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Cabaret (1972)
Cabaret is unusual among film adaptations of Broadway musicals for its attention to cinematic style, foregrounding Bob Fosse’s directorial vision without losing its roots in the theater. Fosse, who was an accomplished dancer, choreographer, and stage director before he broke into filmmaking, was uniquely well-positioned to adapt the acclaimed show, itself inspired by Christopher Isherwood’s memoirs of Weimar-era Berlin. His sense of internal rhythm is unparalleled, both in his vivid staging of numbers like “Maybe This Time” and the visceral cuts of his editing. Liza Minnelli’s defiantly charismatic turn as Sally Bowles, perhaps more than any of her other roles, made her a beloved diva and queer icon. Unlike many other classic movie musicals, Cabaret endures not because of its camp or spectacle, but its bracing realness: Its story of self-discovery, set against the rise of fascism, remains tragically relevant today. –Nadine Smith
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The Rocky Horror Picture Show (1975)
Is there any image in queer cinema as indelible as Dr. Frank-N-Furter’s entrance in The Rocky Horror Picture Show? Watch in delight as Tim Curry, face fully beat, tosses off his cloak to reveal a bustier, fishnet-clad legs, skyscraper heels, and a wicked smile, sending whitebread couple Janet and Brad into a straight panic. One of the earliest on-screen expressions of camp excess, the glam-rock comedy-cum-midnight-singalong revolves around Curry’s high-wire performance; he leads his cabal of sexually liberated weirdos with real emotion lurking under his vaudeville villainy.
For as popular (and at times cringey) as Rocky Horror has become, it’s easy to forget just how bold it was for the time: the unambiguous depiction of polyamory, the stylized glimpse into drag, plus Rocky himself, the Speedo-wearing himbo prototype. The film’s tragic climax of self-expression, “Fanfare / Don’t Dream It,” shows Rocky Horror’s subversive heart. “Give yourself over to absolute pleasure/Swim the warm waters of sins of the flesh,” Frank-N-Furter sings, sporting a fur and strutting down a staircase drenched in fog, “Erotic nightmares beyond any measure and sensual daydreams to treasure forever.” He smiles and stretches his arms wide at the thought: “Can’t you just see it?” –Eric Torres
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Times Square (1980)
Outstanding performances, suggestive petal eating, a beautiful soundtrack, horrible editing—why, it can only be a Lesbian Film™! Allan Moyle’s Times Square is in glorious shambles—not bad, just camp. The film begins with the two teenage-girl leads being thrown into a psych ward for being a little bit silly with it—one of them plays guitar, the other really wants to see One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest. There’s a clear sapphic subtext—Nicky, the Joan Jett-coded one, stares at Pamela, the doe-eyed one, like she’s going to devour her—but everyone in this film, it seems, is having sex except for the lesbians. (Like I said, it’s a Lesbian Film; you’re probably used to that by now.) If you can get off on subtext alone, go for it, there’s plenty to go around here.
