UPCOMING SHORT FILM: THALASSOPHOBIA
dir. B Kelley (they/them)
Riley, an underwater photographer, is asked by fellow scuba diver Marcus to shoot content for his true crime vlog. In the darkness of night they break into a private lake and descend to a school bus resting at the bottom, the scene of a tragic accident. Soon they find themselves hunted by an unseen horror...
I just thought they everyone should know that I Saw the TV Glow will be on MAX, apparently. If you don't have MAX, you don't gotta get it, but I think that this movie should be supported. It's awesome, and I love it. I'll be rewatching 100 times for fun.
Vera Drew says her trans remix 'The People's Joker' is fair use. The studio disagrees. The story of the $100,000 indie that started a firestorm at TIFF
Incidentally, Drew has several credits listed on her ImdB page, just under her deadname.
Writer and festival programmer Shayna Maci Warner says no to corporate slogans and yes to twenty films that celebrate queer joy, crime and chaos.
See the full ‘Pride is a Riot’ list—from John Waters to Jamie Babbit, and Gregg Araki to Miranda July—on Letterboxd.
During every Pride, and ever more frequently, there is an aggressive push from corporate sponsors and political interests alike to broadcast their participation in the acceptance of LGBTQ+ people.
We see you, wave the triple-decker ROYGBIV sandals, available for a limited time only. We want to be in you, sing the multi-hued photoshops of signature dishes from fast food franchises. We will write off our taxes to *one* charity and work throughout June to not let you know we sponsor bills against trans kids, blare countless icons of patent-hoarding pharmaceuticals, selectively arms-stocking department stores, and trans healthcare-incompetent insurance companies halfheartedly. And in my personal favorite bold PR move, screw you, we’re taking away the rainbow altogether, says the temporarily monochrome packaging of a candy brand.
My friends and fellow movie lovers, I am tired. The double consciousness of knowing a company wants my income and sanitized image, while actively doing harm to those it deems most exploitable, had my broken brain sighing in relief when I walked to my local 7-Eleven and noted that they did not bother to paste up rainbow anything. Is this internalized homophobia? No.
The problem is not that I hate being gay in June, it’s that companies would like to limit my desire to material representation during one month out of every year, and they’re so loud about it this month. You could almost believe that being gay is about looking like you stepped out of an ad—not sex, drugs, or god forbid, healthcare for all.
Luckily, I’ve consumed enough media throughout my life (and lived through my home state of California voting to repeal same-sex marriage in 2008) to know that any sudden embrace of palatable queerness is for one thing only: to distract us from fulfilling our destiny of being gay and doing crime. As The Living End and Kajillionaire remind us, we’re ill-adjusted vagabonds!
Following our ancestral history of breaking man-made laws, Set it Off and By Hook or by Crook instruct us to rob the banks that hand out ill-fitting plastic sunglasses at the parade on June 30 and make billions off overdraft fees by July 1. And as any of John Waters’ oeuvre drawls, if someone finds us digestible enough to sell our own aesthetic back to us at a marked-up rate, well, we will simply have to try harder to be downright disgusting.
I hardly have to remind anyone that the first American Pride was in commemoration of an uprising against law enforcement. Some corporate slogans have caught on to that language, thanking “brave trans folks” with pastel flag merchandise. However, the phrase “pride was a riot” is mired in the past, thanking symbolic faces obscured into legend for fighting for all of us, and exempting our own lack of cause. Pride is still a riot, if you want it to be. You can still challenge corporate and institutional interests in erasing erotic identity, forcibly upholding white supremacy in and out of queer culture, and targeting the most vulnerable for perpetual incarceration of both body and spirit. You, too, can fuck shit up!
In honor of the ongoing choice to accept our own monetized and dulled image, or as Born in Flames, Ema, or Bloodsisters would trumpet, to join with fellow queers in refusing to reign it in under capitalism, here is a list of twenty films, in no ranked order, that exemplify queer principles of anti-assimilation, collective strength, and/or straight-up crime for this Pride season.
