While Queer films have been in existence for the entirety of cinema (here’s a great article about some of the earliest examples at the Nerdist), there’s certainly been a notable—or perhaps, simply more highlighted—boom in LGBTQ+ storytelling in the 21st century as studios have become more open to inclusivity in their stories.
Film has always, and will hopefully continue to be, a window for empathy for audiences who get to see aspects of life, love, and community that isn’t accessible to them in their everyday lives. It’s what makes so many of the choices below not just great films (and they are) but significant ones in their ability to actively champion diverse storytelling. For Pride but, really, for every other month too, we chose our 60 favorite LGBTQ+ films of the century so far, from musicals and mayhem to coming-of-age tales to a dialogue-free character study. There is no one way to be a Queer film and to try and cram them all under an umbrella would be disingenuous—if anything, this list below is indicative of the wealth of Queer voices and storytelling available to us, and this is merely the tip of the iceberg.
Hedwig and the Angry Inch (2001)
Hedwig and the Angry Inch deserves to be in the pantheon of great LGBTQ+ films. Based on the Tony award-winning Broadway musical of the same name, this musical dramedy follows Hedwig (née Hansel,) a genderqueer punk rocker from East Berlin with dreams of becoming an American rock star. After a botched gender reassignment surgery and a fallout with a former musical collaborator, Hedwig sets out to prove that she deserves to be taken seriously, just like her contemporaries. However, the musician has her work cut out for her as she navigates messy band drama, crappy venues, and homophobia.
Hedwig and the Angry Inch works thanks to John Cameron Mitchell’s fantastic performance as the jaded but passionate lead singer. The actor’s take on the iconic queer character is bombastic, energetic, and full of vulnerability. It also helps that Mitchell performed the role multiple times on stage as he fully captures Hedwig’s essence on the screen. Hedwig may not be a superstar in the traditional sense, but she’s 100% punk rock. [Phylecia Miller]
Mulholland Drive (2001)
Trust David Lynch to give a whole new meaning to the phrase “life is but a dream.” Just mere existence certainly teeters precariously between fantasy and nightmare in Mulholland Drive, but then, we’d expect no less from Los Angeles. The tale seems simple and familiar enough, as the fresh-faced dreamer Diane arrives with the usual big-screen aspirations, then discovers the amnesiac Rita hiding out in her home. Quickly befriending her, Diane happily joins Rita in searching LA for clues to her identity, inadvertently revealing the power of the stories we tell—for good and not so much. Lynch is deeply attuned to the casual, everyday cruelties of an industry that is quick to viciously, violently use, and discard its most ardent devotees, but he is also unable to deny its seductive power even at its most horrific, and how movies and great actors continue to entrance even the most hardened cynic among us. [Andrea Thompson]
Y Tu Mamá También (2001)
Road trip movies are always an opportunity for self-discovery, and that is exactly the journey the young protagonists take in Y Tu Mamá También. The film follows best friends Julio (Gael García Bernal) and Tenoch (Diego Luna) as they set out across the Mexican countryside with Luisa (Maribel Verdú), an older woman they met at a wedding. Director Alfonso Cuarón seamlessly sets moments of rivalry between friends and explicit sexual encounters alongside images of Mexico’s harsh political and economic realities in the late 90s. This choice allows the background against which the story is set to inform the lives of the characters. The cultural shift occurring within the country parallels the changes taking place between Julio and Tenoch. On this last summer trip as teenagers, the pair learn more truths about their relationship and life, truths that drastically change the paths they’ll take. [Melissa Linares]
Far From Heaven (2002)
Few directors possess the ability to create as timeless an atmosphere as Todd Haynes can, something that is especially enchanting in his 2002 drama, Far From Heaven. Inspired by the melodrama works of Douglas Sirk (All That Heaven Allows) and set in the 1950s, the film explores issues of race, sexual orientation, and gender roles all within the context of that period. Julianne Moore plays Cathy, a housewife whose seemingly picture-perfect life begins to crumble from the inside out. It’s lush and evocative, so many of the characters’ emotions are restrained by the time, relying on the actors to convey so much without explicitly stating their wants and desires. With such an incredible catalog of work on his hands, it would be easy to debate over which of his films are the best, but with the Elmer Bernstein score and vibrant cinematography, it’s difficult to argue against Far From Heaven being his most visually striking and emotionally potent. [Ally Johnson]
Bad Education (2004)
One of director Pedro Almodóvar’s more challenging films, Bad Education is a slowly unraveling story that tackles sexuality, abuse, stolen identities, and murder without ever succumbing to shock value in the tale he’s telling. There’s clear control in how he lets the story play out, and he and Gael García Bernal work beautifully together in depicting the different characters Bernal is tasked with playing. Filmed with the same level of care and commitment to craft as most of his films are, Bad Education is stylish, confounding, and addicting in its plotting, as we move from scene to scene just as beguiled by Bernal’s character as our protagonist is as we try and discern just what is that Ángel wants. [Ally Johnson]
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Tropical Malady (2004)
Between the palpable chemistry between the main characters and the heat that emanates off the screen, Tropical Malady is a tangible and visceral experience in slow-burn storytelling. Directed by Apichatpong Weerasethakul (of last year’s Memoria), the film doesn’t stick to romance for most of the film but instead, like many of his works, diverges at a point in the narrative into something more mysterious and esoteric. That said, it’s because of the foundational moments and companionship demonstrated between the pair that the abrupt and ambiguous ending of the first part lands with such quiet loss. The two separate, there are rumors of a monster killing farmers’ cattle, and the story shifts gear to the same two actors Banlop Lomnoi and Sakda Kaewbuadee, embodying different roles. Perhaps it’s to say that those integral figures in one’s life, no matter how briefly they share time, will always be tethered, in some way, no matter lifetime, place, or story. [Ally Johnson]
Mysterious Skin (2004)
A titan of the New Queer Cinema movement, director Gregg Araki long has had an established style and sense of space that’s distinguished him from his contemporaries. His radicalized nihilism and bleached-out settings were quick associations with him from his work in The Doom Generation (1995) and Totally F***ed Up (1993). In his bleak, if shockingly not despairing, 2004 adaptation of Scott Heim’s book Mysterious Skin, he further cements his place as an auteur with a unique ability to blend trauma with surrealism. Focusing on two teenagers both grappling with the abuse they suffered as children, Brady Corbet and Joseph Gordon-Levitt in particular are superb as youths dealing with the tremendous fallout that lurks and suffocates after traumatic incidents. The two, their desperate pursuit of escape, and the unlikely bond that enfolds them despite minimal screen time together is a potent, often ugly, revealing, and incredibly difficult watch. [Ally Johnson]
Saving Face (2004)
