When the chair of CSULB Theatre Department once scanned the audience of her class asking, ‘Where is my iconoclast?’ — in reference to yours truly — I took it as a moment of pride. I was happy to be a shatter-er of images, of norms, of givens; I was happy to shoot down your little fairytale. In contrast, when someone you loves says, ‘You always find a way to make something happy look horrifying,’ you begin to double-take your words. And I think I must apply this when we begin to analyze the annual Q Film Festival hosted by the always-phenomenal Center of Long Beach and hosted at the venerable Art Theatre.
For beginners — just so I manage to not piss off everyone — I am not in any form downsizing the Q Fest itself. In fact, far from it. Film festivals — LGBTQ-oriented or indie-geared, massive-scale productions or independently hosted soirees up in the mountains on the same weekend — are something to be upheld as important: they provide artists within a field dominated by major production companies and costly features to get their work out. This is why, despite the slew of films shown, a festival like Q is essential. It is a platform for artistic expression and, particularly in this state, we need all the expression we can get right now.
This nonetheless does not mean we pat ourselves on the back for the art shown (the action of showing it, yes; the art itself, not necessarily). And my analysis comes from two perspectives, one as a critical member of the LGBTQ community and the other as an artist myself, particularly within the dramatic arts (I received my MFA in writing in 2010, where my focus was on dramatic writing — so plays, films, shorts, telescripts, et cetera).
I cannot speak much of documentaries because I have not quite delved into making one myself. They are tricky though not quite as much as narrative filmmaking. And this year’s selection of documentaries, particularly We Were Here, INSPIRED , and Bisexual Revolution, were testaments to the fact that gritty LGBTQ documentarians are not quite backing down: despite the comfort many queers might feel, these filmmakers provide us with the brute reality that many of the issues we face are not quite yet asleep (minus the not-so-great outing from Margaret Cho).
My opinion of the narrative features is not quite so nice. If there is one thing I can say about my MFA experience, it is that it was absolutely humbling for this aspiring screenwriter (and yes, I still and will always have dreams of having on my scripts produced). Having worked with many people both in television and film, you begin to realize that a story can’t just be told and voila! You have yourself a film.
You are the weakest link.
Film is heavily structured — and audiences don’t usually get this consciously, even when they’ve seen thousands of films. From the masterpieces (The Godfather, The Lion King, Children of Men…) to our guilty pleasures (Grandma’s Boy and Bring It On will always have warm spots in my heart), films follow a very specific method that makes sure their audience is not only interested, but most importantly, that we empathize. This last part is key: if there is nothing in which we can empathize with, there is a void. This is often why many films which have been created from books leave audience members frustrated: reading a book is not watching a movie — and it takes an absurdly skilled screenwriter to seamlessly transfer the story from page to screen (Steven Zaillian’s script for Schindler’s List or Steve Kloves for the Harry Potter series are excellent examples of phenomenal page-to-screen translations).
So when it came to the slew of films at the Q Fest, I was left with a slightly bitter taste in my mouth — and I found my inner cinephile coming out in full-effect. While tales of closet-cases, sexual frustration, misguided one night stands, and professional dreams are great themes, they’re just that: thematics. All films can have great themes. Even Gigli profess great themes: identity struggle, ethical battles within your job, inferiority… But this is not what makes a great film en tout.
It is here where I truly challenge filmmakers making films about LGBTQ culture: go for the jugular. It seems that despite how much we progress socially or politically, our narrative films are driven by camp, redundant jokes (which short film Couples Therapy: Twitter by Mike Rose played brilliantly off of), and a focus on hyper-sexuality that renders audiences inept to connect. Showing a dick is no longer subversive (the internet killed that one) and sex needs to be shown in a different aspect (Shortbus should be an incredible and inspirational starting point). Bisexuals need to be included more often to complicate and texturize stories. Closet cases need to be depicted with more veracity, anxiety, paranoia, and frustration. Stories need to be aware of structure, their surroundings, their time-span, and their eras of being told.
Please, for once, I would love to have a movie besides Hedwig and Brokeback and Milk (of course there are more than that, but the offering of well-made LGBTQ films are still absurdly limited given the amount of films made) that examine our culture, that give it a contemporary mythology that everyone can somewhat relate to. The films I mentioned have tackled LGBTQ characters — not themes — that make their stories relevant, empathetic, and visceral. If we do not take on the subjective character of film, our art of film will always be rendered to the side of laughable and stereotypical.
Brian currently serves as the senior editor and contributor for the Long Beach Post. Follow Brian on Twitter or Facebook.