It’s probably no surprise that the last decade or so has seen a “renaissance” in horror cinema. Long underestimated and dismissed by critics and ignored by all the awards bodies as genre films, horror movies were deemed for generations as unworthy of serious consideration; relegated into the realm of “fandom,” where generations of young movie fanatics were left to find deeper significance on their own, they have inspired countless future film artists whose creative vision would be shaped by their influence. Add to that the increasing state of existential anxiety that has us living like frogs in a slow-boiling pot, and it seems as if the evolution of horror into what might be our culture’s most resonant form of pop art expression was more or less inevitable all along.

Queer audiences, of course, have always understood that horror provides an ideal vehicle to express the “coded” themes that spring from existence as a stigmatized outsider, and while the rise of the genre as an art form has been fueled by filmmakers from every community, the transgressive influence of queerness – particularly when armed with “camp,”  its most surefire means of subversion – has played an undeniable role in building a world where movies like “Sinners” and “Weapons” can finally be lauded at the Oscars for their artistic qualities as well as celebrated for their success at providing paying audiences with a healthy jolt of adrenaline.

Perhaps unsurprisingly, the boldest and most biting entries are coming from trans filmmakers like Jane Schoenbrun (“I Saw the TV Glow”) – and like Australian director Alice Maio Mackay, whose new film “The Serpent’s Skin” opened in New York last weekend and expands to Los Angeles this week.

Described in a review from RogerEbert.com as “a kind of ‘Scanners’ for the dolls,” it’s a movie that embraces classic horror tropes within a sensibility that blends candid exploration of trans experience with an obvious love for camp. It centers on twenty-something trans girl Anna (Alexandra McVicker), who escapes the toxic environment of both her dysfunctional household and her conservative hometown by running away to the “Big City” and moving in with her big sister (Charlotte Chimes). On her first night in town, she connects with Danny (Jordan Dulieu), a neighbor (the only “hottie” in the building, according to her sister) who plays guitar in a band and ticks off all her “edgy” boxes, and has a one-night stand.

The very next day, she starts a new job at a record store, where she connects – through an intense and unexpected incident – with local tattoo artist Gen (Avalon Faust), a young woman she has seen in psychic visions, and who has been likewise drawn to her. The reason? They are both “witches,” born with abilities that give them a potentially deadly power over ordinary humans, and bound together in an ancient supernatural legacy.

It goes without saying that they fall in love; together, they teach and learn from each other as they try to master the mysterious magical gifts they both possess; but when Danny coincidentally books Gen for a tattoo inspired by his earlier “fling” with Anna, an ancient evil is unleashed, leading to a string of horrific incidents and forcing them to confront the dark influences within their own traumatic histories which may have conjured this malevolent spirit in the first place, before it wreaks its soul-stealing havoc upon the entire community.

Confronting the theme of imposed trans “guilt” head on, “Serpent’s Skin” emanates from a softer, gentler place than most horror films, focusing less on scares than on the sense of responsibility which seems naturally to arise just from being “different.”. Both McVicker and Faust bring a palpable feeling of weight to their roles, as if their characters are carrying not only their own fate upon their shoulders, but that of the world at large; blessed (or cursed) with a layer of awareness that both elevates and isolates them, their characters evoke a haunting sense of responsibility, which permeates their relationship and supersedes their personal desires. At the same time, they bring a mix of respect and eroticism to the sapphic romance at the center of the film, evoking a connection to the transgressive and iconic “lesbian noir” genre but replacing its sense of amoral cynicism with an imperative toward empathy and social responsibility.

All of this helps to make the film’s heroines relatable, and raises the stakes by investing us not just in the defeat of supernatural evil, but the triumph of love. Yet we can’t help but feel that there’s something lost – a certain edge, perhaps – that might have turned up the heat and given the horror a more palpable bite. Though there are moments of genuine fright, most of the “scary” stuff is campy enough to keep us from taking things too seriously – despite the best efforts of the charismatic Dulieu, who literally sinks his teeth into his portrayal of the possessed version of Danny.

More genuinely disturbing are the movie’s scenes of self-harm, which both underscore and indict the trope of trans “victimhood” while reminding us of the very real fear at the center of many trans lives, especially when lived under the oppression of a mindset that deplores their very existence.

