Before judging “Honey Don’t” – the second installment of a “lesbian B-movie trilogy” from filmmaker Ethan Coen and co-writer/spouse Tricia Cooke, which opened last weekend to wildly mixed reviews – it might be useful to brush up on what exactly is meant by the term “B-movie.”

A designation originating in the days of classic Hollywood’s studio system, it was coined to refer to the kind of lower-budget, less-prestigious “filler” movies that were produced to accompany the main attraction in the then-standard double feature format. Customarily written off by critics of the day as unworthy of serious attention, they nevertheless provided a proving ground for ambitious young film artists, and some of the classic-era films deemed most influential today – particularly within the film noir category, which seemed a particularly convenient fit for B-movie treatment – came out of it.

Later, when the studio system began to implode during the cultural shift of the 1960s, the same kind of cheaply produced films evolved into the grungy, countercultural “exploitation” movies that entertained a drive-in generation that had learned to see outside the bubble of conventional expectations, These movies were wild, imaginative things that often pushed boundaries with gratuitous excesses of sex, violence, and authority-challenging attitude, and while they sometimes dared to tackle controversial themes under the guise of sensationalist escapism, they, too, were largely written off as “trash” by most contemporaneous tastemakers. They also inspired a whole new wave of cinema artists, from Quentin Tarantino to Ari Aster, who would build critically-lauded careers with work that not only emulated the over-the-top extremity of their style, but treated it like the high-concept art that it was.

With that in mind, “Honey Don’t” plays like both a campy spoof and an artful homage. Embracing the generic-yet-classic film noir “private eye” formula, it upsets the cart right from the outset by flipping the gender of its central archetype to offer the stylish, savvy, and no-nonsense detective Honey O’Donaghue (Margaret Qualley) as the story’s hard-boiled protagonist. Set in a nebulously contemporary Bakersfield (which feels like a picturesque metaphor for blighted-and-corrupt smalltown America), it follows her as the unexpected demise of a would-be-client draws her into a mystery with connections to a charismatic local church leader (Chris Evans); finding an ally and love interest in butch bad-girl police officer “MG” (Aubrey Plaza), she uncovers a sinister thread of predatory corruption that may threaten even her own family – specifically her beloved niece (Talia Ryder), whose relationship with an abusive boyfriend places her at particular risk of becoming a victim of whatever twisted mind is operating behind the town’s string of mysterious deaths and disappearances.

It’s a wild-and-wooly, ludicrous tale, a self-aware exercise in style which winds its bemusedly hard-edged mystery around a core that mirrors both the cynicism and the romance of its hard-boiled neo-noir inspirations. Full of red herrings, implausible coincidences, and blatant plot holes, it plays into a pitch-black sense of irony (a Coen trademark, after all) as it twists its way through a near-absurd landscape of banality, disaffection, and casual amorality, weaving a labyrinthine narrative that leads to multiple dead ends before delivering an over-the-top climactic confrontation and a tauntingly murky resolution. Along the way, it indulges in near-baroque levels of cartoonish-but-grim violence, graphic sex, and bleakly misanthropic character study, all of which highlight the themes of misogyny, cyclical violence, casual cruelty, and corrupted humanity that underscore the whole bemusedly perverse plot.

All of that might be hard to digest for audiences who are looking for a mystery story, who come to it for the queer representation or as a nostalgic throwback with a sexy twist. “Honey Don’t” offers those things, to be sure, but it packages them in a hyper-violent, iconoclastic reinvention of “detective noir” fiction and claims feminine space in a genre almost always dominated by males. It’s a movie designed to challenge the status quo, to disrupt conventions, to push past comfortable boundaries and shake us up; threads lead nowhere, circumstances change unexpectedly in an instant, and the archetypal wise-cracking private dick is now a sex-positive, out-and-proud “lipstick” lesbian. We’re prepared for a neo-noir movie to exist in a bleak and meaningless universe, but all that is a lot to take if you’re not expecting it.

That means that “Honey” might not be for everyone – but for those with a taste for it will find a lot to appreciate.

Coen (directing solo from brother Ethan for the second time) exerts a more consistent control over tone this time out than with last year’s “Drive-Away Dolls,” while still maintaining the kind of unpredictable anarchy that ties it to the pulpy thrillers that inspired it. The heat-blasted Bakersfield setting gives the movie a sense of place that feels at once distinctive and universal, and there’s a clear love of cinema that manifests in subtle nods to numerous classic movies of the past. 

He also populates the movie with a smart, game cast who seem to embrace the chance to play outside their lines of their normal career. Plaza takes her familiar edge of vaguely hostile irony to new heights as Honey’s butch and antisocial “girl Friday,” and Evans clearly relishes the opportunity to go against type as a smug, slimy, self-satisfied pastor that seems like the polar opposite of his “Captain America” image. Lera Abrova is electrifying as a mysterious French femme fatale, while Charlie Day provides a great comic foil as a police detective who can’t quite get it through his head that Honey likes girls; Gabby Beans makes for yet another strong, intelligent female character as Honey’s assistant and confidant.

It’s Margaret Qualley’s movie, though. She gives a star performance as Honey, providing a welcome and much-needed portrait of a fully empowered female hero. She can outthink, outmaneuver, and see through any opponent she encounters, and she can look great doing it; she’s a genuine badass – and on top of all that, she’s queer, too! Qualley takes all of that and makes it convincing, proving once more that she’s an actor on her way to becoming an icon.

As for the movie itself, we won’t pull punches: It’s the kind of out-of-the-box film that people are either going to love or hate; so if you have a problem with any of what we just wrote about it, maybe you should just skip it. For everybody else, it’s a sexy, thrilling, funny and artfully filmed little gem, perfect for late summer enjoyment.

In the vibrant heart of West Hollywood’s nightlife, one name has become synonymous with electric performances and fearless self-expression: Prince Joshua. Known for his jaw-dropping gogo routines at world-famous venues like The Abbey, Joshua has long captivated queer bar-goers up and down the West Coast. But lately, it is not just his moves turning heads, it is his music.

Fresh off a double win at the Los Angeles Blade’s Readers Choice Awards, where he was named “Go-Go of the Year” and “Local Music Artist of the Year,” Joshua is keeping the momentum alive with his latest release, “QUAKE.” Dropping on his birthday, August 20, the high-energy single and self-directed music video are a celebration of individuality, confidence, and shaking off insecurities.

“‘QUAKE’ is for the bad bitches,” Joshua says with a smile. “It is about owning what makes you unique, living for your own approval, and letting go of anything that holds you back.”

This release follows the success of his debut EP Crowned, which dropped in January and offered a raw yet playful exploration of queer nightlife, dating, and self-love. The project’s six tracks and three music videos blended club-ready beats with deeply personal lyrics, marking Joshua’s arrival as a recording artist with something to say.

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Joshua’s artistry is rooted in his background as a performer. Originally from a small conservative town, his move to Los Angeles was an act of both self-preservation and self-celebration. “I grew up in a world that wasn’t made for someone like me,” he says. “But West Hollywood was made for people who express themselves through fashion, who are unapologetically queer. Here, the things I was bullied for are the things that are celebrated.”

He brings that same spirit to the stage, whether performing at WeHo Pride, SUMMERTRAMP, or in intimate club settings. His shows mix choreography, stunts, toe touches, splits, and costume changes, proving that gogo dancing is performance art at its finest. “While I respect the sex work industry, what I do is different. My performances come from a cheer background and combine music, movement, and fashion into one high-energy package.”

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With “QUAKE,” Joshua takes his vision even further. He wrote, produced, directed, and styled the project himself, weaving together elements of cheerleading, twerking, and bold visuals that radiate Leo-season confidence. It is a one-man production that showcases his versatility and commitment to his craft.

