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Matt Bomer Buys Out Hometown Showing of Love, Simon

By Anne Victoria Clark

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Photo: Phillip Faraone/Getty Images

 

Matt Bomer, the Magic Mike and American Horror Story star, wants to make sure everyone in his hometown has the chance to see the film Love, Simon. Now, he’s not in the movie or anything, he actually just loves it that much. Not a surprise considering the film has been praised by critics as “a modern classic for today’s generation”.

 

Bomer and his husband Simon Halls bought out the AMC in Spring, TX on March 25th, and invited anyone who wished to attend via an Instagram post. Previously, Bomer has talked about growing up closeted in a very religious family. He also took to Instagram right after the film’s premiere to praise it for its representation, writing “I’m so happy that a generation of young people will have this to watch and realize that #loveisloveisloveislove” No, I’m not crying, it’s allergies.

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I do not necessarily agree because the film is not playing in Philadelphia yet. But, I understand his argument.

 

Does Gay Hollywood Have Room for Queer Kids?

New York Times

Imagemerlin_136138257_4d15a18f-1443-4577-b614-481a485bbf7d-articleLarge.jpg?quality=75&auto=webp&disable=upscale

CreditLaura Breiling

By Jacob Tobia

 

March 28, 2018

As an undergraduate at Duke University, I was something of a campus unicorn. I was anything but quiet about my sexuality and my gender identity. I’d hold my head high sporting bright red lipstick and a full beard; dance on the bar, unshaven legs exposed by a miniskirt; strut unashamed across cobblestones in four-inch heels. I wasn’t just gay — I was a total queen. And for half of the gay men on campus, I was something of a goddess, an inspiration, a friend.

 

But for the other half, I was embarrassing. I was that flamboyant gay kid who made everyone else look bad by association. Many gay men on campus were so unsettled by me, so vicariously ashamed of my gender expression, that they’d avoid eye contact, wouldn’t even talk to me. The irony is that these very gay men were allowed to be “normal” because I was the campus freak. My unabashed femininity was what paved the way for gay men in, say, fraternities to come out without jeopardizing their masculinity. I was the shameful femme foil to their butch pride. At the same time as they disavowed me, they profited from my existence.

 

I had flashbacks to my campus years this weekend when I went to see the movie “Love, Simon.” From what I’d heard, it was a revelation: a film that effortlessly normalized the queer experience in a touching, quirky and beautiful way, a film so important that celebrities were buying out theaters in their hometowns so that gay teenagers could see it free.

 

I walked out at the end in a shambles, a veritable genderqueer mess.

 

For over a decade, the unspoken rule of gay cinema and television has been that gay men can be sexy protagonists — as long as they are masculine gay men. Feminine or gender-nonconforming gay men, on the other hand, are desexualized comedic relief. Masculine gay men are central characters, understood as attractive, powerful, interesting and dynamic. Feminine gay men, gender-nonconforming folks and trans people are, at best, guest stars, denied real plots, romantic story lines or central positions in the story.

 

Worse, across mainstream movies and television, gay protagonists often gain their status as protagonists and palatability by distancing themselves from femininity. Take “Will & Grace”: Will Truman is acceptable in part because he is not Jack McFarland. Or “Queer as Folk”: Brian Kinney is acceptable in part because he is not Emmett Honeycutt. Or even the reboot of “Queer Eye”: Antoni Porowski and Karamo Brown are the heartthrobs in part because they’re more masculine than Jonathan Van Ness.

 

If “Love, Simon” didn’t follow this trope outright, it certainly flirted with it. Early on, the film is careful to establish all of the ways that Simon is not that kind of gay. He’s not very good at musical theater. He participates in gender policing, deriding a straight classmate who chooses to wear a dress to the Halloween party as looking like a “drag queen who rolled around in refrigerator magnets.” He fantasizes about what being gay in college will be like, imagining choreography and dance, only to retreat: “Well, maybe not that gay.”

 

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Nick Robinson in "Love, Simon."CreditBen Rothstein/20th Century Fox, via Associated Press

But the most frustrating story line comes via the character Ethan. A black, femme gay guy who wears ascots and keeps his hair long and straightened, Ethan has been out at Simon’s school since sophomore year. He is the gender-nonconforming queer kid who blazed the trail and bears the brunt of the bullying and harassment because of it. He is openly bullied in front of Simon; he retorts in powerful, queenly fashion to his tormentors as Simon remains silent, watching and cringing.

