It’s the connections that filmmakers cultivate over the years — whether it be the series regular they know from writing on a hit show over a decade ago, or simply knowing the person who cuts a certain actor’s hair — that can bring moments full circle. For Los Angeles-based horror director Mike Zara, that full circle moment came when casting his directorial debut, Horrified, which is currently raising finishing funds.

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Assembling a cast with names like Julie Benz (Dexter), Busy Philipps (Dawson’s Creek), Ron Perlman (Hellboy), Jim Rash (The Way Way Back), and Doug Jones (The Shape of Water) would be a tall order for any major Hollywood production. But Zara’s mix of personal and industry connections, which he’s been developing for over 20 years as a writers’ assistant on shows like The Client List and GCB and a staff writer on TNT drama Major Crimes, has helped his film garner industry attention prior to post-production being finished.

“We are truly an independent film. Even though we’ve got stars like Ron Perlman, Busy Philipps, and Julie Benz,” Zara says. “I don’t think a movie with this small of a budget has ever had this many stars in it!”

Described as a meta horror comedy and a love letter to Wes Craven films like A Nightmare on Elm Street, Horrified follows a famous scream queen (played by Benz) attending a horror convention with the goal of snagging some quick money. But of course, things don’t go as planned, with the masked killer of the character’s famous franchise resurrecting and threatening the lives of everyone at the convention.

“We’ve had a bunch of interest from buyers, but we’re not going to show the movie until it’s done,” Zara says of his independent feature. “But what I will say is talking to them, one person said, ‘You’ve done a good job because we heard about your movie and it hasn’t even been released or distributed.’”

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The film’s producing partners include the Tulsa-based Rebellium Films, which helped the crew land a tax incentive deal in the state of Oklahoma — the city of Tulsa’s first film tax incentive deal. The Art of Elysium, the L.A.-based arts charity that worked on the Oscar-winning short The Singers, assumes the role of fiscal sponsor. However, shooting in L.A. was out of the question.

“Being a TV writer myself, I’ve seen productions move away from here, and there are just less and less shows shot in Los Angeles. When looking at Horrified, there was no way we were going to be able to make the movie here,” Zara says. “It’s [also] supposed to take place in a middle-of-nowhere town, so this character feels like a fish out of water.”

Zara continues, “Because it’s still a lottery here, too. In other states, you just have to submit, and if everything checks out, you get approved. But with a lottery situation, you just don’t know what you’re going to get. At least what I’ve seen here in L.A. is these huge productions getting the greenlight, but the little guys like me… I’m just not seeing it as much. But I hope that’s changing because it would be great to film here [in the future].”

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As a queer filmmaker who wrote 2020’s Letters to Satan Claus, the first queer Christmas movie for Syfy, Zara embraces camp — or what he specifically calls “bloody bubble gum. It kind of tells you what it is, which, yes, there’s that bright, shiny poppy thing, but there’s something darker and bloody. There’s something below the surface where you’re saying something.”

Zara concludes, “Even though the film isn’t queer necessarily, it’s me directing and writing it, and we have some openly queer actors in the film and some smaller queer characters. I have an eight-foot drag queen in a runway scene. I named her Sephora! It’s always going to be in my work, and I’m proud of that.”

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As our beloved Pride Month draws near, discussions on queer identity and resistance feel especially appropriate, particularly for the time that we are all currently in. With his forthcoming book Shameless: The Making of Black Gay Identities in LA, sociologist Terrell J. A. Winder explores how Black gay men in Los Angeles navigate stigma while building lives that are deeply rooted in self-worth, community, and queer Black joy. Drawing from years of research and personal reflection, Winder challenges many longstanding academic ideas about shame and “spoiled” identities, instead centering the resilience and creativity of Black queer communities.

Set against the cultural backdrop of our City of Angels, his book examines how Black gay men cultivate chosen families, affirming spaces, and authentic forms of self-acceptance in a society that consistently marginalizes us. From the legacy of Jewel’s Catch One to the everyday acts of vulnerability and care that sustain community, Winder reframes stigma as something that can be resisted, transformed, and ultimately rejected. In our conversation, Winder discusses shamelessness, “unspoiling,” and what an affirming future for Black queer people could look like.

The title Shameless resonates hard. What does “shamelessness” mean in the context of Black gay identity formation? 

For many Black gay and queer individuals, shame and the process of learning that their identities are shameful is a common part of growing up in the US. We might hear negative things from family members, classmates, teachers, the media, etc. All of these messages create the need for shamelessness. The title is a call to all Black gay and queer people to shamelessly accept all of themselves, no matter the negativity; it is an invitation to reject stigma. 

You introduce to your readers the concept of “unspoiling.” Can you walk us through what that process looks like? 

For many sociologists and researchers who study stigma, or in other words, negatively marked identities, the researcher Erving Goffman’s idea that these socially unacceptable or contentious identities were “spoiled” resonates still. Many people who experience a stigma might try to “pass,” where they hide their socially negative attribute, or to “cover,” where they downplay the significance of an unaccepted identity. 

Instead, I show how several young men in the book push back on the idea that they should try to make other people comfortable around them. In effect, these young men decide to prioritize their own comfort over the comfort of people who have an issue with their Blackness or queerness. In the book, I show how community organizations, media representations, and chosen gay family networks can be places where young men learn not to just simply accept negative things about their identities but instead can develop tools to reject stigma in everyday life. 

You describe how Black gay men more often than not navigate competing pressures around masculinity. How do these types of internal negotiations gradually yet surely sculpt one’s identity over time? 

Across the life course, these competing pressures and messages about masculinity can solidify in different ways related to a number of factors. For example, do you have a supportive social network like a “gay family” that might model different forms of masculinity? Do you have a father or father figure who tells you it’s okay to show emotion? Did you grow up hearing that your single mother couldn’t raise a “real man?” These are the types of internal struggles that many of the young men whom I studied encountered. Their varying expressions of masculinity are shaped by those experiences close to them with family and friends, but also through external factors like media representation. 