As he looks ahead to his next EP and more collaborations with fellow queer artists, Joshua’s message remains consistent. “Every day you get a chance to be yourself and inspire others to do the same,” he says. “This world is not always kind to us, but we have each other. So take up space, use your voice, share your art, and never let anyone dim your light.”

With moves that dazzle, bars that bite, and a creative vision that refuses to be boxed in, Prince Joshua is proving there is more than one way to rule the stage. And with “QUAKE,” he is making sure everyone feels the aftershocks.

Watch “QUAKE”

Belinda Carlisle thought this was going to be a calm summer. She says this now was a laugh.

Back in April, Carlisle reunited with The Go-Go’s at Coachella after the band’s last performance in 2022. What struck her was the young audiences that turned out knowing all the words — not the usual demographic for the band, she tells The Blade.

“It was like a feather in the cap. We got together for that festival, so I don’t think there’s going to be any more Go-Go’s, but I’ve learned you can never say never,” Carlisle says. “And I’m really blessed that people even care to talk to me, to be honest.”

But today, we’re not here to talk about The Go-Go’s. After the band’s public split in 1985, Carlisle transitioned into a high-profile solo career, one that continues with the release of her newest cover album, “Once Upon a Time in California,” on Aug. 29. As Carlisle switches gears — contributing to that not-so-calm summer she laughed about – she prepares to share tributes to iconic songs by The Carpenters (“Superstar”), Harry Nilsson (“Everybody’s Talkin”) and The Hollies (“The Air That I Breathe”) in a soulful tribute to home.

As a California native from Burbank and Thousand Oaks, Carlisle felt compelled to look back on her influences, and she started from a pool of a hundred songs. “The concept for this, first of all, were California radio songs that I loved,” Carlisle says, citing The Beach Boys. “I think we all wish we could have a time machine and go back in time … it’s more of a tribute to a dream of California and an idea.”

Carlisle hasn’t lived in California since 1994, when the devastating Northridge earthquake occurred, leaving her a spectator to the many changes the music industry has been through over the past three decades. Her new album arrives during a particularly tumultuous and deadly year for the state, with the wildfires that raged through the Palisades and the continued struggles in the film industry.

“It was inspiring to see people really step up to help others in the midst of so much loss and sadness — you could see humanity at work,” Carlisle says.

Beyond her music, Carlisle is constantly recognized for her allyship to the LGBTQ+ community. Her status as a gay icon became clear in the late ‘70s “punk days” while performing in The Go-Go’s. “My attitude was always, well, they have the best taste. I know it’s a cliché thing to say, but it’s true,” she says.

One of her biggest hits, “Heaven is a Place on Earth,” even became an official queer love anthem. In 2016’s “Black Mirror: San Junipero,” the song connects the two female protagonists who fall for each other, tying the story together thematically. While Carlisle admits to never getting around to watching the episode, she still recognizes its undeniable impact.

“It brought a whole new life to that song [from 1987]. It brought a whole new demographic of fans for me,” Carlisle says. “I heard that the way it’s used was really clever. And actually, the director of the episode had to have that song — that was what the whole episode was about. So I have to [finally] see it. I always kind of forget everything.”

A throughline in her decades-spanning career is Carlisle recognizing that allyship shouldn’t feel like a conscious effort. And that’s especially true in a year that has already seen countless attacks on queer and trans rights.

“Most of my friends are gay and lesbian, and I just always felt a real duty to do what I could,” Carlisle says. “I know that I will always continue to do what I can to be a voice for the community, especially having a son that’s being affected by all this.”

In a Los Angeles nightlife stacked with countless LGBTQ+ clubs and events, there’s never been a party quite like Queer Liberasian. 

For more than five years this showcase of Asian American and Pacific Islander (AAPI) artistry has been a pillar of the DTLA queer scene. A combination of community fundraiser and nonstop party, the event (which takes place 2-4 times throughout the year) promises a raging dancefloor and a stage filled with the best AAPI talent Angelinos could ask for. Starting in 2018, it quickly gained national attention; whether it be a visit from openly queer South Asian idol, Lara Raj of Katseye, or donations of free product from makeup moguls like Patrick Starr, it has risen to become one of the most celebrated evenings of cultural talent in the country. But beyond being a fun, inclusive night out, what truly sets Queer Liberasian apart? Its founder, Andre Lawes Menchavez, sat down with the LA Blade to describe how this pulse-pounding evening of communal unity began the way most great things in life do: a queer person being extra. 

“[Back in 2018], I was a freshman in college,” Said Menchavez, reminiscing on the first time they hosted Queer Liberasian. “I had to do a leadership project [to create a community program] and I asked myself, ‘What do I care about?’ I thought about my organizing roots, my queer Asian identity, and how I’ve been dancing since I was a kid, and thought, ‘What’s a blend of all three of those things?’” And thus, the fundraiser was born, with the writer and community organizer turning a homework assignment into one of the most popular queer parties in LA. 

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Cultural nights aren’t uncommon in Los Angeles; numerous clubs, from Precinct DTLA to Beaches, boast evenings curated for specific identities and racial groups. But Menchavez’s goal was always to create something different, an evening of inclusivity that supports its patrons long after 2AM hits and they’re ushered out of the door. They clarify that profit was never the goal, saying “We’re using nightlife as an accessible way for people to get involved within community organizing…[with] 100% of ticket proceeds at every single show always going to a nonprofit.” It’s a selfless mentality (something almost entirely unheard of in the club scene) that has provided numerous organizations with vital funds — a type of support that these groups, and those they serve, need more than ever. 

“A lot of Queer Liberasian is in response to things that are happening in our climate right now,” The creator explained, delving into how the event has evolved in response to the increasingly hate-filled political climate. They detail how, with discriminatory voices becoming more and more vocal, it’s become even more important for LGBTQ+ folks to have places where they can feel truly safe in. “[Queer Liberasian] is a space of healing — it’s so hard to be out in the world, but when you come [in here], you’re swaddled with the warmth of knowing that you are accepted and seen.” They go on to describe how they’ve done things like host an “emergency party” quickly after the last election or prioritize donating funds to programs supporting the LGBTQ+-youth the current administration is targeting, all the while encouraging attendees to take the proud queer energy of this showcase into their own communities. It’s a kind of valuable, affirming organizing that reminds locals of their power while supporting numerous essential causes…and, as Menchavez proudly admits, it’s only possible because of him. 

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Whether it’s booking talent, reserving a venue, or purchasing every visual aspect of the show with their own money, the organizer works almost completely by themself to ensure each Queer Liberasian is the best it can be. Like every advocate, Andre has moments of burnout, of wondering if this is all worth it and if they should just take a break — but their community keeps them going. “[Whenever it feels too hard] my go-to is always to think about my ancestors and the people that have come before me,” they explained. “I’m Indigenous and Filipino, and both cultures have deep histories of struggle, violence, [and] queer erasure. They’ve overcome a lot, and I can, too.” 

Throughout this conversation, one thing quickly became clear: Los Angeles has never seen a party like Queer Liberasian. While many advocates are only now realizing that their community’s joy can be merged with the ongoing fight against discrimination, Menchavez has understood this since day one and curated an event centered around this revolutionary sentiment. It’s what created this showcase for artists who are too often overlooked, a fundraiser for organizations who fight tirelessly every day, and, perhaps most important of all, a time for Queer people in Los Angeles to remember that they are not alone in the ongoing fight for justice.  

It’s this mission that truly sets Queer Liberasian apart. Because as Menchavez made clear, yes, these are fun parties and a celebration of identity. But they’re also a reminder: in times when being LGBTQ+ is political, nothing is more radical than unabashed queer joy. 

