The queer experience is far from universal, and Emergence: Out of the Shadows captures this expertly. The film tells three stories that are quite different - Kayden’s, Amar’s (Alex), and Jag’s - and weaves them together in a heartwarming, hopeful climax.
For two young men in pre-Independence India, going to the cinema gave them a freedom to act on their whims – some casual such as smoking and chewing betel-nut while others more suggestive like reveling in each other’s company in a dark and confined space and gossiping about matters of the heart.
Starring Moni Jha as Rajni, the sex worker, and Pranjal Acharya as Ruhaan, a coy boy, the movie is directed by Mohit Kr Tiwari, while the story and screenplay are by Raqeeb Raza, the fabled writer, and photographer documenting masc-sexuality.
These creative choices are often lauded for their awareness, while their harmful aspects get overlooked. The stereotypes and humorous acts are seen as acts of categorisation and stifling of individuality. These associations enable the identification of the community and their reduction to heteronormative binaries of feminity and masculinity.
A brilliant, raw script is what makes this movie so powerful.The feelings this monologue captures are strong and real, inevitably stirring the viewer's heart.
Every other day on Netflix, I watch a queer-affirming, high school series or movie. Elite, The Prom, Glee, Moxie, Sex Education, the list goes on. I …
Written and directed by Jiya Bhardwaj, Almariyaan, it stars Pranav Sachdeva, Supriya Shukla, Shrikant Verma, and Rajesh Sharma in the lead roles. The short, in just over 18 minutes, does what most full-length movies are unable to: meaningfully engage the audience on a sensitive issue.
and yes, his sexuality and gender fluidity as well. In the original Marvel comics, Loki is referred to by the king of Asgard as “a child who is both” in a moment in which he is in his female form.
This is not a film that gives you precise conclusions; on the contrary it leaves room for ambiguity. The lack of a definitive answer keeps the audience gripped throughout the film.
It’s a good pick while you’re browsing through Netflix searching for what to watch next. It was the right amount of scary and creepy and has a good amount of gore and blood, although some of the characters are cliched and the plot is predictable, but that’s part of the charm.
Another cartoon that sticks out to me from that time is Daria. Daria was a show released in 1997, and follows the life of cynical Daria Morgendorffer. Daria is raised in an upper class neighborhood where she feels as if she doesn’t fit in with her peers or family. I found myself relating to her cynical attitude - a cynical attitude that I had adopted for feeling like there was something wrong with me for having my ‘gay thoughts’. But, I also felt myself wanting to watch her more and more. Looking back on it, I’m not sure if it was fully a crush. I just wanted to hang out with someone beautiful who understood what it was like to feel separate from everyone else.
The film is populated with our everyday misogynists without any meaningful criticism levied at any of them: the casually verbally-abusive and tharki neighborhood boys, the misogynist-stud Neel who takes non-consensual photographs and publicly broadcasts intimate liaisons, the friend-of-the-husband who thinks women ought to be trained and our very own protagonist nice-guy who’s the quintessential incel with his ranting about ordinary nice boys going unnoticed and his barely concealed scary, violent rage.
The film aims to explore the topics of class and identity within the framework of the contemporary Indian family - where culture and social status equal all, and where autonomy and western power are derided and admired in the same breath.
The moment when Xtina, Brintey Spears and Madonna kissed on stage at the 2003 VMAs has been immortalized and widely-reviewed as provocative. For most of us who are not cis-men, it is evident that this kiss was largely fetishized, playing into the fantasy of the male gaze that enjoys watching women kiss for the viewer's pleasure.
Discovering positive, complex narratives about queer individuals in anime can be a difficult task. To some extent, it requires accepting the limits of representational politics, and enjoying television even when it is problematic.
Jon is addicted to porn, he shows all the signs of an addict. He spends hours browsing pornography websites, is unsatisfied with real life sex, cannot have stable relationships, mastrubates an unhealthy amount any time of the day and night (probably why I didn’t realise his job as a bartender for most of the movie), feels guilty about it because he confesses to the priest at church but continues doing it anyway.
The quarrel is about whether the super-soldiers are just two lads being dudebro pals together or if there is definite homoerotic tension brewing between the two. Unsurprisingly, the majority of the Captain America fandom is straight men who are seemingly incapable of understanding queercodes, and most likely err on the side of being very homophobic.
‘The Song We Sang’ is not a grand or iconic cinematic depiction of Queerness, but it surely is the most beautiful 21-minutes of winessing two, independent, young, Queer women cross each other’s path, eventually growing fonder by the passing night.
Reveling in Balram’s success leaves a bitter taste in the mouth, especially considering he sacrificed people just like himself in order to accumulate wealth and power. Whether intentionally or not, it’s a story that inevitably celebrates using the master’s own tools and tactics to make one’s own version of the master’s house.
Seemingly insignificant interactions in the short film speak volumes about the queer experience, specifically Kamble’s, with each one wittily adding depth to the viewer’s understanding of this overarching theme.