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In Entertainment/ Queer Book Club

Inside Giovanni’s Room: A Queer Classic That Changed Literature

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If you love inspiring LGBTQ+ memoirs and novels that explore masculinity and identity, James Baldwin’s Giovanni’s Room (affiliate link) is essential reading.

As part of my own little Queer Book Club, I’ve been posting my reactions and thoughts regularly on Threads and Bluesky as I read. I fell a bit behind schedule with this one, but I’d love for you to join the conversation.

This was my first James Baldwin novel and I really enjoyed his very conversational almost stream of consciousness style. The story unfolds like a tangle of attraction and guilt, told entirely through the lens of one man trying (and failing) to outrun himself. Let’s get into it.


Uneasy Dreams in Paris and New York

When we first meet David in Paris, it feels almost like a romantic escape, but the illusion doesn’t last. Paris is magical and precarious, a city where beauty and despair live side by side. We find that David’s been scraping by, chasing security through older patrons like Jacques, while pretending not to notice how dependent he’s become on their attention. Even when he recalls his life in New York, the same tension exists. The dream of these cities, and of manhood, can quickly become hollow when you’re living in denial.

Denial and Desire

Then we meet Giovanni. He’s magnetic, charming, and full of life. I was swooning while reading this. He moves through the world with a kind of emotional openness that David can’t handle. Their relationship begins with attraction and slides quickly into a kind of obsession.

David’s guilt over early homosexual experiences still haunts him, and his obsession with “being a man” keeps him emotionally frozen. Even in the safety of queer spaces, he judges effeminate men and distances himself. Baldwin uses this tension to show how toxic masculinity doesn’t just harm others, it devours the self.

The Idea of Masculinity

As David and Giovanni’s relationship deepens, Baldwin begins pulling apart the fragile myths of masculinity that David clings to. Jacques, the older gay man who pursues younger lovers, becomes a mirror for what David fears becoming. David seems to equate love with weakness. When he tells Giovanni that he’s “trying to make him a wife,” Baldwin cracks open the internalized homophobia at the core of David’s fear: to love another man is, to him, to lose his manhood.

The Illusion of Normalcy

David’s fiancée, Hella, is his safety net, his fantasy of normalcy. She represents the version of himself he wants to believe in. A man that’s masculine and accepted by society. But even she’s more complex than what he wants. She’s independent and adventurous, uninterested in being anyone’s symbol of salvation.

Their return to the south of France marks a shift. David seems to have what he needs with Hella and has removed himself from his queer friend group in Paris. We know something’s gone terribly wrong with Giovanni. David sounds concerned while almost detached from the situation, but everything starts unraveling.

Love and Loss

The final chapters are devastating. Giovanni falls from romantic dreamer to prisoner awaiting execution. David begins to realize that he destroys every relationship that could reveal him to himself.

When Giovanni confronts him, it’s brutal honesty: David isn’t leaving him for Hella, but for the lie of being “normal.” Giovanni sees him completely, and that’s what terrifies David most.

By the end, Giovanni faces death, and David faces the mirror. David self sabotages and flees from Hella, throwing himself into his true desires. But without Giovanni, it’s hollow. The story ends in heartbreak without closure and Baldwin intends it that way.

Why Giovanni’s Room Still Matters

For a novel written in 1956, Giovanni’s Room has so much connection to the modern world. Baldwin captures how societal expectations around gender and sexuality twist intimacy into something painful and performative. It’s a queer love story, a tragedy, and even a study in repression. I also think that it’s an emotional blueprint for so many queer people who’ve struggled to reconcile love and identity. And that’s what makes it one of the most enduring and inspiring LGBTQ+ novels of all time.


Queer Book Club Questions 

  • Some questions to explore in your own book club discussion:
  • What is Baldwin saying about masculinity with David’s character?
  • How do you interpret David’s obsession with masculinity?
  • What are your thoughts on the spark between David and Giovanni?
  • How does Baldwin make David and Giovanni’s relationship feel romantic and tragic?
  • What moments in the book feel the most honest about queerness?
  • Do you think David could ever be happy?
  • Did you feel sympathy for David or frustration?
  • What moments hit you hardest?

Have you read Giovanni’s Room? What were your thoughts on this story? Let’s chat about it on Threads or Bluesky.

