans existence and box office success are not incompatible. So I implore the larger film industry: put more of my trans brothers, sisters, and folks of all gender identities in as many motion pictures as possible. Especially trans individuals of color.

As Raquel Willis so brilliantly explored in her memoir The Risk It Takes to Bloom: On Life and Liberation, representation by itself isn't a solution to woes informed by corrupt institutions, capitalism, and white supremacy. I'm under no delusions that offering a random trans actor two lines in The Mandalorian and Grogu would suddenly erase all these horrific statistics about trans violence. Increased representation of trans performers needs to go hand-in-hand with larger initiatives confronting imperialism, capitalism, and the global normalization of dehumanization (the nonchalant slaughter of Palestinian lives and the casual elimination of trans people are two sides of the same coin).

However, just because bolstering trans representation in film shouldn't be the be-all end-all of crusading for equality doesn't negate the importance of this initiative. For starters, more acting opportunities for trans performers would mean giving trans people money. Trans folks deserve to afford housing, food, medicine, and any other necessities vital to existence. More chances to perform in motion pictures can help make those essentials more accessible. This is especially true if trans performers get cast in theatrical films, which can provide long-term residual checks. 

Anytime Hollywood provides openly homophobic performer Shia LaBeouf or similar toxic cis-people another chance to headline a film, they're depriving trans artists of a chance to earn income they need. Trace Lysette has been openly vocal on social media and in interviews about the lack of acting opportunities sent her way. While major entertainment outlets, commentators, actors, and producers scramble to resuscitate the careers of cis-actors like Jonathan Majors or Louie C.K., we ignore the exciting possibilities of new trans performers like Misha Osherovich, Isabel Sandoval, and Jack Haven (among countless others).

Furthermore, Koko Da Doll's own words underscore another importance of putting more trans people into mainstream films. "Seeing trans girls on these reality shows gave me light," Da Doll recalls about the first time seeing trans folks on the screen. She also hopes her art can provide words "for the girls that can't speak." Speaking personally, I know seeing Tangerine at age 19 forever changed my life and made me reconsider life's possibilities. Yet I still had to travel 35-ish minutes by train to witness that film on the big screen. Smaller arthouse titles like Joyland, starring Alina Khan, don't have the resources to play in thousands of theaters. In addition to these wonderful arthouse titles, trans artists should also exist in all forms of cinema.

Imagine if films featuring performers had played at my local Cinemark my entire life. Imagine if most folks could just stroll down to their local theater and see new mainstream titles akin to Barbie and The Odyssey that feature trans performers. Trans people of all ages often struggle to see themselves in the communities they're trapped in. Art can provide reassurance and normalization. When you feel isolated or don't have the words to describe who you are, artistic representation can be a much-needed balm. Films can remind trans viewers "you're not alone" through showing Mya Taylor anchoring a fantasy feature full of dragons, Elva Guerra as the lead of a rom-com, or Brian Michael Smith being part of a silly comedy's ensemble cast. Trans audiences deserve to experience those reminders even within a big-box multiplex.

Fueling this yearning for trans people to be everywhere, though, also comes down to a tragedy plaguing our community: visibility. As pervasive transphobic legislation across America has shown, trans lives are perceived as disposable in the mainstream, especially when they're not white. Marsha P. Johnson's killer was never found. Rich CEO's will use every ounce of their energy to defend transphobes. Our healthcare system often ignores trans lives. In the final pages of her 2020 thesis essay "Historical Erasure is Violence: The Lives and Experiences of Black Transgender Women and Gender Nonconforming Women of Color in the 19th and 20th Century," author Rebekkah Mulholland writes that:

"Collectively, black transgender women have been considered the dregs of society...Black transgender women and gender nonconforming women of color have always existed. To many, their collective voices, lives, experiences, and bodies have not existed. Black transgender women and gender nonconforming women of color have a past. Erasing their history is a form of violence. Telling their stories is a type of liberation."

These lives haven't just been minimized. They've been tossed into oblivion, even by other queer communities. Again, increased representation in mainstream cinema cannot be the end point. However, it can be a way of "telling their stories" when it comes to trans and gender nonconforming women and marginalized genders. The ubiquity of trans people in movies playing in thousands of theaters can combat the erasure Western society defaults to when handling trans lives. Returning to Mulholland's words...

"Not only must these institutions listen to black transgender women and gender nonconforming women of color, these individuals must be included in the decision-making process so that they play a critical role in their liberation. They must be present at every level of government as they help to shape what liberation, freedom, and equality looks like. For this group, liberation means not having to justify one’s existence."

This same pervasiveness of trans voices should've always been ingrained into the history of cinema. However, even well into the 2020s, trans artists have struggled to gain footing both behind and in front of the camera. Non-binary filmmaker Jane Schoenbrun, for instance, recalled how they couldn't get financing anywhere for their follow-up to I Saw the TV Glow, Teenage Sex and Death at Camp Miasma. Shelling out $180 million for a Highlander reboot is apparently "logical" financing for major studios, but ponying up comparatively meager funds for trans artists is a bridge too far.

The challenges Schoenbrun and others face speak to the widespread erasure of trans people in all corners of society. For its future, it's vital that cinema highlight trans worlds, especially since Barbie and The Odyssey have proven without a shadow of a doubt that trans cast members don't sink box office numbers. Even in the most ruthless capitalistic terms, trans artists clearly don't adversely impact movies. Dumb-asses online can whine about Elliot Page or Laverne Cox showing up in a film all they want. Their presence is clearly not a deal-breaker for audiences. 

The floodgates need to and should've already been open. Trans actors should be in everything from A Minecraft Movie Squared to the next Denis Villeneuve movie. Trans lives (especially non-white ones) need to be inescapable. "I believe in my power, I believe in your power," Raquel Willis once chanted as part of a glorious speech. Put that power everywhere in the cinematic landscape.

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One of many outstanding titles featured in the recent Criterion Channel collection "Tramps, Troublemakers, and Trailblazers: Trans Filmmakers" is Rupert Remembers. This 2000 short from director Xanthra Phillippa Mackay focuses on Canadian trans man Rupert as he wanders locales that used to be gay hotspots. He regales audiences with stories from years past about the local queer community, friends he'd made, experiences eternally seared into his brain. Watching it 26 years later is a fascinating and moving experience. Even when it was made, Rupert Remembers reaffirmed how the trans community had a rich past. Trans individuals weren't a "modern" phenomenon. 

Decades later, that intent is potently enhanced. Rupert Remembers is now an ode to multiple eras of trans history. Permanently capturing Rupert and his stories on film allows modern trans (and cis) people immediate access to the reality that trans souls have always existed.