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In an age where authenticity is currency and cannabis is culture, Loud and Proud is the ultimate crossover event. Popping off at The Abbey on Thursday, August 28th, this year’s festivities elevate the radical joy of queer and cannabis culture to a whole new level. With a lineup that serves up genre-bending music and advocacy, the Loud and Proud free community event gives way to inclusive expression. Light ‘er up, buttercup.

Enter S.I.A.T., the soulful multi-disciplinary artist behind SLAPTUAL sound (spiritual music that slaps), whose name (and ethos) was born from alignment with a dash of happenstance. Hailing from Sacramento but flying on a frequency entirely her own, S.I.A.T. joins the Loud and Proud music festival to perform for and connect with her fellow citizens of the world, bringing her unapologetic authenticity, R&B realness, and healing energy to a sea of folks ready to vibe to something real. We had the chance to connect with S.I.A.T. ahead of her performance to talk about cannabis, community, and what it means to claim your voice, even if you’re still stuck in a tree.

In our interview, she shares how cannabis, community, and compassion fuel both her art and her mission to connect with people on a healing frequency.

You’re performing at Loud and Proud: Tracing the Smoke Back to Its Source on August 28th at The Abbey. How does the event’s theme — celebrating cannabis and inclusive spaces — resonate with your personal values and artistic identity?

I think it’s really beautiful. While I might not be directly part of the LGBTQIA+ community, I absolutely believe that music, cannabis, and all kinds of spaces should be inclusive and expansive — open to people from all walks of life. That’s something I truly strive to express in my music.

I make spiritual music, and I intentionally create it for people who may not be at the end of their healing journey, or who might not have the “right” language or understanding yet. You’ve got to meet people where they are and make them feel welcome at any stage. That’s something I believe is essential in any community — making sure there’s something for everyone, no matter who walks through the door.

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Your tracks like “Stay In My Lane,” “Where’s the Lie,” and “Thoughts of You” offer this balance of vulnerability and strength. How do you approach merging emotional honesty with slick R&B production?

Honestly? I don’t put too much thought into it — that’s just who I am. Speaking my truth comes naturally. Music is a form of manifestation. What you say in music has the power to become reality, so I use it as a way to shape experiences into something beautiful and real.

R&B is a perfect fit for that — it’s my natural vibe. I grew up on the genre and all its evolutions. So it just aligns with me and the kind of emotion I want to express.

Can you think of a moment where you wrote a lyric that made you stop and go, “Whoa — I really said that”?

Yes, actually! In “Where’s the Lie,” I wrote:
“Sometimes I lose my ways — that’s the heart in me. But if I don’t choose myself, I’ll lose a part of me.”

When I wrote it, it flowed out naturally. But sitting with it later, I realized how powerful it was. We’re human. We make mistakes, we give too much, or not enough — that’s part of life. But if you don’t actively choose yourself, if you don’t make that conscious decision to prioritize your own growth and well-being, you risk losing your spark, your motivation, even your identity.

At the time, I was in a season of finally choosing myself. I remember thinking, “Okay… who do I think I am?!” [laughs]

Dream collab — past or present. Who would it be, and why?

Erykah Badu. Easily.

She came into the neo-soul space with a completely unique sound — people compared her to Billie Holiday, who also had a style that was unfamiliar at the time but absolutely undeniable. Badu never let adversity dim her light. Her lyricism, her musical choices, the way she hears melody — it’s visionary. She’s had a huge influence on me, and I admire her so much.

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You’re originally from Sacramento. How has your local scene — and that “slap show” sound — shaped your musical path?

Sacramento is where it all began for me. When I started, I was more involved in the visual arts scene — painting, fashion, sculpture. It was a really immersive and supportive space. As I transitioned into music, I found another layer of community.

“Slap show music” actually came from a TikTok moment! I made a video and said, “I make spiritual music that slaps.” A woman commented, half-joking, “Oh, so you make slap show music? Please don’t block me!” [laughs] I was like… wait, that’s genius.

The name stuck. Just like “Stuck In A Tree” — my artist name — which also came to me through my creative process and community. Everything I’ve built stems from that foundation in Sacramento.

Tell me more about the name “Stuck In A Tree.” It’s so memorable.

It started back in high school. I was always artsy — a painter, designer, sculptor — and when Instagram was still new, I made my handle “StuckInATree.” I got that name because my art teacher used to label our tables by animal personality. I was at the squirrel table — I guess I had that squirrely, high-energy vibe!

When I started doing music in 2018, I told the studio my name was “Stuck In A Tree,” and they abbreviated it to “S.I.A.T.” I didn’t even realize it until someone came in, saw it, and said, “Yo, SI — that’s a fire name.” And it clicked. I thought, “Okay, I’m SI now.” [laughs] It all felt given to me — like pieces of a bigger picture.

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Back to Loud and Proud — the event connects cannabis and culture. How do you see cannabis intersecting with creative expression and liberation?

For so long, cannabis was criminalized, hidden, even though it grows from the earth and offers so many healing benefits. The LGBTQIA+ community has faced similar experiences — being misunderstood, pushed aside, and denied autonomy.

Now, both are reclaiming space. Cannabis is becoming recognized for its healing properties, and LGBTQIA+ individuals are increasingly able to live openly and joyfully. These worlds intersect through expression, healing, and authenticity. Events like this highlight how far we’ve come — and how much more expansive our culture can be when we embrace freedom and reject judgment.

What does owning your voice as a woman of color mean to you? What do you want the next generation to take from your journey?

Owning my voice gives me an endless flow of confidence. It’s not always easy — but every time I show up as myself, I’m an example for another young girl who looks like me. I want her to know: you don’t have to wait for permission.

I believe representation is power. When you see someone who shares your background doing something you’ve dreamed of, it lifts invisible weights. It’s no longer “impossible” — it’s within reach. That’s what I want to pass on.

What’s something your younger self believed that you’ve completely rewritten?

My dad used to say, “Sweetie, not everyone is like us.” I didn’t get it at the time, but now I do. I’ve always been giving, genuine, and trusting — and I used to think everyone operated that way. I’ve learned to protect that part of myself.

Being kind is a gift, not a weakness. I wish I had seen that earlier — that these traits are actually my superpowers. They deserve to be guarded and given wisely.

What role do events like Loud and Proud play in shaping the future of entertainment — and society?

They break boundaries. Events like this cross-pollinate — music, cannabis, healing, community. I’m actually being sponsored for the first time by Tree X Lines, a beautiful company that advocates for connection and culture, and it’s such a full-circle moment for me.

We’re moving into a future where gatekeeping is fading. Independent artists like myself are running our own labels, building real communities, and showing that you don’t need a corporation to validate your art. It’s about collaboration — not competition.

What can fans expect from your performance? Are there any songs you’re especially excited to share?

Vibes, energy, connection — I’m coming to really meet people where they are. I’ll be performing fan favorites like “Stay in My Lane” and “Where’s the Lie,” but I’m also previewing two unreleased tracks from my upcoming debut album, Space Cadet.

One of those songs is called “Doing Me,” and it’s like “Stay in My Lane,” but with top-down, valley-girl-in-L.A. energy. It’s giving sunshine, clarity, and confidence — and I can’t wait to share it.

What message do you hope fans take from your music and story?

Honestly, the messages I’ve gotten from fans say it better than I ever could. People tell me my music helped them through depression, made them better parents, helped them leave toxic relationships, or reconnect with their power.

When I first put my music out, I was just trying to feel better. I didn’t have some grand mission. But now I see that showing up authentically — and vulnerably — gives others permission to do the same. That’s what my music does. It becomes their affirmation, their self-talk, their transformation.

