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      What’s Lost When Censors Tamper With Classic Films

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      A new edit of ‘The French Connection’ removes a racial slur. But nit-picking old artworks for breaking today’s rules inevitably makes it harder to see the complete picture.The remarkable thing about the censored scene is how ordinary it feels if you’ve watched a police procedural made before, say, 2010. It’s in William Friedkin’s “The French Connection,” from 1971. Two narcotics cops — Jimmy (Popeye) Doyle, played by Gene Hackman, and Buddy (Cloudy) Russo, played by Roy Scheider — are at the precinct, following an undercover operation during which a drug dealer ended up slashing Russo with a knife. The injury has left Russo struggling to put on his coat. “Need a little help there?” Doyle chuckles, then adds an ethnic jab: “You dumb guinea.” Russo: “How the hell did I know he had a knife?” Here Doyle points a slur at the Black dealer: “Never trust a nigger.” Russo: “He could have been white.” Doyle: “Never trust anyone.” Then he invites Russo out for a drink, and they trade masturbation jokes as they head through the door.But perhaps you should forget I mentioned any of this, because you’re now a lot less likely to see it in the film. In June, viewers of the Criterion Channel’s streaming version noticed that much of the scene had been edited out, without announcement or comment; people viewing via Apple TV and Amazon found the same. It was reported that the version available on Disney+ in Britain and Canada remains unedited, suggesting that whoever authorized the cut imagined the moment to be unfit for American audiences in particular. (Disney owns the rights to the film, having acquired Fox, its original distributor, in 2019.) The domestic market now sees a slapdash sequence that has Russo entering the room, clutching his forearm, followed by a jerky jump to the door, where Doyle waits. The disparaging exchange is, of course, omitted. What remains is a glitch, a bit of hesitation, the suggestion of something amiss. “Never trust anyone,” indeed.Bad jump cuts create bumps in logic; they’re disorienting in a way that suggests external, self-interested forces at play.The conversation that has surrounded this edit — a belated alteration to the winner of an Academy Award for best picture — is just the latest of many such controversies. In 2011, one publisher prepared an edition of Mark Twain’s “Huckleberry Finn” that replaced instances of that same racial slur with “slave.” In February, Roald Dahl’s British publisher, Puffin Books, and the Roald Dahl Story Company confirmed that new editions of the author’s works, published in 2022, had been tweaked to substitute language that might offend contemporary readers, including descriptors like “fat” and “ugly.” (After a backlash, Puffin said it would keep the original versions for sale, too.) Then, of course, there are the right-wing campaigns to excise passages from instructional texts or simply remove books from public schools and libraries.This particular change to “The French Connection” came unexplained and unannounced, so we can only guess at the precise reasoning behind it. But we can imagine why the language was there in the first place. “The French Connection” was adapted from a nonfiction book about two real detectives, both of whom appear in the film, and the scene clearly wants to situate the viewer within a certain gritty milieu: a space of casual violence, offhand bigotry, sophomoric humor. We see a bit of banter between two policemen working in what was then called the “inner city,” dialogue underlining their “good cop, bad cop” dynamic; in certain ways, it’s not so different from the set pieces you would find in Blaxploitation films of the era. Doyle’s eagerness to get to the bar hints at the long-running “alcoholic cop” trope, and his homoerotic jokes are offset by his womanizing — another ongoing genre cliché. His racist barbs give a sense of his misdirected frustration. Doyle is presented as flawed, reckless, obsessive, vulgar, “rough around the edges” — but, of course, we’re ultimately meant to find him charming and heroic. He is one in a long line of characters that would stretch forward into shows like “The Shield” and “The Wire”: figures built on the idea that “good cop, bad cop” can describe not just an interrogation style or a buddy-film formula but also a single officer.Attempting to edit out just one of a character’s flaws inevitably produces a sense of inconsistent standards. We get that true heroes shouldn’t be using racial epithets. But they’re probably supposed to avoid a lot of the other things Popeye Doyle does too — like racing (and crashing) a car through a residential neighborhood or shooting a suspect in the back. This selective editing feels like a project for risk-averse stakeholders, so anxious about a film’s legacy and lasting economic value that they end up diminishing the work itself. The point of the edit isn’t to turn Doyle into a noble guy, just one whose movie modern viewers can watch without any jolts of discomfort or offense. If Gene Hackman is American cinema’s great avatar of paranoia — a star in three of this country’s most prophetic and indelible surveillance thrillers, “The French Connection,” “The Conversation” and “Enemy of the State” — then his turn here might anticipate the intensity with which entities from police departments to megacorporations will try to mitigate risks like that. This is a space of casual violence, offhand bigotry, sophomoric humor.Artful jump cuts can illuminate all kinds of interesting associations between images. Bad ones just create bumps in logic; they’re disorienting in a way that suggests external, self-interested forces at play. The one newly smuggled into “The French Connection” reveals, to use a period term, the hand of the Man, even if it’s unclear from which direction it’s reaching. (Is it Disney, treating adult audiences like the children it’s used to serving? Did Friedkin, who once modified the color of the film, approve the change?) Censors, like overzealous cops, can be too aggressive, or too simplistic, in their attempts to neutralize perceived threats. Whoever made the cut in the precinct scene, sparing the hero from saying unpleasant things, did nothing to remove other ethnic insults, from references to Italian Americans to the cops’ code names for their French targets: “Frog One” and “Frog Two.” It also becomes hilarious, in this sanitized context, to watch the film’s frequent nonlinguistic violence: A guy is shot in the face; a train conductor is blasted in the chest; a sniper misses Doyle and clips a woman pushing a stroller.Surveillance, as the movie teaches us, is a game of dogged attention; focus too much on one thing and you miss a world of detail encircling it. Nit-picking old artworks for breaking today’s rules inevitably makes it harder to see the complete picture, the full context; we become, instead, obsessed with obscure metrics, legalistic violations of current sensibilities. And actively changing those works — continually remolding them into a shape that suits today’s market — eventually compromises the entire archival record of our culture; we’re left only with evidence of the present, not a document of the past. This is, in a way, the same spirit that leads obdurate politicians to try and purge reams of uncomfortable American history from textbooks, leaving students learning — and living — in a state of confusion, with something always out of order, always unexplained. You can, of course, find the unedited precinct scene on YouTube. (Just as you can find altered scenes from other films, from “Fantasia” to “Star Wars.”) It’s just packaged inside an interview with Hackman about his approach to portraying Doyle, whom he disliked. “The character was a bigot and antisemitic and whatever else you want to call him,” the actor says. “That’s who he was. It was difficult for me to say the N-word; I protested somewhat, but there was a part of me that also said, ‘That’s who the guy is.’ I mean, you like him or not, that’s who he was. You couldn’t really whitewash him.” Turns out you can.Opening illustration: Source photographs from 20th Century Fox, via Getty ImagesNiela Orr is a story editor for the magazine. Her recent work includes a profile of the actress Keke Palmer, an essay about the end of “Atlanta” and a feature on the metamusical “A Strange Loop.” More

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      School Plays Are the Latest Cultural Battleground

