Movies
Documenting desire
D.C. screenings slated for two arresting depictions of same-sex love
‘The Secret Diaries of Miss Anne Lister’
7 and 9:15 p.m. tonight
Reel Affirmations’ “One in Ten”
D.C. Jewish Community Center
1529 16th St. N.W.
tickets are $12, available at
the door or at reelaffirmations.org
‘Undertow’
Starts today for one week
Landmark E Street Cinema
555 11th St. N.W.
All shows discounted before 6 p.m. Monday through Friday
and first show on weekends
Tickets at box office or
![CNTRC_Pict01_BlueWall_insert](https://www.washingtonblade.com/content/files/2011/01/CNTRC_Pict01_BlueWall_insert-300x200.jpg)
A scene from the gay-themed Spanish movie 'Undertow,' playing this week at Landmark E Street Cinema. (Photo by Hector Alvarez; courtesy of the Film Collaborative)
Editor’s note: The date for “Undertow” was changed to Jan. 28 after the Blade went to press.
It’s a good time for film. The Globes were last weekend, the Oscar nominations are coming Tuesday and two worthy gay-themed pictures are being screened today in Washington.
Look for a tight lead actress race for the Academy Awards betweenĀ Natalie Portman for “Black Swan” and Annette Bening for “The Kids Are All Right,” each in a role with a lesbian or bisexual identity in studio films aimed at multiplex audiences of all romantic persuasions.
“Kids” was reviewed in the Blade when it opened last year but “Black Swan” is also worth noting. Portman plays a dancer, sheltered and repressed, who is haunted by her fears and obsessions in her quest for ballerina perfection to be chosen to play the coveted dual roles in “Swan Lake” as the innocent white swan and the sensual black swan.
Black or white, there are no shades of gray in this juicy, backstage melodrama steeped with sensuality and theatricality, a thematic mash-up of Roman Polanski’s “Repulsion” (1968) and Herbert Ross’s “The Turning Point” (1977) with a dose of Joseph Mankiewiczs’s “All Abut Eve” (1950) by director Darren Aronofsy (who helmed last year’s sleeper hit film “The Wrestler”).
“Black Swan” is dark and twisted, deceptive at every turn, depicting a psycho-sexual descent into madness ā and laced with much-ballyhooed lesbian sex between Portman and her co-star, and screen rival for the role of the black swan, Mila Kunis. Love it as guilty pleasure or hate it as over-the-top preposterous, this is a thriller so utterly seductive it must to seen to be believed.
Beginning todayĀ there are also two indie films that deserve to be seenĀ based on sheer visual quality, informed by LGBT sensibility and each a lyrical and luminous love story ā “The Secret Diaries of Miss Anne Lister” (originally produced for BBC television) and “Undertow” (Peru’s entry in this year’s Oscar choice for best foreign film). The first is at the D.C. Jewish Community Center tonight only, the second begins a one-week run today at the Landmark E Street Cinema.
A much different but still stylish cinematic look at lesbian love ā also boasting some scenes of steamy coupling ā “Lister” bears the stamp of the BBC in a costume drama set in early 19th century England about the life and times of a real woman, the defiantly unwed Miss Anne Lister, the woman dubbed the first modern lesbian by scholars of sexuality and known with a snicker as “Gentleman Jack” by her scandalized Yorkshire neighbors. It will be shown at 7 and 9:15 p.m. tonight only, as the Reel Affirmations’ monthly film at the D.C. JCC.
From the opening scene, we know we are in England as a distant figure ā it runs out to be the eponymous Miss Anne Lister ā as she strides over the brow of a moorland hill, the sky slightly overcast as if to prefigure the moodiness to follow.
“I want you with me, at my side, always, to be my wife,” Anne tells her intended, Marianna Lawton, with whom she maintained a relationship, on again and off again, for 16 years. But Marianna already has a spouse, her faintly ridiculous and vastly unattractive, overweight and unbathed husband ā who does offer, however, one undeniable attribute, an income of six thousand pounds a year, in those days a sizable sum.
Always desperate to find a way that they can live together, and wearing black in mourning because they cannot, Anne tells Marianna at one point, that by marrying a man ā and not living together as two women in love ā that she has succumbed to “legal prostitution” instead of following her heart.