What’s next for S.I.A.T? What can we expect in the near future?

Big things. I just launched my independent label, Slap Show Music Records, and I’m building a platform that supports not just musicians but artists of all kinds — producers, poets, designers, community leaders.

My 11-track debut album Space Cadet is on the way. There may or may not be a local tour brewing. Definitely merch. Definitely more collabs. I want to use this platform to uplift others, break down industry walls, and keep expanding this community in a meaningful way.

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Loud and Proud is FREE, RSVP HERE.

Thursday, August 28th, 6 – 9 pm,

The Abbey: 692 N ROBERTSON BLVD, WEST HOLLYWOOD

For decades and centuries, powerful institutions, governments, and cultural forces have deliberately erased our stories. They have tried to rewrite the record, to silence our voices, and to make our existence invisible. Today, this erasure takes new forms: laws banning trans books, curricula wiped clean of our narratives, and efforts to erase us from public life altogether. Yet despite these attacks, trans history remains alive and accessible if you know where to look and who is telling the story.

At the forefront of this resistance is artist and filmmaker Zackary Drucker. Through her groundbreaking work, she does more than tell stories; she reclaims history. “I’m not in it for me. I’m in it for the justice. I’m in it for creating more equality. Equality is very important to me—that we all are able to live in parity with each other,” Drucker told me. This commitment animates every film, every story, and every archive she restores, reminding us that trans history is not just about remembering the past but shaping a more equitable future.

“I sought out the legends in the queer community because they made me feel anchored,” Drucker said. “Having intergenerational relationships — it’s the best stuff in life.” That instinct to look to elders, absorb their wisdom, and carry their stories forward animates all of Drucker’s work.

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Take Disclosure, the 2020 documentary she co-produced, which exposes the powerful role media has played in shaping how trans people are seen, often as stereotypes, villains, or punchlines. “As opponents to our rights assert that we popped up ten years ago,” Drucker explained, “the only offset to that is to highlight examples from deep history and say, actually, that is not true.” The film makes clear that representation is not neutral. The stories told on screens large and small have real consequences for our lives.

In Framing Agnes, Drucker turns to another hidden archive: the trans people who participated in early gender research studies in the 1960s. For years, their experiences were reduced to clinical notes and case files, erased from public memory. But through reenactment and personal testimony, she and her collaborators restore their voices. “One of us can’t do it singularly,” she said. “It really is strength in numbers.” The film becomes a reminder that history is not lost. It is waiting in the archives, waiting to be reclaimed.

The Stroll brings us back to the streets of New York’s Meatpacking District, a vanished neighborhood where trans women of color carved out community and joy despite relentless policing and violence. The neighborhood’s erasure through gentrification mirrors broader societal attempts to erase trans lives. “Our predecessors are speaking through us at this point because we’re here,” Drucker reflected. “And I realized today — now it’s me. Now it’s you. Now we have to tell these stories. It’s up to us to keep them alive.”

Her latest work, Enigma, delves into the intertwined lives of two trans icons whose histories speak to the complexities of identity, secrecy, and legacy. Set against the backdrop of a legendary Parisian nightclub, the film explores how trans people have forged sisterhood and sanctuary even when the world sought to silence them. “Being stealth gave some people safety,” Drucker told me, “but it also meant erasing yourself to be accepted.” For Drucker, the film is about reclaiming those hidden lives and making them visible again. “We need reminders that we’ve always been here, and that we have a future worth fighting for.”

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What unites all of these works is not just their artistry, but their urgency. “Hope is central to survival,” Drucker said. “We won’t survive without it.” In a time when it would be easy to give in to despair, Drucker reminds us that reclaiming history is not just about remembering the past. It is about sustaining our future.

This Trans History Month, as forces still work to erase us, let us remember that our history is not only a record of struggle but also a source of strength and identity. It is ours to reclaim, to share, and to celebrate. Through films, art, and storytelling, trans people are ensuring that our history is never lost again. And as Drucker puts it with a touch of whimsy and profound truth: “At the last—the last human on Earth, they’ll be telling their story to a squirrel. Humans will tell stories forever.”

Check out the full interview:

LAS VEGAS — STLV, the annual Star Trek Las Vegas convention — hosted by Creation Entertainment — this month brought together fans of all ages, abilities, and affections for the many incarnations of the 59-year-old science fiction franchise, from the original TV series to new streaming shows and online games. 

Boldly going among them were dozens, if not hundreds, of LGBTQ Trekkies and Trekkers alike, living the ideal that predates DEI by more than 50 years: An anagram that Trek creator Gene Roddenberry devised as the basis of Vulcan philosophy (as well as an early merchandising opportunity).

I.D.I.C.

“‘Infinite Diversity In Infinite Combinations,’” TrekCulture podcaster Seán Ferrick told the Los Angeles Blade. “This is the type of community that is tailor-made for embracing,” said Ferrick, who identifies as pansexual. “The truth is a lot of the world doesn’t do that.”

Ferrick traveled from Wexford County, Ireland, to attend what he called “the biggest Star Trek convention of the year on the planet,” and to judge a cosplay competition. 

“They might be wearing Vulcan ears or they might have Ferengi teeth or something, but this is a tailor-made community about spreading love and joy,” he said. “So, when I walk into something like this, what I see is, for a large part, the world as it should be. There is hope out there. I stand at something like this and I see nothing but hope.” 

This was the first Star Trek convention this reporter has attended since 1978, and some things have not changed. There was a huge amount of Trek-related merchandise for sale, from tribbles to jewelry and model spaceships. Actor and first-time author Nana Visitor of Star Trek: Deep Space Nine sold out copies of her groundbreaking book about the women in front of the camera and behind the scenes of the franchise, Open a Channel: A Woman’s Trek. And the only people who stood out in the crowd of thousands were the ones not wearing a costume. Three fans put together amazing Vulcan outfits that will appear in an episode that has not even streamed yet, just based on what they saw in a trailer. Some folks even dressed up their dogs. 

David’s homemade Starfleet uniform resembles a miniskirt but is called a skant. Male actors as well as women wore them on Star Trek: The Next Generation, and he was hardly the only man wearing one at STLV. 

“There is nowhere else I would probably walk around in a dress,” he said. “I came last year for the first time and this was the most comfortable I’ve felt.” That was especially true, given that on this day, the temperature reached a high of 109 degrees in Las Vegas. 

David is a gay man from Sheffield in Northern England who said he used to call Los Angeles home. He described his skant as “Pride for Star Trek” and was gratified by the reception of other convention-goers to his cosplay. 

“There’s just no judgment. No matter whether someone’s costume looks really homemade, whether it’s really professional, everyone still appreciates that you’re part of the fandom.” 

Peeved at Paramount 

Judgment, however, was on the minds of some stars who identify as LGBTQ. They talked with the Los Angeles Blade about their fears that Skydance’s purchase of Paramount, the company that produces Star Trek, would change the franchise’s legendary embrace of diversity, to further appease the Trump administration as it works to eliminate DEI. 

“We only have to look at the parent network of this series alone, where Star Trek lives now, where they have bent the knee in order to sell this studio to a right-wing, Trump-loving owner,” said out gay actor Wilson Cruz, who played one of the first out gay characters in the franchise in Star Trek: Discovery and was a trailblazer when he played Rickie Vasquez on My So-Called Life. Cruz was blunt in his criticism of the Paramount sale to Skydance.

“Shari Redstone had no problem selling out the entire company and everyone who works there, and all of the people who have been on screen representing people of color, the LGBTQ community,” said Cruz. “She has completely turned her back in order to keep her family richer than they ever need to be.”

