It’s well-known that the portrayal of queer people in the media directly impacts their treatment in society. Whether it be gay relationships in sitcoms or trans people in film, viewers take lessons from these projects into how they treat these identities in real life. It’s why onscreen representation is essential, and why the entertainment industry’s long-documented discrimination towards LGBTQ+ performers is so unfortunate. In a city like Los Angeles filled with marginalized actors, it’s particularly devastating to see companies reinforce the unfair barriers that have always harmed our communities…and it’s why LA-based production company Dropout is more important now than ever.

Founded in 2018, Dropout has steadily become one of the biggest streaming services today. An evolution of the YouTube channel CollegeHumor, it’s made waves with inventive programming and an innovative approach to production — all while constantly spotlighting the best LGBTQ+ performers this city has to offer. The Los Angeles Blade sat down with CEO Sam Reich and performer Ally Beardsley to discuss how Dropout rose to become one of the most consistent sources of queer media. They broke down the many ways it not only platforms marginalized identities but nourishes up-and-coming performers, highlighting just how easily companies (and LA’s entertainment industry as a whole) can cultivate a culture based as much on creating great content as it is on inclusive respect.

When asked what it’s like working as an actor in LA, Sam Reich summarized the experience with three words: “It’s absolutely brutal.” And he would know better than your average CEO; before rising as the head of Dropout, Sam spent many years as an aspiring actor in both Los Angeles and New York. “This industry…it’s not only an industry with gatekeepers, but [one] of people who make their money gatekeeping.” He detailed the toxic casting practices that all performers face and the uniquely unfair ways that companies make it hard for new actors to find success. As productions primarily focus on multimillion dollar projects, these companies are unwilling to spare funds for new voices — voices that overwhelmingly belong to LGBTQ+ and POC creatives. This has created a bleak environment for these hopeful performers, one that Ally Beardsley knows well…or, at least, they did before Dropout. 

“What I feel is absolutely not what other people are feeling,” said Ally, a nonbinary comedian who’s been a regular on Dropout for almost a decade. They described the grueling difficulties of trying to make it as an actor, ones that are intricately more difficult for LGBTQ+ performers who can find their identities disrespected at every step of the creative process. And then, they spoke on how they’ve largely evaded that treatment for years by being a part of Dropout, comically claiming that they feel, “Hashtag Blessed,” to be a regular with the company.

It’s an issue that has intensified in recent months, as a rise in conservative rhetoric has led to many companies going back on the commitments to DEI that they made in recent years. As shown in GLAAD’s Annual Studio Responsibility Index, this has led to a huge lull in inclusion as queer-centric shows continue to be cancelled while even more fail to create characters that mirror this diverse community. This has highlighted an alarming lack of representation in the media — a problem that Dropout has never had to deal with.

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Whether it’s the constantly evolving Game Changer or hilariously informative Smartypants, Dropout’s many shows almost always feature openly LGBTQ+ performers in their casts. And this goes beyond just contestants; with famous Drag Queen Monét X Change and renowned comedians Vic Michaelis, Jordyn Myrick, and Mano Agapion, the streaming service makes history by having multiple programs hosted by openly queer artists. When asked how Dropout set such a high bar for inclusion, Sam Reich clarified, “It’s not that we are setting a high bar for inclusivity — I think that, in general, the bar is low for decency.”

 “Are we being inclusive, or are we just not being exclusive?” The CEO went on. “We are trying to make the best comedy in LA, and a lot of the best comedians are queer and POC…so if we are being true to our goal, we are hiring them!” He described how the company actively creates an affirming workplace for these performers, not only recognizing their diverse identities but also the universal plight of being an actor today. “There are so many people who want to do this for a living that it’s easy to be taken advantage of,” he continued, going on to discuss how all creatives who come to Dropout with auditions or pitches are compensated — whether they’re cast or not. “We really try to discourage free work as much as possible.” 

This is an almost unheard-of practice in LA, and it’s only a small part of the affirming environment that Ally has seen develop over their years with Dropout. “When a new person who just happens to be diverse shows up…everybody really has their back. And I think that’s so important, because when you have representation without support, you’re just leaving that person out to [fail].” Ally happily attested this culture to Sam’s actions as a CEO, ones that range from capping his own salary to secure fair pay for workers to ensuring that people’s pronouns are prominently listed on every call sheet to avoid misgendering. 

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These were accolades that the self-described “relatively straight white man” humbly refuted, saying that he cannot take sole credit for Dropout’s inclusivity. But as the interview wound down, he did express his hopes for a better entertainment industry in not only LA, but the entire country. From government funding for art programs to productions being open to new voices, he envisions a media where historically underserved performers are given the resources they deserve. And, when asked about his thoughts on the dismal rates of inclusion we’ve been seeing from other companies and streaming services, Sam had this to say.

“When Trump got re-elected, I think that a lot of Hollywood thought that ‘regressive content’ would be [popular], and I fundamentally don’t think that’s true. Dropout’s success is evidence of that.” After taking a moment, he continued, “The point of art is to connect us to our fellow human beings. And if you don’t have stories that come from a [wide] range of human experience, you’re just not fulfilling the purpose of art like that…and then why are any of us doing this at all?”

It’s a sentiment that all of LA’s entertainment industry could benefit from. And it’s one that Sam and Ally hope to spread across the city — one paid audition at a time. 

‘Queer Enlightenments: A Hidden History of Lovers, Lawbreakers, and Homemakers’
By Anthony Delaney
c.2025, Atlantic Monthly Press
$30/352 pages

It had to start somewhere.

The discrimination, the persecution, the inequality, it had a launching point. Can you put your finger on that date? Was it DADT, the 1950s scare, the Kinsey report? Certainly not Stonewall, or the Marriage Act, so where did it come from? In “Queer Enlightenments: A Hidden History of Lovers, Lawbreakers, and Homemakers” by Anthony Delaney, the story of queer oppression goes back so much farther.

The first recorded instance of the word “homosexual” arrived loudly in the spring of 1868: Hungarian journalist Károly Mária Kerthbeny wrote a letter to German activist Karl Heinrich Ulrichs referring to “same-sex-attracted men” with that new term. Many people believe that this was the “invention” of homosexuality, but Delaney begs to differ.

“Queer histories run much deeper than this…” he says.

Take, for instance, the delightfully named Mrs. Clap, who ran a “House” in London in which men often met other men for “marriage.” On a February night in 1726, Mrs. Clap’s House was raided and 40 men were taken to jail, where they were put in filthy, dank confines until the courts could get to them. One of the men was ultimately hanged for the crime of sodomy. Mrs. Clap was pilloried, and then disappeared from history.

William Pulteney had a duel with John, Lord Hervey, over insults flung at the latter man. The truth: Hervey was, in fact, openly a “sodomite.” He and his companion, Ste Fox had even set up a home together.

