"Make up a name only you'd call me."
Half-romance, half-essay on a specific slice of the director's world, an urban lesbian community and its early 90s milieu. It hides its essay qualities, framing them within the narrative, but some moments are more recognizable than others (the intro is the most blatant, but it has something important to say). Its thesis is complicated, a statement about existence, about erasure, about internalized homophobia and sexism, about love, about expectations. Its thesis is that we don't know what a lesbian looks like or feels like or sounds like or acts like or is because it's Not That Simple but also because we've erased the history through which we might understand.
Note how awkward…