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      Paul Justman, Who Shed Light on Motown’s Unsung Heroes, Dies at 74

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      After establishing himself as a leading music video director in the 1980s, he found acclaim with his 2002 documentary about session musicians.During the filming of a climactic scene in his critically acclaimed documentary, “Standing in the Shadows of Motown,” a celebration of the unheralded session musicians behind countless 1960s hits, Paul Justman could have found himself foiled by Detroit’s harsh winter.Arriving at the city’s MacArthur Bridge one morning to interview the guitarist Eddie Willis about Motown’s fateful move to Los Angeles in 1972, Mr. Justman and his crew found the bridge blanketed with fresh snow, seemingly impenetrable. But the director was undeterred.“To Paul, this was an opportunity,” his brother, the musician Seth Justman, said by phone. “The glistening snow helped accentuate the feeling of loss.”Throughout his career, Mr. Justman blended a photographer’s eye with a musician’s feel for the pulse of pop as a prominent director of music documentaries and videos.He died on March 7 at his home in the Hollywood Hills section of Los Angeles. He was 74. His death, which was not widely reported at the time, was confirmed by his brother.While Mr. Justman enjoyed a long and varied career, he is best known for “Standing in the Shadows of Motown.” That film, released in 2002, brought to light the lasting contributions made to pop music by the session musicians, known as the Funk Brothers, who fueled countless era-defining Motown hits despite working in obscurity.“This salute to the literally unsung and underrecognized studio heroes of Motown is so good because it is one of those rare documentaries that combine information with smashing entertainment,” Elvis Mitchell of The New York Times wrote in a review. “And it is one of the few nonfiction films that will have you walking out humming the score, if you’re not running to the nearest store to buy Motown CDs.”Among Mr. Justman’s other documentaries were “The Doors: Live in Europe 1968” (1990) and “Deep Purple: Heavy Metal Pioneers” (1991). He also made features, including the 1983 battle-of-the-bands tale “Rock ’n’ Roll Hotel,” which he directed with Richard Baskin, and “Gimme an ‘F,’” a romp about cheerleaders, released the next year.Still, none of his films could match the ubiquity of the music videos he made in the 1980s, capturing the era’s Day-Glo look and Pop Art sensibility as MTV reshaped the pop landscape.Mr. Justman brought a quirky sense of deadpan to videos like the Cars’ “Since You’re Gone,” Diana Ross’s “Muscles” and Rick Springfield’s “Don’t Talk to Strangers,” as well as the MTV staple “Centerfold” by the J. Geils Band — for which his brother happened to play keyboards.Some of the studio musicians behind the Motown sound got back together for “Standing in the Shadows of Motown,” among them, from left, Eddie Willis, Joe Messina. Joe Hunter and Bob Babbitt.Entertainment Pictures/Alamy Stock PhotoPaul Evans Justman was born on Aug. 27, 1948, in Washington, the second of three children of Simon Justman, a government systems analyst, and Helen (Rebhan) Justman, a school drama teacher.Growing up in Washington, in Newton, Mass., and in Margate City, N.J., Mr. Justman was drawn to music (he played drums and guitar in rock bands as a teenager) and dance (at 9, he choreographed his own routines for courses at the Boston Conservatory). He also fell in love with photography.After graduating from Earlham College in Indiana in 1970 with a bachelor’s degree in philosophy, he moved to New York City and took a job with a team making short films about American culture for Swedish television.He soon started working as an assistant to Robert Frank, the lauded documentary photographer and filmmaker. He eventually served as an editor on Mr. Frank’s notorious warts-and-all documentary about the Rolling Stones’ raucous 1972 North American tour, which became famous, in part for its obscene name, although it was never officially released.Mr. Justman, who moved to Los Angeles in 1980, was also a fixture behind the scenes with the J. Geils Band as it was climbing from the clubs of Boston toward fame. In the mid-1970s, he made a short documentary, “Postcards,” about the high-energy blues-rock band’s frenzied life on the road. That film, which featured appearances by the rock critic Lester Bangs, was broadcast on PBS.In addition to his brother, Mr. Justman is survived by his wife, Saundra Jordan, and his sister, Peggy Suttle Kligerman.Not all Mr. Justman’s work with the J. Geils Band was behind the camera. He often collaborated on songs with his brother, and he contributed lyrics for all the songs on the band’s final studio album, “You’re Gettin’ Even While I’m Gettin’ Odd” (1984), recorded after the kinetic frontman, Peter Wolf, left the band. (Seth Justman handled most of the lead vocals.)But, his brother said, it was Mr. Justman’s ever-present videos that helped break the band into the pop stratosphere. His “Freeze Frame” video, featuring band members dressed in white and splattering one another in paint as if they were human Jackson Pollock canvases, received heavy airplay on MTV. The song hit No. 4 on the Billboard singles chart in 1982.But it could not match “Centerfold,” from the previous year, in ubiquity. The video for that song, featuring models marching around a high school classroom in teddies and, famously, a snare drum filled with milk, become a token of Generation X pop culture, and the song became the band’s first and only No. 1 hit.“MTV was really starting to cook,” Seth Justman said of “Centerfold,” “and that cinematic and energetic approach, along with splashes of humor, resonated and lit the fuse. The song, and the video, shot like a rocket.” More