Cinema is a powerful tool. Sometimes adversely so. Titles like Rupert Remembers and Kokomo City, though, provide glorious manifestations of this medium's best possibilities. These titles, even in their quietest interview segments, offer a fiery middle finger to the societally normalized erasure of trans people. We will not be erased. We will not be cowed into concealing ourselves. We will occupy the middle of the frames. Through these movies, our history and lives can be preserved. Gossip columnist Elinor St. John (Jean Smart) tells 20s movie star Jack Conrad (Brad Pitt) in Babylon that cinema offers a chance at something resembling immortality. "A child born in 50 years will stumble across your image flickering on a screen and feel he knows you, like a friend, though you breathed your last before he breathed his first," she wistfully says.

That cinema magic should permeate every corner of the movie kingdom, including the big-budget wide release tableau Barbie and The Odyssey inhabit. Let the success of these movies be "the spark that will light the fire that shatters trans erasure in mainstream cinema," to paraphrase Poe Dameron from the best Star Wars movie. Obviously, it also needs to be paired with active political action to protect trans lives, strides to prevent trans murders, and politicians willing to stand up for trans lives (rather than being complicit centrist cowards). We can create a better world. One where movies like Kokomo City and its tender interviews with Koko Da Doll aren't tragic anomalies in the wider cinematic landscape. Create movies that provide the trans-oriented "light" and "attention" that made Koko Da Doll so giddy.

Want to watch even more great movies from and/or starring trans artists like Kokomo City? Letterboxd user Grays_Tedious has a fantastic list chronicling an array of such features. Personally, I'd recommend The People's Joker, Dressed in Blue, Titane, Paris is Burning, Joyland, and Neptune Frost, in additon to Kokomo City and other films mentioned in this piece, for some must-see trans cinema viewing.

15 years ago, Winnie the Pooh gave hand-drawn animation a gentle but beautiful send-off

Nowadays, when a movie provides some kind of conclusion, studio marketing leans into it. “The saga will end, the story will live forever”* the trailers for Star Wars: The Rise of Skywalker proclaimed. That same years, Avengers: Endgame had marketing materials declared “nothing can prepare you for the end.” The trailer for John Wick: Chapter 4 repurposed Terry Jacks singing phrases like “goodbye my dear” and “it’s hard to die” in “Seasons in the Sun” to reaffirm that this was John Wick’s last showdown. Hollywood loves milking things for all their worth (oh hey, did you see Steve Rogers is coming back for Avengers: Doomsday?), but studios also love wringing money out of audiences eager for a definitive conclusion. 

On July 15, 2011, the last Harry Potter movie hit theaters with the tagline “it all ends”. The same day, another notable ending in cinema transpired, but it garnered way less coverage. How could it? Nobody knew at the time that Winnie the Pooh was Home on the Range redux in that it was also the swan song for 2D animated movies at Walt Disney Animation Studios. There were no posters or commercials proclaiming that Winnie the Pooh was a capper to a 74 year animated legacy. Only in hindsight is Winnie the Pooh an “ending” to an era of cinema. 

In that respect, Winnie the Pooh is much like Twin Peaks: The Return. Both were not conceived and executed to be the final bows for their respective artists. David Lynch had other projects brewing beyond The Return. Walt Disney Animation Studios, at one point in time, had additional 2D animated films beyond Winnie the Pooh. However, fate intervened to make both productions inadvertent conclusions to lengthy artistic endeavors. Much like The Return does now serve as a bittersweet farewell to the genius of Lynch, Winnie the Pooh now functions as a moving last chapter for big screen American 2D animation. 

For starters, Winnie the Pooh as a character is a perfect centerpiece for mainstream American 2D cinema’s final verse. The initial A.A. Milne Pooh books were populated by beautiful and instantly endearing illustrations from E.H. Shepard. His renderings of the Hundred-Acre-Wood weren’t afraid to leave pen lines inside Pooh’s body or scraggly qualities in the grass. Looking at these drawings, you could practically see Shepard hunched over a desk sketching out these characters and their world. His palpably homemade imagery was perfect for Pooh’s world. These are raggedy stuffed animals tumbling around the rickety British forest. Eschewing hand-crafted qualities in presenting Pooh and pals would be a tremendous miscalculation. 

Thus, hand-drawn animation has always been the perfect home for these characters. Here, that silly o’l bear and his friends can move around and have their voices heard without sacrificing their essential bespoke qualities. 2011’s Winnie the Pooh uses slightly more refined 2D animation tools than the 60s shorts (there’s no more xeroxing, for one thing), but going the hand drawn route here continues the legacy of Pooh encapsulating the joys of hand-crafted imagery. If Pooh didn’t feel like he just stumbled out of someone’s ink pen, he wouldn’t feel like that honey-obsessed ursine. 

Winnie the Pooh's importance as a 2D animation swan song, though, is more than just echoing the original Pooh illustrations. Inhabiting this medium allowed a bevy of Disney animation legends to serve as supervising animators for big screen characters one last time. Andreas Deja, for instance, who famously influenced the animation of characters like Jafar, Gaston, and Scar, was the supervising animator here for Tigger. Meanwhile, Bruce W. Smith oversaw Piglet, while the likes of Eric Goldberg,  Dale Baer, Mark Henn, and other icons of their field were supervising animators on other pivotal Pooh characters. Uncredited assistant animators included Mike Gabriel, Tom and Tony Bancroft, and Chris Buck. The only one missing here is James Baxter!

Several of these figures would continue to work in Walt Disney Animation Studios films (such as Goldberg overseeing the animation of Maui's tattoos in Moana) and other animated features in the years to come. Winnie the Pooh, though, offered these artists one last chance to flex their skills in the medium where they started. 2D animation brought them into this business. Winnie the Pooh let them say good-bye to it. This was no somber farewell, though. The character animation here is delightful and represents the dynamic physicality 2D imagery affords.

Rabbit's increasingly frustrated body langauge in the "not knot" scene, for instance, could only be properly realized in such hysterical terms through hand-drawn animation. "The Backson Song," meanwhile, is told through chalkboard drawings. The simplified and believable rendering of chalkboard doodles wouldn't quite look right in CG. In 2D animation, though, this visual emulation soars. 2011 CG titles like Rio and Cars 2 kept audiences confined to one visual style for an entire runtime. Winnie the Pooh, meanwhile, let a murderer's row of talented 2D animators flex the dexterity of this medium one last time. Disney may have had no interest in more 2D films, but that didn't mean artists like Deja and Smith couldn't reaffirm this mediums immense artistic value.

