Through perilous times, queer artists, comedians, and performers have transformed personal and collective pain into honest, witty, and radical expressions of joy and empowerment. On Mar. 4, LGBTQ+ civil rights organization Lambda Legal will uplift some of these voices in its inaugural “Stand-Up for Equality” event.

The showcase features stand-up acts from both established and emerging voices in queer comedy, including: Margaret Cho, Matteo Lane, Tig Notaro, Dina Martina, Roz Hernandez, Rachel Scanlon, Guy Branum, Solomon Georgio and Dana Goldberg.

Their eclectic comedic styles and impacts are wide-sweeping: from Lane’s hilarious, crowd-work-based “advice specials” and Branum’s poignant, internet series “What the Old Gays Remember” to Cho’s biting and punchy commentaries on race and gender and Notaro’s warm, charming presence both on stage and on her “Handsome” podcast. Each performer’s work has boldly expanded the country’s broader comedy scene, exposing more and more viewers to a dynamic, vast pool of queer art, humor, and history.

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Proceeds from “Stand-Up for Equality” will go towards supporting Lambda Legal, an organization that has championed LGBTQ+ policy and rights since 1973. Recently, Lambda Legal joined a trio of civil rights organizations that are representing and filing challenges in support of two trans female athletes defending their rights to participate and compete in school sports at the Supreme Court.

As Lambda Legal battles for the protection of queer communities, events like “Stand-Up for Equality” emphasize the necessity of queer joy and its ability to fuel relief and resistance. For Lambda Legal CEO Kevin Jennings, this evening of laughter and rebellion offers queer folks a chance to rise up against an administration that uplifts and advances ant-LGBTQ+ policy and sentiment — and to directly support an organization fighting against it. 

“Activism isn’t a sidebar for our community; it’s part of our survival, expression, and our legacy,” said Jennings, in a press release. “We must all rise to meet this moment, and I am thrilled these comedians are going to help us to continue to fight the fight, while also allowing us the opportunity to gather together and laugh.” 

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Cho, a “huge fan” of Lambda Legal, recognizes the importance of standing up for the organizations that are doing vital work to make sure queer community members have safe spaces and can access legal support, healthcare, housing, and other crucial resources against the hostility of anti-LGBTQ+ policy. “I’m grateful for their long legacy of protecting, advocating, and advancing our rights; and their work is more important now than it ever was,” Cho said in a press release. 

“Stand-Up for Equality” takes place on Wed. Mar. 4 at 8 p.m. at the Saban Theatre in Beverly Hills. Tickets begin at $62. More information can be found at Lambda Legal’s event site. 

Kristie Song is a California Local News Fellow placed with the Los Angeles Blade. The California Local News Fellowship is a state-funded initiative to support and strengthen local news reporting. Learn more about it at fellowships.journalism.berkeley.edu/cafellows.

It’s unfortunate how poorly so many people view reality television. 

Of course, the genre doesn’t always do itself any favors; for decades, the most prominent examples of this medium were drunken fights and jaw-dropping bigotry. But viewers forget that reality TV has evolved along with its eternally growing audience. It still contains wild drama, yes, but recent years have seen an increase in shows like RuPaul’s Drag Race and We’re Here, which offer nuanced insight into the experiences of queer communities today. Series like these have an undeniable impact on the many who watch them, with their episodes among the most reliable sources of authentic representation that queer viewers can count on. That’s why reality television as a whole deserves more respect, and that’s why Netflix’s The Boyfriend is one of the most impactful programs airing today. The show has become a hit, with season 2 now streaming.

Japan’s first gay dating show, this series brings together a group of eligible men for one summer in ‘The Green Room,’ a house where they’ll live, run a small business, and hopefully find their true love. Overseen by a panel of commentators — a common practice for Japanese reality TV — the series has astounded for two seasons with the genuine emotions on display. Yet along with the romance, what sets The Boyfriend apart is just how informative it is. Not only by offering insight into a queer culture outside of America, but by creating a level of representation that Japan as a country has never seen before. So many scenes and stories on the show are important for LGBTQ+ audiences across the globe, but what truly sets The Boyfriend apart is the simple message that grounds this entire series: it’s not wrong to be gay. 

“In Japan, LGBTQ+ people…[they] are prohibited,” said Durian, a commentator from The Boyfriend and one of Japan’s biggest drag performers. “They are regarded as nonexistent…[and] for some of the young people, when it comes to the fact that they are being ignored in society, it could lead to them not having pride in themselves.”

It was a sentiment echoed by The Boyfriend cast, with the group describing how LGBTQ+ identity is rarely discussed in public and only shown through stereotypes. “When I was in middle school, the word gay didn’t exist,” described Huwei, a contestant and member of Thailand’s national judo team. “People would use other words, [ones that] usually mean just being [like] women.” This is reflected in the portrayal of gay people in Japanese media, with the cast detailing how the few times they saw gay characters, it was always hyper-effeminate, ultra cheerful men — traits that were used as joke fodder for the audience. “They’re trying to be [funny], and they’re trying to make people laugh, but it didn’t necessarily have a positive impression,” said Tomoaki, whose time on the show saw the man grapple with accepting his own sexuality.

These topics come up naturally on the program, as well as other facets of what it means to live as a queer person in Japan, granting American audiences vital insight into an LGBTQ+ culture outside of their own. Durian explained their customs further, saying, “Japan is a bit reserved and very quiet. People may be a little frustrated because they think [the cast] should be more direct, but [their behavior] is really a part of Japanese culture. And if viewers can [understand] that, they’ll be happy.”

It can be easy to forget that the fight for LGBTQ+ liberation looks different in areas across the world. The cast of The Boyfriend not only portrays what dating looks like in their country, but also the many ways their communities fight for acceptance that international audiences don’t often get to see. It doesn’t do this in a way that discredits or villainizes Japanese culture — in fact, many of the men profess how much they love the country that raised them. But their national pride is paired with a hope that their country can grow and begin granting LGBTQ+ people the respect they deserve. It’s this desire that drives so much of the series’ emotion, making it all the more heartwarming when viewers realize just how important The Boyfriend is to this ongoing hope today.  

