In today’s world, it’s difficult to imagine that an opera singer could achieve the kind of international fame and popularity enjoyed by modern musical artists like Lady Gaga or Taylor Swift, yet that is exactly what Maria Callas did.

Possessed of a singular, inimitable, and often controversial vocal talent, she rose to the height of her profession and became a world-class artist, performing on international stages and moving within a circle that included the wealthiest, most influential and powerful people of her era. Her private life, which included a long-running affair with mega-rich Greek shipping magnate Aristotle Onassis and a reputation for temperament that matched or exceeded expectation for a diva of her stature, was the stuff of gossip columns, and her stature as an artist was such that any scandals that might have arisen there had little impact on her reputation for the millions of fans who adored her.

Even now, nearly 50 years after her untimely death (she was only 53) in 1977, her name is still spoken with reverence among those who belong to the still-potent “cult of personality” that made her an object of near-worship, and even if you’re not an opera fan, a listen to any of the magnificent recordings she left as her legacy is enough to help you understand why. Not only did the woman have a gift for singing, she had a way of inhabiting the music she sang so completely that it seemed to belong solely to her, as if it came fully formed into the world through her own being, no matter how many other great vocalists had sung it before.

Yet the Callas we meet in Pablo Larrain’s “Maria,” a speculative biographical fantasia about the final week in the diva’s tumultuous life that premiered in competition for the prestigious “Golden Lion” award at the 2024 Venice film festival and drops on Netflix Dec. 13 following a limited theatrical release, is but a comparative shadow of that once-renowned formidable persona. Her health failing, her voice diminished, and her mind drifting between morose contemplation of her decline and drug-addled delusions of returning to her former glory, she holds a reclusive and tenuous dominion over her Paris apartment, engaged in a power struggle with her overprotective house servants and stubbornly ignoring doctor’s orders by pushing herself to regain the transcendent voice that had brought her success, fame, and a personal power that had helped her endure the traumas of a childhood in the Axis-occupied Greece of World War II.

That’s just on the surface, however. As rendered by Angelina Jolie in a career-topping performance, the Callas of “Maria” feels fully worthy of the still-imperious demeanor she wields against the world. Far from surrendering to the tragic downward spiral into which she has become entangled, she shines from within with a courageous – which is not the same thing as “fearless” – sense of self that infuses her seemingly desperate efforts to reclaim her former glory (for herself, at least, if not for public approval) and makes her story a tale of self-actualization rather than the tragic “dance with death” it might appear to be through a surface perspective.

After all, in Larrain’s vision (and the exquisitely nuanced screenplay by Steven Knight), Callas is seeking not to recapture her fame and fortune – those are hers for life, already – but to reclaim her voice. As plainly shown by the life told in bold strokes via the flashbacks interwoven throughout the film, music has been the means for Callas to overcome the oppression of men and assert personal power over her own life. From the fascist soldiers to whom she was “pimped out” in her youth by her mother to the coarse-but-doting plutocrats that have attempted to “possess” her in adulthood, she has maintained agency over them all through the gift of her vocal talent. Now, with full knowledge and acceptance that the final chapter of her life is being written, she has chosen to hold the pen firmly in her hand, asserting ownership over her own life by composing the end of its narrative for herself. It’s an unconventional path that she chooses, but how many truly great spirits ever settle for being conventional?

Whether or not she was ultimately victorious in this goal – either in her real life or in Larrain’s imagined rendering of it – might be something viewers have to decide for themselves. It’s hardly the point, however; what “Maria” conveys, more than any definitive truth about its legendary subject, is a suggestion that what matters is the fight, not the winning of it, and that perhaps the “win” is in the fight itself. Beyond that, it finds a metaphor in the diva’s willing descent into hallucinatory fantasy for engaging in a direct relationship with that part of our own nature that feels divine – one which manifests itself in our lives through many forms, be it a character in a centuries-old opera, an imagined collaboration with the long-dead composer who created it, or a fresh-faced TV interviewer (who may or not be real) with a knack for asking the questions you don’t want to answer.