Sometimes having positive reinforcement to embody masculinity in the way you’d like can result in a sculpted identity that is more expressive and free to experiment. However, being surrounded by a majority of negative messaging and sanctioning of your masculinity expression often leads to one of two choices: 1) you push back against the negativity or 2) you fall in line. While these identities do become more solidified over time, I hope that the book serves as a reminder that we are all able to continually rework our relationship with masculinity and femininity throughout our lives. 

That question “Should I act more masculine to pass?” is pretty loaded. What did your research reveal about how men resolve or live with this very specific tension? 

I think anyone who has ever felt less masculine around other men has considered this question. In the study, the stakes of this question often shaped the response to that tension. For example, some young men discuss feeling that their physical safety was threatened, and thus they elect to express a more masculine persona to avoid physical harm. However, not all of the young men felt that the potential for this physical danger was an acceptable reason to “pass” and instead advocated for facing these threats head-on, no matter the potential consequences. 

That is where the “unspoiling” emerges. It became clear that for some of the young men that I studied, it was more important that they were true to themselves and their own expressions of masculinity and femininity than to accommodate other people who put pressure on them, whether physically or verbally, to be more masculine. 

Your work shines a spotlight on how stigma operates on multiple levels (race, sexuality, gender expression). How do these layers interact with each other in everyday life? 

We often think of stigmas as individual or not layered, or even forget that people are navigating multiple stigmas simultaneously. However, the young men in this study are considering the boundaries of their racial, gender, and sexual expressions daily. The men in this study discussed hearing both positive and negative messages about their Black identities growing up, but very rarely did someone hear anything positive about their non-heterosexual sexuality. 

Also, as Black gay men, we are often tasked with navigating intersectional stigmas like the burden of HIV stigma. Every day, each individual must choose how to respond to stigma on their own terms; the young men in this study often do a mix of things depending on the specific situation. I think what’s most important is that we learn how to reject the internalization of stigma–the book offers a few ways to get there. 

You also highlight how undoing stigma is the responsibility of the stigmatizer. What does accountability look like in this context? 

Yes, I argue that we spend too much time teaching people how to cope with stigma instead of focusing on the stigmatizer and their role in creating it. As someone trained as an elementary school teacher, I think of stigma like bullying in a classroom: while we want children to protect and advocate for themselves, we ultimately recognize that the bully is the problem, not the bullied person. Accountability means refusing to ignore moments when others are being denigrated for who they are and asking ourselves when we are bystanders, stigmatizers, or capable of intervening. What people dismiss as “jokes” or “boys will be boys” can have lasting consequences. It is also important to recognize that someone experiencing stigma may still perpetuate it toward others, which is why everyone must reflect on how they contribute to either reinforcing or reducing stigma in the lives of those around them.

At the same time, you show how many folks develop internal strategies to survive and thrive. What are some of the most powerful forms of resilience you observed in your many years of research? 

Some of the most memorable examples of resisting stigma came from men who had endured profound hardship. One young man shared that despite being beaten and stabbed for being Black and gay, he still proudly embraces those identities everywhere he goes. I do not take lightly the courage it takes for someone to remain true to themselves while knowing they may face harm for it. Throughout my research, I was also deeply moved by the vulnerability and resilience shown when Black queer men shared their fears and experiences within community organizations and chosen families. Simply seeking out and building these affirming spaces felt like a powerful act of resilience and self-preservation.

How do you reconcile the gap between aspirational representation and lived reality, especially in a city like Los Angeles? 

I think it’s important for everyone to aspire to something, especially for people whose lived realities are filled with challenges. In Los Angeles, specifically, we have a city full of promise but also a city filled with disappointments. Every day, Angelenos must make the choice to move the needle towards a better city and a better community. 

You explore Black queer history in LA, including the creation of alternative spaces. What about Jewel’s Catch One is so unmistakably essential? 

Jewel’s Catch One, or “The Catch,” remains an iconic space in Black queer history in Los Angeles and beyond. Created by and for Black queer people at a time when many were excluded from predominantly White queer spaces, it provided a vital place for community, celebration, and belonging. Even as queer gathering spaces continue to close across the country, places like The Catch remain essential for navigating stigma and fostering resilience. In 2025, it was officially recognized as a Historical Cultural Monument by the city of Los Angeles, cementing its cultural and historical significance.

Figures like Jewel Thais-Williams helped build community in the face of exclusion. What lessons can these stories provide younger folks today? 

Jewel Thais-Williams is a great example of someone who resisted the stigmas associated with being Black and queer and created a space for others like her to come behind. I start the book off by discussing some of the ways that, over time, younger generations forgot, or even undervalued, how important it was to have a space like Catch One–they let the stigmas associated with the neighborhood override the importance that it served as a cultural institution. 

I hope that we, instead, can remember just how critical spaces created by Black queer people in the face of stigma are to our collective well-being as a community. Jewel Thais-Williams’s legacy should be a lesson and a model for how we can intentionally carve out space in a world that often relegates our lives to the margins. 

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How do younger generations of Black queer men today compare to those you studied in your research? 

I suspect that younger generations are still experiencing negative messages and navigating stigma in similar ways to how the men in my book did. However, one major change is that the proliferation of social media examples of Black gay men has diversified significantly, with social media content created by young people on platforms like TikTok and Instagram. One great example of this is the many queer prom-posals that we get to witness on social media; the generation of men that I studied mostly attended proms with their “girlfriends.” 

Additionally, we are in a moment where people are trying to censor the reality that people of different sexualities or races even exist in our society. Changes in community organization funding, access to sexual healthcare, and diverse media representations all threaten to curb the gains Black gay men (and other queer communities) have made in the effort to combat stigma. Yet, I still believe that the younger generation is boldly freer because they have online connections and access to feel less isolated–that is a powerful tool. 

What do you hope readers outside queer Black communities take away from Shameless? 

I hope the book can help anyone navigating stigma think differently about their relationship to their own identities and recognize that they do not have to carry that burden alone. While I wrote it to challenge scholarly narratives about stigma, it was equally important that it offer practical value by encouraging people to seek supportive communities, affirming representations, and expanded definitions of family and care. I also hope the book encourages people to reflect on the ways they may contribute to stigma in the lives of others, even while navigating stigmatized identities themselves. Ultimately, the book is both a call for self-reconciliation and an invitation to ask how we can lessen the burden of stigma for those around us.