“For me, I’d never been a part of a gay community…this is really [the first] time I was able to be really true to myself,” said Ryuki, a college student and the youngest member of the group. Bomi, who spent a majority of the season pining after fellow contestant Huwei, agreed, saying, “When I came to the ‘Green Room,’ honestly, in the beginning, I was scared…for the last 20 years, I have not really been honest to myself. But through the life I had [on this show], I’ve been able to be truly myself.”

The franchise’s inherent inclusivity not only allowed the men to find romance but to simply find community amongst one another. This led not only to great television but also to the entire cast raving about their time on the show, while also recognizing how hard it is to find this sense of belonging for so many LGBTQ+ people in Japan today. 

As the conversation wound down, the men reflected on what their inclusion on this series means for their country going forward. As members of Japan’s inaugural gay dating show, they’ll be providing examples of queer identity outside of the grinning caricatures that have always permeated popular culture. They would finally be giving so many young LGBTQ+ viewers the knowledge that there are real people like them out there living happy lives today. This realization drove many of the cast to tears, with each expressing how they hoped these episodes would help those viewers desperately searching for representation. And while they all expressed their care, Bomi summarized the group’s thoughts on what they hoped people took away from The Boyfriend best.

“I want people to feel that they’re not alone. You’re not alone. I want to tell [them] that we all have the same kind of issues, and there are a lot of people who haven’t really expressed themselves yet…but we are here. We are here with you.”

An uplifting message of community, one that was only possible because of the genuine bonds this group forged throughout their experience. This shows just how much of an impact The Boyfriend is already making on Japanese culture, and it’s a reminder for viewers across the world that none of us are alone in the fight for queer equity today. 

The Boyfriend season 2 is now streaming on Netflix

More than 40 openly LGBTQ+ athletes are expected to compete in the Milan Cortina Winter Olympics that open on Friday.

Outsports.com notes eight Americans — including speedskater Conor McDermott-Mostowy and figure skater Amber Glenn — are among the 44 openly LGBTQ+ athletes who will compete in the games. The LGBTQ+ sports website also reports Ellis Lundholm, a mogul skier from Sweden, is the first openly transgender athlete to compete in any Winter Olympics.

“I’ve always been physically capable. That was never a question,” Glenn told Outsports.com. “It was always a mental and competence problem. It was internal battles for so long: when to lean into my strengths and when to work on my weaknesses, when to finally let myself portray the way I am off the ice on the ice. That really started when I came out publicly.”

McDermott-Mostowy is among the six athletes who have benefitted from the Out Athlete Fund, a group that has paid for their Olympics-related training and travel. The other beneficiaries are freestyle skier Gus Kenworthy, speed skater Brittany Bowe, snowboarder Maddy Schaffrick, alpine skier Breezy Johnson, and Paralympic Nordic skier Jake Adicoff.

Out Athlete Fund and Pride House Los Angeles – West Hollywood on Friday will host a free watch party for the opening ceremony.

“When athletes feel seen and accepted, they’re free to focus on their performance, not on hiding who they are,” Haley Caruso, vice president of the Out Athlete Fund’s board of directors, told the Los Angeles Blade.

Four Italian LGBTQ+ advocacy groups — Arcigay, CIG Arcigay Milano, Milano Pride, and Pride Sport Milano — have organized the games’ Pride House that will be located at the MEET Digital Culture Center in Milan.

Pride House on its website notes it will “host a diverse calendar of events and activities curated by associations, activists, and cultural organizations that share the values of Pride” during the games. These include an opening ceremony party at which Checcoro, Milan’s first LGBTQ+ chorus, will perform.

ILGA World, which is partnering with Pride House, is the co-sponsor of a Feb. 21 event that will focus on LGBTQ+-inclusion in sports. Valentina Petrillo, a trans Paralympian, is among those will participate in a discussion that Simone Alliva, a journalist who writes for the Italian newspaper Domani, will moderate.

“The event explores inclusivity in sport — including amateur levels — with a focus on transgender people, highlighting the role of civil society, lived experiences, and the voices of athletes,” says Milano Pride on its website.

The games will take place against the backdrop of the U.S. Olympic and Paralympic Committee’s decision to ban trans women from competing in women’s sporting events.

President Donald Trump last February issued an executive order that bans trans women and girls from female sports teams in the U.S. A group of Republican lawmakers in response to the directive demanded the International Olympics Committee ban trans athletes from women’s athletic competitions.

The IOC in 2021 adopted its “Framework on Fairness, Inclusion and Nondiscrimination on the Basis of Gender Identity and Sex Variations” that includes the following provisions:

• 3.1 Eligibility criteria should be established and implemented fairly and in a manner that does not systematically exclude athletes from competition based upon their gender identity, physical appearance and/or sex variations.

• 3.2 Provided they meet eligibility criteria that are consistent with principle 4 (“Fairness”, athletes should be allowed to compete in the category that best aligns with their self-determined gender identity.

• 3.3 Criteria to determine disproportionate competitive advantage may, at times, require testing of an athlete’s performance and physical capacity. However, no athlete should be subject to targeted testing because of, or aimed at determining, their sex, gender identity and/or sex variations.

The 2034 Winter Olympics are scheduled to take place in Salt Lake City. The 2028 Summer Olympics will occur in Los Angeles.

There is nothing radical about a queer film that plays it safe. From the fabulous shock and awe of John Waters’ obscene ethos, to the formal ruptures of New Queer Cinema in the work of Gregg Araki and Todd Haynes, to Bruce LaBruce’s incendiary provocations, LGBTQ+ filmmakers have historically carved out spaces by breaking rules. Queer cinema was staged in resistance, unsettling viewers and insisting that queer life could not be easily palatable to the masses.

Yet, that history has grown increasingly distant in a media landscape dominated by the repetitive narrative templates, endlessly repackaged and sold as “representation.” In this moment, Cutaways, the latest film from Mark Schwab, arrives as a refreshing (and unsettling) intervention. Cutaways premieres February 3rd on Amazon Prime and Vimeo on Demand.

The dark, intermittently comical film screened at the 2025 SF Queer Film Festival, but its run through the LGBTQ+ festival circuit was brief. Schwab tells the Blade, “It screened at the 2025 SF Queer Film Festival, but it was rejected by every other LGBTQ film festival I entered it into.” What he heard in response wasn’t that the film lacked quality or creative direction. “They love the film,” he explains, “but they were too afraid to program in this climate.”