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      At a time when lawmakers and parents are seeking to restrict what can and cannot be taught in classrooms, many teachers are seeing efforts to limit what can be staged in their auditoriums.Stevie Ray Dallimore, an actor and teacher, had been running the theater program for a private boys’ school in Chattanooga for a decade, but he never faced a school year like this one.A proposed production of “She Kills Monsters” at a neighboring girls’ school that would have included his students was rejected for gay content, he said. A “Shakespeare in Love” at the girls’ school that would have featured his boys was rejected because of cross-dressing. His school’s production of “Three Sisters,” the Chekhov classic, was rejected because it deals with adultery and there were concerns that some boys might play women, as they had in the past, he said.School plays — long an important element of arts education and a formative experience for creative adolescents — have become the latest battleground at a moment when America’s political and cultural divisions have led to a spike in book bans, conflicts over how race and sexuality are taught in schools, and efforts by some politicians to restrict drag performances and transgender health care for children and teenagers.For decades student productions have faced scrutiny over whether they are age-appropriate, and more recently left-leaning students and parents have pushed back against many shows over how they portray women and people of color. The latest wave of objections is coming largely from right-leaning parents and school officials.Stevie Ray Dallimore taught theater for a decade at a private boys’ school in Chattanooga, Tenn. After a year of tensions over the content of plays, the school eliminated his position.Greg Kahn for The New York TimesThe final act in Dallimore’s yearlong drama in Chattanooga? He learned that his position at McCallie School, along with that of his counterpart at the nearby Girls Preparatory School, was being eliminated. They were invited to apply for a single new position overseeing theater at both schools; both educators are now out of the jobs.“This is obviously a countrywide issue that we are a small part of,” Dallimore said. “It’s definitely part of a bigger movement — a strongly concerted effort of politics and religion going hand in hand, banning books and trying to erase history and villainizing otherness.”A McCallie spokeswoman, Jamie Baker, acknowledged that the two school theater positions had been eliminated so the programs could be combined but said that “implying or asserting in any way that the contract of McCallie’s theater director was not renewed because of content concerns would be inaccurate.” She noted that the school has a “Judeo-Christian heritage and commitment to Christian principles,” and added, “That we would and will continue to make decisions aligned with these commitments should be no surprise to anyone.”Drama teachers around the country say they are facing growing scrutiny of their show selections, and that titles that were acceptable just a few years ago can no longer be staged in some districts. The Educational Theater Association released a survey of teachers last month that found that 67 percent say censorship concerns are influencing their selections for the upcoming school year.“The Prom,” which opened on Broadway in 2018, has a school edition for use by students, but some schools are unwilling to produce it because the protagonist is a lesbian.Sara Krulwich/The New York TimesIn emails and phone calls over the last several weeks, teachers and parents cited a litany of examples. From the right there have been objections to homosexuality in the musical “The Prom” and the play “Almost, Maine” and other oft-staged shows; from the left there have been concerns about depictions of race in “South Pacific” and “Thoroughly Modern Millie” and gender in “How to Succeed in Business Without Really Trying” and “Bye Bye Birdie” and “Grease.” And at individual schools there have been any number of unexpected complaints, about the presence of bullying in “Mean Girls” and the absence of white characters in “Fences,” about the words “damn” (in “Oklahoma”) and “bastards” (in “Newsies”) and “God” (in “The Little Mermaid”).Challenges to school productions, teachers say, carry far more weight than they once did because of the polarized political climate and the amplifying power of social media.“We’re seeing a lot of teachers self-censoring,” said Jennifer Katona, the executive director of the Educational Theater Association, an organization of theater teachers. “Even if it’s just a bunch of girls dressed as ‘Newsies’ boys, which would not have been a big deal a few years ago, that’s now a big deal.”Teachers now find themselves desperately looking for titles that are somehow both relevant to today’s teenagers and unlikely to land them in trouble.“There’s a lot of not wanting any controversy of any kind,” said Chris Hamilton, the drama director at a high school in Kennewick, Wash. Hamilton said this past year was the first time, in 10 years of teaching, that a play he proposed was banned by school administrators: “She Kills Monsters,” a comedy about a teenager who finds solace in Dungeons & Dragons that is the seventh most popular school play in the country, and which features gay characters. “The level of scrutiny has grown,” Hamilton said.Around the country, in blue states as well as red, theater teachers say it has become increasingly difficult to find plays and musicals that will escape the kind of criticism that, they fear, could cost them their jobs or result in a cutback in funding. “People are losing their jobs for booking the wrong musical,” said Ralph Sevush, the executive director of business affairs at the Dramatists Guild of America.“A polarized society is fighting out the culture wars in high schools,” he added.Stephen Gregg, a longtime playwright in the school market, said removing gay characters from plays, as he has been asked to do, “sends a terrible message.”Alex Welsh for The New York TimesStephen Gregg, a playwright who has successfully been writing for high school students for three decades, said he was startled this year when his publishing house forwarded him an email seeking “major edits” to his science fiction comedy “Crush,” seeking to replace an anecdote about a gay couple with a straight one and explaining, “As we are a public school in Florida, we can’t have gay characters.”Gregg turned down the request, thinking, he said, that “you probably have gay kids in your theater program, and it sends a terrible message to them.”Several school productions made news this year when they were canceled over content concerns. In Florida’s Duval County, a production of “Indecent” was killed because of its lesbian love story. In Pennsylvania, the North Lebanon School District barred “The Addams Family,” the most popular school musical in the country, citing its dark themes.“There was a very clear streak of teacher cancellations this whole school year, and it is happening in parallel to, and related to, the efforts to ban books,” said Jonathan Friedman, the director of free expression and education programs at PEN America. “Sometimes it affects plays in production, and sometimes it affects the approval of plays in the future. The whole climate is impacted.”Some productions have overcome objections. In New Jersey, Cedar Grove High School canceled a production of “The Prom,” a musical whose protagonist is a lesbian, but then relented and staged it after public pressure. In Indiana, after Carroll High School in Fort Wayne canceled a production of “Marian, or The True Tale of Robin Hood,” which is marketed as “a gender-bending, patriarchy-smashing, hilarious new take on the classic tale,” students staged it anyway at a local outdoor theater.A Florida school district canceled a production of “Indecent,” shown here on Broadway in 2018, because it concerns a lesbian love affair.Sara Krulwich/The New York TimesAutumn Gonzales, a teacher at Scappoose High School in Oregon, faced objections over a production of “The 25th Annual Putnam County Spelling Bee,” a musical that has a character with two gay dads. She stuck with it — the show had been chosen by her students — and the production was allowed to proceed. But she is being extra cautious about next year. When her students expressed an interest in “Heathers,” which has suicide themes, she told them, “That is not going to happen.”“I’ve always tried to go for a middle ground,” she said.“We’re not going to do ‘Spring Awakening,’” she said, referring to the 2006 musical about young people and sexuality. “This just isn’t the community for that. But I’m also not going to deny the existence of gay people — that’s not any good for my student actors. I’m not going to be inflammatory for art’s sake, but I’m also not going to shy away from deeper messages.”The constraints, advocates say, are having an effect on the education of future artists and audience members.“Students deserve to have the opportunity to be exposed to a wide variety of work, not only the safest, most benign, most family-friendly material,” said Howard Sherman, the managing director of New York’s Baruch Performing Arts Center, who has been tracking the issue for years.In some areas, the contested plays cannot even be read: In Kansas, the Lansing school board, responding to objections from a parent, barred high school students from reading “The Laramie Project,” a widely staged and taught play about the murder of Matthew Shepard, a gay student in Wyoming.“Every year there have been a few schools that have banned a production, but this is the first time the play has been banned from being read,” said the play’s lead author, Moisés Kaufman, whose theater company offered to send its script to any Lansing student who asked. “I don’t want to be an alarmist, but it is alarming.” More

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      Pema Tseden, Pioneering Tibetan Filmmaker, Is Dead at 53