Alice Wu made a triumphant return to directing a few years ago with the charming coming-of-age story The Half of It but it was her debut feature, Saving Face, that put her on the map. A confident exploration of generational divides, Wil (Michelle Krusiec) is a lesbian who has yet to come out to her widowed mother, who she’s forced to share lodging with after the latter is kicked out of her parent’s home for becoming pregnant and refusing to acknowledge who the father is. Wil’s relationship with the more open Vivian (Lynn Chen) shows the similarities between mother and daughter though as both keep their emotions and intentions close to the chest. Joan Chen and Krusiec are amazing as mother and daughter while the romance between Wil and Vivian blossoms unassumingly, with the film just as interested in their love as it is the love parents have for their children and vice versa, as well as what it means to settle into your identity on your terms. [Ally Johnson]
D.E.B.S. (2004)
Who likes short skirts? Everybody, at least according to the 2004 cult action-comedy D.E.B.S., uses its plaid-skirted schoolgirls to say a whole lot about love, gender, homophobia, and even the nature of government espionage. Star superspy Amy has a bright future and plenty of accolades, but she’s forced to question her life when she falls for supervillain Lucy Diamond. And in the toxic conservatism of the early 2000s, director Angela Robinson is well aware that Amy faces obstacles not only within, but without. Even Amy’s closest friends see nothing wrong in shaming her for falling for someone they perceive as an enemy, and they are openly disdainful that the love of her choice is another woman. In such an environment, Robinson is well aware that having it all is a pipe dream, but D.E.B.S. also brilliantly subverts the trope of the gay villain, allowing Sara and Lucy to ride off not into a sunset, but the beautiful, protective cover of night, where darkness becomes both shield and the possibility of freedom. [Andrea Thompson]
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C.R.A.Z.Y (2005)
The late director Jean-Marc Vallée made a name for himself in his career with high-profile projects that showcased strong work for actors such as Matthew McConaughey in Dallas Buyers Club, Reese Witherspoon in Wild and Amy Adams in Sharp Object. However, it’s his 2005 film C.R.A.Z.Y that remains his seemingly most personal as well as the project that best expressed his talents as a filmmaker. Quirky and enormously sincere, the film follows a young French Canadian, one of five boys growing up in a conservative family in the 1960s and 70s, who struggles to reconcile his emerging identity with his father’s values. Leaning into how music as a teenager can largely shape the sense of self, the film deploys the use of songs from David Bowie, The Rolling Stones, Pink Floyd, and more to great effect, showcasing how a great band and/or artist can help provide comfort through their art as we try and discover who we are. [Ally Johnson]
Brokeback Mountain (2005)
Has anyone ever heard the phrase “I wish I knew how to quit you” and failed to get a little choked up? Brokeback Mountain is a staple LGBTQ+ movie from the early 2000s, and it is a film that is not primarily about the relationship between the two lead men. Rather, it focuses on the pain that two men feel regarding having to hide their identities from a society that ostracizes anyone that does not fit the traditionally masculine, heterosexual ways of the American cowboy. This movie also encompasses the terror of being found out, especially when you stand to lose so much if you are true to yourself. Brokeback Mountain is not just a gay cowboy movie: it is a devastating portrait of how two men must burden the weight of societal expectations of masculinity, love, and desire, all while in turmoil over their relationship with one another. [Gisselle Lopez]
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A Single Man (2009)
Colin Firth is brilliant in Tom Ford’s debut feature film, A Single Man. Following Firth’s George, the film spends its time in the wake of his grief over the loss of his partner. Receiving no communication from his partner’s family and feeling increasingly isolated and hopeless, he plans to commit suicide. Throughout the day he encounters loved ones and people he’s known in passing, life either being illuminated or dulled by the company he keeps. Ford, unsurprisingly, has an incredibly sharp eye for color usage in film, with everything from a stranger’s rosy lips, to the whites of Julianne Moore’s eyeliner, to the sun-kissed landscapes, practically glowing as George’s interest in life is once again, even momentarily, reignited. Handsomely dressed and polished, the film easily could’ve come across as too clinical or cold but it’s those touches of vibrancy and Firth’s vulnerability that gives it it’s beating, breaking heart. [Ally Johnson]
I Killed My Mother (2009)
Enfant terrible Canadian filmmaker Xavier Dolan has run the gamut of Queer storytelling—to prevailing and disastrous results. While he had a string of messy extravagance, sometimes excellence, in films such as Heartbeats, Laurence Anyways, Mommy, and Tom at the Farm, It’s Only the End of the World and The Death and Life of John F. Donovan managed to sour even the most ardent fan. His quiet drama Matthias et Maxime was a welcome return to form, though, after more than a decade in the industry, his debut feature I Killed My Mother still remains the film that speaks to all his instincts—the good and bad. Lush and crisply shot, not yet paying as much homage to the worlds of Wong Kar-wai, Jean-Luc Godard, and Pedro Almodóvar, the film is an enticingly righteous, openly youthful look at the relationships and moments that define us in our later adolescence. It’s just the very start of his career, but even his most intimate work demonstrates the grandeur he’s predisposed to and the explosive emotions that he finds in the most nondescript moments. [Ally Johnson]
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Beginners (2010)
Mike Mills’ sophomore feature, Beginners, traces a familiar story of paternal angst and abandonment through the modern lens of an elderly gay father (Christopher Plummer) struggling to make amends with his estranged, straight son (Ewan McGregor). Like all of Mills’ films following biographical retellings of his own life, Beginners is fearless in its humanizing of marginalized people as flawed human beings who are at once victims of oppressive structures, but also people of agency, capable of falling short without losing their capacity for empathy and responsibility. Beginners is a humble romantic dramedy best appreciated for its specific time and place—the ancient year of 2010—and deserves to be held up among the most surprisingly poignant character pieces in recent LGBTQ+ films. [Jon Negroni]
Weekend (2011)
Andrew Haigh (Lean on Pete, 45 Years) is a master of the contemplative drama, utilizing bouts of silence as a tool to expose the vulnerabilities of characters, whether they be in the plains of the American west or a bustling suburb in Nottingham. Weekend follows two men after they’ve hooked up as they end up spending the entire weekend together. They have sex, reveal secrets, converse about the world et large, engaging in a level of intimacy that goes beyond the physical and the time frame they’re given to spend with one another. Tom Cullen and Chris New are extraordinary together as Russell and Glen, sharing comfortable chemistry that illustrates just how the two men could grow so close so quickly, and watching them sparks the desire to see more and to see a relationship that is given space to develop even further than what we’re allowed to see. Weekend is a poignant, beautifully shot story of two men escaping the outside world together, burrowed in their apartments and one another’s embrace, as they learn more about themselves through being together—even if that together has an end date as Glen is due to leave at weekends end. [Ally Johnson]
Tomboy (2011)
Tomboy remains, in my opinion, one of the most powerful films in regard to how gender and identity are spoken about and performed. Laure is a young girl—a fact only shown to audiences through a quick shot of her emerging from a bathtub—but she feels most comfortable dressed in oversized clothing and acting like well, a tomboy. When she moves to a new neighborhood with her family, the neighborhood kids mistake her for a boy and Laure chooses not to correct them, introducing herself as Mikhael. The rest of the film offers an interesting insight into how Laure/Mikhael follows the actions and personas of the other boys, revealing the societal norms of how genders are typically assigned and embodied.