These are films that deviate from a Hollywood norm of queer people victimized solely for their orientation (like the effortlessly-named Victim) or playing a queer-coded villain (sorry, Rope fans, we’ll get you next time!), and instead favor the notion of queer characters choosing, and often relishing, an act of crime, a more metaphorical life of an outlaw, or joining the ranks of a rebellious queer community.
Ranging from documentary to narrative feature to experimental, shoestring-budget hybrid, I hope you find something you love to help you celebrate pride in your own way—even if it’s not by starting a fire or robbing a bank.
Ema (2019)
Directed by Pablo Larrain, written by Pablo Larraín, Alejandro Moreno and Guillermo Calderón
Flushed with the adrenaline of a fresh act of arson and backed by her cult of devoted dancers/criminals/orgy partners, Mariana Di Girólamo’s titular Ema is an arbiter of chaos. In Pablo Larraín’s contemporary fable of maligned motherhood and unrest fomented by the mistreatment of Chile’s working class, brashly bisexual Ema moves through the world as an outlaw—both repulsive to and desired by those who consider their own moral compasses beyond reproach. In answer, Ema leads her band of queer chaos-makers to a new world—one thrumming with an EDM-reggaeton beat, forged by the fires of their own literal flamethrowers.
Set It Off (1996)
Directed by F. Gary Gray, written by Takashi Bufford and Kate Lanier
In Set It Off, F. Gary Gray’s tale of four women who decide the only way out of their immense financial and societal burdens is to turn to bank robbery, Queen Latifah shines as Cleo, an equal-parts goofy and ultra-cool, bonafide Black queer action hero whose love for her mood music is only matched by devotion to her girlfriend.
The gang of aspiring robbers, also comprised of Vivica A. Fox, Jada Pinkett Smith and Kimberly Elise, have their hands full of adversaries in face offs against scheming bosses, Child Protective Services, and an inept, murderous LAPD, but the adrenaline and occasional silliness (planning their next heist like a scene from The Godfather! Ramming through a display of teddy bears with the getaway car!) with which they navigate tense situations makes you root for them all the more.
By Hook or by Crook (2001)
Written and directed by Silas Howard and Harry Dodge
A one-of-a-kind film of gender-fuckery, queer companionship and trans masculine found family, Silas Howard and Harry Dodge’s San Francisco-based masterpiece has long deserved its due. With a zany, energetic, DIY-feel and open-hearted performances from Howard and Dodge as odd couple and aspiring criminals Shy and Valentine, By Hook or by Crook takes on poverty, institutionalization and isolation with incisive wit and sincerity.
With good gay humor, the film presents a picture of the determination needed to take care of one another when no one else will do the job, and includes inventive, incredibly funny “heist” scenes to boot.
Bound (1996)
Written and directed by Lilly Wachowski and Lana Wachowski
Bound is a sultry, shadow-dipped escapade of lust and danger that your run-of-the-mill, formerly incarcerated gay mafia-affiliated plumber Corky (played to the teeth by a leather-clad Gina Gershon) might not expect out of her day. Gershon and Jennifer Tilly create one of the most iconic cinematic romances of all time as they form a precarious plan to free Violet (Tilly) from the grasp of her controlling, abusive mob-entrenched boyfriend. By parts harrowing and hot, the Wachowski sisters’ neo-noir is a brilliant, cathartic example of the power of unabashed queer love to successfully pick the greatest getaway vehicle known to man.
La Leyenda Negra (2020)
Written and directed by Patrícia Vidal Delgado
One of the more under-the-radar releases of the movie-going year that wasn’t, Patrícia Vidal Delgado’s narrative debut is a compassionate, unassuming portrayal of two girls falling in love under an encroaching reign of terror. In La Leyenda Negra, the brilliant, new-to-town baby anarchist Aleteia (Monica Betancourt) is taken under the wing of soft-spoken but determined popular girl Rosarito (Kailei Lopez), who spends her time trying not to look too hard at her classmates’ butts.
Together, they navigate schoolyard bullies, quinceñeras and the looming presence of ICE in East Los Angeles, in a film somehow simultaneously sweet, and burning with the rage of a teenager who can’t understand why an unjust country hasn’t already been torn to shreds.