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      ‘Every Body,’ a Documentary on Intersex Lives, Champions the Power of Activism

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      With “Every Body,” Julie Cohen looks at both what her subjects have been through and how they are translating those experiences into action.The new documentary “Every Body” gets intimate with its subjects, from their birth records to their body parts. The film is about being intersex, an umbrella term for people who were born with anatomic or genetic characteristics that don’t match the typical definition of male or female.By some estimates, said Julie Cohen, the writer-director of “Every Body,” one in 1,500 people have intersex traits “significant enough that they may receive medical intervention.”“Part of the point of the film is there are more intersex people out there than you know,” she said in an interview by phone.But until recently, they were often closeted, told by the medical establishment and family members to keep their conditions secret. That may now be changing.The film, out Friday, focuses on three intersex activists: Alicia Roth Weigel, a political and business consultant and the author of a forthcoming memoir, “Inverse Cowgirl”; River Gallo, a filmmaker and actor; and Sean Saifa Wall, a public health researcher and a founder of the Intersex Justice Project, which opposes medically unnecessary and invasive surgery for intersex children.All three had procedures as children, to remove or add testes, surgeries they wish had not been done. On one of their first outings together, at a demonstration for intersex rights, “River was telling their personal bodily story through a bullhorn,” Cohen recalled. “We were all like, whoa, this person is amazing.”Cohen was an Oscar nominee in 2019 for the hit documentary about Ruth Bader Ginsburg, “RBG,” which she directed with her frequent collaborator Betsy West. They have also made films about the legal scholar and activist Pauli Murray, and Gabby Giffords, the former congresswoman.“Part of the point of the film is there are more intersex people out there than you know,” said Julie Cohen, right, the director of “Every Body.” Laura Nespola/Focus Features Cohen was drawn to the subject of intersex activism through the story of David Reimer, who was born a boy but raised as a girl after a botched circumcision. He resisted the gender reassignment, which was falsely claimed as a success by the Johns Hopkins psychologist who oversaw it. Reimer eventually came forward publicly, to prevent others, he said, from going through what he did. (He died by suicide in 2004.) His honesty helped debunk the idea that social conditioning could determine his gender identity.Depicting the startling reality of many intersex people’s lives offers what Cohen called “a holy crap element.”“I like a holy crap documentary,” she said. “But I also really like what I think of as hug documentaries, where you kind of want to hug everyone that’s in it.” Her movie, she said, is both: “It’s a holy crap documentary, but it also makes you want to hug the people that have been through what our participants have been through.”These are excerpts from our conversation.In light of David Reimer’s death, did you purposely choose people who were already public about being intersex?Exactly. I didn’t want the interview with me to be their first or even their second experience with this. And I was taken aback — it turned out that I had to ask very few questions before they started