#Queer Underground Cinema

[bitter69uk]

“I've always considered movies evil; the day that cinema was invented was a black day for mankind.” Kenneth Anger.

Born on this day: His Satanic Majesty, pioneering experimental underground filmmaker, author and occultist Kenneth Anger (Kenneth Wilbur Anglemyer, 3 February 1927 – 11 May 2023). Repeatedly viewing Anger’s visionary homoerotic masterpieces Fireworks (1947), Scorpio Rising (1964) and Kustom Kar Kommandos (1965) at an impressionable age had a profound impact on me, and his two salacious wildly irresponsible volumes of Hollywood Babylon are like sacred religious texts.

[townesarchive]

La Traviata 1974

[not-your-asian-fantasy]

Toshio Masumoto's Funeral Parade of Roses

A restored masterpiece unmasks Tokyo's underground gay subculture of the 1960s

"Funeral Parade of Roses" (1969) is a Japanese New Wave film by Toshio Matsumoto that explores the underground gay culture of 1960s Tokyo, particularly focusing on a group of gender non-conforming individuals, often referred to as "gay boys" or "transfeminine". The film, loosely based on Oedipus Rex, follows Eddie, a transgender hostess at a bar, as she navigates a love triangle and societal pressures, with its style blending arthouse, documentary, and experimental cinema.

[midwestmunster]

John Waters, 1970s

[cottoncandy1999]

[bitter69uk]

“In Scorpio Rising (1963), Anger filmed the rituals of a Brooklyn motorcycle gang, juxtaposing the fetishism of chrome, leather and the holy icons of James Dean and Marlon Brando with images from a Fifties’ “Sunday school” TV series, The Living Bible. It is set to a soundtrack of pop songs such as The Angels’ “My Boyfriend’s Back”, Ricky Nelson’s “Fools Rush In (Where Angels Fear to Tread)” and The Shangri-Las’ “Leader of the Pack”. Martin Scorsese later cited Scorpio Rising as the major influence on the use of music in his films.”

/ From “The Extraordinary Life of Experimental Filmmaker Kenneth Anger” by Mick Brown, Esquire magazine, 2023 /

Attention, Leather Jacket Lovers! Pioneering underground filmmaker Kenneth Anger’s timeless, troubling homoerotic occult masterpiece Scorpio Rising premiered on this day sixty years ago (29 October 1963) at New York’s Gramercy Arts Theatre. Seeing Scorpio Rising and Kustom Kar Kommandos (1965) at an impressionable age warped me in the best possible way. (Scorpio Rising is the reason I insist on wearing Levis and engineer boots! The film also boasts one of THE best soundtracks of all time). His Satanic Majesty Anger died on 11 May 2023 aged 96.

Scorpio Rising (1964) // dir. Kenneth Anger

[schlock-luster-video]

" ... A girl who knows what she wants ..."

Drew this new portrait of Lina Romay inspired by the grindhouse classic Rolls-Royce Baby!

[nowimnothing-rx]

'Dead souls keep calling me pt. 2'

By Casper Tricoteux, Oct 10 2024

PRINTS AVAILABLE NOW

[heavenlybodies1984]

Mod Fuck Explosion (1994) dir. Jon Moritsugu

[bitter69uk]

“In Scorpio Rising (1963), Anger filmed the rituals of a Brooklyn motorcycle gang, juxtaposing the fetishism of chrome, leather and the holy icons of James Dean and Marlon Brando with images from a Fifties’ “Sunday school” TV series, The Living Bible. It is set to a soundtrack of pop songs such as The Angels’ “My Boyfriend’s Back”, Ricky Nelson’s “Fools Rush In (Where Angels Fear to Tread)” and The Shangri-Las’ “Leader of the Pack”. Martin Scorsese later cited Scorpio Rising as the major influence on the use of music in his films.”

/ From “The Extraordinary Life of Experimental Filmmaker Kenneth Anger” by Mick Brown, Esquire magazine, 2023 /

Attention, Leather Jacket Lovers! Pioneering underground filmmaker Kenneth Anger’s timeless, troubling homoerotic occult masterpiece Scorpio Rising premiered on this day sixty years ago (29 October 1963) at New York’s Gramercy Arts Theatre. Seeing Scorpio Rising and Kustom Kar Kommandos (1965) at an impressionable age warped me in the best possible way. (Scorpio Rising is the reason I insist on wearing Levis and engineer boots! The film also boasts one of THE best soundtracks of all time). His Satanic Majesty Anger died on 11 May 2023 aged 96.