What does a really-truly-deeply “unspoiled” future look like to you, for Black queer men, and for society as a whole? 

To me, an unspoiled future means recognizing that everyone has the right to exist fully as they are without fear of harm or exclusion. For Black queer people, this would mean embracing both identities without facing physical, emotional, or psychological harm and finding joy, belonging, and community in that intersection. A truly unspoiled future also requires people to recognize the humanity in others, even when they live or love differently from themselves. Ultimately, it calls on all of us to reflect on whether we are helping lessen stigma or contributing to its continuation.

It was nearly 60 years ago when über-queer icon Andy Warhol pronounced to the world his prediction that “in the future, everyone will be famous for 15 minutes.” While it may have been an overstatement, we’re now experiencing the future he was talking about; and though it remains statistically impossible for “everybody” to achieve fame, that doesn’t mean that we can’t all “feel” like we’re famous. If social media has delivered any gift to the human race, that might just be it.

In the real-life dystopia that is 2026, Warhol’s 1967 quip has become a kind of cultural mantra: influencers are more famous than movie stars, podcasters can shape political policy, and anybody with a “hot take” can change the way we perceive even the most fundamentally held opinions. Whether or not this is progress is probably a moot point; it’s the reality we live in, and we have a government full of “cosplaying” charlatans to prove it.

That’s why Alex Russell’s “Lurker” – a 2025 Sundance favorite that’s now streaming on HBO Max after a limited theatrical run last summer – cuts so close to the quick. A psychological thriller exploring the dynamics of power and control within the entourage of a rock star, it strikes some uncomfortably familiar chords for an era when “bootlicking” seems to have become a national pastime.

It centers on Matthew (Théodore Pellerin), a young Angeleno who lives in his grandmother’s apartment and works in a trendy designer boutique on Melrose Avenue. When rising pop musician Oliver (Archie Madekwe) brings his entourage to the store one afternoon, Matthew sees a chance to make an impression; plugging his phone into the shop’s sound system, he plays a song that he knows the pop star admires – and minutes later, he’s been given a backstage pass to Oliver’s next concert and invited to hang out with the star himself.

Their relationship continues to develop quickly at the show. Though he’s met at first with some discomfortable hazing from members of the entourage, by the end of the evening he’s on his way to becoming part of the inner circle. Chosen by Oliver to become his “official documentarian,” he’s soon a fixture in the entourage himself, sparking jealousy from members higher in the “pecking order” than he is; but Matthew is better at the game than they suspect, and despite their attempts to keep him in his place, he uses his proximity to Oliver – and a few surgically precise acts of sabotage – to rise quickly to the top.

Staying there, however, is not so easy. Within the volatile social politics of the entourage, he must always be on guard, and his efforts to thwart others from displacing him become increasingly ruthless. Eventually, he crosses a line, resulting in a fall from Oliver’s grace and his ejection from the group; but being close to fame leads to its own kind of fame, and Matthew has worked too hard to give it up so easily – even if it means using his Machiavellian powers to go after Oliver himself.

Slick, stylish, and as hypervisual as any viral pop music video you can imagine, Russell’s sardonically amoral exploration of fame – or rather, the desire for it – is as much a satire as it is a psychological drama, but it plays like a horror movie. Matthew is a protagonist cut from the same cloth as the title character of “The Talented Mr. Ripley,” a schemer whose endearingly awkward appearance masks a devious purpose and a diabolical mind. Oliver, whose creativity seems more about his “vibe” than his actual music, is charismatic but aloof, beneficent but mercurial, and seemingly blind to the massive ego that hides beneath his “chill” persona. There’s a kind of tension between these two characters that feels distinctly romantic, even homoerotic, and though it’s expressed only through subtext, it provides a palpable edge that makes their relationship feel dangerous – as if this were a love story in which anyone who tries to come between them is likely to get hurt.

As to what they actually feel about each other, “Lurker” keeps quiet about it. Matthew “reads” like a queer character, but his inner life is never revealed to us save through the conclusions we can draw from his behavior, and Oliver seems so much in love with himself that nobody else can compare; even so, there’s something between them that plays as much more intimate than the enthusiastic “bro”-ish affection that they exhibit together. 

In the end, however, the “love story” here is not about romance, nor even sex; it’s about fame. Matthew, even if his own creative talents may be more solid than Oliver’s, is enamored primarily with fame; perhaps he longs for importance, for a life of more excitement and opportunity than his thankless existence as a low-level retail employee, and as the movie proceeds it becomes clear that he is willing to go as far as he has to go in order to achieve it. For Oliver, maybe it’s about the longing of the famous for something more than sycophantic lip-service, for finding the adulation of his fans personified in an authentic, tangible, and individual form. Whatever it is, there’s very little love involved.

Of course, there’s an unavoidable comparison to be made between the mentality on display in “Lurker” with the prevailing trend in our American consciousness, in which performative loyalty and opportunistic friendship feel like the order of the day; from the fickleness of “fan culture” to the escalation of outrage-baiting on social media to the barely-concealed cutthroat narcissism on daily display in our very government, the message that comes through loud and clear is a chilling throwback to the Reagan-era “greed is good” philosophy: loyalty, feelings, and friendship are for suckers, and the most vicious player is the winner who takes it all.

As usual in a character-driven piece like this one, it’s ultimately the actors who make it work; Pellerin (a Canadian actor who won his country’s equivalent of an Oscar for “Family First” in 2018) is the lynch pin, and he delivers an endlessly fascinating portrait of obsessively determined duplicity that we find ourselves rooting for him even as we recoil from the coldness of his tactics; Madekwe captures the vapid pretension of a pop artist who has faked his way to success, but infuses Oliver with enough well-meaning sincerity that we can still feel a little bit sorry for him. In a smaller role, Hannah Rose Liu (“Bottoms”) makes an impression as the manager who keeps Oliver’s life running, offering an anchor of relative sanity in a sea of madness. 

