The Human Rights Film Festival+ and the subversion of expectation

06 Dec 2020 - photos courtesy of publicist

I learned a valuable life lesson before screening even one of the films that caught my eye in the Human Rights Film Festival+. Each year the festival, running in December which is Human Rights Month and climaxing on International Human Rights Day, features at least one LGBTQ-centric film. I have seen some great films thanks to HRFF+ (Gay Chorus Deep South, Love, Scott). This year I submitted requests to the publicist for screeners and received back a series of links and passwords. There is a lot going on during the festival (the "+" indicates workshops, virtual Q&As, a keynote address by Black Lives Matter's Syrus Marcus Ware, virtual art exhibits, and a poetry slam. And I have a lot going on with the general anxiety associated with the pandemic and the looming question of Christmas. So when I thought I was screening a film about a Brazilian trans activist, I actually pressed play on a quite different film.

And that was the life lesson: don't judge a film by the press release or publicity photos. The HRFF+ has been painstakingly curated and a few minutes into Objector, by the time my mistake became obvious, I was already absorbed. Objector's camera follows Atalya whose mandated service in the Israeli army is about to begin. Though she comes from a family who have made army service not only a calling but a vocation, Atalya begins to explore the army's role in the Palestinian conflict and slowly realizes that it is not a conflict, it is an occupation. The film very cleverly guides the audience through the same revelations that Atalya experiences, and it is hard not to root for her as she becomes a conscientious objector and goes to prison instead of to the army.

Objector begins with a veneer of objectivity as everyone in the family, except for Atalya's irascible grandfather who invokes the Holocaust as justification, slowly grows to understand the plight of the highly photogenic Palestinians. The point of view is subtly laid out and one wants to cheer when Atalya takes a stand, and grimace in horror at her prison experiences. It is only when the film adds a "recreation" of Atalya before a tribunal that Objector slips into propaganda and one is forced to question all that went before. But Atalya's innocent earnestness anchors the film and this is a debate that we should all be having, not just army conscripts and Israeli rebels.

The film I intended to watch, Indianara which arrives at the HRFF+ trailing plaudits from many festival including Cannes, is a slice of life portrait of a larger than life character. Indianara Siqueira is a Brazilian activist who is also trans, a former pimp, and a self-proclaimed whore. Her life is scandalous enough to have her expelled from the country's far-left political party and she is barred from ever entering France again because of her years in jail there. She is loud, brash, determined and delightful. Indianara opens with a bare bones funeral for an unnamed trans sex worker about to enter an unmarked grave. Indianara gives a seemingly spontaneous impassioned speech that rips at the heart. The viewers, the camera, and the filmmakers, adore her.

From there the camera follows Indianara to demonstrations, to her home life with a hunky DILF who gardens in only a well-filled Speedo, and particularly to Casa Nem, a collective squat for trans sex workers where Indianara is the den mother. There are many playful moments among the Casa Nem inhabitants and many brutally sad moments as Marielle Franco is assassinated, Bolsonaro is elected, and Indianara sees any hopes of revolution die. And Casa Nem receives an eviction notice. It is impossible to not identify with Indianara's politics and to cheer her on as she fights the system. But there is a lack of context which creates doubt and a disorienting confusion. A little bit of googling sorted that out (as always, the truth is elusive and different for different people) but doesn't dent Indianara's melodramatic, compelling and deserved hagiography.

My expectations were further subverted and upended by Maddy the Model. There was a flurry of news articles in the recent past, about Madeline Stuart, a girl with Down's syndrome who wanted to be a supermodel and, through grit, determination and perseverance, became one. Maddy the Model is not that inspirational story. Instead the film picks up two years on from her New York Fashion Week triumph and becomes a complicated exploration of society's relationship to disability, to those who are 'other,' and of just what is beauty. Maddy is not a supermodel but she is a celebrity and her mother's struggle to have Maddy fit into the world is the crux of the film. The tragedy is that when Maddy is finally convinced to adopt stereotypical model poise and attitude on the catwalk, all that makes her special vanishes, leaving her just another figure draped in fabric.

Whether the mother is Mama Rose or a loving mama bear is never sorted out and the viewer's allegiance keeps shifting. Maddy's exuberant joy on the catwalk is contrasted with her daily frustration with the mundane tasks of living. And is suspiciously equivalent to her joy hanging out with her friends and her adorable boyfriend. While highly social and utterly charming, Maddy has what her mother calls a "limited vocabulary" and it is never clear just what she understands and what she doesn't. The mother explains that Maddy "is an influencer but she's not an influencer." She may not be able to land lucrative endorsement deals, but a scene where she visits Uganda to advocate for rights for the differently abled is extraordinary and brings tears of joy: she may not be able to sell fashion but she inspires people to live. And to let their children live. An impromptu catwalk of joy by the Ugandian outcasts, led by Maddy, forever redefines what beauty is.

Three films, none what I expected them to be and all absorbing and disturbingly, wonderfully thought provoking. It would be worth picking randomly from the catalogue and trusting that the HRFF+ curators know what they are doing. I might even try to brave the poetry slam.