Cruz is also worried for queer representation in the current era, and not just on Trek. 

“I think in this moment in history, it means a lot more to me now than it even meant eight months ago, which it meant a lot to me then, but given the fact that we’re going to start seeing less and less of us on TV, we’re being erased,” he said. “And because we are being erased, because we are being shamed again, it’s really important to celebrate the success of the representation that we have had, to remind people why it’s important for people to be able to see themselves, to have their lives mirrored back at them, to inspire them through our stories, that that kind of storytelling has value and relevance and has even more relevance today.” 

In between signing autographs, Cruz voiced gratitude for the fans who say his portrayals reflected their lived experiences.

“I’m incredibly moved every time somebody comes by, whether they’re talking about Rickie Vasquez or Hugh Culber, that I’ve been able to give people a voice and a story that they can identify with that makes them feel like they belong, in a moment where there’s so little of that.”

“I’m very fortunate to be part of two major things,” said Cruz’s Discovery costar, out gay actor Anthony Rapp. “Rent and Star Trek have these profound communities of fans around them. I say ‘fan.’ I mean, it’s not a word that I have any animosity toward. But it doesn’t quite speak to the level of connection to these pieces of art.” 

As for the deal Cruz railed against, Rapp said it was “too upsetting to engage too much.” 

“I’m on a little bit of a media brown-out because of having two toddlers. I’m certainly aware that Colbert was canceled, which is very upsetting. I heard Wilson mention something about Trump getting them to agree on a certain kind of media coverage,” he said, referring to the installation of an ombudsman, “who will receive and evaluate any complaints of bias or other concerns” at CBS News, according to The Hollywood Reporter. “I mean, that’s insane.”

Out actors Cruz and Rapp, who appeared on Star Trek: Discovery from 2017 until 2024, were among the more than 100 actors and creative types on hand who gained fame thanks to Trek and other sci-fi projects. They joined iconic fan favorites William Shatner, Scott Bakula, Kate Mulgrew, Jeri Ryan and Edward James Olmos — all of whom played captains of various fictional starships — in meeting their fans, face to face, for a price. 

Those fans, dressed in every conceivable and even inconceivable cosplay creations, stood for hours in long lines for a signed autograph and to pose for photos with their heroes. They packed ballrooms to hear behind-the-scenes stories at a wide variety of panel discussions and presentations. The best seats cost $1,400, with photos and autographs costing anywhere from $25 to $300 apiece. 

Meeting the Captain

This reporter was next in line to ask Shatner a question at his one and only appearance on stage, as he rhapsodized at length about nature, the planet, and beyond.

“We all belong to each other, and all of us belong to the rest of existence, the world, the universe,” said Shatner. “We are linked chemically and electronically with the word ‘quantum’ attached to it. ‘Quantum’ is the study of the small particles called atoms. We should all never forget the awesomeness, the incredible forces that we have no idea about that work everywhere in the universe. It also suggests that we are caretakers of our earth and we must, without question, care for the water, the air, the earth.”

It was at that point that the 94-year-old actor decided to end his hour-long talk, 10 minutes early. So, unable to ask him a question, I joined a queue with hundreds of attendees, who paid to have a moment with the original Captain James T. Kirk. There he was, seated on a chair at the end of the queue, as a fast-moving assembly line of fans stood by him for a very quickly posed photograph, and swiftly moved along. 

I had literally just enough time to utter one sentence, and so I asked him, “What message do you have for queer Trek fans?”

“Keep on queerin’!” said Shatner, with a smile captured in a photograph. 

That was a welcome message for two groups that celebrated their marginalized status in society: The Lambda Quadrant and the SyFy Sistas. 

Tamia, the SyFy Sistas podcast host, spoke at their panel about how in the past, there was backlash directed at Black fans, at “people that look like us and didn’t want us in the room,” she said. “That’s not what Star Trek is about. But I think it’s changing.”

“Many, many people come up to us at the table and say that historically they have not felt comfortable expressing their full and true selves, even here in the fandom,” said Ursa Wright of the Lambda Quadrant, a group dedicated to promoting queer representation in fandom. “We are the one table in the whole place with big rainbows everywhere. So, people, for a long time, they come up and they tell us they did not actually feel safe. Like, they can wear their Star Trek outfit, but nothing overtly expresses that they would be gay, or whatever it is, because they still didn’t feel comfortable, because no one else was in the space doing the thing. Which, in our year of the Lord, how are we still there, where people feel that?”

Boldly LGBTQ

The Blade asked queer fans what Star Trek means to them. 

“Accepting everyone,” said Sarah from Southern California. “Everybody is who they are.”

“Being free,” said Rachel from Nebraska. “To express anything and everything.” 

“Togetherness,” added David who hails from Nova Scotia. 

Boyfriends Anthony and Ryan said “acceptance” and “tolerance.” 

“Star Trek is what this world needs to strive for,” said Tom Noe of Pleasanton, Calif., a straight ally whose partner is pansexual. “Acceptance of all races, sexualities, regardless of what they are.” 

“It is a different way of looking at the world, and I appreciate that,” said Jess from Upstate New York. She was wearing a T-shirt emblazoned with a rainbow and the face of an omnisexual alien character from Star Trek: Deep Space Nine, and the words, “Friend of Garak.” When asked why she chose to wear that top, Jess said, “Because I’m gay.” 

“Sounds Gay, I’m In,” was the message on a shirt worn by a gay fan from New Jersey who asked to be identified as Sandra. “Because here is the only place I feel safe to be out. I’m not out with my family or my co-workers,” she said. “Star Trek makes me feel like there is hope that eventually I can live free. But I don’t know how it’s going to happen in the next couple of years.” 

“Let’s just say I have not been able to go to the entire convention without seeing a Trump hat,” said Kyla, an out transgender nonbinary fan who was visiting Las Vegas from just outside Sacramento. They said didn’t feel comfortable using the casino hotel’s strictly binary restrooms without an escort. “But I have felt more safe here than I have on the strip,” she conceded.

“We have nonbinary characters. We have same-sex characters and relationships, and we need more of that,” said a pansexual fan who goes by the nickname Hoops. “As the kids would say, Star Trek is very woke. Like, it just means you have a heart and, like, compassion,” she said. 

“There’s so much hate and so much bigotry and homophobia and transphobia. All of that,” said Hoops. “We’re just here to care about other people. And we just want to love other people.  And why do you care who someone’s in love with or who someone takes care of?  Or how they identify? What they’re wearing? If they’re wearing a skirt or pants? Does it really matter what path they’re taking?  And in Star Trek, nobody cares about any of that.” 

TrekTech

STLV also offered fans a chance to explore strange new immersive tech that allows them to virtually tour the Starship Enterprise, created by OTOY and The Roddenberry Archive. 

“We think about this stuff a lot,” said OTOY CEO Jules Urbach about LGBTQ+ representation in his digital exploration of the franchise, which started with the first film in 1979 and only grew after he became childhood friends with Roddenberry’s son, Rod, 40 years ago. “It’s really part of representing everything. And that’s a big part of Star Trek.” 

OTOY’s latest short film reunites two iconic characters using “digital masks:” Kirk visits Spock’s deathbed in “765874: Unification,” with actors Sam Witwer and Lawrence Selleck in the roles originated by William Shatner and the late Leonard Nimoy, respectively. 

“This is pretty magical,” Urbach told the Blade. “We’re really happy with how it turned out and how people interpreted it.” 

At star-studded panels, fans watched that short film and also learned of new shows in the pipeline and potential new movies. Next month, Paramount debuts a new audio drama podcast that tells the untold story of arch villain Khan Noonien Singh’s life in exile, featuring the voices of Naveen Andrews, best known for his role in Lost, and of gay icon George Takei, among others. 