In the most thought-provoking scene, when Laure/Mikhael’s mother finds out that Laure is known to the neighborhood children as Mikhael, her negative reaction isn’t about her dressing or acting like a boy, but rather about her verbally expressing her gender identification as one different than she was assigned at birth. Tomboy, one of several important works from director Céline Sciamma, addresses the complications and implications of gender crossing, gender confusion, and gender performance. [Kellie Innes]
Pariah (2011)
Just like how the main character Alike uses poetry as a tool to explore and accept her sexual expression, director Dee Rees also turned to writing as a way to find who she was. The result for her was Pariah, a semi-autobiographical film filled with impact, rhythm, beauty, and wonder. Following a 17-year-old queer woman of color growing up in Brooklyn, the film explores many insecurities and issues that the young LGBTQ+ community face, including hidden relationships, restricted freedoms, and dismissive parents. The most standout scene falls at the end, where Alike explains to her father that she is telling him, not asking him, that she is going off to college to follow her dreams of writing. Washed in golden light and with blocking exemplifying how Alike is looking forward while her family continues to turn their backs on who she is, the scene powerfully portrays the courage it takes for Alike and young individuals like her to stand up for themselves and proudly be who they know they are. [Kellie Innes]
Pride (2014)
Pride has zero subtlety in its filmmaking and that’s what makes it such a joy to experience. Directed by Matthew Warchus, the film follows the real story of U.K. gay activists in 1984 who worked to help miners during their lengthy strike of the National Union of Mineworkers. It’s a feel-good story with the deliberate agenda to slightly sanctify history for the sake of appealing to a broader audience. However, the film doesn’t cheapen the plights of LGBTQ+ people in the U.K. at the time, granting focus to the battle against AIDs, a similar focus to that of the strike. There still is drama and the queer characters face adversity—it would be a lie to suggest otherwise—but there’s a healing nature to the film as well in its celebration of the Queer community and the friendship and found family that is discovered through it. The cast of characters is large but all are given ample moments to shine, though Ben Schnetzer, Dominic West, and Bill Nighy, in particular, stand out. [Ally Johnson]
Appropriate Behavior (2014)
We (me but also many others) love to see bisexuality explored in film, especially with the level of authenticity director and star Desiree Akhavan brings to her debut feature film Appropriate Behavior. She stars as Shirin, a young woman struggling with her identity and trying to become an ideal Persian daughter while maintaining a person of a politically correct bisexual and trying to achieve a level of cool Brooklyn socialist but is somehow, to her, managing to make a mess of all of them. The hilarity of the film comes from the increasingly awkward situations Shirin finds herself in. Akhavan understands how to crowd us in as viewers so that we feel the same level of social claustrophobia as her lead. Shirin’s bisexuality is just another element of the character as she struggles to find herself, and her sexuality is handled with grace and humor (a lot of it) as she navigates dating and hook-up culture. [Ally Johnson]
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The Way He Looks (2014)
The Way He Looks takes one of the most common tropes—a friends-to-lovers romance—and makes it its own unique, groundbreaking film with an important message of friendship, love, and acceptance. The film—based on a short film I Don’t Want to Go Back Alone—centers around a young blind boy, Leonardo, as he traverses the ups and downs of school life alongside his best girlfriend, Giovana, and the new kid in town, Gabriel. It only takes a few walks home and one-on-one hangouts for Leonardo to like Gabriel as a little more than a friend, but Gabriel, by all intents and purposes, initially does not seem to hold the same tender feelings back. What follows are heartbreaking misunderstandings, missed opportunities, and finally, the unification of the two boys. For any and all Heartstopper fans, this film is sure to be a new favorite. [Kellie Innes]
Lilting (2014)
The great Ben Whishaw and Cheng Pei-pei star in the grief-driven Lilting. Junn, placed in a care home, didn’t realize that her son was gay and, once he dies, begins to learn more about his life through the introduction of Whishaw’s Richard, her son’s bereaved partner. As the two dance around the edges of one another’s lives, learning through osmosis things they never knew about a shared loved one, they continue to heal and work through their ongoing pain and sense of loss. Director Hong Khaou approaches the film with delicacy, revealing the easy intimacy that comes from long-term relationships and the isolation that comes when you don’t speak the language of those around you, having lost your main communicative lifeline. With its understated nature and understanding of how grief isn’t experienced in a straight line but through blips and unexpected moments and forgotten smells, Lilting is a moving depiction of the poignancy of loss and the necessity of shared remembrance. [Ally Johnson]
Love is Strange (2014)
Director Ira Sachs has a penchant for telling deeply layered stories with LGBTQ+ characters at the center, from Keep the Lights On to Little Men. However, there’s something especially bruising in his film Love is Strange, a film that explores two older men’s relationships and the struggles they face even after they’ve married. John Lithgow and Alfred Molina play Ben and George, two men who, right after getting married, find the life they’ve made for themselves being ripped from their grasp as George is fired from his teaching position and the two must live separately with friends while looking for cheaper housing, a situation that creates distance between them and their friends. Tender, often heartbreaking, and anchored by two tremendous performances from Lithgow and Molina, Love is Strange is a tragic story of happenstance and how bigotry seeps into every crevice of everyday life. [Ally Johnson]
Carol (2015)
