Arnault Labarrone | Petite faiblesse (Soft Spot, aka Little Weakness) / 2005

a last gasp

by Douglas Messerli

 

Arnault Labarrone (screenwriter and director) Petite faiblesse (Soft Spot, aka Little Weakness) / 2005 [18 minutes]

 

Although there are perhaps not enough examples to describe it as a genre, there seems almost to be a sub-genre or perhaps a small collection of films in which, while a wife is pregnant, young men seek out other males with whom to have sex. Perhaps being warned against having sex with a pregnant wife, the find release in their own sex so not to appear as cheating on their spouses. Or perhaps they feel that this may be their very last chance to explore other sexualities.

     In this case, a handsome young Frenchman, Marc (Anthony Hallot) finds a young Polish man, Dimitry (Grégory Granier) is willing to do anything the married man asks of him. Presumably he’s paid for his efforts, but he too may just be enjoying his sexuality in a kinky manner.

     As Marc’s wife, Marion (Florence Loiret Calle) now many months pregnant begins to paint the room purple in their apartment which they have selected for the child, Marc begins his sexual explorations, first meeting with Dimitry in a hotel room where he awaits him completely naked in position to enjoy a truly raw doggy fuck.

     Curious in regard to Marc’s late nights and disappearances, she opens his computer only to discover the texts he has been sending to Dimitry outlining his specific instructions of their meet-ups.

     At first, she not so much disgusted as intrigued, imagining her own body undergoing the same sexual aggressions in which Marc has begun to engage.

     The second meet-up is far more detailed, describing the precise place in a deserted parking structure where he hopes to be bound, gagged, and beaten up by leather thugs. And as Marion imagines his own pain and sexual ecstasy, she spills the can of purple paint, rolling on the floor in a kind of disgusted fantasy—and perhaps in a brief salute to Michelangelo Antonioni’s Blow Up—of being herself redefined by the purple paint in which her body wallows. She showers away her new skin, as does Marc shower away the blood upon his return.

    The beating has evidently been far more serious than he has expected, Marc returning severely bruised and in pain, explaining, in tears, that he has been beaten up by some blokes.

     But this time, as she begins to sew on the buttons broken off his shirt, she becomes angry for his fantasies and lies, and momentary takes up the needle, ready to plunge it into her belly.

     As he lies sleeping, however, she enters his study and writes directly to Dimitry, suggesting that he should come to their apartment and have sex with her as she lies in bed with her husband, in part, as she explains when Marc awakens to find Dimitry straddled over his wife, so that he will not have to choose between her and Dimitry, able to have both simultaneously.

     But Marc is shocked, furious that Dimitry has evidently decided by himself to change the rules; while gradually coming to perceive that it was his own wife who had written to him.

     Angry with the rebuke, Dimitry storms out, Marc chasing after him, but at the door realizing he has now lost his alternative fantasy world.

    Distraught, Marion again begins to pound her belly as if attempting to abort the child, asking herself and Marc how will they now be able to write the fable of their own lives, how will they create the story of their own secret desires. Stopping her from doing any further harm, he explains that the fable lies in her belly.

     It is clear that he has now accepted the fact that any new experiences they have been seeking now exists in the life of their soon-to-be-born child.

     This work, accordingly somehow combines illicit and kinky sex with a love story between the married couple. But it is clear they will both have some explaining to do—at least to themselves if not to one another—what lay behind their searches for something else, what dissatisfactions with their own lives were they trying fulfill in the experiments outside of their relationship? And will they both later regret that they have not been fully able to explore those other worlds?

 

Los Angeles, January 7, 2026

Reprinted from My Queer Cinema blog (January 2026).

Nick Grinde | The Devil's Cabaret / 1930

the hell of it

by Douglas Messerli

 

Unknown writers, Nick Grinde (director) The Devil's Cabaret / 1930

 

This 16-minute short film represents the very essence of the early days’ laxity of enforcing the Hollywood Production Code. By 1934 such musical bon-bon’s as The Devil’s Cabaret could never have been released.