talking extremely personally. They tell me that their whole lives — between not only their doctors, but whole groups of residents who come in — they’re just used to talking about their bodies. They feel like that’s something they do on command and that’s part of their activism.Were there still details that surprised you in their stories?Seeing Saifa’s neonatal medical records. There are three boxes: male, female and ambiguous. Someone had literally checked ambiguous, crossed it out and then checked female. And then put a note underneath — which Saifa reads aloud in the film — saying basically, just to keep everything easier for everyone, Mom has been told that this baby should be raised as a female. And whatever surgeries are necessary to lock down this baby being female, that’s what we’re going to do.River Gallo in “Every Body.” The director said that because of their dealings with doctors, the film’s subjects were used to talking about their bodies “and that’s part of their activism.”Focus FeaturesThe film is arriving at a time when anti-trans legislation is surging. How do intersex rights get caught up in that?The majority of the legislation against gender-affirming care for trans children and teens has what I call the intersex loophole. So actually you can do surgery on infants or children, you can get hormones. Alicia summarizes [those contradictory views] in the movie, saying, you know, “We don’t think trans kids are normal, so you’re going to withhold all care for them. And we don’t think intersex kids are normal, so feel free to enforce whatever treatment you may want.”What is the connection between this film and your other films?A lot of it has to do with the power of activism, how people can make changes by taking on fights that seemed so challenging.Another big connection would be finding joy and humor and the life-affirming side of very difficult situations. RBG was fighting against some really ugly and mean sexism and misogyny through a lot of her early career. And yet she did it with grace and strength and humor, and found love and romance. Same thing with Pauli Murray. Gabby Giffords’s story has so much trauma in it, but she came through with just this exuberant, won’t-be-kept-down life force.I actually asked Saifa at one point: Can trauma and joy be part of the same story? And he looked at me like it was kind of a stupid question. Like, of course, that’s the human condition. Trauma and joy always coexist. Do you think that these stories may be more readily accepted now because of a new understanding of the fluidity of gender?The growing awareness of the existence of people who identify as nonbinary is very relevant to this movement. I think one of the original concerns [was that] every person needs a gender immediately.But no, you can come up with a best-guess gender and raise the child that way, so that by the time your child starts to express a gender identity — which experts say is happening by 5 or 6 anyway — then you can go in that direction. And you haven’t mistakenly done irreversible, or reversible only with great pain, medical and surgical interventions.Or maybe you don’t have to do surgery at all. Why is it that important to have reproductive organs fit some textbook idea of what normal is? When we’re all starting to understand that there’s a fair amount of variation in people’s bodies — whether they’re intersex or not. More

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      ‘Every Body’ Review: Celebrating the ‘I’ in L.G.B.T.Q.I.A.+

