Using a New York drag show as a starting point, Venus Boyz offers portraits of several drag kings in effort to explore performances of female masculinity. Each performer approaches drag from a unique perspective and situation. While all of them are queer, each would define their sexuality and their gender identity in different ways. Several of them are lesbians, one is transgender, one intersex, and another says she fancies women but prefers men because they turn her on more. Some of them only put on men's clothes for performances, but others maintain a more masculine appearance or gender identity all the time. Many of them think of their drag performances as social commentary, but some of them just have fun dressing up.

The film includes bits of interesting conversation around ideas of gender and gender performance, but not enough to really satisfy me. In particular, I would have loved some discussion around the misandry and misogyny I've often noticed from drag kings and transmen respectively. I was especially fascinated by the comments offered by the intersex individual in regards to how doctors determine sex and the differences zhe* has noticed in how people behave toward zhim now that zhe appears more masculine than feminine.

Gaining the trust of subjects is always the most important part of making an effective documentary. While Venus Boyz director Gabrielle Baur obviously accomplished that objective, her documentary falls short of being completely successful. The film feels like a collection of snapshots of individuals rather than a cohesive portrayal of a subculture.

*Confused by the strange 'Z' words in that sentence? Read about them here.

Thanks to the folks over at Whedonesque for the link! My blog has actually migrated, so if you'd like to leave a comment you can do so over here.

Of all the relationships on Buffy, Willow and Tara's feels the most separated from the goings-on of the other Scoobies. That separation is partly forced because their relationship is a lesbian one and thus not quite socially acceptable, especially on network television. Willow and Tara are much less physically affectionate in comparison to the show's other significant relationships, and at the beginning of their relationship their intimacy has to be portrayed through metaphor. In the context of the show, Willow does not openly date Tara at first because she is coming out to herself and worries about her friends' reactions. But Willow and Tara also remain conscious of and even maintain a separate space for their relationship to occupy. Because of the "behind closed doors" nature of their relationship, a close look at door imagery, of which there is quite a bit, is warranted and indeed rewarded. Doors, doorways, and entryways help to illustrate the progression of Willow and Tara's relationship and its integration into the "mainstream" of the show.

Of course, each character opens a door at some point, and theoretically everyone has to go through doors all the time to get from room to room and place to place. But doors are interesting. Doors are obviously associated with entry and exit, but often those entrances and exits relate to more than just the physical space. The ideas, people, and values that space represents are being embraced or dismissed as well. Who can open particular doors or pass through doorways into certain spaces indicates ownership, privilege, and power. Doors also provide isolation or privacy, and in the Buffyverse doors and doorways can effectively protect against vampires who cannot cross some thresholds without an invitation.

Doorways and entryways are also liminal spaces or places of transition. Obviously, people go from outside to inside or from one space to another through doorways, but entryways differ somewhat. They are part of a space but at the same time disconnected and, in fact, almost purgatorial: one only lingers in an entryway until accepted into the rest of the building where meaningful interactions take place. Liminal spaces often play a significant role in portraying queer relationships. Because same-sex relationships have been considered socially deviant, they oftentimes can only safely exist in liminal spaces, like a darkened alley or a bathroom stall. But restricting queer characters to liminal spaces ensures that their "threatening" sexuality does not come in contact with "moral," heterosexual spaces like marriage, the home, and the nuclear family. The confinement also implies that they do not or cannot belong in those places.

Images of doors, entryways, and doorways feature prominently throughout Willow and Tara's relationship, but Tara in particular has a lot of such imagery associated with her starting from her first appearance in "Hush." Indeed, Tara choosing to delve into the Scoobies' world of vampires, demons, and monsters is marked by a door. As Tara leaves her dorm room to find Willow so that they can do a spell together, she opens the door and looks back hesitantly at her room before shutting the door behind her. She has a definite moment of exiting one world and entering another. Because Tara is an outsider to the group, her space exists outside of the Scoobies' domain. And unlike Giles and Xander's apartments or Spike's crypt, Tara's room never becomes a place where the Scoobies hang out or even a place they visit sometimes. Because of that separation, Tara's room becomes a place where Willow may explore her sexuality and transition to a gay identity. Or perhaps that relationship is actually inverse: because Tara is queer she must inhabit separate space, which makes her an outsider. Because doors are such an important part of demarcating space, the majority of door imagery related to Tara reveals the limitations of how she may and what space she may occupy as a queer outsider.

Tara's role for much of season four is allowing Willow access to her room – access to queer space – quite literally opening her door so that their relationship may foster. Tara first opens her door to Willow in “The I in Team” when she drops by to ask if Tara wants to hang out after Buffy blows her off to patrol with Riley. Willow had been in Tara's room before to do magic together in "A New Man," but that scene begins with Willow already inside the room. Thus, this little moment of Willow asking if she can enter Tara's room seems more significant than her simply inquiring if Tara wants to "do something." Their body language also suggests something more: Willow is visibly nervous and hopeful, and Tara's smile is on the warmer side of friendly as she lets Willow into her room. Combined with the door closing, leaving the audience outside the room, I'm inclined to believe that this episode marks when Willow and Tara's relationship becomes more than just a friendship. This scene perhaps represents Willow's coming out to herself, choosing to enter Tara's room in a more significant way than before.

The following episode “Goodbye Iowa” contains a similar scene in which a very smiley Willow comes to Tara's room for help with a spell. They talk about the "spells" they did after the door closed in "The I in Team," and Tara says that she has been thinking about "that last spell [they] did all day," which overtly hints at the romantic nature of Willow and Tara's relationship for the first time. If "The I in Team" represents their first actually sexual (and not just magical) encounter, then "Goodbye Iowa" is their processing of that event. While Willow seems excited by their newly forming relationship, she has yet to fully embrace it because she still needs to knock and be let into Tara's room.

"New Moon Rising" obviously marks an important turning point for Willow and Tara when Willow doubly asserts her queer identity by choosing Tara over Oz and revealing to Buffy that she has been romantically involved with a woman. The first time Willow comes to Tara's room during the episode, Tara opens her door and invites Willow inside. When Willow visits a second time to tell Tara that she has chosen to be with her and not Oz, she steps into the room without a clear invitation. After making that choice and thereby establishing her queer identity, Willow has freer access to Tara's (queer) space and no longer has to pause in the liminal space of the doorway. Indeed, the next time Willow enters Tara's room in “Family” she opens the door without knocking.

While she must open doors to queer spaces for Willow, Tara must be escorted out of liminal spaces and into familiar ones as her and Willow's implied lesbian relationship becomes more explicit. Of course, Willow has to introduce Tara to her friends and their personal spaces, but Tara seemingly doesn't have the agency to enter even public Scooby spaces by herself. When Willow takes Tara to The Bronze in "Who Are You?" Tara had never been to the club before, which implies that she couldn't go there unaccompanied by Willow. Similarly, in “Family” Willow thinks that she hears Tara outside the Magic Box and opens the front door, suggesting that Tara could not have opened the door herself. In "The Real Me,” Tara even has to leave a space that had been familiar to her when the Scoobies begin to occupy it in a meaningful way. Tara says she comes to the Magic Box a lot, and only she knew the dead shopkeeper's name. But as Willow and Buffy investigate the murder scene and Giles begins to contemplate buying the store, Tara leaves the shop and joins Dawn outside, saying that it's "Best non-Scoobies like [them] stay out of the way."