The element that has sparked the most buzz about Larrain’s film, of course, is the work of its star. Jolie, who trained to sing opera for seven months in preparation for the role (though she lip-syncs to recordings of the real Callas in flashbacks of the diva’s career highlights, it is her own voice we hear when she sings in the “present-day” scenes), doubtless brings some of her own experience to the table as a successful woman whose artistic triumphs always seem less important in the public eye than her personal relationships with men.

If so, it works beyond expectation, resulting in an old-school Hollywood star turn that dazzles us with its commitment to finding a human truth behind the veneer of glamour and moves us with the raw, unfiltered emotion she masterfully underplays throughout. Oscar talk is cheap, this early in “Awards Season,” but look for this performance to be a hot contender for a nod, and perhaps even a win.

Yet even if she’s the main attraction, “Maria” boasts plenty of excellence all around, from a superb supporting cast to the luminous cinematography of Edward Lachman, which bathes the movie’s sumptuous interiors in a palette of stained-glass colors to conjure the bittersweet nostalgia for a beautiful world as it slips away into oblivion. Knight’s intelligent script, crafted with the literary eloquence of a play, explores multiple facets of the diva’s life, while using it as a springboard into a meditation on loss, letting go, and embracing our own mortality even as we strive to touch the immortal. Finally, though, it’s Larrain’s direction that ties it all together, crafting a visually gorgeous, palpably intimate film that nevertheless delves deeply into some of the grandest aspects of our existence.

For opera lovers, of course, it’s a must-see. For the rest of us, it’s still a fascinating and deeply affecting film, addressing matters of life and death as vast as the ones that drove the timeless musical masterworks in which Callas made her name.

In times of trouble, movies can offer us a chance – temporarily, at least – to escape our worries. Sometimes, though, escape is not the answer. When the political climate turns stormy, they can also be a lifeline, connecting us with our history and helping us to clarify where we’ve been, where we need to go, and how we might manage to get there. With that in mind, here’s a list of great movies about LGBTQ activism, each with particular relevance to the cultural challenges we face as America braces itself for another round of Trumpism – because besides educating us about our past, they have the power to inspire us as we prepare to fight for our future.

Pride (2014) 

Perhaps ironically, the first title (and only non-documentary) on our list is not an American tale, but a true story from the UK, a fictionalized chronicle of Lesbians and Gays Support the Miners (LGSM) – a group of LGBTQ activists who allied with striking coal miners in Thatcher-era Britain. Directed by Matthew Warchus and written by Stephen Beresford, it balances humor and gravitas as it follows a young, still-closeted student (George MacKay) and his involvement with a group of queer activists who decide to raise money to support Welsh miners impacted by the British Mining Strike of 1984. Despite initial hostility from the miners, a coalition is forged that lends strength to both causes, ultimately leading to the incorporation of gay and lesbian rights into the official Labour Party platform. An infectiously thrilling portrayal of the transformative power of solidarity, it’s a film that exemplifies the importance of intersectionality and the need for diverse marginalized communities to unite and take collective action against oppression. The message? We are stronger together than we are apart. Also starring Bill Nighy, Imelda Staunton, Dominic West, and Andrew Scott, it’s as entertaining as it is inspiring, a “feel-good” movie that also fires us up to stand firm against the forces of bigotry and repression.

The Times of Harvey Milk (1984)

No, we’re not dissing Gus Van Sant’s excellent 2008 biopic “Milk,” featuring Sean Penn’s star turn in the title role and Dustin Lance Black’s eloquent screenplay (both of which snagged Oscars), but for our purposes here, this documentary from director Rob Epstein – which won an Oscar itself – provides a less romanticized account of Milk’s life and work. The first openly gay elected official in California, he successfully fought against the discriminatory “Briggs Initiative” (famously championed by beauty-queen- turned-OJ-spokesmodel Anita Bryant), which sought to ban gay teachers in public schools, something that feels particularly relevant during a time when conservative American politicians are aggressively working to remove LGBTQ content from schools and erode queer representation in politics. Though his 1978 assassination alongside San Francisco Mayor George Moscone (by fellow City Supervisor and political rival Dan White) is probably a more familiar piece of history in the public imagination today, it’s the groundbreaking LGBTQ advocacy he spearheaded that forms the centerpiece of his enduring legacy, something that the tragedy of his martyrdom should not be allowed to overshadow. This moving, intimate documentary – which weaves archival footage and interviews into a compelling narrative about the intersections of politics and identity, reminds us of the stakes when marginalized voices go unrepresented by our legislators, and features narration from queer icon Harvey Fierstein – provides a more detailed and authentic look at the great work he accomplished during his short tenure than Van Sant’s fictionalized historical drama.

