King of Drag, the only drag king competition show on TV, activated the LGBTQ+ community with a big bang, and it’s clear why. Despite an increase in drag-centric media, this was the first series deliberately focusing on spotlighting these kinds of artists. Even a year after its premiere, fans are still raving about the show, with season one delivering a level of kingly charisma nobody could’ve expected — making it all the more exciting when it was announced that King of Drag was officially casting for season two! 

As co-founder of Revry — the LGBTQ+ streaming service that hosts King of Drag — and co-creator of this hit competition show, Damian Pelliccione understands the power that media has on its audiences. It’s why they work every day to create LGBTQ+ content anyone can enjoy, and it’s why they fought to get King of Drag televised and ensure it was a space where kings could finally be celebrated. Sitting down with the Los Angeles Blade to discuss the series’ season two announcement and what it’s meant to be a part of such a trailblazing franchise, they started this interview by making one thing very clear: “We’ve always been fully invested in casting and promoting Drag Kings on our shows.”

The co-founder spoke about how representing marginalized identities has always been an integral part of Revry’s mission. “We’ve always been very inclusive in our casting to make sure that we [work with] kings just as much as we work with Queens.” It’s a sentiment that, unfortunately, most other drag-centric series don’t share. RuPaul’s Drag Race, especially, has been criticized for refusing to cast anyone who wouldn’t fall under the umbrella of ‘queen.’ And while subversive programs like The Boulet Brothers’ Dragula do allow drag kings to compete, the show typically only allows one or two each season, meaning that there’s only a short time to discuss the boundless intricacies that exist in this art form. 

This means that while drag king representation exists, it’s only been a trickle amidst the wave of awareness that drag queens have received in recent years. This phenomenon never sat right with Damian and their Revry team — so they decided to do something about it. 

After years of searching for sponsors to get the show made, King of Drag officially premiered in June 2025 to widespread acclaim. Fans were instantly taken by the bombastic competition; while its format is similar to many other series’, the hilarious judging panel (led by the amazing Murray Hill) and jaw-dropping challenges were endlessly zany while also perfect avenues for contestants to show their immense talent. Almost growing emotional, Pelliccione recounted the widespread support the series received after its first few episodes, saying, “[Viewers] come forward to say, ‘Thank you for creating something that is not just about fighting or cattiness.’ It’s an elimination show, but you could see the authenticity in the heart of these kings…you could see their struggles, and [what it took] to create their art.” They fondly described the love this project hasn’t stopped receiving since it first came out — but they also detailed the rampant hatred that has come along with it. 

It shouldn’t be forgotten that King of Drag was produced and aired early into the current presidential term, with the early months of 2025 seeing a level of anti-trans and homophobic rhetoric filling the U.S. in a way many viewers had never seen before. Damian recalled how, in the face of this hatred, their team understood that audiences needed King of Drag now more than ever. “It’s somewhat an act of defiance having a show like King of Drag — and having a network like Revry [altogether],” they said, filled with pride. “You can’t stop progress, and we’ve already come so far as a society (at least, I hope we have), so going back does not seem realistic. And I think that we’re seeing resistance now to our sitting government, and hopefully this carries into our midterm elections!”

A resistance that was buoyed by King of Drag, with each episode introducing viewers to nonstop drag excellence and thoughtful conversations on what it means to be a queer artist today. This, combined with the wild challenges — ranging from queer quiz shows to boy band performances — turned the initial installment into a raucously prideful experience for everyone watching. For almost a year now, fans have applauded all that the show was able to accomplish, and Damian assures these viewers that there’s even more coming in season two. 

“Some of the biggest things we’re really excited about in this season are [not only] a few returning challenges, but we are [also] really bringing on a whole new level of celebrity guest judges,” raved the excited co-creator. “We’re really tailoring our [judges] so that they could be a kind of mentor or advisor. [Helping] build something that the king can use for their future career!” It was this point especially that Damian emphasized as the heart of King of Drag, recognizing that while having your time in the spotlight is amazing, bills still need to be paid when the cameras are shut off. “I want kings who come off our show booked and blessed. What else can we do as a network just to help support those careers?’”

With the interview coming to an end, Damian was asked the question that thousands of drag kings are currently thinking: how can I get cast? Typically, producers answer this style of inquiry with vague advice about uniqueness and skill — but not Damian. Still wanting only the best for their contestants, they plainly stated, “My one word of advice: this is not a side hustle.”

“The purpose of being on the show is to create a career for you…We want people who are really serious about the art form and have their own specific take on what it is to be a drag king. We want your authenticity, and we want to see that this is a career path for you. We [want to know] that this is something that you’re ready to take to the next level.”

An ambitious yet thoroughly uplifting goal for the many kings currently getting their applications together. And with that advice, the creator made one thing very clear: King of Drag exists not only to spotlight drag kings, but to bring them and their art form to the forefront of queer entertainment. It’s a revolutionary undertaking that viewers can watch unfold in each scene, and if a drag king feels ready to join in and become a part of this mission, Damian invites them to gather up their best drag and apply for season two today.

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King of Drag season 1 is streaming on Revry

Journalist J. Lester Feder’s new book profiles LGBTQ+ Ukrainians and their experiences during Russia’s war against their country.

Feder for “The Queer Face of War: Portraits and Stories from Ukraine” interviewed and photographed LGBTQ+ Ukrainians in Kyiv, the country’s capital, and in other cities. They include Olena Hloba, the co-founder of Tergo, a support group for parents and friends of LGBTQ+ Ukrainians, who fled her home in the Kyiv suburb of Bucha shortly after Russia launched its war on Feb. 24, 2022.

Russian soldiers killed civilians as they withdrew from Bucha. Videos and photographs that emerged from the Kyiv suburb showed dead bodies with their hands tied behind their back and other signs of torture.