Russell’s taut and tantalizingly opaque screenplay manages to capture all these things and more into a compact narrative that keeps us engaged while weaving its observations seamlessly into the plot, and his direction – which somehow yields an expansive scope through an intimate and sometimes frenetic focus – reinforces the unpredictable instability of fame, status, power, and the social hierarchy that governs them all. There are occasionally twists that feel a bit too convenient to be believable, but all in all, it’s a solid piece of cinematic workmanship.

There is only one ‘magic’ word to describe The 40th Anniversary of Pee-wee’s Playhouse: fantastic.

Hosted at the Greek Theater as part of Netflix is a Joke, the streaming service’s yearly comedy festival, this event commemorated four decades of this pivotal program influencing modern artists. The evening was a variety show packed with a jaw-dropping lineup of stars; whether it be musical acts like The B-52s and Devo, or comedians like Patton Oswalt and Cheri Oteri, more than a dozen celebrities came out to show how much this series means to them. It featured memorabilia from the original set, clips from unaired episodes, and tributes to the many performers who made the show so unforgettable for millions of children then and now. And, in keeping with Pee-wee’s Playhouse traditions, the 40th Anniversary even got its own magic word for attendees to scream about whenever it was uttered: fantastic. 

Above all else, The 40th Anniversary Of Pee-wee’s Playhouse honored how this show continues to influence artists today. It was a monumental series that encouraged everyone watching to go after what they truly wanted in life, no matter how ‘weird’ those dreams may be. And for LGBTQ+ watchers especially, it gave thousands of young viewers the confidence they needed to be their most authentic, absolutely oddest selves, even after the TV was turned off. 

“Listen, no matter who you are, there was someone in puppet land to make you feel safe,” said Bob the Drag Queen, as the RuPaul’s Drag Race season eight winner stepped onto the 40th Anniversary stage. She was, of course, referring to the setting that Pee-wee’s Playhouse inhabited, a home filled with countless puppets (often personified pieces of furniture, animals, and the occasional dummy) and people who went on wild adventures with Pee-wee. Every watcher had their favorite character, but Bob came onstage ready to honor one beauty in particular: Miss Yvonne. 

A dolled-up queen who always boasted about her looks, the Drag Queen spoke about how uplifting Miss Yvonne was for her young audience. “We often talk about how beautiful Miss Yvonne is, but I feel like we don’t often talk enough about how inspirational Miss Yvonne truly is!” Bob explained. “We live in a world that is constantly telling people to shrink themselves, to doubt themselves, to be humble, to wait for permission — and Miss Yvonne did the opposite of all of that! She decided who she was…and maybe [that’s something to learn from, because sometimes becoming who you are starts with believing it before anyone else does.”

It’s a message of self-acceptance that resonated throughout Pee-wee’s Playhouse; Pee-wee encouraged children to be their strangest, realest selves…by always being his strangest, realest self. He played with gender expression and constantly criticized cultural norms, with many episodes telling children that their voices matter (no matter what the adults around them say). For queer viewers, this was a monumental lesson in ignoring anyone who tells you you’re ‘wrong.’ Through Pee-wee’s Playhouse, they not only got to see someone who shirked cultural norms, but were finally told that it was okay to be different than how society told them to be. 

Pee-wee’s message of self-love is what spurred many artists onto the successful careers they have today. And for Julio Torres and Patti Harrison, this allowed them to create the anarchic artistry that audiences were lucky to see at the 40th Anniversary. 

It’s hard to characterize Julio Torres’ set, largely because the Problemista and Fantasmas star spent most of it desperately reaching for a can of Diet Coke mounted on a pole above his head. Dressed in a bedazzled suit once-worn by Pee-wee himself, the late Paul Reubens, Torres barely spoke about the show this event was commemorating. He instead lamented about the indignity of his situation (being deprived of Diet Coke) and how he yearned for the ease of youth (when he always had Diet Coke). Yet while he barely Pee-wee’s Playhouse, Torres’ irreverent humor — and the way he plays with surrealism and color schemes in every project — illustrates how much Pee-wee’s Playhouse continues to influence his current work. 

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One of the 40th Anniversary’s true highlights was Patti Harrison, who spent her first minutes onstage monologuing about her difficult childhood and the impact Pee-Wee’s Playhouse had on her younger self. “I’m really honored to be here,” she timidly began. “I truly feel like I owe so much of what I get to do now and who I am today to artists like Paul Rubens and Pee Wee’s Playhouse, and getting to have that growing up…I feel very fortunate.” 

Harrison then went on to describe the horrors of her childhood, the abuse she endured from bullies, and the nonstop torture she faced daily…before cleverly using the secret word to make the entire Greek Theater shout with glee at her traumatic storytelling. 

After this, Patti reverted to the hilariously vulgar comedy she’s known for, but the performer never stopped crediting Pee-wee’s Playhouse for inspiring countless queer performers to pursue their art today. Between screaming about her mother’s body and poop jokes she reminded the audience that many LGBTQ+ artists wouldn’t have gone after their dreams if not for the lessons taught by this show. She ended her time onstage with a perfect summary of everything this event represented, shouting at everyone in attendance: “Stay freaky, stay weird, and long live Pee-wee!”

This was the true message of The 40th Anniversary Of Pee-wee’s Playhouse and the series it was created to celebrate. The event not only showcased memorabilia and memories from the show — though that was certainly a wonderful aspect of it — but offered a long list of performers whose careers testify the impact Pee-wee’s Playhouse had on everyone lucky enough to watch it. Through this anniversary, the queer community is reminded of how our culture was shaped by the unbridled, chaotic joy that Pee-wee’s Playhouse embodied in every episode. 

And with over 40 years of inspiring artists, there is only one word that truly describes the legacy of Pee-wee’s Playhouse that LGBTQ+ people can still learn from today: great.  

Just kidding. Fantastic. 

Last week’s grab of nine Tony nominations for the new Broadway revival of “The Rocky Horror Show” – coming in the midst of the ongoing 50th anniversary of the cult-classic movie version – seems like a great excuse to look back at a phenomenon that’s kept us “doing the Time Warp” for decades.

It’s a big history, so instead of attempting a definitive conclusion about why it matters, I’ll just offer my personal memories and thoughts; maybe you’ll be inspired to revisit your own.

