What if they released the LGBTQ-themed action movie we’ve all been waiting for and they didn’t bother to tell us?

It’s a rhetorical question, really, because we already know the answer, and it can be found between the lines in the distribution-and-release history of “In the Grey,” a typically slick and cynical “caper thriller” from veteran filmmaker (and former Madonna husband) Guy Ritchie, which is now available on VOD platforms after a perfunctory theatrical opening in May.

Like almost all of Ritchie’s films, it’s fast-paced, clever, and full of surprises, some of which have to do with the plot, but most of all involve its characters – who, also in the tradition of Ritchie’s former work, inhabit a rarified world in which confidence, bravado, and stoic humor define the moral environment while something else (call it “fate” or “karma” or simply “the consequence of choices”) works behind the scenes to deliver a conclusion that satisfies our jaded sense of justice even as it fairly drips with irony. Also like most of Ritchie’s films, it succeeds in sucking us into its plotting while drawing a clear line between the “good guys” (i.e. the ones who are ostensibly working toward an equitable outcome, if not a moral high ground) and the out-of-balance despotism of a weighted power hierarchy that defines the shadowy status quo of human endeavor.

The caper in question is being run by Rachel Wild (Eiza Gonzalez), an elite lawyer who specializes in retrieving funds owed to high-finance “asset management” firms by wealthy clients, whose latest case puts her into a showdown with ruthless crime boss Manny Salazar (Carlos Bardem) over a billion-dollar debt. She’s elite for a reason, though; she’s backed up by her own small militia of “fixers” headed by trusted “extralegal” operatives Bronco and Sid (Jake Gyllenhaal and Henry Cavill, respectively), who are more than capable of carrying out her plans and have no intention of allowing Salazar to gain the upper hand. The plan involves blocking and handicapping his operations until he is forced to return the money; but when their powerful quarry decides to make things personal by going after Rachel in retaliation, it’s up to her loyal protectors (and their highly skilled team) to keep her safe.

Crafted by Ritchie with his usual blend of intricate plotting, jocular amorality, and shocking violence, it’s also a movie that fairly oozes testosterone; yes, there’s a smart and powerful woman at the center of it all, but she’s got as much (or more) macho swagger as anybody else so the effect is just the same. In fact, there’s a lot of hyper-masculine posturing, attitude, and tough talk that goes on all around, most of it delivered with that jocularity we mentioned. Action, naturally, is key to the formula, and “In the Grey” ramps it up to near orgiastic levels with an escalating collection of high-octane set pieces – chases, gunfights, explosions, zip-lining – all carefully spelled out ahead of time for us, point for point, in expository detail so that we can keep up with them as they unfold. It’s a movie about planning and strategy as much as anything else, and it wants to make sure we’re all prepped and ready for “go time.”

As for feelings, in a film like this, you might just think they don’t matter and leave it at that – but that’s not entirely true. Almost hidden in the middle of all this morally murky bluster and bravado is an unexpected angle, and it lends a touch of tenderness to the whole thing that somehow ends up being essential.

The movie takes pains to create a slow reveal, so it feels like a spoiler (consider this your warning) to say it, but underneath all the non-stop action there’s a love story going on, and it’s between the two leading men. We’re not sure at first, though the jovial banter between Cavill and Gyllenhaal has a distinct “romcom” vibe from the beginning, but as the movie goes on it gradually becomes clear that they are, in fact, a couple.

Perhaps not surprisingly, there was no mention of the nature of their relationship in any of the film’s publicity; the studio (Lionsgate) delayed release for months and eventually gave up distribution rights to Black Bear International. When it hit theaters, it finished ninth at the box office; even the popularity of its two stars was not enough to make up for the lack of push that accompanied its release. Does all of this suggest that the studio scuttled their own movie just because of the “gay angle” and the reaction it might get in today’s environment?  It’s hard not to speculate on that possibility, but either way, those two characters are gay.

Does it matter to the plot? Not really; there’s no lovestruck romance here – these guys have obviously been together a long time, and they carry the comfortable familiarity to prove it – nor is there even a kiss. It’s just a layer to their characters, a nuance that offers a glimpse of relatable, everyday humanity in a plot where almost everything else is bombast. Importantly, it also raises the stakes for the audience; knowing they are together gives us a reason to root for them beyond simple “good guy/bad guy” dynamic (which is complicated in a movie where both sides are trying to gun each other down mercilessly), and while we might not be so invested in the film’s overarching plot – do we really care if a venture capital corporation gets its money back from the murderous gangster they lent it to in the first place? – we can at least hope that these two handsome mercenaries will be able to go home to their cats together at the end.