The hesitation speaks less to Cutaways as an artistic project than to a broader resistance to risk in queer media. Schwab, who grew up watching queer films that transgressed conventional norms, finds the shift troubling. “I grew up with Gregg Araki, and John Waters, and Bruce LaBruce, and Todd Haynes’ Poison,” he eagerly explains, “Those were the films that I admired as a young gay boy… And now it seems like the LGBTQ community just wants everything to be a Lifetime movie, and that’s fine – but does it have to only be that?”

Cutaways refuses to play it safe, rejecting the familiar mise-en-scène that increasingly defines contemporary queer cinema. Set entirely within a Downtown Los Angeles artist space staged as an adult film set, the film follows Evan Quick, a once-respected filmmaker whose career crashes and burns after public backlash. Desperate to keep working, Evan accepts a job directing pornography, a choice that quickly sheds any comic veneer and settles into something more existential. What could have been framed as sexual provocation is deliberately restrained, trading spectacle for unease.

Schwab is clear that the adult film setting is not about provocation. “I knew I wanted to use a porn set as an arena,” he explains, “I’m not judging porn here at all.” Instead, Schwab frames the film in terms of questions that the audience considers while watching: “How did these characters get there? And what are they doing there? And how are they dealing with their issues within that world?”

That sense of entrapment – characters forced to confront themselves without escape – has long fascinated Schwab. One film that was particularly powerful for him was The Boys in the Band (1970), serving as a formative influence. “Watching these characters have to deal with each other’s relationships and issues … and they’re trapped in that party… I love that.” In Cutaways, no one can walk away. Everyone is there for a reason – a reason that audiences must figure out for themselves.

Watching Cutaways, it’s easy to read its characters through the familiar lens of victimhood. Schwab, however, resists that framing entirely. “All the characters want to be there,” he says, “It’s almost like there are no victims in the movie … They’re all exercising their own power in their own way.”

That philosophy extends to the film’s central figure, Evan Quick. Schwab isn’t interested in writing characters to be likable or unlikable so much as depicting them for who they are. “I don’t feel sympathetic to Evan, but I do feel empathetic,” he says. Evan stages a question that sits uncomfortably close to creative individuals: What happens when the work that defines you is suddenly at risk? Or as Schwab puts it: “How far is he willing to go to follow his passion?”

Despite the film’s thematic weight, Schwab rejects the notion that Cutaways is delivering a lesson. “None of my films ever have a message … They are stories,” he tells the Blade. Instead of preaching a message, Schwab’s films insist on attention to detail: “My films are no good if you’re gonna be looking at your phone at the same time … You have to pay attention … You’re just gonna miss way too much.”

Cutaways sits at an uneasy intersection between those invested in preserving the commercialized norms and a queer cinematic legacy defined by risk. That friction may explain its reception, but it also marks the film’s necessity. In an era dominated by repeatable formats and tokenized representation, Schwab’s film insists on uneasiness, ambiguity, and a love for the unpredictable.

Queer cinema must be defined by urging the audience to sit and watch – even when it’s uncomfortable. Cutaways doesn’t just recall that tradition. It reminds us why it mattered in the first place.

Even in a series packed with so many amazing winners — and that’s not even including its cavalcade of spin-offs — RuPaul’s Drag Race has never seen a victor quite like season 17’s Onya Nurve. 

This drag queen entered her installment of the trailblazing franchise with one goal: make sure nobody watching could ever forget her. And it’s safe to say she succeeded; even before clinching the $200,000 win, Onya always showed her immense talent and the no-nonsense personality that audiences quickly fell in love with (and some competitors constantly clashed with). Beyond all of her skills, though, what made Onya stick out was her genuine heart, the authentic emotions she brought to every scene as she fought to uplift both her fellow contestants and herself. It’s a kind of genuine empathy that you don’t often see on reality television, and it’s one that is on full display in every second of Onya Nurve’s new WOW Presents talk show, Hello, Hello, Hello.

“You know, I think it’s always been in my blood to sit in a chair and have a conversation with someone across from me,” Onya said, as she sat down in a chair for her conversation with the Los Angeles Blade. Out of drag, the performer’s confident grin makes it clear that she’s still the artist fans love, even when she’s just having a relaxed interview. “It’s something that I do naturally, and something that I do so well.”

A reinvention of your typical talk show, Hello Hello Hello sees Onya speak with the queens of RuPaul’s Drag Race season 18 to discuss the chaotic journeys that led them all to the show. Filled with shady questions and a thorough analysis of each one’s audition tape, every episode sees the winner speak with these hopefuls and learn what inspired them to become drag performers today. While funny, these episodes are also shockingly heartwarming; Onya’s visible care for her guests creates genuine moments of camaraderie between the franchise co-stars. 

When asked about her approach to these conversations, Onya began, “When you’re filming your audition, you don’t know whether you’re going to get on the show or not. The only thing you do know…is that you have to do your best.” She stressed that hosting the series was so impactful because she remembers what it’s like to be one of these performers. To worry for months over your audition tape, to thrill over getting cast, and then to worry even more as you realize just how intense this cutthroat competition can be. Luckily, Onya never had to deal with the grief of losing, but she still empathizes with each eliminated queen she gets the chance to talk to. “When [I’m] watching [their audition] tapes with all of the girls, it’s a moment of, ‘Regardless if you thought this was a good tape or not, it still got you on the show. So let’s celebrate that!’”

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The warm demeanor that Onya has for each queen is one that has always been evident during her time in the Drag Race universe. While she’s not without her chaotic moments — the winner’s argument with Lexi Love is still legendary — a rewatch of season 17 shows Onya supporting her fellow performers in the face of upset cast members and stressful situations. It’s this care that she brings to every episode of her show, and it’s one that has defined her reign as ‘America’s Next Drag Superstar.’ 

“I think that it’s one of my number one jobs,” said Onya, when asked how important it’s been to uplift other queens during her time as incumbent winner. “Especially as a drag mom. One of your jobs is to support the people who’ve supported you along the way…it’s a way to remind [those people], ‘Hey, I might be famous — but I still love you!’”