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      The documentary follows three openly intersex people, set against the larger backdrop of decades of secrecy and unnecessary surgeries.In medical literature, intersex is a term used to describe individuals who are born with physical, chromosomal or hormonal characteristics that are consistent with both male and female sex traits. In the world, intersex people are the “I” in L.G.B.T.Q.I.A.+, and they have built a community around common political interests. The warmly engaging documentary “Every Body” follows three interview subjects, all of whom are openly intersex. The film’s subjects — Sean Saifa Wall, River Gallo and Alicia Roth Weigel — discuss their personal medical histories and place their experiences in context with a larger political fight for intersex bodily autonomy.As intersex people, Wall, Gallo and Weigel share the common experience of receiving medically unnecessary surgery intended to bring their physical appearance in line with the gender identity that was assigned to them at birth. They were told as children to keep their medical status secret. Now, as adults, all three engage in political activism to put an end to such medically unnecessary surgeries.The film benefits from its choice of subjects, as Wall, Gallo and Weigel are all endearing and deeply informed. Their candor animates the unimaginative talking head interview footage from the director Julie Cohen (“RBG”). But beyond casting, Cohen’s best directorial choice is to show examples from the history of intersex medical care.Cohen highlights the influence of Dr. John Money, a Johns Hopkins psychologist who helped to establish the standard for treatment of intersex individuals. The film compellingly uses clips from the interview program “Dateline” to show the devastation that was inflicted upon David Reimer, the most famous of Money’s patients. The contrast between Reimer’s archived grief and the hope of the film’s interview subjects is powerful, effectively demonstrating the life and death stakes of intersex liberation.Every BodyRated R for nudity. Running time: 1 hour 32 minutes. In theaters. More

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      ‘Umberto Eco’ Review: Remembering a Literary Explorer

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      A new documentary delves into the infectious curiosity and passions of the Italian scholar and author of “The Name of the Rose.”“To be intellectually curious is to be alive,” Umberto Eco once said. The Italian thinker, who died in 2016, was a professor, a novelist — who wrote, most notably and at one time inescapably, “The Name of the Rose” — a semiotician, a columnist and a connoisseur of arcana. He also conveyed a twinkling sense of fun around reading and thinking about the world and literature, a notion that erudition could be not just edifying but entertaining.“Umberto Eco: A Library of the World” celebrates the man and his many bookshelves, but it’s his symbolic appeal that comes across above all. Davide Ferrario’s documentary front-loads the physicality of books, with drooling pans of libraries from Turin, Italy, to Tianjin, China, before easing into Eco’s eclectic interests, with clips of him dispensing aperçus and quips about memory and the noise of modernity.Eco’s passion for the literary canon is clear, but we hear more about his wanderings through his favorite oddities, such as Athanasius Kircher, a 17th-century Jesuit scholar who wrote sprawling and sometimes wrongheaded treatises. Well-intentioned dramatic readings from Eco’s writings are punctuated with fond anecdotes from his children and a grandson that burnish the image of Eco as the extravagant scholar. His love of arcana supplies an outward eccentricity that seems to interest the film more than his semiotic work or political commentary (in which he was a critic of Silvio Berlusconi since the 1990s).Eco’s 1980 debut novel, “The Name of the Rose,” a murder mystery set in a 14th-century monastery, became a surprise runaway success. Eco neatly describes the appeal of such detective-style investigation as being essentially spiritual, asking, who is behind all this?; he’d continue with more esoteric adventures like “Foucault’s Pendulum” (1988). Throughout his work, the frisson of fiction and its assorted deceptions attracted Eco, from speculative travelogues to the phenomenon of lying.Viewers (and readers) of a certain age may come away wondering whether Eco’s profile has faded somewhat. Ferrario’s documentary presents a figure who feels more firmly European than international, not to mention old-fashioned. (He was definitely a guy who liked to explain his scorn for his cellphone.) But exploring fictional worlds with Eco for a guide remains a diverting and often enlightening pursuit.Umberto Eco: A Library of the WorldNot Rated. Running time: 1 hour 20 minutes. In theaters. More

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      Review: ‘In the Company of Rose’ Is a Pleasant Portrait