In "Family," Tara finally enters a Scooby space by herself and, not coincidentally, finally feels embraced as part of the group in a way that she hadn't before. As the Scoobies help Buffy move out of her dorm room, Tara makes a joke that no one understands and then walks out the door, which emphasizes her feeling like an outsider despite very obviously wanting to be part of the group. Later in the episode when she walks into the Magic Box with Willow and sees her brother, she fears that his presence might jeopardize her ability to occupy that space, because her family could reveal her misguided belief that she is a demon. Even her personal space becomes compromised when she walks into her dorm room and finds her father inspecting her belongings. Feeling potentially excluded from the group, and indeed even from Sunnydale, Tara is pushed to liminal spaces and must perform her demon-hiding spell from a doorway in the magic shop. While that spell endangers the Scoobies by blinding them to demons, it also creates an opportunity for Tara to help them without any assistance from Willow. And Tara enters a Scooby space by herself for the first time when she walks into the Magic Box and warns Buffy about the Lei-Ach demon about to attack her.

Tara's incorporation into the Scoobies becomes conflated with the group's acceptance of Willow's new queer identity and their relationship. When Willow and Tara visit Giles' apartment in "Primeval” the morning after Willow outs their relationship, Giles must open his front door for them. Where they could barge into Giles' apartment in “Who Are You?” as an anonymous couple, after their relationship has been revealed they no longer have that power and privilege. As the Scoobies' create a place in the gang for Tara during the course of “Family,” they also must resolve their lingering uncertainty about Willow and Tara's relationship. Toward the beginning of the episode, Buffy and Xander are quick to say “it's cool” that Willow is now “Swingin' with the ['lesbian'] lifestyle,” but they also express a sense of alienation, worrying that they won't fit in at Tara's birthday party. And while they think Tara is "nice," “real nice,” “super nice,” they say that they “don't necessarily get her” because they don't understand “Half of what she says.” All they really seem to know about Tara is that she likes Willow, that she is a lesbian, which seemingly hinders their ability to communicate with her. By accepting Tara they also accept her sexuality and relationship with Willow, even though they may not understand it. Willow and Tara dancing together at The Bronze at the end of the episode, their first public display of couplehood, underscores that their relationship has also been newly acknowledged.

Tara does become more integrated into the Scoobies to the point that in “Bargaining” she helps a physically and emotionally exhausted Willow enter the Magic Box – where Willow once had to escort her into places the Scoobies frequent, Tara now helps Willow enter those same spaces. But unfortunately because Tara doesn't receive much character development outside of her relationship with Willow, her acceptance as a Scooby remains tied to her being in that relationship. Therefore, her persistent lingering in doorways seems appropriate, emphasizing her tenuous place in the Scooby gang.

As their relationship begins to strain, Tara is forced out of Scooby spaces and back into liminal spaces. She realizes that Willow has cast a spell to make her forget a disagreement while standing in the doorway to Dawn's room in "Once More With Feeling." Similarly in "Tabula Rasa," Tara stands in the entryway of the Summers' house when she snaps at Willow to hurry getting dressed. At the end of that episode Tara leaves Willow because of her abusive overuse of magic, walking out the front door of the Summers' house. When Tara returns to the house in “Smashed” and "Wrecked," she distances herself from the house's more personal spaces, remaining in the hallway when Dawn goes into Buffy and Willow's rooms to look for them. Her leaving the Magic Box in "Dead Things" also evidences her return to the fringe of the Scooby circle. She also only enters the Summers' house by invitation: Dawn asks Tara to keep her company in “Smashed” and Buffy invites her to her birthday party in “Older and Far Away.” In "Normal Again" Tara can enter the Summers' house without invitation and without knocking, seemingly because she is there to see Willow, which suggests that they could reconcile. When they do finally reunite in "Entropy," Tara can leave Willow's doorway and enter the bedroom as she verbally renegotiates her place in their relationship.

In the context of Willow and Tara's relationship, doors often represent both barriers that they must hurdle to connect with each other and safeguards that isolate their prohibited sexuality. In "Hush," Tara finds herself being chased by the Gentlemen as she goes to look for Willow, so she pushes through double doors into stairwells and knocks on dorm room doors as she tries to escape. The audience is misled into thinking that Tara is knocking on Willow's door, but when the door opens she is faced with a Gentleman holding a freshly harvested heart instead. As Tara runs away from the demon, Willow walks out of her room and they collide. But instead of retreating back into Willow's room, they run through more doors, downstairs, through more doors, and ultimately lock themselves in the laundry room. They then join hands and combine their magic to move a soda machine and barricade the door. In light of the later metaphor of magic representing lesbian sex, that bit of magic can be understood as their first sexual encounter, which takes place in a laundry room behind a locked door. It's almost as if Tara couldn't find Willow's door, they couldn't hide in Willow's room because the forbidden nature of their relationship precluded them from such personal and intimate spaces. They had to retreat through many doors and spaces until they reached the liminal space of the laundry room where they could engage in prohibited sexuality behind a locked, barricaded door. Interestingly, Willow and Tara are never shown alone together in the dorm room that Buffy and Willow share. Willow's room cannot be an intimate space for them as Tara's room is, until "The Real Me" when Willow has a single room and no longer lives with Buffy, making her room an assured queer space.

After running into Faith at The Bronze in "Who Are You?" Willow and Tara return to Tara's room and close the door behind them, which feels like a retreat of sorts. They had held hands at the club, and almost as punishment for being physically affectionate in public, they had been outed and ridiculed by Faith. The closing door coupled with Willow closing the curtain on the window emphasizes the isolation needed to perform the "Passage to the Nether Realm" spell, a thinly veiled metaphor for lesbian sex and the most graphic "sex" scene between the two women ever shown on the series.

Willow and Tara's passages through doorways in "Tabula Rasa" are intriguingly reminiscent of their interactions in "Hush" and readily comparable because they newly discover their attraction to each other after losing their memories. Due to some not unconvincing circumstances – and the fact that no one ever thinks that two women could be dating – Willow falsely assumes that Xander is her boyfriend. Much like "Hush," Willow and Tara have to descend into the sewers before their mutual attraction first surfaces. Then as they run away from a vampire, they hide behind walls and in drains until Willow pushes Tara out of harm's way and they almost kiss. Willow needs to experience a physical attraction to Tara to realize she's "kinda gay" though she never seems very attracted to "Alex." Even with blank slates, heterosexuality is still presumed and more acceptable. While Giles and Anya can explore their falsely assumed heterosexual relationship above ground in a familiar setting, Willow and Tara must again submit to a labyrinthine journey into impersonal space to discover their genuine attraction, even though they have come out and been together for almost two years. However, had Willow and Tara kissed, they would have done so in front of Xander and Dawn, and it would have been an actual display of lesbian sexuality rather than sexuality coded as a "spell." The similarities between "Hush" and "Tabula Rasa" suggest their relationship may not have become more socially acceptable over the intermediary two years, but their insistence at being out and their friends' support has allowed more freedom of expression.

In "New Moon Rising" contrasting door imagery related to Tara and Oz also delineates a difference in power and privilege between gay and straight relationships. The episode begins with Tara attending her first Scooby meeting in Giles' apartment, where of course Willow had to escort her. When Oz first returns, he stands in Giles' entryway having entered the apartment without knocking. His ability to walk into the Scoobies' personal space without permission underscores his privilege and perhaps even his status as a more socially acceptable partner for Willow. Later in the episode, he opens Willow's door when Tara knocks, which again emphasizes Oz's privilege, in this case to occupy Willow's personal space and even grant others access to it. The action also asserts Willow and Buffy's room as a heterosexual space that Tara cannot enter. In fact, there's a sense throughout the episode of Oz forcing Tara out of places, reclaiming them as heterosexual space and making her retreat. When Oz returns at the beginning of the episode, obviously wanting to regain his place in Willow's life and by extension the group, Tara "has to" leave Giles' apartment. Oz prevents Tara from entering Willow's bedroom, even though she had performed a spell with Willow and Giles there in "Where the Wild Things Are," and Oz literally chases Tara at one point in the episode when he becomes a werewolf.