“It’s never far from the minds of the people creating these shows that how important representation is, how vital it is,” Kirsten Beyer, executive producer of Star Trek: Khan and a nine-year veteran Trek producer and writer, told the Los Angeles Blade in a phone interview following the convention. “And never, ever more so than now.” 

Queer Stars, Allies

During a panel discussion with her out queer costar Jess Bush, Celia Rose Gooding of Star Trek: Strange New Worlds told the Blade she’s hoping to see more LGBTQ representation in the show, now in its third season streaming on Paramount+. 

“As a queer person, I would love to see more of it,” said Gooding, who plays Uhura and is preparing to film the fifth and final season starting next month. “I can neither confirm nor deny what we’re going to get because we haven’t seen a single script yet. But I think for so many reasons, it’s important for marginalized group to see themselves in the future.” 

“I’m a Greenwich Villager, so the LGBTQ world is my world, and it’s our world,” said Michelle Hurd, who played Raffi on Star Trek: Picard. In the series finale, written and directed by showrunner and LGBTQ ally Terry Matalas, Raffi is portrayed as the bisexual first officer who had a relationship with her bisexual captain, Seven of Nine, played by actress Jeri Ryan. “We’ve been here, we haven’t gone, we’re not going anywhere, and we’re going to be here until the end of time. And art is the way that we can convey those sort of stories. I hope that we continue to tell those stories more and I hope that this world continues to open its eyes, its arms, its hearts to the fact that love is love is love is love.”

Out gay actor and author Jonathan Del Arco — who played a Borg who became an individual named Hugh in both Picard and originally on The Next Generation — chose the convention to launch his children’s book about the search for belonging, identity and acceptance, Freddy the Alien. He told the Blade it was inspired by both his own childhood and his Trek career, and about the timing as immigration raids are in the news. 

“It’s a really important time to make kids feel included, and it’s tough,” said Del Arco, who attended the convention with his husband, Kyle Fritz. “We live in Los Angeles, and you can’t help but be surrounded by the immigrant experience, so you don’t even need the book to have that conversation. It’s happening all around,” he said. 

In a panel discussion, Del Arco revealed that although nothing was written about Hugh’s orientation, he chose to play him as having fallen in love with Evan Evagora’s character, Elnor, 

“I decided when I found out I was getting killed, and I had this young man on the ship, I figured it would be kind of cool if Hugh had found love for the first time, only to die. And he did.”

Andrew Robinson played a Cardassian named Garak on Deep Space Nine and confirmed to the Blade he “always” considered his character was something other than heterosexual, such as an omnisexual, even though his orientation was never revealed in the series. However, in 2024, he played Garak once more, in an episode of the animated series Star Trek: Lower Decks, created by LGBTQ+ ally Mike McMahan. This time his character was in a same-sex relationship with Dr. Julian Bashir, played by Alexander Siddig. 

“I’ve never played an alien before,” said Robinson. “And one of the things that occurred to me was, there are certain hang-ups that they don’t have that we have. And one of them was the whole thing about sexual identity.”

Terry Farrell, who played Jadzia Dax on Deep Space Nine, spoke about a 1995 episode, “Rejoined,” in which her character had a romantic relationship with another woman. Some Southern TV stations, primarily in the so-called “Bible Belt,” refused to air that episode. Many transgender fans have embraced Dax as someone who shares their experience of living in more than one gender, and “Rejoined” featured the first same-sex kiss in Trek.

“What I was most proud of was, in that episode, nobody talked about the fact that we were both women,” said Farrell. “I have goosebumps right now. Love is love. It doesn’t matter what package you come in. If that’s your one life, enjoy it, be you. It’s such a struggle in our culture to just be yourself. And clearly it can be dangerous to be yourself.  And that’s horrifying to me.” 

For the most part, this was an inclusive and entertaining event for one and all, especially for the many attendees who used wheelchairs and scooters to travel around the incredibly large convention space, which was located a considerable distance from the main casino hotel. But it’s only fair to point out that there were some issues, such as the lack of all-gender bathrooms. 

Observers also noted that although this 23^rd convention organized by Creation Entertainment was expanded to five days for the first time, it was not as well attended as 2024’s event. That’s in line with a trend that reports say has hit Las Vegas hard this summer, with tourism down 11 percent from a year ago. A spokesperson for Creation did not respond to an email request for comment on attendance. 

The Blade also asked for comment on what were described later as “inadvertent” slights to the one and only Black woman to appear on a panel of Star Trek writers at the convention on the evening of Saturday, Aug. 9. 

Once the four men and two men were introduced, the host — “Inglorious Treksperts” podcaster Mark A. Altman — had to be reminded that he had not invited Star Trek: Strange New Worlds story editor and episode writer Onitra Johnson to join them; she was still backstage, waiting. After finally being introduced, she was seated at the end of the stage next to legendary out gay screenwriter and author David Gerrold, who three times answered questions intended for Johnson. The third time, members of the audience interrupted him, shouting, “Let her speak!” which prompted Altman to blame “bad acoustics” in the ballroom. 

While fellow Treksperts podcaster Daren Dochterman called these repeated slights “inadvertent” in a face to face conversation with the Blade on Aug. 10, neither he nor Altman, nor Creation, officially responded to messages from the Blade seeking comment. 

CinePride Los Angeles is rolling out the rainbow carpet for Maxxie LaWow: Drag Super-Shero, a dazzling debut where empowerment meets camp with a whole lot of sparkle. At its heart is a story about transformation, resilience, and the power of stepping fully into who you are, no matter how much padding it takes. Bold, heartfelt, and joyfully comedic, Maxxie is here to serve a purpose with a whole lot of glam.

We caught up with Anthony Hand, the creator behind Maxxie, to talk about what ignited their super-powered vision, how they utilize film to spread empowerment and solidarity, and how one drag queen’s journey might just save the world while reminding us all to embrace every aspect that makes us who we are.

Maxxie LaWow is giving us Justin Sims’s Bad Hair meets Jem and the Holograms, but with a tuck. How did you conceive this project, and what were some of your theatrical and personal influences?

Well, in 2018, after watching what was actually a really good comic book movie, I found myself asking: where are all the superheroes in the LGBTQ+ family? At that time, I wasn’t aware of any Marvel or DC films featuring LGBTQ+ superheroes. So, I started imagining—if we had a superhero like that, what would their powers be? Who would they be? What would they represent and fight for? That brainstorming journey was really fun. Ultimately, I settled on a drag queen as the perfect representative of this kind of superhero I wanted to create. I’m a huge fan of drag and RuPaul’s Drag Race. Watching queens prepare for the runway every week, you really see the transformative power of drag.

Those queens share their personal journeys and challenges, and often describe how the process of getting into drag – tucking, padding, wigs, makeup – transforms them. Even if they’re shy or reserved in daily life, stepping into drag unleashes a bold, empowered persona. Drag acts as armor against hecklers and society’s negativity, which really resonated with me. That’s why I envisioned a story where Simon transforms from mild-mannered to bold, brassy Maxxie LaWow in a fun, fluffy superhero tale.

The transformation scene is, well… Wow

That was very much inspired by a Sailor Moon style sequence.
There’s definitely a small-town boy (cue Bronski Beat) vibe to Simon’s origin story. What audience were you aiming to reach with Maxxie LaWow: Drag Super Shero?

Growing up in a small farm town in the ’80s, Bronski Beat was one of my favorite bands, so that definitely influenced me. But more broadly, LGBTQ cinema often struggles to reach audiences beyond the LGBTQ community itself. I wanted this project to be accessible not just to LGBTQ viewers but to allies as well. Drag has become hugely popular, with events like DragCon in LA, New York, and London, and with RuPaul’s Drag Race becoming a dominant reality TV show globally.