As for the acting, this is not a film that demands anything more subtle than broad strokes from its players, but Cavill and Gyllenhaal, given such rich possibilities for subtext in their otherwise formulaic dialogue, clearly play it up with enthusiasm; they also convey that all-important tenderness – especially Gyllenhaal, who stirs an occasional echo of his “Brokeback Mountain” performance from two decades back. The rest of the cast – with the exception of Fisher Stevens as Salazar’s long-suffering lawyer, and Rosamund Pike as Rachel’s treacherous client – mostly play stock characters, familiar, predictable, and not too deep, but they do it well enough.

All that said, and with or without the gay couple in the middle of it, “In the Grey” is not a very remarkable movie. It’s more clever than smart, and while it benefits from Ritchie’s signature fast-paced, edgy style it sometimes feels repetitive – it’s nothing we haven’t seen before, and even if the setting within the corrupt world of the financial elite might strike a note for some viewers today, it never gets political enough to stir up any kind of fervor.

Cavill and Gyllenhaal, however, are good enough together to make it worth a watch – so why not? After all, brains (and eyes) like candy once in a while, too.

In 1996, after the AIDS epidemic had cast its shadow over the gay community for a decade and a half, the breakthrough finally came: the success of antiretroviral medication turned a fatal disease into a manageable and survivable condition — and suddenly, “queer joy” began to feel like a possibility again.

The year 1996 also saw the release of “The Birdcage,” a remake of the farcical French film comedy “La Cage aux Folles,” about a gay couple who attempt to “play it straight” when their son brings his fiancée’s conservative parents over for dinner, starring Robin Williams and Nathan Lane — in one of his first (non-animated) film roles — as the couple. It was notable as one of the rare studio films of the era to center on gay characters, and the fact that it was a certified box office hit represented a welcome cultural shift after the years of homophobic stigma fostered by Reagan-era “moral majority” conservatism.

These two landmarks were coincidental, of course, and obviously the significance of the first (though it came a few months later) was, in the scheme of things, far more monumental. Nevertheless, there’s something about the timing that marked a definitive moment in the ongoing struggle for queer acceptance. It was a palpable turn of the tide, a moment in time when we could collectively “unclench”  — and 30 years later, in the midst of a whole new onslaught of conservative bigotry that threatens to erode the progress of the intervening years, it’s a moment worth celebrating, if for no other reason than to remind ourselves of what is possible when we refuse to hide who we are.

That, after all, is the central conflict in “The Birdcage,” just as it was in the earlier French play (by Jean Poiret) and film that inspired it, as well as the hit Broadway musical (“La Cage aux Folles” (adapted by queer writer Harvey Fierstein and queer composer Jerry Herman) that came in between. Set in the famously gay Miami neighborhood of South Beach, it centers on a popular queer nightclub owned by longtime partners Armand (Williams), who runs the business, and Albert (Lane), a flamboyant drag performer known as “Starina” who serves as the club’s headlining act; as a result of a long-ago one-night stand, Armand is father to Val (Dan Futterman), whom the couple have raised together, and who has become engaged to Barbara (Calista Flockhart), the daughter of a prominent conservative senator (Gene Hackman). Fearing that knowledge of his parents’ true relationship will prevent the senator from allowing the marriage, Val convinces Armand and Albert to temporarily “straightwash” themselves for a dinner party with the would-be future in-laws. Naturally, things do not go as planned (this is a farce, after all), but by the end, the gays “save the day,” as they say, by helping the senator and his wife (Dianne Wiest) avoid a scandal, and the kids get to have their wedding, after all.

It’s true that “The Birdcage” has invited criticism from within the community over the years for offering exaggerated stereotypes, especially in its depictions of “femme” characters like Albert and Agador (Hank Azaria), the couple’s Guatemalan housekeeper — and, in more recent times, from younger queer viewers who brand Val as “the real villain” of the movie for his insistence on making his parents pretend to be straight. There’s also the quibble that two of the film’s leading gay characters are played by heterosexual actors (Williams and Azaria) and that neither the writer nor director of the film were queer themselves. We can’t dispute the validity of such positions, but we can certainly suggest that they might be missing the point. 