Pink Flamingos (1972)
Written and directed by John Waters
The first entry of John Waters’ much beloved and reviled trilogy of trashterpieces, Pink Flamingos stars perpetual inspiration Divine as herself-in-hiding, furtively holding the title of “filthiest person alive” while living under a pseudonym—that is, until someone else attempts to one-up her reigning notoriety. Debauchery, de-balling and reckless chicken-handling ensue.
The film is full of characters and imagery that Waters hoped would offend the very audience he had accrued with his previous works. Love it, hate it or regard it with a sense of shock and admiration, there’s no denying that Divine’s portrayal of a murderess at large is a successful “screw you” to any expectations of an acceptable homosexual aesthetic.
Screaming Queens: The Riot at Compton’s Cafeteria (2005)
Written and directed by Susan Stryker and Victor Silverman
Susan Stryker’s self-reflexive documentary is part historical investigation, part recreation of the drag queens, gay hustlers and trans women who threw the first cup of hot coffee at Compton’s Cafeteria, three years before Stonewall’s infamous brick. As she trawls the archives and interviews those who could still tell the tale, Stryker shapes a lost picture of San Francisco’s attitude toward their trans inhabitants of the ’60s.
Even with the violence of law enforcement and discriminatory businesses alike, Screaming Queens: The Riot at Compton’s Cafeteria stitches together a community that found a wonderland, a glittering land of “Oz”, in pageants, sex work, each other and a 24-hour diner.
D.E.B.S. (2004)
Written and directed by Angela Robinson
Despite its initial bomb, director Angela Robinson’s first feature, adapted from her short film of the same name, is a perfect girls-in-revolt viewing experience. The ultra-2000s espionage spoof chronicles the meeting of star-crossed lovers: a hot super-villain and the head of a squad of young women recruited by the FBI for their Discipline, Energy, Beauty, and Strength (hence D.E.B.S.).
When the twain do indeed meet, respectability and responsibility fly out of their heads, but their two worlds still have a vicious grasp on them. Of course, love conquers the FBI, and the stacked cast, including supporting turns by Devin Aoki, Holland Taylor and Jimmi Simpson, conquers the rest, in a tale that flouts every rule in the pursuit of fun and flirtation.
Born in Flames (1983)
Directed by Lizzie Borden, written by Lizzie Borden and Ed Bowes
Lizzie Borden’s guerrilla-shot, mockumentary-style dystopian tale of a future just slightly sideways from our own present is both a warning and an instruction manual: solidarity or bust! In the wake of the “Social Democratic War of Revolution” that turned out to be just another transfer of power unto the mighty, underground radio networks of lesbians and their allies start to whisper: another revolution must come, if all people are to be free. As the FBI, once again proving to be the enemy of all queer people, circles the “terrorists” of the Women’s Army for extermination, everything in Born in Flames falls into place, broadcasting a message loud and clear that the power of the people united isn’t to be trifled with.
The Itty Bitty Titty Committee (2007)
Directed by Jamie Babbit, written by Abigail Shafran and Tina Mabry
Directed by But I’m a Cheerleader’s Jamie Babbit, this comedy of tiny proportions follows a renegade group of queer women opposed to just about everything touted by the mainstream—including gay marriage. While mired in some dated feminism and patterns of casting cis actors in trans roles, The Itty Bitty Titty Committee takes its pleasure in letting queer and trans siblings-in-arms literally blow up everything that resembles patriarchal values. Add a riot grrrl soundtrack, suspend some disbelief, and you’re in for an exhilaratingly good time.
The Living End (1992)
Written and directed by Gregg Araki
Almost any of Gregg Araki’s New Queer Cinema tales of punk youth riot and existential teen despair could make this list, but perhaps the most challenging is his road-trip-to-perdition movie, The Living End. When the aimless, self-destructive Luke (Mike Dytri) kills three violent homophobes in self-defence, fate brings him a quick escape in the form of deadpan, pretentious film critic Jon (Craig Gilmore). As Luke convinces the newly diagnosed-with-HIV Jon to give in to his own “screw it” attitude, the two embark on a codependent romance fueled by horniness, rage, and a killer soundtrack and score by Los Angeles shoegaze and metal disco greats.