Olena Shevchenko, chair of Insight, a Ukrainian LGBTQ+ rights group, wrote the book’s forward.

The book also profiles Viktor Pylypenko, a gay man who the Ukrainian military assigned to the 72nd Mechanized Black Cossack Brigade after the war began. Feder writes Pylypenko’s unit “was deployed to some of the fiercest and most important battles of the war.”

“The brigade was pivotal to beating Russian forces back from Kyiv in their initial attempt to take the capital, helping them liberate territory near Kharkiv and defending the front lines in Donbas,” wrote Feder.

Pylypenko spent two years fighting “on Ukraine’s most dangerous battlefields, serving primarily as a medic.”

“At times he felt he was living in a horror movie, watching tank shells tear his fellow soldiers apart before his eyes,” wrote Feder. “He held many men as they took their final breaths. Of the roughly one hundred who entered the unit with him, only six remained when he was discharged in 2024. He didn’t leave by choice: he went home to take care of his father, who had suffered a stroke.”

Feder notes one of Pylypenko’s former commanders attacked him online when he came out. Pylypenko said another commander defended him.

Feder also profiled Diana and Oleksii Polukhin, two residents of Kherson, a port city in southern Ukraine that is near the mouth of the Dnieper River.

Ukrainian forces regained control of Kherson in November 2022, nine months after Russia occupied it.

Diana, a cigarette vender, and Polukhin told Feder that Russian forces demanded they disclose the names of other LGBTQ+ Ukrainians in Kherson. Russian forces also tortured Diana and Polukhin while in their custody.

Polukhim is the first LGBTQ+ victim of Russian persecution to report their case to Ukrainian prosecutors.

Feder, who is of Ukrainian descent, first visited Ukraine in 2013 when he wrote for BuzzFeed.

He was Outright International’s Senior Fellow for Emergency Research from 2021-2023. Feder last traveled to Ukraine in December 2024.

Feder spoke about his book at Politics and Prose at the Wharf in Southwest D.C. on Feb. 6. The Los Angeles Blade spoke with Feder on Feb. 20.

Feder told the Blade he began to work on the book when he was at Outright International and working with humanitarian groups on how to better serve LGBTQ+ Ukrainians. Feder said military service requirements, a lack of access to hormone therapy and documents that accurately reflect a person’s gender identity and LGBTQ+-friendly shelters are among the myriad challenges that LGBTQ+ Ukrainians have faced since the war began.

“All of these were components of a queer experience of war that was not well documented, and we had never seen in one place, especially with photos,” he told the Blade. “I felt really called to do that, not only because of what was happening in Ukraine, but also as a way to bring to the surface issues that we’d had seen in Iraq and Syria and Afghanistan.”

Feder also spoke with the Blade about the war’s geopolitical implications.

Russian President Vladimir Putin in 2013 signed a law that bans the “promotion of homosexuality” to minors.

The 2014 Winter Olympics took place in Sochi, a Russian resort city on the Black Sea. Russia annexed Crimea from Ukraine a few weeks after the games ended.

Russia’s anti-LGBTQ+ crackdown has continued over the last decade.

The Russian Supreme Court in 2023 ruled the “international LGBT movement” is an extremist organization and banned it. The Russian Justice Ministry last month designated ILGA World, a global LGBTQ+ and intersex rights group, as an “undesirable” organization.

Ukraine, meanwhile, has sought to align itself with Europe.

Ukrainian President Volodymyr Zelenskyy after a 2021 meeting with then-President Joe Biden at the White House said his country would continue to fight discrimination based on sexual orientation and gender identity. (Zelenskyy’s relationship with the U.S. has grown more tense since the Trump-Vance administration took office.) Zelenskyy in 2022 publicly backed civil partnerships for same-sex couples.

Then-Ukrainian Ambassador to the U.S. Oksana Markarova in 2023 applauded Kyiv Pride and other LGBTQ+ and intersex rights groups in her country when she spoke at a photo exhibit at Ukraine House in D.C. that highlighted LGBTQ+ and intersex soldiers. Then-Kyiv Pride Executive Director Lenny Emson, who Feder profiles in his book, was among those who attended the event.  

“Thank you for everything you do in Kyiv, and thank you for everything that you do in order to fight the discrimination that still is somewhere in Ukraine,” said Markarova. “Not everything is perfect yet, but you know, I think we are moving in the right direction. And we together will not only fight the external enemy, but also will see equality.”

Feder in response to the Blade’s question about why he decided to write his book said he “didn’t feel” the “significance of Russia’s war against Ukraine” for LGBTQ+ people around the world “was fully understood.”

“This was an opportunity to tell that big story,” he said.

“The crackdown on LGBT rights inside Russia was essentially a laboratory for a strategy of attacking democratic values by attacking queer rights and it was one as Ukraine was getting closet to Europe back in 2013, 2014,” he added. “It was a strategy they were using as part of their foreign policy, and it was one they were using not only in Ukraine over the past decade, but around the world.”

Feder said Republicans are using “that same strategy to attack queer people, to attack democracy itself.”

“I felt like it was important that Americans understand that history,” he said.

On Saturday afternoon, under a hot, beating sun, I marched at the annual Golden Dragon Parade in L.A.’s Chinatown with members of the API Rainbow Coalition: a network of organizations that protects, centers, and uplifts the safety and joy of queer and trans Asian American and Pacific Islander (QTAPI) people. 

Composed of groups like Asian Americans Advancing Justice Southern California (AJSOCAL), Okaeri, Access to Prevention Advocacy Intervention and Treatment (APAIT), and PFLAG San Gabriel Valley / API, the coalition has shown up for two decades to greet the parade’s spectators with warm wishes for the new year, and to combat anti-LGBTQ+ fear and hate with boundless joy and togetherness. 