First, the facts: Richard O’Brien’s campy glam-rock musical became a London stage hit in 1973; that success continued with a run at Los Angeles’s Roxy Theatre in 1974, and a Broadway opening was slated for early 1975. In the break between, the movie was filmed, timed to ride the presumed success of the New York premiere and become a mega-hit – but it didn’t happen that way. The Broadway show closed after a mere handful of performances, and the movie disappeared from theaters almost as soon as it was released.

This, however, was in the mid-1970s, when “cult movies” had become a whole countercultural “scene,” and the film’s distributor (20th Century Fox) found a way to give “The Rocky Horror Picture Show” another chance at life. It hit the midnight circuit in 1976, and everybody knows what happened after that.

When all of this was happening, I was still a pre-teen in Phoenix, and a sheltered one at that. It wasn’t until 1978 – the summer before I started high school – that it entered my world. Already a movie fanatic (yes, even then), I had discovered a local treasure called the Sombrero Playhouse, a former live theater converted into an “art house” cinema; my parents would take me there and drop me off alone (hey, it was 1978) for a double feature. I remember that place and time as pure heaven.

It was there that “Rocky Horror” found me. The Sombrero, like so many similar venues across the country, made most of its profits from the midnight shows, and “The Rocky Horror Picture Show” was the star attraction. I saw the posters, watched the previews, got my first peeks at Tim Curry’s Frank, Peter Hinton’s Rocky, and all the rest of the movie’s alluringly “freaky” cast; when I came out of the theater after whatever I had watched, I would see the fans lining up outside for the midnight show. I could see their weird costumes, and smell the aroma I already knew was weed, and I knew this was something I should not want to have any part of – and yet, I absolutely did.

After I started high school and found my “tribe” with the “theater kids,” I was invited by a group of them – all older teenagers – to go and see it. I had to ask my parents’ permission, which (amazingly) they granted; they even let me ride with the rest of the “gang” in our friend’s van – with carpeted interior, of course – despite what I could see were their obvious misgivings about the whole situation.

It would be over-dramatic to say that night changed my life, but it would not be wrong, either. I was amazed by the atmosphere: the pre-movie floor show, the freewheeling party vibe, the comments shouted at the screen on cue, the occasional clatter of empty liquor bottles falling under a seat somewhere, and that same familiar smell, which delivered what, in retrospect, I now know was a serious contact high. 

As for the movie, I had already been exposed to enough “R” rated fare (the Sombrero never asked for ID) to keep me from being shocked, and the gender-bent aesthetic seemed merely a burlesque to me. I was savvy enough to see the spoof, to laugh at the lampooning of stodgy 1950s values under the guise of a retro-schlock parody of old-school movie tropes; I “got it” in that sense – but there was so much about it that I wasn’t ready to fully understand. Because of that, I enjoyed the experience more than I enjoyed the film itself.

I’m not sure how many times I saw “Rocky Horror” over the next few years, but my tally wasn’t high; I drifted to a different friend group, became more active in theater, and had little time for midnight movies in my busy life. I was never in a floor show and rarely yelled back at the screen (though I did throw a roll of toilet paper once), and I didn’t dress in costume. Even so, I went back to it periodically before the Sombrero closed permanently in 1982, and as I gradually learned to embrace my own “weirdness,” I came to connect with the weirdness that had always been calling me from within the movie. Each time I watched it, I did so through different eyes, and they saw things I had never seen before.

That process has continued throughout my life. I’ve frequently revisited “Rocky” via home media (in all its iterations) and special screenings over the years, and the revelations keep coming: the visual artistry of director Jim Sharman’s treatment; the dazzling production design incorporating nods to iconic art and fashion that I could only recognize as my own knowledge of queer culture expanded; the incomparable slyness of Tim Curry’s unsubtle yet joyously authentic performance; the fine-tuned perfection of Richard O’Brien’s ear-worm of a song score. The excellence of “The Rocky Horror Picture Show” revealed itself in new layers with every viewing.

There were also more intimate realizations: how Janet was always a slut and Brad was always closeted (I related to both), and how Frank’s seduction becomes the path to sexual liberation for them both; how Rocky was the “Über-Hustler,” following his uncontrolled libido into exploitation as a sex object while only desiring safety and comfort (I related to him, too), and how the “domestics” were driven to betray their master by his own diva complex (I could definitely relate to both sides of that equation). How Frank-N-Furter, like the tragic Greek heroes that still echo in the stories we tell about ourselves, is undone by hubris – and anybody who can’t relate to that has probably not lived long enough, yet.

The last time I watched (in preparation for writing this), I made another realization: like all great works of art, “The Rocky Horror Picture Show” is a mirror, and what we see there reflects who we are when we gaze into it. It’s a purely individual interaction, but when Frank finally delivers his ultimate message – “Don’t dream it, be it” – it becomes universal. Whoever you are, whoever you want to be, and whatever you must let go of to get there, you deserve to make it happen – no matter how hard the no-neck criminologists and Nazi-esque Dr. Scotts of the world try to discourage you.

It’s a simple message – obvious, even – but it’s one for which the timing is never wrong; and for the generations of queer fans that have been empowered by “The Rocky Horror Picture Show,” it probably feels more right than ever.

Jason Collins, the first openly gay man to actively play for a major professional sports team, died on Tuesday after a battle with brain cancer. He was 47.

The California native had briefly played for the Washington Wizards in 2013 before coming out in a Sports Illustrated op-ed.

Collins in 2014 became the first openly gay man to play in a game for a major American professional sports league when he played 11 minutes during a Brooklyn Nets game. He wore jersey number 98 in honor of Matthew Shepard, a gay college student murdered outside of Laramie, Wyo., in 1998.

Collins told the Washington Blade in 2014 that his life was “exponentially better” since he came out. Collins the same year retired from the National Basketball Association after 13 seasons.

Collins married his husband, Brunson Green, in May 2025.

The NBA last September announced Collins had begun treatment for a brain tumor. Collins on Dec. 11, 2025, announced he had Stage 4 glioblastoma.