Adopting your lover was common in 18th century London, in order to make him a legal heir. In about 1769, rumors spread that the lovely female spy, the Chevalier d’Éon, was actually Charles d’Éon de Beaumont, a man who had been dressing in feminine attire for much longer than his espionage career. Anne Lister’s masculine demeanor often left her an “outcast.” And as George Wilson brought his bride to North American in 1821, he confessed to loving men, thus becoming North America’s first official “female husband.”

Sometimes, history can be quite dry. So can author Anthony Delaney’s wit. Together, though, they work well inside “Queer Enlightenments.”

Undoubtedly, you well know that inequality and persecution aren’t new things – which Delaney underscores here – and queer ancestors faced them head-on, just as people do today. The twist, in this often-chilling narrative, is that punishments levied on 18th- and 19th-century queer folk was harsher and Delaney doesn’t soften those accounts for readers. Read this book, and you’re platform-side at a hanging, in jail with an ally, at a duel with a complicated basis, embedded in a King’s court, and on a ship with a man whose new wife generously ignored his secret. Most of these tales are set in Great Britain and Europe, but North America features some, and Delaney wraps up thing nicely for today’s relevance.

While there’s some amusing side-eyeing in this book, “Queer Enlightenments” is a bit on the heavy side, so give yourself time with it. Pick it up, though, and you’ll love it til the end.

The Blade may receive commissions from qualifying purchases made via this post.

In any year prior to this one, there would be nothing controversial about “Nuremberg.”

In fact, writer/director James Vanderbilt’s historical drama – based on a book by Jack El-Hai about the relationship between Nazi second-in-command Herman Göring and the American psychiatrist who was tasked with studying him ahead of the 1945 international war crimes trial in the titular German city – would likely seem like a safely middle-of-the-road bet for a studio “prestige” project, a glossy and sharply emotional crowd-pleaser designed to attract awards while also reinforcing the kind of American values that almost everyone can reasonably agree upon.

This, however, is 2025. We no longer live in a culture where condemning an explicitly racist and inherently cruel authoritarian ideology feels like something we can all agree upon, and the tension that arises from that topsy-turvy realization (can we still call Nazis “bad?”) not only lends it an air of radical defiance, but gives it a sense of timely urgency – even though the true story it tells took place 80 years ago.

Constructed as an ensemble narrative, it intertwines the stories of multiple characters as it follows the behind-the-scenes efforts to bring the surviving leadership of Hitler’s fallen “Third Reich” to justice in the wake of World War II, including U.S. Supreme Court Justice Robert Jackson (Michael Shannon), who is assigned to spearhead the trials despite a lack of established precedent for enforcing international law. Its central focus, however, lands on Douglas Kelley (Rami Malek), a psychiatrist working with the Military Intelligence Corps who is assigned to study the former Nazi leadership – especially Göring (Russell Crowe), Hitler’s right-hand man and the top surviving officer of the defeated regime – and assess their competency to stand trial during the early stages of the Nuremberg hearings. 

Aided by his translator, Sgt. Howie Triest (Leo Woodall), who also serves as his sounding board and companion, Kelley establishes a relationship with the highly intelligent and deeply arrogant Göring, hoping to gain insight into the Nazi mindset that might help prevent the atrocities perpetrated by him and his fellow defendants from ever happening again, yet entering into a treacherous game of psychological cat-and-mouse that threatens to compromise his position and potentially undermine the trial’s already-shaky chances for success.

For those who are already familiar with the history and outcome of the Nuremberg trials, there won’t be much in the way of suspense; most of us born in the generations after WWII, however, are probably not. They were a radical notion at the time, a daring effort to impose accountability at an international level upon world leaders who would violate human rights and commit atrocities for the sake of power, profit, and control. They were widely viewed with mistrust, seen by many as an opportunity for the surviving Nazi establishment to turn the fickle tides of world opinion by painting themselves as the victims of persecution. There was an undeniable desire for closure involved; the world wanted to put the tragedy – a multinational war that ended more human lives than any other conflict in history before it – in the rear-view mirror, and a rush to embrace a comforting fantasy of global unity that had already begun to disintegrate into a “cold war” that would last for decades. “Nuremberg” captures that tenuous sense of make-it-or-break-it uncertainty, giving us a portrait of the tribunal’s major players as flawed, overburdened, and far from united in their individual national agendas. These trials were an experiment in global justice, and they set the stage for a half-century’s worth of international cooperation, even if it was permeated by a deep sense of mistrust, all around.

Yet despite the political and personal undercurrents that run beneath its story, Vanderbilt’s movie holds tight to a higher imperative. Judge Jackson may have ambitions to become Chief Justice of SCOTUS, but his commitment to opposing authoritarian atrocity supersedes all other considerations; and while Kelley’s own ego may cloud his judgment in his dealings with Göring, his endgame of tripping up the Nazi Reichmarschall never wavers. In the end, “Nuremberg” remains unequivocal in its goal – to fight against institutionalized racism, fetishized nationalism, and the amoral cruelty of a power-hungry autocrat.

Yes, it’s a “feel-good” movie for the times (if such a term can be used for a movie that includes harrowing real-life footage of Holocaust atrocities), a reinforcement of what now feels like an uncomfortably old-fashioned set of basic values in the face of a clear and present danger; mounted with all the high-dollar immersive “feels” that Hollywood can provide, it offers up a period piece which comments by mere implication on the tides of current-day history-in-the-making, and evokes an old spirit of American humanism as it wrangles with the complexities of politics, ethics, and justice that endure unabated today. At the same time, it reminds us that justice is shaped by power, and that it’s never a sure bet that it will prevail.

et while it’s every inch the well-produced, slick slice of Hollywood-style history, “Nuremberg” doesn’t deliver the kind of definitive closure we might long for in our troubled times. For all its classic bravado and heartfelt idealism, it can’t deliver the comforting reassurances we desire because history itself does not provide them. The trials were not an unequivocal triumph; though they may have set a precedent in bringing accountability to power on the world stage, it’s one which, eight decades later, has yet to be fully realized. Vanderbilt doesn’t try to rewrite the facts to make them more satisfying, or soften the blow of their hard lessons, and while his movie certainly feels conscious of the precarious times in which it arrives, it doesn’t try to give us the kind of wish-fulfillment ending we might long to see – which ultimately gives it a ring of bitter truth and reminds us that our world continues to suffer from the evil of corrupt men, even when they are defeated.

It’s a movie populated with outstanding performances. Crowe delivers his most impressive turn in years as the chillingly malevolent Göring, and Malek channels all his intensity into Kelley to create a powerfully relatable flawed hero for us to cheer; Shannon shines as the idealistic but practical Jackson, and Woodall provides a likable everyman solidity to counter Malek’s volatile intensity. It might feel early to talk about awards, but it will be no surprise if some of these names end up in the pool of this year’s contenders.