Still, though Mackay’s film may touch on themes of queer and trans existence and build its premise on a kind of magical bond that makes us all “sisters under the skin,” it is mostly constructed as a stylish tribute to the classic thrillers of an earlier age, evoking the psychological edge of directors like Hitchcock and DePalma while embracing the lurid “shock value” of the B-movie horror that shaped the vision of a modern generation of filmmakers who grew up watching it – and even if it never quite delivers the kind of scares that linger in our minds as we try to go to sleep at night, it makes up for the shortfall with a smart, sensitive, and savvy script and a rare depiction of trans/lesbian love that wins us over with chemistry, emotional intelligence, and enviable solidarity.

What makes “The Serpent’s Skin” feel particularly remarkable is that it comes from a 21-year-old filmmaker. Mackey, who built the foundation of her career behind the camera with a series of low-budget horror shorts in her teens, has already made an impact with movies ranging from the vampire horror comedy “So Vam” (released when she was 16) to the horror musical “Satanic Panic” and the queer holiday shockfest “Carnage for Christmas”. With her latest effort, she deploys a confidence and a style that encompasses both the deep psychological nuance of the horror genre and its guilty-pleasure thrills, rendered in an aesthetic that is grounded in intimate queer and trans authenticity and yet remains daring enough to take detours into the surreal and psychedelic without apology.

It’s the kind of movie that feels like a breakthrough, especially in an era when it feels especially urgent for trans stories to be told.

For half a century, the arc of LGBTQ progress in America has bent—slowly, imperfectly—toward justice. We fought for visibility, for legal protections, for the right to marry, serve openly, and live with dignity. Each generation built on the courage of the last.

And yet today, that progress is in peril. Across the country, lawmakers are rolling back protections, demonizing LGBTQ people for political gain, and trying to erase us from public life.

Opponents of our equality are working to erase us from the Constitution, and indeed, public life. In moments like this, based on my personal involvement working with one of the most effective leaders for LGBTQ rights I find myself asking a simple question: What would Jeffrey do?

Jeffrey Montgomery—the focus of a new documentary “America You Kill Me” and a long time Michigan activist and founder of the Triangle Foundation—was never content with quiet advocacy or compromise. He was a rabble-rouser, a strategist, and a relentless thorn in the side of powerful bigots. When politicians tried to marginalize LGBTQ people, Jeffrey didn’t politely ask for scraps. He forced the issue.

Jeffrey Montgomery started with his own determined voice and turned it into a movement. His story is living proof that personal courage can spark national conversations about justice and inclusion.

At a moment when the LGBTQ movement again faces hostility and regression, Jeffrey’s playbook offers lessons we would be wise to remember.

First, Jeffrey understood the importance of punching above our weight. In the early days of LGBTQ organizing, our movement was small, underfunded, and politically marginalized. But Jeffrey refused to let opponents see us that way. Through visibility, media savvy, and relentless organizing, he made LGBTQ advocates appear larger, stronger, and more unified than our numbers alone might suggest.

That perception mattered. Political opponents think twice before attacking a movement that looks organized, energized, and capable of mobilizing public pressure. Jeffrey knew that power is partly about reality—but also about what your opponent believes your power to be.

Second, Jeffrey never compromised on the value of our lives. Movements make compromises all the time. Politics often requires it. But Jeffrey understood that some things are not negotiable. The basic humanity of LGBTQ people is one of them. You can’t put our basic rights on the ballot. You don’t tell people to wait their turn. There are no turns. It’s now. It’s always now.

Too often, our opponents frame equality as something to be bargained over—as if the dignity and safety of queer people were a policy preference rather than a fundamental right. Jeffrey rejected that premise entirely.

You can negotiate strategy. You can negotiate timelines. But you cannot negotiate the worth of human lives.

And finally, Jeffrey understood the power of coalition. Today, one of the most effective tactics used against marginalized communities is division. If LGBTQ people can be fractured—by identity, ideology, generation, or strategy—our collective strength weakens.

Jeffrey instinctively resisted that trap. He worked with civil rights groups, labor leaders, faith communities, civic leaders and allies across movements. He understood that the fight for LGBTQ equality was never isolated from the broader fight for justice.

When opponents try to divide us, the answer is not retreat into smaller camps. The answer is to build broader ones.

If Jeffrey Montgomery were here today, he would not be discouraged by the backlash we are seeing. He would recognize it for what it is: the predictable response of those who feel their power slipping away.