The director, Mike Nichols, was a man who had transitioned from being a comedian to becoming a celebrated director for both stage and screen, responsible for (among many other films) “Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf?” and “The Graduate,” and the script was by Elaine May, his former comedy partner, known for her witty, sophisticated, and savvy screenwriting. Both came with a pedigree that included extensive collaboration with queer performers and creators, and a track record that clearly showed their dedication for humanity and truth over the social constructs they repeatedly undermined with shrewd observational satire.

Williams, known then and now for his manic, over-the-top cartoonishness, plays Armand with complete sincerity, balancing his signature lunacy (like the classic “Fosse, Fosse” moment as he directs a new act for the club) with a deeply considered emotional solidity that never strikes a false note; and Azaria, whose performance became an instantly iconic fan favorite of outrageous femme-boy camp, is lovable precisely because his iteration of the cliché is so completely un-self-conscious, and is still beloved arguably as much for this as for his decades of voice work on “The Simpsons” — not because he is ridiculous (he is, and hilariously so) but because he is so recognizably real. 

As for Lane, Albert’s character is explicitly written as a “diva,” the kind of gay male “show queen” stereotype that never quite offends because we all know someone — or are someone — who fits that profile to a tee; underneath it all is a person determined to live life on their own terms, and it makes his emergence as an eleventh-hour hero/heroine all the more satisfying. Let’s face it, when the chips are down, none of us could ask for a better mom than he turns out to be.

Of course, the participation of incomparable actors Hackman and Wiest is invaluable, allowing even their stodgy characters enough grace to keep them from coming off as complete buffoons (though Hackman’s reprehensible senator, appropriately enough, comes close); for good measure, there’s even the delicious Christine Baranski as Val’s biological mother.

All those performances — along with the fabulous explosion of Miami decor in the scenic design, the depictions of vibrant queer nightlife, and a soundtrack that includes both spicy nuggets of iconic club music and a handful of songs by the great gay genius Stephen Sondheim — are enough to make “The Birdcage” a classic, but the reason it continues to resonate with queer joy emanates from the material itself.

Wrapped up in all the absurdity of its humor, “La Cage aux Folles” (in all its forms) proffers a simple story in which — despite misunderstandings, hurt feelings, and all the various kerfuffles which erupt throughout — everyone shows up for each other. It’s a portrait of a household built on love, about a family willing to leap hurdles and place the happiness of those dear to them above their own inconveniences. In the end, the queerness is really not the point; but the fact that it’s a queer family who embodies these values (and a messy one, at that) is, as the queer expression goes, everything.

Thirty years ago, “The Birdcage” was a fun celebration; today, in a world that once more feels weaponized against queerness, it’s more than that: It’s a great film that reminds us that our greatest victories arise from being ourselves, unapologetically — and that the only thing required to make a family is unconditional love.

No matter which generation you belong to, you have nostalgic memories of “teen comedy” movies from your adolescent years, even though you’re a little embarrassed about it today.

This is particularly true for the Gen X and Millennial crowd, who grew up with raunchy teen movies from “Fast Times at Ridgemont High” to “Porky’s” to “American Pie,” and have lived long enough to experience the shock of watching younger generations deploring them for the very raunchiness and toxic behavior that made them appealing to us in the first place.

These are exactly the type of films that are channelled in “She’s the He,” a SXSW hit and Independent Spirit Award nominee that hit VOD platforms on June 30, which strikes a nostalgic chord that conjures both the extreme “political incorrectness” and heartfelt sensitivity of the movies that inspired it – but updates the formula to add an edge that’s especially relevant in our current time.

In other words, it recreates the “raunchy teen comedy” genre through a queer eye (with a focus on the fine points of gender identity), and it’s every bit as messy, awkward, inappropriate, and “cringey” as you might hope it to be.

Written and directed by trans/nonbinary filmmaker Siobhan McCarthy, it’s a movie that might result in mixed feelings from many audiences over a story that centers on two cis-male high school seniors, Ethan (Misha Osherovich) and Alex (Nico Carney), who pretend to “come out” as trans together as a way to get close to girls.