Is “Nuremberg” the anti-Nazi movie we need right now? It certainly seems to position itself as such, and it admittedly delivers an unequivocal condemnation of the kind of fascist, inhuman mentality that permits such extremist ideologies to take power. In the end, though, it leaves us with the awareness that any victory over such evil can only ever be a measured against the loss and tragedy that is left in its wake – and that the best victory of all is to stop it before it starts.

In 2025, that feels like small comfort – but it’s enough to make Vanderbilt’s slick historical drama a worthy slice of inspiration to propel us into the fight that faces us in 2026 and beyond.

Even as the current political environment is trying to suffocate the queer community’s sexual expression, we are not staying quiet.

Dandyland.art, is a nationwide leader in celebrating erotic art and rallying against artistic and bodily censorship. This Saturday, November 15^th, Dandyland makes a return to Los Angeles at Precinct, from 2 to 8 pm, featuring local artist vendors offering erotic art, prints, clothing, books, jewelry, gifts, and more. The event, titled “Pajama Party,” will kick off Dandyland’s holiday tour with pop-ups in Chicago and New York City. Attendees are encouraged to dress up in their comfiest – or sexiest – sleepwear.

Our very own journalist, Rob Salerno, will be on hand to showcase his art, specifically his erotic Christmas cards. As an artist, he has experienced first-hand the stigma surrounding celebrating erotic male art.

“I love the Dandyland Art fair. It’s always such a great opportunity to meet other local queer artists and show off our work! I’ve personally bought a bunch of pieces from other artists at Dandyland that are all over my apartment.

As an artist, it’s also such a great way to get my art to queer shoppers. I love meeting fans of my art! It’s becoming increasingly hard to sell queer art online, as platforms like Instagram and Etsy crack down on queer themed erotic art. I just had my Etsy store shut down because they said my gay Christmas cards broke their rules, and I’m currently on my fourth Instagram account after all my previous accounts got shut down. That’s why my Instagram name is @instahatesgayart. I’m on Bluesky and Twitter as @gaydudesketches, but those platforms are less ideal for showing off art.”

The Blade also had the opportunity to chat with Patrick McNaughton, the mastermind behind Dandyland, about the organization’s mission, purpose, and power.

What was your first memorable exposure to art that got you involved in the erotic art world?

When I was young and still exploring my sexuality, the art section at the bookstore was one of the only places I found where the nude male form was shamelessly on display. The self-discoveries I made sneaking back to that section were pivotal to everything that I am as an artist and as a person. Though some content is certainly not appropriate for children, erotic art can be a beautiful mechanism for anyone—of any age—to grow more in touch with themselves.

What was the inspiration for creating Dandyland?

I was beginning to hear too many queers saying “who I am shouldn’t be about my sexuality,”—which, to me, is an obvious result of conditioning toward puritanical heteronormative standards. Our society marginalizes queers for the sex we enjoy, then rewards acceptance to those of us who degrade it. We start to believe, as a community, that something so biologically inherent as enjoying sexual pleasure should have no bearing on our understanding of our own identities. It’s bananas.

Additionally, erotic art has always occupied a bizarre “alternative” space in art culture—often perceived as declassé, tasteless, or trashy. Art is about expression—a connection between artist and experiencer that invokes an idea or a feeling. Lust, sensuality, raw carnal desire, horniness—all just as valid to me as love, tragedy, serenity, chaos, and all the other genres the “high art” scene elevates.

Dandyland.art champions the proliferation of sexuality in queer artistic expression. We promote the admiration of human bodies in all forms, the open exploration of sex and sexuality, and the celebration of erotic pleasure—especially in the interest of developing connection and community. We proudly stand against artistic and bodily censorship, we consistently challenge heteronormative standards, and we try to create a fun and approachable environment where the celebration of sexuality and sexual pleasure in all forms is highly encouraged. 

Why are Dandyland events so important, especially right now?

Clearly, there’s been a major pendulum swing in power, toward conservative views of gender, sex, and sexuality. That strikes a lot of fear in those of us that shift threatens, which is pretty much the point. Our events are safe spaces to demonstrate that sexual freedom and celebration are not as endangered as many might have us believe. We need to demonstrate that we aren’t afraid to show up for and support each other—especially those creating art that challenges oppressive power. 

Why is it so important to embrace and promote the sex part of our sexual identity?

First, I want to make clear that we are foremost promoting the open discussion of sex, and encouraging those who enjoy it to participate in whatever way they feel comfortable. But if you like sex, it’s an outstanding way to connect with others—and yourself—through pleasure. 

How can we, as a community, resist a government that wants to oppress and control our art?

1) Create more art. 

2) Support existing artists. Yes, promote their work with likes and comments online, but if you can afford it at all, subscribe to their Patreon, buy a piece of work, do what you can to help them keep the lights on while they create more art.

3) Engage with platforms that do not oppress and control our art. Spend more time scrolling Bluesky than Instagram. Do a little work to make yourself aware of where censorship is happening, and proceed thoughtfully.

4) Stand together. Literally. Get out and go where the other queer people are standing, gathering, organizing, and communing. Maybe even Dandyland!

What can we expect from this weekend’s event?

I think when people hear so much talk about sex, an event like this might sound intimidating, but it’s just a bunch of friendly people having a fun time trying to make queer erotic art more accessible and approachable. There will be over twenty artists selling originals, prints, clothing, books, jewelry, gifts, and more, with most content skewing toward the masculine. There will be an hourly art raffle, and it’s all hosted by me—so say hi! Plus, it’s a queer event, so of course there’s a theme: Pajama Party. Dress to it as comfortable or sexy as you like—or don’t, if themes aren’t your thing. There will be a clothes check available if you want to bring something to change into.

It’s super important that we all show support for local queer artists right now, so hopefully, we can also expect you!

What is your message to the queer community? 

We only stand to lose if we make our decisions out of fear and shame. Or, on a lighter note—Buy some art. Suck some dick. And have a dandy Dandyland.

dandyland: Pajama Party
Erotic Art & Gift Fair
Saturday, November 15th, 2025
2-8 PM
Precinct DTLA
357 S Broadway
Los Angeles

Affordable Art & Gifts
Hourly Art Raffles
Loose Morals

Dress to Theme Encouraged (Pajamas/Underwear/Lingerie)
Clothes Check Available
Free Admission (21+ Only)

Every popular content creator today has a hook. Whether it be indomitable wit, unyielding beauty, or a unique expertise, it’s undeniable that every influencer has some kind of talent that continues to bring their audience back for more. There are dozens of these individuals, each with their own specific set of skills — but only one is as good at making people laugh as he is at literally saving lives. 

