A sensitive exploration of what being queer means

Layla is the feature debut from non-binary British-Iraqi drag artist and film maker Amrou Al-Kadhi, and uses a deceptively traditional romantic story to explore the difficulties of navigating a life caught between queer and religious/ethic identities.

Layla (deadname Latif) is a non-binary drag queen from a Muslim family, who is living in London with three queer friends and has already become a star within their community.

 

However, they’re also trying to balance this with not being out to their family and, when they go back to visit, perform a conventional straight cis role. They are convinced that they cannot possibly be who they really are with their own family.

 

When they meet Max after a performance at a corporate London Pride do that goes spectacularly – and very funnily – wrong, the pair quickly start developing a romantic bond. But they’re also streets apart in terms of their lives. Max is from a well-to-do, white, middle-class family who are accepting of his rather beige gayness, but when Layla meets them, it’s clear that there are underlying issues around racism, Islamophobia and class.

 

And to add, Layla’s newly-married sister is moving to London with her husband.

 

This is a very sensitive film, while also being very frank. It is very unjudgmental and also helps to really explain what, for many LGBT+ people, ‘queer’ means.

 

Al-Kadhi’s direction and screenplay are excellent. Bilal Hasna as Layla is simply superb, while Louis Greatorex as Max is also very good. Indeed, It’s a very fine cast all around.

 

This was screened earlier this year at the BFI’s Flare festival and is now on more general release. It’s a very good addition to LGBTQI film.

Would you be a friend of Dorothy?

A hugely hygge weekend offered the opportunity for loads of reading. Having finished Bernadine Evaristo’s fabulous Mr Loverman on Saturday afternoon, I dived straight in to Sandi Toksvig’s new novel, Friends of Dorothy.

Police officer Stevie and paramedic Amber are not long married and they believe they’ve found the perfect home at 4 Grimaldi Square in London – albeit the square is generally rather run-down and with a nosy neighbour who’s shocked to discover she’s now living next door to married lesbians, and a nearly dead pub on one corner.

But when they go to move in, they find that Dorothy, the 80-year-old, foul-mouthed, straight-talking, wise-cracking woman they had bought the house from – has decided that she’s not moving out.

What follows draws in more local characters and develops into a sort of ‘caper’ book. I’ve heard the phrase ‘caper film’ more than once, but this really is the first time I can recall thinking of a book as a ‘caper book’. But I can’t think of it as anything else, given some of the scenes – and one late scene in particular.

Yet don’t let that con you. It is also remarkably subtle too. Toksvig uses her story to touch on class, race – and, of course, LGBTQ – issues, without being heavy-handed about it.

There are a number of interweaving stories here, all of which Toksvig uses to illustrate her central premise of “logical, not biological” families. The old saying is that ‘you can choose your friends but not your family’, yet some in the LGBT+ community are challenging that idea and what constitutes your family and how you organise/deal with such relationships.

It might sound ‘light’ – and it is, in many ways – but Toksvig is a really skilled storyteller and that’s why it never feels like you’re being lectured to. As a tiny example, while she never says whether Grimaldi Square is in north, south, east or west London, it felt so recognisable to me that I had a sense of ‘knowing’ that it was not far from where I live in east London.

It’s a funny story, but with real, real heart. A lovely, humane read. I got through its 350 pages in less than 24 hours, which should tell you something.

Crossing – a class piece of queer cinema

Lia, a retired teacher in a small Georgian town near the border with Turkey, is starting a search for her estranged niece, Tekla, who is trans. She had promised her dying sister that she would find her and bring her home.

Teaming up with Achi, the layabout brother of a former pupil, who claims to know that Tekla has gone to Istanbul and to have her address there, they cross the border into Turkey and take a coach along the Black Sea to that historic city.

 

There, they face dead end after dead end, but then they meet Evrim, a trans woman with a law degree who volunteers for trans rights group Pembe Hayat (Pink Life, a real organisation, founded in 2006), who agrees to help them.

 

The film also shows us children trying to eke out a living on the streets – in particular, Izzet and Gülpembe (Bünyamin Değer and Sema Sultan Elekci), with Evrim having to use her legal training when the former is arrested for alleged pickpocketing. This is important, in going against an idea that trans (and LGBT+ generally) activists are only interested in a single issue.

 

Crossing is Georgian-Swedish writer and director Levan Akin’s fourth feature. It premiered at this year’s Berlinale in February, winning the Teddy jury prize for best queer film in Berlin, before going on to pick up further awards at further festivals.

 

It’s very much character driven and, although it’s comfortably under two hours, it still takes the time to do this without rushing.

 

The title might seem obviously related to being trans, but it’s also about other forms of transition – and very much of growth. Lia and Achi both grow in ways that are unexpected – and delicately developed. It’s also worth noting that Akin’s portrayal of the small trans-female community in Istanbul is empathic, dignified and far from simplistic.

 

The film is beautifully shot by cinematographer Lisabi Fridell, showing us an Istanbul that pulses with life – largely working-class – including cats.

 

But ultimately, the success of the film rests on the performances of the three main characters.

 

Lucas Kankava is excellent as Achi: on the one hand, street wise, while on the other, naïve, and desperately lacking affection in his life.

 

Deniz Dumanlı as Evrim is also excellent, giving the character real complexity: full of positivity and without any sense of victimhood.

 

But at the heart of this is Lia, and Mzia Arabuli gives a performance that manages to be both incredibly understated and yet an absolute powerhouse of emotion.

All in all, a really good film – and definitely one that goes straight into the lists of important LGBT+ movies.