Actually, it’s mostly Alex’s scheme to gain “access” to his crush, Sasha (Malia Pyles), and quell the rampant rumors that he and lifelong BFF Ethan are gay, reasoning that being “trans” would technically make them girls, too. It works, incredibly, in the beginning, but as a burgeoning friendship with nonbinary Forest (Tatiana Ringsby) distracts Alex from his rampant teen hormones, Ethan begins to realize that she really is trans, after all. What started out as a juvenile ploy suddenly becomes a complicated mess, and the two best friends must try to navigate their way out of it; unfortunately, Alex can’t stop scheming for sex and Ethan is struggling with the prospect of coming out to her transphobic mother (Suzanne Cryer), and needless to say, it puts a strain on their friendship. Meanwhile, there’s a whole locker room full of testosterone-charged jocks who want in on the scam themselves.

If all that sounds incredibly problematic to you, you’re not wrong – it definitely is. The entire premise, with all its nonconsensual shadiness and its hormone-driven gaslighting, seems like enough to trigger calls for “cancellation” from both sides of our divided social mediaverse; add to that the fact that the whole thing is played for laughs, as a crass and foul-mouthed sex farce about high school kids, and the movie opens itself up to an even greater level of pearl-clutching.

Like most of those teen raunch-fests of earlier generations, however, “She’s the He” is doing it all on purpose. McCarthy’s wildly “inappropriate” movie is not just some cheap sexploitation comedy, but a savagely campy assault on the attitudes and expectations of the very people that might be offended by it. 

As McCarthy says in their director’s notes for the film, “By taking conservative talking points at face value and playing out their worst fears on screen, ‘She’s the He’ seeks to undermine and defang these harmful ideas while satirizing the very media that has fueled this fear-mongering.” 

Among the most obvious “conservative talking points” their movie lampoons is the whole obsession around gender and bathrooms (it is, after all, a story about two cis males who essentially disguise themselves as trans so that they can get into the girl’s locker room), but there are a whole lot of others, too: the excessive concern over pronouns, the obsession over  genitalia, the assumption that gender identity and sexuality are somehow synonymous, the sexed-up male fantasy of what happens between girls when they’re behind closed doors – all the typical exaggerated tropes are there, and exaggerated even further for full effect. In fact, it’s the film’s not-so-subtle subversion of the “male gaze” through a queer and feminist lens that might be its most satisfying flourish, underscoring the already absurd parody provided by Alex’s single-minded (and hilariously “incel”-ish) prioritization of his sex drive above all other considerations.

Yet what really raises “She’s the He” above the level of the crude humor it deploys has nothing to do with making fun of people, nor is it even about pushing against uptight social boundaries around sexual and/or gender expression; all the irreverent zaniness is wrapped around a deeper story about friendship, love, and growth, a journey of self-discovery and finding the courage to embrace who you really are. And at the center of it is a transgender nonbinary actor in the leading role – in itself a bold challenge to rigid expectations – with not just the talent, but the grace, nuance, and bravery to play it with full authenticity. Osherovich earned a well-deserved nomination for Best Breakthrough Performance at this year’s Independent Spirit Awards, and they’re the heart of the film.

In fact, it might be McCarthy’s deliberate choice to cast their film entirely with actors who identified in some way as queer that fuels its transgressive energy and keeps it feeling “real” even when it’s at its most ludicrously excessive. They make for a great ensemble of players, but naturally there are standouts: co-star Carney (who is also a successful standup comic, known for mining his own transmasculine experience for laughs) does a great job as Alex, endearingly unconcerned and frequently clueless about his shortcomings as he single-mindedly pursues the loss of his virginity, and his chemistry with Oserovich makes them a winning pair whenever they share the screen; Cryer brings a dose of needed maturity to the mix, while also conveying the struggle of a mom trying to navigate her child’s coming out; Pyles and Ringsby both bring the intelligence and depth to undercut our expectations of their characters; comedian Aparna Nancherla earns plenty of chuckles as a teacher haplessly trying to keep up with all the changing identities (and pronoun protocols) of her students; and knowing that the school’s entire male sports team is played by transmasculine actors adds a delicious flavor to the movie’s overall parody of conventional gender presentation that helps make its climactic “locker room showdown” scene all the more hilarious.

It’s worth noting that “She’s the He” is targeted mainly for Gen Z audiences – it’s their generation’s turn to put their stamp on the genre, after all – but older audiences needn’t feel left out; there’s plenty here that should feel universal enough for any age to enjoy; and if you’re afraid it will be too extreme, rest assured: the most shocking thing about it is that it might be the sweetest teen sex comedy you’ll ever see.

Considering they’ve been making them for decades, that’s saying a lot.