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      His films captured contemporary Tibetan life as Tibetans saw it, devoid of the stereotypes long associated with their homeland.Pema Tseden, a filmmaker and author who presented an honest look at contemporary Tibetan life despite intense scrutiny from Chinese censors, died on Monday in Tibet. He was 53.His death was announced in a statement by the China Academy of Art in Hangzhou, where he was a professor. The statement did not specify a cause or say where he died.Tibet and its people have often been misrepresented with clichés. For the West, it was utopia, a fantasy based on the depiction of Shangri-La in the British author James Hilton’s 1933 novel, “Lost Horizon.” For the Communist Party of China, Tibetans were serfs or barbarians in need of rescue and rehabilitation, with propaganda films portraying Han cadres as liberators. Pema Tseden (pronounced WA-ma TSAY-ten in his native dialect), who like most Tibetans had no family name and went instead by his two given names, said that as a child, he had longed for accurate representations of his home, people and culture that existing Hollywood and Chinese films didn’t provide.“Whether it was the clothes, the customs, the manners, every element, even the smallest, was inaccurate,” he said in a 2019 interview. “Because of that, at the time, I thought that later on, if someone made films with even a little knowledge of the language of my people, the culture, the traditions of my people, it would be completely different.”In his films, Pema Tseden rarely depicted Tibet’s Chinese population, which swelled after the Red Army seized Tibet in 1951. To elude Chinese censors, he eschewed references to the Dalai Lama, who has been seen in China as supporting Tibetan independence. This allowed him to avoid overtly political critiques while still tackling broader themes, like the loss of traditions and identity in the face of modernization.Genden Phuntsok, left, and J. Jinpa in a scene from “Jinpa,” Pema Tseden’s film about a truck driver who runs over a sheep and then picks up a hitchhiker.Icarus FilmsHe was the first Tibetan filmmaker working in China to shoot a feature film entirely in the Tibetan language. He was also the first Tibetan director to graduate from the prestigious Beijing Film Academy, which cultivated the country’s leading directors. But like all artists in China exploring ethnic minorities and religion, he was subject to additional vetting from state censors and required to submit scripts in Chinese for review.“His challenge, of course, was to make films that would reflect a Tibetan sense of identity, a Tibetan cultural sensibility, while not upsetting the Chinese authorities,” Tenzing Sonam, a Tibetan filmmaker and writer living in Dharamshala, India, said by phone. “Pema Tseden navigated that fine line incredibly well.”In “The Silent Holy Stones” (2005), he depicted everyday Tibetan experiences: monks becoming engrossed with television, villagers rehearsing for a New Year’s opera performance. And in “Old Dog” (2011), images of barbed-wire fences stretching across the Tibetan grasslands examined the power of the state and the complexities of privatizing ancestral lands.Pema Tseden’s “Old Dog” (2011) examined the complexities of privatizing ancestral lands.Icarus FilmsHis movies were “not just about Tibet,” Tsering Shakya, a Tibetan historian and scholar at the University of British Columbia in Vancouver, said in an interview. “This is about China and people who are left behind by China’s economic miracle.”As Pema Tseden’s clout grew, China’s film industry and its audiences began to accept Tibetan as a language used on the big screen. And by combining Tibetan traditions of oral storytelling and song with modern filmmaking formats, his movies gave rise to an entirely new genre that some called the Tibetan New Wave.“The stories his films contained — which are always meticulously framed and exquisitely modulated — speak powerful truths in the gentlest of voices,” said Shelly Kraicer, a Chinese cinema curator and researcher who wrote subtitles for some of Pema Tseden’s work. “He’s a key world filmmaker.”He sought to build a tight-knit network of Tibetan filmmakers, including Sonthar Gyal, Dukar Tserang, Lhapal Gyal and Pema Tseden’s, son, Jigme Trinley, who went on to direct their own films. Drivers, assistants and other members of the crew sometimes juggled more than one role, appearing as extras and coaching actors in regional dialects.“He created from scratch an embryonic Tibetan film circle, film industry,” Françoise Robin, a professor of Tibetan language and literature at the National Institute for Oriental Languages and Civilizations in Paris who knew Pema Tseden for over two decades, said by phone. “He’s very faithful in friendship. Some people worked with him for 10 years.”“Tharlo” (2015), the story of a shepherd who travels outside his isolated village to register for a government ID, premiered at the Venice Film Festival.Tsemdo/Icarus FilmsPema Tseden was born on Dec. 3, 1969, in Qinghai Province, part of a northeastern region of Tibet traditionally known as Amdo. His parents were farmers and herders.He was raised by his grandfather, who asked him to copy out Buddhist scriptures by hand after school, a practice that instilled in him an early appreciation for Tibetan language and culture. He worked as a teacher for four years before studying Tibetan literature and translation at the Northwest University for Nationalities in Lanzhou. He then worked for several years as a civil servant in his home province.Starting in 1991, he published short stories set in Tibet, written in both Tibetan and Chinese, about individuals confronted with sweeping changes. They underscored the importance of forging a connection with nature and animals, showing “the complexity of life in the simplest language,” said Jessica Yeung, a professor at Hong Kong Baptist University who knew Pema Tseden for a decade and translated his work. He later adapted some of his stories into films.After attending the Beijing Film Academy in the early 2000s, he released “The Silent Holy Stones” to critical acclaim, as well as several other films. A decade later, “Tharlo” (2015), about the journey of a shepherd who must travel outside his isolated village to register for a government ID, premiered at the Venice Film Festival. It won numerous awards, including a Golden Horse Award for best adapted screenplay in Taiwan. Among Tibetans, it also became a seminal work for aspiring filmmakers within a few years.“A Tibetan film should show Tibetan life,” Pema Tseden said in an undated interview that was recently released by Kangba TV, a Tibetan-language broadcaster. “In my case, from my first film onward, I wanted my movies to absolutely include characters who are Tibetan, who would all speak Tibetan, and whose behavior and way of thinking were Tibetan. This is what makes Tibetan films different.”Pema Tseden’s subsequent films benefited from his higher profile. “Jinpa” (2018), about a truck driver who runs over a sheep and then picks up a hitchhiker, was produced by the Hong Kong auteur Wong Kar-wai’s Jet Tone Films and premiered at the Venice Film Festival, where it won the Orizzonti Award for best screenplay. “Balloon” (2019), about a family coping with an unexpected pregnancy amid China’s family planning laws, also premiered in Venice. A forthcoming film, “Snow Leopard,” about the tense relationship between humans and predatory animals, is currently in postproduction. At his death, he was working on another film.Information on survivors in addition to his son was not immediately available.Li You More

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      ‘Joyland,’ an L.G.B.T. Pakistani Film, Is Celebrated Abroad