For myself and many others present on Saturday, it was our first time marching in the parade. It was our first time standing definitively, amidst thousands of people, as proud queer QTAPI people. Will Zhang, who was one of six people holding up a beautiful silk dragon that bore the pink and blue shades of the Trans Pride Flag rather than the symbol’s traditional red and yellow hues, said that being with the community at events like these felt like he could finally “unmask.” He felt able to embody his full self.

For the first time back in my Southern Californian roots, I felt truly liberated. Adrenaline pulsed through my limbs, shocking me alive with a boldness I had never experienced as a closeted kid growing up in the San Gabriel Valley. At the parade, I cheered and jumped, waved at strangers with an elation that extended from deep within my body and then flew beyond me.

That uninhibited, childlike wonder that first trickled out, broke like a dam: a flooding of joy that was made possible only because I felt so safe and embraced alongside allies, both new and old, who continue to nurture a path of liberation for ourselves and for future generations. 

There is hostility abound, but gathering allows us to rebel and become stronger. “Goodness prevails,” Zhang said, as we continued to march ahead. 

All image captures by Kristie Song.

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.

If you’re a fan of “Wuthering Heights” — Emily Brontë’s oft-filmed 1847 novel about a doomed romance on the Yorkshire moors — it’s a given you’re going to have opinions about any new adaptation that comes along, but in the case of filmmaker Emerald Fennell’s new cinematic vision of this venerable classic, they’re probably going to be strong ones.

It’s nothing new, really. Brontë’s book has elicited controversy since its first publication, when it sparked outrage among Victorian readers over its tragic tale of thwarted lovers locked into an obsessive quest for revenge against each other, and has continued to shock generations of readers with its depictions of emotional cruelty and violent abuse, its dysfunctional relationships, and its grim portrait of a deeply-embedded class structure which perpetuates misery at every level of the social hierarchy.

It’s no wonder, then, that Fennell’s adaptation — a true “fangirl” appreciation project distinguished by the radical sensibilities which the third-time director brings to the mix — has become a flash point for social commentators whose main exposure to the tale has been flavored by decades of watered-down, romanticized “reinventions,” almost all of which omit large portions of the novel to selectively shape what’s left into a period tearjerker about star-crossed love, often distancing themselves from the raw emotional core of the story by adhering to generic tropes of “gothic romance” and rarely doing justice to the complexity of its characters — or, for that matter, its author’s deeper intentions.

Fennell’s version doesn’t exactly break that pattern; she, too, elides much of the novel’s sprawling plot to focus on the twisted entanglement between Catherine Earnshaw (Margot Robbie), daughter of the now-impoverished master of the titular estate (Martin Clunes), and Heathcliff (Jacob Elordi), a lowborn child of unknown background origin that has been “adopted” by her father as a servant in the household. Both subjected to the whims of the elder Earnshaw’s violent temper, they form a bond of mutual support in childhood which evolves, as they come of age, into something more; yet regardless of her feelings for him, Cathy — whose future status and security are at risk — chooses to marry Edgar Linton (Shazad Latif), the financially secure new owner of a neighboring estate. Heathcliff, devastated by her betrayal, leaves for parts unknown, only to return a few years later with a mysteriously-obtained fortune. Imposing himself into Cathy’s comfortable-but-joyless matrimony, he rekindles their now-forbidden passion and they become entwined in a torrid affair — even as he openly courts Linton’s naive ward Isabella (Alison Oliver) and plots to destroy the entire household from within. One might almost say that these two are the poster couple for the phrase “it’s complicated.” and it’s probably needless to say things don’t go well for anybody involved.

While there is more than enough material in “Wuthering Heights” that might easily be labeled as “problematic” in our contemporary judgments — like the fact that it’s a love story between two childhood friends, essentially raised as siblings, which becomes codependent and poisons every other relationship in their lives — the controversy over Fennell’s version has coalesced less around the content than her casting choices. When the project was announced, she drew criticism over the decision to cast Robbie (who also produced the film) opposite the younger Elordi. In the end, the casting works — though the age gap might be mildly distracting for some, both actors deliver superb performances, and the chemistry they exude soon renders it irrelevant.

Another controversy, however, is less easily dispelled. Though we never learn his true ethnic background, Brontë’s original text describes Heathcliff as having the appearance of “a dark-skinned gipsy” with “black fire” in his eyes; the character has typically been played by distinctly “Anglo” men, and consequently, many modern observers have expressed disappointment (and in some cases, full-blown outrage) over Fennel’s choice to use Elordi instead of putting an actor of color for the part, especially given the contemporary filter which she clearly chose for her interpretation for the novel.

In fact, it’s that modernized perspective — a view of history informed by social criticism, economic politics, feminist insight, and a sexual candor that would have shocked the prim Victorian readers of Brontë’s novel — that turns Fennell’s visually striking adaptation into more than just a comfortably romanticized period costume drama. From her very opening scene — a public hanging in the village where the death throes of the dangling body elicit lurid glee from the eagerly-gathered crowd — she makes it oppressively clear that the 18th-century was not a pleasant time to live; the brutality of the era is a primal force in her vision of the story, from the harrowing abuse that forges its lovers’ codependent bond, to the rigidly maintained class structure that compels even those in the higher echelons — especially women — into a kind of slavery to the system, to the inequities that fuel disloyalty among the vulnerable simply to preserve their own tenuous place in the hierarchy. It’s a battle for survival, if not of the fittest then of the most ruthless.

At the same time, she applies a distinctly 21st-century attitude of “sex-positivity” to evoke the appeal of carnality, not just for its own sake but as a taste of freedom; she even uses it to reframe Heathcliff’s cruel torment of Isabella by implying a consensual dom/sub relationship between them, offering a fragment of agency to a character typically relegated to the role of victim. Most crucially, of course, it permits Fennell to openly depict the sexuality of Cathy and Heathcliff as an experience of transgressive joy — albeit a tormented one — made perhaps even more irresistible (for them and for us) by the sense of rebellion that comes along with it.