 

As a genderqueer kid who has always been too femme for my own good, I found Ethan to be the only character in the film I could relate to. And he is relegated to narrative obscurity for most of the movie. He is a sideshow, a subtle foil to show how palatable and masculine Simon is. He is the narratively irrelevant queen to Simon’s well-adjusted gay boy. Simon’s palatability hinges in large part on Ethan’s presence, and the film never really does anything to acknowledge that.

 

A message that gay young people receive throughout our adolescence is that you need to be the “right type of gay” — masculine, not flamboyant, a man’s man — to be respected, to be affirmed by your family or to be romantically desirable. These messages hurt. They sting. They linger. And they don’t end with adolescence, evidenced by the many online dating profiles proclaiming “no fats, no femmes.”

 

I spent the entire movie waiting for Simon and Ethan to reconcile, to have a moment where Simon owned up to being embarrassed to be around someone as feminine as Ethan. I kept waiting for the scene when Simon said something like: “I’m sorry. I was embarrassed by you because I was working on myself. I struggled to affirm your femininity because I was acting from a place of personal shame. Your courage has paved the way for my life to be easier, and I wish I would’ve stood up for you.” But it never happened.

 

It’s important to acknowledge that — in 2018, with a $17 million budget — “Love, Simon” is trailblazing, that for L.G.B.T. teenagers, it is the only thing like it out there. But it’s equally important to acknowledge that the “Love, Simon” team reiterated the trope of the queenly, femme supporting character with no real plot. As femme gay men, gender-nonconforming people, and trans folks, we too deserve better than to be caricatured by Hollywood.

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It’s important to acknowledge that — in 2018, with a $17 million budget — “Love, Simon” is trailblazing, that for L.G.B.T. teenagers, it is the only thing like it out there

 

Well, not quite.

 

I just checked and CMBYN has grossed $38 million globally to date. If the number cited for the budget by somebody - $3.5 million - is anywhere in the ballpark of accurate, that's a pretty good return on investment.

 

http://www.boxofficemojo.com/movies/?page=weekly&id=callmebyyourname.htm

 

It's top two weeks, when it earned about one fourth of it's domestic box office, were the week of the Oscar nominations, and the week after.

 

So Oscar helped it along.

 

Love, Simon has already earned way more than it's budget just on a few weeks of domestic release. Assuming it has a global release, it will earn back a multiple of what it cost to make.

 

http://www.boxofficemojo.com/movies/?id=untitledgregberlantifilm.htm

 

Go, Hollywood, go!

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Becky Albertalli on the LGBTQ-Themed YA Books to Read Now

By Becky Albertalli

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This year, YA author Becky Albertalli’s 2016 book st[p]cjfe4x6fq00a8lfyeriekh01isoPvP2[z]m[d]D[r]nymag.com&tag=thestrategistsite-20']Simon vs. the Homo Sapiens Agenda was adapted into the feature film Love, Simon, and the film’s success got us thinking about the many LGBTQ-themed YA books that deserve a wider readership. We asked Albertalli to recommend her favorite LGBTQ-themed YA books at the moment — if you enjoyed Simon vs. the Homo Sapiens Agenda (or Love, Simon), it’s a good place to start.

 

Little & Lion by Brandy Colbert

Stonewall Book Award winner Little & Lion follows a black, Jewish, bisexual girl named Suzette, who’s back from boarding school and finding her way back into the life she left behind. As a Jewish reader from a blended family, I can’t explain how much it meant to me to see a beautiful, complex, nontraditional family portrayed with so much care and depth. Suzette’s prospective romantic relationships and friendships are treated with the same kind of tenderness and honesty.

 

Highly Illogical Behavior by John Corey Whaley

Highly Illogical Behavior follows a white, gay, agoraphobic boy named Solomon, a wannabe psychologist named Lisa, and Lisa’s utter cinnamon roll of a boyfriend, Clark. Whaley manages to strike that perfect balance between hilarious and gut-wrenching, with characters so messy and distinct, they feel like real people. This book is such a gem.

 

How to Repair a Mechanical Heart by J.C. Lillis

HTRAMH is hilariously narrated from the perspective of Brandon, a gay, white, Catholic teen who co-runs a popular fandom vlog for a show called Castaway Planet. This book is so geeky, funny, romantic, and charming, and should immediately be followed up with its st[p]cjfe4x6fq00a8lfyeriekh01i3FHLZj[z]m[d]D[r]nymag.com&tag=thestrategistsite-20']companion book, A&B.

 

Girl Mans Up by M-E Girard

This Lambda Literary Award winner and Morris Award finalist follows Pen, a Portuguese-American lesbian gamer who wears her brother’s clothes. Pen grapples with cultural expectations around gender expression, masculinity, and femininity in a way that’s so quietly groundbreaking. Girard leans into the complexity of Pen’s family relationships and friendships — and the sweetness of Pen’s developing romance with her girlfriend.