Despite being forcibly segregated to an extent, Willow and Tara also maintain separate space for their relationship. Willow takes her time in introducing Tara to her other friends because she “kind of like[s] having something that's just, you know, [hers].” In "Restless," she says that she "never worr[ies] here," marking Tara's room as a safe space separate from the rest of her world. Similarly, in "After Life" Tara encourages Willow to be honest about her concerns as they get ready for bed, saying "This is the room where you don't have to be brave." Then as Willow expresses her worries about Buffy, she closes their door before she really starts opening up. After something that looks like Buffy violently wakes them, they peer into Buffy's bedroom without stepping inside and then return their room, closing the door behind them, before discussing the strange occurrence. They maintain a separate space in which they may converse meaningfully. And just as Willow and Tara need to be invited into Scooby spaces at times, Buffy must knock on Tara's door and wait for Willow to let her inside when she comes to check on Tara in "Superstar."

Because of Buffy and her mother's (and later Dawn's) positively portrayed relationship with each other, the Summers' house comes to represent the ideal nuclear family on Buffy. Therefore, Willow and Tara's presence in the house as an openly gay couple demonstrates how their relationship is becoming intermingled with more traditional ideas of relationships and family. Season five begins with the Scoobies having a day on the beach in "Buffy vs. Dracula," and Willow and Tara's relationship seems to have been acknowledged by the group, which Xander confirms when he tells Willow that "Everybody knows." But not quite everybody seems to know. Later in the episode Joyce tells Willow and Tara that when older women date they sometimes "feel like giving up on men altogether," causing Willow and Tara to exchange surreptitious little glances. They stand in the entryway during this conversation with Joyce, emphasizing that they are, at the moment at least, confined to a liminal space because Joyce doesn't know about, and thus has not accepted their relationship. The following episode "The Real Me" indicates that Joyce has become aware that they are a couple, and when Willow and Tara next come to the Summers' house in "Checkpoint" they can occupy the living room. After Buffy passes away, leaving Dawn without a guardian, Willow and Tara move into Buffy's house to take care of her. They demonstrate their newfound comfort in domesticity by moving through doorways in the house and even sharing a kiss in the hallway. In Joyce and Buffy's absence, not only can their relationship exist alongside the traditional nuclear family, they have redefined it.

Doors receive a lot of attention on Buffy. If someone were to take the time to note all the characters' interactions with doors, Tara might not stand out in comparison. But because of Willow's appreciation of her relationship with Tara as "something that's just [hers]" coupled with its socially taboo nature, Willow and Tara's association with doors seems more significant. The doors that the show runners choose, and sometimes are forced, to use also reveal the restrictions of portraying a lesbian relationship on network television at that time. Few lesbian relationships on network TV compare to Willow and Tara in regards to its duration and the amount of screen time they receive. And though instances of "lesbian" sexuality have become more common and less coded since 2002, the number of significant, recurring lesbian characters has not increased. If a network show were to tackle a long-running lesbian relationship not intended to titillate men or garner sweeps ratings, I wonder if it would still have to develop behind all those doors.

— List of Every Single Time Willow/Tara Are in a Doorway Ever

The Jane Austen Book Club is about as bland of a "chick flick" as one can find. With perhaps one exception, writer-director Robin Swicord forsakes character development and relies on comfortable stock characters related by visual cues. Sylvia's husband recently left her for another woman and she is still recovering from the divorce, which we can tell because her hair is always messy. Jocelyn is the self-reliant, fortysomething single who is too closed off for a real relationship, which we know because she has a lot of pets. Bernadette is a middle-aged bohemian with lots of previous marriages, evident because of her spiky haircut and colorful clothing. Prudie feels trapped in her marriage and ignored by her husband, and she's uptight because hello! severe bob and high-necked clothing. Also, her name is Prudie. While I wouldn't say that Allegra, Sylvia's impulsive, lesbian daughter, or Grigg, the sweet-natured, young love interest, are stock characters necessarily, both characters remain seriously underdeveloped, especially Allegra. If you've read Austen, then you can figure out where the women's storylines are headed, and the final scene is so saccharine and contrived that I couldn't bear to watch it in its entirety.

While the screenplay definitely lacks originality, what the film does have going for it is a cast of very likeable actors. Amy Brenneman and Maria Bello are both very under-appreciated and underused actresses, in my opinion, and Maggie Grace and Emily Blunt are two up-and-coming young actors to watch out for. Even though Prudie's storyline is far from fresh, Blunt plays the role as if it had never been done before, and I found her performance the most affecting. Hugh Dancy is charming as the well-intentioned but baffled Grigg, and he really clicks with Bello. Similarly, Jimmy Smits and Brenneman are well-matched, but Smits doesn't get enough screentime to make much of an impression. Marc Blucas, a.k.a. Captain Cardboard from Buffy, lives up to his nickname and is poorly paired with Blunt.

The Jane Austen Book Club does get points for presenting Allegra's sexuality as a non-issue, and even though she never kisses one of her girlfriends on screen (maybe to make this mainstream film acceptable to its target "Middle America" audience) Swicord manages to make the more intimate scenes pretty sexy. However, I'm a little irked that only Allegra doesn't have a partner at the end of the film, though I admit it fits with her character. Her having yet another girlfriend would have been preferable to the insinuation that the lesbian is fated to end up alone.

After watching An American Crime the other day, I felt compelled to pull out Heavenly Creatures to remind myself how a true crime movie should be done. In depicting the Parker-Hulme murder that happened in Christchurch, New Zealand in 1954, director Peter Jackson seamlessly blends fantasy and suspense into what amounts to a coming-of-age story. Though Jackson by no means downplays the brutal, chilling murder – the film both begins and ends with it – Pauline and Juliet are so well-drawn and well-portrayed that the audience can't help but be captivated by their relationship.

Heavenly Creatures was the feature film debut for both Kate Winslet and Melanie Lynskey. Winslet had done some work in British television, but Lynskey was discovered by co-writer Fran Walsh when she scoured high schools in New Zealand for Pauline Parker lookalikes. Winslet's career very quickly took off soon after filming Heavenly Creatures when she played Marianne Dashwood in Emma Thompson's adaptation of Sense and Sensibility, a role for which she was nominated for many awards, while Lynskey languished in obscurity for several more years. However, both young actresses effortlessly inhabit their characters, and their natural chemistry carries the film during the slower bits. Paul and Juliet remind me of girls I knew when I was younger – they do not seem like monsters. But Winslet and Lynskey give them enough of an off-kilter quality that I can see why they would form such an intense friendship and how that relationship could lead to extraordinary behavior.

The girls initially bond over their ailments that caused them to have extended stays in hospitals, and in Juliet's case she has developed something of a romanticized notion of death and dying. With working-class parents who run a boarding house out of their home, Pauline is intrigued by Juliet's posh lifestyle, but Juliet's homelife is far from ideal despite the fineness of her surroundings. Though not completely unkind, her parents do seem rather self-absorbed, and they keep deserting her to recuperate from various illnesses. During Juliet's convalescence in a tuberculosis hospital, her relationship with Paul becomes increasingly codependent and steeped in fantasy when they decide to write to each other as characters they created. Eventually, Juliet finds herself living with her parents and her mother's lover during their divorce, and Paul's relationship with her parents becomes unstable when she becomes the object of one of their boarders' inappropriate attentions. Paul and Juliet delve so completely into their fantasy world because of these instabilities in their home environments, and the girls feed off each other's increasing desperation, which leads to murder seeming necessary, even unavoidable. Jackson leaves it up to the viewers to decide how insane they think the girls become.