Carol’s creators, Todd Haynes and Phyllis Nagy, bestowed upon us a compelling, extraordinary story about same-sex love, heartbreak, and society’s scrutiny of LGBTQ+ people in the 1950s. Despite the time passing, Carol remains one of the most important, empowering queer romantic stories in film history as it contains a rare happy ending for its main characters. Both the novel and the film tell the story of Carol Aird (Cate Blanchett), a wealthy woman, and Therese Belivet, a young aspiring photographer (Rooney Mara) who meet and fall in love. Hayes and Nagy depict the couple’s lives as Carol fights for custody of her daughter with her ex-husband (Kyle Chandler), and Therese continues her journey to becoming a newspaper photographer. Their meeting starts a touching story of the power of love, at the same time forcing its audience to reflect on the past, the same-sex couples who lived then and who often couldn’t be themselves. [Zofia Wijaszka]
Summer of Sangaile (2015)
Summer of Sangaile follows two teen girls played by Aiste Dirziute and Julija Steponaityte who fall in love while spending a summer at one of their family’s lake houses. Soaked in those summer day golden hues that so beautifully represent the longing and fragility of young love, the film goes beyond simply the core romance to explore the wants and ambitions of the two girls. Just as summer always bleeds into autumn, The Summer of Sangaile never promises a forever romance, but while it lasts it’s twinged with nostalgia, a sincere depiction of how first loves change us. [Ally Johnson]
Viva (2015)
Radiating exuberance, Viva, directed by Paddy Breathnach, follows Jesus (Héctor Medina), a drag queen who begins to clash with his estranged father once his dreams of being a performer come true. The two continue to struggle with one another’s expectations of the other as Jesus finds solace in the community of performers that he’s found himself in. Despite the high personal stakes, the film never feels sorrowful, instead embracing the feeling of release that comes when being able to find space to do what one loves, and discovering a found family of like-minded individuals in the process. [Ally Johnson]
Tangerine (2015)
When talking about definitive queer films in the past decade, Sean Baker’s 2015 opus Tangerine is truly a generational feat. The beauty of Tangerine can be hard to initially identify. The film bears a gritty presentation due to its use of an iPhone and choice of location to explore. Baker’s work truly shines when providing a detailed look into the lives of those on the “fringes” of society. And, more importantly, how their community reacts and subsequently responds to them. This version of L.A. is lively and full of community. It shows the seedy underbelly of the homophobia and sexism that presents itself, all the while explaining its impact on those people outside of the immediate grasp of it all. By approaching these topics through the lens of two transgender women, we see a side of America that is often never seen. Our characters aren’t caricatures, but fully detailed, fleshed-out individuals that are living the best out of their queer existence. Tangerine is essential queer cinema from one of indie’s best working directors. [Mark Wesley]
Lovesong (2016)
Directed by So Yong Kim (In Between Days), Lovesong follows the intimacy of friendship and the lines that blur through shared companionship and unacted feelings. Starring Riley Keough and Jena Malone as two women who go on a perspective-altering road trip, only for them to find themselves, years later, trying to reignite those same festering emotions on the eve of one of their wedding days (or at least one of them is.) A story in parts, hauntingly scored by Jóhann Jóhannsson in a manner that leaves their shared interactions dreamlike and melancholy, Lovesong is an unexpectedly devastating, yet life-affirming, story about what happens when two women and their could-be-love story fails to line up at the right intervals, one always splitting off before the other, never reconvening at the right moment and time. However, perhaps the most profound message is that even if a love story doesn’t have an end, it doesn’t make it any less worth experiencing. [Ally Johnson]
The Handmaiden (2016)
Park Chan-wook’s stirringly erotic psychological thriller, The Handmaiden, will likely never shake off its air of controversy and healthy debate surrounding lesbian representation in film, particularly as it relates to its cherished source material, Sarah Waters’ 2002 novel, Fingersmith. In the years since it ridiculously missed out on winning Best International Feature at the Academy Awards, the South Korean film has received perhaps equal praise and skepticism for its softcore love scenes, with some questioning the intended audience as others simply relish in the film’s unapologetically sumptuous, lurid sex. The film is more than all that, of course, packaging a thrilling tale of intrigue and cultural divides as it relates to two women of vastly different backgrounds finding themselves in a fantasy of their own love-making. [Jon Negroni]
Moonlight (2016)
Primarily among Black men, there is a level of “toughness” one has to display amongst their peers. This toughness comes from years of pressure beneath oppressive stones. Generations of immoral and inhuman oppression have planted a seed within the African-American space, a shield sprouting from its roots to protect the community but inadvertently hurting it just the same. Black men can’t cry, they can’t show too much compassion, and they can’t be weak. Gayness is seen as weakness, the sure sign of a man lesser than. Director Barry Jenkin’s Moonlight shines a light on homosexuality and phobia within the community, presenting a story told through several years but from one key perspective.
Throughout his life, Chiron faces several hurdles. Figures both in and outside of his community see him as “other” for one reason or another, but all reasons he can’t control. Growing up in the black community, I’ve witnessed stories like Chiron’s firsthand, which says something about the level of genuine truth leading men Alex Hubert, Ashton Sanders, and Trevante Rhodes bring to the character. In the end, Moonlight—with passionate, artistic cinematography, gorgeous lighting, and heartfelt performances by a masterful cast—creates a conversation about conversations hardly had in the black community, with a lesson in true strength and humanity at the center. [Adonis Gonzalez]
Certain Women (2016)
Kelly Reichardt is unquestionably one of the most deeply talented and distinct American independent filmmakers of the 21st century so far. Her films have a measured pace and focus on the nuances of ordinary people and the textures of their lives and environments in the American West, both past and present. A loosely connected anthology film, Certain Women is no exception, featuring three stories about the daily lives of specific women in mid-2010s Montana.