In Entertainment/ Queer Film Club

I Found Magic (and Mayhem) in Queer Cinema at NewFest 2025

Look, I set out into this world armed with a film degree and I’m not afraid to watch a low budget indie flick and muse on it for the next few days. So naturally I’m hyped for NewFest, New York City’s LGBTQ+ film festival, every year. I was really looking forward to attending the festival in person this year, but had the opportunity to travel for work this week and had to settle for a virtual pass. But babe, I really put that pass to test and watched so so so many films this week. From campy sci-fi adventures to devastating documentaries, every film reminded me how expansive queer storytelling can be. Here’s a rundown of some of my favorites.


Laugh Riots Shorts Program

I kicked things off strong with Laugh Riots, a lineup of queer comedies that ranged from absurd to unexpectedly touching. The standout for me was She Raised Me, a delightfully bizarre short about a man whose famous actress mother is, quite literally, a puppet. It pulled off high-concept weirdness with both humor and heart.

Then there was Bugged, a chaotic comedy set in a Bushwick apartment crawling with bedbugs and queer tension. It made me an anxious wreck the whole time and I mean that in the purely enjoyable way. They’re Packing took a darker turn, exploring queer fear and self-defense in a gun training class that felt all too timely. Together, the shorts balanced satire and sincerity, a reminder that queer humor often doubles as survival instinct.


In Your Face! Shorts Program

The In Your Face! showcase lived up to its name with a collection of shorts that are unapologetically loud, messy, and completely unbothered with playing nice. These shorts were bursting with bold visuals and genre experimentation. Here are a few that stood out to me.

The first film, Are You Fucking Kidding Me?! is a mix of class critique and dark comedy, featuring a broke clown performing at a terrible birthday party that leads to a very awkward moral dilemma. Nest brought the gore with a bizarre trans body horror story that was as grotesque as it was symbolic. And Attagirl! is a campy blaxploitation-inspired chase through New York City’s streets, complete with silent-film-style dialogue cards and an Amanda Lepore cameo for good measure.


If You Wanna Be My Loverboy Shorts Program

If You Wanna Be My Loverboy was probably my favorite of the short showcases I saw. Each one of these films connected with me and balanced tender love stories with dark introspection. Orion’s Quest opened the program with a sexy sci-fi shimmer starring Dyllon Burnside as an alien studying love between Black gay men that felt both otherworldly and deeply human. Fan Letter was gorgeously shot, telling the story of a 1950s crooner confronting the love (and compromises) he left behind. Pining was so exciting to me because I’ve actually stayed in the Fire Island house it was filmed in, the Twink Garage.

The Upper Room and Lisbon brought the showcase into heavier territory. Telling the stories of two Pentecostal pastors meeting for a secret annual tryst and a haunting encounter with mortality featuring John Cameron Mitchell. The final films, Within a Quiet Body and Brief Somebodies, gave us an unfiltered view at repression, desire, and the blurred lines between performance and pain. Taken together, the collection paints a vivid portrait of queer love across time, space, and genre.


Lesbian Space Princess

Directed by: Emma Hobbs & Leela Varghese

While I enjoyed so many of the films I watched this week, Lesbian Space Princess was definitely one of my favorites. The film follows Princess Saira, who lives on the planet Clitopolis with her two neglectful lesbian moms. After a breakup with her bounty hunter girlfriend Kiki (of two weeks, so lesbian), Saira sets out to rescue her ex from the “Straight White Maliens” who plan to drop her into a vat of toxic home brew. Appropriate.

It’s a wild, intergalactic quest that features a “Problematic Ship” with bro energy, a singing sidekick who escaped a K-pop band, and a drag queen villain named Blade. The movie is packed with clever in-jokes, queer symbolism (our princess has to learn to pull a labrys axe out of her vagina), and a surprising amount of emotional resonance.

Under all the absurdity, Lesbian Space Princess is really a story about self-worth, learning to love yourself even when you don’t feel cool or confident. The vibe is like But I’m a Cheerleader meets Adult Swim, with a little lesbian mythology and a lot of heart.


A Night Like This

Directed by: Liam Calvert

A moody and tender “Christmas” movie, A Night Like This follows Lukas, a struggling actor, and Oliver, a privileged but self-destructive aspiring musician, as they cross paths on a winter night in London. What starts as a chance encounter turns into an intimate exploration of connection and loneliness. 

It’s the least Christmas-y Christmas movie imaginable with no cozy clichés or holiday cheer, but delivers something much deeper: two queer men trying to find themselves amid the chaos of their own lives. Alexander Lincoln, from In From The Side, gives a beautiful and charming performance that adds some emotional heft to the indie romance vibe. No spoilers but the ending is bittersweet and might leave you wishing for more.