Kajillionaire (2020)
Written and directed by Miranda July
In Kajillionaire, Miranda July’s off-kilter, bubblegum-pink portrait of a family being strangers to themselves, the crime may be petty, but the consequences are life-altering. Raised into a family of distrusting, conspiracy-theorist conmen, Old Dolio (Evan Rachel Wood) has learned that the only way to garner praise or something resembling love is to play her part in scamming anything that breathes. When an outsider in the form of ultra-charming, any-way-the-wind-blows Melanie (Gina Rodriguez) flirts her way into Old Dolio’s life, she begins to question her upbringing, and look for the people who will love her the way she needs, not the callous ways in which they demand.
BloodSisters (1995)
Directed by Michelle Handelman
With a raucous, queercore soundtrack, pummelling MTV-style editing, and thoroughly informative and entertaining interviews, Michelle Handelman’s documentary BloodSisters captures a scene reviled by straight society and upwardly mobile gays alike. Through protest and performance, the leather dykes of San Francisco take the camera on a magical and consensually dangerous journey that pisses on censorship, broadcasts the still-relevant urgency of collective political action and illuminates the inextricability of queer autonomy to unhindered sexual expression. Including interviews with legendary pioneers of the scene like Patrick Califia, Tala Brandeis and Queen Cougar, this is one history lesson you won’t sleep through.
Can You Ever Forgive Me? (2018)
Directed by Marielle Heller, written by Nicole Holofcener and Jeff Whitty
Based around the true memoir of Lee Israel, Marielle Heller’s quiet, by turns dryly funny and heartbreaking exploration of isolation, fading relevance and friendship, centers Lee (Melissa McCarthy) as an author who turns to forgery as a last grab for her dying career. As the stakes get higher and the game of composing fake correspondence between literary celebrities of yore gets riskier, the unlikely criminal partnership between Lee and her old, flamboyant friend Jack (Richard E. Grant) stands out as a perfectly-matched feat of the actors’ chemistry, and a rare fictional depiction of platonic love between a gay man and a lesbian. Though Lee’s own queer identity is somewhat under-utilized, Can You Ever Forgive Me? succeeds in giving a finger to ideas of celebrity and placing monetary value on authenticity.
Major! (2015)
Directed by Annalise Ophelian
Serving as a biography of the innumerable accomplishments and extended matriarchy of living legend Miss Major Griffin-Gracy, Annalise Ophelian’s documentary, Major!, follows the Black trans activist as she unwaveringly cares for her daughters, other Black trans women so often the aim of police brutality and incarceration. The documentary gives a glimpse into Miss Major’s joy in her community-building under the TGI Justice Project, as well as the physical and emotional toll it takes to work ceaselessly for the abolishment of the prison industrial complex. The work is never over, but as Miss Major’s recounting of her own accidental study under the leaders of the Attica Prison riot shows, there will always be teachers handing out tools to tear down the walls.
The Handmaiden (2016)
Directed by Park Chan-wook, adapted by Park Chan-wook and Chung Seo-kyung
What’s not to love about the Sarah Waters Cinematic Universe? Endlessly complex schemes, real danger, twists upon twists, and endings that somehow manage to be both completely unexpected and earned populate both filmic adaptations of the Welsh author’s most widely recognized lesbian crime novel.
Whether you prefer The Handmaiden, Park Chan-wook’s lush, slickly erotic masterwork of cinematography and envious costume design, or 2005’s Fingersmith, the more understated, soft-lensed deviousness of the BBC miniseries directed by Aisling Walsh, hell and all her tricks await in this densely packed narrative. To explain too much of the premise is to destroy the fun for the uninitiated, so I’ll leave you with encouragement and a warning not to trust what’s before your very eyes.