Scorpio Rising (1963) dir Kenneth Anger

[bitter69uk]

“I've always considered movies evil; the day that cinema was invented was a black day for mankind.” Kenneth Anger.

“Well, it would be a crowded world if we didn’t have death to re-arrange the scenery.” Kenneth Anger. Remembering His Satanic Majesty, pioneering queer experimental underground filmmaker, author and occultist Kenneth Anger (Kenneth Wilbur Anglemyer, 3 February 1927 – 11 May 2023) on the first anniversary of his death. Repeatedly viewing Anger’s visionary homoerotic masterpieces like Fireworks (1947), Scorpio Rising (1964) and Kustom Kar Kommandos (1965) at an impressionable age had a profound impact on me, and his two salacious wildly irresponsible and unreliable volumes of Hollywood Babylon represent sacred religious texts.

[townesarchive]

https://vimeo.com/952069515/e2db09d356

Wally Bockmayer 1975

[schlock-luster-video]

Another day, another Dreamlander! Continuing with my Pride Month portraits of John Waters associated actors and characters. Here's a new drawing of David Lochary as Raymond Marble in Pink Flamingos!

[bitter69uk]

A must-watch! You can currently stream for free the new short film Toxic Femininity starring esteemed New York performance artist Lypsinka (John Epperson) and directed by Chloe Sevigny but for a limited time only, so don’t delay! In this swooning psychodrama, Lypsinka portrays herself - a fiercely glamorous but troubled veteran monstre sacrée song-and-dance show biz diva (think: Susan Hayward as Helen Lawson in Valley of the Dolls) recovering from “nervous collapse” (gossip column lingo for breakdown). One particularly dark night of the soul, Lypsinka starts bitterly reciting her memoirs into a tape recorder (the voice of is actually Judy Garland) which only seems to further loosen her grip on reality. She’s repeatedly interrupted and tormented by an abusive doppelgänger. And Joan Crawford keeps materializing to offer maddening pearls of wisdom from My Way of Life, her ultra-kitsch 1970 book of tips on how to be an enchanting businesswoman, wife, mother, and hostess (“The world isn't interested in your problems!” and “Bitterness and self-pity are deadly poisons that cannot be hidden” she’s apt to declare). But most alarmingly, Lypsinka seems to be stalked by a cadaverous, white-robed angel-of-death figure, who keeps drawing ever closer … Epperson is a connoisseur of golden age Hollywood cinema, so part of the fun is recognising the snippets of dialogue via Olivia de Havilland in Lady in a Cage, Faye Dunaway in Mommie Dearest (“Please, Barbara! Barbara, please!”), Agnes Moorehead (the radio play Sorry, Wrong Number) and Mia Farrow in Rosemary’s Baby (“This is no dream! This is really happening!”). Toxic Femininity is a tour de force! Link to watch. Read more about the genesis of Toxic Femininity here.

[bitter69uk]

In Memoriam: spectral Pop Art visionary Andy Warhol (né Andrew Warhola Jr, 6 August 1928 – 22 February 1987) died on this day. I will never stop being fascinated by this man’s oeuvre.

Andy Warhol in front of his screen print “Cow Wallpaper” at the Castelli Gallery in New York City, 1966. 

Photo by Steve Schaprio

[riotpanther]

Lights, Camera, Chaos | Shuriri Actresses Enemies To Lovers Au

pairing: shuri udaku x riri williams

word count: 1.5k

summary: rising star riri williams and wakandan heiress shuri udaku are cast as leading love interests in hollywood’s highly anticipated black lesbian rom-com. sparks are supposed to fly on screen. instead, the only explosions happen behind the scenes. riri thinks shuri is a stuck-up nepotism baby with a superiority complex. shuri thinks riri is a disrespectful brat with no filter. their chemistry? toxic. their arguments? legendary. their begrudging attraction towards one another? undeniable.

Part 1: Hollywood Royalty vs. South Side Shorty

i.

There wasn’t a single news outlet in the industry that hadn’t written a headline about it.

