Meet some incredible Trans Artists!!

A Healing Weekend of Trans Theater in LA!

This weekend, I had the absolute joy of representing Good Queer News at The Joy Who Lived Trans theater and Comedy Festival in LA this weekend. Does this sound cool to you? Well, let me get to the best part first.

The festival isn’t over!! There are recordings of the previous shows from last week, a week of additional performances, workshops, and a community day next Saturday. There are still many ways to engage from all over the world.

Throughout the weekend, I had the chance to interview writers, performers, producers, and Laser Weber: the creator of the entire magical experience. When Laser first came up with the idea for the festival, it was as a kind of “carbon offset” for the arrival of a theatrical production by She Who Shall Not Be Named.

“What if we flier outside of the Harry Potter play, and we say, ‘Just pay extra. Like, pay the cost of that ticket and come see a trans play.’ I put a call out to friends, to ask if anybody wanted to do a show, and it was a lot more people than I expected. Last year, we did 30 shows—it was a full month. This year we’re doing 40 shows in two weeks, because everybody’s crazy.”

Originally, Laser thought it would be a one time thing, but the more people he met and the more impact they saw, they realized it needed to become something long term. What they’ve built is nothing short of incredible.

(P.S. If you insist on watching the new HP show, you can “carbon offset” it by buying the full access pass to the whole festival! https://www.zeffy.com/en-US/ticketing/digital-ticket-bundle-joy-who-lived)

Because I love trans theater and I’m a big proponent of “go big or go home”, I attended almost every show this weekend. I was there for nearly 10 hours both Saturday and Sunday, and it was magnificent.

I interviewed lots of artists while I was there (and I wish I could include the full transcript of every one. Everyone I met was BRILLIANT and so talented!!) and Summer Benton gave me one of my favorite quotes of the weekend. I asked them: “Why trans art? Why now?” and they laughed a bit and responded: “why take your next breath? You know, it just kinda feels like a natural thing to do, and I just feel like it’s needed. I mean, the house is packed. Everyone’s here. This festival is so successful for a reason. It’s because trans people need these stories. Non-trans people need these stories, too.”

I couldn’t agree more. Sometimes the world hurts. A lot. For me, this festival was medicine.

Kid Power!

Kid power kicked us off on Saturday afternoon. Sitting in a room full of trans and queer kids belly laughing, queer families surrounded by joy, healed me in ways I didn’t know I needed healing.

We spent 90 minutes being delighted by stand up, improv, songs about becoming, and a very very popular ostrich puppet from a sketch about figuring out who you are.

Afterwards I spoke to a number of families about what it meant to them to be there. Many of them shared a similar sentiment with me: this festival was a pushback against the narrow fear of what queer art can be and what it means to be a queer kid. This was something radically different, fun and playful and deeply gentle. To be a trans kid means to be silly and curious and loving and this show was defined by that, instead of the stupid debates that attempt to flatten or erase our lives.

The unbelievable Vico Ortiz doing a bird-puppet-ventriloquy-drag performance about a Puerto Rican folk tale of community building.

Next up was the short play incubator, an amazing collection of short plays from new Playwrites. These shows were unbelievable, so hilarious, so special, and deeply, deeply trans. I particularly enjoyed seeing trans art without any ham-fisted need to make our stories palatable, add in definitions, or help people make sense of our experiences. We made this to make sense of ourselves!

Throughout the weekend, I was struck by the enthusiasm, creativity, weirdness, playfulness, and trust that the space encouraged. All of this was by design. When Petey Gibson, one of the producers for the festival, was telling me about the things that excite him most about the festival, it was the community aspect that truly lit him up.

The festival gave us space to be messy, lovingly judge each other, admit to ghosting a therapist, wear redonkulous wigs, and roast each other to bits.

The festival wasn’t alcohol-centered, it wasn’t simply a matter of show up, watch your show, and leave. There was constant gathering, community building, feedback, even a game show that turned on the house lights and requested the audience members turn to each other and offer an earnest, genuine compliment as loudly as they could.

Everything from the bowl of immigration alert whistles to the mask policies the accessible seating deepens the feeling that community means showing up for each other every way we know how. Even the walls of a theater were decorated with portraits of trans artists and performers from today and from decades and centuries before, reminding us that we have always been here, we have always been beautiful.

A beautiful collection of pictures of trans artists, past and present!

The intentionality of the festival also celebrated the beautiful diversity of what it meant to be trans. Different bodies, ages, and stories, talked about transness not as a universal commonality shared in a vacuum but as something that enriches and is enriched by experiences of neurodivergence, blackness, disability, womanhood, and more. In a space where we didn’t need to prioritize whether cis people would understand our experiences, we had the safety to dive into far messier conversations. Stories about a Korean trans twink trying to outrun his twink death, (title: The Twink Death of the Universe. Trans people are so freakin’ funny.) or an audience participation adventure in learning to ask for help for a group of shape shifting high school students, or finding forgiveness for fathers who never saw us.

One of the things that I noticed the most as I went through the festival and that started to work its way into my interviews was realizing that for so many people, this festival was a launch pad, a realization of what’s possible. When I spoke to Matt Pasini, he told me before the festival he wasn’t feeling sure what his career could look like as a trans actor, but after performing he realized there was so much more he could do. His energy for making trans art was deeply refilled.

A reading of Audrey Kuo’s incredible short play: Shapeshifter High

One artist, Xander Pretti, summed up the experience of the festival gorgeously: “When people are given the space to see all possibilities, they feel freedom to be themselves. I hope trans actors saw this and said, ‘there are roles for me.’ There are people who are creating for me, there is space for trans directors. I just want people to know that there is a space to put up their work.”

So many of these writers and dreamers and performers left the festival with big plans for what comes next. Book releases, pilot pitches, festival circuits, so much of which can be exhausting as a trans artist. And yet so many of the artists I spoke to were leaving feeling energized, reminded that while it can be exhausting trying to sell trans art to cis producers and cis audiences. Art by, for, and about our community is incredibly beautiful and has a place in the world.

Another show I really loved called Access Denied, about finding time to be human in the fight for a better world, bodily autonomy, technology, and very evil (but stylish) pigeons.

The audiences didn’t just cheer their hearts out at the end of every show. We waited around outside after every show to cheer every actor, writer, and techie on their way out the door. This festival gave countless trans artists, both who were a part of the festival and just sitting in the crowd, a much needed dose of healing, energy and encouragement before getting back to the grind. On my way out last night, as I was feeling giddy with the realization that I couldn’t leave before doing the rounds to say goodbye to all my new friends, I gave Petey a hug and told him how proud I was of the ridiculous game show he’d just hosted and the festival he’d helped to put together. And he grinned at me and said, “we’ve got a hell of a fight ahead of us. We need this joy if we’re gonna be able to win,” and I couldn’t agree more.

Especially for my allies who read this newsletter, for people who are deeply, deeply frightened about trans people in the present day. I want us to make a regular habit of channeling that energy instead towards brilliant trans futures. Fear energizes us to play defense, but that won’t add up too much if we don’t also build the capacity to dream of something far more beautiful.

Here’s a great link to get a bundle of access to the recordings, and your money will go to paying trans artists and making sure we can make EVEN MORE TRANS ART!!

Until next time.

All my love and all my joy, Ben

(P.S. This article is my first foray into more formal reporting that I’d love to continue doing more of. Forgive me while I work out how to do this as a one-man team! If you catch errors, loved this new style, or have ideas/questions/concerns/complaints please let me know!)