“We are heartbroken to share that Jason Collins, our beloved husband, son, brother and uncle, has died after a valiant fight with glioblastoma,” said Collins’s family in a statement the NBA released. “Jason changed lives in unexpected ways and was an inspiration to all who knew him and to those who admired him from afar.  We are grateful for the outpouring of love and prayers over the past eight months and for the exceptional medical care Jason received from his doctors and nurses. Our family will miss him dearly.”

NBA Commissioner Adam Silver said Collins’s “impact and influence extended far beyond basketball as he helped make the NBA, WNBA, and larger sports community more inclusive and welcoming for future generations.”  

“He exemplified outstanding leadership and professionalism throughout his 13-year NBA career and in his dedicated work as an NBA Cares Ambassador,” said Silver. “Jason will be remembered not only for breaking barriers, but also for the kindness and humanity that defined his life and touched so many others.”

“To call Jason Collins a groundbreaking figure for our community is simply inadequate. We truly lost a giant today,” added Human Rights Campaign President Kelley Robinson in a statement. “He came out as gay — while still playing — at a time when men’s athletes simply did not do that. But as he powerfully demonstrated in his final years in the league and his post-NBA career, stepping forward as he did boldly changed the conversation.”

“He was and will always be a legend for the LGBTQ+ community, and we are heartbroken to hear of his passing at the young age of 47,” she said. “Our hearts go out to his family and loved ones. We will keep fighting on in his honor until the day everyone can be who they are on their terms.”

The Los Angeles Blade is honored to join forces with Asian Americans Advancing Justice (AJSOCAL) and Okaeri (a program of Little Tokyo Service Center) to celebrate both AAPI Heritage Month and to kick off Pride, hosted at The Abbey on Tuesday, May 19th at 6:30 pm. The evening will feature West Hollywood Vice Mayor Danny Hang and actor Nhut Le from HBO Max’s hit show, Peacemaker.

This event, free to the public, is part of Los Angeles Blade’s commitment to spotlight and support the efforts of the the non-profits who provide resources to other minority groups within the queer community. This past year, the Blade has had the privilege to build relationships with both AJSOCAL and Okaeri, highlighting the stories of the organizations’ history, staff leaders, and clients.

AJSOCAL is the leading civil rights advocate for the Asian American and Pacific Islander (AAPI) community. Their services are open to individuals of all races and ethnicities, without restriction. The organization combats discrimination, provides free legal services and workshops across Southern California for low-income community members and anyone in need, and drives policy change from the local to national level. AAPI Queer Joy is AJSOCAL’s initiative to become more inclusive and representative of the AAPI community by recognizing the intersectionality of the AAPI and LGBTQ+ communities. In partnership with a coalition of Queer Trans Asian Pacific Islander (QTAPI)-serving organizations across California, they identify and highlight the specific needs of the QTAPI community. Based on the coalition’s guidance, AJSOCAL advocates for inclusive policies that empower the QTAPI community and allow all to thrive.

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Jeffrey Deguia, AJSOCAL’s LA Regional Policy Advocate, commented to the Blade about the joint event, “I’m excited to be celebrating our beautifully diverse AAPI LGBTQ+ (or queer, trans API or QTAPI) community with the LA Blade and one of my favorite community partners, Okaeri at this year’s AAPI Heritage Month & Pride Month happy hour! Being proudly QTAPI means I’m celebrating every part myself, which means I’m celebrating my Filipino heritage and my resilient queer and trans community. Tonight is a reminder that we don’t have to choose one, and that being fully authentic in both of these identities is what Pride is all about.”

Okaeri is a community-driven project of Little Tokyo Service Center. Its mission is to create visibility, compassionate spaces, and transformation for LGBTQ+ Japanese Americans (Nikkei) and their families by sharing their stories and providing culturally-rooted support, education, community-building, and advocacy. They envision a safe, loving, and accepting world for LGBTQ+ Nikkei and their families where all identities are celebrated, respected, and embraced. The organization started out in 2013, when Marsha Aizumi, the Japanese American mother of a transgender son, wondered why there were no resources for LGBTQ+ Nikkei. She organized the “Okaeri: A Nikkei LGBTQ Gathering” conference, gathering together over 200 attendees in its debut. Now, Okaeri provides programs and community services to meet the needs of the Nikkei LGBTQ+ community.

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Matthew Yonemura, Okaeri’s Assistant Program Director, shared, “Okaeri is so grateful for the collaboration we have with our fellow Queer Trans Asian Pacific Islander (QTAPI) community members. Okaeri has experienced so much change over the last couple of years, and it became increasingly difficult in 2024 and 2025 to hold in-person events. Being able to collaborate with AJSOCAL for happy hours like this is so important in Okaeri’s effort to be in the community. Okaeri means “welcome home” in Japanese, and gatherings like this are a way to welcome new members into the Okaeri community home.”

The evening will be a fun, casual happy hour open to all. The Blade will be on hand with our latest print issue, dedicated to AAPI Heritage Month. Vice Mayor Danny Hang will be in attendance to make a few remarks and help kick off the evening. As an added bonus, actor Nhut Le, who has become a runaway hit personality from HBO Max’s Peacemaker for the past two seasons, will join the festivities. Le has had the opportunity to infuse his character, Judomaster, with elements from his own queer and Vietnamese identity.

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Le wrote to the Blade, “It’s an interesting intersectionality, straddling both marginalized groups. I’ve encountered forms of discrimination in both, I’m too gay to be a good representation for the AAPI community or I’m too Asian and they don’t want tokenism or fetishism. It’s crucial that representation spans the whole gamut because even if one person somewhere feels seen and a little less alone and that their life is worth living, then it’s important.”

Come join the Blade, AJSOCAL, Okaeri, and Le at The Abbey on Tuesday, May 19th, from 6:30 to 8:30 pm. For more information, email the LA Blade publisher at [email protected].

Amielynn Abellera grew up with a nurse practitioner mother and a doctor father, so perhaps she was always destined to appear in a show like The Pitt. Looking at popular media as a Filipino child, though, she never saw “authentic representation” when watching shows about healthcare workers.

“If I did have representation, I would have been more curious and more celebratory, and want to investigate more and ask [my parents] questions,” she tells The Blade. “It’s never too late, and now that there is representation, it’s really making waves across the Filipino and Filipino-American community to initiate conversations.”