Only Good Things

Directed by: Daniel Nolasco

Set in 1980s rural Brazil, Only Good Things begins as a tender, sensual romance between Antonio, a lonely farmer, and Marcelo, a mysterious motorcyclist who crashes near his property. What starts as a quiet erotic love story with sun-drenched scenery and water-soaked intimacy gradually transforms into a haunting meditation on memories and the passage of time. The film is both grounded in physical desire and elevated by its surreal second half. We eventually find ourselves in a modern-day mystery, where the story isn’t just about love but about the ways we’re shaped and haunted by it.


Night in West Texas

Directed by: Deborah S. Esquenazi

In 1981, James Reyos, a young gay Apache man from Odessa, Texas, was coerced into confessing to the murder of a Catholic priest and sentenced to nearly four decades of confinement for a crime he didn’t commit. Night in West Texas unravels this harrowing case with both empathy and fury, exposing how racism and homophobia shaped the justice system that failed him. The film avoids the usual true crime sensationalism, instead focusing on the devastating human toll of a wrongful conviction. It’s heartbreaking to watch Reyos confront new evidence that could’ve exonerated him years ago, and equally powerful to see modern investigators acknowledge the prejudice that once sealed his fate. A sobering, deeply moving story about injustice and the lifelong cost of being misunderstood.


She’s the He

Director: Siobhan McCarthy

Another one of my favorite films in the festival. A hilarious and subversive twist on your favorite high school comedies, She’s the He tells the story of two best friends who pretend to be trans to pick up girls. Except one of them realizes she isn’t pretending. Its candy-colored chaos feels like a John Waters homage to Mean Girls or She’s the Man, leaning into absurdity but never losing its emotional grounding. Nico Carney delivers a standout comedic performance as Ethan, capturing both the film’s farcical energy and its sincere exploration of identity. It can be absurd, gross, and full of big laughs but it’s also about allyship, identity, and finding yourself in a world that still doesn’t quite get it.


It was a wild week watching so many queer films packed into just one week. I was definitely riding high and inspired by so many queer stories. Did you attend NewFest in person or virtually? Which film are you most excited about?


Film stills and promotional images are the property of their respective copyright holders. Used here under fair use for commentary and review. All opinions and takes are my own.

In Entertainment/ Queer Film Club

From Trauma to Terror: Revisiting the Gay Slasher They/Them

Spooky season is one of my favorite times of the year and to celebrate I’m diving into some gay horror films. The campier, bloodier, and queerer the better. I’m kicking things off with They/Them, a 2022 LGBTQ+ horror movie from Blumhouse set in a conversion therapy camp.

On paper, it’s a killer concept: queer teens fighting for survival and identity in a place designed to erase them. It’s But I’m a Cheerleader meets Friday the 13th, only with fewer thrills and way more trauma.


They/Them (2022)

Directed by: John Logan

Starring: Kevin Bacon, Theo Germaine, Anna Chlumsky, and Cooper Koch

Summary: A group of LGBTQ+ teens arrive at a remote conversion therapy camp that promises to make them straight, but things take a dark turn when a masked killer begins picking people off one by one.

The tea: TL:DR They/Them struggles to deliver real scares but shines in moments of community and queer resilience. It leans heavier on trauma more than terror, but it’s one of the few horror films centered on queer characters and that makes it worth watching (at least once).

Where to stream: Peacock, Apple TV, Prime Video


🩸 The Setup: Horror in the Woods

The film opens with a couple of solid jump scares and a masked killer lurking in the woods. Then we meet Kevin Bacon as Owen Whistler, the camp’s director, delivering a chillingly calm “reasonable conservative dad” monologue that instantly gives villain energy. And of course Cooper Koch brings some much-needed charisma and let’s be honest, eye candy to the screen. 

⚡️ The Real Horror: Conversion Therapy

While the movie is styled as a queer slasher, most of the actual terror comes from the camp’s “therapy” methods: shock treatment, gender policing, and emotional manipulation. These scenes are far more terrifying than the masked killer.

The scariest scene actually happens when the campers break into a group sing-along of Pink’s “F**kin’ Perfect.” Sure, it’s meant to be empowering, but feels out of place and cringe AF.

