In our seven years together, we’ve thrived on routine. We’ve done long-distance before, but never quite like this.
Somewhere between the one-dimensional BIPOC sidekick and the final, showstopping kiss, I forgot that I was consuming love stories built on exclusion.
Like Baby, I was raised to be a nice Jewish girl, with all of that trope’s stifling implications.
Beneath the veneer of desire and ambition lurks something darker—the grotesqueness of wealth and the violence it implies.
When I think about queer masculine pregnancy and parenting, I think about Sarah Connor in ‘Terminator 2: Judgment Day.’
This is what I became known for in acting class: old-lady drag.
The filmmaker’s retreat from the conventions of Socialist realism—patriotism, militarism, subservience—becomes a journey to locate the self outside the strictures of state ideology.
We are told we will forget the pain, as though all the trauma of childbirth evaporates from our minds. But it did not for me.
In a horror film, the sight of a woman alone fills us with dread. We expect terrible things to happen to her. But she also fills us with a sense of supernatural expectation.
“Howl’s Moving Castle” and “The Legend of Korra” are about protagonists living with magic and fighting for the fate of the world. To me, they’re also metaphors for dynamic disability.