As drag becomes more accessible, it helps allies see us as real people – neighbors, friends, family – which humanizes and advances LGBTQ+ civil rights. So I wrote this story with a core appeal to the community, but also with allies in mind. In fact, my mom is a huge fan of drag, so while writing, I kept asking myself, “Will my mom find this funny?” And also, “I hope RuPaul and Michelle Visage find this funny!” Drag truly brings people together, which you can see in the popularity of drag brunches, drag bingo, and drag trivia, where many attendees are allies.

Speaking of villains, what was Diabolical’s turning point in her origin story?

Great question. For world-building, I created detailed dossiers for all main and many secondary characters. Diabolical comes from a family of fashion innovators but didn’t inherit that talent herself. There are Easter eggs in the film—like the nightclub “Skirt and Girdle,” where Simon sees drag for the first time. That used to be a factory built by Diabolical’s grandmother, and there’s a statue of her in the courtyard.

Diabolical tanked her family fortune with poor fashion decisions on the runway, but as a chemist and beauty consultant, she discovered that drag queen tears have magical anti-aging properties. Though she lacked fashion talent, her creative ambition led her to launch a new cosmetic line based on this discovery.

Now, to our protagonist, Simon goes full purple peacock cocktail on his 21st—any fun stories from your own 21st birthday?

Oh boy. I was in college at Michigan State, and back then, 18+ could still enter bars. I definitely drank far too much on my 21st birthday. There were a few other college shenanigans, but those early experiences taught me I don’t love the room spinning. So, lessons learned.

There are a few subtle details throughout the film, like Jae recycling the can instead of tossing it, Maxxie tossing someone’s cigarette in the club, and Jae encouraging Simon not to resort to liquid courage. Were these intentional?

Yes! Jae recycling reflects my personal values about not littering, and it also shows her toughness when she smashes the can on her board. The cigarette scene was inspired by family members who smoked. I was always the one rolling down the window and asking them to stop. It also gave us a fiery hoop aerial scene, which was dramatic and fun.

Regarding Jae encouraging Simon not to get more liquid courage, that was a key moment I imagined early on. Jae tells Simon, “You’re fine as you are, just go talk to him now.” That push helped Simon transform into Maxxie LaWow for the first time.

Your film is showing at Cine Pride LA, What does it mean to you to showcase Maxxie in a community-rooted festival like this?

It means so much. Being selected as the opening film for the inaugural season of the CinePride Film Festival is a huge honor for me and the entire cast and crew. Many of us live in LA, so having a hometown theatrical screening is especially meaningful. Independent films rarely get big theatrical runs anymore, so festivals like this are vital to share our stories on the big screen.

Watching movies at home is great, but nothing compares to that cinematic experience. We’re extremely grateful for the opportunity to showcase the film to friends, colleagues, managers, and casting agents here.

Regarding the current climate across the US, how do you see Maxxie, our Super-Shero, responding to the ongoing anti-drag rhetoric?

Honestly, the anti-drag rhetoric is ridiculous and baseless. Drag queens have always played a huge role in uplifting LGBTQ+ communities through fundraisers, activism, and leadership. Think about the heroes who threw their heels at the Stonewall Riots or the Compton’s Cafeteria riots a year earlier in San Francisco. Drag performers absolutely deserve our respect, gratitude, and support. It’s heartbreaking, especially with recent events like Florida paving over the rainbow sidewalk outside the Pulse nightclub. It’s hateful and completely unacceptable.

The alt-right has found a convenient scapegoat in drag performers, even though the accusations are baseless. Meanwhile, actual criminals in religious and political leadership go unchecked. Drag performers commit zero crimes; they’re about community and joy. Supporting and uplifting drag artists is crucial to fighting this hate.

What would Maxie say to lawmakers trying to legislate drag out of public spaces? Feel free to answer in character.

If I imagine Maxxie as someone like Nina West – bold, brassy, and articulate – she’d probably clap back hard, maybe with some snarky social media posts. Or like Jinkx Monsoon, who’s been sharp in calling out politicians lately. I don’t have a direct quote, but Maxxie would definitely stand strong and fight back with humor and heart.

The film features a post-credit scene. Is that a hint for a sequel or a series?

Yes! The bonus scene reveals more about the Three Demon Cats and their role beyond Diabolical’s control. It bookends the story nicely. I’d love to see Maxxie picked up for a series or web shorts, or even comic books. For now, we just need people to watch the film so we can make that happen.

What do you hope young folks, especially in small towns, take away from Maxxie’s journey from shy Simon to full-blown super-shero?

Growing up in the ’70s and ’80s, positive LGBTQ+ representation was almost nonexistent. Often, queer characters were villains or victims. Now, we have more affirming stories, but we still need heroes. Maxxie’s core message is about finding the courage to be your authentic self. It’s a fun, PG-13 film but great for drag fans of all ages. I wanted something welcoming that questioning kids and families can watch together, which is rare for LGBTQ+ films.

What’s a pluot? And was that a nod to the oh-so yummy and oh-so campy 1969 film The Gay Deceivers?

I recently watched The Gay Deceivers! It was both brilliant and horrifying. It wasn’t an intentional reference, but I love that you made the connection. The pluot represents Diabolical’s ego and pretense, maybe a nod to wealthy socialites.

What impact do you hope Maxxie LaWow will have on communities across the country, especially as rights are under threat?

Maxxie is campy, fun, and uplifting; a cozy, low-stakes film with a lot of heart. I hope it brings people together, reminds everyone that LGBTQ+ folks deserve to live freely and authentically, and engages allies in a positive way. It’s a communal experience — drag is always better with friends.

In one glitter glazed sentence, how would you describe Maxxie LaWow?

Maxxie LaWow is a bold and brassy queen who may not be the cleverest in the room but has the will and determination to do the right thing and help those in need.

CinePride runs September 11 – 14, 2025 at Landmark Theatres Sunset.

For more information, visit CinePride.org 

In a jukebox musical twist on Romeo & Juliet, Britney Spears, Katy Perry, and Backstreet Boys songs become hilarious and endearing anthems of newfound love, self-discovery, and fresh starts in the endlessly entertaining North American tour of & Juliet.

Making its successful transition over to Los Angeles, this show’s energetic ensemble immediately stands out. While Romeo & Juliet ends with both of the star-crossed lovers tragically taking their lives, & Juliet posits a simple question — what if Juliet didn’t take her life over someone she knew for just five days?

Beyond giving Juliet a new start, this show features multiple messy relationships that are delightful to watch unfold through Luke Sheppard’s direction. There’s the central dynamic between Anne Hathaway (Teal Wicks) and the deadpan William Shakespeare (Corey Mach), which gets increasingly complicated as Anne is the one attempting to rewrite the story, questioning Shakespeare’s genius and motives in hilarious bits along the way. But the surprise standout comes in the surprise connection between Lance (Paul-Jordan Jansen) and Angélique (Kathryn Allison), Juliet’s nurse and biggest supporter.

Rachel Simone Webb, who stars as Juliet and was a member of the original Broadway cast, takes the stage with her majestic voice in a cover of “…Baby One More Time” — earning a well-deserved standing ovation during the Friday night showing. Another standout, Nick Drake, plays May, who feels a flame for the refreshingly dorky Francois (Mateus Leite Cardoso) after a chance encounter. But things get complicated as Francois proposes to Juliet, feeling like his father, Lance, won’t support him falling in love with the non-binary May.