This mentality, along with her many years as an Ohio-based drag queen, is what prepared Nurve to be the hilariously heartfelt host that fans see in Hello, Hello, Hello. Onya emphasized how, while of course she loves being a talk show host, it’s the times when she gets to reassure this season’s performers that truly made the experience so fulfilling. “There are such sentimental moments that you want to just hug them and let them know, ‘You’re not alone. I’ve been through this process too.’” And when asked what advice she likes to give each of these performers after these sentimental moments, Onya offered the two words that have kept her afloat through situations even more stressful than RuPaul’s Drag Race: “Don’t cry!”

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As the interview came to an end, Nurve used her time to not only discuss how thrilled she is to be hosting this new show, but how excited she is to celebrate the other Drag Race queens — those on this season, and the many yet to come. She stressed that the resonance people see from her is due to the fact that her own experience was not an easy path to the end. From creating her audition tape to having RuPaul announce her as a winner, Onya has always been fighting to get to the place where she is today. She understands the hard work that it takes to get on the show, let alone do well on it. 

And so to all of these queens that she’s excited to continue speaking with on Hello, Hello, Hello, Onya proclaimed, “It doesn’t really matter how well you do on the show. You already won, because the goal was to get on the show. So use this moment, do the best you can, and just take it and run with it. You’re going to be the star that you’ve always been.”

Words to live by, whether you’re a sickening drag artist or not, and an inspiring sentiment that defines Onya Nurve as one of the most impactful RuPaul’s Drag Race winners we have today. 

Out Athlete Fund, a local nonprofit uplifting LGBTQ+ visibility in sports, has taken another step forward in supporting its queer athletes. In the upcoming Winter Olympics and Paralympics beginning Feb. 6, six athletes will have their training and travel expenses covered by the organization. 

These athletes, which include speed skater and first-time Olympian Conor McDermott-Mostowy, freestyle skier Gus Kenworthy, speed skater Brittany Bowe, snowboarder Maddy Schaffrick, Para Nordic skier Jake Adicoff, and alpine skier Breezy Johnson, form Out Athlete Fund’s first “Team OutAF.” In a previous interview with the Blade, McDermott-Mostowy explained that many professional athletes earn less than minimum wage, even as they commit themselves fully to the rigorous, all-consuming pressures of training for competition. 

On top of that, queer athletes face isolation in competitive spaces and social environments that discourage, discriminate against, and criminalize LGBTQ+ people for being out. Out Athlete Fund and Team OutAF are offering a necessary safe space for these athletes, ensuring that they receive necessary financial and emotional support.

“When athletes feel seen and accepted, they’re free to focus on their performance, not on hiding who they are,” Haley Caruso, Out Athlete Fund board vice-president and Team OutAF lead, wrote to the Blade. 

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LGBTQ+ rights are at stake globally, specifically in the home country of Team OutAF’s U.S. athletes and the place of their upcoming competition: Milan, Italy. As these athletes prepare to perform on the world stage, they are doing so in arenas that do not promote the free expression of this key part of their identities. “Increasing visibility at moments like this helps break stigma and sends a message to the next generation: you can be your authentic self and chase your dreams,” Caruso wrote. 

The launch of the inaugural Team OutAF is a “milestone” moment for Caruso and other Out Athlete Fund board members, who have seen the erosion of LGBTQ+ rights and are actively fighting against it in professional sports. In the last two years, adjacent organization Pride House L.A./West Hollywood has received support from the county and the City of West Hollywood to fund the construction of L.A.’s first LGBTQ+ hospitality house for this year’s World Cup and the 2028 Summer Olympic Games. 

These major developments and financial backings illustrate the growing impact and ethos behind Out Athlete Fund and Pride House L.A./West Hollywood: LGBTQ+ athletes are important and deserving of major platforms that celebrate and invest in them. “Being able to create something that gives back to my own community feels incredibly special,” Caruso wrote. “[Team OutAF] isn’t just about sport; it’s about belonging, pride and visibility.” 

On Feb. 6, Pride House L.A./West Hollywood and Out Athlete Fund will host a free watch party for the Winter Games’ opening ceremony. More information about this event, as well as ways to donate, support and follow along with Team OutAF’s athletes can be found on the Pride House L.A./West Hollywood and Out Athlete Fund Instagram pages.

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Kristie Song is a California Local News Fellow placed with the Los Angeles Blade. The California Local News Fellowship is a state-funded initiative to support and strengthen local news reporting. Learn more about it at fellowships.journalism.berkeley.edu/cafellows.

Whether you’ve seen him in popular HBO series like “True Blood,” “Succession,” and “Big Little Lies,” the dynamic Swedish actor Alexander Skarsgård has that smoldering gaze that immediately draws viewers in. 

Following in the footsteps of his father Stellan, (who just won the Golden Globe for “Sentimental Value”) the Golden Globe, Emmy, and SAG winner Skarsgård continues to be an actor who is fearless in the roles he takes on. 

That courageousness is evident in Skarsgård’s latest film, the BDSM black comedy “Pillion,”which he also executive produces. He plays Ray, the handsome, hyper-dominant leader of a gay bike gang. The film was written and directed by Harry Lighton, and is based on the 2020 novel “Box Hill,” by Adam Mars-Jones. 

“This was a small film by a first time filmmaker and it wasn’t financed when I read it,”  Skarsgård told journalists at a recent awards news conference. “And I felt that, if I could help in any small way of getting it financed, I wanted to, because I thought it was such an incredible screenplay and I believe in Harry Lighton so much as a filmmaker. And it felt tonally unlike anything I’d ever read. It was such an exciting, surprising read.”

Skarsgård was blown away by the quality of the unconventional script. “When I heard BDSM relationship, biker culture, I expected something very different. I didn’t expect it to have so much sweetness and tenderness and awkwardness.”

For the sex scenes and nudity with co-star, Harry Melling — who excels in his portrayal as Ray’s submissive Colin — Skarsgård talked very early on with Lighton about how he wanted to shoot those scenes, and why they were in the film. 

“I often find sex scenes quite boring in movies because a lot of the tension is in the drama leading up to two people hooking up, or several people hooking up, as in our movie. But what I really enjoyed about these scenes — they are all pivotal moments in Colin’s journey and his development. It’s the first time he gets a blowjob. It’s the first time he has sex. It’s the first time he has an orgasm. And these are pivotal moments for him, so they mean a lot. And that made those scenes impactful and important.” 