“From Wakanda to West Hollywood: A-List Starlet Shuri Udaku and Breakout Talent Riri Williams Cast in Sapphic Rom-Com Masterpiece ‘Brewed For You’”

“Royalty Meets Rebellion: Udaku and Williams to Lead Queer Coffee Shop Comedy”

“Fire and Ice: Can Two of Hollywood’s Brightest Black Stars Coexist On Set?”

“Riri Williams and Shuri Udaku to Bring the Heat in ‘Brewed For You’”

That last one made both women groan when they saw it, albeit for very different reasons.

Shuri Udaku was used to headlines. The Wakandan princess had crossed into mainstream cinema after a globally celebrated debut at Cannes. Her career trajectory was pristine — carefully curated indie projects, elevated dramas, and one historical biopic that had already landed her an Oscar nom at the age of twenty-five. Every frame she appeared in was treated like art. Her fans called her ��Hollywood Royalty.” Her critics called her “too perfect to be real.”

Riri Williams on the other hand wasn’t royalty, growing up instead on the South Side of Chicago. After her dad’s death forced her mom to start picking up late night shifts, her days and nights alone were spent immersed on social media, where she discovered a passion for being on camera. She’d never studied at Juilliard or any other prestigious performing arts school. Her first big role came from an underground YouTube short after she improvised a monologue about Black girl rage that went viral overnight. One studio deal, two indie darlings, and a streaming series later, twenty-two year old Riri Williams was it — known as the gritty, electric “Southside Shorty” who was impossible to look away from.

Their pairing was the talk of the entertainment industry. The idea of two openly queer Black women leading a major romantic comedy was already historic. But fans were even more hyped when the trailer dropped.

What they didn’t know?

The chemistry on screen was faker than Splenda.

ii.

It was supposed to be the film of the year.

“Brewed For You” was marketed as the Black lesbian rom-com Hollywood didn’t know it desperately needed: a heartfelt, stylish, and deeply funny story about two rival coffee shop owners on the same Brooklyn block who go from enemies to lovers. The director, Zama Maris — a Sundance breakout with a sharp eye for nuance and queer chemistry — had stunned fans with her choice in casting the flawlessly poised princess and unapologetically brash indie chick.

They were both perfect for the roles.

Except… they couldn’t stand each other.

From day one, tension crackled between them. The first table read was hosted on the studio lot in Burbank. Shuri arrived early, polished and draped in minimalist Balmain, while Riri came almost twenty minutes late in a thrifted Bulls hoodie and joggers. She stepped into the conference room, shamelessly chewing her gum with an unapologetic expression that said, Yeah, I’m here now—what?

Shuri, seated at the far end of the table beside Zama and producer Kwame Abrams, barely looked up.

Zama smiled warmly. “Riri, hey! Grab a water, we’re about to start.”

Riri offered a casual salute. “Sorry, traffic was — well, LA. Y’all know.”

She dropped into a chair opposite Shuri, who had an annotated copy of the script open, a black Montblanc pen resting neatly on the margins. Her posture was elegant, unbothered, and quiet in a way that screamed judgment.

It took fifteen minutes for Riri to notice the sideways glance.

“Something wrong, your highness?” she murmured across the table.

Shuri didn’t look up. “Not at all. I just assumed punctuality was a shared value on set. My mistake.”

Riri smirked. “And I assumed we weren’t doing the Downton Abbey routine today. Guess we’re both disappointed.”

Shuri arched one manicured brow. “Must be nice to arrive when one pleases.”

Riri popped her gum. “Must be nice to be born on third base and think you hit a triple.”

The table went awkwardly quiet.

Zama cleared her throat. “Alright, let’s start on page one.”

iii.

Two weeks into shooting, the crew had caught on. Sparks flew, but not the romantic kind.

Shuri and Riri couldn’t be left alone between takes. They were magnets for tension — whether it was quiet, seething judgment (Shuri) or deliberately provocative eye-rolls and under-the-breath commentary (Riri). It was even worse behind the scenes. Riri referred to Shuri as “Princess Nepo” and mimicked her posh Wakandan accent during lunch. Shuri, ever composed but no less petty, referred to Riri as “Budget Barbie” when venting to her security detail. Okoye, Shuri’s loyal bodyguard, shadowed her at all times, keeping a wary eye on Riri, who she deemed “volatile.” Riri once caught Okoye giving her side-eye at craft services and dared to wink in response.