Heavenly Creatures is one of those movies that makes lesbians squirm a little. Portraying queer women (and men) as psychopaths is a time-tested technique of the film and television industry – right up there with suicidal and predatory lesbians – for delivering the message that homosexuality is wrong and no good will ever come of those gays. Because the newspaper coverage of the Parker-Hulme murder sensationalized the girls' supposed lesbianism, Jackson was obligated to address that aspect of their relationship within the film. He includes a friendly kiss between Paul and Juliet early on, and he portrays a passage of Paul's diary that describes her and Juliet "enact[ing] how each Saint would make love in bed" as the girls having sex, though he clearly implies that they imagine making love to their male saints as they do it. However, he chose not to include a passage of Pauline's diary that reads "I believe I could fall in love with Juliet," which is very telling about his agenda. Like the girls' sanity, I think that Jackson purposefully leaves their sexual orientation a bit ambiguous, giving me the impression that Pauline and Juliet's intense codependent relationship became sexual in nature due to their burgeoning sexuality more than anything else. I think Jackson had strong evidence that Pauline and Juliet's relationship did involve sexual encounters, so I cannot read his inclusion of those lesbian overtones as derogatory toward the LGBT community when he approaches these two characters with such affection.

I find the last sentence of the film's postscript, which mentions that a condition of the girls' parole was that they never see each other again, particularly intriguing. I can't help but wonder what would happen if Juliet Hulme and Pauline Parker ever did meet again. Most likely, nothing would happen. I doubt they would be able to become friends again, let alone commit another crime together. But their story does beg the question of whether either of these women would have become a murderer had they never met.

Imagine Me & You is not a remarkable film. Though well-developed, the characters aren't particularly original, and the story follows the comfortable romantic comedy formula. The lesbian twist on the romantic triangle is really the only aspect that differentiates it from dozens of other romcoms. However, the fact that Imagine Me & You is so commonplace makes it significant — it portrays a queer relationship with little distinction from a straight one.

Ol Parker's directorial debut is part of a burgeoning new generation of queer cinema that features LGBT characters in stories that are not LGBT-specific. Most films made for the general viewing public with queer characters at their center have addressed coming out, AIDS, or homophobia, issues specifically associated with the queer community. While those stories were and continue to be important to tell, they offer a very limited glimpse into the lives of LGBT individuals, and they focus on how their lives differ from rather than resemble most people's. Queer audiences and probably a good portion of straight audiences are ready to see films with LGBT characters that do not involve alienation from family members or death, whether by illness or violence. While films that meet those criteria have been made, they have been resigned to very limited releases and more often LGBT film festivals. Even though a couple aspects of the film feel "not Hollywood," Imagine Me & You is definitely intended for a wide, mainstream audience, making its nonchalant approach to this (pink) love triangle rather notable.

While there's a little coming out in Imagine Me & You, the heart of the story asks whether love can happen in an instant or if it develops slowly over time. For Rachel, that moment of instant attraction happens as she walks down the aisle to marry her longtime boyfriend Heck and sees Luce amongst the crowd of wedding-goers. While Rachel shares an affectionate, comfortable relationship with Heck, she cannot seem to shake the connection and attraction she feels toward Luce. Though Rachel does some questioning appropriate for someone who has never before been attracted to a person of the same sex, Luce being a woman matters little in regards to Rachel's main quandary of whether she can leave a man whom she cares for very much and does love, though probably more as a friend. Rachel never seems conflicted about possibly being gay or concerned whether friends and family would still accept her if she were. Rachel's mother reacts hesitantly to her daughter's attraction to another woman, but both Rachel's parents and Luce's mother come along for the ride during the requisite chase scene that concludes the film, implying their approval of Rachel and Luce's relationship. The gay characters remain pleasantly devoid of the usual stereotypes, and no one treats them as if they were unicorns or lepers — people seem aware of and, for the most part, quite accepting of gay and lesbian relationships. But Parker does include small, appropriate reminders that queer relationships still exist on the fringe of society to some extent.

Despite its formulaic plot, Imagine Me & You is far less saccharine and superficial than most Hollywood romantic comedies. While Luce and Rachel's romance is undeniably sweet, it's not cloyingly so. The humor, which comes mostly from Heck's biting one-liners, is low-key and clever with nary a wacky misunderstanding in sight. Relationships are treated with maturity and intelligence, and all of the characters feel fully realized and three-dimensional. Though receiving less than favorable reviews from most critics, the film has been embraced by queer audiences for its positive portrayal of a lesbian relationship and the delightful performances of Lena Headey and Piper Perabo.

I knew that RENT was in trouble from its first scene, a rendition of "Seasons Of Love" (whose chorus consists of singing "How about love?" a bunch of times) set in an empty theater. Note to director Chris Columbus: the goal of making a musical film is not to duplicate the experience of watching a stage musical. That's why we have film and theater. There's both, you see, because they are different.

But RENT's problems go deeper than a misguided director's attempt to recreate a theater atmosphere in a movie. None of the characters leave much of an impression, because actual characterization has been reduced to mere labels. Mimi? Heroin-addicted stripper. Tom? Anarchist, HIV-positive, um, professor? Grad student? Something academic. I'm still unsure. Mark? Jewish filmmaker. Roger? HIV-positive, former addict musician... You get the idea. These peoples' passions, fears, attitudes, and motivations remain largely unexplored, reducing them to one-dimensional caricatures. At the end of the film, I didn't feel as though I really knew any of these people nor had much investment in their fates.

If a character succeeds at distinguishing themself from the pack, it's usually due to an actor being likable rather than having the opportunity to show much depth. Tom has almost nothing of a storyline, but Jesse L. Martin is charismatic so he is enjoyable to watch. I like Tracie Thoms and Rosario Dawson from other work, so I had more interest in their characters, though I struggled to remain interested in Dawson's storyline for which I fault the script and a miscast romantic foil rather than her. Idina Menzel is the only actor previously unknown to me who really caught my attention with her energetic and fairly nuanced performance as Maureen.

Thoms and Dawson are the only actors who did not appear in the original stage production, so many of the actors have been occupying these characters' skins for years. But that doesn't necessarily mean that they can make the transition to the big screen. While Adam Pascal is the only actor carried over from the play who seems completely out of his element, Anthony Rapp and Wilson Jermaine Heredia are only decent, and Taye Diggs is fine but unexceptional in his very small role. Pascal offers at best a lukewarm performance as Roger and fails to generate much screen presence. But as I said, I think Martin and Menzel are good, the former perhaps benefiting from his years on Law & Order. The chemistry amongst the ensemble is pretty good – the cast fares better when they are all together – but it fizzles between some of the pairings. Thoms and Menzel have great chemistry, making Joanne and Maureen one of very few fictional couples who manage to seem like they would have some fun in the sack without the inclusion of a sex scene. Martin and Heredia never really sell the romantic aspect of their relationship but do seem genuinely affectionate. Pascal and Dawson, however, couldn't generate heat with a flame thrower.

I cannot say much that is positive about Jonathan Larson's music and lyrics. Granted, most of the songs are catchy and fairly memorable, but I find the lyrics poorly written, often saccharine, mostly melodramatic, and in some cases laughable. They offer some modest character moments, but Joanne is the only one who actually gets some character development out of a song (and, indeed, in the entire film) when she walks down the stairs singing, "Take me for what I am," shedding her insecurities about needing and keeping Maureen. The music sounds straight out of the early nineties, which may not be inappropriate given that the story is set in 1990, but the music does really date the musical, which I found to be detrimental. Larson based RENT on Puccini's opera La Bohéme, which might explain the melodramatic tenor of many songs. But that operatic emotion never really gels with the grim realities of addiction and AIDS that color the film, resulting in an uneven tone and giving an artificial quality to the weightier scenes.