“You broke my heart,” sobs Anne, when it appears they can never be together.
British actress Maxine Peake plays Anne Lister as proud and determined to live life only to love women, not men. In this she follows the sensibility of Lister, whose copious diaries are the basis, scripted by Jane English, for this film.
Directed by James Kent and filmed on location in Yorkshire, the film evokes the period well, the sense of chill in the air, the rustle of the wind in the gorse on the moors, the repression of sexual feeling. But a much different setting ā one marked by aqua-blue seas and sweeping sunlit beaches ā comes in the second film, “Undertow,” a film suffused in a seductive and sensual spell and shown first locally last year in anĀ earlier One in Ten event. ItĀ opens today at the Landmark E Street Cinema.
The “undertow” of the title (in Spanish called “Contracorriente” and shown in Spanish with English subtitles) is the pull the protagonist, Miguel, a fisherman living in Cabo Blanco on Peru’s Northern coast, feels tugging at him as he tries to resolve the competing claims he feels ā from the wife he loves both emotionally and physically, and his clandestine love affair with the handsome gay artist, Santiago, who visits the small fishing village to paint and remains there to seek a life together.
But Miguel, who is clearly bisexual himself, cannot express his feelings for Santiago in the open. Instead, they must pretend not to know one another and can meet only in isolated coves where they frolic unclothed in the waves with erotic gusto not seen since Burt Lancaster and Deborah Kerr did the same (albeit clothed) in “From Here to Eternity.”
Miguel hopes to live a double life, his secret passion remaining undisclosed, until Santiago vanishes in the surf, caught by his own undertow, and then reappears as a ghost, courtesy of the Latin American tropes of magical realism. For he is a ghost that only Miguel can see.
Thus, the irony is underscored that now they can be together openly, because one of them is no longer visible to others. In the claustrophobic village culture of “machismo” and homophobia, it is a genuine joy to watch the expression on Miguel’s face to be able to walk hand in hand with Santiago, unafraid for the first time of what others might think.
But that’s not the happy ending it may appear. Miguel would love things to remain as they are, his double life now protected from prying eyes. But Santiago wants to “move on” as a spirit, but cannot do so, it is understood, unless and until he is first buried at sea according to local custom blessed by church and community.
So to free his dead lover’s spirit from eternal torment, Miguel struggles with how to let his wife and the villagers know what must be done, and first they must find Santiago’s body, lost at sea. To do so, he must decide to “come out,” especially after paintings of him, naked and recognizable as him, have been discovered in Santiago’s abandoned beachfront shack.
The film’s director, Peruvian former physician Javier Fuentes-Leon, who is gay, has said that he made this film ā his first that is feature length ā “born out of a personal quest to define what it is to be a true man and how manhood relates to sexual identity.” “Undertow” is a fable that confronts this task with honesty, never cutting corners, and always recognizing that in the triangle his wife Mariela is also equally compelling and sympathetic.
This film, winner of the 2010 Sundance Film Festival audience award for best drama, will challenge viewers both gay or straight, or like Miguel in between, with lessons about love and loss, honesty and integrity, family and community.
The three leads ā Bolivian actor and musician Cristian Mercado as Miguel; leading Peruvian actress Tatiana Astengo as Mariela; and as the smoldering Santiago, blockbuster Latin American film star Manolo Cardona, named by “People en Espanol” as one of the 50 Most Beautiful People in 2005 ā vividly convey their intensity and pain.
Movies
āOutstandingā doc brings overdue spotlight to lesbian activist Robin Tyler
āWhatever they do to us, they need to know that there will be consequencesā
![](https://www.washingtonblade.com/content/files/2024/06/Pat_Harrison_and_Robin_Tyler_insert_courtesy_Robin_Tyler.jpg)
In the new Netflix documentary āOutstanding: A Comedy Revolutionā ā now streaming on the Netflix platform ā filmmaker Page Hurwitz takes viewers behind the scenes of a landmark 2022 performance featuring an all-star lineup of queer stand-up comedians. She also reveals the powerful queer activism that has been pushing mainstream boundaries over the past five decades and beyond through a collection of out-and-proud comics that reads like a āwhoās whoā of queer comedy icons.