The third story features a solitary rancher played by Lily Gladstone, developing a connection with (and attraction to) an out-of-town teacher played impeccably by Kristen Stewart. A sense of profound yearning drives this segment of the film, along with tension as these two women keep meeting, a growing sense of curiosity about what the future holds for them, and whether the attraction might be reciprocated. This is a film with all kinds of insights about life for women in a specific time and place, but this subtly sapphic concluding story is by far the most memorable and emotionally affecting. [Leonora Waite]
Spa Night (2016)
Director Andrew Ahn is on the cusp of a major breakout with his most recent film, Fire Island, a Queer, modern retelling of Jane Austen’s Pride & Prejudice. However, he’s already been on many a radar for the introspective and heart-wrenching film, Driveways, from 2020 and, before that, his strong debut feature Spa Night. His most stripped-down film (fitting for the main setting of the story) Spa Night is a personal film following a closeted Korean-American teenager who explores his desires at a Korean spa but soon finds himself in over his head. Ahn’s work is tender and empathetically portrayed with the type of claustrophobic filmmaking that makes our protagonist David (played by Joe Seo) and his grappling with external and internal pressure all the tenser. Dealing with the pain and catharsis that comes with personal clarity, if not clear happy endings, Spa Night is a powerful and singular coming-of-age story. [Ally Johnson]
God’s Own Country (2017)
Director Francis Lee crafts a story of barely restrained passion in God’s Own Country which is equal measures a coming-of-age story as it is a tender-hearted and patient love story between an unlikely pair. Josh O’Connor and Alec Secareanu star as the two men forced to work together who soon begin to develop feelings for one another and aid in anchoring a film that already is so connected to the earth. Along with the palpable chemistry between the two leads, the magic is found in the natural beauty surrounding them, with as much focus shone on the muddy earth as the exposed flesh that lay atop it. That the focus, beyond the burgeoning relationship, is the way life surrounds them, and how they are folded neatly into it, grants the film its warmth, despite the harsh winds the characters endure. [Ally Johnson]
Call Me By Your Name (2017)
The slow, lazy, sun-soaked summer days in the Italian countryside are enough to make anyone fall in love. Enter Elio Perlman, the inquisitive son of an archaeology professor, and Oliver, a graduate student living with the Perlmans while he conducts research, and the stage is set for a passionate, emotional love affair. All current personal issues of Armie Hammer aside, his and Timothée Chalamet’s chemistry is explosive and palpable through each longing look by the pool, winding bike ride through villas, and lingering touch late at night away from prying eyes. With a beautiful soundtrack from Sufjan Stevens and the use of 35mm film which douses each shot in a vintage-esque light, Call Me By Your Name is a stunning coming-of-age film reflecting on the undeniable feeling and power of love between two individuals. [Kellie Innes]
Professor Marston and the Wonder Women (2017)
Wonder Woman is a figure of female empowerment and sexual liberation. She is a beacon of strength, courage, and freedom, and I’ll say it right now, she’s much more important than Superman. At the time of Wonder Woman’s groundbreaking debut, there wasn’t a lot of lesbian representation in media. But unsurprisingly, her creation led to an influx of positive responses from female readers, and a whole lot of grumpy old white dudes going “Wait, girls read this stuff too??” Her incredible influence in the comics community is thanks in no small part to two real-life inspirations for the character—Rebecca Marston and Olivia Byrne, two lovers who inspire Rebecca’s husband William to create the character.
Professor Marston and the Wonder Women tells the true (but of course, Hollywoodized) story of the polyamorous group who would go on to create the original Wonder Woman comics. Much like the character they would all have a part in bringing to the page, the story of the Marston/Byrne’s is quite controversial. But director Angela Robinson treats the subject of polygamy with care. Not as an over-sexualized tryst (though their peers certainly see it that way), but as a romantic commitment among the three lead characters, and the source of Wonder Woman’s creation. Rebecca Hall and Belle Heathcote display a loving, enchanting relationship on-screen that captivates viewers and Luke Evans’ Marston alike. The film is rather sexual, mind you, as the three engage in some wild (but tastefully shown) acts that many posits are the source for WW’s fairly BDSM-influenced early scenarios. Whether you’re a fan of Wonder Woman, or just want to witness a very well-done LGBTQ+ love story (and witness the creation of a queer icon), Professor Marston is a wonderful film to watch. [Adonis Gonzalez]
Princess Cyd (2017)
With just a few features over the past decade, made with low budgets and local community members in many key roles, Stephen Cone has proven himself a casual master of queer cinema. His films are reliably nuanced, thoughtful, and original, with types of characters we rarely see onscreen even within the subgenre of LGBTQ+ films. Princess Cyd is no exception, with its gentle story of a bisexual teenager coming to stay with her soulful and literary aunt. Both have plenty to teach each other and help each other process, from relationship advice to processing traumas of the past. This is a film with very deliberately sunny and restorative energy, showing inter-generational bonding between two very different people who find a lot to bond over. This film also depicts asexual-spectrum identities in a casually refreshing way, and a non-binary actor features prominently in a supporting role. All these factors help Princess Cyd feel special both in Cone’s oeuvre and in the film world as a whole. [Leonora Waite]
Beach Rats (2017)
Eliza Hittman approaches her coming-of-age films with a level of gritty realism that takes a scalpel to the troubles and hurdles teens today are facing. In Beach Rats, Harris Dickinson plays an aimless teenager whose summer is increasingly dire, especially with his father currently on his deathbed and no real supportive social groups, other than a group of delinquent friends who he joins in causing local trouble. After turning to flirt with men online which transitions to him going to a nearby cruising beach, he also begins a relationship with a young woman, further confusing him about where he stands in the world. Like much of Hittman’s work, Beach Rats is challengingly internal and pensive, as our characters externalize their inner conflicts through quiet action, rather than vocalizing what they’re going through, making for a character study that asks us to look deep, rather than taking it all at face value. [Ally Johnson]
120 BPM (Beats Per Minute) (2017)
A radical thunderbolt of a film that simmers and scorches with rage, 120 BPM (Beats Per Minute) is often, purposefully, a difficult watch. Following a young man who has joined an AIDS activist group in 1990s Paris, he learns, while attending weekly meetings, that there are members among them who lean further into extreme demonstrative approaches to their protests. A love story blossoms throughout between Nathan (Arnaud Valois) and the lively Sean (Nahuel Pérez Biscayart) but it’s the tireless fight to get the government to acknowledge them and their basic human rights that creates the greatest and most constant drama. Director Robin Campillo and co-writer Philippe Mangeot drew on their own experiences working for ACT Up for the story, culminating in a piece of filmmaking that is tireless in its compassion for all who fought, protested, held public demonstrations, and sought solutions, while simultaneously refusing to relent on the anger, making sure that, once the film ends, all of those watching are equally as enraged. [Ally Johnson]
