I moved to Los Angeles in the mid ’90s, the peak of the New Queer Cinema movement when filmmakers like Gregg Araki, Todd Haynes, Rose Troche and Cheryl Dunye broke through portraying LGBTQ+ characters as the messy, complicated, hilarious, wonderful people we are instead of the stereotypes often found in mainstream cinema at the time.
I had grown up outside of Boston, and despite incredibly supportive parents, I was bullied mercilessly at school. I was called a “fag” and “gay” before my bullies (or I) fully grasped what it meant. Many times, I thought about self-harm, and for me, no amount of parental love could extinguish the mental pain inflicted by my tormentors.
But I found a momentary escape when I saw (thanks to cable TV and, later, small cinemas) films that offered a glimmer of hope. Aside from making my tummy flutter, Harry Hamlin’s “Making Love” character clearly showed I could be gay and thrive (and, OK, maybe destroy someone’s marriage in the process but hey, s–t happens).
Over the years, those gems — Christopher Reeve and Michael Caine’s kiss in “Deathtrap” (oops — spoiler!), Daniel Day-Lewis’ queer punk in “My Beautiful Launderette,” the thrilling and crushing romance of “Maurice” — became a lifeline for me. And then I moved to L.A.
Outfest Los Angeles, founded back in 1982, became an annual highlight for me: a joyous celebration of LGBTQ+ storytelling that brought together thousands of people just like me.
Those New Queer Cinema creators like Araki and Haynes opened up a world of representation like never before. For years it felt like there was a regular rollout of queer-themed films ready to make us laugh or break our hearts – from “Boys Don’t Cry” (1999), “Brokeback Mountain” (2005) and “Moonlight” (2016) to “The Birdcage” (1996), “Billy’s Hollywood Screen Kiss” (1998) and “The Broken Hearts Club (2000). And I’m leaving out dozens of other films worthy of note.
But over the past few years, what once felt like a steady stream of mostly positive representation (“mostly” — I’m looking at you “I Now Pronounce You Chuck and Larry”) has become a trickle at a time when our community needs representation more than ever. According to GLAAD, LGBTQ+ representation on screen is at a three-year low in major studio releases, dropping from a record high of 28.5% in 2022 to 23.6% in 2024.
This decline is happening at the same time that violence against our community is on the rise, more than doubling over the past decade. The Trevor Project reported that over the past two years, young queer people have seen notable increases in their anxiety, depression and suicidal ideation.
It’s essential, not to mention life-affirming, we see our lives represented in meaningful ways on screen. With an increasingly polarizing political climate and the devolution of social media into a swirl of disinformation, it’s incumbent on Hollywood to tell the stories that showcase the humanity of the people who are watching its movies.
Not only do these films provide a lifeline for young people desperate to see their lives reflected back at them — as well as joy for those of us old enough to remember being young people desperate to see their lives reflected back at them — I don’t believe there’s one person in Hollywood who doesn’t know the power of a good story to help broaden a person’s perspective. It was just back in 2012 when then-Vice President Joe Biden told “Meet the Press” that watching “Will & Grace” changed his mind about same-sex marriage. That’s massive.
I have seen some glimmers of hope, truly dazzling performances in both “Plainclothes” and “The History of Sound” deeply affected me. But I don’t see any massive blockbusters coming down the pike that give voice to a community that is clearly hurting (although my eye is on you, Joe Locke, if that “Avengers: Doomsday” rumor is true!). And it goes without saying — but I’ll say it anyway — that stories of the trans and BIPOC experience are even harder to find.
I think we often take for granted the glorious lavender bubble that envelops us here in L.A., as well as other metropolitan hubs like New York City. It’s easy to forget that there are states where rainbow flags are no longer able to fly, where rainbow crosswalks have been torn up or painted over and where there is a pervasive threat to the everyday queer experience as we’ve known it.
It is possible — and critical — to create vibrant, engaging films that tell our stories in ways that celebrate our community. We need to be seen as the wonderfully complex and beautiful people we are.
Outfest returns to Los Angeles Thursday, Nov. 6–Sunday, Nov. 9. For a full schedule of this year’s screenings and events, visit outfest.org
Jeffrey R. Epstein is Vice President of Strategic Communications at 42West and a member of Outfest’s Board of Directors. He is also living and not a criminal. (Yes, he often needs to clarify that.)
