Queer Rom Coms (Pride pt. IV)

The Watermelon Woman

Fire Island

We’re continuing our celebration of Pride Month this week with another set of queer double features. LGBTQ+ life has been represented in so many different ways within cinema, that I struggled to decide which direction to turn to next. Through my research of LGBTQ+ film, I found pretty much every color of the rainbow of representation. (I recommend that everyone reading this right now check out the documentary The Celluloid Closet, for a far more comprehensive examination of queer characters in film.) For so long, queer characters only had so many archetypes to fulfill. Queer characters were ostracized, villainized, and in many best-case-scenarios, they are delegated to the role of the best friend—where every gay stereotype and cliche was likely to be utilized. While the American government consistently tries to erase and seemingly eradicate the LGBTQ+ community, socially and culturally we love queer people! Sure, I’m from a blue oasis in the one of the reddest states in the country, so I know my experience is not universal. Growing up, I was lucky enough to have gay people and culture all around me, and I’ve always tried to soak up as much of it as I can. There’s so much joy to be found within stories of queer life on screen, and I wanted to explore more of this. I wanted more than a tragic queer love story (I’m so sorry, but Carol depressed the hell out of me), and I wanted more than a queer or queer-coded best friend (sorry, Pretty in Pink, GBF, and pretty much every television show set in high school). I wanted rich, developed queer characters that went beyond stereotypes, that felt genuine, and not forced, in their representations. That’s why this week we’re exploring queer rom coms that were actually made by queer creators, that beautifully feature true, pure, and real representation. I cannot speak to how either of tonight’s films might make a person in the LGBTQ+ community feel, but this ally loved everything about these movies. First up was Cheryl Dunye’s 1996 film The Watermelon Woman—the first feature film to be directed by a black lesbian woman, and one of the films that established the wave of New Queer Cinema within indie filmmaking. Cheryl Dunye stars as the lead, Cheryl, who dreams of being a filmmaker while working her day job in a video store. During her routine, passionate film-watching, she discovers a gorgeous, black actress in a role titled the Watermelon Woman—a kind of mammy figure within early Hollywood cinema. Cheryl becomes obsessed with this woman, and begins a journey into and a study of black female representation within film. Along the way, Cheryl meets Diana, a patron at the video store, and a potential love interest—although Cheryl’s best friend Tamara doesn’t care for her. This movie was witty and incisive, sweet and scintillating, and surprisingly expansive for a fictional tale. While the film weaves between Cheryl’s day-to-day fictional life and Cheryl’s documentary about the Watermelon Woman, it all felt very natural and cohesive. For the majority of the film, I was certain that the Watermelon Woman was real, and that every one of Cheryl’s interviews and deep dives into Hollywood history was completely true. But as Cheryl reveals at the end of her film “Sometimes you have to create your own history. The Watermelon Woman is fiction.” As a film student, Dunye researched black film history, particularly black women in film, but often came up short. So often when black women were featured in film, their roles were extremely limited and their names were omitted from the credits. So Cheryl Dunye, at just 25 years old, established an entirely new black queer canon within film, by creating the fictional story of the Watermelon Woman—a play on Melvin Van Peebles’ The Watermelon Man. With a budget of $300,000 and all of the ambition of a film major and her friends, The Watermelon Woman was as indie as can be, and I adored it. Cheryl, both the filmmaker and the character, is instantly so warm, so likable, and you just want her to succeed in her journey. The love story wasn’t as big of a component of this film as I was expecting, but it was portrayed in such a lovely, sincere way. The characters were all great and believable, and I don’t think I’d ever seen a movie completely centered around lesbians, like ever. It’s important that different, diverse, nuanced perspectives are represented on screen—not just because the same old big blockbuster movie format is mostly tired, but because these perspectives deserve to be told and they can have profound impact upon those who never see themselves represented. I’d never seen a lesbian rom com before The Watermelon Woman, and I’d never seen gay rom com before watching Andrew Ahn’s recent film Fire Island. If you’ve spoken to me at all in the last week, you know I can’t stop watching or talking about this movie. As I said during Austen/Bronte/Judi Dench double features, I don’t particularly care for the book Pride and Prejudice but I know how well its formula translate to other stories. The discussions surrounding class, desirability, and that enemies-to-lovers framework all lent itself so well to a story about a gay chosen family during an excursion to Fire Island. While every Pride and Prejudice adaptation has its iconic moments and distinguishing features, Fire Island elevated just about every aspect of this beloved story. Each of the sisters were given chances to shine and separate themselves as individuals, but when it came down to the family dynamics, it was clear through their performances that every member of this family cared so deeply about one another. Characters in this story that I once cared very little about were given way more attention and care here. Lydia and Kitty (Luke and Keegan as they’re called here [played by Matt Rogers and Tomás Matos]) barely get any redeeming moments in the novel, but here they are presented in far kinder, funnier way that made them way more likable, and way more well-rounded in general. Joel Kim Booster, the writer of this film, seemed to capture the social politics and sexual hierarchy among cis gay men perfectly, and found a way to both honor and make fun of the culture on Fire Island. His inclusion of so many gay asian characters including himself, enriched what was already a biting commentary upon society and how we judge people for their physicality, and their station in life. If I recall, race doesn’t come up in the book Pride and Prejudice, but it’s really the perfect story to address how much race (not just class) impacts ones desirability and visibility within the world. The way Asian characters are portrayed in film, even to this day, is abysmal at best. But to see the endearing Bowen Yang and the charming Joel Kim Booster and the steely magnetism of Conrad Ricamora was incredible, and expertly cast. Getting to see Bowen and Joel’s dramatic acting chops actually brought a tear to my eye, and Conrad Ricamora was a perfectly brooding Mr. Darcy. The entire ensemble: Torian Miller, Bowen Yang, Joel Kim Booster, Margaret Cho, James Scully, Conrad Ricamora, Zane Adams, Nick Phillips, were all phenomenal and played their roles so well, but Matt Rogers and Tomás Matos really stole every scene. Like Psycho Beach Party, it’s the exact kind of summer movie that I could and likely will watch over and over and over again. It’s funny, it’s unique, and it presented me with a side of gay life that I knew very little about, in a considerate and very smart way. While Fire Island seems like it’s just for the gays and the girls, it, like so many other rom coms, should not be discounted—even though the straights never seem to keep an open mind. That’s why I’m encouraging you, dear reader, regardless of your background, gender, race, sexuality, regardless of who you’re rooting for on this season of Drag Race All Stars All Winners, keep your mind open and treat yourself to some gay rom coms like tonight’s double features. *tongue pop*