Skarsgård was happy that Lighton’s script didn’t have gratuitous scenes that shock for the sake of just shocking. “I really appreciated that because I find that when this subculture is portrayed, it’s often dangerous and crazy and wild and something like transgressive.”

He continued: “I really love that Harry wanted it to feel real. It can be sexy and intense, but also quite loving and sweet. And you can have an orgy in the woods, rub up against a Sunday roast with the family. And that kind of feels real.”

One of the obstacles Skarsgård had to work with was Ray’s emotionally distant personality.

“Ray is so enigmatic throughout the film and you obviously never find out anything about him, his past. He doesn’t reveal much. He doesn’t expose himself. And that was a challenge to try to make the character interesting, because that could easily feel quite flat…That was something that I thought quite a lot about in pre production…there are no big dramatic shifts in his arc.”

For the film, Lighton consulted the GMBCC, the UK’s largest LGBT+ biker club, attending their annual meetup at which 80 riders were present. 

“Working with these guys was extraordinary and it brought so much texture and richness to the film to have them present,” said Skarsgård. “They were incredibly sweet and guiding with us — I can’t imagine making this movie without them. I’d go on a road trip with them anytime.”

Added Skarsgård: “To sum up ‘Pillion’ in three words: lube, sweat, and leather. I hope people will connect with Colin and his journey, and come to understand the nuance and complexity of his bond with Ray.”

This year is shaping up to be a busy one for Skarsgård. “Pillion” premieres in select cities on Feb. 6 and then moves into wide release on Feb. 20. After that for Skarsgård is a role in queer ally Charli XCX’s mockumentary, “The Moment,” which premieres at the Sundance Film Festival. HIs sci-fi comedy series,  Apple TV’s “Murderbot,” which he also executive produces, will begin filming its second season. And this weekend, he hosts “Saturday Night Live.”

If you haven’t heard the name Marc Shaiman, you’ve most likely heard his music or lyrics in one of your favorite Broadway shows or movies released in the past 50 years. From composing the Broadway scores for Hairspray and Catch Me if You Can to most recently working on Only Murders in the Building, Hocus Focus 2, and Mary Poppins Returns, the openly queer artist has had a versatile career — one that keeps him just an Oscar away from EGOT status.

The one thing the award-winning composer, lyricist, and writer credits with launching his successful career? Showing up, time and time again. Eventually, he lucked out in finding himself at the right place at the right time, meeting industry figures like Rob Reiner, Billy Crystal, and Bette Midler, who were immediately impressed with his musical instincts on the piano.

“Put my picture under the dictionary definition for being in the right place at the right time,” Shaiman says. “What I often try to say to students is, ‘Show up. Say yes to everything.’ Because you never know who is in the back of the theater that you had no idea was going to be there. Or even when you audition and don’t get the part. My book is an endless example of dreams coming true, and a lot of these came true just because I showed up. I raised my hand. I had the chutzpah!”

Recalling one example from his memoir, titled Never Mind the Happy: Showbiz Stories from a Sore Winner ( just hit bookshelves on January 27th), Shaiman says he heard Midler was only hiring Los Angeles-based artists for her world tour. At the young age of 20, the New York-based Shaiman took a chance and bought the cheapest flight he could find from JFK. Once landing in L.A., he called up Midler and simply asked: “Where’s rehearsal?”

“Would I do that nowadays? I don’t know,” Shaiman admits. “But when you’re young and you’re fearless … I was just obsessed, I guess you could say. Maybe I was a stalker! Luckily, I was a stalker who had the goods to be able to co-create with her and live up to my wanting to be around.”

On the occasion of Never Mind the Happy’s official release, The Blade had the opportunity to chat with Shaiman about his decades-spanning career. He recalls the sexual freedom of his community theater days, the first time he heard someone gleefully yell profanities during a late screening of The Rocky Horror Picture Show, and why the late Rob Reiner was instrumental to both his career and his lasting marriage to Louis Mirabal. This interview has been edited and condensed.

Naturally, a good place to start would be your book, Never Mind the Happy. What prompted you to want to tell the story of your life at this point in your career?

I had a couple of years where, if there was an anniversary of a movie or a Broadway show I co- created, I’d write about it online. People were always saying to me, “Oh my God, you should write a book!” But I see them say that to everybody. Someone says, “Oh, today my kitten knocked over the tea kettle -” “You should write a book with these hysterical stories.” So I just took it with a grain of salt when people would say that to me. But then I was listening to Julia Louis-Dreyfus’ podcast, and Jane Fonda was on talking about her memoir — not that I’m comparing myself to a career like Jane Fonda’s — but she felt it was time to take a life review. That really stuck in my head. At the time, I was sulking or moping about something that had not gone as well as I wished. And I guess I kind of thought, “Let me look back at all these things that I have done.” Because I have done a lot. I’m just weeks short of my 50th year in show business, despite how youthful I look! I just sat down and started writing before anyone asked, as far as an actual publisher.

I started writing as a way to try to remind myself of the joyous, wonderful things that have happened, and for me not to always be so caught up on what didn’t go right. I’ve been telling some of these stories over the years, and it was really fun to sit down and not just be at a dinner party telling a story. There’s something about the written word and really figuring out the best way to tell the story and how to get across a certain person’s voice. I really enjoyed the writing. It was the editing that was the hard part!

You recall experiences that made you fall in love with the world of theater and music, from the days you would skip class to go see a show or work in regional productions. What was it like returning to those early memories?

Wonderful. My few years of doing community theater included productions that were all kids, and many productions with adults, where I was this freaky little 12-year-old who could play show business piano beyond my years. It was just bizarre! Every time a director would introduce me to another cast of adults, they’d be like, “Are you kidding?” I’d go to the piano, and I would sightread the overture to Funny Girl, and everybody said, “Oh, OK!” Those were just joyous, wonderful years, making the kind of friends that are literally still my friends. You’re discovering musical theatre, you’re discovering new friends who have the same likes and dreams, and discovering sex. Oh my god! I lost my virginity at the opening night of Jesus Christ Superstar, so I’m all for community theater!

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What do you recall from your early experiences watching Broadway shows? Did that open everything up for you?