The hilarious Ben Jackson Walker, who originated the role of Romeo in the original Broadway production, joins the company, making a meal of the moment when the once-dead lover reappears at the end of the first act. Romeo’s appearance means that the rules of the story are constantly being rewritten. And there are certainly moments where & Juliet leans into the meta, but its biggest tool is its sincerity; the show avoids relying too much on its referential framing device as a crux, which it comes close to.

While the colorful staging and costumes that play on both classic and modern fashion certainly add to the production value, there are moments when the flashiness of & Juliet becomes all too distracting. The bottom half of the stage effectively serves as Juliet’s bedroom, a street outside a ball, and a wedding venue without much re-organization needed. The issue comes with the upper half of the stage, which uses a screen with colorful designs that often appear during big music sequences. This makes it often difficult to know where to look with so much movement already happening, taking away from the undeniable stage presence of this incredible ensemble.

Thankfully, the second act of the show slows down, allowing for more intimate moments as Juliet is forced to contend with her lasting feelings for Romeo, Nick questions their place in the world and Anne sees the writing on the wall. As the show builds up to its climactic wedding (in true Shakespeare fashion), truths are forced out into the open, and these complicated love stories find their fitting conclusion.

The Los Angeles production of & Juliet makes for a fun night out on the town, and because the actors embrace the cheesiness without any hesitation, it’s hard not to be singing along by the end. Despite the premise, Juliet’s arc in the show is less about her saying no to love or no to a man, but making an active choice in her life. That’s a choice that all of us deserve to make, and this show celebrates that in true jukebox fashion.

& Juliet runs Wednesday, August 13 to Sunday, September 7, 2025 at the Ahmanson Theatre, Los Angeles / Tuesday, September 9 to Sunday, September 21, 2025 at Segerstrom Hall, Segerstrom Center for the Arts, Costa Mesa

Like so many others of my generation, I first became aware of Terence Stamp when he appeared as General Zod in 1978’s “Superman,” and I was struck by the fact that, despite his relatively short screen time and the fact that I had never heard of him, he was featured in the movie’s advertising as if he were a major player.

As a budding young cinema nerd, that, coupled with the cool charisma he projected through his villainous turn as an interplanetary supercriminal, piqued my attention. It wasn’t long thereafter when a late-night broadcast of “Billy Budd” – the 1962 film version of Herman Melville’s posthumously published novella in which the then-young Stamp was first thrust into stardom – introduced me to him as he had been introduced to the world that came before me. And it was electrifying.

Here was a young actor whose breathtaking beauty was rendered even more irresistible by his palpable intelligence and his carefree disregard of contemporary standards of masculinity. I was captured by the ease with which he embodied his role as young 19th-century sailor, conscripted into service on a British warship and turned into an outcast for his gentle nature and optimistic spirit; pitted against an aggressively masculine superior whose obsessive dislike of him snowballs into tragedy, he embodied a quality that resonated deeply with parts of myself I was still not fully prepared to explore. Though I may have been too young to catch all the obvious queer subtext that was built into the story by Melville himself (Google it if you’re skeptical), I knew that there was something about this movie that had been ignored or missed outright when it was released. The film was largely dismissed as a weak and pointless effort, almost certainly because of a refusal to acknowledge its homoerotic subtext – but that I somehow understood and into which I felt immediately entwined, all because I recognized something of myself in Stamp’s near-angelic personification of the role.

I was not the only one, nor was I the first. Coming into the public spotlight in a time when post-war British austerity was yielding to new and more socially aware attitudes toward masculinity and sexual expression, Stamp – who received his first and only Oscar nomination for “Billy Budd,” despite its lukewarm reception – soon became a fixture of “mod” popular culture, parlaying his confidently androgynous appeal into international stardom. He was a film star who worked with revered artists like Fellini and upstart auteurs like Pasolini, half of the era’s “it” couple with model Jean Shrimpton, and a jet-setting fashion plate as famous for his sense of style as for his skills in front of the camera.

Indeed, while he was the embodiment of his era’s particular flavor of fame and glamour, the kind of stardom afforded to more conventionally masculine UK-born contemporaries – like Sean Connery, Michael Caine, or Peter O’Toole – eluded him. Adored by the glitterati, he was ignored by the mainstream, who found his work in films like “The Collector” (as a deeply repressed sexual predator who kidnaps a young woman) or “Far From the Madding Crowd” (opposite fellow “mod” icon Julie Christie) too challenging, too ambiguous and vaguely transgressive to fully embrace, no matter the considerable appeal of his physical beauty. In hindsight, it’s easy to recognize the brilliance of his boundary-pushing work during these early “salad days,” but to the masses of the time, there was perhaps something too uncomfortable about the feelings he evoked onscreen.

And then, there was Pasolini’s “Teorema,” in which he played an angelic, otherworldly figure who seduces an entire Italian bourgeois family – mother, father, son, daughter, and maid – without regard for conventional notions of sexuality or socially condoned boundaries. More than any other film, perhaps, it was the lightning rod through which his entire film career would eventually be illuminated. Confidently embodying a radical vision of sexual fluidity before the language for such things was even available in common public discourse, he became a symbol of gender ambiguity decades before appearing in the film that would eventually cement his legacy as a queer cinema icon: 1994’s “The Adventures of Priscilla, Queen of the Desert,” in which his stately portrayal of a transgender drag performer mentoring a pair of younger queerlings earned him a well-deserved and long-overdue “comeback.”

In the intervening years, of course, there was “Superman” and its 1980 sequel, in which he turned a one-dimensional villain into a fan-favorite symbol of elegantly campy outsider-ism. Before that, there was a retreat from the spotlight, during which he explored his spiritual side in India; after, he embarked on a whole new career of boundary-pushing projects (like Stephen Frear’s 1984 gangster-centered character study “The Hit”) and mainstream cameos (as in 1987’s “Wall Street” and 1988’s “Young Guns”). But it was “Priscilla” – despite a later appearance in the “Star Wars” franchise (in 1999’s “The Phantom Manace”) – that permanently cemented him in the cinematic firmament, embodying a dignified, confident, and utterly aspirational portrait of queer identity that continues to inspire today.

After my discovery of “Billy Budd,” all of Stamp’s work was on my radar; but alas, in an industry that values easy conformity over open-minded exploration, so much of his career remained obscured in the public eye by indifference; I went on the journey undertaken by countless fans before me, disturbed by “The Collector,” titillated by “Madding Crowd,” and thrillingly corrupted by the radical transgressiveness of “Teorema.” I was further drawn to his performances in “The Hit” and “The Limey,” and forever empowered by his unflagging commitment to challenging his audiences in a way I had to assume he wanted to challenge himself. In the end, there was far too little of Terence Stamp in the public imagination than he deserved – and that, perhaps more than anything else, made me enthralled by his unique place in pop culture history.

And while it may have been “Priscilla” that introduced him to a new audience of queer fans, just as “Superman” had brought him back into a spotlight he had long since abandoned, it was ultimately his fearless dedication to stretching cultural boundaries around sex, gender, masculinity, and identity itself that made him the unsung giant we are left to mourn in the wake of his passing last week, at age 87 – a personal hero for myself and the countless other queer people who saw what he was doing and found themselves magnified, validated, and truly seen because of it. Never content to be defined as a sex symbol, a leading man, or any other easily-categorized “type” (though he openly discussed his non-conforming sexual leanings, he always declined to identify as “bisexual” or “queer” or any of the other labels we all feel so compelled to embrace in our militant modern age), he instead embodied a spirit of open-minded exploration and individually-defined humanity, in which cultural boundaries and expectations are not only unnecessary, but counter to our national inclinations to live an authentic life.

If I had been a movie star, I would have wanted to be the kind of movie star that Terence Stamp was – and that is saying a lot.