Even the quieter Winnie the Pooh aesthetic was perfect for relishing the joys of hand-drawn animation one more time. In 2011, hyperactive and noisy animated fare were dominating multiplexes. Cars 2 traded out for "slow down, enjoy life's journey" for machine gun fire and torturing automobiles on-screen. Gnomeo & Juliet was full of ass jokes and loud dance parties. The realistically animated abominations anchoring The Smurfs couldn't go two minutes without shrieking or dropping some Smurf variant on a risqué colloquialism ("Smurf Happens"). In contrast, Winnie the Pooh was gentle 67-minute film focused on wordplay, silly misunderstandings, and bouncing tigers.

With the script not jostling audiences around from one uber-loud set piece to another, there were plenty of opportunities for viewers of all ages to treasure the intricacies in the animation. Look at those gorgeous backgrounds! Check out that amusing facial expression on Owl! Look closely and notice that one letter (amongst a bevy of letters that have fallen the Hundred Acre Wood floor) curving into the Backson pit! Winnie the Pooh's unhurried sensibilities made the artistry of the various animators even easier to appreciate. When visiting Pooh and pals, chaos and hyperactivity are poor companions. Instead, watching these characters should be akin to taking a stroll. All the delightful flourishes in Winnie the Pooh's hand drawn animation made that aesthetic even more welcome.

This pacing and animation services a story that doesn't necessarily feel like a farewell to either the Pooh characters or even an era of Walt Disney Animation Studios. Retroactively, Winnie the Pooh now functions as a bittersweet capper to Disney doing 2D animated cinema. Like Twin Peaks: The Return, though, Pooh wasn't meant to be a pop culture good-bye. At the time of its production, Winnie the Pooh was conceived and executed as a potential transition between The Princess and the Frog and whatever big 2D animated film the Mouse House did next. In fact, Winnie the Pooh director Stephen J. Anderson recalled to The Look Back Machine podcast that this feature was supposed to kickstart a new era of more high-profile all ages Pooh media.

These realities mean Winnie the Pooh is all about living in the moment. It's a celebration of what makes the Pooh characters special, witty writing, and hand-drawn animated joys rather than a mournful procession. If there was no greater historical context to filter this motion picture through, its charming animation and endearing ambiance would still be laudable. Devoid of distractions related to being the "perfect" swan song for Disney 2D animation, ironically, means Winnie the Pooh excels in this function. An ideal manifestation of this exercise should be something entertaining, not art constantly reminding you the end is near. 

Of course, Disney was never the sole source of animated storytelling, hand-drawn or otherwise. Never forget, The Adventures of Prince Achmed beat Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs to the feature length animated movie punch by 11 years back in 1926. Winnie the Pooh was the end of Walt Disney Animation Studios doing hand-drawn animated movies, but that didn't mean all artists gave up on this medium. Since July 2011, international animated titles like The Boy and the Heron, the various works from Cartoon Saloon (like Wolfwalkers), Little Amélie or the Character of Rain, Boy and the World, Liz and the Blue Bird, and so many other features have kept this medium alive. In North America, filmmakers like Don Hertzfeldt have also embraced the tactile artistry established by works like Gertie the Dinosaur.

Still, Winnie the Pooh bombing (why did Disney release it against the final Harry Potter film?) was a turning point for big screen 2D animation, at least in America. Any hopes that the new Walt Disney Animation Studios regime (established in 2006) would permanently bring back 2D animated storytelling to this label were gone. While CG animated bombs like Strange World or Smurfs haven't inspired studios to abandon fully digital storytelling, 2D box office non-starters like Winnie the Pooh are apparently referendums on an entire storytelling medium. Hand-drawn animated cinema was finally down for the count in this realm of motion pictures.

Yet, 2D's joys live on, like an especially potent story you heard as a child still rattling around in your brain as an adult. Modern CG features like Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles: Mutant Mayhem and the Spider-Verse have taken tremendous cues and inspiration from hand-drawn artistry. In other words, mid-2020s CG animation has more in common with Winnie the Pooh and its 2D brethren than, say, Rio or Hop. 

Just as importantly, the hand-crafted imagery pioneered by artists like Eric Goldberg, Bruce W. Smith, and Andreas Deju (among many others) endures. Across the interwebs, reaction images utilizing Rabbit's various disgruntled facial expressions from Winnie the Pooh are incredibly common. Anyone who stumbles upon Winnie the Pooh today can appreciate the character animation in that scene as well as the other visual triumphs this movie provides. Disney's abandoned this medium, but viewers can still appreciate 2D animation's glories anytime they watch this particular 2011 film.

In the final moments of 1977's The Many Adventures of Winnie the Pooh, as Christopher Robin and Pooh walk off into the sunset, Sebastian Cabot's narrator takes on a wistful tone. "Wherever they go, and whatever happens to them on the way," Cabot's voice intones, "In that enchanted place on top of the forest, a little bear will always be waiting." 15 years ago, Winnie the Pooh "ended" an era of 2D animation, but not the entire medium. Just like Pooh always being there whenever Christopher Robin needs him, hand-drawn animation's not going anywhere. Movies like Winnie the Pooh "will always be waiting" to dazzle and inspire moviegoers.

*= Apparently “somehow, Palpatine has returned” memes will outlast both the saga and story.

Accept director/star Olivia Wilde's The Invite and have a hysterical time

"Love is a Many-Splendored Thing", as the song goes. For Angela (Olivia Wilde) and Joe (Seth Rogen), the lead couple of The Invite, love is mostly a torturous thing. The moment they see each other in their San Francisco home, they start bitterly arguing. Everything they do seems to stir up resentment in the other person. Joe's especially infuriated that Angela randomly invited neighbors Hawk (Edward Norton) and Pina (Penélope Cruz) for a social event.

This couple absolutely fascinates Angela. Her husband, meanwhile, has immense hostility towards them, especially for all the sexual noises they make at night. When the kindly, candid Hawk and insightful Pina arrive, tension is everywhere. Though they put on a smile and gracious airs, Angela and Joe can’t stop undercutting each other. These smiling, physically intimate neighbors just bring out the worst in The Invite’s leads. As the night progresses, though, some unexpected revelations make this social gathering especially memorable. That’s particularly true for a proposition (an invite, you might say) that Hawk and Pina propose for their hosts.