I don’t remember seeing Fiddler on the Roof when I was a kid, but I remember being really enthralled with this one woman’s picture in the souvenir folio — the smile on her face as she’s looking up in the pictures or looking to her father for approval. I always remember zooming in on her and being fascinated by this woman’s face: turns out it was Bette Midler. So my love for Bette Midler began even before I heard her solo records.

Pippin and The Wiz were the first Broadway musicals I saw as a young teenager who had started working in community theater and really wanted to be a part of it. I still remember Pippin with Ben Vereen and all those hands. At the time, I thought getting a seat in the front row was really cool — I’ve learned since that it only hurts your neck, but I remember sitting in the front row at The Wiz as Stephanie Mills sang Home. Oh my god, I can still see it right now. And then I saw Bette Midler in concert, finally, after idolizing her and being a crazed fan who did nothing but listen to her records, dreaming that someday I’d get to play for her. And it all came true even before I turned 18 years old. I just happened to be in the right place at the right time, and met one of her backup singers and became their musical director. I was brought to a Bette Midler rehearsal. I still hadn’t even turned 18, she heard me play and said, “Stick around.” And I’ve stuck around close to 55 years! She’s going to interview me in L.A. at the Academy Museum. Would I have ever thought that Bette Midler would say yes to sitting with me, interviewing me about my life and career?

That’s amazing. Has she had a chance to read the book yet?

She read it. We just talked yesterday, and she wants to ask the right questions at the event. And she even said to me, “Marc, I wasn’t even aware of all that you’ve done.” We’ve been great friends for all these years, but sometimes months or almost years go by where you’re not completely in touch.

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In the book, you describe moving between New York and Los Angeles, especially when you started working more in film. As a queer artist, what was your experience finding LGBTQ+ community between the two coasts?

As far as gayness, they’re equally gay! I guess New York tilts a little more. I came to New York in 1976, so during the ‘70s in New York, anything goes! That was the height of sexual freedom and expression, then the ‘80s brought the hideousness of AIDS. For a long time, part of being gay was the endless death that I was surrounded by — losing just about every friend and colleague. My god, when I first started living in L.A., coming out there to work with Bette in the ‘80s, almost every single person I met died by the mid ‘90s. Everyone, everyone was gone. That was unfortunately a huge part of my life, and anyone my age can relate to that. God bless everyone not my age that will hopefully never ever have to experience anything close to the devastation of a funeral every week. Even to say it now, it’s hard to imagine or believe that happened.

But you know, I’m in show business, so there are gay people everywhere and happily so. I’m lucky that I grew up without any kind of shame about that, or a feeling that I needed to hide it. Although I didn’t come out to my parents. It wasn’t until I finally told my mom one day that I had been to yet another funeral, as I was sharing with her about AIDS. That was when she finally said, “Scott is more than your roommate, isn’t he?” And I was like, “Yes.” Why did I pretend? I never pretended anywhere else, and I never pretended about anything else. But I still grew up in a time when – well, I mean, I’m not naive, I know it’s still a time now where a lot of people can’t come out to their family or parents — but I certainly came out a time long before there were people coming out on TikTok for the whole world to see. It was a bit more of a private thing, but I was always happily gay. And dare I say, as I even say in the book, when my libido took off at around 15, and all the other 15 and 16-year-olds were around me, I was the pied piper!

In the spirit of being at the right place at the right time, you almost accidentally became part of The Rocky Horror Show and the immersive, theatrical performances that emerged in those midnight screenings.

We actually started that, which, once again, is hard for me to believe. I went to New York with my friend from community theater, Sal, and we walked by the Waverly Theatre. He said, “Oh, I heard that this movie just opened, I hear it’s really outrageous.” We got in line and really hit it off with these other guys and gals. We went to see it and loved it and said, “Let’s come back tomorrow night!” These strangers that we just met came back too. When Susan Sarandon (who played Janet) holds a newspaper over her head in the rain, Louis Farese is the first person to yell out anything. He yelled, “Buy an umbrella, you cheap bitch!” The audience exploded in laughter. Sal and I were big hams and were like, “We’ve gotta get a laugh. We’ve got to figure out something to say and get a laugh like this!”

You started working in film through your collaborations with director Rob Reiner, who recently passed. What was it like stepping into scoring and making that leap with films like Misery and When Harry Met Sally…?

I was lucky enough, by Billy Crystal introducing me to Rob Reiner, to get the job doing the music for When Harry Met Sally…. But that was arranging existing songs, arranging and orchestrating with Rob. I worked on Beaches (starring Bette Midler) at the same time, and that was the same thing — arranging songs, orchestrating them, co-producing the recordings. Suddenly, I had these two hugely successful soundtrack records I had co-produced, but I had never written a film score or done a student film. Since I was a kid, I had a little theme for when my cat walked across the room. If somebody walked into the room at a party, I would play something funny as they walked in.

Rob had an inkling and called me, “Hey buddy, you want to score my next movie, Misery, a psychological thriller?” I was wondering why he thought I could do that. I had just gotten an agent as I moved to L.A., and even my agent said to Rob, “What makes you think Marc can write a film score?” Rob simply said, “Talent is talent.” That became my agent’s mantra as he got me one job after another, and Rob’s faith in me was just an overwhelming, life-changing thing. He became so important to me, and someone I’ll be thankful for as a colleague and even more so as a friend. For the rest of my life, I’ll be thanking him for that.

He was a true advocate for the LGBTQ+ community, fighting against California’s Proposition 8 same-sex marriage ban by co-founding the American Foundation for Equal Rights in 2009.

Very likely, I wouldn’t be married if it weren’t for Rob and Michelle Reiner. They were intensely a part of the fight to get to the Supreme Court. They were a part of that in all ways — financially, fighting, and showing up vocally. So, besides everything else, I’m the most happily married man on the face of the earth. And I can thank Rob and Michelle for that.

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That’s beautiful. As we look back on your career, you’ve worked on everything from Broadway musicals like Hairspray to more recent revivals/sequels like Mary Poppins Returns, which you describe in your book as your dream job. What do you make of how the landscape for these filmed musical adaptations has evolved? It seems like studios are now more apprehensive about promoting them as actual musicals.

