We Forgot to Break Up

Short

After deciding to do a Muay Thai competition, a timid, mid-20s Filipino-Canadian woman must train in secret and go against her strict parents, while also falling in love with her coach, who is also a woman.

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Inspired by true events, in 1970 an unorthodox mother sends her offbeat son from New Brunswick on a wintry cross-country mission past Quebec to retrieve his brother from Toronto after a public sex violation. Antics ensue in the Two-Solitudes atmosphere, bursting with revealing humour about brotherly love and French-English relations. In bravura performances, Alan Cumming plays motormouth Perley—dressed in an ushanka and ascot, taxidermied dog tucked under his arm—and Charlie Creed-Miles is Weldon—a gruff stoic in crooked glasses. These oddball siblings travel through frozen nights and across the language divide as they bicker, break down, and ultimately bond in their journey through central and eastern Canada. Weldon forced to confront the reality of Perley’s homosexuality (and his abject fear of being required to speak French) as he processes a horrific event from their past. After a lifetime of shutting down, a new set of dire circumstances has them opening their ears to hear one another’s stories. Award-winning filmmaker Michael Clowater, a master of wringing humour from pain, never loses sight of Perley and Weldon’s essential humanity among the pratfalls and bigotries, embedding beautiful truths in the film’s engrossing frictions.

Short

A middle aged trans man transitions at 44 and observes his changes over a year and nine months, with a looming ongoing news cycle of anti-trans legislation.

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This homage to Bollywood spectacle and intergenerational bonds is a time-hopping, candy-coloured crowd pleaser that induces huge smiles and big laughs while also tackling the resonant themes of enforced gender roles, passive racism, and the seismic shifts of growing up. Azra (a stunning Amrit Kaur) lives in cohabitating sexual bliss with her girlfriend in Toronto in the VHS-popping 90s when she receives news of her father’s death. One voltaic match cut later and she’s on a plane for the funeral in Pakistan with her brother (Ali A. Kazmi), where her mother (Ms. Marvel’s Nimra Bucha) nitpicks and her culture shuts her out of the mourning process. Then another and we’re in 1969 Karachi, swept up in the whirlwind romance of Azra’s rule-breaking mother (also played by Amrit Kaur, underscoring mother-daughter parallels) and dashing father (Hamza Haq) before their tough transition to 1989 Nova Scotia. Each temporal hop peeling back another layer of how Azra’s family dynamic came to be. The Queen of My Dreams is itself a moviegoer’s dream, chock-full of eye-popping visuals, high production value, and fantastic fashion. Revealing how salvation can come in unlikely ways from unlikely sources.

Documentary

Whether wowing 1960s nightclub audiences with her vocal prowess or vanishing from the scene in a haze of rumours, Jackie Shane never failed to leave her mark. Through recorded conversations with the boundary-bursting yet reclusive icon, and the magic of ghostly, gorgeous rotoscope animation, Jackie is restored to us. Encouraged to leave Jim Crow-era Nashville by Joe Tex so that her talent could soar, Jackie Shane brought her R&B sound and daring charisma to adoring fans everywhere from mafia-controlled Montreal to her beloved Toronto, getting kidnapped and turning down a transphobic Ed Sullivan Show offer along the way. Close friends with Little Richard and an opener for the likes of Etta James and Marvin Gaye, Jackie Shane was an It girl in a time when using “she/her” seemed unthinkable. So she had a choice: global superstardom or her own hard-earned authenticity. This is the story of that choice, told through Jackie’s own words, vibrant reenactments, and assessments by contemporary trans figures, with music as the film’s soul. Executive produced by Elliot Page, Any Other Way is a triumph of the documentary form—as polished and impressive as Jackie herself.

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The work of Two-Spirit, nêhiyaw (Cree) artist George Littlechild took the reality of residential schools head-on decades before it would enter the collective Canadian conscience. A Sixties Scoop survivor, Littlechild uses his “whimsical,” improvised technique to unlock colourful exuberance and long-held trauma. Conor McNally, a Métis filmmaker, honours his journey. Littlechild was given his great grandfather’s name, nanekawâsis, at a Powwow in 2001. Both Littlechild and the eponymously named film embody its meaning: “swift child.” As we pay witness to a childhood shuffled between foster homes and Littlechild’s emergence as a fleet-fingered artist, the documentary makes fluid connections between past and present. Archival footage blends with warmly tinted 16mm interviews of 65-year-old Littlechild, still evolving in his practice, still passing on his deeply felt knowledge of his ancestry and “Rainbow” spirit. Whereas his partner, John Powell, uses art to govern his freewheeling tendencies, Littlechild harnesses paint to break free of his circumscribed daily life, healing himself and his audience through enlightened transcendence. nanekawâsis begins and ends with a sky full of colour, beautifully eliding time, revealing how light and dark, expectancy and reflection are all indispensable parts of life’s circle.

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Struck by “archive fever,” a gay transmasculine Iranian-American searches for the roots of his desire. Navigating with us through this steamy hybrid documentary, he comes into contact with trailblazing transcestor Lou Sullivan, the contemporary lived experiences of other queer men, and the eroticism of his own unique body. With the assistance of young non-binary archivist Kieran (Theo Germain), older transman Ahmad (Aden Hakimi) delves into Chicago’s LGBTQ+ archives and the past and present bathhouses of Boystown to explore his homosexual longing. He learns—as we do through the real-life interviews and the history of raids and radical action that nest within this fictional storyline—that there is no one answer. There are as many points of view as there are interviewees. Archival footage of Lou Sullivan, who openly identified as trans and gay as far back as the 1970s, shows that though these conversations are not new, they are still very much necessary, connecting transmasculine gay men with themselves and the larger community. Jules Rosskam’s narratively frisky and hugely affecting film is a celebration of complexity, working to dissolve rigid labels and authoritative permission when it comes to narrating one’s own sexuality.

Short

Hao Ling, an Asian American emergency doctor, struggles with his guilt and fear of ruining the relationship with his father after coming out. When a patient introduces him to the gaysian party scene, Hao reconnects to his true emotions and takes actions to reunite with his father while learning valuable lessons on relationships.

Short

After the 100th 'The Thursday Testo,' (TTT), the tri-languistical references such as the Roman and Korean (Hangeul) alphabets and the Japanese syllabic (Katana) alphabet of the word TRANS on a comedy sketch by Kě.

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DUTCH • ENGLISH ST | Capturing the recklessness of youth and the excitement of newfound sexual liberties in sensuous black-and-white cinematography, Dennis Alink’s Out offers up a vivid and tender tale of being young and gay. Tom (Bas Keizer, in a star-making performance) and Ajani (an effervescent Jefferson Yaw Frempong-Manson) are closeted secondary school sweethearts who yearn for life outside of their small-minded, rural community in the Netherlands. Their solution is Amsterdam, where the queer scene is thriving and they can work at their dreams of becoming filmmakers. Quickly falling into the Dutch capital’s gay nightlife offers the pair some initial thrills: cheeky games of Never Have I Ever, limo rides across the city, eye-opening trips to the bathhouse. But the challenges quickly follow, pushing them to separately question: “Who am I, and where do I fit in?” Recalling such classic monochromatic films about wayward youth as The Last Picture Show and Gus Van Sant’s Mala Noche, Alink and his queer collaborators present a lived-in, piercing portrait that proves coming out isn’t just a pronouncement of one’s sexuality, it’s a simultaneously joyous and heartbreaking journey of self-discovery.