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      Saim Sadiq’s feature “Joyland,” which includes a transgender woman’s love affair, cannot be shown in Pakistan’s Punjab Province.Over the past year, the writer-director Saim Sadiq has garnered a series of unprecedented accolades for Pakistani cinema.Last May, his debut film, “Joyland,” out Friday, became the first production from Pakistan to compete in the official selection at the Cannes Film Festival, where it won the jury prize in the Un Certain Regard sidebar. It was also the first entry from the country to be shortlisted for the best international feature film Oscar. And just last month, it emerged as the first Pakistani title to win at the Film Independent Spirit Awards in the same category.The project also counts among its executive producers the Nobel Peace Prize recipient Malala Yousafzai, the Oscar-winning British Pakistani actor Riz Ahmed and the Iranian American director Ramin Bahrani.But despite this international recognition and notable support, “Joyland,” which features characters defying traditional binary gender norms, remains banned in Sadiq’s hometown of Lahore, and in the entire Punjab Province, which houses the majority of Pakistan’s cinemas and about half of the Islamic nation’s entire population.“I wanted the film to play in Pakistani theaters more than anything else,” said an impassioned Sadiq, 32, during a recent interview at the Los Angeles home of the movie’s Indian-born producer, Apoorva Charan.Sadiq and Charan met while both were studying at Columbia University. It was during their time there that Sadiq began writing “Joyland,” a coming-of-age story told as an intricate ensemble piece, as a screenwriting class assignment.When Haider starts working as a backup dancer, he must keep his new source of income, and outlet for self-expression, a secret.Oscilloscope LaboratoriesWhen Haider (Ali Junejo), a mild-mannered young man in an arranged marriage, lands a job as a backup dancer for Biba (Alina Khan), a strong-willed transgender performer, his wife, Mumtaz (Rasti Farooq), quits her job against her will to help out with the domestic tasks Haider was doing before, including caring for his brother’s children.But Haider must keep his new source of income, and outlet for self-expression, a secret, as the couple live in an extended family household under the rule of Haider’s traditional elderly father. That Haider explores his sexuality with Biba further complicates his situation.To challenge the Hollywood notion of the sole protagonist, Sadiq said he wanted to understand “the collective human experience. It was very important to make this a very collectivist film, a film which was truly an ensemble film where the effect of one person’s actions on other people were also taken into account from their perspective.”That “Joyland,” among its many themes, includes a burgeoning romance between a trans woman and a straight-identifying man caused public outcry from Pakistan’s conservative factions on social media just a few days before the film’s scheduled November local release date.The seismic controversy led to the film’s ban, even after Sadiq had diligently obtained the required permits from each of the three separate censor boards in the country: those pertinent to the provinces of Punjab and Sindh, plus the federal board that covers the rest of the territory.In order to appease them, Sadiq had already compromised the artistic integrity of his work.Clockwise from upper left, Farooq, Junejo, Sadiq and Khan in Los Angeles in March.Elizabeth WeinbergFirst, the director was asked to remove two intimate scenes that the censors unsurprisingly deemed too risqué. Sadiq had anticipated these moments would not meet their parameters, so he had shot alternate versions so that the narrative could still run coherently in the eventual Pakistani version. However, more changes were demanded.“What I wasn’t prepared for was a bunch of laughably random cuts and dialogue omissions that were asked for by the federal and Punjab censor boards, which included blurring the shot of a platonic hug between a husband and wife on a rooftop,” Sadiq said.Censorship is unfortunately a cornerstone of Pakistan’s relationship with cinema, said Ali Khan, co-author of the book “Cinema and Society: Film and Social Change in Pakistan,” in a recent video interview.In 1954, “Roohi,” directed by W.Z. Ahmed, became the first film banned in an independent Pakistan for its perceived socialist agenda. Since then, and across the multiple political transitions the nation has undergone, creative freedom has often been hindered. Only about a dozen feature films, mostly commercial fare, are produced in Pakistan each year.“There are so many stories to tell from Pakistan, but how do you do that if everything is controversial?” Ali Kahn said. “It’s really unfortunate that we are not able to support our own films because of this paranoia over how the country is being depicted.”While some Pakistani productions may have had instances of subtle, implied queerness in the past, Sadiq believes there hadn’t been a film that overtly engaged with gender and sexual diversity in Pakistan before “Joyland.”Fortunately, the international attention “Joyland” had already received abroad, as well as a flood of vocal tweets from the filmmaker and his allies denouncing the decision, exerted enough pressure that the edited iteration was allowed to be screened in the Sindh province and the territory under the federal censor board (which includes the capital city of Islamabad).But the authorities in Punjab opted to uphold the ban.Junejo and Khan in a scene from the film. The plotline around their characters’ love affair caused public outcry from Pakistan’s conservative factions on social media.Oscilloscope LaboratoriesFor Khan, a dancer turned actress who first collaborated with Sadiq on the short film “Darling,” the news that her work wouldn’t be seen in Lahore was devastating.“I needed the film to play in my city so that the people who have wronged me there for being trans could see me in a more human light,” she said, speaking in Urdu with Sadiq acting as her interpreter. “And I wanted to show my community that it is possible for a trans person to make something out of their life.”Although Pakistan passed a bill protecting the rights of transgender citizens in 2018, violence, including murder, against trans people in the country remains an alarming issue. Since the law came into existence, homicides of transgender people have increased, with 14 people killed last year, according to the Trans Murder Monitoring project.The rest of Sadiq’s cast were also aware of the significance of the story they were sharing. Junejo, for example, came on board after other actors rejected the part because of its subject matter. Even the sensitive way Haider uses his body when dancing is cause for concern in an environment where masculinity is harshly policed.“It was important that we were making it in Pakistan because its patriarchal society demands certain roles from every one of its members, men included,” Junejo said.In turn, Farooq believes that one of the most remarkable outcomes of the film’s toilsome journey in Pakistan are the conversations that both detractors as well as defenders are having about the purpose of art in general and of filmmaking in particular.“Pakistani viewers who had for long been turned into passive consumers of TV or film were all of a sudden actively talking about the role of art in their lives,” Farooq said. “It’s not the job of films to placate you. Films can talk about things that are uncomfortable.”Months after the film’s partial theatrical release, heated online discussions over “Joyland” continue, especially when anyone of note in Pakistan publicly comments on it.For his part, Sadiq holds on to the film’s hard-fought victories in the face of the restrictions.Embattled as his work might be in the place of his birth, the director finds invigorating encouragement in learning that other people, in Pakistan and elsewhere, have embraced it.“Once the film was finished, I understood I had initially done it out of selfish reasons,” he said. “But now it means something to others, and it means something to the world even if in a small way, so I need to do right by it and push for it to be seen.” More

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      Frigid Fringe Festival Is ‘Uncensored’ No More After Pulling a Work About Gender