Part of me wants to love RENT, because it's the only musical that features HIV-positive characters, lesbians, gay men, even a drag queen. But even though those types of people might make up my community, it doesn't mean that I find these characters relatable or even recognizable. Visibility in the media does matter to marginalized groups, but I'm still not going to embrace every shallow, inadequate portrayal that comes along.

It is not inertia alone that is responsible for human relationships repeating themselves from case to case, indescribably monotonous and unrenewed: it is shyness before any sort of new, unforeseeable experience with which one does not think oneself able to cope. But only someone who is ready for everything, who excludes nothing, not even the most enigmatical will live the relation to another as something alive.

-Rainer Maria Rilke, Letters to a Young Poet

Kissing Jessica Stein is something of a rarity in a couple of respects. First, it is an intelligent romantic comedy. All of the ingredients of a classic, mainstream rom-com are here — two people meet cute, begin a relationship, encounter an obstacle, and overcome it — but Kissing Jessica Stein asks its audience to think a little about sexual identity and things don't wrap up neatly at the end. Second, the film explores the relationship of two women who are choosing to be queer in a way not meant to titillate men, both in the film and in the audience.

An editor for a New York newspaper, Jessica has become frustrated with dating and spends her sleepless nights painting pieces that she does not display and reading mountains of books that fill her apartment. After her bitter and generally surly ex-boyfriend-cum-boss Josh lambastes her for being too critical of the men she has dated, Jessica decides to try something completely different and answers a personal ad from the women-seeking-women section. She meets Helen, a curator of a contemporary art museum who juggles three boyfriends but wants to explore sex with other women. The two women click and despite their conflicting attitudes about sex — Helen wants to get to it while Jessica doesn't feel that comfortable — they begin a relationship. Trouble arises, as it always does, when Jessica doesn't tell Helen about her brother's upcoming wedding and Helen gives her an ultimatum: take Helen to the wedding or break up. Jessica tells Helen that she cannot come out to her family, but her worries are assuaged after her mother reveals that she knows about their relationship and she supports Jessica. However, Helen soon realizes that Jessica really wants the best friend quality of her relationship with Helen that she could not find with men and that Jessica has confused a few moments of sexual desire with a sexual attraction to Helen.

This post is the first that has made me balk at the director as auteur theory that has dictated the titling of these posts because Kissing Jessica Stein is very much the product of co-stars, co-writers, and co-producers Jennifer Westfeldt and Heather Jurgensen. This project started in an improv theater class where they met and turned some sketches into a stage play. The play became a screenplay, which was purchased by a production studio and then bought back by Jurgensen and Westfeldt to finally be made into an independent film. These women have put a lot of effort, love, and themselves into creating Jessica and Helen's relationship, which translates onto the screen. Their chemistry truly sparkles as they create Jessica and Helen as fully realized, realistically flawed individuals. They are supported by an excellent cast of mostly theater actors, with Tovah Feldshuh and Jackie Hoffman particularly standing out as Jessica's very Jewish mother and pregnant co-worker respectively. Also, watch out for Idina Menzel as an enthusiastically curious bridesmaid.

I've been reading a particular website that focuses on queer women in entertainment for over a year now, and while many older lesbian-themed films have garnered quite a few references during that time, Kissing Jessica Stein has only been mentioned twice, both times in negative contexts. So I have to imagine that a section of the queer community does not like this film based on content rather than quality, and I can see why. As I mentioned previously, this film portrays two women choosing to be queer, and since many queer individuals think that homosexuality is biologically determined they may balk at the idea of being queer by choice. Indeed, an abbreviated form of this argument appears in film within the discussion between Martin, Sebastian, and Helen at a flea market. Lesbians in particular are wary of the concept of queer by choice because the idea is often conflated with the I Kissed a Girls who engage in lesbian sexuality to arouse their boyfriends. Personally, I see a clear difference between the two, the former being an understanding of one's queer identity and the latter being a consequence of heterosexual men's appropriation of lesbian sexuality for their sexual pleasure as a way to control women's sexuality. In fact, a real highlight of this film for me is the seduction scene in the restaurant because it acts as a reclamation of lesbian sexuality from straight men. When two men approach Helen and Jessica in a restaurant not realizing that they are on a date, Helen baits them into talking about why men find lesbians titillating. While the men describe what turns them on about two women together, Helen fondles Jessica under the table, thereby using the men's expression of how lesbian sexuality excites them to arouse her girlfriend.

The ending also causes problems for some queer women because Helen and Jessica don't stay together. Again, I find it refreshing to watch a romantic comedy that explores a relationship that isn't "the one," the one that supposedly lasts forever after the credits roll, and I don't think that the film criticizes Helen or Jessica for being in a queer relationship because they do not end up together. Many people dislike that Jessica runs into her ex-boyfriend Josh at the end of the film, because they interpret the encounter as evidence of the bulk of bi-phobic rhetoric, namely that bisexual women will ultimately leave relationships with women and retreat to the safe world of heterosexuality. First, I see the scene as more of a conclusion to Josh's storyline. He plays a prominent role in much of the film, so for him to disappear after the wedding, his passion for writing newly reawakened, would feel like his character arc had been left unresolved. Second, even if Jessica does get back together with Josh sometime after the credits roll, so what? Jurgensen and Westfeldt didn't write a film about Jessica and Josh's relationship: the movie is about Jessica and Helen and how their well-developed and respectfully presented relationship affects each other in believable, positive ways. In Helen's case, she seems to realize that she prefers relationships with women and begins dating another woman, while Jessica has become generally happier and less neurotic, quitting her job to pursue her art, and the two remain good friends. It's difficult for me to be unhappy with that ending.

Calling Kissing Jessica Stein a movie about lesbianism or even bisexuality is perhaps both inaccurate and limiting. This film explores the fluidity of sexuality and the tenuous line between friendship and romance with warmth, intelligence, and humor. The missteps, if one can call them that, are few. Helen's easy transition from dating three men to one slightly frigid woman seems suspect and Josh's transformation from embittered to sensitive could have used another scene. But mostly I have only extremely positive things to say about this rather groundbreaking and insightful film, which has become a favorite.

Gray Matters offers a clever twist on the standard love triangle, but writer-director Sue Kramer bungles its execution with poor plotting. Coupled with a miscast lead and pointless secondary characters, the film fails to deliver on the promise of its premise.

Gray shares a close, verging on co-dependent relationship with her brother, Sam. They usually stay home in the evenings to watch movies in the apartment they share when they aren't going to dance class with couples in their sixties. They are even mistaken for a couple from time to time. When Sam proposes to Charlie, his girlfriend of 24 hours, Gray's worries that she won't find love are compounded. Things only become more mixed up for Gray when Charlie gets drunk on her wedding night and they kiss right before she passes out. Charlie doesn't seem to remember the kiss, but Gray feels both guilty for kissing her brother's wife and confused by the feelings that the kiss brought up.

I like the premise of Gray Matters, I really do, but I would have executed it completely differently. I don't understand why Kramer feels compelled to hurry things. Charlie is the first girl Sam sees when he and Gray try to meet people and they get engaged in less than 24 hours. Gray does three dates in one night, trying to convince herself she isn't gay, and then almost immediately accepts her sexuality even though she spits after kissing Charlie. Kramer has no need to feel rushed because many scenes could have easily been excised. Many of the early scenes attempt to be fun and cutesy to no real purpose. I think that they are trying to show Gray's developing infatuation with Charlie, but they don't do anything but show Gray and Charlie spending time together. They do not develop character or introduce any complexity into relationships.

