write about something of no importance. Lesbians. It’s important to write about things of no importance, because so much ink — or rather so many YouTube videos (the modern equivalent) is/are being spilled about the Ukraine. What about the one million Uyghurs presently in concentration camps in China? What about the Taliban locking young women out of secondary schools? What about the violent extremism spreading in West Africa? For some reason this information is not important for Western audiences to consume. Or perhaps we're just not interested? (Could it be because those victims are non-white?) So today I’m going to review the 1980 film Out of the Blue which is about a young dyke. Yes, I know, who cares about young dykes? Well I do. I used to know a lot of young dykes, used to hang out with them, loved them, in fact (no not in a physical way) and there are fewer and fewer these days anywhere to love (hence the very relevant title of the protest march, a few years ago Take Back the Dyke). Out of the Blue has a fascinating history. It is a Canadian movie — believe it or not — directed by Dennis Hopper (he also acts in the movie). Hopper was called in to save the flick — some scenes had already been filmed, but he managed to rewrite it and turn it into something uniquely his own. The most accurate way to describe Out of the Blue is to say it is kind of a straight director’s version of John Water’s Pink Flamingoes — it has all the sex, the anger, the outrage, the punk, the glorious gender dysphoria, the nihilism, the raw performances, the unexpected frightening honestly that comes from a film that dares to be — no, revels in — perversity. Out of the Blue is framed by a horrifying -- but somewhat campy -- bloody, tragic moment. Dennis Hopper is speeding along in his car with his daughter (the unforgettable Linda Manz) on Halloween. They are giggling away, she, dressed as a clown, and he, drunk. They promptly — and accidentally — ram into a school bus full of kids dressed in Halloween costumes. This film spares us no gore; we see the mutilated bodies of the children dangling from the wrecked bus. (Are you still with me?) Well Hopper has been in jail for five years and is finally released. His drug addict wife (the equally unforgettable --vulnerable, slutty, uncontrollable, Sharon Farrell — think of Farah Fawcett on drugs — well actually Fawcett was often on drugs, but you get the idea) and his butch little daughter - Manz — eagerly await his return. Well it doesn't work out. The father of one of the dead kids is out to kill Hopper, and Sharon Farrell is having sex with his best friend while Hopper gets drunk in the next room. It all ends up a violent mess. What keeps it together is Hopper’s grounded performance as a guilty, loving but perhaps molesting father — he is heart-wrenchingly real in every moment -- and of course Linda Manz. At the end of the movie, as she makes herself up as Elvis (her idol) Hopper is banging on her bedroom door wailing to Sharon Farrell ‘I don’t want her to become a dyke!’ Not very politically correct, eh? This is the kind of movie that the obstreperous, dense and hogtied stupid activists at GLAAD would ban in a second. Yet it is the ultimate peon to radical young queerness, and believe me it is still radical to be young and queer. These years it’s so radical that it is invisible; young women who dress like boys are no longer considered either tomboys or budding lesbians. They are to be inculcated with the notion that they are 'trans,' ‘gender queer,’ or ‘non-binary’ — and are told over and over that this has nothing to do with sex. Well there was no such deceptive lingo in 1950 — Hopper knows that if his daughter wants to dress like Elvis, she also wants pussy -- just like he does -- and it drives him crazy. My favourite scene is when Manz picks up some guy on the street — kind of an old hippie (the movie plays out at the end of the hippie/disco era and the dawn of punk — a real Vancouver punk band The Pointed Sticks perform in the film, and Linda Manz plays the drums). Anyway, Manz picks up this repellant relic, and you think -- 'what has she got herself into?' He takes he back to a kind of drug den whorehouse, with the intention of getting high and screwing her. Manz sits opposite some hookerish woman bathed in red light who is playing with her own pussy. We think this is going to get messy in a bad way, until Manz steals the old guy's dope and punches him out. This is the kind of dyke heroine we all know and love. I will never forget her marching down the street in her Elvis jacket, smoking like chimney, scowling at everyone and looking for trouble and finding it. Apparently Manz was the narrator’s voice in Days of Heaven (I never saw it, too long) and is now married with children. Well more power to her. We need more movies like this; we are not likely to see their ilk again for a very long time. Chloe Sevigny restored this for all to see, God bless her, because the truth is, we all know it (Deborah Soh knows it) boys who dress like girls and girls who dress like boys are often, underneath it all, queer as three dollar bills (and if they're not, the crossdressing is turning them on!). I was in a restaurant in Hamilton the other day and a strange man walked up to me and shoved a cigarette pack in my face, in a threatening way, offering me one. Then he asked me if I was a homosexual. It was really scary. This kind of thing hasn't happened to me in years. No -- homophobia is not dead. We need more films like Out of the Blue. And we need to be reminded that being queer is all about sex. And hey -- that's just fine, too.