Nurse Blake is a content creator who has gained a massive following on TikTok with his comedy skits and anecdotes from a decade-long career as an ICU nurse. His fame actually began as a way to cope; after many years working in trauma centers, he began posting online to escape the everyday stresses of his job. What began as a fun pastime has turned into an online empire, with medical professionals all over the world feeling seen by how Blake hilariously portrays the (often very gross) trials and tribulations they face daily. It’s a style of comedy that the performer recently took on the road, with the Los Angeles Blade catching up with him on his But Did You Die? tour only days before shows in Anaheim and LA. Nurse Blake opened up about the struggles of tour life and what he misses about the medical field, all while making one thing very clear: whether in a hospital or onstage, he’ll never stop being a nurse. And it’s always a nurse’s job to advocate for the people who need it most.

“I just got burned out,” said Nurse Blake, when explaining why he first started releasing videos on TikTok. “I’ve been a nurse for 11 years now, and [as a nurse] you’re so overworked…I needed an outlet to let loose and just have fun a little bit.” An outlet that, since it began in 2017, has gained Blake 1.2 million followers on Instagram and even more on TikTok. His skits detail the often ridiculous plights of modern nurses, with scenes of unruly patients and inconsiderate administrators showing your average viewer a side of the profession they wouldn’t know otherwise. 

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While he has helped educate thousands, Blake was proud to say that everything he does is always for the nurses in the audience. “I saw that [my videos] were helping other nurses and nursing students get through their day. I don’t work at a hospital anymore, so I can’t interact with patients directly — but if I can help a nurse better manage their patients with some laughter, then [I feel] I’m still in the role of helping people feel good.” This is at the core of all the performer’s work: making others feel good. It was one of the few transferable aspects between his careers; he worked tirelessly as a nurse to provide holistic care to his patients, meeting their medical needs while ensuring they felt comfortable and respected in the harsh healthcare system. Obviously, the man’s sold-out shows are a different arena than the crowded hospitals he used to inhabit, but he still feels it’s his duty to offer viewers the comfort he once gave to thousands of patients. It’s ‘holistic comedy,’ an innovation for the medium that is necessary now more than ever. 

Between his tour, his social media, and keeping up his skills as a nurse, the creator stresses that he remains licensed and always ready to practice. Nurse Blake still finds the time to speak up for his LGBTQ+ community. In a recent article with the Huffington Post, the creator shared how his experience with conversion therapy as a teenager still haunts him to this day. In discussing said article, Blake summarized his thoughts for anyone unable to read it with one sentence: “Conversion therapy kills people.” He went on to describe how this horrific ‘treatment’ has left him with indescribable trauma, countless emotional wounds that he’s only able to heal from through a supportive community and his comedy. Especially with the Supreme Court gearing up to hear a case that could reverse the ban on conversion therapy, Nurse Blake urges everyone in his audience to speak out against this heinous practice to protect those at risk of it. 

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When he’s not writing op-eds, Blake advocates for his LGBTQ+ community by simply being himself onstage. “I’ll do shows in small, rural areas with no LGBTQ+ people, but I don’t change my show. [The audience] has a great time, and then they’re exposed to…these issues that queer people face.” It’s a seamless yet extremely intentional form of advocacy, and it goes back to the fact that, beyond his titles as influencer or comedian, Blake will always be a nurse whose job is to care for those in need.

“It’s about us being not only there to give patients medications and run procedures, but also being an advocate for them and their community,” said Blake, when describing the true duty of a nurse today. “So when I’m doing [my comedy]…being a nurse, it’s [my job] to create a safe space for everybody.” It’s an immensely difficult task, especially in the United States, which continues to attack queer folks at a social and medical level. But by carving out his own niche on social platforms and then bringing that welcoming space to people across the country, Blake helps queer folks feel seen and educates those who have a direct hand in their care. 

Nurse Blake’s holistic comedy is an art form that makes people laugh while simultaneously nurturing them with every joke. It’s a sense of humor that shows a tremendous amount of care for everyone in the audience, giving them a reprieve from their stressful lives while equipping them to advocate for themselves and everyone they may encounter — what else could you expect from a nurse?

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No conversation about legendary Drag Queens is complete without discussing Gottmik and Violet Chachki. 

Audiences first met these iconic performers on RuPaul’s Drag Race; Violet sent waves throughout the fandom with her hard-fought victory during the show’s seventh installment, with her revolutionary style instantly cementing her as a truly historic ‘fashion queen’. Gottmik, who had made waves in LA for years as a makeup artist before getting cast, was a fan-favorite finalist on season 13 before returning to raise money for Trans Lifeline during All-Stars 9. Both Queens made headlines during their tenure on the show, but most of their hardcore fans know them for the jaw-dropping projects they took on afterward — often with one another. One of the most famous ‘Drag Duos’ today, whether it be hilarious podcasts or high-energy songs, these performers have remained constant collaborators amidst each other’s many individual ventures. Their careers are filled with so many legendary feats, but none are as ambitious as their latest international endeavor: The Knockout Tour. 

Gottmik made time to speak with the LA Blade during one of his rare breaks before the next stop on their tour. He dug into tour life with his best friend and the death-defying stunts that fill each show, as well as what it means to bring such unique artistry to some of the most conservative counties across the country. Gottmik spoke about their ongoing mission of using this platform to inspire others to live as their most authentic selves — all while looking completely immaculate, of course!

“The second I was on Drag Race, we started touring together…and it just clicked!” Said Gottmik, discussing how effortlessly he and Violet became best friends post-Drag Race. Fans have grown to adore their dynamic over the years, with the duo’s podcast No Gorge highlighting how each’s biting fashion sense and deep appreciation for the most niche gay slang make them such a perfect friendship match. It’s why, despite many people warning them against taking on such a big professional opportunity with a friend, it was never a question that the pair would do this tour together. “[The Knockout Tour] works because, no matter how we get there, we have the same end goal: pushing the needle forward in the Drag space, breaking down barriers, and slaying together!” 

“This is drag at an extremely high level,” Gottmik gushed when describing what fans can expect at a Knockout show. “We have multiple aerial [stunts], these crazy props that we’re climbing on, and it’s just so wild! It’s drag in a theatrical burlesque, rock and roll style that you’ve [never seen].” In many ways, this aesthetic is a perfect fusion of the pair; Violet is a premier burlesque performer specializing in aerial work, and Gottmik has always embodied a grunge-filled perfection in his trademark Drag style. These Queens are bombastic and dramatic in the best way, unabashedly showing off the unique flairs that make them some of the most distinct performers working today. It’s a pairing that inspires not only awe but a sense of effortless confidence — a confidence that Gottmik knows many of his fans need right now. 

Hateful rhetoric has steadily grown across the United States in recent years, with certain areas becoming hotbeds of the conservative discrimination that Gottmik has always faced as a transgender man (the performer uses he/him pronouns when out of Drag and she/her when in Drag). Despite this, Gottmik emphasized that it was never a question that their tour would stop in these areas — in fact, they made a point to. “We are two queer entertainers with a platform, and it’s important that we visit [those places] and share our stories and inspire people in towns who don’t get to see shows like this…to inspire them to be themselves.” 