Finally, while this “Wuthering Heights” may not have been the one to finally allow Heathcliff’s ambiguous racial identity to come to the forefront, Fennell does employ some “color-blind” casting — Latif is mixed-race (white and Pakistani) and Hong Chau, understated but profound in the crucial role of Nelly, Cathy’s longtime “paid companion,” is of Vietnamese descent — to illuminate the added pressures of being an “other” in a world weighted in favor of sameness.

Does all this contemporary hindsight into the fabric of Brontë’s epic novel make for a quintessential “Wuthering Heights?” Even allowing that such a thing were possible, probably not. While it presents a stylishly crafted and thrillingly cinematic take on this complex classic, richly enhanced by a superb and adventurous cast, it’s not likely to satisfy anyone looking for a faithful rendition, nor does it reveal a new angle from which the “romance” at its center looks anything other than toxic — indeed, it almost fetishizes the dysfunction. Even without the thorny debate around Heathcliff’s racial identity, there’s plenty here to prompt purists and revisionists alike to find fault with Fennell’s approach.

Yet for those looking for a new window into to this perennial classic, and who are comfortable with the radical flourish for which Fennell is already known, it’s an engrossing and intellectually stimulating exploration of this iconic story in a way that exchanges comfortable familiarity for unpredictable chaos — and for cinema fans, that’s more than enough reason to give “Wuthering Heights” a chance.

This year’s Film Independent Spirit Awards winners told wide-ranging stories of everything from Paul Reubens’ posthumous coming out in Pee-wee as Himself to a fictional homoerotic relationship that forms between an artist and his biggest fan in Lurker.

With such a diverse group of winners, these filmmakers reflected on how queer people and young audiences have responded to their work.

“I’ve talked to people whose kids have seen the film, and young kids don’t understand what the closet is,” Pee-wee as Himself director Matt Wolf told The Blade backstage. “As a younger, gay filmmaker, I felt like I could help him do that on his own terms. It was a big deal for Paul. It’s interesting to hear from people’s kids who don’t understand the struggle.”

Wolf continued: “It’s been revelatory for young people in that sense, but also I’m hearing from people that their kids are now watching Pee-wee’s Playhouse, and that they love it. And you never know, does this thing look old? Does it feel outdated? [His films are] so otherworldly, and I don’t think young people register it as being from any time.” 

Lurker director Alex Russell (who previously wrote on Beef and The Bear) nabbed awards for best first screenplay and best first feature, and Théodore Pellerin and Archie Madekwe were nominated for their performances. Russell’s win is a testament to Film Independent’s legacy of embracing new generations of filmmakers and storytellers.

While accepting the award for best first screenplay, Russell recognized the creatives who took a chance on him, saying: “I want to thank everyone who was willing to look stupid and put even just a sliver of themselves on the line to legitimize all these new filmmakers here tonight, who, without you, would still be aspiring to make their first movie.”

Backstage, The Blade asked the breakthrough filmmaker about how queer people have responded to the film’s thorny take on male relationships.

“I don’t know if the queer community has reacted to me personally. There’s an interesting discussion in what Matthew and Olivier’s relationship is all about … and where they stand on the spectrum,” Russell said. “I want people to think about that, I want people to think about the ambiguity of that. That being said, if the queer community wants to talk to me about it, I’m here!”

Pee-wee as Himself is available to stream on HBO Max, while Lurker is on MUBI.

Sometimes, it takes everything falling apart for us to remember that community is what holds us together. 

It’s a lesson that many people have learned in recent months. Amidst the ongoing attacks against LGBTQ+ and immigrant populations, folks across the country have come to realize just how important community is to each of our daily lives.

Now more than ever, marginalized communities need to remember that oppressors have always used grief to further disenfranchise the people they’re attacking. And that, as laughable as it seems at times, the best response to others’ hatred is to love one another; to foster strength and joy amongst our own groups to ensure we have the fortitude necessary in the ongoing fight against bigotry. Many projects have tried to remind folks of this message…and one just so happens to be a tabletop roleplaying game (TTRPG) set in a post-apocalyptic — and so, so queer — wasteland.

Gladlands is the latest season of Dimension 20, a renowned TTRPG liveplay series that sees groups of LA-based performers tackle some chaotic new narrative every season. The show’s newest installment takes place in a barren wasteland, with all cities and symbols of civilization reduced to rubble after a multi-year ecological crisis (which just so happens to resemble the one we’re currently fighting right now). The cast, which features a majority LGBTQ+ group of LA-based comedians, plays a team of folks trying to help as many people in this hellscape as possible, reminding every survivor they come across that it’s easiest to get through the hard times when we’re in them together. 

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The cast of Gladlands sat down with the LA Blade to discuss this poignant message and how it feels to deliver it when folks need it most. They speak about their roles in the series, their personal lives as local artists in Los Angeles, and how it’s fun pieces of media like this that can get folks through the toughest times. They raved about this complex project and what they hope it will bring to everyone who watches, with each player emphasizing Gladlands’ core message: you are not alone. 

As strange as it may seem to people not in the community, it’s not uncommon for role-playing games like Gladlands to touch on issues real people struggle with every day. “It really is transformative,” said Oscar Montoya, who plays the fierce Drag Queen librarian ‘Poppy Persona’ on the season. “There’s a little bit of your soul that goes into every character that you play…and there’s so much self-realization that comes when you play TTRPG that you [may not] even recognize!” It’s a sentiment that fellow player Kimia Behpoornia, who plays the skateboarding cockroach-human hybrid ‘Tess Tube5,’  echoed, stating, “[These games] help people feel so validated.”