In doing so, its spotlight inevitably lands on Robin Tyler, who ā after becoming the first lesbian comic to come out on national television and co-starring in a network series with her partner, Pat Harrison ā incurred the wrath of sponsors (after an on-air remark aimed at notorious anti-LGBTQ mouthpiece Anita Bryant) and wound up unceremoniously dropped by the network.
Tyler persisted, and her passion led her to activism, where her contributions are likely well known to many Blade readers. She organized and produced the first three national marches on Washington for LGBTQ rights, including 1987ās āmock weddingā of hundreds of queer couples; she and her future wife (the late Diane Olsen) were the first couple to sue the state of California for the right to be married ā leading to the seven-year legal battle that culminated in marriage equality. If you are currently in a same-sex marriage in the United States, you have her to thank.
![](https://www.washingtonblade.com/content/files/2024/06/20130325_Diane_Olson_and_Robin_Tyler_at_Supreme_Court_1_c_Washington_Blade_by_Michael_Key.jpg)
We spoke to her about the film and her legacy, and, as always, she pulled no punches. Our conversation is below.
BLADE: āOutstandingā highlights your removal from āprime timeā as a setback for queer visibility, but do you still think of it as a setback for your career?
ROBIN TYLER: You know what? Everybody says, āOh, she gave up this career, she could have been a star,ā but what they mean is I could have gotten mainstream acceptance. Itās like saying to Richard Pryor: āIf you didnāt tell the truth, maybe white people would have loved you.ā The best thing that happened to us is that we didnāt get picked up, because then we could go and be free. It takes your life away, having to live a lie. We gained our freedom and lost nothing.
I donāt care about mainstream acceptance, if it means being in the closet. Donāt forget, 75 million Americans are MAGA supporters. To me, thatās the mainstream.
BLADE: As an organizer, you spearheaded the fight for marriage equality. How did that happen?
TYLER: In 1987, two men from L.A. wanted me to do the āmock weddingā as part of the ā87 march on Washington. I took it to the board ā thereās always this board of 68 people, itās different people, but the same attitude, with every march ā and they voted it down. They said, āno oneās interested in marriage,ā and I said āfine.ā And I did it anyway, and 5,000 people came. Obviously it was an issue we were interested in.
It was also interesting that a march board would try to decide what people want or not. Well, we did want it, and we got it, now.
BLADE: And yet, it seems weāre still fighting for it.
TYLER: I agree, and I think with this Supreme Court weāre in trouble ā but passion is much better than Prozac, so we need to keep aware and be ready to get into the streets again. We canāt just be āarmchair activistsā on the internet, you know? Because then weāre just reading to each other.ā
BLADE: It does seem that the internet has made it easier for us to live in our comfortable bubbles.
TYLER: Yeah, but Iām an organizer, and itās wonderful for that. I was the national protest coordinator when we stopped Dr. Laura [Schlesinger, the anti-LGBTQ talk radio āpsychotherapistā whose transition to television was successfully blocked by community activism in the early 2000s], and we did all the demonstrations locally. We worked with a guy who knew the internet, and we were able to send out information all over the country for the first time. I remember when we just had to go to parades and bars and baseball fields and had to leaflet everyone. This is easier. Less walking.
BLADE: Still, social media has become a space where ācancel cultureā seems just to divide us further.
TYLER: That term was created by the right. They can go ahead and say anything they want, but we get to not be called names anymore. At least we have a way to fight back. They call it ācancel cultureā and we call it ādefending our rights.ā
And you know what? Even today, people like Dave Chappelle are doing homophobic jokes, and itās not just that theyāre doing it, itās that these people sitting in the audience are still laughing at it. They still think they can get away with ridiculing us. You can always punch down and get a laugh. And why is it so bad, with people like Chappelle or Bill Maher? Because anytime you dehumanize anybody, when you snicker at them because you donāt understand, youāre giving other people permission to attack them. Theyāre attacking these people that are being brutally murdered, and theyāre using humor as the weapon.
We didnāt accept it in the ā70s, so why are we accepting it now? And why arenāt we calling out Netflix for giving it a platform? Itās not enough to put out āOutstandingā and showcase pro-gay humor. If a comic says something racist, their career is over, yet itās OK for Chappelle to do homophobic stuff? What if I stood up and changed what heās saying to make it about race instead of transgender people?