    If fact, this work itself is a remnant of what was supposed to be a feature movie with the The Three Stooges, and a host of film and Broadway stars of the day, Gus Edwards, Fay Templeton, Marie Dressler, Van and Schenck, DeWolf Hopper Sr., Buster Keaton, Albertina Rausch and her dancers, Polly Moran Cliff Edwards, Benny Rubin, Ramon Novarro, Bing Crosby, the Duncan Sisters, Barney Fagan and Raquel Torres. The film, The March of Time, directed by Charles Reisner, was shelved after the failure of Reisner’s The Hollywood Review of 1929, which featured many of the same figures, and which I reviewed of being of gay interest for the 1920-1929 volume of My Queer Cinema. The failure of that film and the general waning interest in film musicals in general meant closing down this work before it was even finished. A few of the lavish scenes were repurposed for inclusion in other films or, as this one, were presented revised as stand-alone works.

     This sketch has never been listed among the several gatherings of LGBTQ films, but certainly belongs there.

     Howie Burns (Edward Buzzell) works as the right-hand man at “Satan & Co.” where Mr. Satan (Charles Middleton) is burned up over the fact that too many people are going straight up to heaven rather than down to his neck of the woods. He tells his secretary, Impy (Mary Carlisle) to call in Howie for a chat.

    When Howie shows up for work, Impy passes on the news, Howie picking up the phone says, “Give me the devil,” but quickly discovers that Satan is in conference, Burns suggesting that he’s simply raking someone over the coals. That someone later turns out to be a newcomer, nuisance fire-eater, who is a danger down in the land of flames.

     Meanwhile, Howie dictates a letter to his good friend Pete (St. Peter) to complain of stealing his customers, explaining that it costs a lot to keep the old fires burning, and they’re in the red. He may be up to “Golden Gate” later tonight and “I’ll drop in to see you. I may be a little late so don’t wait up for me. Just leave me the key under the mat.” Presumably they’ll settle things in bed. Clearly that’s how Impy reads it, suddenly mistaking the invitation to be for her instead of Pete. Howie sets her right.

     As Howie moves to leave, a hot flare briefly torches his ass, Imply asking in some shock, “What was that?” Howie turns and in a fey voice and a slight limp of the wrist declares, “Just an old flame of mine.”

     Burns is finally let in to see his boss, who explains his dilemma. The quick-moving dialogue goes something like this:

 

-" . . . this business of going to Heaven has got to stop. Now isn't there some way that we could direct the traffic down here?"

-"Well, we might add a few detours on the straight and narrow path, or widen the road to ruin."

-"But suppose that didn't work?"

-"Then you'll just have to raise the wages of sin."

 

     Together they consider some likely candidates, including the creator of miniature golf courses. Certainly, Howie Burns would like to “bring him down.” Satan is keen on getting a noted radio announcer. But insists that there should no stockbrokers let into Hell. “It’s bad for business.”

   But Howie does have a good idea. Arriving at a nightclub in front of which a Preacher (Nelson McDowell) warns the people who dare to enter of losing their souls to Hell, Howie offers them far more fun and entertainment inside, no sweet music and a harp, but hot music, hot jazz. He previews a short number as several of the women, vaguely dressed as Puritans, gradually strip to their undergarments. As the girls dance in, all the others rush in behind them.

   There they get the lavish musical number which must have been featured in The March of Time. what can only be described as a satanic ballet.

   After the rather remarkable performance, Howie demands that all men go to the dormitory of the left, and women to female dormitory on the right. The entire crowds out “No.”

    Howie argues, didn’t I show you a good time tonight? “Yes,” they all agree. But one woman, who stutters, asks, but what’s the meaning separating us.

     Howie’s face lights up in gleeful delight: “Ahhhh. That’s the hell of it,” hinting that it was where the fun really lies. The women group together, as do the men dancing their way to the credits.

 

Los Angeles, January 7, 2026

Reprinted from My Queer Cinema blog (January 2026).

 

 

 

Jerry Tartaglia | Ecce Homo / 1989

reclaiming desire

by Douglas Messerli

 

Jerry Tartaglia (director) Ecce Homo / 1989

 

One of the most important films released at the very height of the AIDS crisis in the 1980s was Jerry Tartaglia’s experimental film, Ecce Homo. Not only did Tartaglia, as Vito Russo argued, “reclaim desire in the age of A.I.D.S,” but through his film set out not only to untangle the impossible web in which homosexual cinema and gay porno found itself entwined, but to dissociate those who claimed the power through guns and governmental authority to determine what sexual images and behavior were permissible and those who actually held that power through their communal desire depicted in the images they are watching for very different reasons.