The cast reiterated how it’s these sessions of fantasy that often allow people to grow in very real ways. That’s why they believed it was the perfect platform to spread the message of love threaded throughout Gladlands, a season that sees their group of apocalyptic advocates — members of the legendary ‘Carer-Van’ — drive across an endless desert in search of anyone who needs help. An eclectic group of humans and mutants, each episode sees them work hard to see the good in their fellow person and flex their many skills to assist those in need.

“It’s really nice that this season is here [during a time] when it really resonates,” Kimia went on. “But it’s kind of the simplest idea [ever] to want to help your community!” Vic Michaelis, whose plague mask-wearing character ‘Hugi’ is the apocalypse’s only mortician, stressed that the show’s message is one that everyone needs to remember right now. “We’re living during a time [when] community is very important…but there’s no way [when we were filming] that we would’ve known the season would come out at a time like this. But [we are] watching people dig down right now and go, ‘We are taking care of our community.’” They reminded everyone watching that this kind of communal care is not only inspiring, but also threatening, saying, “That strikes fear amongst people in power. There is success in coming together to protect your community, [which I think] reflects the themes of Gladlands.”

“Trying to stay glad is, in itself, a form of resistance,” Agreed Jacob Wysocki, who portrays the warm and cuddly caretaker KoKoMo. He detailed how, through their characters, each player hoped to offer viewers models of the many behaviors that allow real communities to flourish. On that in particular, he gave credit to the season’s dungeon master, Brennan Lee Mulligan, saying, “He built this world because he looked at the [real] world we’re in and [asked], ‘Does it take a fully post-apocalyptic world to get to a space where community [comes] first?’” 

“Baby — we live in the post-apocalyptic times right now!” Said Montoya, whose time as a Los Angeles activist has given him special insight into how this city’s communities have been struggling. “[But] I think the important thing to realize is that we create our own Gladlands…the message of community coming together to combat adversity is so paramount, especially right now. To have a collection of people you can lean on and say, ‘We don’t like this. We don’t stand for this. Let’s create something together.”

Each cast member agreed that, while a lovely sentiment, the messages broadcast through their show are easier said than done. But they each emphasized that you don’t need to be part of a roving band of super-powered caretakers to do good — and that no matter what, this kind of work should never be done in solitude. “[Remember] you’re not in it alone,” emphasized Montoya, as the interviews came to an end. “You are a part of a community that can enact change. And know: they’re trying to take that away from us. They’re trying to make us feel smaller and less than. [But] you have to recognize that we have the power…especially when it feels so overwhelming. Because it is then that you have people who have your back, who will continue to have your back [no matter what].”

An uplifting message of community, wrapped up in a chaotic season of jaw-dropping dice rolls and truly wild character arcs. Gladlands showcases that, sometimes, the most important lessons come in the most surprising packages. And, with each of these performers at the helm, it highlights the core message of this series as a whole: you’re never alone in the fight for community. And true freedom starts with being there for your neighbors, making sure that you all have what you need for whatever may come next. 

In an era where LGBTQ representation in movies has hit a three-year low, Tello Films proves that, after 19 years, independent lesbian filmmaking is as necessary as ever. According to Sarah Kate Ellis, the CEO and President of GLAAD, “Nearly ⅓ of non-LGBTQ Americans say that LGBTQ inclusive films have changed their perception of our community… It is imperative that networks and streamers do not back down.” 

Meanwhile, the lesbian streaming service Tello Films celebrated its 19th birthday on February 6th. Says founder Christin Baker, “When I started it 19 years ago, I thought at some point maybe we wouldn’t be necessary, […] I really do feel like representation saves lives…it’s still important for us to be around.” Often referred to as the “Lesbian Netflix”, the Nashville-based production company has a primary focus on lesbian and sapphic stories for the past 19 years and thankfully, is just getting started.

Tello Films was far ahead of its time. For those of you who didn’t live through or don’t remember, 2007 was a different time. Apple debuted the first iPhone, Barack Obama declared his run for the presidency, and the phrase “that’s so gay!” was prevalent as ever (at least at my high school). “We didn’t have marriage equality at that time.  Civil unions were kind of starting here and there -the crazy thing (is that) ‘Don’t Ask Don’t Tell’ was still in effect.” Baker recalls, “There were still so many rights we didn’t have in 2007 when we started it, and we are still fighting for it.” 

Tello Films’ beginnings were just the start of the lesbian legacy. Said Christin, “I never thought Tello would or could ever be my full-time job.” With the URL TelloFilms.com registered on February 6, 2007, the platform was an internet-based streaming company with all its movies formatted small to appease a 2007-era browser. While Netflix was only just beginning to offer streaming services, launching any streaming service in 2007 was bold; to launch a streaming service entirely devoted to lesbian and sapphic stories was revolutionary. “I want to make lesbian stories.. I want to see things that represent me.” 

In the past 19 years, Baker shares her career-defining moment came from the recently deceased Nancylee Myatt, showrunner for South of Nowhere. “We made a short-form series called Cowgirl Up. I felt like I put my big girl pants on. Nancylee was a huge mentor, and I was like, ‘Oh, I can do this. I can do this, and I can figure it out.’” 

Tello went on to receive their first primetime Emmy nomination with Mindy Sterling of Austin Powers fame for Outstanding Actress in a Short Form Comedy or Drama Series. “We got two daytime Emmy nominations for two actresses, Liz Vassey and Carolyn Radere […], then in 2018 we made our first lesbian Christmas movie,, Season of Love and that really kind of started us down the path, and I think we’re probably most well known for, which is our lesbian holiday rom-coms.”

We now live in the era of Chappell Roan, Doechii, Heated Rivalry, and so many more queer artists and pieces of media in the mainstream’s consciousness. The last several years in pop culture have proven that queer art and artists matter, not just as a salve to a society that still struggles to accept us, but to the mass audiences who continue to resonate with it. 