Their rivalry even had names in the group chat.

Team Classy: Shuri’s supporters, mostly the costume and lighting crew who adored her professionalism.

Team Chaos: Riri’s ride-or-dies from sound and makeup who lived for her TikTok antics and roasted the production daily.

And in the middle was poor Kwame and Zama, trying desperately to keep the peace.

Their bickering reached a new level of pettiness when Shuri offered to adjust one of Riri’s blocking positions during a key scene.

“I only meant that if you angled slightly more toward camera, the light would—”

“I’m good, coach,” Riri snapped. “I know how to find my light.”

“And I know how to act without chewing gum during rehearsal,” Shuri replied coolly, eyes narrowed.

“Oh hell no,” Riri growled. “You wanna go, princess?”

“You couldn’t keep up.”

“Try me.”

The crew had to break for lunch.

The whole set was one sarcastic comment away from explosion.

iv.

And explode it did.

They were filming a major scene in one of the studio’s reconstructed coffee shop sets — starting with playful banter over dinner that leads to a romantic misunderstanding and ends in a screaming match between characters. Real food. Real emotions. Real tension. Real disaster waiting to happen.

“You’re impossible!” Shuri snapped in character. “Everything with you is a game.”

“Well,” Riri began, also in character. “Maybe if you pulled that stick out of your a—”

“Cut!” Zama shouted, visibly annoyed. “Riri, that’s not the line. Again!”

“Sorry,” Riri grumbled, breaking character. “Guess I’m getting carried away trying to keep up with miss perfection here.”

Shuri straightened, visibly frustrated. “If you spent half as much time on your lines as your attitude—”

“Whatever, your highness,” Riri cut her off. “Maybe it’d be easier to remember if someone didn’t speak like she’s rehearsing for The Crown.”

Shuri stepped off her mark. “Maybe if someone had a shred of professionalism, we wouldn’t be on Take Seven.”

“Say that again with a little more condescension,” Riri snapped, stepping closer. “You got the spoiled princess role locked down.”

“And you’ve certainly nailed the role of the disrespectful peasant,” Shuri fired back, her accent sharp, cutting.

A tense hush fell. Crew members pretended to busy themselves, suddenly fascinated by light fixtures and coffee cups.

Riri closed the distance. “You know what your problem is? You walk around like your entire existence is some kind of gift to cinema.”

“And yours,” Shuri said coolly, “is believing talent excuses your utter lack of tact.”

That’s when it happened.

Riri, fed up, shoulder-checked Shuri as she stormed past her — not hard, but enough to send the other woman stumbling. Unfortunately, they were right next to the large dining set for the scene.

The princess lost her balance.

The table buckled behind her.

Shuri went down—hard—into a spread of lasagna, olive oil, salad dressing, and red wine. A champagne glass shattered somewhere beneath her. Tomato sauce clung to her curls. Parmesan cheese blurred her vision. The wine soaked her ivory blouse and blue pantsuit.

The entire room gasped.

Shuri could do nothing but lay there panting heavily, her senses overwhelmed by the smell of food and the stickiness of everything she was covered in. She stared up at Riri in utter disbelief and righteous fury.

Riri’s eyes widened. “Oh, sh—Shuri, I didn’t mean—”

Before Riri could even stammer out an apology, Okoye was there like lightning. Shuri’s private security had always been present, quiet in the background. But not now. Now she tackled Riri with the terrifying grace and precision of a seasoned Wakandan warrior, slamming her hard into the fake espresso bar at full force.

There was a sickening pop.

Riri let out a loud, painful scream. “OW, MY WRIST — DAMN, OKAY! OKAY!”

“Okoye!” Shuri shouted, struggling to rise from the wreckage. “Stand down!”

But the damage was done.

Riri clutched her wrist in agony, breathing hard and trying not to cry. Zama’s voice cracked over the mayhem: “We need a medic. Now!”

Chaos erupted. Crew members swarmed. Medics rushed in. Kwame and Zama shouted. Someone cried.

And Shuri, covered head to toe in marinara and shame, stood upright, glaring down at Riri with enough intensity to melt a camera lens.