How to Survive a Plague (2012)

If any film on our list should be considered a “must-see,” it’s this widely acclaimed documentary from filmmaker David France, which chronicles the activism of ACT UP and TAG during the height of the AIDS epidemic. Through archival footage and testimonials, it follows the real-life activists who fought for medical treatments and government accountability in a time when their community was suffering a devastating loss, highlighting key figures like Peter Staley and Larry Kramer and providing a powerful portrait of a relentless advocacy effort that turned despair into action. With its themes of grassroots activism and equitable public health care, France’s auspicious directorial debut resonates deeply in today’s world, as queer communities face challenges in access to gender-affirming care and reproductive rights; seeing the tactics used by organizations like ACT UP to hold institutions accountable, modern activists can gain valuable insights about how to conduct strategic resistance against legislative attacks and discriminatory policies in public health care.

Call Me Kuchu (2012)

Not as well-known but equally resonant as the other films on our list, this doc from directors Katherine Fairfax Wright and Malika Zouhali-Worrall follows LGBTQ activists in Uganda, a country where homosexuality is criminalized, centering around the story of David Kato – the self-proclaimed “first gay man in Uganda.”After returning home from South Africa, where he “discovered gay life” for the first time, he started a non-profit LGBTQ organization  (Sexual Minorities Uganda) to “spread the word about homosexuality” and track instances of homophobia in his country; he went on to became a fearless advocate for queer rights, facing immense personal and legal persecution before ultimately losing his life to anti-gay violence. The film also tracks efforts by the Ugandan government to pass the Anti-Homosexuality Act, which was partially orchestrated through the influence of U.S.-based Christian conservatives at a workshop funded by the American fast-food chain Chick-fil-A, and was condemned internationally as the “Kill the Gays Bill,” due to its inclusion of a death penalty clause. Though its focus is on an African nation, the film has clear relevance to the global struggle for queer acceptance, warning against the advancement of anti-LGBTQ ideologies by hate groups “protecting traditional values” under the guise of religion, and reminding us of how the fight for queer rights is interconnected worldwide.

Paris Is Burning (1990)

Jennie Livingston’s documentary delving into New York City’s drag ball culture of the 1980s is now iconic, a celebrated queer classic that immortalizes a deeply influential social scene and illuminates the lives of Black and Latino queer individuals as they try to navigate systemic racism, homophobia, and poverty, with an emphasis on their artistry, their resilience, and the “chosen families” they gather around themselves. Featuring a host of ballroom legends (Pepper LaBeija, Dorian Corey, Venus Xtravaganza, and more), it reveals stories of both triumph and tragedy while amplifying the experience of queer joy; it would later provide inspiration for Ryan Murphy’s groundbreaking series “Pose” – but more importantly, this essential LGBTQ classic highlights the inequities that persist in society today, when drag culture faces legislative attacks and trans women of color continue to be disproportionately targeted by violence,

Each of these films offers essential insights on queer resistance, illuminating the ongoing struggles and triumphs of LGBTQ communities. As we face a reinvigorated attack on queer rights under a hostile administration, they offer us lessons on solidarity, activism, and resilience that suddenly seem more crucial than ever.

Watch and learn, children, because you might now be our only hope.

As we approach Thanksgiving 2024, it seems safe to say that holiday dinners with the family back home are going to be even more stressful than usual.

Those conversations with cousins and in-laws around the table have always been a minefield to navigate for queer people from traditional families. This year, knowing that the uncle seated across from you voted for somebody who might take away your hard-won rights is sure to make that turkey pretty hard to swallow. With scenarios like that looming large in our minds, there’s a particular twinge of poignance to be felt in watching “Close to You,” a Canadian film from writer/director Dominic Savage in which Elliot Page plays a trans man returning to his small-town family home for his father’s birthday after being away for nearly five years.