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Disobedience (2017)
Above all else, the film Disobedience is shrewdly, fiercely aware of how few things fuel a love story like repression. So when Ronit returns to the Orthodox Jewish community she grew up in after years of exile, there’s little question that she and her childhood friend Esti will explore their passionate attraction to each other. It’s just a matter of how (and if) they can both escape the claustrophobic, deeply traditional atmosphere that threatens to suffocate them both. But as it becomes more and more clear that Esti and Ronit are meant for each other, the consequences quickly become apparent, as do the questions of faith, choice, and love that each character must ultimately wrestle with. Forbidden desire and sexuality have rarely been depicted with such tender complexity. [Andrea Thompson]
A Fantastic Woman (2017)
This 2017 film tells the story of Marina (Daniela Vega), a transgender woman living in Santiago, Chile. After the death of her boyfriend Orlando (Francisco Reyes), Marina has to navigate saying goodbye to the one she loved while his family pushes back every step of the way. Director and writer Sebastián Lelio don’t shy away from exploring some of the harsh realities many members of the trans community face. Trying to ban Marina from attending Orlando’s funeral and downright harassing her as she tries to learn more details of the arrangements made are just a few of the situations she encounters. Through it all and with the support of those that truly love her, Marina remains steadfast in demanding what is rightfully hers. Sprinkled with surrealist moments that help show how Marina processes her grief and trauma, this film tells the story of a truly fantastic woman. [Melissa Linares]
Can You Ever Forgive Me? (2018)
In a justifiably acclaimed central performance that expanded commonly-held ideas of her range as a performer, Melissa McCarthy fully embodies real-life author-turned-forger Lee Israel, in this film that authentically portrays queer characters as full and complex people first and foremost. Lee is a “difficult” protagonist who can be frustrating and sad to watch at times, but also a relatable and intelligent character in other aspects whose literary crime capers also prove entertaining. Her bond with her friend Jack gives us a refreshing depiction of casual-yet-deep queer solidarity, and the world of the film surrounding them strikes a unique balance of cozy and oppressive. This is one of the most unique and thoughtful dramas of recent years, with tremendous central performance and a memorable main character. [Leonora Waite]
House of Hummingbird (2018)
In a searing and sprawling debut, South Korean writer and director Kim Bora is confident and blazing in their first feature. Set in Seoul in 1994 surrounding the callable of the Seongsu Bridge, House of Hummingbird follows 14-year-old Eunhee who spends her days escaping a tumultuous family life by wandering the city and searching for love. Shot with a grainy, overlit realism that gives way to a story that is in motion as much as its leading character, the film meanders along with her, content to observe as she navigates a physically abusive older brother, a possible start of a romance with a boy at her school, and a simmering affection she has for her tutor. Her sexuality is never explicitly addressed, more left to the margins as Eunhee tries to grapple with increasingly stressful events, but it’s that undercurrent of wanting something more, of anticipating a point in her life that will allow her greater freedom, that so largely speaks to the universal experience of being a teenager, while remaining singular to her story and day to day struggle. [Ally Johnson]
Liz and the Blue Bird (2018)
Anime director Naoko Yamada has shown an affinity for the subtle devastations and delicate lines between friendship and romance in her storytelling thus far. In Liz and the Blue Bird, we follow two best friends in the last year of high school as they slowly come to the aching realization that there is no such thing as being together forever. Beautifully animated, existing both in the world of the two girls and the fictional story they align with, the flower language in the visual storytelling is strong, and, perhaps more so than any other film on this list, the queer love story is found in the subtext. Still, the longing captured and the way expansive landscapes and magic hour lighting are utilized to visually depict the melancholy and nostalgia that comes from first loves, growing up, and anticipating goodbyes, make for one of the most poignant films of the last decade. [Ally Johnson]
Dear Ex (2018)
Co-directed by Mag Hsu and Hsu Chih-yen, the Taiwanese Dear-Ex is a coming-of-age comedy/drama that explores the central romantic relationship between two men through the eyes of the deceased’s son. As he and his mother come to learn that his dad had left all of his savings to a partner they’d never met, the two must grapple with this man whose involvement in their estranged ex-husband and father’s life is both a stranger to them but also someone who shares memories and moments with a figure they both believed they knew. Despite its mournful premise, the story invites light into it through a narrative that signifies the importance of evolving relationships and cherishing moments we have in the present, rather than allowing bitterness of the past and its venom to infect us moving forward. Roy Chiu is particularly excellent in a film where their tender heart is shown through sincere performances and whimsical visuals. [Ally Johnson]
Love, Simon (2018)
Love, Simon is the film adaptation of Becky Albertalli’s Simon vs. the Homo Sapiens Agenda, and pieces of media were artworks that needed to happen. Love, Simon will take you down a pendulum of making you laugh one second and then breaking your heart the next. The emotional performances of the cast are so raw and genuine, and wonderfully translates the experience of a gay teenager struggling to come out to their friends and family, especially when faced with bullying and discrimination. Love, Simon is a lovely coming-of-age LGBTQ+ film that everyone should watch at least once in their life! [Gisselle Lopez]
We the Animals (2018)
Before his most recent film, the Netflix project Hustle starring Adam Sandler, filmmaker Jeremiah Zagar stunned with his smaller-scale yet immensely profound film We the Animals. A contemplative family drama, the film follows three young brothers and their parents, as the former becomes more cognizant of the troubles their mom and dad are facing as the two continue a cycle of a combative and volatile relationship. While two of the sons try to emulate their father’s projected ideals of masculinity, in all its barely veiled insecurity and volatility, it’s the youngest, Jonah (an extraordinary Evan Rosado) who instead tries to escape into an imaginative world, one that lessens his concerns of his father and his emerging homosexuality. His world is illuminated through pencil-scratched animations and the decision to shoot on 16 mm film, an aspect that further aids in capturing the quality of snapshot memories of youthful turmoil and change. [Ally Johnson]
Rafiki (2018)
Color explodes from the screen in Wanuri Kahiu’s vibrant and beautiful film Rafiki, about young, forbidden love. The film follows the growing romance between two young women, Kena (Samantha Mugatsia) and Ziki (Sheila Munyiva) amidst familial drama as their fathers run against one another in a local election as well as political pressure from LGBTQ+ rights in Kenya. From the start, their relationship is flirtatious and the two grow close immediately, much to the chagrin of their parents, even as they sneak away from crowds and nosy onlookers. Perhaps the greatest triumph is how Kahiu refuses to bend to misery or to only show the hardships the two face. Instead, there are light touches and all-consuming joy, simmering passion, and laughter. There’s persistent hope, in an ending that whispers of a greater tomorrow, even as the government requested Kahiu trim it so that it ended on a less uplifting note, ensuring that viewers were granted a romance with optimism, regardless of the hardships the two girls faced. [Ally Johnson]