And he would remind us that progress has never been linear. It has always required courage, persistence, and a willingness to challenge power directly.

So, when the moment feels uncertain, when the political winds shift against us, and when our opponents try to make us feel small, the question remains a useful one: What would Jeffrey do?

If history is any guide, the answer would be simple. He would make some noise. And making noise, today, means refusing to let fear, fatigue, or false unity quiet us when our lives are on the line.

Sean Kosofsky was director of policy at the Triangle Foundation.

D.C. is not the place for the antisemitic Democratic Socialists of America (DSA), who advocate for the end of the State of Israel from the ‘river to the sea.’ The candidates they endorse agree to their platform, which includes not talking to any Zionist organizations. Being a Zionist simply means supporting the existence of the State of Israel. It does not mean supporting the war criminal who heads the government, or what he is doing, including murdering innocent Palestinians, or bombing civilians in Iran and Lebanon. As Ron Halber, CEO of the Jewish Community Relations Council of Greater Washington, wrote in a column in DC Jewish Week, the views of the DSA are totally unacceptable.

The Council is non-political, but I am not. I can say one candidate for mayor, Janeese Lewis George, has asked for, and received, the endorsement of the DSA, and by doing so agrees to its antisemitic platform. After her endorsement became public, George tried to ‘privately apologize’ saying she didn’t see the questionnaire submitted by her campaign, rather it was submitted by a staffer. Now George says she is both not antisemitic, and supports Palestinians. Well, that sounds good. But she, and anyone else who accepts the DSA endorsement, has to answer a series of questions: 1. Are you for a two-state solution and the continued existence of the State of Israel, contrary to the position of the DSA? 2. Do you support BDS? 3. What is your definition of a Zionist? 4. What is your acceptable definition of antisemitism? 5. Will you meet with Zionist groups in DC?  

Then, we must recognize if one candidate, like George, can go after and accept an endorsement from an antisemitic organization, it gives tacit permission for others to do the same with organizations that might be Islamophobic, racist, homophobic, sexist, or anti-immigrant. All unacceptable. I urge D.C. voters to reject any candidate, for any office, who has the endorsement of the DSA. That is not what we want the leaders of our government to represent.

Thankfully, there are many choices in this year’s Democratic primary elections for every office. There is a race for mayor, congressional delegate, attorney general, Council chair, two D.C. Council at-large seats, additional Council seats, Democratic State Committee seats and ANCs. D.C. political leadership will look very different after this election. 

I urge voters to whittle down their choices by first rejecting anyone endorsed by the DSA. The DSA’s platform, aside from being antisemitic, also includes suggestions to ‘Defund the Police.’ That is a slogan some of the candidates running adopted a few years ago, thinking the people wanted it. They quickly found the people of D.C. didn’t want fewer police, they wanted their police better trained, with better community oversight. They wanted to be sure the police were here to protect them, not to harass them. People should know the DSA at one point even withdrew its endorsement from Rep. Alexandra Ocasio-Cortez (D-N.Y.) as she wasn’t strident enough in her opposition to Israel and actually met with a Zionist organization. There are many Zionists like me — a gay, Jewish man — who support the existence of the State of Israel, yet want to see Netanyahu, a war criminal, a murderer, tried for his crimes and in jail, and his government replaced. Zionists who support Palestinians and want them to have their own free state.

As you decide who gets your vote, one way to find out about a candidate is looking at their website. I would suggest you reject any candidate who doesn’t have a strong issues section. The least you can expect of a candidate is to tell you in detail what they intend to do if you elect them. That includes our delegate to Congress, even if they won’t have a vote. If Democrats take back the House of Representatives, we can expect our delegate to once again get a vote in committee, and that can be very important. 

In the next couple of weeks, I will make some endorsements and share them with you in the Blade, for anyone who might be interested. They will detail why I endorse a particular candidate. I will not suggest second, third, fourth, or fifth choices. That is for you to decide. No matter who you give your first vote to, even with ranked choice voting, you can still vote for only one person. If you decide to list more choices, make sure the views of your second, and other choices, coincide with those of your first choice. 

So here is to an honest election season, one in which we end up with candidates winning who really care about our city, who have proven track records, and who will make us proud. Your job is to VOTE, and I hope everyone will. 

Peter Rosenstein is a longtime LGBTQ rights and Democratic Party activist.