Queer media is being devoured by folks outside of the LGBTQ community. “I think it (Heated Rivalry) shocked so many people (because) it was powerful and compelling […] I wasn’t that surprised because I remember Brokeback Mountain being very much in that same vein; it was just cowboys instead of hockey players.” Authenticity and overcoming adversity are not just tenets of good storytelling; they are also ever-present themes within the lives of any queer you know. 

 As Christin sees it, the success of  Heated Rivalry isn’t just rooted in its unabashed sexual themes, it has a very universal “lesbian” approach to its storytelling “There’s a ton of longing, and missing, and having a crush and not knowing if it’s reciprocated, […] there’s a lot that you tap into just on a human level that Heated Rivalry really touched on.” 

Themes that are at the forefront of the sapphic stories Tello has mastered telling. “We still don’t have enough LGBTQ holiday Christmas movies out there each year. Some people wouldn’t look at a Hallmark movie or Christmas rom-com as substantive, but I really do feel like representation saves lives.” 

For so many in the LGBTQ community, representation isn’t theoretical- it’s personal. I know for myself, in the throes of a messy divorce, one of the only things that brought me comfort was the sapphic films on Tello. It was so difficult to find lighthearted queer stories. I recall searching through every streaming service as they were slowly but surely eliminating the LGBTQ sections from their apps, as well as those queer characters and shows. But not Tello; I was able to find comfort and ease through a tough time in my personal life. “It’s such comfort, especially if you’ve gone through something that’s tough and your regular daily life is stressful, you need an escape to something that you know is not going to cause more anxiety.”

Having accessible ways to both tell and consume sapphic stories is tantamount to this moment in time. Independent filmmaking has the power to make sure authentic stories are heard. Being an independent voice as well as being able to support smaller budget stories that definitely wouldn’t get picked up, or even recognized or seen in mainstream, Christin and Tello Films are uplifting not just lesbian and sapphic stories, but lesbian and sapphic artists as well. 

As for the future of lesbian filmmaking, it’s no secret that Hollywood is drowning, leaving a void for people like Christin and Tello Films to fill. Said Baker in light of the shrinkage in Hollywood and what that means for Tello Films, “We will get even more creative and tell even more stories, because we can’t be stopped.” 

Encouraged by her fiancée, Stacey Lee Powell, Christin wants the world to know that Tello Films isn’t just a business, it’s personal. “I see Tello as an extension of me.” Says Baker, “In doing that, I hope that people see that Tello isn’t some corporate entity, I hope they see that it is someone who cares deeply. I’ve been doing this for 19 years, and every day I wake up trying to figure out how to tell our stories and how to serve our community.” Nineteen years later, Tello Films remains what it has always been: not a nameless, faceless corporation, but an extension of a storyteller’s dream to build a safe space for her community.

Check out TelloFilms.com

Sorry, Baby, Train Dreams, and Lurker were the big winners of this year’s Film Independent Spirit Awards.

The Spirit Awards were held Sunday, Feb. 15, at the Hollywood Palladium in Los Angeles, California, with stars Eva Victor, Rose Byrne, Keke Palmer, Tessa Thompson, Amy Madigan, Erin Doherty, and Dylan O’Brien in attendance.

Train Dreams won best feature and best director, Victor won the best screenplay prize for Sorry, Baby. Pee-wee as Himself won the award for best new non-scripted or documentary series, and Doherty continued her awards season sweep for Adolescence with a win for best supporting performance in a new scripted series.

While accepting an award for writing Sorry, Baby, Victor said: “Making this film independently is the only way I could have ever made it the way I wanted to. I’m so, so grateful for independent cinema, and I love everyone here for that.”

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Where the Oscars largely ignored the best queer indie hits, the Spirit Awards became this year’s go-to awards show for under-the-radar favorites. Sorry, Baby, Twinless, Peter Hujar’s Day, and Lurker all scored best feature nominations, while Ira Sachs (you can read The Blade’s interview here) was nominated for best director. Notably, all four of those films premiered at Sundance.

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In the lead performance film category, Tessa Thompson (you can read The Blade’s interview here), Ben Whishaw, Théodore Pellerin, and Dylan O’Brien were all nominated, while Oscar nominee Rose Byrne took home the top honor. Twinless may have gone home empty-handed, but the film was a huge point of conversation throughout the award ceremony.

Beyond the films they recognize, what makes the Spirit Awards different from more mainstream award shows is the lack of gender specific categories; the Oscars traditionally have separate categories for male and female performers.

The Gotham Awards went gender-neutral in 2021, and the Spirit Awards followed during its 2023 ceremony. “We think the ways we’ve created equity through our award show is not only a reflection of the world we live in, but representative of the industry and what we want it to look like,” Film Independent acting president Brenda Robinson told me in an interview for Variety in May 2025.

After coming out as trans in 2022, Zoë Rose Bryant quickly built a platform for herself, becoming one of the most popular and influential queer film critics on social media. Now, with the release of her debut novel Good Friends, Bryant is ready to “let people into” what she describes as a “private reconciliation” of herself over the years.

Citing film references like Richard Linklater’s Boyhood and Lukas Dhont’s Close, Bryant divided the book’s narrative into five acts. The queer coming-of-age tale follows the decades-spanning relationship between Andy and Owen, two friends who drift in and out of each other’s lives in their Nebraska small town. Owen’s outgoing nature brings Andy, the secluded protagonist, closer to reckoning with their own identity and sexuality.

Bryant originally envisioned and wrote Good Friends as a screenplay while living in Los Angeles and working as a film critic for sites like Next Best Picture, but she “realized pretty quickly” that in order to tell this story with proper prose, a novel was the go-to medium. “That was really scary to me because it’s just so much more time-consuming, I’d never done it before,” Bryant says.