And itās not just about ārightā vs. āleftā anyway. Even with the Democrats in, they never deliver. Since 1970, they promised us a āgay civil rights bill,ā and we still donāt have one. Why not? Democrats have held power in Congress, the Senate, the presidency, and they never pushed it through. We still canāt rent in 30 states, we can get fired; the United States is not a free country for queer people, and we must hold the government accountable. We have to fight for marriage separately, we have to fight for this and that, separately ā and all it would take is one bill!
Itās been 54 years. Isnāt it time? We have to look at who our friends are ā but donāt get me wrong, Iām still voting for Biden.
BLADE: So, how do we fix it?
TYLER: Hereās what I believe in: a woman walks into a dentist office, and heās about to drill her teeth when she grabs him by the balls and says, āWeāre not going to hurt each other, are we?ā I believe in that approach. Whatever they do to us, they need to know that there will be consequences.
And, also, at Cedars-Sinai they have just one channel in the hospital, and itās comedy, because laughter is healing. Maybe we should we end on that?
![](https://www.washingtonblade.com/content/files/2024/06/Robin_Tyler_insert_courtesy_Robin_Tyler.jpg)
Movies
Gender expression is fluid in captivating āPaul & Trishaā doc
Exploring whatās possible when you allow yourself to become who you truly are
![](https://www.washingtonblade.com/content/files/2024/06/Paul_Whitehead_and_Tricia_van_Cleef_in_Paul_and_Tricia_insert_courtesy_Gravitas_Ventures.jpg)
Given the polarizing controversies surrounding the subject of gender in todayās world, it might feel as if challenges to the conventional ānormsā around the way we understand it were a product of the modern age. Theyāre not, of course; artists have been exploring the boundaries of gender ā both its presentation and its perception ā since long before the language we use to discuss the topic today was ever developed. After all, gender is a universal experience, and isnāt art, ultimately, meant to be about the sharing of universal experiences in a way that bypasses, or at least overcomes, the limitations of language?
We know, we know; debate about the āpurposeā of art is almost as fraught with controversy as the one about gender identity, but itās still undeniable that art has always been the place to find ideas that contradict or question conventional ways of viewing the world. Thanks to the heavy expectation of conformity to societyās comfortable ānormsāĀ in our relationship with gender, itās inevitable that artists might chafe at such restrictive assumptions enough to challenge them ā and few have committed quite so completely to doing so as Paul Whitehead, the focus of āPaul & Trisha: The Art of Fluidity,ā a new documentary from filmmaker Fia Perera which enjoyed a successful run on the festival circuit and is now available for pre-order on iTunes and Apple TV ahead of a VOD/streaming release on July 9.
Whitehead, who first gained attention and found success in Londonās fertile art-and-fashion scene of the mid 1960s, might not be a household name, but he has worked closely with many people who are. A job as an in-house illustrator at a record company led to his hiring as the first art director for the UK Magazine Time Out, which opened the door for even more prominent commissions for album art ā including a series of iconic covers for Genesis, Van der Graaf, Generator, and Peter Hammill, which helped to shape the visual aesthetic of the Progressive Rock movement with his bold, surrealistic pop aesthetic, and worked as an art director for John Lennon for a time. Moving to Los Angeles in 1973, his continuing work in the music industry expanded to encompass a wide variety of commercial art and landed him in the Guinness Book of World Records as painter of the largest indoor mural in the world inside the now-demolished Vegas World Casino in Las Vegas. As a founder of the Eyes and Ears Foundation, he conceived and organized the āArtboard Festivalā, which turned a stretch of L.A. roadway into a ādrive-through art galleryā with donated billboards painted by participating artists.
Pereraās film catches up with Whitehead in the relatively low-profile city of Ventura, Calif., where the globally renowned visual artist now operates from a combination studio and gallery in a strip mall storefront. Still prolific and producing striking artworks (many of them influenced and inspired by his self-described ācloset Hinduismā), the film reveals a man who, far from coming off as elderly, seems ageless; possessed of a rare mix of spiritual insight and worldly wisdom, he is left by the filmmaker to tell his own story by himself, and he embraces the task with the effortless verve of a seasoned raconteur. For roughly the first half of the film, we are treated to the chronicle of his early career provided straight from the source, without ātalking headā commentaries or interview footage culled from entertainment news archives, and laced with anecdotes and observations that reveal a clear-headedness, along with a remarkable sense of self-knowledge and an inspiring freedom of thought, that makes his observations feel like deep wisdom. Heās a fascinating host, taking us on a tour of the life he has lived so far, and itās like spending time with the most interesting guy at the party.