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      The Frigid Fringe Festival in New York said it would no longer bill itself as “uncensored” after deciding not to move ahead with a performance it deemed anti-trans.Since its 2007 founding, the Frigid Fringe Festival in New York has selected the plays it produces randomly, like many other fringe festivals around the world that aim to highlight voices from outside the theatrical establishment. It boasted that it was both “unjuried,” since it did not rely on gatekeeping panels, and “uncensored.”But that changed this past fall, when Frigid decided for the first time that it would not stage one of the productions it had chosen. A staffer at the festival had red-flagged the work, “Poems on Gender,” after its author, David Lee Morgan, submitted a blurb drawn from the show that began: “There are two sexes, male and female.” Further investigation led organizers to conclude that it “featured material we deem to be anti-trans.”In canceling its production of “Poems on Gender,” Frigid announced that it would stop calling itself “uncensored,” and that it would reserve the right to withdraw future plays. “Our commitment to freedom of expression does not obligate us to lend our efforts to platform what we consider to be hate speech, or even just very offensive and hurtful speech,” it said in a news release. It added, “In this case we choose to just say no.”The festival was “uncensored” no longer, becoming the latest example of a wider rebalancing in the worlds of culture, publishing and academia, as many institutions that once emphasized freedom of expression and artistic license have curbed speech that they deem hateful or offensive to members of marginalized groups.Morgan, a busker and spoken-word poet based in London who performs “Poems on Gender” as a recited monologue, said in an interview that he did not expect Frigid to tolerate absolutely everything. “If I were presenting a recruiting film for the Ku Klux Klan,” he said, “I’d be astounded if they’d be fine with putting it on.”On Being Transgender in AmericaFeeling Unsafe: Intimidation and violence against gay and transgender Americans has spread this year — driven heavily, extremism experts say, by increasingly inflammatory political messaging.Puberty Blockers: These drugs can ease anguish among young transgender people and buy time to weigh options. But concerns are growing about their long-term effects.‘Top Surgery’: Small studies suggest that breast removal surgery improves transgender teenagers’ well-being, but data is sparse. Some state leaders oppose such procedures for minors.Generational Shift: The number of young people who identify as transgender in the United States has nearly doubled in recent years, according to a new report.But he disputed that his show, which he performed last year at the prominent Edinburgh Festival Fringe, was deserving of censorship. “Is it reactionary?” he said. “Is it anti-trans? Is it bigotry to say there are two sexes, male and female?”Erez Ziv, a founder of Frigid New York and its managing artistic director, said he could not ask his increasingly diverse staff, which includes several transgender and nonbinary people, to be part of a production that denied their realities. The Frigid Fringe Festival, which will run in February and March, supplies shows with theatrical space and publicity, and tech and front-of-house workers. Productions keep all box office revenue. (Frigid relies on grants and small fees from the productions.)“In November, I boastfully said to an entire room full of fringe producers in North America that I would allow a show to happen no matter what,” Ziv said. “But then it happened: We actually got a show that I just couldn’t ask my staff to work.”“I support free speech,” he added. “I think all speech should be legally protected, but not all speech should be platformed.”David Lee Morgan said he did not believe his work “Poems on Gender” deserved censorship: “Is it bigotry to say there are two sexes, male and female?”Charlotte Hadden for The New York TimesBefore deciding, Ziv, who never reads production scripts for Frigid, viewed several online videos of Morgan performing other works. He also consulted a colleague: the co-artistic director at Frigid, Jimmy Lovett, partly because Lovett is trans.Lovett said that some of Morgan’s online performances of related works were “very minimizing of our experiences” and framed transition-related surgery and other medical care as “damaging to the body rather than necessary and healthy for the individual.”In sometimes elliptical language, “Poems on Gender” raises questions about how some people define their genders (“You tell me I can’t be your friend/Unless I believe you are a real woman/I can’t do that”) and about transition-related medical care (“You took a rainbow and forged it into a knife”).Morgan, who grew up in Washington State, describes himself as left-wing and feminist and said that “Poems on Gender” was partly inspired by conversations with trans friends from the spoken-word poetry scene. “I’m looking at people I have a lot of respect and unity with, and then seeing where we disagree,” he said, noting that he believes some of the friendships have ended because of his views.Frigid’s evolution away from its stage-anything ethos is striking, because the festival exists precisely to ensure that even unusual or outré works get a chance to go up in New York City.Fringe festivals share a mandate to elevate edgier voices. The concept originated when troupes that were not invited to the first Edinburgh International Festival in 1947 put on a counter-festival, which a journalist later described as “round the fringe of official festival drama.” They have earned a reputation for giving opportunities to new talent: the hit Broadway musical “Six,” about the wives of Henry VIII, was written by college students and was one of the 3,398 shows the Edinburgh Festival Fringe put on in 2017.Xela Batchelder, a veteran fringe producer who studied fringe festivals for her Ph.D. dissertation, said that generally “the audience is the curator,” and that it would be a challenge for festivals to begin deciding which works to stage and which to rule out. “It’s going to be very hard for the arts organizations and the artists trying to figure out how to work through all this,” she said.The fringe model has been tested in recent years. The Chicago Fringe Festival, which like Frigid selected works entirely by lottery, faced backlash in 2017 for staging “A Virtuous Pedophile.” (Its author, Sean Neely, said the play did not advocate pedophilia.) The outcry was “very detrimental” to the festival, said Anne Cauley, its executive director at the time, and the festival’s largest foundation sponsor declined to renew its support the next year. The festival ceased after 2018.The Canadian Association of Fringe Festivals, whose guiding principles call for convening no juries for selecting plays and allowing no interference with artistic content, added a new plank in 2017 that said, “Festivals will promote and model inclusivity, diversity and multiculturalism.”A spokeswoman for the association, Michele Gallant, said that Frigid, which is one of its members, had still abided by the principle that says “festival producers do not interfere with the artistic content of each performance,” because it had not altered the show — but simply pulled it entirely.Morgan still hopes to take “Poems on Gender” to other fringe festivals.He won the Canadian association’s lottery in November, which gives him entry to fringe festivals next summer in the cities of Victoria and Vancouver, in British Columbia. The Vancouver Fringe declined to comment, and an official at the Victoria Fringe did not respond to a request for comment. More

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      Why Did Instagram Pause This Play? Its Creators Still Don’t Know.

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      Marion Siéfert’s “_jeanne_dark_,” about a shy teenager beginning to express her sexuality, contains no nudity yet still ran afoul of Instagram’s opaque policies.PARIS — It was hailed as France’s first “Instagram play.” In Marion Siéfert’s “_jeanne_dark_,” a 16-year-old character, Jeanne, goes live on the app to tell the world about her private frustrations — and as she films herself with a smartphone onstage, Instagram users can watch, too, and weigh in.Yet in early 2021, a few months into the production’s run, Instagram started cutting off these live streams, citing “nudity or sexual acts.” Then the account tied to the play disappeared from the platform’s search results. For months, Siéfert and her team scrambled to understand why their work — which will have its New York premiere on Sept. 14, as part of the French Institute Alliance Française’s Crossing the Line Festival — was being repeatedly targeted.“People thought what we were doing was great, the future of creation,” Siéfert said in Paris earlier this month. “But for me, it’s been more like a nightmare.”Siéfert joins a long list of artists and activists who have locked horns with Instagram in recent years over its community guidelines, which ban content the company deems inappropriate. That includes nudity, and especially photos and videos showing women’s nipples (outside of breastfeeding and health-related issues, like a mastectomy), a policy that has prompted an online campaign, “Free the Nipple.”But “_jeanne_dark_” doesn’t fall into this category: Siéfert, who was aware of the policy, steered clear of nudity from the start. When the automated interruptions started, the artistic team filed appeals through Instagram’s in-app system, yet received no response or clarification. They said their attempts to contact employees of Instagram also went nowhere.Only after a series of mock performances on a private account did Siéfert pinpoint the gesture that apparently triggered Instagram’s detection algorithm. At that point, Helena de Laurens, 33, who plays Jeanne, cupped her covered breasts from the sides and moved them up and down.The scene, which Siéfert cut in the spring of 2021, may have fallen foul of Instagram and Facebook’s infamous policy on “breast squeezing,” which was clarified in 2020 to state that hugging, cupping or holding breasts is allowed, but not squeezing in a grabbing motion, because of a surmised association with pornography. (According to Instagram, no such issue was identified with the account _jeanne_dark_. A spokeswoman declined to answer further questions about the company’s moderation policies.)Helena de Laurens, who plays Jeanne. “I had found something that was very funny, I was quite proud of it,” she said of the play.Matthieu BareyreAccording to research conducted by Dr. Carolina Are, a fellow at Northumbria University’s Center for Digital Citizens in Britain, very few appeals to Instagram trigger a response from a human moderator. “It’s an incredibly murky system,” she said in a recent video interview.She traces the increase in heavy-handed moderation on Instagram and Facebook (both owned by Meta) to two bills that passed in 2018, the Fight Online Sex Trafficking Act and the Stop Enabling Sex Traffickers Act. Their stated purpose — to hold tech companies accountable for sex-trafficking schemes on their platforms — has led, she said, to bans on a wide range of material Instagram’s algorithm classifies as risqué, not just in the U.S. but around the world. (It has regularly flagged Dr. Are’s own videos, too, since she is also a pole dance instructor.)“Facebook in particular censored female bodies before, but nothing on this scale,” she said. “It creates a chilling effect on expression.”The gesture at issue in Siéfert’s play came with a narrative context. Jeanne, initially a shy teenager who is bullied at school and feels stifled by her Roman Catholic family — her Instagram handle (_jeanne_dark_) is a pun on the French styling of Joan of Arc — has grown emboldened, and begins a pastiche of sexualized music videos.“I had found something that was very funny, I was quite proud of it,” de Laurens said recently in Paris. “There was something a little grotesque and excessive about it. She parodies people, but she also wants to be like them.”Performing “_jeanne_dark_,” de Laurens said, has proved stressful for other reasons, too. Since she is constantly focused on her character’s smartphone, she sees many of the live — and unscripted — Instagram comments. (The stream is also relayed on screens on both sides of the stage, for the theater audience.) While many comments have been funny, and the production team is quick to ban trolls, some have crossed lines and targeted her body.“I don’t want to think about a comment that says I have terrible teeth while I’m onstage,” de Laurens said. “It takes you out of the performance, and it grates.”This Instagram play wasn’t Siéfert’s first artistic brush with social media. The 35-year-old director, whose own sheltered, Catholic upbringing in the French city of Orléans inspired the character of Jeanne, mined Facebook for information about her audience in her first professional production, “2 or 3 Things I Know About You,” from 2016.Once people responded on Facebook that they were attending the show, Siéfert would study their public profiles to create a script based on them. Onstage, she’d comment on screenshots as her character, a naïve alien looking to make human friends. “I would find out about their holidays, but also intimate things, like a bereavement,” Siéfert said. Some people laughed; others were moved or shocked to see themselves through that lens. “Sometimes the information was very beautiful, but at the same time, it was a lot of power.”“People thought what we were doing was great, the future of creation,” Siéfert said of the play. “But for me, it’s been more like a nightmare.”Julien Mignot for The New York TimesSiéfert’s experimental approach to audience interaction was shaped, she said, by the years she spent in Germany — first as an exchange student in Berlin, where she discovered the local performance scene, and later at Giessen’s Institute for Applied Theatre Studies. With “_jeanne_dark_,” she was “interested in bringing theater to a place that isn’t really made for it, that is part of the fabric of people’s daily lives. What we didn’t know was: Are there actually people who will want to watch us on Instagram?”There were — not least because “_jeanne_dark_” had its premiere in the fall of 2020, between the first two waves of the Covid-19 pandemic in France, as the entire theater industry wondered how to effectively harness digital formats. Between 200 and 600 viewers tuned in for the live streams throughout that first season, and the play was honored with a special “digital award” by France’s Critics’ Union in 2021.Yet as the production met with acclaim, new issues kept arising behind the scenes with Instagram, even after the breast-cupping gesture was removed. According to screenshots provided by Siéfert, “_jeanne_dark_” was cut off a total of four times throughout 2021, twice with two-week bans on further live streams, forcing the team to resort to an alternative account. Ironically, Siéfert said, the theater audience often thought the ban notification was “part of the show.”In addition to “nudity or sexual acts,” the final ban, in November 2021, cited “violence and incitation.”“The rules change constantly, you never know where you stand,” Siéfert said. She alleges that starting in May 2021, the account was also “shadow banned” for weeks — meaning that it became nearly impossible to find through the app’s search engine, and existing followers no longer received live notifications. (According to Instagram, the account _jeanne_dark_ wasn’t flagged in a manner that might have led to such issues.)While Siéfert’s next play, “Daddy,” set to premiere at the Odéon playhouse in Paris in 2023, will delve into another virtual world — a video game — it will involve no screens or live digital element. Her experience with Instagram, which she describes as a “hostile space” for artists, has been enough.“It has often been sold as the app for creativity, but it’s just publicity,” she said. “When you actually put a work of art on Instagram, this is what happens.” More