Gottmik is especially passionate about using his platform for good because he knows how much of his large fanbase is young trans kids, just like he once was. “The ones who are growing up and figuring themselves out, and then are looking at their TVs and [seeing] their government call them crazy…it’s important for me to use my platform to show them [representation] that I didn’t get to see in the media.” He clarified that, yes, audiences are going to come to the show and see a punk rock-and-roll Goddess oozing confidence onstage — but being that person didn’t come easy. It took years of self-discovery for Gottmik to recognize his transgender identity, and it was the love and support of a found queer family that helped him become the creative powerhouse audiences know him as now. Each Knockout Tour show brings audiences into this intimate journey, showcasing the incredible authenticity that Gottmik has spent years developing while reminding attendees that this is all possible in their own lives.

Throughout the interview, Gottmik painted a riveting image of The Knockout Tour — the shows themselves, and the queer community who made it all possible. He detailed the shocking stunts fans will see onstage, the incredible music he and Violet perform each show, and the years of hard work that created these two performers that so many fans love. At the root of it all, though, is representation.

A representation of not only Violet and Gottmik’s many talents, though of course these Queens’ immense expertise is the bedrock of this entire tour. But the vital image of two queer people who refuse to dull themselves just because others said they should. Of a transgender artist who stands proudly in the face of discrimination and who uses his art to inspire others to do the same. “We’re [showing] the whole world that we’re not going anywhere, and you can’t change us.” Explained Gottmik, as the interview came to an end. “We create an amazing queer safe space that is really special for so many people…and it’s just really cool that [we get] to create that space for everyone every [show].” It’s a kind of space that’s hard to come by nowadays. And it’s one that Gottmik and Violet Chachki are determined to bring to thousands of queer artists just like them internationally with this tour.

Click here for information about The Knockout Tour

When I log onto Zoom to speak with Ira Sachs (Passages, Little Men), a queer filmmaker who has been immersed in New York’s independent film scene since 1989, he’s having a conversation with one of his kids (offscreen) about taking his favorite bag for trick-or-treating. “If you won’t lose it, you can take it. It’s hard to find. Just don’t lose it!” Sachs says.

It’s a rare glimpse into the active life of both an artist and a father, which I can’t help but keep thinking about when we begin talking about Peter Hujar’s Day — Sachs’ intimate new film that paints a portrait of Peter Hujar (Ben Whishaw), a real-life artist who died of AIDS in 1987, just through a conversation with his friend, Linda Rosenkrantz (Rebecca Hall). It’s in everyday discussions about everything from Halloween bags to the morning smell of coffee that we can sometimes find the most connection.

Over the course of 24 hours, Sachs paints a vivid portrait of Hujar’s daily struggles to make money as an artist, his insecurities about capturing portraits of Allen Ginsberg and William S. Burroughs, and the friendships with people like Linda that kept him afloat. Based on the real transcript of Rosenkrantz’s and Hujar’s conversation, which was recorded on Dec. 18, 1974, the film is both a celebration of Hujar’s life and an homage to the artists who died of AIDS.

Ahead of the theatrical release of Peter Hujar’s Day, The Blade had the opportunity to speak with Sachs about honoring the New York-based artists of the ‘70s and ‘80s who were immersed in queer culture, reuniting with his Passages star Ben Whishaw, and why community is so fundamentally important to the LGBTQ+ community. This interview has been edited and condensed.

Obviously, this is a very New York movie, and we’re here talking for The Los Angeles Blade. But I love how specific this film is to New York. To start off, I’ve read about how you discovered this conversation. How did the form of this conversation inform what you ultimately wanted to portray about Peter Hujar as an artistic figure?

Well, I think I almost didn’t know the answer to that until the film was done. I realized what it does very well, thanks to Peter’s storytelling, is that it’s a window into the truth of how hard it is to make art. And I think the struggle that he goes through around the quality, the success or failure of his photograph of Allen Ginsberg is, for me, both very moving and also very comforting. Every time I make art, it seems impossible, and I feel like, “Oh, it’s hard for Peter Hujar too.” And I feel that gives me a kind of strength and confidence. And I will say that I have often looked to the artists of the East Village, particularly queer, gay artists of the ‘70s and ‘80s, as an extraordinary inspiration — many and most we lost to AIDS. But there was a kind of radical individuality during that time, and that was encouraged in art making, which I feel is beautiful and necessary.

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Here, you are reuniting with Ben Whishaw, whom I loved in Passages. I’d love to hear about your collaboration specifically with him between these two films, and what made you see him as the leading man for Peter Hujar.

Well, I read the book when I was working with Ben on Passages, and it was a great and wonderful excuse to keep working with Ben Whishaw. And I also knew that Ben had an interest in queer history and queer creative life that paralleled my own. It’s something we talk about a lot. We want to be adventurers like our heroes. He also looks a little bit like Peter, and it turns out he has a self-portrait of Peter on his wall, which I didn’t know. So all stars aligned, and we got to make this film.

This is your first time working with Rebecca Hall, and I know she’s going to be in your next film, the musical The Man I Love with Rami Malek. You’ve had actors you’ve returned to work with throughout your career, so I’d love to hear about some of the most fruitful aspects of these collaborations.

Well, Rebecca has a whiff of genius. She’s so fine in her work. She’s an actor who, even in silence, is also a writer. She tells stories and subtext without underlining anything. So it seemed exhilarating to collaborate with her. Specifically, I’d seen her in a 2016 movie called Christine, which I thought she was so brilliant. And also with Ben and Rebecca, they’re comfortable with risking failure. I think that is so generative — not to be looking at outcome, but to be embracing process.

I absolutely agree. And as you mentioned earlier, you are depicting New York at a very specific time in the ‘70s, before the AIDS epidemic hit. You’re someone who’s lived in New York and started your film career there. Obviously, it takes place in an apartment, but we do get to hear the sounds of New York; it still paints a very specific portrait and texture of this city.

It was important to bring the sound of a city into the movie, and it also became part of the drama. Whether it be a jackhammer or a siren or, at certain moments, quiet. Specifically, the sounds of prostitutes on a street corner, which are the last image described by Hujar when he talks about his day: the sex workers below his window. To me, that’s a very city sound and a city image. It was one of the ones that made me love the text and love the book. It’s this quiet in the middle of the night when you hear somebody else’s drama between the glass of your apartment.

There are also moments where you decide to intercut beats with classical music, which I thought was really effective. Could you speak to that?