🔪 The Slasher Element Falls Flat

By the time the masked killer returns, we’re more than 45 minutes into the movie. And the mystery around the killer’s identity, eventually revealed as Molly Erickson played by Anna Chlumsky, lands without much buildup. The pacing drags, and while the revenge twist makes thematic sense, it never really delivers the tension or payoff you’d expect.

The scares are light, the characters feel paper-thin, and the film never quite decides what type of horror it’s going for.

🌈 The Message Still Matters

Even with its uneven execution, They/Them delivers a poignant message in today’s climate. With queer rights under attack and harmful practices like conversion therapy potentially being made legal, the film’s premise feels uncomfortably real.

It might not be the strongest LGBTQ+ horror film out there, but it’s a reminder that horror doesn’t always have to come from monsters. Sometimes, it’s the systems that create them.

🎬 Final Thoughts

Despite its shortcomings, Theo Germaine (as Jordan) and Cooper Koch (as Stu) deliver some stand out performances. They/Them as a concept could have been a stellar gay horror movie, redefining the genre for queer audiences, but never quite leans into that potential.

💬 What Did You Think?

Have you seen They/Them? Let me know your thoughts and your favorite queer horror movies on Threads or Bluesky

Film stills and promotional images are the property of their respective copyright holders. Used here under fair use for commentary and review. All opinions and takes are my own.

In Entertainment

Motherhood, Secrets, and Spanish History: Why Parallel Mothers Matters

Pedro Almodóvar is one of my all-time favorite directors, a true master of blending camp, melodrama, and big emotions. He’s one of the most celebrated LGBTQ+ directors working today and I’ve always wanted to challenge myself to watch his entire filmography. What I love about his films are the colors, the strange-yet-normal situations, and the way campy melodrama somehow makes serious topics hit even harder.


Parallel Mothers (2021)

Directed by: Pedro Almodóvar

Starring: Penélope Cruz, Milena Smit 

Summary: Two women give birth on the same day, and their lives get tangled thanks to a hospital mix-up. At the same time, one of them is investigating unmarked graves of her townspeople from the Spanish Civil War.

The tea: This film isn’t just about melodrama or shocking plot twists, it’s about history, memory, motherhood, and how personal trauma echoes political trauma.

Where to stream: YouTube, Prime Video, Philo, Apple TV


I finally caught Parallel Mothers on a plane, not exactly a Criterion theater setup, but it was worth it. The film balances melodrama, desire, and political history in classic Almodóvar style, offering both campy fun and profound emotional resonance.

The Story (Spoilers Ahead)

We open with Janis (Penélope Cruz), a photographer trying to locate unmarked graves from the Spanish Civil War. Heavy and political, yes but then suddenly, we’re in a maternity ward. We meet Ana (Milena Smit), Janis’s hospital roommate, whose backstory is filled with family tension and dark circumstances. All delivered in that Almodóvar way where shocking news drops like casual gossip.

Their intertwined fates serve as both intimate melodrama and social allegory. We eventually learn their children were swapped in a hospital mix-up, confirmed by DNA, and the eventual revelation that Janis’s daughter is actually Ana’s. Almodóvar uses these plot twists not merely for shock value, but to explore questions of trust, attachment, and resilience.

 Cruz is perfection as Janis, graceful, complicated, and quietly devastating. Milena Smit’s Ana transforms before our eyes, from dependent and uncertain to resilient and active. Their chemistry is unexpected and messy, a testament to Almodóvar’s gift as an LGBTQ+ director who knows how to navigate intimacy and identity with nuance.

History, Trauma, and the Bigger Picture

What makes Parallel Mothers exceptional is how the personal drama mirrors Spain’s history. Janis’s work exhuming unmarked graves serves as a powerful visual and thematic metaphor: personal and political histories, hidden and suppressed, eventually demand recognition. The film’s emotional arcs mirror Spain’s reckoning with the Civil War, and Eduardo Galeano’s quotation: “No history is mute. No matter how much they burn it, break it, and lie about it, human history refuses to shut its mouth,” feels almost built into the narrative structure itself.

The juxtaposition of intimate maternal drama and public historical memory reinforces Almodóvar’s ongoing fascination with the interplay between desire, secrecy, and societal pressure. 

Final Thoughts

Parallel Mothers is messy, colorful, emotional, and completely unmissable. This film stands out as a landmark LGBTQ+ film about women, motherhood, and history.

Have you seen Parallel Mothers? How do you think Almodóvar uses melodrama to reflect historical and personal trauma? Which other LGBTQ+ films do you think pull this off as brilliantly? Let’s chat about it on Threads or BlueSky!