      As his base image, Tartaglia borrows the frames of the guard watching his prisoners have sex through the “stonewall” in which there is a slit for observation and feeding in Jean Genet’s important gay prison film Un chant d’amour (1950). The guard watching in Genet’s film becomes a symbol of the police who determined to close down the New York bar Stonewall in 1969 and the police and their surrogates represented in this work as the “doctor” who watch over gay events and films to determine whether people will be permitted to view them with perhaps some of the same “pornographic” desires the guard in Genet’s work. But the actual “personal” desire as expressed in the sex of Genet’s prisoners, the men who have sex in gay porno films, and by those gay men who watch the porno films out of desire is where the true power lies despite those who attempt to usurp it, as the events at Stonewall in 1969 made apparent.

       Tartaglia does not claim that this desire is “safe” nor even suggests that it should be; indeed because it is perceived of as impermissible by those who desire neither the gay bodies nor the sex it details, all gay sex, real or observed is unsafe; but once more in that very fact its enactment is a representation of power that Tartaglia demands that the gay world reclaim.

        His “preposterously” inverted film reveals this through several methods, first by his recitation of a mad mass-like incantation, with Gertrude Steinian logic, chanted with the musical accompaniment of something like a Gregorian chant by monks. While focusing on the Genet image of the guard peeping in the cell, the director overlays what the guard observes in his prisoners’ sexual activities with gay footage of men having sex from porn films, tinted various colors—purple, green, red, blue, yellow, and sometimes in the original colors or black-and-white—which render the images of men with their penis’ inserted to men’s asses and penis’ endlessly spouting semen almost as something like Hallmark greeting cards. No matter how shocked heterosexual onlookers—the doctor, the women and others who might make up any such board of decency—might be when realizing what is being portrayed, they cannot help but recognize them as standing apart from whatever one might describe as pornography: “printed or visual material containing the explicit description or display of sexual organs or activity, intended to stimulate erotic rather than aesthetic or emotional feelings.”

     And Tartaglia’s wonderful verbal narrative with its endlessly shifting sense of logic as it unweaves the idea of power and its actuality takes the mind on a flight of alternating logic and illogicalness of any “others” making a decision about what an already “marginalized” and “disappeared” society might or might not see.

       The text is so brilliantly loopy in its logic that it has often been reprinted, which I feel the need to do again here, just so if you haven’t previously, you might experience it’s philosophical equivalents of “pulling out the rug from ‘those in authority’s’ feet.:

          I am watching a segment of Genet’s film, in which the guard is watching

          the men, and when he removes the gun from inside his jacket, he puts the

          gun in the mouth of one of the men and then I am watching two men kissing

          each other on the mouth and then I am watching homo sex and I am seeing

          men having homo sex and watching the guard having the gun having sex and

          watching the film with homo sex, I see the men and I watch how they have

          homo sex in the porno film which the cop said was Genet’s film and the cop

          with the gun was porno and they said when Stonewall was with the cops and the

          gun, and the film was porno and they said Stonewall was porno and they said

          the men were not men and the women were not women, and the men with the

          women were not porno, and the film with the men kissing on the lips was porno

          and the cop who was watching the film was a doctor who was watching the film

          which was not safe porno because it was not safe to be watching a film with a

          doctor who was a cop in a film of the men having sex which was porno when

          they said Stonewall was porno, which was not the film they desired to watch 

          when the film of desire was the film of men having homo sex in the film with the

          men, and this man, and this man, and their desire which was burning in the film,

          and the homo sex of the cop who was watching the police, who have the power,

          and the doctors, who are the men with the women, which is not porno, which is

          what they said was Stonewall, which was the film with the women and the men

          who were not the men with the women, which was not porno, when Stonewall

          was power which was personal and not porno when it was never really safe for

          porno which was in the film in which a cop was watching with a gun when the

          men were having sex with the men, and when personal desire is power when it is

          unsafe to be watching porno with a doctor who is not Stonewall and a cop who is

          not porno, who is watching men having sex with men, which is not safe if per-

          sonal desire is power and the doctor with the power watches the cop in the film

          by Genet, which was not porno, and the doctor watches the power which is unsafe

          and the porno, which is the cop watching with the gun which is in the film which

          is Genet, who was Stonewall, which was not safe when desire is power, and the

          doctor and the power are watching us watch the film with the men and the

          homosex and the personal desire which is power in the film with the Stonewall

          homo sex, which is not the doctor and the cop, which is not porno, in the film

          with the strength of the person and the sex which is power in the film which is

          unsafe when the doctor is power and the person with the sex, when the men and 

          the men have homo sex and desire the love which is in the film which was 

                Stonewall

          which was not safe, which was power, which was in the film which is not safe to

          watch, when the doctor is the power with the cop, and the film which is not porno 