Well, I wanted the film to be both real and theatrical at the same time. The music ruptures an idea of the everyday. It brings the film to a heightened level of emotion and drama. From the beginning of the film, I also wanted to be explicit that this was, in itself, a creative act. Making the film was like taking a photograph. It was experimental, it was uncertain, it was exploratory, and, hopefully, it was a form of portraiture — both of Hujar, but also of this friendship between Peter and his friend Linda, which seems really personal. My relationship to certain women in my life is conveyed through the love that you see between Peter and Linda, and between Ben and Rebecca.

For me, one of the real emotional anchors of this film is this universal feeling that we’re wasting our time in the day, or if you were to look at everything you do in any given day, there’s the fear that you haven’t accomplished enough. But I really love the structure of this film and that you’re inviting us to sit in the mundane, little moments. Could you speak to what you wanted to convey in your relationship to time in the film?

There is an evocation throughout the film that goes unspoken to the loss of Hujar and so many others to AIDS. That is really the unspoken emotion in the film, which is the preciousness of someone like Peter. Something about Peter is quite extraordinary, partly because he’s such a good artist. In certain ways, I tried not to think about Hujar’s photographs, but they were in me. And similarly, I tried not to think consciously about losing Peter; 13 years later, he was dead. But it was really in me when I made the film, and the fairness of that loss. There is an image of these steel planks in the Hudson River, which are remnants of the piers. I don’t know if that comes through to anyone, but something is missing in this shot of the river, and I think in this city, there’s a lot that’s missing.

That makes me want to re-watch the film to pick up more on that.

I made a film called Last Address, an eight-minute film. It’s online, it’s probably my most seen film. It’s about a group of New York artists who died of AIDS, and I shot the houses where they lived at the time of their death. Someone said to me today that it seemed like Hujar is the inverse because Last Address has no biographical information except where people lived and when they died. And this is now actually all biographical information on a certain day. And that film is also structured artificially in the course of the day. It begins at Keith Haring’s house early in the morning when you hear birds and trucks delivering milk, and then it ends at Times Square, at the house of Reza Abdoh, who was an Iranian theater director who died of AIDS. Similarly, I constructed a false day, a cinematic day.

On that note, I’m not somebody who went into this film knowing too much about Peter Hujar. I saw this at AFI Fest, and I was struck by some of the conversations that people were having as they left the theater, being interested in wanting to learn more about him and discover his work first-hand. How do you see this film as an opportunity for up-and-coming queer generations to discover Peter Hujar as an artist?

That’s interesting. I will say that it was not my intention, but it’s pleasurable to hear that that’s the case. There’s something about discovering an artist so singular and so powerfully confident within what could be a marginalized space that is extraordinarily generative to younger artists. It can be. Peter’s attention to the people around him, the queer people around him, the gay people around him, and the trans people around him is so rigorous and so loving, and also so counter to mainstream and global culture. The film is really about the resistance of globalization, and to the extent that that’s what Peter’s work does. It says the local is where you find meaning. And that’s anti-capitalist.

This film premiered at Sundance back in January, and I know you’ve had many films premiere there in the past. Could you speak to the state of the film industry because, as we’re seeing, there are not as many distribution deals coming out of Sundance? But this film was one that was really able to find its audience, getting picked up by Sideshow and Janus Films.

It’s never easy to work outside the dominant system. We are struggling with the dearth of exhibition spaces. I guess we’re struggling with an ecosystem that isn’t fertile, and so sustainability becomes very difficult for artists, when there’s not, in each stage — including festivals — the energy, whether that be economic or artistic, that might generate more and more work. But I don’t want to be nostalgic. There’s an attempt to understand that we have lost things; we lost a generation of artists to AIDS. We lost the kind of local nature of an artistic community that we had in the East Village in the ‘70s and ‘80s. We lost places like The Bar, which was on the corner of Second Avenue and Second Street. On Second Avenue and Fourth Street, there was a local watering hole where people could find each other on a daily basis and share their stories. And so, in a way, the movie is an encouragement for conversation and to spend time with people. In doing so, we can gather strength as artists and as a community, as queer people.

I love that. I’m not in New York, but I think finding a real sense of community is something I’ve personally struggled with as a queer person. That’s just hard to find in everyday life. So I felt this film was, as you said, a reminder of the power of community and conversation.

It’s so necessary, and I think particularly as people who are making creative work, you need something that is a ballast against one’s doubt. And companionship can be that.

The film will have a U.S. theatrical release in November.

Actor Guillermo Diaz has been working hard in the entertainment industry for over three decades. Proud of his heritage and queer identity, he has broken through many glass ceilings to have a prolific career that includes tentpole moments such as roles in the films Party Girl, Half Baked, and Bros, and in major TV shows like Weeds and Scandal, and even in a Britney Spears music video. This season, he made his feature-length directorial debut with the film Dear Luke, Love Me.

In an intimate sit-down with the Blade, Diaz shares that he attributes a lot of his success to his Cuban upbringing.

“Well, it prepared me to learn how to lie really well and be a good actor because it was a lot of acting like you were straight, back in the eighties and nineties (laugh). Another thing I learned from my Cuban immigrant parents is that they work super hard. They both had two jobs; we were latchkey kids, and I just saw them constantly working and wanting to provide for us by any means. So that was super instilled in me. That was the one thing that really stuck out that I admire and respect.”

Besides Diaz’s recurring roles on TV, his resume includes appearances in just about every genre of programming out there. If there is a major show out there, he was probably on it. Law and Order, Girls, The Closer, Chappelle’s Show, ER, Party of Five, and the list goes on. He’s accomplished more in his career thus far than most actors do in a lifetime. There is no doubt he is a hard worker.

“It’s a sign that I just loved to work, and it’s funny looking back at it now because you see all those things, but at the time it was just the next gig, the next job.  I was just wanting to keep working and acting and learning and doing all that stuff. Then it sort of accumulates, and you look back and you’re like, damn! That’s a lot of stuff!”

Acting was never on Diaz’s radar until he was asked to fill in for a friend in a Beastie Boys medley for a talent show when he was a sophomore in high school.

“I did it and fell in love with it. I was teased a lot in high school. Then, when I did that performance, all those people who teased me were like, you were so great! So I looked at it initially as a thing of like, oh, this is where I’m accepted and people like me when I’m on stage. It’s kind of sad, too, because that’s what I latched onto. And then of course, I fell in love with the craft and performing and acting, but that initial rush was because all these people who were messing with me and teasing me all of a sudden liked me. And I was like, this is what I have to do.”

Little did Diaz know that he would break the mold when it came to stereotypical casting. When he first hit the industry, diversity and positive representation were not a thing in Hollywood.

“You just kind of accepted at the time. It was the early nineties. 90% of the time, it was playing a thug or a gun dealer, or a crack head – it was all bad guys, negative characters. But it was either that or not act and not be in anything. So you just kind of accept it, and then you have this sort of vision or hope that in the future it’s going to get better.