The subplot involving Sissy Spacek as Gray's therapist could have been removed completely. All she does is unceremoniously shove Gray back into the closet when Gray comes out to her. I would have much rather seen Gray dish to Molly Shannon. Alan Cumming isn't really needed either, but I don't mind him as much because he probably creates the weightiest character in the whole film. I would have preferred to see Kramer ditch the tired bad date montage and focus on Gordy as a legitimate love interest for Gray by making him a co-worker or something other than a cab driver who happens to pick up her twice. But really all Kramer needed in the way of characters was her love triangle and a confidante for Gray. I feel like Kramer ignores what makes her story unique when large chunks of time go by and Sam remains unseen.

I also don't understand why Kramer decided to give Gray the rather unfunny, uninteresting, unsubtle, and unoriginal trait of being indecisive.

I wouldn't say that I don't like Heather Graham, but I have never been impressed by her acting. (She was OK as George Michael's somewhat gauche, Saddam-loving ethics teacher on Arrested Development.) She never really manages to own a scene and is frequently overshadowed by other actors. Despite my many complaints about the script, I do think that there is some potential in Kramer's dialogue. However, much of the charm and humor of the dialogue is lost in Graham's stilted delivery. Graham also never seems very smart to me. Gray may know that Truffaut isn't a kind of mushroom, but I'm not convinced Graham does. And based on the interviews I've seen of her promoting this movie, she seems as aware of LGBT issues as a paper clip. But I will give props to Graham and Bridget Moynahan for really going for it with the kiss.

Moynahan is also a bit of a disappointment in casting. She makes Charlie likable enough and she has good chemistry with both her co-stars, but she doesn't do much with the character besides run around in lingerie. Tom Cavanagh plays Sam with a feckless charm and of the three leads he seems to have the best handle on Kramer's material, despite his sometimes mumbled delivery. Molly Shannon is excellent as usual in this supporting role, stealing all of the scenes that she's in. Sissy Spacek is decent though unneeded, and Rachel Shelley doesn't stretch herself much by playing Julia as a season 2 Helena Peabody.

I do not know for certain, but I assume that Kramer is straight. According to Wikipedia, Kramer loosely based the screenplay on her sister's life, and her portrayal of Gray definitely has an outsider feel to it. I don't know of anyone who talked about her partner not being respected when she dies when they came out. Kramer seems to understand the political rather than personal aspects of coming out and queer identity, which translates to Gray Matters lacking a real emotional resonance.

And they say goldfish have no memory
I guess their lives are much like mine
And the little plastic castle
Is a surprise every time
And it's hard to say if they're happy
But they don't seem much to mind
–Ani DiFranco, "Little Plastic Castle"

Goldfish Memory is a surprisingly charming little independent film from Ireland that follows many romantic relationships through a vignette-style of storytelling. The title refers to the oft-quoted though scientifically fallacious fact that goldfish have a memory of about three seconds. Writer-director Elizabeth Gill compares this idea to how people act in regards to love, quickly forgetting their latest heartbreak when they meet someone new, which is the central idea of the film. Goldfish Memory begins with about three core characters: Tom, an English professor who seduces his students; Angie, a television reporter and a lesbian; Red, Angie's gay best friend who avoids commitment. Angie begins to date Clara who had just broken up with Tom, Tom moves on to a new student, Red fixes his eye on a man who has a girlfriend, and those are just the first relationships of the film. Most of those relationships end and give way to new ones, some of which end and give way to new ones, and so forth.

The storytelling style that Gill chooses, greatly influenced by both Robert Altman and Richard Linklater, facilitates her goal of exploring "goldfish memory" in love by allowing Gill to progress quickly through time and relationships and to manage her large ensemble cast. However, the quick cuts between scenes muddles a sense of time and inhibits the audience from really bonding with the characters. In the end, I felt as though the characters introduced early — Tom, Angie, Red, Clara, David, Isolde, even Renee — had been well-developed and I felt a connection with them. People introduced later in the film did not have the same emotional complexity, and I didn't really care about Rosie and her subsequent relationships with Larry and the groom. Gill could have dumped a couple of the relationships to spend more time on the others, or she could have made the film a bit longer. Goldfish Memory has a running time of only 85 minutes, and Altman regularly made 2-hour+ films to deal with the large ensembles that he preferred.

Alice Pieszecki would be happy to know that Gill also explores connectivity, in addition to this concept of "goldfish memory." Angie recites to Red the overlapping love lives of some of her lesbian friends, and the relationships of the primary characters intersect as well. With the exception of one, all of the relationships portrayed in the film become sexual at some point, even a friendship. Clara provides the bulk of the connectivity, sleeping with Tom then Angie then Isolde, who dated Tom after she did, and finally hitting on the ex-fiance of Red's boyfriend's ex-girlfriend. Through this connectivity, Gill also looks at how former relationships influence current ones.

Gill proves herself to be quite a talented writer. She really knows how to draw characters and uses small moments to reveal them, such as Tom pouring the drink he had prepared for Clara into his own after she breaks up with him. And scenes like the one in which David and Red shopping for a stroller exhibit Gill's ability to accomplish multiple things within a scene, providing a window into their relationship and demonstrating how they are handling Angie's pregnancy. The film also has several funny moments with most of the humor stemming from and forming character. For example, the argument between David and Red after David learns that Red got Angie pregnant:

David: If I wanted a wife and kids, I could have stayed with Rosie, you know.
Red: Why didn't you? You said you weren't gay.
David: I'm not! You said you were gay.
Red: I am!

However, Gill does resort to some slapstick comedy toward the end that I don't particularly like. A man is tackled and another man runs into a telephone pole in a span of less than five minutes. I enjoyed the performances as well, especially Flora Montgomery's portrayal of Angie and Jean Butler's of Renee. Both of these women lend their characters a lot of depth and warmth, combating the choppy editing to create a lasting impression on the audience. I also really enjoyed Demien McAdam, who managed to make Conzo, a very cheesy and relatively inconsequential character, remarkably funny.

Gill earns some queer-friendly inclusion points by having both a gay man and a lesbian as central characters. While they suffer through confusion and heartbreak just like all the others, the gay and lesbian characters conclude the film in seemingly stable relationships. However, the bisexual characters do not fair so well. Three characters do not fit neatly under a gay or straight label: Clara, Isolde, and David. Gill's characterization of Clara and Isolde perpetuates many of the stereotypes associated with bisexuality. They are both young, attractive, college-aged women who date a lot of people not very seriously, and their relationships with women could easily be written off as "experimentation." Neither of the women seem to be in long-term relationships when the film ends. David perhaps balances Clara and Isolde to an extent, as he seems to prefer monogamous, long-term relationships and he concludes the film paired off with Red. However, David never identifies himself as bisexual, gay, or queer. Only Clara uses the 'B' word, which maybe makes her characterization most significant in this context.

I don't usually write about the crime novels that I read sometimes, but I just finished my first novel by Patricia Cornwell and felt compelled to make a comment. Plus, I'm trying not to be so ashamed of reading novels that are not published by McSweeney's or usually compared to Pynchon.

Unnatural Exposure is one of the many novels in Cornwell's Scarpetta series, which follows the cases of Dr. Kay Scarpetta, the Chief Medical Examiner for the Commonwealth of Virginia. Cornwell has written sixteen novels in this series, which perpetually hover somewhere on The New York Times Bestseller List, so I imagine that Cornwell and a sizable portion of United States denizens find Dr. Scarpetta appealing.

I really don't.