          is safe, which is not Stonewall, and the men who love the men who desire in the 

                film

          which is power, which IS Stonewall, are the men who are alive, which is power

          which is not safe, when desire is not safe, which is the doctor who is power with

          the cop, in the film which is Stonewall, which was not safe, which is power!

     After a pause to savor the multiplying images the director is presenting, the verbal narrative returns as a two-short line summation which might almost be described as the Mixolydian and Hypomixolydian modes of the final phrases of the Gregorian chant:

 

           Personal desire is power. Reclaim our desire, reclaim our power.

           Collective desire is power. Reclaim our desire, reclaim our power.

 

     Coming after more than a year and a half of the sad news of death after death of members of the LGBTQ community—Tartaglia himself working intensely on three important A.I.D.S cinematic screeds gathered as The A.I.D.S. Trilogy (1988-1990): A.I.D.S.C.R.E.A.M (1988), Ecce Homo (1989), and Final Solutions (1990)—this work speaks almost as a joyous invocation of gay body and sexual desire at the heart of LGBTQ filmmaking. Tartaglia, as he himself proclaims, was less interested in pushing a queer normative story which by this was becoming more and more popular to diffuse the fears of the heterosexual community over their associations with the LGBTQ community and disease. Rather, his was an aesthetic that accentuated the differences. As he wrote:

 

“I am not very interested in creating narrative forms, which generally are used to show how gay people are supposed to become lavender carbon copies of straight people. Instead, I work with short, personal, experimental forms which explore and celebrate another kind of conscious human identity.”

 

     In the decades’ long debate in the gay community between Genet and François Reichenbach, Tartaglia had emphatically chosen the former.

 

Los Angeles, May 6, 2021

Reprinted from My Queer Cinema blog and World Cinema Review (May 2021).

 

Jerry Tartaglia | A.I.D.S.C.R.E.A.M / 1988

call to action

by Douglas Messerli

 

Jerry Tartaglia (director) A.I.D.S.C.R.E.A.M / 1988

 

Jerry Tartaglia’s A.I.D.S.C.R.E.A.M (1988) is the first of his The AIDS Trilogy, a raw, heartful plea for gay men and the society at large to realize that in perceiving AIDS as a gay disease, and more importantly, believing—and he keeps intoning throughout this Brechtian-like incitement to action—that “Four of five doctors recommend no sex for gays,” that gay men and the LGBTQ community have allowed AIDS to desexualize the gay experience.

     Unlike Ecce Homo where he cuts down the screen into peep-hole like views of multiple sexual images, in the earlier work Tartaglia basically moves in and out on bleached-out porno-like images or presents images in bright-red abstractness as if they were warning signs or intimations of virus in the blood while repeating phrases such as “Good gays are monogamous, bad gays are not monogamous,” “Morality if now a medical issue,” and “AIDS proves that homosexuality is contagious,” as he shouts the alarm that the heteronormative society has taken over the AIDS crisis to once again attempt to tame, naturalize, and erase LGBTQ sexuality by proving what it believed all along: that queer sex is a destroyer rather than an agent of love.

     Tartaglia has long argued that his films were the opposite of the naturalist cinema which seeks to engage the viewer through hypnosis, inducing him or her into the world of the image instead of forcing him to interact with image and language simultaneously. And in this 1988 work, and the AIDS works that follow, the director appears, like a prophet crying out in the wilderness, to demand that those who see his work wake up and reclaim their sexualities. AIDS he reminds us over and over again has become not just a disease but a symbol that unfortunately warns gays, lesbians, bisexuals, and transgender individuals to deny their own existence, to rid themselves of the very behaviors which define them and have allowed them to come into power and pride.