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      The Russian Filmmaker Trapped Between Hollywood and Moscow

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      Last December, a few months before Russia invaded Ukraine, Kirill Serebrennikov, the film and theater director, applied for parole on the basis of good behavior. Serebrennikov was arrested in 2017 on embezzlement charges, though it was widely understood that his real offense was producing work that irritated the Kremlin. He spent 20 months on house arrest and another year standing trial, before being sentenced to three years’ probation. In late March, a Russian court suspended his remaining sentence, and the very next day, he fled to Germany. By May, he was at the Cannes Film Festival, in the south of France, for the premiere of his new film, “Tchaikovsky’s Wife.” When Serebrennikov emerged in a small room at the Palais des Festivals for a news conference, the moderator introduced him as “someone who we’ve eagerly awaited for three years.” Serebrennikov had missed the premieres of his last two films at the festival: “Summer,” in 2018, when he was confined to his Moscow apartment under the surveillance of an ankle monitor, and last year’s “Petrov’s Flu.” Cannes is among a handful of European festivals where Hollywood executives go shopping for talent. A strong showing there can catapult an art-house director to the helm of a Hollywood movie or the sale of their next feature. Were it not for the war, Serebrennikov’s attendance this year would have marked the triumphant return of a dissident. But after Ukrainian filmmakers called for a boycott of Russian culture, Serebrennikov was mostly addressed as a representative of his hostile country. The day got off to a rough start pretty much right away when a journalist from Moldova, which borders Ukraine, stood up and said that if the war didn’t end soon, Odesa would soon be besieged by bombs. Serebrennikov sat at the front of the room in tinted glasses and a black cap, against a backdrop that featured a still from “The Truman Show.” The director reminded everyone that his film was made before the war, but said he understood those who wanted to boycott him. “It’s so hurtful what’s happening to their country,” he said in response to another question, “so unbearable, so difficult.” But, he added, “calling for a ban based on nationality, we’ve been here before. It’s not possible and it can’t be done.” Several international film festivals had excluded films by Russian directors. When Cannes said that it would ban Russians with government ties while signaling that it would still allow those who opposed the country’s regime, it further ignited tensions. Serebrennikov had been hearing rumors that Ukrainians would stage a protest to disrupt the premiere. A few days earlier, the director, who is 52, called his father, who still lives in Rostov-on-Don, the Southern Russian city where Serebrennikov grew up, and asked him to wish him luck. “Hopefully,” he said, “the Ukrainians don’t pelt us with tomatoes.” ‘You don’t have to cancel Russians, because Russians are already very good at canceling themselves.’Cannes made efforts to mitigate the controversy, devoting a special program to Ukrainian film and opening the festival with a live address from President Volodymyr Zelensky. But other theatrics felt tone deaf, such as the French fighter jets that thundered low overhead in honor of the “Top Gun: Maverick” premiere — which directly followed Serebrennikov’s — and sent a group of Ukrainian filmmakers ducking for cover. Serebrennikov’s assistant, Anna Shalashova, joked that at least the red, white and blue trails painted by the jets across the sky were in the right order, and not that of the Russian flag. “Can you imagine?” she said. At the news conference, Serebrennikov acknowledged the difficulty of being a Russian artist. But the questions kept coming: about the war, about the boycott, about Serebrennikov’s connections to the state. A Ukrainian journalist asked why the director was allowed to leave Russia, a question that seemed to suggest suspicious timing. At one point, the moderator tried to steer the conversation back to the film by addressing the actors, who had yet to be asked anything. But Serebrennikov looked pained. He stroked his lower lip with his index finger and stared into the middle distance. When the very next question returned to the boycott, he dropped his head dramatically, like someone in the midst of a losing game. If there was a final blow, it came via a reporter from Deadline Hollywood, who asked about Roman Abramovich, the sanctioned oligarch who had contributed funding to the film. Serebrennikov spoke for some time about how he hadn’t accepted state funding since 2016 and how much Abramovich has helped Russia’s independent filmmakers and him personally. (Serebrennikov says the billionaire helped pay off his $1.9 million in state fines and legal fees.) But it didn’t matter. The only part that would resound in the press for days was when he quoted Zelensky, who had asked the United States not to sanction Abramovich because of his role in the peace negotiations. “And I agree,” Serebrennikov said. By the afternoon, a version of the headline was everywhere: “ ‘Tchaikovsky’s Wife’ Director Calls for Sanctions Against Russian Oligarch Roman Abramovich to Be Lifted.” The reaction among Serebrennikov’s supporters was swift, too. Some thought it was tasteless. Others went so far as to call Serebrennikov a traitor. Russian authorities had silenced the country’s free press, but its leading journalists were now dispersed across Europe and broadcasting on YouTube. Among them was Denis Kataev from TV Rain, Russia’s last independent news channel, which abruptly switched to showing Tchaikovsky’s “Swan Lake” when it was forced off Russian airwaves in March. In a video posted shortly after the news conference, Kataev speculated that Serebrennikov had jeopardized his film’s distribution. “I don’t want to bad-mouth Kirill like a lot of our colleagues are doing,” Kataev said, “but when there is a war going on you have to choose words carefully.” It has been almost six months since the war began. Weapons and resources have poured into Ukraine from all over the world, as Western governments have moved to isolate Russia economically. But as the war grinds on, some of the other efforts to punish the country now seem absurd. Dumping bottles of Stoli vodka, a product of Latvia, did not stop the war. Nor did canceling reservations at Russian restaurants, many owned by refugees who left the Soviet Union in the 1980s. Tchaikovsky died in 1893, but after Russia attacked Ukraine, performances of his music were canceled in Wales, Ireland, Greece, the Czech Republic and Japan. The cultural boycott had begun with Russian artists who supported Putin, but soon even those who had denounced the war — a pianist in Canada, a cellist in Switzerland, two filmmakers at the Glasgow Film Festival — were disinvited from their engagements. Maybe it was because of politics or because Western audiences just weren’t in the mood to engage with Russian art. But by the time a university in Milan suspended a lecture series on Fyodor Dostoyevsky, and then had to backtrack after it was pointed out that the author had been exiled to Siberia, the exact purpose of the boycott had become a bit muddled. Eventually, the issue migrated to its next logical staging ground: Hollywood. Netflix, which had doubled down on international programming after the success of “Squid Game,” halted production on four Russian-language shows, including “Anna K,” a modern-day adaptation of “Anna Karenina,” which had already been filmed. Apple TV+ considered rewriting the characters on a show still in development, at one point known as “The Untitled Russian Billionaires Project,” to be from Belarus or Serbia, and scrapped plans for “Container,” its first Russian-language series, acquired as part of a now-dead coproduction deal with a streaming service partly owned by Alisher Usmanov, a sanctioned Russian oligarch.Executives understandably panicked about whom they had been meeting with and where exactly their money was flowing. Some wondered if an indiscriminate ban could put pressure on companies or oligarchs, who may or may not have a direct line of communication to Putin. Perhaps that was worth trying, even if it didn’t work, which it probably wouldn’t. Sure, some artists would lose work, but the larger issue was that civilians were being killed. It made sense to pull out of deals with sanctioned entities, but how to sort through all the rest?Our Coverage of the Russia-Ukraine WarOn the Ground: After a summer of few conclusive battles, Ukraine and Russia are now facing a quandary over how to concentrate their forces, leaving commanders in a guessing game about each other’s next moves.Nuclear Shelter: The Russian military is using а nuclear power station in southern Ukraine as a fortress, stymying Ukrainian