I don't know if she was cranky because she thought she might die from small pox, but I found Scarpetta thoroughly unlikable in this novel. Spending any time with her seems about as enjoyable as sitting through Bride Wars with all your faculties and a functioning brain. Scarpetta comes across as arrogant, privileged, peevish, self-involved, and practically humorless. Her predominant reactions ranged from irritation to anger and pretty much nothing in between. Her interactions with her niece Lucy managed to make Scarpetta marginally tolerable; however, her romantic interest Benton Wesley should probably run. Published in 1997, Unnatural Exposure falls in the middle of the series, so I'm definitely coming into things late. Perhaps Scarpetta has something in her past that explains her demeanor or even makes her very flawed personality endearing, but after reading this novel I don't care about her enough to make the effort to find out.

I felt like Cornwell was treading water for almost two hundred pages, with the story finally picking up with the first death on Tangier Island. I don't mind the misdirection of the dismemberment cases, but too much time was spent on these previous cases given that they remained unsolved at the end of the novel. In fact, the entire pacing of the novel felt rather awkward and very stop-and-start with Cornwell diverting from the case for some lengthy passages. I know that Cornwell set a precedent for including emerging technologies in forensic pathology in her work, but the incorporation of said technology really dates her novels. Cornwell also writes about technology, especially computer technology, in perhaps accessible but very inelegant ways. I also disliked Cornwell's over-reliance on acronyms. If something had an acronym, Cornwell mentions it, even if the acronym is never used again, and she also drops the acronyms rather inelegantly. For example,

Getting close, I squatted and rubbed gloved fingers over deep gouges and scrapes in aluminum in an area where the Vehicle Identification Number, or VIN, should have been.

Cornwell uses so many acronyms that I forgot several of their meanings when they were not referenced for many pages. In many of these instances, Cornwell could have used a few adjectives to prevent her readers from becoming muddled in an alphabet soup.

I was curious to read one of Cornwell's novels because I've stumbled across her name several times recently in regards to LGBT equality issues. And it was on sale at Half-Price Books for a dollar. For her part, Unnatural Exposure is pretty gay, with a total of four queer characters. However, with the series' central character failing to capture me, I think I'll stick to Kinsey.

Liza Minnelli is a name that I've certainly encountered throughout my life, but it's one that has never really conjured a very clear picture. I had falsely summated, from comments made about her, that Ms. Minnelli's modest and short-lived celebrity, generated mostly by her famous, tragic parentage, had faded, and that most references to her had become relegated to drag shows and comedy sketches about washed up celebrities. I also remember being more than a little terrified that one of her husbands was really a ventriloquist dummy come to life. Yes, like that Buffy episode only actually frightening. When she appeared as "Lucille Two" on Arrested Development, I was surprised how much I enjoyed Ms. Minnelli, but Cabaret is obviously her signature performance.

Cabaret is a musical unlike most musicals in a couple of aspects. Most noticeably, it is not a musical designed to make the audience feel good. While musicals have certainly tackled weightier topics, even the rise of Nazi Germany (The Sound of Music), most fall into the romantic comedy genre or at least end on an optimistic note. When Cabaret's final credits start to roll, the only feeling that really lingers is despair. Secondly, the songs are actual musical performances within the story and serve more to establish the cultural backdrop than to develop the characters or to define relationships.

Most of the songs are performed in the cabaret and feature content that underscores an aggrandizement of ambiguous and unrestricted sexuality and a general feeling of mirth and merriment, despite the tumultuous political climate. Two of the performances even use references to the rising Nazi party and antisemitism as punchlines. One song stands in strong counterpoint to the rest, though it too is presented as a musical performance. As Brian and Max share a meal together, a Nazi youth sings "Tomorrow Belongs to Me", which turns a song full of hope and affirmation into a chilling promise of Hitler's Third Reich.

New York Times critic Ben Brantley commented about Ms. Minnelli that "her every stage appearance is perceived as a victory of show-business stamina over psychic frailty... She asks for love so nakedly and earnestly, it seems downright vicious not to respond." Indeed, this quality of wanting to be loved is what makes her portrayal of Sally Bowles so powerful. Assumingly because of Sally's cool relationship with her father, she constantly looks for someone to love her or at least give her some affection for a little while. The cabaret provides a venue where she can, in a socially acceptable way, ask dozens of strangers nightly to love her, and indeed the environment encourages the patrons to love her and find her attractive. Sally thinks for a minute that she can find more permanent love in her relationship with Brian, even though and perhaps even because Brian might be gay, but ultimately she buys into what the cabaret sells: a constant source of frivolity and "divine decadence" to distract her from the troubles and hardships of daily life. Minnelli plays Sally with a perfect combination of believable vulnerability and a certain amount of artifice. As Brian says, "Aren't you ever gonna stop deluding yourself, hmm? Handling Max? Behaving like some ludicrous little underage femme fatale? You're... you're about as fatale as an afterdinner mint!"

For his part, director Bob Fosse accentuates the discongruity between the life of the cabaret and life outside the cabaret through visual cues. He films scenes in the cabaret at odd angles and unflattering close-ups, which in combination with the exaggerated stage make-up makes the world of the cabaret carnivalesque: garrish and off-putting while simultaneously fascinating. Fosse also films both the patrons and performers of the cabaret in still portraits and reflected in uneven surfaces, suggesting an artificial and distorted quality to life inside the Kit Kat Klub.

I have not seen the play version of Cabaret, though it has enjoyed a successful revival under the direction of Sam Mendes in recent years; however, I read that the Brian-Sally-Max love triangle was not part of the original play. I think that it is a lovely addition to the story, adding a rather unexpected twist. The sexual tension between Max and Brian is certainly evident, though subtly played by both Michael York and Helmut Griem, but I never expected that it would become an important piece of the plot. However, screenwriter Jay Allen does not use Brian's homosexuality or bisexuality to turn Cabaret into the typical coming out story or confrontation of homophobia. Brian's admission of an affair with a man only has a more significant impact on Sally because it reveals that they are cheating on each other with the same person.

My only disappointment with Cabaret was that the film version does not include "Don't Tell Mama", a song from the play that I really enjoy. But the film does feature probably the best "Honey, I'm pregnant" scene ever captured on film.

Athens Boys Choir is actually "one little fairy" named Katz, a trans, genderqueer spoken word/hip-hop artist. I saw him perform in Madison recently and he was hilarious, entertaining and thought-provoking. His little video for "Fagette," a track off of his new album called Bar Mitzvah Superhits of the 80s, 90s, and Today, has been blowing up on YouTube. I love me some gender-deviant goodness.

Buffy the Vampire Slayer: Willow & Oz
Besides being ridiculously adorable, Willow and Oz made dating look so easy.

"I'm gonna ask you to go out with me tomorrow night. And I'm kinda nervous about it, actually. It's interesting."
"Oh. Well, if it helps at all, I'm gonna say yes."
"Yeah, it helps. It creates a comfort zone. Do you wanna go out with me tomorrow night?"
"Oh! I can't!"
"Well, see, I like that you're unpredictable."

Buffy the Vampire Slayer: Willow & Tara
Even though I thought I would never love one of Willow's loves again at the end of "Wild at Heart," I ended up liking both Oz and Tara as Willow's partner. While I want Oz to hold my hand, I want to hold Tara's hand, if that makes sense.

"I am, you know."
"What?"
"Yours."

Charmed: Piper & Leo
I was a Piper/Leo 'shipper from the beginning. I could have done with them being a lot less on and off again, but they reunited in the end and that's the important part.