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      When the theater and film director James Lapine first met Rose Styron, he knew her as William Styron’s widow. He learned there was a lot more to her.In 2014, the film and theater director James Lapine was invited to a Martha’s Vineyard lunch with the writer Rose Styron, the widow of the novelist William Styron (“The Confessions of Nat Turner,” “Sophie’s Choice”). At the lunch, Lapine proceeded to record an impromptu interview with Rose. Unlike lesser mortals, Lapine (a protean force in American arts who wrote the book for and directed Sondheim’s “Sunday in the Park With George,” among other things) has the means to spin a feature film out of such an encounter.Composed of archival footage and interviews done with more polished equipment over the years, “In the Company of Rose” is a pleasant portrait of an admittedly rarefied world, but one that doesn’t transcend its vanity-project origins. Perhaps it doesn’t intend to. As Lapine, who narrates the film, admits, “I’ve often jumped into projects without really knowing what I was doing.” In her account of her life, Rose, too, seems to have moved forward without too much calculation. She recalls being unimpressed by Styron at a reading for his first novel, “Lie Down In Darkness,” they only clicked later, in Rome, where Rose was studying and William was living on a fellowship.Rose is kind, cheerful, frank, and she has a knack for telling stories laden with famous figures without sounding as if she’s name-dropping. She typed Styron’s work for nearly a decade. On becoming interested in human rights, she traveled for Amnesty International. She says that she and her husband resembled a stereotypically 1950s American couple, and that they managed their marriage “mainly by not talking about things, instead of talking about them.” But when Styron had depression in the 1980s she was a stalwart helpmate in his recovery, and encouraged him to write “Darkness Visible,” the memoir that has become one of his best known works. As existences in rarefied worlds go, this one plays as well-lived.In the Company of RoseNot Rated. Running time: 1 hour 25 minutes. In theaters and available to rent or buy on most major platforms. More

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      ‘Anthem’ Review: Flying High

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      In this naïve, nostalgic documentary, a pair of musicians go on a road trip with the ambitious mission of creating a new national anthem.“Anthem” opens with a series of archival scenes from American history: from John F. Kennedy’s 1961 address championing space travel to Barack Obama speaking about the necessity of dissent; from members of the Ku Klux Klan waving the American flag to the Jan. 6 riot at the Capitol; from the Black Power protest at the 1968 Olympics to Colin Kaepernick taking a knee on a football field. The montage strikingly illustrates the idea that nationalism can take wildly different forms that have little to do with national symbols.Yet the film that follows seems to miss this point. Peter Nicks’s documentary follows two Black artists, the film and television composer Kris Bowers and the record producer Dahi, as they embark on a road trip with the goal of creating a new anthem that — unlike “The Star-Spangled Banner,” which borrows from a British tune — feels homegrown and representative of America today. Their naïve belief that a song can make people of all stripes, even those persecuted by the country, feel included reminded me of the celebrity “Imagine” music video from March 2020. It feels like lip service that doesn’t confront the real issues.Bowers and Dahi’s journey is fascinating: they explore blues in Mississippi, country music in Tennessee and Native drum circles in Oklahoma, accumulating a melting-pot portrait of American music. Yet their conversations are gratingly anodyne, invoking platitudes like “truth,” while the visuals insipidly jump between screens, close-ups of faces and slow motion shots of the two on the road. Any thorny moments, as when a singer from a military family clashes with an immigrant vocalist over questions of national pride, are brushed aside too quickly. Where the film’s archival footage demonstrates the limits of respectability politics, “Anthem” ends up being overly respectable — and inevitably reductive.AnthemRated PG. Running time: 1 hour 37 minutes. Watch on Hulu. More

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      ‘Rock Hudson: All That Heaven Allowed’ Review: Living a Double Life