Itās when āArt of Fluidityā introduces its second subject, however, that things really begin to get interesting, because as Whitehead was pushing boundaries as an in-demand artist, he was also pushing boundaries in other parts of his life. Experimenting with his gender identity through cross-dressing since the 1960s, what began tentatively as an āin the bedroomā fetish became a long-term process of self-discovery that resulted in the emergence of āconverged artistā Trisha Van Cleef, a feminine manifestation of Whiteheadās persona who has been creating art of her own since 2004. Neither dissociated āalter egoā nor performative character, Trisha might be a conceptual construct, in some ways, but sheās also a very authentic expression of personal gender perception who exists just as definitively as Paul Whitehead. They are, like the seeming opposites of yin and yang, two sides of the same fundamental and united nature.
Naturally, the bold process of redefining oneās personal relationship with gender is not an easy one, and part of what makes Trisha so compelling is the challenge she represents to Paul ā and, by extension, the audience ā by co-existing with him in his own life. She pushes him to step beyond his fears – such as his concerns about the hostile attitude of the shopkeeper next door and the danger of bullying, brutality, and worse when Trisha goes out in public ā and embrace both sides of his nature instead of trying to force himself to be one or the other alone. And while the film doesnāt shy away from addressing the brutal reality about the risk of violence against non-gender-conforming people in our culture, it also highlights what is possible when you choose to allow yourself to become who you truly are.
As a sort of disclaimer, it must be acknowledged that some viewers may take issue with some of Whiteheadās personal beliefs about gender identity, which might not quite mesh with prevailing ideas and could be perceived as āproblematicā within certain perspectives. Similarly, the depth of his engagement with Hindu cosmology might be off-putting to audiences geared toward skepticism around any spiritually inspired outlook on the world. However, itās clear within the larger context of the documentary that both Paul and Trisha speak only for themselves, expressing a personal truth that does not nullify or deny the personal truth of anyone else. Further, one of the facets that gives āArt of Fluidityā its mesmerizing, upbeat charm is the sense that we are watching an ongoing evolution, a work in progress in which an artist is still discovering the way forward. Thereās no insinuation that any aspect of Paul or Trishaās shared life is definitive, rather we come to see them as a united pair, in constant flux, moving through the world together, as one, and becoming more like themselves every step of the way.
Thatās something toward which we all would be wise to aspire; the acceptance of all of our parts and the understanding that we are always in the process of becoming something else would certainly go a long way toward making a happier, friendlier world.
Movies
New Cyndi Lauper doc brings overdue spotlight to queer ally
āLet the Canary Singā captures a unique, era-defining star
![](https://www.washingtonblade.com/content/files/2024/06/Cyndi_Lauper_insert_courtesy_Paramount_Plus.jpg)
Every era in our cultural memory has given rise to popular artists that helped to define them, but few can be said to have made as definitive an impact as Cyndi Lauper in the early ā80s. Splashing onto our airwaves and across our television screens (courtesy of the newly minted MTV) with a defiantly upbeat and colorful blast of society-shifting energy, her proclamation that āGirls Just Want to Have Funā caught the world off guard with a feminist anthem disguised as a good-time party song, and her sense of quirky punk style became an iconic influence over the ālookā of an entire decade. In some ways, you could almost say Cyndi Lauper was the ā80s.
For many people who grew up or came of age during her rise from unknown girl singer to pop music phenomenon, that might be the extent of their knowledge of her life and career. Despite the success (and Grammy Award) she achieved with her first few hits, the ever-roving eye of public attention inevitably moved on to the next new superstar, and her later efforts ā while not exactly ignored ā never managed to garner as much attention.
That doesnāt mean she has been inactive, though, as her die-hard fans (and there are many) well know; this is especially true in the queer community, where she has long been recognized and celebrated as a staunch ally ā which is why it seems apt that Pride month should coincide with the release of āLet the Canary Sing,ā a new documentary profile of Lauper that premieres on Paramount Plus this week.