Diaz’s management was trepidatious about him playing gay roles for fear of being typecast. But Diaz did play a handful of gay roles early on, although he passed on But I’m A Cheerleader, which went on to become a gay cult classic. Diaz decided early on that he was not going to hide his sexuality. Diaz appeared in the film Stonewall. That was the defining point for him in sharing his identity.

“Being cast in that historical sort of dramatization of the 1969 Stonewall riots – I couldn’t believe I was in the midst that I was in the middle of doing this and playing the lead drag queen on the film. I just felt so honored, and I knew it was important, and I knew I needed to do a really good job. I thought, what a special moment this is. And it kicked my ass shooting that movie.

I remember after doing Stonewall, people saying, well, now you’re either going to have to make a choice if you’re going to lie, or if you’re going to just be honest, and you’re going to have to be out from now on if you’re going to be honest. And I was like, I’m not going to freaking lie. When they’d asked me, I would say I was gay. I think because I never tried to hide it, it didn’t become a thing. So people just kind of ignored it. It didn’t mess with me or my career. I don’t know. Or I just got lucky. I don’t freaking know.”

As a queer, Latin actor, Diaz is all too aware of what is happening politically and socially in the world towards minority communities. Does he think actors have a place in politics?

“For sure. I mean, we’re people first, right? Like, I hate when people sort of are like, oh, you’re an actor, shut up. I’m super political and outspoken, and I’m that guy who will say shit. I’m on the right side of history, at least. I’m not being complicit and silent. So, yeah, I think actors for sure have a place in politics. Absolutely.”

While directing was on Diaz’s radar, it wasn’t something that he was actively searching out. But as life would have it, his friend Mallie McCown sent him her script for Dear Luke, Love Me, a film she would play the lead in. Diaz was hooked.

“It was one of those scripts that I had to keep putting down every like 20 pages. I would put it down because I didn’t want it to end. It was so good. Originally, I was just going to come on as a producer of the film, and then the director dropped out, and then Mallie asked me if I was interested in directing. I was scared as shit. I had never directed a feature film. But I was like, it’s now or never.”

The film covers a decade of the friendship between Penny and Luke, covering themes of platonic love, asexuality, co-dependence, and self-identity. With most of the film focusing on just the two leads, Diaz has crafted an intimate and raw film. What is his message with the film?

“That love is complicated, but it’s beautiful and rewarding and worth all the heartache. I believe that. I don’t want to give away too much in the film either, but I think everyone can relate to it because there’s heartache and there’s pain, and there’s beauty and there’s love.”

And in looking at his past work and in looking toward his future career, what kind of legacy does Diaz want to build?

“That I broke some ground, that I knocked down some walls as an artist; I’m hoping that made a difference. It’s funny because when you’re in it, you’re not thinking about all this stuff that could possibly pave the way for other people. You’re just kind of moving along and living your life. But yeah, I would hope that I broke down some walls as a queer Latino.

I hope that people can sort of get something out of me trying to live as authentically as I can, just being my queer self. Hopefully, that helps someone along who is having some troubles being accepted or being comfortable with who they are.”

Most LGBTQ+ people see being outed as one of the worst things possible. For YouTuber, comedian, and director Breanne Williamson, she saw it as an opportunity. 

“I started hearing around town that people were saying I was a lesbian,” said Breanne, when she sat down with the Los Angeles Blade to speak about her newest project, Basement 51. “That was really frustrating to me, because as much as I was stressed about coming out, I also wanted it to be in my own words and my own story! So, I decided to upload a video to YouTube called ‘Coming Out’…and the rest is history.” A history that has been filled with more than 12 million views and almost 100K subscribers, as Williamson has risen to become one of the platform’s biggest queer creators.

What began as a rebellious video reclaiming her narrative has become a lifelong career; not only have Breanne’s short films Coming Out and Aging Out racked up millions of views, but her lengthy acting portfolio and regular stand-up performances have established her as one of Vancouver’s rising comedy stars. She spoke to the Los Angeles Blade about her new projects and the struggles that always accompany getting a piece of media off the ground — struggles that have only gotten worse in 2025.

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Despite not living in the United States (a fact that many people would call an asset to this performer), Breanne has still been forced to contend with increasing hatred online. “We’re starting to roll back support for queer media,” explained Williamson. “I think back to funding Aging Out a couple of years ago and the amount of businesses down to jump on board — in hindsight, maybe [they were] trying to get that checkmark to say, ‘I support something that’s [gay]!’ But now…it’s a lot of nos, a lot of walls, a lot of, ‘I don’t know if we want to be associated with that right now.” 

Recent months have seen the struggles that have always existed for LGBTQ+ creatives get even worse. For years, the entertainment industry has been a treacherous space for new artists; a growing emphasis on multi-million dollar movies and shows has left producers unwilling to take a chance on new ideas. It’s an ever-present issue that has always been even more difficult for marginalized performers like Williamson…lucky for everyone, Breanne and the many artists like her aren’t backing down. 

“It’s [all] about uplifting one another,” She said, when describing the many ways her fellow performers have been helping crowdfund and raise awareness about each other’s work. “Amongst my peers, we’re really feeling the need to support one another’s projects more now than ever.” Breanne was lucky to find a place in this supportive, thoroughly LGBTQ+ community early into her career, a group that has only become more vocal in the face of rising bigotry online. It’s because of them that she’s created so many projects that embody queer culture — namely, how thoroughly awkward it can be. 

Whether it’s coming out over the course of years or discovering at 30 that you’re older than half the people at any given gay bar, Williamson has always captured the hilarious (and often extremely uncomfortable) sapphic experience through her projects. 

“Each character is probably six people in my life, myself included,” she said, when discussing how she imbues every project with the realities of herself and other queer women like her. “When I write, there’s obviously truth to every character and story…like in Aging Out, which is a sapphic rom com, there’s a messy makeout scene in the bathroom of a gay bar — [which was] very much an experience I had that I knew needed to make it in the film!” She laughed at the memory while detailing how it’s scenes like this that really resonate with queer viewers. While simple inclusion is always an asset to the LGBTQ+ community, we’re beyond trying to teach people that being gay is okay. To truly connect with the marginalized folks in her audience, Breanne surmises, you have to recognize the countless awkward, funny, gross, embarrassing, and unpleasant yet nostalgic emotions that make up being LGBTQ+ in the modern day. She has always tried her hardest to bring that level of authenticity to every story…even if those stories happen to be set during an alien invasion. 

Basement 51 is Breanne’s newest project, a YouTube web series that sees a lesbian comedian get stuck with her coworkers (and former partner) during an alien invasion. As witty as it is jaw-droppingly wild, Williamson balances the utter chaos of this premise with the grueling experience of being forced to share space with your ex-girlfriend (who you may or may not still have feelings for). While the project is a funny enough metaphor on its own about the abject terror of trying to make it in comedy, above all else, Breanne just wanted to make something for people to laugh at. “At the end of the day, the project is something that I want people to be able to click on and find an escape [from] everything that’s going on in today’s world — to have a laugh.”