The Talented Mr. Ripley (1999)
Directed and adapted by Anthony Minghella
Truly a classic of the genre, the filmic adaptation of Patricia Highsmith’s novel is an evil romp for its insidiously charming anti-hero, one Tom Ripley (Matt Damon). Through fraud, impersonation, seduction and murder, Ripley bullets his way to the upper echelon that would never accept him for who he truly is, all the while enjoying the benefits of a homosexual thief-chic wardrobe from legendary costume designer Ann Roth and long-time collaborator Gary Jones. And unlike René Clément’s earlier Purple Noon, director Anthony Minghella’s adaptation of The Talented Mr. Ripley sticks to its source material, refusing to mete the strong hand of the law for that messy moral deviance.
Bad Education (2004)
Written and directed by Pedro Almodóvar
What would this list be without an entry from one of the mightiest purveyors of psychosexual desire this side of the ’70s? Like The Handmaiden, to explain the plot of Pedro Almodóvar’s Bad Education would be to take the sting out of its many double-crosses, but I can tempt you with its display of subversive sex during the fascist anti-sex Franco era of Spain, movies within movies and people within people, noirish blackmail and, of course, the immense talents of Gael García Bernal.
Kate Bornstein is a Queer and Pleasant Danger (2014)
Directed by Sam Feder
Self-proclaimed “Gender Outlaw” Kate Bornstein is an author, activist, sadomasochist, performance artist, trans dyke, lapsed Jew and outlandish Twitter personality who scares the hell out of people. In Sam Feder’s personal documentary, we also get to know Bornstein as a parent, cancer survivor, partner and ex-member of the Church of Scientology, who hopes to craft her legacy as a pillar of strength and compassion for those cast out for their own gender or desire. As Bornstein makes her way through their latest book tour, Feder attempts to capture just a fraction of the fairy godmother/energizer bunny that simply can’t stop until every young queer rule-breaker feels like they have a real connection to someone who loves them.
Looking for Langston (1989)
Written and directed by Isaac Julien
In a space and time where queerness is often scrubbed from history, Isaac Julien’s poetic montage recreates the true fantasy of Black gay life during the Harlem Renaissance. Through evocative black-and-white photography, Julien sets the stage for the ultimate joys of dance, merriment and cruising, powerful enough to supernaturally defeat the police forces that would put an end to their effervescence. In dream sequences and archival footage alike, Looking for Langston mesmerizes, promising the existence of a place beyond the law or suppression of desire that will someday flourish once again, even brighter than before.
Related content
Shayna’s full list of the films mentioned above
Stonewall Revisited: 12pt9’s never-definitive list of non-populist, non-stereotypical and groundbreaking LGBTQI-centred films
Queer Cinema Before Stonewall: Kevin’s list of Film Society at Lincoln Center’s early queer cinema celebration, organized by Thomas Beard
Follow self-confessed ‘Desert Hearts’ enthusiast Shayna on Letterboxd, and keep up with them at their newsletter, which explores the girls and gays that make movies worth watching.
Actor Devery Jacobs, director Sydney Freeland, and writer Tommy Pico reflect on the world-affirming successes and representational shortcomings of their new show backed by Taika Waititi Cohen
With her third feature, Lingua Franca, now on Netflix, Filipina filmmaker Isabel Sandoval talks to Valerie Complex about undocumented immigrant workers, sensual cinematography, taking narrative risks and Steven Soderbergh’s sexiest film.
“I’m not the type of filmmaker that is into crowd-pleasing and I think that resonates with audiences.” —Isabel Sandoval
Isabel Sandoval’s films have an auteur, European appeal; they take their time. Inspired by cinematic film legends including Chantal Akerman, Wong Kar-wai and James Gray, Sandoval is pushing forward in an industry reluctant to change, creating narratives that speak to her existence, and her experience.
After making two feature films set in her native Philippines (Apparition, Señorita), Sandoval relocates to her adopted hometown, New York City—or at least a small seaside corner of it—for her third film. Lingua Franca follows Olivia (played by Sandoval), an undocumented Filipina trans woman who is looking to secure a green card so she can continue to stay and work in the US. Olivia knows the only way to legal status in present-day America is through marriage, but struggles to find the right person to accept her offer.