"Piper, are you mad at me?"
"No, don't be ridiculous. Why would I be mad at you?"
"I don't know, that's why I'm asking. What is it?"
"It's just, um, Dan."
"Oh. Never mind, sorry I asked."
"Um, he's-he's going to be... He's going to be very upset when he finds out... You're the one that I really love. "

Joan of Arcadia: Joan & Adam
Their actual romantic relationship was doomed from the start when Adam didn't believe Joan about talking to God, but they still managed to be totally adorable when they were friends and when they were together. I hated how their relationship ended.

"Maybe I'm bad at stuff like this...but we kissed. It's not like I've kissed a lot of girls. Maybe I've only kissed one."
"Right."
"Well maybe it meant something to me."
"Maybe it meant something to me, too."
"I don't... I don't know what to do with it now."
"Me neither."

Medium: Allison & Joe
I know that Allison and Joe will never cheat on each other. It's amazing how comforting that fact is. They have their fights and disagreements, but you know their relationship is solid. I like that the Medium writers really work at making a long-term relationship interesting, and you know how they do that? They make both Joe and Allison interesting individuals. It's an amazing concept.

"Psychic with a bad sense of time."
"Do you remember where you live?"
"Hmm, I'm seeing a house. I'm seeing a guy in his underwear. I'm seeing lots of dishes in the sink."
"It's amazing how you do that."

South of Nowhere: Spencer & Ashley
I've only recently started watching South of Nowhere, but I was surprised how quickly I became a Spashley fan. Mandy Musgrave and Gabrielle Christian have such great chemistry as both friends and lovers. And they're both so adorable!

"I'm glad you came back tonight. I couldn't handle another night without talking to you."
"Me too. I love... These brownies."

So South of Nowhere recently aired its midseason finale to make way for Degrassi on The N's schedule. Perhaps I'm in the minority -- and granted I've never seen an episode of Degrassi -- but do people really care about Degrassi? Go do a search for 'Palex' and then a search for 'Spashley' on YouTube and get back to me.

"Gay Pride" ended with the raciest scene we've had from cable's hottest teen lesbian couple since the season three premiere. And maybe even ever.

I really like Mandy Musgrave's line reading of "There she is." I also love that the director chose to use a wide angle on Mandy when she says the line, "I know. I'm amazing," because, yowza, Mandy does look amazing. And Gabrielle Christian looks fantastic in the shot of her right before she drops her trench coat.

The network and producers are keeping up the season's trend of delivering on more intense lesbian affection with kisses that last longer than .25 seconds. Maybe we might even see a post-coital scene with the two of them actually in bed together when the show returns? I'm trying not to get my hopes up, lest The N bans us to the asexual land of hair brushing and hugs of season two. They had some really cute moments at the end of season two, and I don't want to forsake that. But can't they be cute and hot?

And kiss on screen?

My hopes for the latter part of season three, besides many girl-on-girl kisses:

• Ashley needs to pull her head out of her butt and realize that there are other people in this world besides herself. I think Mandy is doing the best that she can with the material to make Ashley likable, but she is still coming off as completely self-absorbed and undeserving of a sweetie like Spencer. Oh, and can Ashley be a little less angsty and more funny? Because Mandy cracks me up when she acts all goofy.
  
• Can Kyla be awesome again? Please?
• Chelsea needs to find herself a non-"my illegitimate child fathered by my dead boyfriend is gestating in my womb" storyline stat, because Aasha Davis is super cute and talented.
• No one cares about Aiden's PTSD from 'Nam. Seriously. Even though Matt Cohen is doing a good job.
• Madison isn't gone for good, right? SoN needs her spiciness. Maybe she can bring back Sean with her from her tour with JT. I miss him. Ooh! Then he and Chelsea could get together. Sweet!

Really, the whole season has felt a little aimless and flaccid, so if the writers could just not do that anymore that'd be great.

The Sichel Sisters' modest 1997 debut is an exceptional, affecting coming-of-age story that deserves and rewards multiple viewings. Claude and Ellen are 15-year-old best friends growing up in Hell's Kitchen. They are nearly inseparable though physical and temperamental opposites. As summer begins, Ellen takes up with a controlling, volatile drug dealer named Mark, and Claude befriends a gay musician who sees that Claude's love for Ellen is more than just platonic.

I hesitate to call All Over Me a lesbian movie, though it is definitely lesbian-themed. The Sichels address emerging sexuality: in Ellen's case she is straight while Claude happens to be gay. Both Claude and Ellen's developing sexual feelings become entangled with their close relationship. Ellen recognizes that she isn't gay but returns Claude's physical affections both because she craves them in her emotional fragility and uses them to maintain control over Claude. When Ellen pulls away from Claude through her relationship with Mark, Claude breaks out of the caretaker role she plays with both her mother and Ellen and goes to a gay bar. Though she hugs the wall when she first arrives, she quickly begins to flirt with Lucy. Claude isn't so much coming out as she is finally trying to connect with someone besides Ellen. Claude does freak out when she goes home with Lucy, but her reaction is caused not by Lucy kissing her but by confronting the realization that no matter what she does Ellen will not love her back and that she may need to let Ellen go.


Both Sylvia Sichel's writing and Alex's directing attempt to make the film as real as possible and grounded in the characters' emotional journeys. Yes, one of the characters is murdered, but the event takes place off-screen and is less important than the ripples it causes in Claude and Ellen's relationship. Alison Folland and Tara Subkoff's performances are spot on: intense, earnest, and natural. The score and music also add to the moodiness, utilizing The Patti Smith Group's "Pissing in a River" particularly well. (The Sichels received a grant from the Princess Grace Foundation to make a film showcasing the riot grrrl movement.)

My one complaint about the film is that it feels just a little too short. The secondary characters, though well-acted, are slightly under-developed. In particular, I would have liked to have seen another scene with Claude and Jesse and had a bit more dialogue between Claude and Lucy. I think I understand what Claude sees in Lucy, mostly that Lucy is comfortable and confident in who she is, but I would have liked for them to talk a little more at the bar to establish Lucy as more than just an accessible lesbian musician, which isn't exactly a stretch for Leisha Hailey to play.


There are several very simple images in the film that I like in particular. First, the scene between Claude and Ellen in front of the mirror provides a nice visual representation of the distortion in their friendship. Both characters seem unsteady throughout the movie, with Claude on her rollerskates and Ellen wobbling because she is drunk or high or both. I also really enjoy the short scene of Claude and Lucy walking together and sharing an ice cream cone. I like that scene in contrast with the opening scene of the movie in which Claude and Ellen walk together, and Ellen complains that she cannot eat Claude's candy because she is dieting and then half-teases Claude not to eat the candy like such a pig. The scene with Claude and Lucy suggests an equal footing between the two -- Lucy doesn't criticize Claude for her weight like Ellen and Claude's mother do. The final scene is perfection. I love how Claude half turns toward Ellen just as the picture cuts to black, leaving the audience to wonder if they will be able to repair their relationship.

The Murmurs, ca. 1994
(Heather Grody, Leisha Hailey)


The Murmurs, 1997
(Heather Grody, Leisha Hailey, Sheri Ozeki, Sherri Solinger)


The Murmurs, 1998
(Heather Grody, Leisha Hailey)


The Murmurs, 1999
(Heather Grody, Leisha Hailey)
I can't back you on that haircut, Leish.


GUSH, ca. 2001
(Brad Casselden, Dave Doyle, Heather Grody, Leisha Hailey, Jon Skibic)
You're looking very Shane today, Leisha. Except you have hips.


Cast of Dear Bernard, 2004
(Producers: Jorja Fox, John Switzer, Katherine Kendall, Heather Reid)
(Book, Lyrics and Music: Heather Reid)


REDCAR, 2007
(Ryan MacMillan, Heather Reid, Jon Skibic)


Uh Huh Her, 2007
(Camila Grey, Leisha Hailey)