It’s a sentiment that has carried the director throughout her career. She stressed how affirming and fulfilling it’s been making the LGBTQ+ media that she never saw as a child, and why people shouldn’t be afraid to do the same today — in fact, they need to. She encourages others not to feel discouraged by the people attacking queer art today and to instead show them that our communities can never be silenced. Of course, this is so much easier said than done, but to everyone nervous about sharing their stories, Breanne ended her interview with some warm advice:

“Set the camera up, and just get going…if you wait and wait for the perfect project, you’re going to be waiting forever. [You’ll look back] and wish you did things differently, but then the next time, you’ll [actually] do those things differently and [improve]. It’s all a learning experience — you’ve just got to go for it.”

According to writer/director Ira Sachs, “Peter Hujar’s Day” is “a film about what it is to be an artist among artists in a city where no one was making any money.” At least, that’s what Sachs – an Indie filmmaker who has been exploring his identities as both a gay and Jewish man onscreen since his 1997 debut effort, “The Delta” – told IndieWire, with tongue no doubt firmly planted in cheek, in an interview last year.

Certainly, money is a concern in his latest effort – which re-enacts a 1974 interview between photographer Peter Hujar (Ben Whishaw) and writer Linda Rosenkrantz (Rebecca Hall), as part of an intended book documenting artists over a single 24-hour period in their lives – and is much on the mind of its titular character as he dutifully (and with meticulous detail) recounts the events of his previous day during the course of the movie. To say it is the whole point, though, is clearly an overstatement. Indeed, hearing discussions today of prices from 1974 – when the notion of paying more than $7 for Chinese takeout in New York City seemed outrageous – might almost be described as little more than comic relief.

Adapted from a real-life interview with Hujar, which Rosenkrantz published as a stand-alone piece in 2021 (her intended book had been abandoned) after a transcript was discovered in the late photographer’s archives, “Peter Hujar’s Day” inevitably delivers insights on its subject – a deeply influential figure in New York culture of the seventies and eighties, who would go on to document the scourge of AIDS until he died from it himself, in 1987. There’s no plot, really, except for the recalled narrative itself, which involves an early meeting with a French journalist who is picking up Hujar’s images of model Lauren Hutton, an afternoon photo shoot with iconic queer “Beat Generation” poet/activist Allen Ginsburg, and an evening of mundane social interaction over the aforementioned Chinese food. Yet it’s through this formalized structure – the agreed-upon relation of a sequence of events, with the thoughts, observations, and reflections that come with them – that the true substance shines through.

In relaying his narrative, Hujar exhibits the kind of uncompromising – and slavishly precise – devotion to detail that also informed his work as a photographer; a mundane chronology of events reveals a universe of thought, perception, and philosophy of which most of us might be unaware while they were happening. Yet he and Rosenkrantz (at least in Sachs’ reconstruction of their conversation) are both artists who are keenly aware of such things; after all, it’s this glimpse of an “inner life” of which we are rarely cognizant in the moment that was/is their stock-in-trade. It’s the stuff we don’t think of while we’re living our lives – the associations, the judgments, the selective importance with which we assign each aspect of our experiences –  that later becomes a window into our souls, if we take the opportunity to look through it. And while the revelations that come may occasionally paint them in a less-than-idealized light (especially Hujar, whose preoccupations with status, reputation, appearances, and yes, money, often emerge as he discusses the encounter with Ginsberg and his other interactions), they never feel like definitive interpretations of character; rather, they’re just fleeting moments among all the others, temporary reflections in the ever-ongoing evolution of a lifetime.

Needless to say, perhaps, “Peter Hujar’s Day” is not the kind of movie that will be a crowd-pleaser for everyone. Like Louis Malle’s equally acclaimed-and-notorious “My Dinner With Andre” from 1981, it’s essentially an action-free narrative comprised entirely of a conversation between two people; nothing really happens, per se, except for what we hear described in Hujar’s description of his day, and even that is more or less devoid of any real dramatic weight. But for those with the taste for such an intellectual exercise, it’s a rich and complex cinematic tapestry that rewards our patience with a trove of deep observations about art, life, and friendship – indeed, while its focus is ostensibly on Hujar’s “day,” the deep and intimate love between he and Rosenkrantz underscores everything that we see, arguably landing with a much deeper resonance than anything that is ever spoken out loud during the course of the film – and never permits our attention to flag for even a moment.

Shooting his movie in a deliberately self-referential style, Sachs weaves the cinematic process of recreating the interview into the recreation itself, bridging mediums and blurring lines of reality to create a filmed meditation that mirrors the inherent artifice of Rosenkrantz’s original concept, yet honors the material’s nearly slavish devotion to the mundane minutiae that makes up daily life, even for artists. This is especially true for both Hujar and Rosenkrantz, whose work hinges so directly to the experience of the moment – in photography, the entire end product is tied to the immediacy of a single, captured fragment of existence, and it is no less so for a writer attempting to create a portrait (of sorts) composed entirely of fleeting words and memories. Such intangibles can often feel remote or even superficial without further reflection, and the fact that Sachs is able to reveal a deeper world beyond that surface speaks volumes to his own abilities as an artist, which he deploys with a sure hand to turn a potentially stagnant 75 minutes of film into something hypnotic.

Of course, he could not accomplish that feat without his actors. Whishaw, who has proven his gifts and versatility in an array of film work including not only “art films” like this one but roles from the voice of Paddington Bear to “Q” in the Daniel Craig-led “James Bond” films, delivers a stunning performance, carrying at least 75% of the film’s dialogue with the same kind of casual, in-the-moment authenticity as one might expect at a dinner party with friends; and though Hall has less speaking to do, she makes up for it in sheer presence, lending a palpable sense of respect, love, and adoration to Rosenkrantz’s relationship with Hujar.

In fact, by the time the final credits role, it’s that relationship that arguably leaves the deepest impression on us; though these two people converse about the “hoi polloi” of New York, dropping legendary names and reminding us with every word of their importance in the interwoven cultural landscape of their era, it’s the tangible, intimate friendship they share that sticks with us, and ultimately feels more important than any of the rest of it. For all its trappings of artistic style, form, and retrospective cultural commentary, it’s this simple, deeply human element that seems to matter the most – and that’s why it all works, in the end. None of its insights or observations would land without that simple-but-crucial link to humanity.

Fortunately, its director and stars understand this perfectly, and that’s why “Peter Hujar’s Day” has an appeal that transcends its rarified portrait of time, place, and personality. It recognizes that it’s what can be read between the lines of our lives that matters, and that’s an insight that’s often lost in the whirlwind of our quotidian existence.