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      Stephan Kijak’s new documentary seems keenly interested in the ways in which the closeted actor’s sexuality manifested itself, largely unintentionally, in his movies.“Rock Hudson’s Home Movies,” the director Mark Rappaport’s landmark 1992 video essay about the life and death of the famous gay actor, is a playful, provocative and singular meditation on celebrity, homosexuality and the nature of truth onscreen. Through a combination of archival footage from Hudson’s filmography and invented narration by an actor playing Hudson, the movie offers a speculative, pseudobiographical portrait of Hudson’s innermost thoughts, using what we know about him now to imagine what he might have been thinking then.More than 30 years later, Stephen Kijak’s “Rock Hudson: All That Heaven Allowed” is a more straightforward account of Hudson’s life and death, centering on the details of his biography and the testimony of those who knew him. We hear from lovers, co-stars and friends about how hard it was for Hudson to live as a closeted gay man in Hollywood in the 1950s and ’60s while representing the movie industry’s platonic ideal of the straight romantic lead, forced by circumstance to live a double life and publicly repress his true desires and needs.But like Rappaport, Kijak seems keenly interested in the ways in which Hudson’s sexuality manifested itself, largely unintentionally, in his movies — coded but legible on the surface of the image. Rappaport demonstrated this wittily, by taking gestures and stray lines of dialogue from various Hudson films out of context and emphasizing their gay connotations and undertones, and by skewering the actual gay innuendo rampant in Hudson’s films with Doris Day and Tony Randall as screamingly obvious. This device is so effective, in fact, that Kijak borrows it wholesale, repeatedly interposing these moments of gay serendipity, many of them identical to those in “Home Movies.”Kijak thanks Rappaport in the credits, so we can charitably describe this as homage rather than plagiarism. But the comparison to Rappaport’s superior film does “All That Heaven Allowed” no favors. The historical context it provides for Hudson’s rise through the studio system in the early 1950s is thin and superficial, leaning on several rather broad pronouncements about the trends of the era from experts such as the film scholar David Thomson; while its efforts to shape a coherent narrative out of Hudson’s career lead to a number of dubious claims Kijak makes very little effort to actually support, including the specious characterization of Anthony Mann’s great western “Winchester ’73” as a “cheap adventure film” and the flippant, totally unfair dismissal of Douglas Sirk’s delightful 1952 comedy “Has Anybody Seen My Gal?” as having been somehow “beneath” Hudson’s standards.The latter half of the film shifts its focus from Hudson’s life of deception as a closeted movie star and toward his declining status, deteriorating health and his eventual death from an AIDS-related illness in 1985. The movie is clearer and more persuasive about this chapter of Hudson’s story, adopting a more plaintive tone as it explores an atmosphere of disdainful hysteria that prevailed at that time.Kijak threads together interviews, archival footage and tabloid news headlines to show how Hudson’s fame helped bring the AIDS crisis into the (straight) public consciousness — and how the society that had embraced him as a heterosexual matinee idol swiftly abandoned him in his time of need. (The film is justly, satisfyingly hard on Nancy Reagan, who curtly rejected Hudson’s pleas for help as he was dying.) In the end, with only Hudson to deal with, Kijak gets the big picture.Rock Hudson: All That Heaven AllowedNot Rated. Running time: 1 hour 44 minutes. Watch on HBO platforms. More

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      ‘Casa Susanna’ Documentary Revisits Haven for Cross-Dressing