The Invite (a remake of the 2020 comedy The People Upstairs) exudes immense chutzpah on the part of screenwriters Will McCormack & Rashida Jones and director Olivia Wilde. Like other great movies confined to a single location, like The Bitter Tears of Petra von Kant or Mass, The Invite’s creative team understands that you don’t need a plethora of rooms to create compelling drama. With no awkward cuts to flashbacks or worlds beyond Angela and Joe’s apartment, The Invite doesn’t just demonstrate incredible commitment to its storytelling scope. It also lets the simmering tension and hysterical throwaway moments sing.

Such are the sharp artistic inclinations informing The Invite’s hysterical sensibilities. Simply put, this is a deeply funny movie. This dialogue-driven affair is like someone fused the cramped scope and squabbling characters of a John Cassavetes feature with Nathan for You/I Think You Should Leave cringe comedy. Like pairing Post Malone with Beyoncé, that’s an unexpected mixture that works like dynamite. After getting derailed by the convoluted Don’t Worry Darling, Wilde’s witty filmmaking chops from Booksmart are back and better than ever.

So many of these gags get their impactfulness from Wilde and cinematographer Adam Newport-Berra staunchly refusing to succumb to the generic visual impulses of many modern comedy movies. The Invite joins Maddie's Secret as a summer 2026 indie yukfest crusading for specific and rich imagery in this genre. Just look at a visual gag where Angela nonchalantly dumps a burnt soufflé immediately after pulling it out of the oven. This beat transpires in one unbroken shot, which makes the abrupt disposal of the dish so extra funny. Plus, not cutting the camera around and keeping viewers at a distance lets one appreciate Wilde’s fantastic physicality in this beat.

Similarly sublime is the way Wild and Newport-Berra use features of Angela and Joe’s apartment to accentuate entrapment. On the surface, their San Francisco domicile looks like a rudimentary home. For Angela and Joe, though, these seemingly ordinary spaces are their prison cells.  Thus, The Invite keeps framing the four leads through doorways or confined window frames. You can practically feel the walls closing in around this couple as they get trapped in awkward conversations or revelations about how they’re secretly finding joy in humdrum existences.

Screenwriters Will McCormack & Rashida Jones bring those tense exchanges to life. Above all else, The Invite features killer humorous dialogue. Each of these four leads has an incredibly distinctive voice. Pina, for instance, has a confident and decisive aura. Whenever she opens her mouth, your eyes dart towards her. Angela, meanwhile, is a people-pleaser Oobleck constantly shifting her shape and words to placate her guests. Then there’s cantankerous Joe, who couldn’t be further from the candid and upbeat Hawk if he tried. Watching a repressed couple colliding with a confidently free-spirited romantic duo inspires steady, sturdy laughs.

Many of those laughs come from Wilde’s gusto performance. Hollywood wasted this lady in disposable “romantic interest” parts in early 2010s blockbusters like Tron: Legacy and Cowboys & Aliens. That was always frustrating, but The Invite makes it downright tragic Wilde got pigeonholed in those parts. She’s got such expressive eyes, for one thing, that scream out how much Angela needs to connect with other souls.

Wilde also displays great humorous physicality throughout The Invite. This trait materializes right from the start when Angela crouches down and points at a cooking soufflé. Meanwhile, her portrayal of Angela’s enraptured state upon hearing about Pina and Hawk’s sexual exploits is both endearing and chortle-inducing. She’s just so genuinely curious, not to mention full of verve finally referencing “a DP” in conversation.

Wilde combines that amusing pose with her characters palpably intense urgency to make this and other physicality-based Invite moments sing. The other members of this movie’s quartet are also exceptionally amusing. Rogen’s nonchalant witticisms and unpolished awkwardness often make for a hilarious contrast to the other characters. That’s especially true when Pina and Hawk’s more sexually active behavior comes up in conversations and. Here, Rogen's Joe casually drops the most insane responses to these erotic revelations (including one bit about “counting the rings”). Cruz is effortlessly magnetic even when she’s portraying Pina at her most weed-induced goofiest. Norton, meanwhile, wrings immensely impactful yuks from the most soft-spoken line deliveries.

Watching these four actors firing on all cylinders in a movie with such sharp writing and equally commendable visuals makes The Invite a social gathering well worth attending. Beneath the barrage of laughs, though, is a thoughtful dissection of what makes a “successful” relationship. Is it adhering to society's monogamous heteronormative standards (“one man, one woman, until you die”) even if you’re both miserable? Is it engaging in more “unconventional” (by mainstream American standards) interactions?

The Invite potently explores how one relationship “mold” can’t guarantee success. What’s critical is a two-way street of communication and empathy. Underlying toxicity between two souls won’t suddenly become bearable with group sex sessions or suddenly adhering to an Amish approach to intimacy/relationships. It’s the rapport between people (or, in troubled relationships, the lack of rapport) that makes all the difference. That same quality also informs The Invite’s steady stream of hearty laughs. Love can be “many-splendored.” It can be torturous. In this movie, it’s often hilarious more than anything else.

Multiple Animated Movies Can Co-Exist In The Summertime...With Proper Breathing Broom

"In the summertime," as Mungo Jerry might've crooned, it's time for pools, BBQ's, and trips to the movies. With kids out for this season, Hollywood's taken to making summertime a go-to launchpad for animated family films. Just look at summer 2006, when a whopping five PG-rated animated films hit theaters. Summer 2013, meanwhile, saw six (if we count the heavily animated live-action feature The Smurfs 2) such titles reach multiplexes.

Anyone who follows release dates as obsessively as I have might have noticed some relatively recent patterns in how these summertime animated titles are scheduled. Disney has cornered mid-June as the launchpad for Pixar titles (starting with Cars in June 2006). Often, another animated movie opens either two weeks before or after the latest Pixar release. That's happening right now with Minions: The Rise of Gru launching just 12 days into Toy Story 5's run. Other recent examples of this exact release scheduling include...

SUMMER 2012

Madagascar 3: Europe's Most Wanted (June 8)
Brave (June 22)

SUMMER 2013

Monsters University (June 21)
Despicable Me 2 (July 3)

SUMMER 2019

The Secret Life of Pets 2 (June 7)
Toy Story 4 (June 21)

SUMMER 2022

Lightyear (June 17)
Minions: The Rise of Gru (July 1)

Studios clearly love cramming as many animated family films as possible into the lucrative June/early July corridor. But does this release strategy actually work? Can multiple animated family movies co-exist in such close quarters?

In one of the many weird paradoxes littering the film industry, this release strategy is both nothing new and unprecedented. Studios cramming titles into seemingly "foolproof" release windows for family films, that's not new. In the 80s and up to 1991, Disney and Universal constantly released their respective new animated family features against each other. Once Beauty and the Beast trounced An American Tail: Fievel Goes West in 1991, though, that was the end of that. Disney was back on top of the animation game. Studios began keeping their distance between their new animated titles and whatever the Mouse House was putting out.