Isn’t it crazy? Even after Wicked making billions of dollars, I bet with the next movie musical, they’ll still pretend like it’s not a musical. Even Wicked had commercials where they didn’t sing! It’s so schizophrenic. There’s clearly an audience for them and yet the studios are so afraid. I don’t know. Can you explain it?

I don’t know if I can.

I mean, Mamma Mia! Hairspray the movie was very successful, but did they show singing for the commercials for Hairspray? I don’t remember, but I don’t think they did. 

In the book, you mention Cole Escola and other queer artists who are doing exciting things today. Are there any particular actors or recent films and shows that you’ve been impressed by?

Well, god knows Heated Rivalry. My god, what’s going on with that? It’s just so fantastic watching these videos of the straight podcasters crying at episode five. Of course, I watched it for the sexiness of it all, but then I got caught up in it. I cried my fucking eyes out at that episode when he calls his lover down to the rink. I was just like those guys watching those reaction videos.

It shows how schizophrenic this world is. There are so many mean people full of hatred, yet there are also many people full of love who are open to a show like that. It’s phenomenal. I don’t know what’s going to become of this world, but I’m happy I got to live the life I’ve gotten to live. I hope we’re not entering a world where our worst fears are all coming true. This may sound superficial, but even something like Heated Rivalry — I don’t think that’s superficial. It shows there are large numbers of people who get it.

How do you feel as you’re getting ready to share this book and your stories with the world?

It’s not just about me tooting my own horn, though I’d be a hypocrite to say that I’m not to a certain level. It’s also about showing people — if you want to do something, just go out and fucking do it. Just keep at it. I wanted to quit a million times but I didn’t, and just like people told me, something did happen because I just kept showing up. 

Never Mind the Happy: Showbiz Stories from a Sore Winner is now available wherever books are sold

In 1976, a movie called “Network” electrified American moviegoers with a story in which a respected news anchor goes on the air and exhorts his viewers to go to their windows and yell, “I’m mad as hell, and I’m not going to take this anymore!”

It’s still an iconic line, and it briefly became a familiar catch phrase in the mid-’70s lexicon of pop culture, the perfect mantra for a country worn out and jaded by a decade of civil unrest, government corruption, and the increasingly powerful corporations that were gradually extending their influence into nearly all aspects of American life. Indeed, the movie itself is an expression of that same frustration, a satire in which a man’s on-the-air mental health crisis is exploited by his corporate employers for the sake of his skyrocketing ratings – and spawns a wave of “reality” programming that sensationalizes outrage, politics, and even violence to turn it into popular entertainment for the masses. Sound familiar?

It felt like an exaggeration at the time, an absurd scenario satirizing the “anything-for-ratings” mentality that had become a talking point in the public conversation. Decades later, it’s recognized as a savvy premonition of things to come.

This, of course, is not a review of “Network.” Rather, it’s a review of the latest movie by “new queer cinema” pioneer Gus Van Sant (his first since 2018), which is a fictionalized account of a real-life on-the-air incident that happened only a few months after “Network” prompted national debate about the media’s responsibility in choosing what it should and should not broadcast – and the fact that it strikes a resonant chord for us in 2026 makes it clear that debate is as relevant as ever.

“Dead Man’s Wire” follows the events of a 63-hour hostage situation in Indianapolis that begins when Tony Kiritsis (Bill Skarsgård) shows up for an early morning appointment at the office of a mortgage company to which he is under crippling debt. Ushered into a private office for a one-on-one meeting with Dick Hall (Dacre Montgomery), son of the brokerage’s wealthy owner, he kidnaps the surprised executive at gunpoint and rigs him with a “dead man’s wire” – a device that secures a shotgun against a captive’s head that is triggered to discharge with any attempt at escape – before calling the police himself to issue demands for the release of his hostage, which include immunity for his actions, forgiveness of his debt, reimbursement for money he claims was swindled from him by the company, and an apology. 

The crisis becomes a public spectacle when Kiritsis subjects his prisoner to a harrowing trip through the streets back to his apartment, which he claims is wired with explosives. As the hours tick by, the neighborhood surrounding his building becomes a media circus. Realizing that law enforcement officials are only pretending to negotiate while they make plans to take him down, he enlists the aid of popular local radio DJ Fred Heckman (Colman Domingo) to turn the situation into a platform for airing his grievances –  and for calling out the predatory financial practices that drove him to this desperate situation in the first place.

We won’t tell you how it plays out, for the sake of avoiding spoilers, even though it’s all a matter of public record. Suffice to say that the crisis reaches a volatile climax in a live broadcast that’s literally one wrong move away from putting an explosion of unpredictable real-life violence in front of millions of TV viewers.

In 1977, the Kiritsis incident certainly contributed to ongoing concerns about violence on television, but there was another aspect of the case that grabbed public attention: Kiritsis himself. Described by those who knew him as “helpful,” “kind,” and a “hard worker,” he was hardly the image of a hardened criminal, and many Americans – who shared his anger and desperation over the opportunistic greed of a finance industry they believed was playing them for profit – could sympathize with his motives. Inevitably, he became something of a populist hero – or anti-hero, at least – for standing up to a stacked system, an underdog who spoke things many of them felt and took actions many of them wished they could take, too.

That’s the thing that makes this true-life crime adventure uniquely suited to the talents of Van Sant, a veteran indie auteur whose films have always specialized in humanizing “outsider” characters, usually pushed to the fringes of society by circumstances only partly under their own control, and often driven to desperate acts in pursuit of an unattainable dream. Tony Kiritsis, a not-so-regular “Joe” whose fumbling efforts toward financial security have been turned against him and who seeks only recompense for his losses, fits that profile to a tee, and the filmmaker gives us a version of him (aided by Skarsgård’s masterfully modulated performance) which leaves little doubt that he – from a certain point of view, at least – is the story’s unequivocal protagonist, no matter how “lawless” his actions might be.

It helps that the film gives us much more exposure to Kiritsis’ personality than could be drawn merely from the historic live broadcast that made him infamous, spending much of the movie focused on his interactions with Hall (performed with equally well-managed nuance by Montgomery) during the two days spent in the apartment, as well as his dealings with DJ Heckman (rendered with street savvy and close-to-the-chest cageyness by Domingo); for balance, we also get fly-on-the-wall access to the interplay outside between law enforcement officials (including Cary Elwes’ blue collar neighborhood cop) as they try to navigate a potentially deadly situation, and to the jockeying of an ambitious rookie street reporter (Myha’la) with the rest of the press for “scoops” with each new development.