Sam (Page) has been living in Toronto, renting a room from a friend-and-surrogate-mother (Sook-Yin Lee) while exploring and adjusting to big-city life as a trans man; now, he’s ready to return home for the celebration, but nervous about the reception he might receive. On the train ride home, he runs into Katherine (Hillary Baack), his “bestie” from school, and the warm – if somewhat awkward – acceptance he feels from her buoys him as he goes on to face his father (Peter Outerbridge), mother (Wendy Crewson), and the siblings and significant others who make up his immediate family circle. 

Things go reasonably well, at first, with a warm welcome from Mum, a newfound acceptance from Dad, and a tentative rekindling of connection with his sisters (Janet Porter, Alex Paxton-Beesley), but increasingly aggressive provocations from a transphobic extended family member (David Reale) become difficult to ignore. He finds an escape and some solace with Katherine, who overcomes an initial reticence to reconnect further after their chance reunion reawakens the emotional bond they once shared; but the old feelings and resentments stirred within his family dynamic threaten to derail any chance of true reconciliation at home, reminding him of why he left in the first place.

Moody, raw, and tinged with a melancholy that asserts itself even in its happier moments, Savage’s movie conveys a tone as chilly as the slushy Canadian winter of its setting. It takes the audience in close – literally, in the sense that much of it is shot in close-up, tight on its players’ faces as if we were part of the conversation – to provide a tangible feeling of intimacy and connect us to the emotional perspective of everyone involved. Much of it has an improvisatory feel, with dialogue that sometimes feels tentative or choked with uncertainty, yet allows for the eruption of frequent outbursts and the resonance of eloquently expressed thoughts. And its authenticity is reinforced by a collection of superb performances, with Page (who co-authored the film’s story with Savage) giving a deeply felt star turn as Sam and a gifted ensemble of actors in support. All together, it creates an atmosphere that effectively evokes the feelings of helpless vulnerability that are familiar to so many of us, queer or straight alike, when we return to the scenes of a youth that we longed to escape.

For some viewers, in fact, the film’s constant feeling of low-frequency anxiety will likely be too much. For many, of course, it will hit close to home, and trigger traumatic memories; for those who can’t relate, it may all seem a bit too “doom and gloom,” and others might see its respectful treatment of a trans narrative as being agenda-driven or even dismiss it as “woke” – though truthfully, those who might do that are not likely to be watching it in the first place. 

Which is not to say that “Close to You” is a complete downer; there are plenty of uplifting moments, too, when connections shine through and we are reminded that, underneath all the confusion and misunderstandings that have strained Sam’s relations with his family, there is love – even if the characters themselves may not feel it in that moment. Nor does it put all the focus of his emotional wariness on his transness; on the contrary, much of the conflict is focused on feelings of isolation, of being judged for having a different focus to his life than the rest of his very traditional family, and other things which make him “different” that have nothing to do with his gender. It celebrates the value of “found” family in the glimpses it gives us of Sam’s other relationships, and even gives us a spark of unexpected romance. In many ways, it might even be seen as a “feel-good” movie, were it not for the sense of unanswered sadness that underpins it all.

That, perhaps, is what makes it resonate not just as a trans story (though it is certainly first and foremost that) but one about queer experience overall: the knowledge that, no matter what positive changes are made or how fully one embraces one’s truth and identity, there will always be people who will judge you for who you are. The problem isn’t within you – it’s within them, so it’s something you can’t fix, and there’s a sense of powerlessness that comes from that.

In the cultural climate that has been suddenly thrust upon us in America, that’s undoubtedly a realization that has been haunting many of our thoughts about who we can trust in a society that has repeatedly shown its willingness to cast us out. It’s for this reason that “Close to You” carries an additional impact for queer audiences that might have been intended at the time of its making; after all, that uncle across the Thanksgiving table may have treated you perfectly well your whole life, but when you know that his love for you was less than his concern over the price of groceries, it’s hard to trust him again – and we’ve just been given a sobering reminder that there is a chillingly large percentage of our friends and neighbors for whom the same can now be said.

“Close to You” premiered at the Toronto International Film Festival in 2023, and was released in Canada and the UK earlier this year, along with limited screenings in the U.S. It’s now available for home viewing via multiple VOD platforms.