Thus, once Disney began launching animated productions like The Lion King in the summertime in 1994, there weren't new rival animated features launching just two weeks earlier or later. Disney's Pocahontas was basically the only major G-rated animated family film in all of summer 1995 (though Universal's Casper and Babe were around to deliver live-action family fare). Even when Hercules bombed in summer 1997, there were still no other animated family films in sight. It would take the 2001 DreamWorks title Shrek to really get studios comfortable with launching non-Disney animated titles in the summertime.

Even once other labels got in on the summertime animated family movie game, there was often a month-ish separating animated tentpoles. Spirit: Stallion of the Cimarron hit theaters May 24, 2002, and then three weeks later, Lilo & Stitch caught some waves. That exact same timeframe separated Over the Hedge and Cars, while over a month existed between Up and Ice Age: Dawn of the Dinosaurs. Summer 2012 appears to have been the shifting point, when Madagascar 3 and Brave opened on June 8 and June 22, 2012, respectively.

Interestingly, neither of these titles debuted on their initially announced release dates. Madagascar 3 was once set for May 25, 2012 (mirroring the first Madagascar's Memorial Day launchpad), while Brave was set for June 8. Madagascar presumably left May because that month (which was steadily becoming the domain of new Marvel Cinematic Universe movies) was getting crowded. This above all else explains why studios often cram new animated films together. There's more competition than ever before for "ideal" summer release date slots. May used to be the place Shrek and Kung Fu Panda 2 opened; now it belongs to superhero fare and live-action Disney remakes. With fewer release slots available, more and more animated family films are crowding into limited space.

Enough blabbering, though. With all that historical context out of the way, does it actually help or hurt these animated features to open so close to one another? Usually, the two can co-exist...but there's a catch. Only once (before 2026, at least) has this phenomenon occurred, in which one of the two animated films was a $400+ million domestic box-office juggernaut. Often, both films, like in June 2012, are set to make $210-$235 million each. Easy to see how two motion pictures could survive there. When the numbers get bigger, though, it's hard for the struggling animated film to get out of the shadow of its rival. 

Illumination faced this problem when The Secret Life of Pets 2 bowed two weeks before the massive Toy Story 4. Minions: The Rise of Gru just missed the $400+ million domestic mark, but its massive North American run totally overshadowed Lightyear, which opened two weeks earlier. Offering a little breathing room when one of these titles is a massive tentpoles helps everyone. Finding Dory, for instance, temporarily became the biggest animated movie of all time domestically when it hit theaters on June 17, 2016. Three weeks later (not two), The Secret Life of Pets debuted and became one of the largest original motion pictures in history. Even just an extra seven days was crucial in making sure Pets didn't get swept up in Dory's success.

Still, sometimes certain movies in these release equations bomb because of reasons separate from opening so close to another animated family film. Cars 3, for instance, was already a box office non-starter before Despicable Me 3 wiped it out in its third weekend of release. Lightyear already collapsed 60+% in its second weekend before Minions: The Rise of Gru bowed. In contrast, last years Elio didn't have to contend with any new animated features until weeks into its theatrical run. That couldn't save it from immense box office failure. Oftentimes, it's the films themselves that are the biggest issue.

This tight release plan would also be less of a problem if studios used the medium of animation to make more varied family movies (or, heaven forbid, animated films not aimed first and foremost at children). Multiple animated PG comedies trying to court the same audiences can ultimately cannibalize each other. That inevitable outcome reflects the dangers of looking at the endless varied medium of animation as strictly a "babysitting tool". 

Madagascar 3 and Brave in June 2012, in hindsight, looks like an ideal slate of cramped animated features. The former's immense wackiness is very different from Brave's more action-oriented Scottish antics. Minions and Monsters is making less than all prior Despicable Me movies, but it has a reasonably different aesthetic from Toy Story 5. On the other hand, The Secret Life of Pets was already thought of as a Toy Story clone when it first hit theaters. Why on Earth would you try launching a sequel to it so close to a proper Toy Story installment?

The very existence of such release date quandaries would've been unthinkable 30 years ago when no non-Disney animated family films dared to open in the summertime. Heck, it wouldn't be until 1998's final months that The Rugrats Movie and The Prince of Egypt became the first non-Disney animated movies to hit $100+ million. Animated cinema has absolutely exploded in the last few decades, to the point that multiple major animated tentpoles are competing for the prime summertime release date slots. Time for a remix of Mungo Jerry's "In the Summertime" with lyrics newly conscious of how often Pixar and Illumination go toe-to-toe in this season. 

Pride Month Is Over And Yet Never Over

I am always gay. 

I am always trans. 

Yet it can often feel like I'm ignoring those core parts of myself.

The endless running and chaos of capitalistic existence mean I spend so much of my life just trying to make the next paycheck or running my hands through my hair, contemplating how everything costs so much. I want to just marinate in my gender. Stew in my lesbian identity. Yet the realities of being an adult in 2026 make that impossible. As I organize things for possibly moving out in a few months' time, that status quo is even more obvious and pervasive.   

Perhaps I'm alone on an island regarding these specific feelings. Yet I can't be the only one overwhelmed by uncertainty and dread in everyday life. Every day, my social media feeds (namely on LinkedIn and Instagram) are filled with people sharing GoFundMe's or posts lamenting their financial/employment hunting hardships. We all need help. This is the inevitable end result of a society that's commodified all essential needs (medicine, water, shelter) to benefit the bourgeoisie. Minimum wage remains stagnant. Job opportunities for artists remain elusive. Yet prices for food, rent, and other vital parts of life annually skyrocket. This is a "balance" that can only create mental health turmoil.

Few of us in the working class have time to embrace the elements in our lives we most cherish. A world prioritizing people embracing and exploring their genders, sexualities, general interests, and all the corners of their lives would be a glorious one. It's also incompatible with a capitalistic society that creates trillionaires and billionaires. That much wealth can only emanate from exploitation.

How do we find solace from this horrific status quo? One way is through Pride Month.

Not, to be clear, through Target circa. 2017's definition of Pride Month. Jubilant parties and intense dancing in the name of queer self-acceptance are awesome in their own right. However, Pride started with the Stonewall Inn riots of 1969. This month and the entirety of queer activism are intertwined with liberation and the actions of Black LGBTQIA+ lives. Pride Month is about loudly reaffirming our existence, standing up to injustice, and uniting for causes bigger than just one queer person. These 30 days are about remembering the vast tapestry of queer lives every LGBTQIA+ individual is attached to. This community's past, present, and future are eternally nestled in all of us.