forces and unnerving locals, faced with intensifying fighting and the threat of a radiation leak.Refugees in Europe: The flow of people fleeing Ukraine has increased pressure across the region. Some cоuntries are paying shipping firms to offer new arrivals safe but tight quarters.Prison Camp Explosion: After a blast at a Russian detention camp killed at least 50 Ukrainian prisoners of war, Ukrainian officials said that they were building a case of a war crime committed by Russian forces.When the war began, Anastasia Palchikova, a Russian filmmaker, was finalizing a deal for a series at a major American network. Palchikova signed open letters against the war and attended protests in Moscow, where her husband was arrested. Soon she began receiving threatening phone calls, calling her a traitor. In April, she left for Istanbul. By then she had heard that her deal was now in limbo. (She asked me not to name the network in case the show was later revived.) Palchikova’s U.S. agent, who spoke to me on the condition of anonymity because of company policy, told me that the network’s executives are aware of Palchikova’s activism. “But then they take it up the chain,” the agent said, “and these are all giant corporations that can’t be seen, like, funneling money to Russians.” Serebrennikov, at a court hearing in Moscow in 2017.Vasily Maximov/Agence France-Press, via Getty ImagesOther projects were investigated and cleared. Alex Reznik, an Odesa-born actor and producer in Los Angeles, had a show briefly paused at one of the streaming platforms. “They just said we need to do some due diligence,” he told me. Reznik previously produced the Emmy-winning Netflix series “Seven Seconds,” which was inspired by a Russian film; his new show is also based on Russian material. He wasn’t sure why it was ultimately allowed to proceed. “I don’t think people in the industry know what the rules are right now,” Reznik said. “Some companies in Russia are sanctioned, you can’t do business. But to what extent?” Russia’s film industry can be hard to sort through. Unlike Hollywood, which is self-sufficient and funded by a hundred-year-old studio system, Russian culture, like that of France or Germany, largely relies on state funding. If one were to define a filmmaker who has accepted those funds as having ties to the state — as the Glasgow Film Festival did — that’s going to cast a wide net. Russian filmmakers seeking private financing often end up dealing with companies with unsavory backers or patrons like Abramovich. In other words, you can reject these channels or you can make a movie; it is difficult to do both. Navigating this system requires some dexterity. Ilya Stewart, who produced the last four of Serebrennikov’s films, told me that he implicitly understood which projects were too overtly political to ask the government to finance. “Because I’d rather not put them in an uncomfortable position,” he said. “And that’s how a lot of people operated who understood how the system worked.” (Full disclosure: My brother has worked as a producer and talent manager in Russia’s film industry.) Russia’s Ministry of Culture has backed plenty of films that glorify Russia, such as “Going Vertical,” a sports drama about the time the Soviet Union defeated the United States Olympic basketball team, and “Stalingrad,” a celebration of Russia’s stamina against the infamous Nazi siege. But it has also financed films that appear to challenge the regime. The Venice Film Festival last year spotlighted “Captain Volkonogov Escaped,” a thriller about Stalin’s purges that was seen as a veiled critique of Putin’s Russia. That film received state financing. As did “Leviathan,” Andrey Zvyagintsev’s 2014 Oscar-nominated film, which portrayed contemporary Russian life in such an unflattering light that it has never been shown on TV in Russia. The search for heroes and villains in Russia’s film industry can be a bit unsatisfying. Later, I found out that Palchikova’s show was based on a film she made about her childhood. But the rights were still controlled by a Russian production company backed by Gazprom, the state-owned gas monopoly. Palchikova offered to write a different version of the story, so that no Russian company could profit from an adaptation. But the network hasn’t budged. Palchikova stressed that the tragedy was the war, not the suspended projects. But she wondered if suppressing Russia’s oppositional voices was counterproductive. “When the Western world bans Russian people,” Palchikova said, “they are kind of doing the work for the Russian government.” In March, Russia passed a new law punishing the spread of misinformation, which includes calling the war a war, with up to 15 years in prison. By June, a warrant was issued for the arrest of Dmitry Glukhovsky, a popular sci-fi author who protested the war on social media. The director Michael Lockshin heard that the government also had screenshots from his Instagram, where he reposted Western coverage of the war. Furthermore, the fate of “Woland,” Lockshin’s forthcoming $15 million film based on Mikhail Bulgakov’s novel “The Master and Margarita,” which is itself about censorship, was now uncertain. The state was withholding the film’s postproduction budget, which involves pricey special effects (there’s a talking cat); its distributor, Universal, had pulled out of Russia, and it has yet to be picked up by anyone else. “So now we’re censored in a way in Russia,” Lockshin said, “and also can’t take it abroad because it’s a Russian movie. It’s kind of a crazy situation.” Lockshin was glad to see that Cannes had accepted Serebrennikov’s film. He thought it sent a clear message that art shouldn’t be purely associated with its country of origin. “The whole industry is watching how it’s perceived there,” Lockshin said, “because it’s going to tell us what comes next.” A few days before his Cannes premiere, I met Serebrennikov in Amsterdam, where he was directing the opera “Der Freischütz.” Serebrennikov’s stage work, like his films, is often provocative and rebellious. At the Dutch National Opera, Serebrennikov had rewritten the 200-year-old German opus to be an opera about the opera, and added music by Tom Waits. When I arrived, a classically trained tenor was arguing over a line that the director wrote for him about the tenor’s wife’s request that he talk dirty like a baritone. “It doesn’t make any sense!” the tenor shouted. After rehearsals, Serebrennikov threw a green bomber jacket over a Thrasher T-shirt and black track pants. On his wrist was a faceless Margiela watch, which he said was “for people who don’t care about the time.” Outside, it had started to rain, which Serebrennikov, who is a Buddhist, observed more as a curiosity than a hindrance. “No one was predicting rain, but the rain still came,” he remarked. I’d heard that unlike other directors, Serebrennikov rarely raises his voice at actors, and I asked if that was true. “I don’t see the point,” he said. “Aggression and violence always happen from weakness.” There was a time when Serebrennikov benefited from the system that ultimately turned on him. He moved to Moscow from Rostov-on-Don in 2001, when the state — and this is hard to remember now — was eager to support the arts. For a decade, Serebrennikov staged performances at Moscow’s largest theaters and eventually caught the attention of Vladislav Surkov, a top Putin adviser who coined “sovereign democracy,” an unusual term for a system free of Western meddling and only democratic to the extent its leaders allowed. Surkov saw artists as a necessary tool in that arrangement: as both evidence of Russia’s modernity and its tentative patience toward free expression. In 2011, Serebrennikov was put in charge of Platform, a new federally funded arts festival, and, a year later, the Gogol Center, a sleepy theater that he turned into a hub for avant-garde performance. Simultaneously, he attended anti-Putin protests and staged an opera that parodied Kremlin politics. He even adapted a novel that Surkov wrote under a pseudonym, but made it into a commentary on corruption. As Putin muscled his way back into power in 2012, mass protests broke out across Russia. Putin demoted Surkov and gave the job of Minister of Culture to Vladimir Medinsky, a nationalist who warned against art that was at odds with “traditional values.” The same year, members of the feminist punk group Pussy Riot were arrested and tried. Around this time, Serebrennikov made his first attempt at a Tchaikovsky biopic and was denied state funds because of the script’s homosexual themes. (Serebrennikov has spoken out in support of Russia’s beleaguered L.G.B.T. community, and his film deals with the composer’s closeted sexuality.) Instead, he got financing from Abramovich and in 2016 released “The Student,” which mocked the country’s increasing conservatism and religious hypocrisy. The next year, Serebrennikov was accused of fraud involving a state subsidy of $1.9 million for Platform. More

