Queer as Punk review – joyous portrait of Malaysian LGBTQ+ rebels making noise

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Yihwen Chen’s warm and galvanising documentary follows queer punk band Shh…Diam! as they battle discrimination with humour and raw energy For queer Malaysian punk band Shh … Diam!, every live gig is a small miracle. Their name translates as “Shut up!”, a powerful and defiant cry in a country rife with homophobia. Favouring distorted riffs, heavy drums and swaggering lyrics, the band’s powerful sound seeks to drown out the noise of prejudice and discrimination. Their courage, as well as their simple joie de vivre, thrum through Yihwen Chen’s documentary portrait. Shot over six years, the film charts the monumental changes undergone by the band members and their home nation. Always ready with a joke, lead singer and guitarist Faris is a proud trans man. Rejected by his own family, the charismatic performer finds a safe haven with his bandmates Yon and Yoyo, and their audience. Their songs turn up the volume on issues faced by the queer community, and also bristle with an anarchic sense o...
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Tod Browning: the film-maker who brought the carnival to Hollywood

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A new retrospective offers another chance to appreciate the daring and often deranged films made by a director who was once the centre of a moral panic

When a kid threatens to run away and join the circus, perhaps upon being forced to eat broccoli or go to bed, they’re fantasizing about more than just independence. The traveling carnival offered an alternative way of life that appealed specifically to those uninvested in the politenesses of the grownup world. No one can make a carny shower, wear a tie or go to church. This liberation from the strictures of civilized society was a must for an ethically spotty line of work reliant on a mix of trickery, hucksterism, prurience and morbid fascination, a low art form that attracted a certain kind of scuzzy personality. The tents of the sideshow provided a home to thieves, oddballs, creeps, chiselers, dope fiends, conmen, women of ill repute, leches, lushes and any other species of degenerate in need of a paycheck. If vaudevillians were the rock stars of the pre-cinema era, then circus folk were van-dweller punks cutting a swath of blithe misbehavior from gig to gig.

Just before the turn of the 20th century, at the ripe age of 16, a bricklayer’s son named Charles Albert Browning Jr decided that these were his people and abandoned his well-heeled family to join their grubby ranks. He would spend 10 years cutting his teeth as a barker, song-and-dance man, clown and contortionist before rechristening himself Tod, the German word for “death”, conferring a ghastly gravitas. Three years later, he’d take leave of the stage with sights set on the burgeoning silent film industry, but he’d carry the lurid spirit of the big top with him through the rest of an illustrious, disreputable career.

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