The journey to writing the book and choosing to self-publish intertwined with Bryant’s own personal life and relationship to self, as she moved from Los Angeles back to her Nebraska hometown in 2024. “I came from L.A., really burnt out and stressed, and needing a break,” Bryant says. “I’d had my heart broken, and I lost my job. There was a lot of stuff that had happened where I was like, ‘I just need to reconnect with the world.’”

On Twitter, Bryant has been vocal throughout these transitional periods, sharing updates to her over 120,000 followers about raising money for surgery and the “intimidating” two-year process of writing a book. Now, just days after its release on Friday, Feb. 13, Bryant’s novel has reached the top spot on Amazon’s “Hot New Releases” list for LGBTQ+ romance stories.

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The day before Good Friend’s release, The Blade had the opportunity to chat with Bryant in an exclusive interview about her major inspirations, how writing the book intertwined with her own journey as a growing public figure on social media, and the importance of celebrating the “little wins” through connecting with — and inspiring — young trans people. This interview has been edited and condensed.

Congratulations on Good Friends! How did you arrive at this specific story for your debut novel?

I think it was a year and a half into my transition, and I was just really interested in telling a coming-of-age story where we follow a character from a young age with those [out-of-body] feelings being present — even if you don’t know what to do with them. In part, it was inspired by me having come out to lifelong friends I’ve had and family, and a lot of people who felt like they knew me so well, being kind of taken aback. It was such a private reconciliation of myself; I wanted to write something that let people into that part of my understanding of myself over the years. Stuff that I never shared, never talked about, but was always there and growing in me. I’ve just never seen a story like that.

You know, there are stories about queer characters and trans characters, but not really one where you grow with that character. They’re born a boy, they’re moving through the world as a boy, but they have these feelings inside, and you get to see them blossom into who they were always born to be.

The book is also set against the political backdrop of both Obama and Trump’s presidencies.

It’s not an out-and-out autobiography by any means, but I feel like I was figuring out a lot about myself, both my sexuality and gender identity, during the height of the first Trump presidency. It was a really interesting time to come of age because there was so much progress with Obama’s presidency and the legalization of gay marriage, and all these really momentous wins for the left. Then all of that came to a halt. That definitely pumped the brakes a little bit on further interrogating my identity. I was really interested in writing a character reconciling with their queerness under the weight of all that, kind of like a period piece. It’s crazy to call the mid-2010s period, but that’s the time I knew growing up!

While writing Good Friends, I also realized how many parallels there were to Trump 2.0. I wrote and finished the first draft of the book before Kamala Harris was even the 2024 nominee. So much has changed since, but I also feel like everything that’s happened kind of strengthens the story. We have been through this before. There are people who have struggled under the weight of an administration like this, even if it’s kind of considerably worse this time. If anything, for me, it’s [about finding] a beacon of hope and finding love and support in little pockets, no matter where you live. No matter what else is going on in the world, be strong in yourself and continue on that journey, no matter how hard other people try to stop you.

You’ve built a big community online with your Twitter following and people looking to you for your thoughts on film and culture. How have you used social media as a tool to find that community, and also invite people into your creative process as a writer?

I’m so old, I’ve been on Twitter for so long! But I was personally in the film space from when I started college in 2017 to the start of 2020. Then I broke into writing about and reviewing films. In 2021, I moved to L.A. and started writing for Next Best Picture. I built up this little community of appreciating art and loving film and TV. And then I came out in February 2022! I wasn’t nearly as big online as I am right now, but I had a sizable following. It was kind of hard and weird at first because it was the main platform where I had to be like, “Hey, I’m making this huge change.” From then on, my following steadily grew. There were so few big trans voices, especially in journalism-adjacent spaces. I was always just like, “I want to use this platform for good in any way I can.” I didn’t really grow up around any trans people; I wasn’t following any trans people. This is part of the book, but in high school, the first big thing that made me realize trans people [existed] was Caitlyn Jenner coming out, and that whole saga.

I care about being really open. I’m not gatekeeping any information about these experiences because everything else is so hard — why make it harder for people to understand themselves and what’s going on with the community? So I would share all my little developments and wins, like when I changed my name, and celebrating each trans-versary, and obviously everything with my surgery.

Then, when I started writing Good Friends, I’d already amassed more of a following based on my longer-form writing. I had written a couple of really personal pieces for Kenzie Vanunu’s site Offscreen Central in 2023; one really big one was a trans reading of Poor Things. I had an influx of followers from that, and people who really appreciated the vulnerability. I just kept leaning more and more into that and wanted people to be involved. And everyone would always ask if I was working on anything more. I would write essays on Letterboxd, and people would say they’d read a book.

What has your relationship been to the trans community since coming out and embracing your vulnerability in online spaces? 

I get messages all the time from younger trans people or younger queer people who have felt seen in my writing or just my journey online. Even a lot of kids who aren’t out or can’t be out where they live right now, they get hope from things that I’m writing or sharing. Every little message like that motivates me more to include other people online, whether they’re strangers or not. And through both my journeys as a person and writer, it’s really hard to feel like you’re doing anything productive for good under this administration. And for me, those little messages and little wins are like, “OK, I’m doing what I can, even if it’s small.”

I’m curious to hear more about your time in L.A., connecting with the queer community there, and how being closer to the film industry has shaped or informed your writing.

I had moved after I graduated from college in May 2021, and I started transitioning the year after. I lived in a house with some of my best friends, so I was very supported. It had been a journey. Now, both my parents are incredibly supportive; they’re my biggest cheerleaders, but it was a journey at the start. It helps a lot being in a world that was just so unlike [Nebraska]. You got some more liberal views in the late 2010s, but it was still fairly majority red, and that kind of pushed me further into the closet and away from, as I said earlier, interrogating that part of my identity. In L.A., I felt like that weight was immediately off — I could explore and be messy! That first year of transition is weird and embarrassing. You’re figuring out your style, trying makeup for the first time, and getting really shitty haircuts. I just felt that freedom to fail, fuck around, and really figure it out. Because I was allowed to blossom into who I am, when I did have to move back home to Nebraska, I just felt like fully me.