Acting on HBO Max’s The Pitt, as she has since the very first episode, carries a deeper meaning for Abellera, who plays the steady and empathetic Nurse Perlah. The second season once again follows a full 15-hour shift in the ER, this time taking place on the Fourth of July.

Abellera reflects on Perlah’s journey: “As a nurse, she is really good at her job, she’s really calm and composed and confident. She knows how to protect herself in such a challenging career. That has been part of how she’s able to get through it. In this season, on this particular day, she hits some challenges, and we start to see a little bit of that armor crack — just a tiny bit.”

It’s been a breakthrough role for Abellera, who previously appeared in episodes of The Cleaning Lady, Bosch: Legacy, and NCIS. The unique filming style of The Pitt, where every episode is synchronized with one hour in the hospital, has given Abellera a new experience altogether: “It feels very sporadic, very panicked, and very immediate.”

“It does feel like I’m waking up at five in the morning, starting a shift, and doing a 12-hour day. Sometimes, the reality mixed with the not-reality and the pretend can sort of meld together,” she says, while adding with a laugh, “I’m not a nurse, I’m nowhere near anything being a healthcare worker, of course, but sometimes you end up thinking, ‘I can actually put an IV in!’”

As she looks back on the season at large, one episode that stands out to her is Episode 3 (titled 9:00 A.M.), which incorporated the 2018 Tree of Life synagogue shooting that took place in Pittsburgh, where the show is also located. In a poignant moment, a Jewish patient named Yana (played by Irina Dubova) connects with Perlah, who wears a hijab.

“Quite honestly, I didn’t know so much about the shooting until we started working,” she says. “I really loved how simple the scene was, in terms of it being two people just connecting and caring for each other in that moment, and also acknowledging this bigger thing. It took both Yana and Perlah by surprise — the feelings that came up for them. I remember even filming it; it took both of us by surprise.”

When I ask about bringing both Filipino and queer representation to the show, Abellera says “I know I sound like a broken record. But I’m so proud, and it’s such an honor to be able to represent the Filipino community as healthcare workers. It’s such a big part of Filipino history and my personal history.”

On the show, she’s also found solidarity with Isa Briones and Kristin Villanueva. “Something I like about the three of us is we’re three different dimensions of Filipino,” she says.

Beyond the community she’s cultivated with her cast on-set, The Pitt has been celebrated across the entire industry, most recently winning the ensemble in a drama series prize at the Actor Awards and, of course, the Emmy award for best drama series. The Actor Award recognition was especially notable since it brought the main cast together on stage. With Season 3 already in the works, one can only imagine how many more awards the show will nab.

“I don’t think anybody knew that we were so hungry for this type of going back to how television used to be,” Abellera says, noting the 15-episode order for Season 2. “It’s taken all demographics by surprise.”

JORDY has never been one to shy away from a feeling authentic/messy/euphoric, but lately, he’s been leaning into something a touch more mischievous… the art of letting go. With “DUMB,” the GLAAD and Queerties-nominated pop auteur trades overthinking for overstimulation, bottling up that kind of night where the group chat becomes a glitter-glazed dance floor and emotional clarity is gloriously replaced with invited chaos. It’s a track that winks as much as it confesses, proving that even in his most carefree moments, JORDY’s tongue is still razor-sharp.

As he steps into a new era with his forthcoming album In Retrospect, JORDY sounds both freer and more self-assured than ever. With this new album, JORDY finds himself less concerned with chasing validation and more interested in capturing the full spectrum of being alive, from introspection to intoxication (emotional or otherwise). “DUMB” might sparkle on the surface, but underneath, it carries a self-aware pulse. Sometimes the smartest thing you can do is stop trying so damn hard.

“DUMB” playfully entertains the idea of escapism. What was your inspiration to play with this particular theme?

I honestly was getting emotionally exhausted from writing songs on my new record that were particularly vulnerable…I needed to write a song that simply felt FUN. Like a night out. A break from reality. I got together with my best friends and did just that. 

The title comes across as tongue-in-cheek, but the song itself is emotionally complex. How did you strike that balance between humor and vulnerability?

During the creation of this song, it reminded me that we all need to just forget everything sometimes. While “DUMB” is an upbeat song, I hope it reminds listeners to take a breather and live in the present.

What was the creative process like in the studio for you when creating this track?

We honestly had the best time that day. Again, I wrote this song with my best friends. There are no limits and no rules with us. We were laughing, dancing, and eating yummy snacks. Maybe some glasses of wine. It felt like a sleepover, and I think you can feel that in the track.

How do you think your fans will relate to the theme of not taking things too seriously?

I think it’s what people NEED right now. There’s a lot of heaviness around us constantly, especially within the queer community. It’s my job to speak on those things, but also to create music that allows us to escape. We deserve those moments of happiness and euphoria. And I want to provide that.

Looking back at your breakout with “Just Friends,” how do you feel your sound and storytelling have evolved leading into this new era?

Oh my goodness – I was in such a different place back then. When I wrote that song, I was desperate for a boyfriend; someone to validate my worth. Now, being in my 30s, my priorities have shifted immensely. I am so much more in love with my own company than I was before. And I’m proud of myself for that. I really think you can hear that too in this new era.

Your projects, like BOY and SEX WITH MYSELF, each had solid identities. Where does “DUMB” sit in the larger arc of your artistic journey?

It’s a part of my next album, In Retrospect. This album means so much to me. It’s my turning 30 album. I think BOY represented me coming into my adulthood, SEX WITH MYSELF felt like a sexual liberation, and now this new record feels like the more mature and experienced version of myself. It’s exactly where I’m at right now. 

You’ve amassed a huge global audience. Does that ever influence the way you approach writing, or do you try to stay focused inward?

I want to give my fans what they want, but I think the more I feel connected to something the more they will. I try to focus on what feels good to me, knowing that it will most likely feel good to the fans. I want all of my songs to be an honest and authentic version of what I am going through. 

Your live performances are high-energy yet personal. How do you envision DUMB translating on stage?

It’s going to be epic. Absolutely EPIC. I can’t wait to premiere it at Mighty Hoopla Festival in London, May 31st!