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      The documentary “Casa Susanna” explores the Catskills boardinghouse community that allowed denizens to express their identity when that was taboo.Sébastien Lifshitz’s documentary “Casa Susanna” remembers a community of cross-dressing men and transgender women who found refuge in the Catskills in the 1950s and ’60s. Their gathering place, a Victorian boardinghouse, was christened Casa Susanna after one of its founders, Susanna Valenti, a translator and broadcaster, who was married to Marie Tonell, a New York wig maker. The couple ran Casa Susanna until the late 1960s, but its existence came to broader awareness with the 2005 publication of a book collecting Casa Susanna snapshots that had been found in a New York flea market.Lifshitz, who is French, has been making movies about gender and identity since the early 2000s. “The story of Casa Susanna wasn’t supposed to be visible, or ‘out,’ so it is still a miracle that we are able to know the whole story today,” he said. He interviewed two alumnae, Katherine Cummings and Diana Merry-Shapiro, who shared their journeys and struggles, and revisited their stomping grounds in the Catskills. (A version of the house’s story was portrayed in “Casa Valentina,” a 2014 play by Harvey Fierstein.)I spoke with Lifshitz about making this documentary, which airs on PBS on Tuesday as part of “American Experience.” at a moment of increased visibility and turmoil around issues of identity. Here are edited excerpts from our conversation.Some of the photos came from a book project, while others were from the collection of Cindy Sherman.via the Art Gallery of Ontario and ArteHow did you first encounter Casa Susanna?The first time I heard of it was the publication of the book in 2005. I bought it then because I’m also a photo collector. For many years I’ve bought snapshots at flea markets and garage sales in France. I’ve been into queer pictures and all these invisible people since I was a kid. In 2015, I did a big exhibition with the photographs I was collecting on cross-dressing, and I talked with a photographer, Isabelle Bonnet, who had made a memoir about Casa Susanna. I said we should do a film about it [the documentary credits her as a collaborator], because it is a very important story about pre-queer culture, this underground network of cross-dressing.What struck you as special about Casa Susanna?The creation of this refuge was something extraordinary. If you had the desire to cross-dress, nothing around you could help you to understand it at the time. These very intimate questions were impossible to talk about with anybody else. Most of the men in the Casa Susanna community were white people from the middle class that had good jobs and a bit of money, and were married, some with kids. What is also fascinating is that this community was created with certain rules. For example, homosexuals or transsexuals were forbidden. They only accepted people who presented themselves as men who cross-dress. So it’s weird to think that, in a way, they had re-created conservative rules within this setup, probably because they were afraid.What was it like for Katherine and Diana to talk about their memories?It was very important to them because, as they say, it’s a part of who they were. For Diana, it was the first time that she was outing herself. She’s 82, but this is the first time that she could say to everyone, “This is my life. This is who I am.” Probably because she is this very mature age, she felt the need to be true with herself and all the people that are still around her. She also wanted to pay tribute to all the pioneers she met. And she should be proud, because she was very brave. What is also fascinating about Diana is that she had [gender confirmation surgery] when she was young, and from that moment, she became an invisible woman in American society. We were so lucky to find her and Kate. Kate died just a few months after the filming. That’s why all these invisible stories are so precious.For Betsy [Wollheim], it was the first time that she could tell the story of her father, Donald Wollheim. He was a science-fiction writer and publisher, but people didn’t know his secret story. I thought it was interesting to understand through Betsy what it was for a traditional American family to have a father as a cross-dresser and probably a transgender person. And through Gregory [Bagarozy], we see how he understood his grandma, Marie, and Susanna.The Casa Susanna guests followed a code of female representation that aimed for a “woman next door” feel. Collection of Cindy Sherman, via ArteWhere did you get the colorful Kodachrome photographs in the film?I had the pictures from the book, of course, which are now in the Art Gallery of Ontario. But a second part comes from the collection of Cindy Sherman. I knew that Cindy had pictures of Casa Susanna because she found an album in a flea market in New York. So I contacted her and she was really into it and said, of course you can use them. Cindy’s work is about Americana and stereotypes of representation in America, and she was fascinated by the way people are staging themselves in the pictures, because she stages herself. The way the men at Casa Susanna used female representation and respected a code in terms of clothes, they didn’t want to look like a pinup or a Hollywood queen. Most of them probably wanted to look like their mothers, sisters or wives. Like the woman next door, in a bourgeois way.A third source was the pictures that Betsy’s father had, because he was completely obsessed with questions of identity. He had all the documentation he could find at that time, and Betsy kept everything from his archives.How do you view this slice of American history in light of new anti-trans laws in this country?I am shocked that today you still can hear all these words against the transgender community. These are attitudes and words from another time, and I thought that it could never happen. We used to think that the civil rights that were won are for forever, but they are not. We need to be the guardians of these rights. Films, books, exhibitions and all these things are a way to educate and make people understand that identity is diverse, and this diversity is so important. In French we say richesse. It’s a treasure you need to protect. I love to see what makes you who you are. More