Directed by Emmy-winning documentarian Alison Ellwood, āCanaryā takes its name from a comment made by the judge in a legal case that opened the door for Lauperās stardom ā no spoilers here, youāll have to watch the movie to find out more. It undertakes the telling of a well-rounded and comprehensive life story to cast that stardom in a new light. Maintaining a comfortable sense of chronology, it begins with Lauperās childhood, growing up in Brooklyn (and later, Queens) in a close-knit family as the middle child of three with a divorced single mother, and follows the trajectory of her life ā rebellious, risk-taking teen to driven, passionate artist and activist ā through her love of music, her rise to fame, her struggle to evolve in an industry that rewards predictable familiarity, her emergence as an LGBTQ advocate, and her expansion into a genre-leaping artist whose reach has extended beyond pop culture to earn her renown for her versatility. It also covers her accomplishment as the first woman to win a Tony Award as sole composer of the music and lyrics of āKinky Boots,ā the Harvey Fierstein-scripted drag-themed Broadway musical which made a star of Billy Porter ā and nabbed her another Grammy (for its Original Cast Recording), to boot. Bolstered by extensive current interview footage with Lauper herself, as well as elder sister Elen, younger brother Fred, and other important figures from her personal and professional life, it finds an arc that reveals its subject as an authentic and uncompromising visionary dedicated to ālifting upā the entire human race.
That would sound hyperbolic ā and probably more than a little disingenuous ā if Lauper did not come across so palpably on camera. Whether itās footage from a decades-old Letterman show or newly filmed commentary shot specifically for the film, her ātrue colorsā come shining through (forgive us for that one, we couldnāt resist) to provide ample evidence that, even if she didnāt always know where she was going, she always knew it would be the direction of her own choosing. Indeed, as the movie makes clear, much of the reason behind Lauperās fade from the pop spotlight was the result of her refusal to repeat herself, to compromise her own path by delivering pale copies of the formula that had made her an āovernight successā after 15 years of trying. Although the documentary doesnāt insinuate this, itās impossible for us not to suspect that homophobic backlash following her public embrace and advocacy of the queer community ā something surely intertwined with her close bond to sister Elen, an out lesbian who is positioned in Ellwoodās film as a key pillar of both emotional and artistic support in Lauperās life ā may have had something to do with the mainstream music industryās ambivalence toward her as she pursued her artistic impulses beyond the flashy appeal of her debut album.Ā
In any case, āSheās So Unusual,ā as a debut album title, proved to be an ironic foreshadowing of the very reasons she was unable to āstay in her own laneā well enough to remain in the good graces of a public (or, perhaps more truthfully, of record executives) that only wanted more of the same. Lauper has never been one to conform, and itās made her vulnerable, like so many other unrelenting female voices both before and after her, to the mainstream insistence on reinforcement of the comfortable over the breaking down of boundaries.
āLet the Canary Singā captures all of this succinctly, yet with layered and sophisticated nuance, as it pays its tribute to a pop icon whose seminal work has continued to resonate after more than 40 years. Unavoidably, perhaps, it sometimes feels like a āBehind the Musicā episode or a āpuff pieceā for an artist about to launch a new project ā indeed, Lauper announced a āfarewell tourā of 23 cities, as well as a ācompanion pieceā greatest hits album release, on the eve of the movieās streaming debut ā but it pushes past such irrelevant comparisons thanks to the palpable sincerity conveyed onscreen, not only from her, but from all the people in her orbit whose comments about her are included in the film.
Of course, it must be said that anyone whoās not a “Cyndi Lauper fan”, whether by virtue of generational gaps or personal tastes, will probably not be drawn to watch a filmic love letter to her, and thatās a shame. It (and she) has the power to make viewers into true believers not only in her talent, but in her message of acceptance, inclusion, and unconditional love. Part of that, hinges on Ellwoodās skill as a filmmaker and teller of real-life stories, but the lasting impact rests on the persona of the star herself, who exudes a genuine air of transcendence and makes us not only feel instantly comfortable, but completely āseenā and validated, no matter who we are or which spectrum we might be on.
Itās hard to fake the kind of sincerity that makes that possible, and nothing about āCanaryā suggests that Cyndi Lauper has any interest in being fake, anyway.
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