I'm writing this as reassurance to myself as well as any queer strangers stumbling onto these ramblings. Being in queer social spaces provides such miraculous joy. Unfortunately, eventually that residual wave of gender euphoria wears off. Suddenly, I'm alone in my apartment again. Defined only by my work, emails that will never get responded to, earning as much money as I can, or tasks I didn't finish in the preceding day. The realities of queer people "never being alone" I find so easy to type out or tell somebody else suddenly vanish from my brain when it's time to reassure myself that life is more than Tuesday morning anguish. What cruel irony, to have the words yet not have them resonate in your head.

I'm typing out all this after spending a lengthy section of my day crying. It's not an ideal way to wrap up Pride Month 2026, a collection of 30 days that left me with so many memories and exciting new experiences. Yet, today, I had so many challenges and bouts of self-doubt that the emotional dam shattered. My body capitulated to the vulnerability and sobbing. Now, with all those tears in the rearview mirror, my body's exhausted (a strenuous gym trip this morning doesn't help on the front). Naturally, the paradox of queer people never being alone, yet folks like myself struggling to internalize that reality, has lingered on my brain as I've recovered my bearings.

If anything's made me feel better while navigating an emotionally tumultuous day, it's remembering all the joys of Pride Month and the larger queer community. It's an honor to be in close proximity of amazing people who bring color, self-acceptance, and rich personalities into the world. Even on a day when I've felt hopelessness wash over me like a wave cresting on a beach, knowing amazing local queer people are out there gives me some solace. There is a larger world out there. Life offers more than the overwhelming, seemingly all-consuming tears and capitalistic obligations of everyday life. There is Pride Month and its essence fueling the LGBTQIA+ community year-round.

So come to me, emotional hardships! Break down my door, financial bullshittery! Do your worst, self-criticism and hatred! I have God, anime, and gays on my side. We are a community of resilience, of enduring against all odds. "They think we're getting tired, but we're only getting started!" to quote a wise Duke Nukem in a Christmas 2023 video. Chances are, if you've read this far into my emotionally jagged ramblings, you're also part of that wonderful LGBTQIA+ community and its history of standing firm in times of turmoil. I will endure this arduous final day of Pride Month 2026. You can make it through any hardships you're facing too. Best of all, neither of us does it alone in this community. 

Not only are there queer people in every country on Earth, but the spirits of pivotal LGBTQIA+ legends (like Marsha P. Johnson, Sylvia Rivera, Harvey Milk, We'Wha, and so many others) persist. They're still here. Their actions, legacies, and stories are not vanishing. The world is better because they were here, and the same is true of any queer person. We cannot be contained in one month, even a glorious month like June. Just as my existence is not defined by a solitary day of tears and emotional uncertainty, so too does the Pride Month ambiance go beyond 30 days at the start of summer. 

I am always gay.

I am always trans.

I always belong here. So do you.

Pride Month is over. It's just begun. It's always going. 

These are truths that can never be eliminated. 

Milly Alcock isn't enough to salvage the dreary and derivative Supergirl

Kara Zor-El/Supergirl is a bizarre comics creation. Technically, her origins date back to a 1958 comic where she first appears as a product of supernatural Jimmy Olsen machinations. She properly premiered the following year as a flesh-and-blood person wherein she became a DC Comics staple. In the decades that followed, Supergirl died, returned to life, and spawned all kinds of alternate universe incarnations (like Power Girl). She also fought crime with Comet, a sentient horse (who used to be a man) that was absolutely down bad for this Kryptonian.

Writer Tom King and artist Bilquis Evely introduced a new, more world-weary version of the character in Supergirl in 2021-2022's comic miniseries Supergirl: Woman of Tomorrow. This iteration of the character made room for dinosaurs and Comet, continuing Supergirl’s weirdo track record. Tragically, director Craig Gillespie’s loose film adaptation of Woman of Tomorrow, Supergirl, betrays this superhero’s comic roots. Specifically, Gillespie and company opt for the familiar and rudimentary when the movie desperately needed outlandish fun. A comic book legend who once cucked a lovesick horse cannot headline a movie so often bereft of color.

Continuing on from her ending cameo in last summer’s Superman, Kara Zor-El/Supergirl (Milly Alcock) is a Kryptonian who refuses to stick around one planet for long. Instead, she and loyal pup Krypto travel around to planets under red suns so that this alien can get drunk. As her 23^rd birthday approaches, numbing the pain with booze is Supergirl’s only real plan for the future. Wandering into a bar one night is the adolescent Ruthye Marye Knoll (Eve Ridley), whose family was just murdered by Krem of the Yellow Hills (Matthias Schoenaerts) and his Brigands.

Ruthye's mission to vengefully slaughter Krem doesn't initially interest Kara until this cosmic asshole shoots Krypto with a dart that will slowly kill him over 72 hours. Now, this mismatched duo's out in the vast cosmos where danger lurks around every corner. Not even the super-powerful Supergirl can handle everything thrown her way.

Sometimes, you bite into a burger and just know right away it isn’t working. It doesn’t matter the restaurant’s atmosphere or if the accompanying fries are properly seasoned. That underwhelming burger just sinks the whole experience. Similarly, several core Supergirl creative decisions automatically frustrated me and kept me at arm’s length for the entire runtime. For starters, Ana Nogueira's script is a non-linear creation repeatedly pausing the plot for flashbacks to Kara’s tragic childhood or her first time meeting characters like Krypto and Superman.

There are countless amazing non-linear movies out there. Supergirl isn’t one of them. The extended digressions to yesteryear suck all the propulsive tension from Zara and Ruthye’s journey. If they’re always pausing for stories about the former character’s past, how urgently important can saving Krypto and stopping Krem be? This movie yearns to deliver a rollicking atmosphere, but its story structure, emphasizing didactic expository dialogue, keeps capsizing those ambitions. 

Meanwhile, Gillespie and cinematographer Rob Hardy’s vision for outer space in Supergirl is pervasive browns and greys. Every realm viewers travel to is a drably colored location with no interior lighting save for streaks of sunlight coming through rooftop cracks. The film’s finale transpires in a brown landscape with Supergirl punching hordes of men in black leather and grey tanks. These qualities are clearly intentional and meant to emphasize how Supergirl festers in the drabbiest corners of existence while her Earthbound cousin exists amongst colors reflecting his buoyant personality. That concept’s execution, though, still leaves viewers staring at a bunch of tediously dull backdrops. Specific intent can't disguise that every Supergirl location begins blurring together even on an IMAX screen.