 

George by Alex Gino

This Stonewall Book Award and Lambda Literary Award winner is the only middle-grade book on my list, but it’s a must-read for any age. George follows a white trans girl in elementary school named Melissa who desperately wants to play Charlotte in her class’s production of st[p]cjfe4x6fq00a8lfyeriekh01i6vHVy0[z]m[d]D[r]nymag.com&tag=thestrategistsite-20']Charlotte’s Web — but her teacher sees her as a boy. I loved this charming, heartfelt story and its beautifully hopeful resolution.

 

History Is All You Left Me by Adam Silvera

Like most of Silvera’s work, this one’s a heartbreaker. We meet Griffin — a white boy with OCD — on the day of his ex-boyfriend Theo’s funeral. The narrative alternates between two time periods — before and after Theo’s death — and it’s such a breathtakingly honest portrait of first love, messy grief, and hard-earned hope.

 

We Are the Ants by Shaun David Hutchinson

A speculative-fiction masterpiece: Henry is a white gay boy who gets abducted by aliens fairly regularly. He’s given the option of pressing a button to save the world from ending — but he’s not sure the world is worth saving. This book is unflinchingly, gut-wrenchingly honest, and it asks big questions in a way that cuts deep.

 

When the Moon Was Ours by Anna-Marie McLemore

A National Book Award long-list title and a Stonewall Honor Book, McLemore’s sophomore book is an evocative, exquisitely lyrical work of magical realism. It alternates between the perspectives of Miel, a Latina girl who grows roses from her wrists, and Sam, a Pakistani trans boy who hangs moons all over their town. Their love story took my breath away.

 

Last Seen Leaving by Caleb Roehrig

Last Seen Leaving follows Flynn, whose girlfriend has suddenly and mysteriously disappeared — and he’s left looking for answers. I was totally riveted by this perfectly executed mystery — lots of twists and surprises made this unputdownable. Equally compelling: Flynn’s beautifully realized journey toward accepting that he’s gay, and an achingly sweet love story to go with it.

 

The Gentleman’s Guide to Vice and Virtue by Mackenzi Lee

Monty — white, bi, wealthy, and roguish — is the ridiculously charming narrator for this historical romp. He’s sent on a Grand Tour of Europe with his sister Felicity and best friend Percy, and their voices are so compellingly real that it’s hard to believe they’re fictional. This book is so funny, sad, romantic, and heartfelt — no wonder it won a Stonewall Honor.

 

These books have not yet come out (some are publishing in the next few days, while others will be forthcoming later this year), but I’ve read and enjoyed them all — and they’re all available for preorder.

 

The Summer of Jordi Perez by Amy Spalding

I loved living in the head of Abby, a fat, white, pink-haired lesbian who dreams of working in the fashion industry. This book is funny, empowering, and romantic, without downplaying the role of platonic friendships. And to the fat girls who are sidelined in almost every romantic comedy? It’s a love letter. Out April 3, 2018.

 

Picture Us in the Light by Kelly Loy Gilbert

Danny is a Chinese-American artist who attends a prestigious Bay Area high school, in a friend group still reeling from a tragedy one year earlier. Danny’s family has some explosive secrets, and Danny has an extra secret of his own — he’s in love with his best friend Harry. Danny’s pining for Harry is palpable, and it’s as heartfelt and tender as Gilbert’s gorgeous storytelling. Out April 10, 2018.

 

Girl Made of Stars by Ashley Herring Blake

This book follows Mara, a white bi girl who has always been close with her twin brother, Owen — but Mara’s whole world is rocked when Owen is accused of sexually assaulting his girlfriend. This story couldn’t be more timely, and Blake tells it with so much wisdom and heart. It’s a stunningly good, important book. Out May 15, 2018.

 

Running With Lions by Julian Winters

I couldn’t get enough of Winters’s funny, charming debut about a soccer team at summer training camp. The team is tight-knit and diverse, with a coach who makes a point of creating an affirming space for LGBTQIAP+ athletes. The romance between goalie Sebastian and his teammate and childhood friend Emir gave me butterflies. Out June 7, 2018.

 

Darius the Great Is Not Okay by Adib Khorram

Darius is a geeky, clinically depressed, white-Persian biracial, and a hard-core tea drinker — and he’s one of the most irresistible narrators I’ve ever met. Family circumstances prompt Darius’s first trip to Iran, where a new friendship with a boy named Sohrab brings some unexpected feelings to the surface. Khorram’s unbelievably big-hearted debut left me sobbing. I loved it. Out August 28, 2018.

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