Wild Nights With Emily (2018)
Few films have fiercely reclaimed history like Wild Nights With Emily, and director Madeleine Olnek takes special care to cite her sources as she details how the life of the immensely talented, prolific poet Emily Dickinson was literally erased and repurposed in the name of heteronormativity. But if the film ends in what was effectively a kind of murder, Olnek refuses to allow Emily to be reduced to her oppressive limitations, which resulted in her poems going mostly unpublished in her lifetime. Mostly there’s a whole lot of sly, subversive humor in what is at heart a great love story between Emily and her sister-in-law Susan, one which lasted their entire lives and is only now being acknowledged and celebrated. [Andrea Thompson]
And Then We Danced (2019)
Few films in recent memory have captured emotion through movement with as delicate and razor-sharp an edge as Levan Akin does in the Georgian film And Then We Danced. Starring Levan Gelbakhiani in a startling and captivating breakout role, the film follows his character Merab through his trials in trying to become a dancer in the National Georgian Ensemble. However, when a new dancer shows up, their rivalry-turned relationship threatens his progress while simultaneously enlightening him on his style and posture as a dancer in a genre of dance that prioritizes performative masculinity to his looser, “feminine” movement. The last moments of the film are incendiary as he figuratively dances for his life, laying all of him, all of his flourishes, pain, and wants on a stage he’s battered himself on, in a fierce and bruising declaration of self. [Ally Johnson]
Booksmart (2019)
For Olivia Wilde’s main characters in Booksmart, sexuality is circumstantial. The film characterizes Amy’s (Kaitlyn Denver) high school crush like any other infatuation fueled by raging hormones, she just happens to also be a lesbian. Who she finds herself attracted to has no bearing on the storytelling except for illustrating the world around them making it weird, something feminist characters should be keenly aware of anyway. It simply feels like any other comedy about inseparable friends finishing high school and how they begin to grow apart as they become their own people. Molly and Amy’s determination to have a good time on their final night as high school students is driven by their desires, initiating their dramatic rift. It depicts plenty of awkward scenarios along the way like trying to get to a party, messy instances of romance and sex, and the usual awkward social scenarios. [Evan Griffin]
Pain and Glory (2019)
Pedro Almodóvar makes a film like an artist makes a painting: with a simple swish of his brush (or camera in his regard), he creates a picture ripe with color and emotional complexity. The women in Almodóvar’s life are usually front-and-center of his filmography, but in 2019’s Pain and Glory, Almodóvar shifts the focus to a brand new character: himself.
Antonio Banderas stars as Salvador Mallo, a 60-something director who suffers from chronic illness and the inability to create art. Everything about him, from his clothing to his apartment, screams Almodóvar, but Banderas does more than just an imitation. Banderas and Almodóvar have worked together many times, and Banderas’ interpretation of Mallo showcases the deep respect he has for the director. [Yasmin Kleinbart]
Portrait of a Lady on Fire (2019)
It would’ve been enough if Céline Sciamma just questioned how we see history in Portrait of a Lady on Fire. But that is merely a spool through which she unravels various threads about relationships, not only those between women (both lovers and otherwise), but also artist and muse, our perceptions and history, and how we see the world itself. The catalyst is Marianne’s arrival at a remote French island in the late 18th century to pose as a walking companion to Héloïse in order to paint her wedding portrait. What begins as a rather exploitative prospect to marry Héloïse off quickly becomes an intense mutual attraction that develops into an ode to the female gaze, and how love can become a window to freedom, however fleeting it may be in a world in the grips of patriarchy. Intensely controlled and desperately passionate, Portrait is as contradictory and spellbinding as love itself. [Andrea Thompson]
The Half of It (2020)
In Alice Wu’s return to filmmaking following her breakout 2004 film Saving Face, she goes the coming-of-age route in a loose retelling of Cyrano de Bergerac. A reserved teenage girl finds herself helping a jock woo a girl that they both secretly admire and the magic of this sweet and wholesome story is how, despite intended familiarity with well-worn tropes, is how Wu manages still to upend expectations of where The Half of It is going to go. While Ellie (Leah Lewis) pines after the popular Aster (Alexxis Lemire), it’s the friendship between Ellie and Paul (Daniel Diemer), the boy she’s been helping that is the real heart of the story. Their platonic bond is just as special as the crush (though the ending note to it is heartwarming) and showcases the necessity of support and camaraderie at that age and the isolation that comes without it. [Ally Johnson]
The Old Guard (2020)
The Old Guard is not just any comic-book film adaptation. The film, and the graphic novels it’s based on, tell the story of a group of immortal humans who travel the world and help whoever they come across. The group features two gay couples—Nicky and Joe, and Andy and Quynh (Noriko in the comics); both couples have been together for thousands of years. For a film that crosses into the superhero genre, a genre rife with heterosexuality, The Old Guard gives life to the idea that queer people have always existed. Though mainly focused on its forward-moving plot about science experiments and betrayal, the film’s choice to nonchalantly depict its queer characters is also noteworthy. Joe and Nicky are intimate with each other throughout the film, just like any straight couple would be in these genre movies. Plus, they get their own big love declaration scene and make homophobic guards uncomfortable in the process. Andy, Joe, Nicky, Booker, and Quynh are walking history, and for the two major couples in the story to be queer proves it’s possible for LGBTQ+ characters to hold a place in the superhero genre. [Katey Stoetzel]
Shiva Baby (2020)
Emma Seligman makes every queer person’s worst nightmare in Shiva Baby. It follows Danielle (Rachel Sennott), a college student who doubles as a sugar baby to pay her way through school. No one knows about her double life, and she prefers to keep it that way, especially when her parents brag about her “success” to every yenta in town. But Danielle’s plan backfires when all aspects of her daily life collide at a family funeral: her family, her ex-girlfriend, and her sugar daddy. Shiva Baby plays like a sitcom, each moment building up to a funny and awkward finale. Seligman creates a film that is both funny and heartfelt, brilliantly mixing Jewish culture and queerness. [Yasmin Kleinbart]
Lingua Franca (2020)
Following Olivia, an undocumented trans-Filipino caregiver, Lingua Franca is a bold and exhaustive feature film from director and actress Isabel Sandoval. With echoes of Chantal Akerman in her filmmaking style, Sandoval emulates a timeless aesthetic for her modern story about a woman living in fear of deportation, where members of ICE are a constant threat to her livelihood as she tries to find legal status in the U.S. Ultimately forced to look into seeking marriage for the sake of a green card, she meets Alex (Eamon Farren), the son of the elderly Russian woman she’s the caretaker for and the two become romantically involved.