As someone whose proclivity for blockbusters runs more towards Speed Racer than Terminator: Salvation, this hesitancy to embrace vibrant hues is endlessly frustrating. At least incorporate interesting blocking to accompany the limited color palette. Cinematographer Greg Fraser has repeatedly demonstrated that subdued colors and compelling visuals aren’t antithetical. Adding insult to injury, there’s an inescapable derivative quality to many of the sets. Supergirl’s various environments keep reminding viewers of other sci-fi films rather than immersing them in this specific story. Rutheye gets stuck in a prison that could have existed on Yondu’s ship in Guardians of the Galaxy, for instance. Meanwhile, a second act fight scene between Supergirl and Brigand forces just looks like everyone’s duking it out on repurposed Kalki 2898 AD sets.

Similarly visually underwhelming is the realization of the various fight scenes. Craig Gillespie’s prior directorial efforts include I, Tonya, Lars and the Real Girl, and Dan in Real Life (AKA the Steve Carell pancake movie). His inexperience with fight scenes amusingly materializes in how two early Supergirl skirmishes happen either heavily obscured or off-camera. Eventually, though, Gillespie has to show Supergirl and her unexpected pal Lobo (Jason Momoa) beating up people.

When that moment comes, the fight choreography is shrug-worthy and everything descends into weightless digital blobs. Gillespie’s action movie impulses are so rudimentary he even hinges the third act around a crashing CG ship like Supergirl’s a Phase Two Marvel Cinematic Universe movie. If you find this title’s dialogue-heavy scenes tedious, there are unfortunately no punch-heavy treasures awaiting you for your patience.

At the center of all these faults is a seriously exceptional performance courtesy of Milly Alcock. She proves more than capable of anchoring an entire movie in her first feature film leading role. Alock exudes both an absorbing screen presence and a believably jagged personality that’s fun to watch. Any time Supergirl’s waltzing around in a drunken stupor moments before punching an alien bozo into the sky, this film comes alive. To boot, her portrayal of Supergirl slowly letting some vulnerability bubble to the surface is impeccably realized.

Playing opposite Milly Alcock’s superhero are hordes of practically realized alien creatures. The designs on these beasties aren’t especially unique, but the makeup and puppetry departments did a terrific job of realizing these organisms. Also co-starring against Alcock is Momoa in a supporting role as Lobo. Sometimes, this character’s expository dialogue (like when he’s in a jail cell explaining his “code”) feels too much like the producers trying to pitch audiences on solo Lobo adventures. Momoa’s outsized personality (complete with endearing bellows of glee as his character whips out weapons) and solid comic timing, though, help justify this character’s presence.

Speaking of aliens, Supergirl’s proclivity towards emphasizing its titular character living in a dingy cosmic Hell doesn’t just extend to the film’s color palette. It also materializes in a bizarre motif emphasizing the defecation and lactating habits of CG aliens. This bizarre motif will undoubtedly turn off some viewers. However, there’s a compelling specificity to emphasizing otherworldly feces and breastmilk. So much of Supergirl either evokes memories of other summer blockbusters or has its pronounced features sanded off. Lingering on the natural functions of alien beasties, on the other hand, doesn’t show up in every DC Comics movie adaptation.

Plus, that’s the kind of “WTF?” weirdness Supergirl’s comic exploits were built on. Silver Age madness, unfortunately, has been traded in for indistinguishably drab backdrops, a soundtrack of expected pop song needle drops like “Don’t Speak (I Came to Make a BANG)”*, and a thoroughly forgettable villain. Supergirl assembles common modern blockbuster traits and realizes them with frustratingly minimal showmanship. Milly Alcock’s Supergirl exudes a punk rock aesthetic. Her solo movie radiates self-conscious dreariness. This needed more 100 gecs or Death Grips chutzpah and less forgettable cover song energy.

*=Real 2010 cinema fans know that this tune already factored into a DC movie…or at least its trailer.

Twin Peaks: Fire Walk With Me is a grueling yet masterful ode to Laura Palmer's humanity

CW: Discussions of abuse, sexaul assault, rape, and other heavy materials, as well as spoilers for Twin Peaks: Fire Walk With Me, ahead

My job is to know what to say about movies when I finish watching them, and yet I sat there speechless. Twin Peaks: Fire Walk With Me left me so shattered I could only sit in silence on my living room couch. After digesting 29 hour-long episodes of Twin Peaks, I thought I was prepared for whatever this universe threw my way. Wrtier/director David Lynch, though, delivered a prequel motion picture that's intentionally and deftly distinct from what aired on ABC in the early 90s. The result is something I couldn't immediately formulate words to respond to. I just saw there, marinating in my tears, stewing in my melancholy, submerging myself in the artistry I'd just witnessed.

At the start of Twin Peaks: Fire Walk With Me, two FBI agents visit Deer Meadow, investigating the murder of Teresa Banks. A woman operating a diner only recounts Banks as a woman "who was always late for work" and addicted to cocaine, though she never saw Banks actually using the drug. Meanwhile, the local police make mocking jokes at the agents daring to actually care about what happened to this woman. Immediately, Lynch reinforces a tragic staple of reality. Whether they've been abused or murdered, women and girls are minimized and dehumanized. 

"What was she wearing?" 

"She was asking for it!" 

"She was always trouble."  

"If only she'd smiled more."

Venture into the comment section of any social media post about the wave of trans women murders in America in 2026 and you'll see people working overtime to say "this isn't a problem" and erase these horrors. Twin Peaks: Fire Walk With Me opens with a half-hour of storytelling reaffirming this cruelty. A brief mid-movie cutaway to Twin Peaks characters Leo and Sheryl, the former of whom physically abuses the latter, reinforces that reality. After that prologue, Fire Walk With Me shifts focus to Laura Palmer's (Sheryl Lee) last seven days alive in the town of Twin Peaks. Lynch is dimensionalizing a woman who will soon endure all the posthumous cruelty women endure after their anguish.

I couldn't have prepared for how emotional seeing Twin Peaks and its denizens before Laura Palmer's murder would make me. It's like gazing at photos of a small town before a tornado capsizes it or the last photographs of people waving before they climbed aboard the Hindenburg. Here are snapshots of human beings whose lives will soon be upended. They can't imagine what's lying around the corner. While a nightmare lurks in wait for these townspeople, though, Palmer is already enduring a Hellish existence. Snorting drugs to get by in an average day and walking around her household terrified of running into Bob, Palmer's daily psychological turmoil is immeasurable. Only with her best friend Donna Hayward (Moira Kelly) does she find some fleeting peace.