Green-card marriages also cost money. Olivia takes a job as a live-in caregiver for Olga (Lynn Cohen), an elderly Russian woman living in Brooklyn’s Brighton Beach neighborhood. She soon finds a love interest in her client’s grandson Alex (Australian actor Eamon Farren), and her future seems solidified. Or is it? As anxiety about deportation mounts, Olivia strives to maintain autonomy in a world that continually rejects her.
The slow, meditative nature of Lingua Franca has already found fans on Letterboxd. “Trans narratives are so often couched in dramatic twists and turns, but here we get something so much more gentle,” writes Connor. Sandoval’s turn as a woman searching for her truth while existing at the intersections of marginalization is also hitting home. “This is the hardest I've been struck by a performance since Jeon Do-yeon's masterful display in Lee Chang-dong's Secret Sunshine back in 2007,” writes Joshua. “I really cannot believe this is Isabel's first performance and I certainly believe that it won't be her last.”
Sandoval instinctively injects concepts of immigration, loneliness, and displacement throughout Lingua Franca in a way that doesn’t overwhelm, but does force deep empathy. “Artfully plays with a lot of themes at once,” agrees Letterboxd member Oluwatayo.
Merriam-Webster’s definition of ‘lingua franca’—“something resembling a common language”—can be interpreted in various ways. For Sandoval, she aims to create her own common language of passion, pain and new beginnings. With migrant workers sharing a common language of homesickness in every corner of the world, I had to ask why she chose New York to be the setting for this emotional drama.
Isabel Sandoval (as Olivia) and Eamon Farren (as Alex) on Brighton Beach, New York.
Letterboxd: What is it about New York that made the setting work for you and Lingua Franca? Is it the diversity of the environment or…?
Isabel Sandoval: You know, growing up in the Philippines, New York was seen as romantic. I wanted to put my stamp and unique views of life in New York City. I wanted to do two things with Lingua Franca: I wanted to do my own New York movie from the perspective and the gaze of a foreigner and an immigrant, and I wanted to make a different kind of film that was quiet and patient. I wrote the script around the time when Trump got elected president, which painted a perfect storm for the premise, story and view of the film. I was also influenced by the James Gray film Two Lovers, which was filmed in Brighton Beach.
That’s not an easy thing to accomplish in a New York movie, yet you manage to do that with such patience and quiet and subtlety. I was shocked. But, you know, New York is not all crazy. There are places that are quiet.
Exactly! Especially in Brooklyn. I wanted to capture the different worlds that exist block to block in the film.
Your movie deals with a lot of themes: family, immigration and romance…
I’m always drawn to stories with a socio-political point of view about women who are marginalized and forced to make intensely personal decisions. French filmmaker Jean Cocteau once said: “Filmmakers make the same movie over and over”. As you progress and make more films, and you’re being involved as a storyteller, you’re beginning to polish; your style becomes more evident and sophisticated. That’s just the story I felt attached to because it was one I was passionate about and it was the right time to create it.
How do you feel about being embraced by the film community, both domestically and abroad? Tribeca, Locarno, SXSW and Venice are among the festivals that have premiered your films.
It’s vindicating to me. My first feature film shot and produced in the US screened internationally, but, with Lingua Franca, it’s come full circle. I think critics now embrace and know that I have a voice and a sensibility that’s worth exploring more. They want to involve a filmmaker with different views, especially in an industry where you need to conform to certain formulas and certain group things in terms of how we approach certain issues or certain things or certain ideas. It truly makes me feel independent.
Art-house film and cinema has long been associated, or at least for the last fifteen years, with really gritty, social-realist drama. I’ve received reviews of my film that criticize it for not being romantic enough. My film captures emotions that are not easy, obvious and straightforward. I’m not the type of filmmaker that is into crowd-pleasing and I think that resonates with audiences.
You are the director, the star, the editor, and the producer of Lingua Franca. How did you stay organized enough to manage all of those tasks?
I have one job and that is to make a film and tell a story. I had a clear vision of what I wanted to accomplish, and honestly, it’s me being a stubborn auteur.