     At times, Tartaglia’s message seems so powerfully visceral that you can almost hear beneath his screams his tears, particularly at one moment when the images of primarily masturbatory sex are transformed into simple images of his many friends, represented by smiling, wondering, engaging young men who have suffered and died on the cross of AIDS. Were these innocents intent upon killing others simply by taking pleasure in their bodies? he asks through the seemingly random snapshots.

   There is something so raw in A.I.D.S.C.R.E.A.M, represented by the frail body of a young male nude who face has been erased by an S&M-like mask, that the viewer at moments is almost forced to turn away out of pain, but realizes that in doing so he is himself denying the truths Tartaglia’s film is forcing us to deal with.

     Perhaps the film must be perceived as a kind of wake-up prologue for the far more complex investigation of these same issues that follows in Ecce Homo. But the trumpet sound of this film seems a necessary call to action before we can even determine what actions we need to take.

 

Los Angeles, November 1, 2021

Reprinted from World Cinema Review (November 2021).

Roger Stigliano | Fun Down There / 1988, Germany 1989, USA 1990

giggling and gurgling for joy

by Douglas Messerli

 

Roger Stigliano and Michael Waite (screenplay), Roger Stigliano (director) Fun Down There / 1988, Germany 1989, USA 1990

 

Roger Stigliano’s 1989 film Fun Down There is one of the least ostentatious gay films I’ve ever encountered. There is only a bit of nudity, and only one sexual coupling represented. Yet in its simplicity, this small film tells us more about a young man’s introduction to the intense world of  New York City gay life than most movies hoping to wise us up by drawing us into the bars, back rooms, docks, and alleyways of that city.

     Strangely, it reminds me a great deal of my own experiences upon arriving in New York, although I was not quite the total innocent and virgin that the “hero” of this work, Buddy (Michael Waite) is.  But like Buddy, I was greeted into the gay community with mostly friendly words, open arms—and beds.

     I didn’t meet someone, as Buddy does his first night in town, on the streets, who after a quick jerk off—so absolutely pleasurable for Buddy, it being his first time having any kind of sex with a man, that he giggles and gurgles in joy for so long that his new friend, Joseph (Nickolas B. Nagourney), is fearful that something might be wrong—who might become a seemingly permanent friend; but much like Buddy, I was introduced to a cheap hotel (in my case, the infamous Sloane House YMCA; Buddy’s noisy room is even more modest), and just as our hero does, I quickly found temporary employment.

       Actually Buddy, who meets his future employer, an East Side restaurant owner, at a party to which Joe invites him. Apartment parties are always difficult to portray in movies, as individual behavior becomes public and group dances within small confines always seems a bit dangerous and clumsy. Here, at least, instead of an intense room of boys on the make, Buddy encounters a mixed group of employees from Greta’s (Gretchen Sommerville) bar and restaurant.

     After a rather marvelous vocal rendition by Greta’s bartender of a song in both French and English by Edith Piaf, Buddy encounters a friendly girl, Sandy (Yvonne Fisher) —a waiter in Greta’s restaurant—who takes a liking to him and suggests he might be able to get a job there.

      In the kitchen he meets Angelo (Martin Goldin), who at this point is still a minor character who keeps trying to tell the same story over and over, and the restaurant’s cook who Greta describes as the funniest man alive. Unfortunately, the cook’s campy renditions of Bette Davis playing Blanche DuBois and other gay favorites is truly awful. And any spell he may have woven for his fellow restaurant workers is broken when Buddy blankly enquires, “Who’s Blanche DuBois?”

       Buddy, we immediately recognize—particularly after the picture’s early scenes filmed in a truly rural suburban house with the actor’s real mother and father, I presume, playing his cinematic parents—that Buddy is a true country rube, in the best sense of that word. Having been born and raised in upstate New York where he worked as a kid in Pizza Hut and as a young man on a dairy farm, Buddy (whose real name is Edward Fields, but has been called simply Buddy at home apparently since he was a kid) is so refreshing to these slightly savvier New Yorkers because of his true lack of any pretension.

       In some respects, Buddy is another version of Jerzy Kosiński’s Chance (Chauncey Gardiner) in Being There, a kind of Christ figure beloved by all who meet him because of his simple belief in the goodness of the world. 

       Fortunately, the figures he meets—almost all transplants from somewhere else with some pleasant memories of their childhoods—do not interpret his open-eyed wonderment with any cynical misrepresentations. They all seem to recognize and love him for being the real thing, a boy who simply has arrived in their midst inherently knowing that it just had to be more “fun down there,” meaning literally from where he stood in the state facing down to New York City, despite our recognition of the pun on the sexual parts he so enjoys having other boys touching and pulling.