The surrealism dominating Lynch's works gets dialed up in Fire Walk With Me compared to Twin Peaks, but those sequences exist alongside raw, almost observational depictions of Laura's day-to-day turmoil. The best example of this comes from a brutal scene depicting Leland Palmer (Ray Wise) tormenting his daughter over her "dirty fingernails." Told in wider shots with realistic lighting and neither any off-kilter editing nor heightened imagery, this entire exchange could've been lifted from a John Cassavetes directorial effort. The rawness radiating off the screen heartbreakingly communicates the grueling world Laura exists in. Even dinnertime is an opportunity for her to be cut down again by people who're seemingly supposed to protect her.

Living with psychological trauma makes for an unpredictable existence. One scent enters your nose, or some sound is heard in the distance, and suddenly you're at the mercy of your trauma, unable to escape it. Lynch and company demonstrate such empathy and thoughtfulness in realizing the fractured existence Laura Palmer navigates. They're restoring the nuance, dimensionality, and humanity to a woman who first appeared in Twin Peaks as a corpse.  A memory in the original show is here a person whose turmoil captured and broke my heart. Part of this masterful execution is in depicting her life through different filmmaking modes. The traumatic dinnertime scene is raw and stripped-down. 

Meanwhile, though, a later sequence involving Palmer and Donna at a disturbing party hosted by Jacques Renault deploys extremely heightened lighting. Everything's coated in blue and red hues, a sharp contrast to Fire Walk With Me's default color scheme for "everyday reality" scenes. To boot, everyone's dialogue is intentionally so distant and fuzzy that subtitles appear to clarify what they're saying. The specific surrealist visual and sonic qualities of this sequence are extremely well realized. Furthermore, they're tremendously effective in simulating the sensation of wandering through a nightmare (a fitting term for Palmer's sexual trauma and exploitation). These haunting qualities inform not just another evocative Fire Walk With Me sequence, but also accentuate the multi-faceted nature of this film's depiction of Laura Palmer's anguish. 

Her misery manifests in many ways, from grueling realistic dinnertime scenes to this Jacques Renault sequence, just as Palmer had so many layers to herself as a person.

Fire Walk With Me is a masterful demonstration of Lynch's offbeat and precisely realized filmmaking offering a window into a tortured person's soul. I was especially fascinated by inexplicable visuals providing a vivid encapsulation of psychological turmoil appearing anywhere. One of the most memorable instances of this comes when Palmer is loading up Meals on Wheels confections with her diner co-worker. The sun is shining. There's initially no ominous music on the soundtrack to indicate things are afoot. Suddenly, though, a woman and her masked son appear from the bushes, handing Palmer a framed painting. It doesn't matter if a day's visual cues suggest "harmony." These beings manifest at any time. 

So too does psychological torment or abuse from family members materialize on any given day. Fire Walk With Me's depiction of that reality is overflowing with unforgettable bravura. From its 30-minute opening prologue focusing on two new FBI agents (which establishes the wider world of hostility towards women) to the most audacious avant-garde imagery, this entire movie is a gutsy enterprise. Said production staunchly eschews giving audiences either what they want (like surface-level fan-service) or clear-cut answers. Laura Palmer rarely got closure in her life. So many survivors of sexual abuse or assorted traumas similarly persist without satisfying resolutions to their agony. A film like Fire Walk With Me about humanizing those perspectives shouldn't be any different.

Richly human intent has always lurked behind Lynch's phantasmagoric filmmaking. Eraserhead was about the anxieties of fatherhood. Blue Velvet delved into the depravity lurking beneath "clean-cut" America's suburbs. One of my personal favorites, Lost Highway, is a nightmarish descent into having no control over our own identities. Fire Walk With Me continues that tradition with aplomb. That achievement, though, heavily comes down to Sheryl Lee's lead performance as Laura Palmer. There are so many engrossing scenes in this production functioning as basically a demo reel for Lee's boundless chops.

That quiet moment where Palmer's talking to Donna about falling in space? While the camera gently zooms in on Palmer and Lee's dialogue delivery is quietly clipped with haunted torment? Mesmerizing. Lee's depiction of Palmer collapsing into bushes after seeing Bob in her room, meanwhile, had me blubbering in my apartment. There's an unflinching rawness to her acting here, particularly in her jagged breathing and her portrayal of Palmer repeating certain phrases to herself. Later Fire Walk With Me scenes depicting Palmer at her most psychologically distraught (like her laughing after witnessing a murder) are similarly shattering. 

One of those scenes depicts Laura talking to James and saying, "Your Laura disappeared." This sequence magnificently distills cinema as a unique art form where multiple artists converge to create something extraordinary no one person could accomplish. Sheryl Lee's performance is, of course, transfixing here. She's perfectly captured by camerawork from Lynch and cinematographer Ron Garcia. Accompanying this sublime acting and imagery, though, is Angelo Badalamenti's chilling score. For this sequence, Badalamenti deploys the familiar "Laura Palmer's Theme" from the Twin Peaks show. This time, though, it materializes in a slower, piano-only form. 

It's like I was hearing these notes for the first time given their sparse yet impactful manifestation here. This music cue emphasizes the momentousness of these three words leaving Laura's mouth as she bemoans how "even knows me. There are things about me...even Donna doesn't know me."

Every aspect of this scene and Twin Peaks: Fire Walk With Me as a whole lends haunting insight into Laura Palmer. To boot, Angelo Badalamenti's recontextualization of recognizable artistry with its use of "Laura Palmer's Theme" is a microcosm of how Twin Peaks: Fire Walk With Me takes a pre-existing world and injects a new, shattering story into it. Christ, the final ten minutes alone, culminating in Palmer's death and, beforehand, also offering fragmented glimpses at Jacques raping Palmer, is downright grueling. Even here, though, Fire Walk With Me avoids lapsing into exploitative misery porn like Angelina Jolie's In The Land of Blood and Honey. 

Specific visual details from Lynch, Garcia, and editor Mary Sweeney underscore that Palmer's point of view is paramount here. Notice how in the heartbreaking train-set "I thought you always knew it was me" scene, Palmer is at the center of the frame, while so much of her explicit rape and murder is kept off-screen. The impact of these horrors is felt, but the emphasis remains on Palmer's psychology and how she processes the misery inflicted on her. This delicate balance is realized with such artistry and immense resonance that I was left scrambling for words yet blabbering about its mastery. There's a paradox that would fit right into both David Lynch's filmography and the world of Twin Peaks: Fire Walk With Me.