9.8.16 Editor’s Desk

Sometimes this news racket – even when wrapped in the fruit roll-ups of entertainment flack-skirting – can get a little taxing. It’s not that I’m complaining – or that it’s April (har-har) – but Florida news has been carrying some heavy baggage lately, and it’s showing on the side-eyes of your Watermark crew. You shouldn’t make us ugly. You wouldn’t like us when we’re ugly.

But, as with several issues preceding this big one, we’re looking for ways out of the misery, looking for a bit of soul searching and healing, and we’re also looking into the hilarious eyes of Leslie Jordan, comedian to the stars. This week’s issue weighs heavily on the film side, including features on both the Tampa Bay International Gay and Lesbian Film Festival and Orlando’s own Global Peace Film Festival. There are some intersections to be had here – namely, the Pulse tragedy has not lifted like a cloud; it is preserved in both film and personal history, in memory and in name – and we are all more curious, more inclined to know about one another than ever before. That, at least to this sometimes humble editor, means something.

Living in the shadow of a global news phenomenon – or, more specifically, a massacre – is a precarious sort of choreography. On the one side of your head, the hubris of it all sets in: When will it end? On the other side, the sympathy won’t stop: Please, let it never end. If that sounds callous, it isn’t meant to. But so many conversations I’ve had recently have been about moving on beyond the flowers, the posters, the scene of the crime. So many thoughts have been about noises – I was at a play at a gay bar over the weekend that utilized gunshot in its soundtracking and almost had to leave – that I’m not even certain where to stand anymore. I want to stay home.

So I won’t. That would be dumb.

What I will do is step outside and find the genius that motivates me to pay attention. I’ll grab a drink with a friend who makes me laugh in a really stupid way. I’ll purchase some pants at a thrift store that don’t exactly flatter my missing figure. I’ll buy a fucking Carpenters record at the local vinyl depot, because I’ve only just begun. If we’re going to grow from these moments, I feel like we need to embrace some of the pain that has been delivered, hug the horror, make it go away.

This year’s TIGLFF (documented heavily within) is working with that narrative: healing through art. I can’t really think of a better way to honor this state’s – indeed, our community’s – terror than with a cocked brow of artistry and kindness. Likewise with the Global Peace Film Festival: It doesn’t get better unless you know what needs to be improved.
Oh, and there are things that need to be improved. The story of the Wilton Manors man who is threatening a massacre on a greater level than that of June 12 is here (but in jail) – because you should know – as is the story of the Metropolitan Business Association making strides after some stumbles in the past in Orlando. We take a peek back at the elections, we dip our feet into Venice, Florida, we talk political change and personal victories. In short, we play Watermark in the way that we want to play Watermark: fair and (mostly) kind.

Mostly, though, we’re just proud of a resilient community that likes to give back. We’re charged by the ambitions of artists and politicians alike. We’ve seen the best in people lately, and – even under circumstances that have every right to break us in half – we’ve come out stronger and more compelled to make a difference. That’s not to glaze over the grief that much of the community is going through; it’s just a hand held out to offer support.

Thanks for everything that our LGBT brothers and sisters have done; thanks to all of our allies. We are not going to ugly cry so you can call us ugly (you wouldn’t like that). We’re going to keep going. As with TIGLFF, as with the Global Peace Film Festival, the show must go on.