Notes to Friends Near the Roxie
There is a poem I think of regularly called “The Desired Change Will Occur” written by Bill Carty. It ends like this: “At times it seems/ we only know each other/ by a thread—but we love that thread.” I’ve greatly enjoyed the process of getting to know people here—both within the condo and outside at events.
This year's immersion gave the cohort an opportunity to engage with Frameline even deeper than before with the inclusion of the industry pass. Brunches, panels, keynote speakers, and sneaky shortcuts in rush lines made us feel like flashy celebrities cool enough to kick it with the execs. I’ve never been good at making friends or talking to people, but I wanted to make the most of this huge opportunity, so I seized it. There I sat, the eye of the storm (the Frameline box office), surrounded by producers, actors, directors, writers, and a steadily whirring team of festival staff and volunteers. What a lucky spot to people watch—the beating heart of queer film creatives. I don’t remember a word I said to any one person, but I know there is more I could have said if given the time / so many people I don’t want to fade from my memory of this two week stretch.
Carmela: co-director, A Bird Hit my Window and Now I’m a Lesbian (she/they)
Dressed in lace, lax shoulders, and sweet prolonged eye contact. You go in for the hug and smile with your gums. We both had hot pink on our speed-mingle name tags, but I doubt ‘student programmer’ wows like a Dutch lesbian. Have you ever seen a moose? You don’t seem like someone who comes from Boston; I wonder if Eau Claire would make you bored.
AJ: co-director, A Bird Hit my Window and Now I’m a Lesbian (they/them)
Slight freckles beneath a buzz cut—quiet but by no means meek. Listener with calculated input, you share my wavelength at the Indian restaurant. Thank you for paying for lunch; we both worry about late arrivals. You told me when we first met you didn’t think you’d go back to live action film after your experience with Claymation; what will I see from you next?
Daisy: director, Unholy (she/her)
Glasses like my mother; I don’t remember where you got that cute, ruffled blouse. We met for no more than five minutes, but you hugged me like it had been five years. I wonder what books you read, how you pronounce the word ‘crayon.’ It’s bittersweet to make a connection knowing you’ll likely never meet again.
Allegra: executive director of Frameline (she/her)
Statement blazer, matter of fact, witty in a grounded sense. How do you do it all? So many soul-crushing steps back each day, and you sport the face of a queer hotspot. My respect runneth over, truly. You told us in the box office you have a soft spot for Colombian films. Given the time, I would have loved to hear your personal review of all 60 screenings I watched across the ten days.
Odessa: tattoo apprentice (she/her)
A thigh tattoo hurts like a bitch, but you were so gentle. Your gallery of ink spans lengths you can’t count, your favorite an hourglass done by your mentor. California raised, I hope you get to see the falls and springs you dream of. You would adore Duluth. I hope in the event I return to this immersion in a year's time I get to visit you again, see how much you have flourished in your artistry. I love my bird, Odessa. I’m thrilled to have Dorothy etched onto my thigh.
Godwin: journalist, Q-Fest (he/him)
I don’t know whether the watch you wear works / dark green nails / decidedly *not* a vegan. You say, “if I disappear in the crowd, know it was meant to happen.” I swear I was comfortable in the silence we shared so regularly, even though my question-asking was incessant. I haven’t had the chance to listen to music consciously during my time here, but I still hear your lyricism in the way you speak. Walking back from the Roxie, I wonder what it’s like to have your sense of natural direction. I read your script and saw it unfold so brightly in my head that night. I hope you make that film.
Audra: film reviewer, Q-Fest (they/them)
Strawberry matcha essence and hexagonal glasses. I am thinking of what a key can symbolize; freedom, discovery, opportunity. I think we both got some of that here in San Francisco. There’s something special in that little symbol we each got tattooed together Friday night on Haight Street. Jotting down Letterboxd reviews as credits rolled feels like our Frameline ritual—everyone wishes they had the witty replies we have. I’ll admit it, I wanted to sit next to you every chance I got in the theatres; after the whirlwind that was the French thriller “Drone,” I knew I needed you to my right to side-eye and whisper to (I cannot keep my reactions to myself, try as I might). Same time next year?
When looking for a blog on the Q-Fest website, a reader would probably be drawn to writing on San Francisco Pride, a particularly resonate film, maybe even our trip to Alcatraz. I would have loved to write about any of those, but I have to represent my mindset here in the most authentic way I can. I never thought one of my biggest takeaways here would be the people I met. Isn’t it fun to be able to surprise yourself?
