This is the second vertical AI BL drama I've sat through, and honestly I went in knowing better. I had it on while I was doing cardio at the gym, and what struck me was just how much the plot echoed the last one I watched. Same step brother romance angle, same mystery girlfriend showing up near the end, same extra guy pining after one of the leads. Genuinely the only thing going for it was the runtime, the whole thing wrapped up in forty five minutes flat. The setup kicks off with Finn moving schools because his mom just married into money. He finds out his new step brother Aiden goes to the same place, and he's warned to keep his distance from him. Their first run in at school is rocky, just like you'd expect, but there's this odd pull between them neither can shake off. Finn keeps telling himself not to read into it because Aiden's straight and openly homophobic. Things shift when some kids start bullying Finn and the student council president, Ryan, steps in to ...
Our Dance of Revolution begins in the '80s at 101 Dewson Street. During that decade, writer/activist Makeda Silvera and her partner at the time turned the house into a collective residence for queer folks. Against the backdrop of the feminist movement, protests against police violence, the bathhouse raids and the rise of the AIDS epidemic, this collective of mostly queer women organized, worked, lived, loved and partied together. It became the birthplace for groups such as Lesbians of Colour (LOC) and Zami (the first Canadian group for Black Caribbean queer people). We get a privileged glimpse into the joys, struggles and lives of many activists including Niki Redman’s fight with Toronto Pride over its unjust treatment of the popular dance event Blockarama; spiritual leaders Rev. David Peart’s unique and community-driven Sunset Service; DJ Black Cat’s struggle to enter the Gay Village’s music scene; drag queen and community icon Michelle Ross; and many others. Angela Robertson and Douglas Stewart stand out as the important commentators throughout the film, and their combined perspectives give historical, political and cultural context to the energetic and busy documentary.
The film is very dynamic: it is full of archival footage that pays homage to those no longer alive as well as a visual memory of the extraordinary political organizing and activist work done by Black queer folk over the last forty years in Toronto. It shows how a group of about a dozen politically organized lesbians and their allies can make a difference that leaves a dignified legacy for future generations of black queers. These women, who appear throughout the documentary, talk of ethical self care as an essential part of revolutionary activism because activists who put their minds/bodies at risk every day have greater physical and mental health complications which contributes to them dying younger. The movie’s talking heads also remind us of the issues that affect black LGBT people more heavily than their non black counterparts. Things like unemployment, cancer, HIV, and police brutality. These affect them more than non black people do regardless of sexual orientation. Black LGBT activists have dealt with these problems in a two fold manner. They have both tried to heal each other’s pain while confronting the people oblivious to the weight of these problems. The film embodies those two approaches. These approaches were effective then as it is now, and this doc hopes we do not forget. (5/10)
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