You’ve also performed at Pride events and on national television. How have these experiences impacted your art?

It’s my favorite part of what I do. It’s the time we get to come together as a community and shower each other with love. It’s one thing to see people’s comments online, but when we all get to dance together, it’s a completely different experience. It makes it all feel real.

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How has it felt receiving recognition from Billboard and Rolling Stone (pretty major, let’s be real)?

I feel incredibly honored to have ever been recognized by publications like Billboard and Rolling Stone. As a gay man, it’s so important for the media to lift up queer artists like myself. There are so many incredible queer musicians who deserve the visibility, so it’s very, very impactful when the big companies promote queer art.

What does “pushing pop boundaries” mean to you at this moment in your career?

I think as a queer person, being completely authentic and honest in my music means I’m pushing boundaries. These are the perspectives that a lot of the music industry actively tries to shut down and reject. Instead of conforming, I want to be loud with my truth.

Without giving too much away, how did you go about exploring and translating themes and songs to form your upcoming album In Retrospect?

It started by getting out of a very toxic relationship. I was angry and upset for a long time, and the songs reflected that, but the further away I got from that relationship, the more I was able to reflect. I felt motivated to better myself. I feel like letting go of that relationship allowed me to let go of other things, too. Instead of guilting myself for staying in something toxic for too long, I choose to pat myself on the back for the courage it took for me to leave. 

With the assumption that the title In Retrospect suggests reflection, what were you looking back on while creating this project?

I am not in my 20s anymore, and my priorities have changed. This album is truly a reflection of that and where I’m at mentally at this moment. I look back on that time with zero regrets. 

As you enter this next phase of your career, what do you hope your audience takes away from your music, performances, and art as a whole?

I just always want my listeners to feel heard and understood, and safe and loved. It’s easy to bury your feelings, so I like to create spaces for us to feel those feelings together. So we can support each other through it. And of course, I want them to dance the night away and have the best time. 

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Chanel Santini has crossed over to being a DJ, performing at clubs all over the country. Now known as Santini, they will be making music and hyping the pool party, DJ-ing at XBIZ, the conference for adult creators and digital players, in Miami.

Taking place on Monday May 11 to Wednesday May 13, the event honors the most charismatic personalities and creative artists in entertainment.

“I am honestly so excited–getting to DJ in Miami Beach is literally a DJ’s dream!” Santini told the Los Angeles Blade. 

“I thought it would be a good opportunity because I haven’t been around my industry peers in a long time. It’s a great event to network and show off the new me!” said Santini.

While Santini is unsure what music they will be playing, they want everyone to have a good time. “My goal is to ignite the dance floor and play great music that everyone will vibe to. My sound includes house music, bass house, tech house, and I always like to throw a little bit of hip-hop in my sets.” 

Santini loves how DJ-ing brings people together. 

“Music really ignites us all! It is so universal, no matter what language you speak. I think it’s the best high in the world when you play a banger track, and everybody on the dance floor screams loudly. You can’t describe that feeling until you’re up there on that stage.”

 Santini describes DJs as the “modern rock stars” in today’s world. 

“I always feel like such a superstar when I’m up on that stage. The best feeling is after my set when I have people come up to me and say, ‘Thank you for sharing that amazing music.’ That’s how you know that you’re a good DJ- I love when I get those types of compliments!”

While sometimes it’s hard to please everyone’s musical tastes, Santini endeavors to try! “You just have to go out there and give it your all and be the best DJ that you can be,” he noted.

Santini, who had previously identified as trans, recently decided to transition back to being gender fluid.

“It’s definitely been a journey, but I’m definitely happier in my own skin now than I was. I don’t go by he/him pronouns. I don’t go by they/them either. I guess I just really don’t have a preference. Whatever you see me as is your opinion. I’ve learned over the years that I’m not trying to be one specific thing. I’m just Santini. I’m just me.” 

Santini acknowledged they felt respected more when dressed as a woman.

“I think it’s just because femininity runs the world. When I started to de-transition, I felt like I had to just be a boy all the time. But I’ve realized over the years that I don’t need to stick to one specific thing. I am always gonna be feminine, and that’s OK.”

Recently, Santini has been embracing their feminine side more.

“I definitely feel more comfortable in female presentation, and more powerful when I’m on stage dressed as Chanel. I love DJ-ing in drag because there are so many straight male DJs in the world. It’s almost like a superhero when he puts on his cape! I think it makes me confident and stand out more as an artist.” 

And because Santini loves makeup and fashion, they can incorporate that into their sets. “I’m not just bringing you good vibes and good music. I’m bringing you a show/ production!”

Santini is already working on big plans for the future.

“I’m opening up for a huge Pride block party in my hometown, Albuquerque, New Mexico, on June 12 and 13.  It’s a two day festival and I’m super excited for this opportunity. I’m even hiring backup dancers & a choreographer.”

Santini plans to go “all out” for this show. 

“It’s gonna be the biggest crowd that I’ve ever played for,” Santini enthused. “I’m putting my heart and soul into this performance, especially because it’s Pride in my hometown, and that means so much to me. I know the younger me would be so proud.”

Santini remembers going to Pride when they were younger and telling themself they couldn’t wait to be up on that stage.

“I’m truly living my dream right now, and I’m so excited for the future. The last 10 years of being in the adult entertainment business have been great and have given me major success. But I always knew that I didn’t want to be in this industry for long.”

Santini acknowledged that, in the recent past, it was a struggle.

“I’ve been trying to find myself and figure out what I wanna do next with my life. Now that I’ve found this passion for DJ-ing, it makes me want to go far in this business.”

In addition to being a DJ/artist, Santini is starting college next semester. 

“I’m gonna get my degree in audio engineering,” Santini enthused. “I can’t wait to start producing my own tracks. I especially can’t wait till the day I’m headlining a major festival! I know with a little bit of patience and hard work that I can get there! I just have to continue believing in myself.”

Santini wanted to thank all of their fans for their support. “Truly, if it wasn’t for them, I wouldn’t be able to fund my art in the way that I have. I’m truly grateful. And I’m excited for the future!”