The camera work is really sensual and intimate. What conversations took place between you and cinematographer, Isaac Banks, and what, if any other films, were the inspiration for that look?
He and I discussed patience and sensuality often, so that’s why Wong Kar-wai had quite an influence on my work with In the Mood for Love and also Christian Petzold, the German director, who directed Transit and Phoenix.
Lingua Franca places a particular lens on the fragility of Filipino, migrant culture. In the film, Olivia exists at the intersections of race, gender, sexuality, ICE and Covid-19—and you lay that all on the table here. What do you hope the audience will see in Olivia’s story at this time?
She’s a trans woman, she is a woman of color, she is an immigrant, but she’s also more than the sum of these individual parts. I know my film demands a lot of intellectual and emotional labor, but it’s important that viewers think deeply and critically about Olivia’s motivations, which may seem contradictory and complex. I want Lingua Franca to be an emotional experience, even if it’s not the most comfortable to watch. If I get one audience member to do the emotional legwork of trying to understand where the main character is coming from, I will feel complete as a filmmaker.
What do you think is the must-see Filipino film, classic or new?
[Peque Gallaga’s] Oro, Plata, Mata, which came out in 1982. It is a multi-generational tale set in central Philippines. It’s just a sprawling, dramatic epic, and it’s one of the films that made me want to be a filmmaker. It’s not the most technically polished film, but it takes risks narratively. At the end of the day, it’s not about how big the production is. It’s your willingness to be expansive and explorative as a filmmaker that counts.
What do you consider the sexiest film you’ve ever seen?
Out of Sight by Steven Soderbergh.
Out of Sight?! I did not see that coming.
Yes! That film doesn’t have any sex scene, but it’s the level of seduction for me. I think sensuality is not necessarily a physical encounter between bodies, but the patience and longing of the moment.
What is your all-time favorite comfort film?
A League of Their Own by Penny Marshall. That was the first movie that I saw where I bawled in the last ten minutes of the film.
If I were doing a triple feature with Lingua Franca, what two films would you recommend to watch before or after?
I would recommend Ali: Fear Eats the Soul by Rainer Werner Fassbinder, which is another interracial love story between a German woman and a Moroccan immigrant. The other one would be Two Lovers by James Gray, which is set by the beach.
Isabel Sandoval (as Olivia) and Lynn Cohen (as Olga) in ‘Lingua Franca’.
[Spoiler warning: The final two questions concern aspects of the film’s ending.]
I thought the ending of your film was powerful, because we’re right back at the beginning of Olivia’s journey. Sometimes things don’t work out and you have to pick up the pieces and move forward.
Exactly! I also wanted to make a point that even though we are focusing on Olivia, I pulled the camera back to highlight bigger sociological themes. She is one of many immigrants in the script and their fates are not resolved by the end of this movie. I wanted that to be a subtle reminder this type of thing becomes cyclical. Life goes on, it’s just another day. Olivia is a displaced immigrant woman in America where Trump is president. Whereas Olga, who’s Ukranian-Jewish, left her home country fifty or sixty years ago in the aftermath of the Holocaust. I wanted people to see this connection.
Based on the meaning of ‘lingua franca’, was that your original choice or for the title? The definition really fits the story.
The film is an invitation to the audience to really pay closer attention to language—the language of things said and unsaid. That probably was also a big point of decision for me to open and close the film with words in Tagalog, which is my native language. A lot of people have asked “why didn’t Olivia accept the marriage proposal?” at the end of the film. Sure, that would’ve been practical, but I invite the audience to look at the language between Alex and Olivia. I challenge them to look beyond Olivia as just an immigrant without papers or as a trans woman looking for love, but this is a woman who is taking her agency back and her ability to determine her life moving forward.
Related content
Leonora Anne Mint’s list of Films by Transgender Writers and Directors.
The Top 100 Filipino Films on Letterboxd.
Jojo Kuneho’s lists of Tagalog movies.
Philippines: The Ultimate List.
Follow Valerie on Letterboxd.
‘Lingua Franca’ is distributed by ARRAY Releasing and is available on Netflix.