I wouldn’t have been able to write the book if I hadn’t gone on that journey, meeting people whom I would never run into in Nebraska, being in queer spaces with other queer artists. I met other trans writers who had similar experiences of where we came from, and what we want to do. I could talk to them about these feelings I’ve had forever that nobody else gets. All of a sudden, I’m looking into a mirror.

I’m so proud of you and so happy to hear about your transformative time in L.A. I know you just had your surgery too. Congratulations on everything!

Thank you! Yeah, no, it gets crazy. It’s really wild. I’m about to celebrate my fourth transversary in a week. This has been the craziest year, like holy shit! So much change. It’s crazy how much changes in such a short amount of time. This is what I’ve wanted forever.

Lastly, how does it feel to share this book with the world after everything that went into it — both creatively, and the personal events and triumphs that led you to this moment?

It’s very emotional. I was talking to my mom, and I was like, “I feel like a mom sending her child off to the first day of school.” It’s interesting because for the longest time, it lived in my head as this idea, and it was just the two of us. I gradually let more people in and would have people read and give me notes on early drafts. It’s kind of scary because even though it’s not like an out-and-out autobiography, there are a lot of personal feelings and experiences in it. Releasing that to anybody at any time is very overwhelming, and that’s been hitting me lately. But once that subsides, there’s a lot of excitement because I know the way my vulnerable writing has affected and impacted people in the past. That’s really what I hope for with the book, too.

On a recent Sunday afternoon, the Fountain Theatre is nestled in quiet, minutes before a new show is to begin. Quiet jazz bounces out from the cozy cafe upstairs, and people begin to take their seats by the intimate stage inside. As the lights dim, six actors — American Covarrubias, Naseem Etemad, Kita Grayson, Mackenzie Mondag, Savannah Schoenecker, and Janet Song — begin with a powerful proclamation about the sacred act of discovering one’s own poetic voice and understanding the medium’s inherently political, participatory, and revolutionary nature.

What is stunning and clear from this very first declaration is each actor’s voice and presence: clear, loud and unwavering. Their eyes are fixed onto the crowd, flitting from person to person, demanding close attention to the production’s nearly two-hour arc that details the life and work of revered Black queer poet and activist, June Jordan.

“Poetry for the People: The June Jordan Experience” never wastes a minute. First, audience members are taken back to Jordan’s childhood in Harlem and Brooklyn, and actor Kita Grayson shapeshifts into Granville Ivanhoe Jordan — the patriarch of the family — making her body hard and rigid, her biting words twinged with Granville’s Jamaican accent. We see a young Jordan develop a penchant for poetry as a young child in the early 1940’s: a love for literature and expression blooming under the intense and even abusive watch of her father, who was her “hero and tyrant.”

We watch as each actor takes turns metamorphosing into the poet throughout the production, slipping with ease into a different part of Jordan’s life as she became a poet for the masses and a passionate educator and defender of civil rights for Black people, immigrants, Palestinian civilians, and LGBTQ+ community members. The production blends song and dance with interviews and clips of Jordan. It is refreshing to be able to see her speak: to be able to see and hear her, too, in this retrospective tribute to her life. 

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Throughout the show, viewers see the way Jordan’s work, alive and alchemic, traveled across mediums: not only in the defiant, romantic, and immortal texts of her poetry but also in songs, in plays, in essays, and in speeches.

Her wide-reaching impact is felt personally in this production, as her longtime partner and creative collaborator, composer Adrienne Torf, stitched together the production’s musical elements and plays the piano throughout the dynamic show. In moments, she watches the actors with steady, deferential eyes as her hands glide across the keys in gentle melodies. Love is deeply embedded in this production: Jordan’s deep devotion to creating paths of justice and humanity for others resounds throughout the show, and the love that others continue to hold for her is alive and palpable as well. 

“[June] was propelled in her writing, activism and daily life to seek the possibilities for love and justice for all people,” Torf said in a recent interview. “If something was done to her or to someone she cared about, she responded with appropriate and sometimes withering anger, as would most any person with a conscience. And she cared about people in other parts of the world as much as she cared about people close to her, especially her students. June had an infectious laugh that regularly had people holding their sides as they laughed along with her. All of this comes through in her writing and the videos of her that are included in the show.” 

For director and co-devisor Raymond O. Caldwell, Jordan provided him a guiding light for the development of his own activism and politically-motivated art when he was younger. “I, for so long, felt like an outsider — and then I started reading June,” Caldwell said, in an interview on KPFK. “She started teaching me what the real center of my activism was…and it’s love. Love at the center of our activism [and] art is not only art. It is personal. It is political. It is everything.” 

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“Poetry for the People: The June Jordan Experience” not only centers Jordan’s love and her poetic resistance — it invites the audience to take part. The actors hand out notepads and pens, and pause for a few moments throughout the show to pose writing prompts. People are encouraged to write what comes to mind, and to think about ways they can begin to seek collective and individual liberation through writing, reflecting, and community-building. 

The show, experimental in its structure, is a container for possibility. It’s a timely look at how queer and marginalized people can carry June Jordan’s legacy of radical love deeply within them, as they search for tools to disrupt and dismantle the brutality that surrounds them. Jordan’s love was searing and unique in its devotion to tenderness. Her words from “Poem for Haruko” echo in my heart. “How easily you held / my hand / beside the low tide / of the world.” 

“Poetry for the People: The June Jordan Experience” plays now until March 29 at the Fountain Theatre. Its next show is Monday, Feb. 16 at 8 p.m. The organization has introduced a “living ticket” model, where visitors are invited to name their own price for the show. More information can be found here. 

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.