I’ve been thinking a lot about movies lately. Which, okay, is not exactly a rare event for me. Movies are kind of my thing. But lately, when I sit down on the couch, lights low, phone face-down (mostly), I’m noticing that the films hitting me hardest are queer ones. Not just the shiny new releases, but the older stuff too. The scrappy indies. The messy, imperfect stories. The ones that feel like they were made by people who needed to tell them.
And I keep circling back to the same thought: LGBT cinema isn’t just nice to have. It’s necessary. Especially right now.
It’s Proof We Exist (And Always Have)
This might sound obvious, but stick with me.
When you grow up queer—especially if you’re a certain age—you don’t see yourself much on screen. Or when you do, it’s tragic, coded, or buried under subtext so thick you need a shovel. So when I first saw characters who loved like I loved, wanted like I wanted, or even just stood in a room like I did, something in my chest loosened.
Movies are receipts. They quietly say, We were here. We are here. No matter how loud the shouting gets in politics or media cycles, those stories remain. Someone pressed record. Someone said, “This matters enough to film.”
That counts for more than people realize.
When the World Gets Loud, Stories Get Louder
Let’s be honest: things feel weird out there. Tense. Side-eye inducing. Every time I scroll the news, it feels like someone, somewhere, is having a strong opinion about queer lives—usually without asking queer people first.
That’s when LGBT films start doing heavy lifting.
They don’t argue. They don’t debate. They just show. A couple cooking dinner. A teen staring at their crush a second too long. An older man remembering a love he wasn’t allowed to keep. These moments sneak past defenses. You don’t have to agree with a policy to feel something when a character hurts or hopes.
I’ve seen straight friends watch queer movies and go quiet afterward. Not because they were preached at, but because they recognized something human. That recognition matters.
Representation Isn’t About Perfection
Here’s my possibly unpopular take: queer cinema doesn’t need to make us look “good.”
Some of my favorite LGBT films feature deeply flawed people. Messy relationships. Bad decisions. Awkward silences. Lives that don’t wrap up neatly.
And thank god for that.
I don’t want saints. I want people. I want characters who screw up, who say the wrong thing, who fall for the wrong person, who still manage to be worthy of love. Straight characters have been allowed to be disasters for a hundred years. We deserve the same grace.
Seeing that onscreen reminds me I don’t need to earn my humanity by being perfect.
It’s a Lifeline for Someone Sitting Alone Right Now
This part always gets me.
Somewhere out there, someone is watching their first queer movie alone. Maybe late at night. Maybe with headphones on so nobody hears. Maybe they typed a title into a search bar with shaky hands.
That movie might not fix their life. It won’t magically make things easy. But it might give them one small, stubborn thought: I’m not broken.
I remember that feeling. That quiet relief. That sense of being seen by strangers who somehow knew exactly how it felt.
Cinema can do that. Books too, obviously—I’m biased—but movies have faces, voices, bodies. They make it real in a different way.
Queer Films Hold History When No One Else Does
A lot of LGBT history didn’t make it into textbooks. It lived in bars, bedrooms, letters, glances. Cinema preserves that. Even fictional stories carry truth about the time they were made.
Watching older queer films feels like listening to elders talk. There’s fear there. Caution. Sometimes joy that feels hard-won. It reminds me that what we have now didn’t appear out of nowhere. People pushed for it. Loved through it. Lost things along the way.
That context matters, especially when it feels like progress can wobble.
Why I Keep Showing Up for These Stories
I write about LGBT cinema because it feeds me. It challenges me. It reminds me who I am when the noise gets loud. Some nights, it’s comfort. Other nights, it’s a quiet punch to the heart. I need both.
These films don’t ask permission to exist. They just do. And every time one gets made, released, streamed, talked about, shared—that’s another little line drawn in the sand.
So yeah, LGBT cinema matters. Not someday. Not theoretically. Right now.
And I’ll keep watching. Writing. Talking about it. Because stories like these kept me company when I needed it most, and I know I’m not the only one.
Lucien Knight came to New York to escape scandal.
He found a dead singer, a beautiful liar, and a ghost that won’t let go.
Murder at the Savoy — jazz-soaked noir meets the supernatural.
Grab your copy HERE