But perhaps the interaction that finally sways us in Kiritsis’s favor takes place via phone with his captive’s mortgage tycoon father (Al Pacino, evoking every unscrupulous, amoral mob boss he’s ever played), who is willing to sacrifice his own son’s life rather than negotiate a deal. It’s a nugget of revealed avarice that was absent in the “official” coverage of the ordeal, which largely framed Kiritsis as mentally unstable and therefore implied a lack of credibility to his accusations against Meridian Mortgage. It’s also a moment that hits hard in an era when the selfishness of wealthy men feels like a particularly sore spot for so many struggling underdogs.

That’s not to say there’s an overriding political agenda to “Dead Man’s Wire,” though Van Sant’s character-driven emphasis helps make it into something more than just another tension-fueled crime story; it also works to raise the stakes by populating the story with real people instead of predictable tropes, which, coupled with cinematographer Arnaud Potier’s studied emulation of gritty ‘70s cinema and the director’s knack for inventive visual storytelling, results in a solid, intelligent, and darkly humorous thriller – and if it reconnects us to the “mad-as-hell” outrage of the “Network” era, so much the better.

After all, if the last 50 years have taught us anything about the battle between ethics and profit, it’s that profit usually wins.

There is a sameness to filmed solo performances: a performer with a microphone, a minimalist backdrop, and a linear delivery. Designed more for economic efficiency than emotional expression, the form works, but it rarely surprises.

“This is gonna be a little…different,” Emmy-nominated actor/writer/producer Scott Turner Schofield declares at the top of his new one-hour special, Becoming a Man in 127 EASY Steps. It’s now streaming on Kinema.

Co-Directors Andrea James and Puppett adapted Schofield’s long-running live performance into a work that understands structure as art. Built around 127 discrete stories — originally selected live and never told in the same order twice — the film resists linear autobiography. Each story stands alone; they arrive out of order, sometimes raw and live, sometimes boldly cinematic; and no one story is positioned as definitive. That structure is the thesis: identity is not linear, nobody is just one thing. 

What happens after transition has never been very interesting to mass media — is it because that would be too human? Rather than staying stuck in the amber of the moment of transition, this film invites you to sit with a person who has lived far into a future most trans people can’t imagine. It’s a detailed, balanced portrait, with humor sharp enough to puncture reverence and tenderness strong enough to survive it.

The approach places Becoming a Man in 127 EASY Steps in a lineage closer to Jon Leguizamo’s solo works than to a Netflix stand-up special. Like Leguizamo’s best pieces, Schofield’s film uses performance as a vehicle for history, embodiment, and cultural critique, expanding the language of solo storytelling rather than flattening it for easy consumption.

Speaking of Leguizamo, as an actor, Schofield moves effortlessly through humor, absurdity, grief, tenderness, and philosophical reflection, but the delivery remains grounded. His charm is indelible and irresistibly watchable.

Literate without being precious, Schofield’s writing lands its insights through specificity rather than thesis statements. The funniest moments aren’t jokes about gender; they’re observations about being alive, from an off-the-wall perspective. A vegetarian lasagna recipe doubles as a guide to emotional readiness; a Croatian skinny-dipping misadventure becomes accidental “feminist fieldwork.” 

One line, recalling a formative childhood memory, crystallizes the film’s emotional intelligence: “Uncle Bill’s death gave me one free day of childhood,” Schofield exclaims, recalling the first time he got to wear boys’ underwear underneath borrowed clothes after an unexpected tragedy. “One day, when I knew that, no matter what I looked like on the outside, I was who I was supposed to be underneath.” The audience bursts into laughter, but that sentence dismantles half the culture war arguments about gender. Soundbites like these are an enjoyable refrain throughout the hour-long film. 

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Allen Martsch’s animation in “Step 127” lifts the piece to another level. Swirling in images that harken back to Hedwig and the Angry Inch’s touching but somehow spiritual illustrations, Schofield refuses both the Hero Myth and the Everyman narrative: “I can’t identify with either one of those men. Neither one feels quite right.” Instead, the piece insists on process, on what it means to keep becoming without knowing the ending — turning page after page.

There is rage here, and grief, and of course it is intensely political — even more so, at this moment in history. But those emotions arrive through specificity rather than slogans. When Schofield says, “It’s not death I want. It’s change,” he’s naming a fact most trans people recognize, whether they admit it or not.

Trans man leads remain exceedingly rare in narrative cinema. Films like Close to You, starring Eliot Page, mark important progress by placing a trans man at the emotional center of a fictional story. Becoming a Man in 127 EASY Steps offers transmasculine interiority in a different register — non-fictional and self-authored — pushing representation forward in another crucial way. 

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The film’s existence is itself a low-key indictment of the industry in which trans actors remain marginalized. Becoming a Man in 127 EASY Steps’s production budget was crowdfunded, listing 378 community supporters in its credits. Any critique of the film is due to its lack of resources: it needs a better sound mix, two balconies of audience for the introductory monologue, and a slicker presentation overall. One can’t help but ask: what could this have been with the resources routinely afforded to far less ambitious (straight, cisgender) solo projects?

The answer feels obvious. This is an HBO special in every way but platform. It is expansive in form, rigorous in thought, and generous with its audience. It does what the best solo performance films do, using one body to tell a much larger story, without simplifying it. The question is not whether the film belongs on a larger platform. It plainly does. The question is: why isn’t it already there?

It arrives instead on Kinema, an emerging streaming platform built to support independent film through live and virtual screenings, community engagement, and social justice fundraising.

Becoming a Man in 127 EASY Steps deserves to be seen, not as a niche artifact, but as a benchmark for what filmed performance can be. It deserves the scale, seriousness, and cultural placement that straight cisgender solo works enjoy.

Instead, it arrives carried by community, and quietly raises the bar for what filmed performance can be.

Watch Becoming a Man in 127 EASY Steps now on Kinema. Find out more at 127steps.com.

Review provided by Valentin Arnold, guest to the Blade