      When offered a job as a dish washer (washing dishes the old-fashioned way with no fancy restaurant dish-washing apparatus), Buddy is delighted. He now has a place to sleep, new friends, and a low-paying job to keep him from going hungry. One almost expects him to sing out “Who could want anything more?”

        Yet he gets it more than any might expect—that is love and caring attention not only from Joseph—who also dresses him up some of his old clothes—but from Angelo who first bends to kiss him in the restaurant storeroom before inviting him out for a day on town. The wonderful long strolls they have through Chinatown, Little Italy, and the derelict industrial wastelands near the ocean are presented as almost a documentary work within the larger documentation of Buddy’s adventures in the city. And suddenly we discover a now nearly disappeared city through Buddy’s eager eyes.

        It’s not that Buddy is particularly handsome. In fact, his rather rail-thin body topped by his buzz cut hair with an earring in his ear thanks to the piercing his sister gave him just before his departure, might almost be described as gangly, an assemblage of skin and bones that can apparently never get enough food to properly flesh out. Indeed, in several scenes Buddy endlessly stuffs himself with pastries, sandwiches, and other foodstuffs as if he were imitating Harpo Marx enjoying his meal in Room Service.

      Buddy is fairly well endowed as we observe when he masturbates in the very first scene of the movie. But it is not Buddy’s body that attracts the boys, as much as is his absolute delight in sharing that body with others, his almost child-like revelry as he rolls across the bed completely hidden under the covers.

       If Joe can hardly wait to get his hands on his new friend’s penis, Angelo shows him how to enjoy the slower process of sexual titillation. Both advise him carefully on what kind of sex, in the worst days of AIDS, is permissible and what is verboten. But their conversations are not expressed as statements of fearful warning as much as out of a gently expressed sense of caution.

      Indeed, one of the great joys of this film is just how sexually and socially caring Buddy’s New York friends are. Joseph even invites him to move out of the hotel room and into his own apartment. Yet, he is not at all upset by the news of Buddy’s sexual involvement with Angelo. As Amanda Jane Stern observes in Film Inquiry:

 

“Angelo is immediately taken with Buddy and begins to pursue him sexually. Many other films, especially ones with a heteronormative story-line, would use this as dramatic tension, creating a love triangle between Buddy, Angelo, and Joseph, yet Fun Down There does not do this. Instead, it allows Buddy to explore his attraction to both Angelo and Joseph without it causing tension. Joseph even urges him to go out with Angelo and see how it goes, knowing at the end of the day, Buddy will come home to him. It’s still radical to depict a couple who is non-monogamous on screen, and to do it so calmly is unheard of.”

 

     Anyone, and obviously there are numerous such voices, who describes New Yorkers as rude and unfriendly must be a tourist. If Buddy is an example (and my own experience upon arriving there in 1969 was similar) the gay community of New York was, if it is not still, completely welcoming, friendly, and encouraging. After all, most young New Yorkers have come there from their own not-so-friendly hometowns to experience the “fun down there” that the LGBTQ community offers.

     Even if Buddy were to be seen as an exception, it proves my point. In 1989, at least, this was still a society that recognized the innocent pleasures of sex as a blessing.

     We can only imagine that if we tuned back into his life a few months or years later we might hardly recognize him. But that is the utter charm of this Teddy award-winning motion picture,* it is not the story about a life but about an episode recounting a gay man’s coming into being, a coming out for a boy so honest to himself that he never truly knew that there was a “closet” in which he might hide.

     And in that respect this is a gay movie that every young person suffering not only homophobic bullying but who fears what participating in LGBTQ sex might mean for his or her own lives or have limited notions of what that world embraces should be required to watch Fun Down There instead all those dreary high school cinematic manuals expressing the facts and dangers of sex. If Buddy is right, it’s fun to find a place where you can share experiences with new friends along with the open joy of sex; in fact, it might even tickle the hell of you as it does for our dear friend.

 

*This prize is given annually by a jury of the Berlin International Film Festival for the best LGBT film.

 

Los Angeles, November 6, 2020

Reprinted from My Queer Cinema blog and World Cinema Review (November 2020).