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      U.A.E. Bans ‘Lightyear,’ Disney Film with Same-Sex Kiss

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      The United Arab Emirates banned the animated film, an offshoot of the “Toy Story” movies, from its cinemas. Censors in Indonesia and Malaysia are also considering restrictions.Disney’s new movie “Lightyear,” an offshoot of the “Toy Story” franchise, faces bans or restrictions in parts of Southeast Asia and the Middle East over a scene that features a kiss between two women. The animated film opens around the world this week.The United Arab Emirates has banned “Lightyear” from public screenings, and Malaysia has asked Disney to cut several scenes from the film before it can be shown in local cinemas, according to officials in the Muslim-majority countries.In Indonesia, the nation with the world’s largest Muslim population, the chairman of the Film Censorship Board told The New York Times on Wednesday that the kissing scene could potentially violate a law that prohibits movies that show “deviant sexual behavior.”“The Film Censorship Board doesn’t want to be drawn into the vortex of debate over pro L.G.B.T. versus anti-L.G.B.T.,” said the chairman, Rommy Fibri. “But that kissing scene is sensitive.”Disney did not respond to repeated requests for comment.The international backlash against “Lightyear” is a fresh public relations headache for Disney, whose growing willingness to publicly defend L.G.B.T.Q. people has made it a somewhat unlikely cultural lightning rod in the United States.Disney has described “Lightyear,” which was created by Pixar Animation Studios and directed by Angus MacLane, as the “definitive origin story” of the character Buzz Lightyear, a space ranger who starred in the 1995 film “Toy Story” and several sequels.“Lightyear” focuses on the friendship between Buzz (voiced by Chris Evans) and another space ranger, Alisha Hawthorne (Uzo Aduba). Alisha marries a woman, and in one scene she greets her wife with a kiss.Disney’s chief executive, Bob Chapek, came under intense pressure earlier this year from many of the company’s employees to take a forceful stand against anti-L.G.B.T.Q. legislation that was moving through the legislature in Florida, which is home to the Disney World resort.Gov. Ron DeSantis of Florida signed the bill into law in late March, and Disney publicly condemned it. The Florida House later voted to revoke Disney World’s special tax designation, a privilege that the theme park near Orlando had held for more than a half century.The international backlash to “Lightyear” has generated far less public attention in the United States than Disney’s clash with Mr. DeSantis. But it’s a reminder for the company that cultural clashes over children’s content do not end at the U.S. border.In the United Arab Emirates, the government’s Media Regulatory Office said on Twitter this week that “Lightyear” was not licensed for screenings in domestic cinemas because it had violated the country’s “media content standards.” The agency did not elaborate or respond to a request for comment.In Malaysia, “Lightyear” can be screened in its current form on Netflix, but the Film Censorship Board has asked Disney to change several scenes, including a “romantic” one, before it can be shown in cinemas, said a spokesman for the Ministry of Home Affairs.In Indonesia, Mr. Rommy of the Film Censorship Board said officials there had flagged the kissing scene to Disney and were waiting for the company to send the completed film, with subtitles, for censorship review. “We aren’t saying that we reject the movie,” he said.A movie with a homosexual kissing scene would likely not pass a censorship review in Indonesia because of a 2019 law that prohibits movies with “vulgar sexual activity” or sexual content that is “deviant” or “unreasonable,” Mr. Rommy added.Openly gay, lesbian and transgender people face persecution across the Islamic world. In Malaysia, legislation targeting them is rooted in religious courts and British colonial-era prohibitions for Muslims and non-Muslims. In Indonesia, where nearly nine in 10 of the country’s 270 million people are Muslim, some politicians have tried to associate L.G.B.T.Q. people with immorality, disease and the subversion of Indonesian culture.Italia Film International, a company that distributes Disney films in the Middle East and has promoted “Lightyear” on its website, did not respond to requests for comment.It was unclear as of Wednesday how the movie would fare in other countries around the Middle East and Asia. The film censorship authorities in Saudi Arabia and China, a major market for Hollywood studios, did not respond to requests for comment.In Singapore, the Infocomm Media Development Authority said in a statement this week that viewers should be 16 or older to view “Lightyear.” It described the film as the “first commercial children’s animation to feature overt homosexual depictions,” and said that Disney had declined its suggestion of releasing two versions of the film, including an edited one for younger viewers.“While it is an excellent animated film set in the U.S. context, Singapore is a diverse society where we have multiple sensibilities and viewpoints,” Cheryl Ng, who chairs the agency’s film consultation panel, said in the statement.Muktita Suhartono More