Despite the early romance between the two, the story is taut and somber. Sandoval is an empathetic filmmaker, and she shoots Olivia’s corner of Brooklyn with natural lighting and a sense of meandering dread that we can’t help but be consumed by Olivia’s very real anxiety as well. Despite the storm clouds that follow the characters, there’s still warmth in Olivia’s relationship with Olga (Lynn Cohen) and an innate sensuality to the love scenes between her and Alex. More than anything else, it’s demonstrative of Sandoval’s considerable talents as a filmmaker and actress as she exposes the inner lives of those who are often overlooked. [Ally Johnson]
Days (2021)
An exemplary exercise in restraint, the dialogue-less film Days from director Tsai Ming-liang favors lonely souls in his meditative and moving picture of two men. Shot in minimalist long takes, Days follows the middle-aged and middle-class Kang (Ming-liang regular Lee Kang-sheng) and the younger Non (Anong Houngheuangsy). The former is seeking treatment for his neck pain, and the latter complete daily chores and rituals, such as washing vegetables and prayer. Their stories don’t intertwine until they do when Kang receives a full body massage from Non at his place of work, and they share a level of meaningful intimacy.
The epitome of slow-cinema, Days isn’t an easy watch but it is a transfixing one. The world bleeds together in this solemn portrait of a man’s emotional pain turned physical, a story manifested from all of those who worry about blending into the background, being forgotten by time, space, and memory. It’s why the scene between the two feels so euphoric—it’s not just the physical act but a potent reminder for Kang that he’s seen. [Ally Johnson]
Parallel Mothers (2021)
Trust Pedro Almodóvar to take a story about two very different women and completely upend expectations. Middle-aged, successful Janis and teenage Ana are both single mothers who bond after meeting in the hospital where they give birth on the same day, only to find their lives increasingly and painfully intertwined. Janis and Ana’s eventual connection is by no means a love story, but it is the hub around which the film’s various complexities revolve, and which flawlessly incorporates feminism, class, and above all, how we grapple with the unavoidable pull of history, both the political and personal. If the past can’t be changed, Almodóvar argues in his own singular way how we can also be better both than the wrongs done to us and the ones we ourselves commit. [Andrea Thompson]
The Wheel of Fortune and Fantasy (2021)
While it wasn’t his Oscar winner, Ryusuke Hamaguchi’s The Wheel of Fortune and Fantasy is just as wonderful and insightful as his award-winning Drive My Car, both released in 2021. Broken into three stories, it’s the third where the LGBTQ+ themes are explicit, as we watch a woman venture home for a high-school reunion and her would-be meet-cute with who she believes is a woman from her past. All is not as it seems, however, as Hamaguchi explores memory relevance and the significance of connections—in the past and present.
Fusako Urabe and Aoba Kawai share warm and curious chemistry as the two women trying to recapture youthful dynamics and shared histories that may or may not exist. Whether they knew each other before or not doesn’t seem to matter much to Hamaguchi though, as greater emphasis is put on how they relate to one another now, with lives lived away from the adolescent time capsule. Theirs, more than the other two, equally stirring stories in the film, suggest a future story waiting to be told. As with most of Hamaguchi’s work, there’s as much significance put on to what happens after the credits roll as what happens within the narrative framework, possessing a keen understanding that life is greater and more immense than any snapshot could suggest. [Ally Johnson]
Flee (2021)
Jonas Poher Rasmussen’s adult-animated documentary turned more than a few heads at the 2021 Sundance Film Festival, cementing it as one of the most acclaimed films of the year, through to its landmark achievement of being the first film to ever be nominated for Best International Feature, Best Documentary Feature, and Best Animated Feature. The stylized first-person narrative documentary follows the true story of Amin Nawabi (an alias hiding the real man’s identity), who fled Afghanistan as a child to Denmark, where as an adult he’s engaged to his long-time boyfriend. All the while, Amin has been hiding a secret that could upend his life yet again. LGBTQ+ advocacy has long been about securing equal rights for marginalized communities, and Flee deftly presents that message in the context of a refugee story that is too specific and one-of-a-kind in its point of view to be anything less than real life. Flee is a devastating tale about the stories we tell to others—and ourselves—as a means to cope with a devastating world, but one where places can be found to heal. [Jon Negroni]
Fire Island (2022)
As mentioned above in our write-up for the superb Spa Night, director Andrew Ahn has been on the rise for several years now though, hopefully, with his equally excellent Fire Island, he’s making the break into a bigger audience. Written by Joel Kim Booster, this film is a loose adaptation of Jane Austen’s Pride & Prejudice and is a joyous and unadulterated love note to sweeping romances—just with a bit of a modern spin on them. Bowen Yang is extraordinary in his vulnerability and physical comedy while Booster and Conrad Ricamora shares electrifying chemistry. Add to the mix a cover of Brittney Spears’s “Sometimes” by MUNA and the result is a celebration of Queer joy, friendship, and found family without ever dismissing the personal hardships or triumphs the characters experience. It’s heartfelt and hilarious, cleverly written, and beautifully composed. It’s already a highlight of the year and was the perfect film to kick off Pride this year. [Ally Johnson]
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