Film stills and promotional images are the property of their respective copyright holders. Used here under fair use for commentary and review. All opinions and takes are my own.

In Entertainment/ Queer Book Club

Resistance and Resilience in an Inspiring LGBTQ Memoir

This post contains affiliate links. If you use these links to make a purchase, I may earn a commission at no additional cost to you.

Okay, confession time. I started reading Reinaldo Arenas’ Before Night Falls (affiliate link) months and months ago and promised myself that I’d post about it on socials as my own Queer Book Club. Needless to say, I’m a very slow reader and it took me quite a while to get this book club session started. This memoir has been on my reading list for ages and I’m so glad I read it. Not only did I find it beautifully written but also offers an unflinching, intimate look at gay life under an authoritarian regime.

If you’re a fan of inspiring LGBTQ memoirs that explore resilience, resistance, and identity, you absolutely must pick up this book.

Why Before Night Falls Is One of the Most Inspiring LGBTQ Memoirs

The first 100 pages cover Arenas’ youth in rural Cuba and honestly, it was pretty jarring, and at times a little uncomfortable. I’m not sure what I came to this book expecting, but what I found was a deeply intimate and sometimes brutal account of life under an authoritarian regime. 

Queer Identity, Humor, and Resistance in Cuba

Throughout the book, it was depressing to see how frequently and casually homosexual acts occured among men who still cling to toxic homophobia. As Arenas writes:

“I realized that being called a ‘f****t’ in Cuba was one of the worst disasters that could ever happen to anyone.”

And at the same time, there’s also some humor and joy in the story. I was really amused by The Four Categories of Gays excerpt. Despite everything, Arenas captures moments of queer connection, pleasure, and resistance.

Reading about a country slipping into dictatorship, about how people cope, resist, and break, is deeply unsettling right now. The repression Arenas lived through echoes in so many corners of today’s world. It may not be comforting, but I think it’s really important in this moment to pay attention to stories and experiences like this.

Life in Prison, Surveillance, and Surreal Humor

In the second half of the book, Arenas is imprisoned and then spends several years struggling to survive in a surveillance state that has marked him as a threat to the party. And yet even these chapters are laced with surreal humor. 

There’s a scene where his neighbor Blanca gathers the community in their building to reveal that she can no longer perform sex work as her breasts have shriveled. To provide her some relief, Arenas and his neighbors dig a hole through a closet to give Blanca a window and discover an abandoned convent filled with trinkets to sell. The whole situation seems surreal and absurd.

And then there’s the trickster character of Hiram Prado, a former friend turned informant who pops up throughout the second half as an almost cartoonish menace. His presence provides some comic relief even though his activities were a very serious threat. 

The Harsh Reality of Exile for Queer Writers

One of the most sobering elements of Before Night Falls is that Arenas doesn’t find true freedom in the U.S. or Europe. After successfully fleeing communist Cuba, he goes on to face homophobia, alienation, and exploitation in exile. He received appalling treatment by his publishers. Leftists romanticize the regime he fled. Cuban exiles and activists dismiss him. He’s seen as too angry, too queer, too inconvenient.

“…although both give you a kick in the ass, in the communist system you have to applaud, while in the capitalist system you can scream. And I came here to scream.”

This tension between survival and expression is what makes Before Night Falls one of the most inspiring LGBTQ memoirs you’ll ever read, even in its bleakest moments.

A Defiant Ending That Redefines Courage

The memoir ends not with triumph, but with resistance. There’s no hopeful next chapter. Just Arenas, refusing to be polite or palatable. Writing through surveillance. Through illness. Through exile. Until the very end.

Before Night Falls isn’t an easy read and it’s not really a feel-good summer book. But it’s essential LGBTQ+ literature, and one of those rare inspiring LGBTQ memoirs that reminds us of the power of defiance and authenticity. It’s a testament to living and existing against all odds.

If you’ve read it, I’d love to know:

📖 What stuck with you?

📖 Did anything surprise you?

📖 How did you sit with the ending?

And if you haven’t picked it up yet, I hope this post inspires you to grab a copy. (affiliate link)

Okay, confession: I started Before Night Falls by Reinaldo Arenas months ago and told myself I’d post as I went along. That…didn’t happen. But now that I’m almost done, let’s talk about it!Kicking off this very unofficial #QueerBookClub

Gays & Confused (@gaysandconfused.bsky.social) 2025-07-09T02:30:12.383Z