I have one job left: to make a feature film supporting trans and LGBTQ youth in rural, small town and Middle America — and to help Keep Them Alive.

In doing that job, today I filed a lawsuit against the largest and oldest non-profit independent film organization: The Gotham Film and Media Institute (formerly known as IFP).

My lawsuit alleges that Gotham discriminated against me on the basis of my age, my race, and my disability.

I applied to Gotham’s “Shorts to Features” Project Market with our film, A Still, Small Paw.

I was rejected.

Now I wouldn’t have filed this lawsuit if I wasn’t confident of our project’s merit. You can explore it for yourself including the script, Lookbook, and video at www.astillsmallpaw.com.

Now to be clear, I’m not asking the court to decide if our project was better than the others. I’m saying Gotham barred me from this vital opportunity because of my age, race and disability.

The research, numbers, and facts that I’ve collected indicate that what Gotham’s reviewers saw in me was not their preferred demographic: A young person of color.

Instead, what they saw in me was an “Old disabled white guy.”

Which is uncomfortable to talk about, right? Especially race — given our shared history of terrible and unacceptable discrimination in this country.

The issue of non-profit film gatekeeping, based on identity, has been festering beneath the surface for indie filmmakers for years.

The reason accusations like this have been anonymous is clear: any filmmaker who’d raise them publicly would be blacklisted (and not in a good way). Their future as a filmmaker would be over.

Now, since my future is, shall we say, limited — I’m 65 and have been battling cancer for 8 years. There’s not a lot these gatekeepers can do to me that cancer hasn’t already done.

So I’m putting my face and name to this issue publicly with proof like this:

A screenshot of my actual application for Gotham, and right after my name — before my job even! — Gotham asked for my ethnicity.

Their priorities are further reflected by this graph showing Gotham’s preferred demographic for lead filmmakers in their Shorts to Features selections: 66% of people of color.

Same thing with Age:

Look at this graph: in the Shorts to Features program, Gotham has not selected a single lead filmmaker over the age of 50 in the last two years. In fact, I challenge you: Look at all the hundreds of faces on Gotham’s website and find a single filmmaker who is over the age of 50.

This research and other facts I’ve uncovered all point to: Something’s not right here.

So what does Gotham have say about all this?

Well, I’d like to know. I reached out to Gotham seven different times. Despite being a dues-paying member whose first membership dates back to the 1980s — my letters and emails to Tess Bartholomew, Project Market Manager; Kia Brooks, Managing Director; and Executive Director Jeffrey Sharp have all gotten no response. Zero.

What I did receive — fourteen days after my first outreach — was a legal letter from Gotham’s lawyer.

Notably he didn’t say one word about my allegations that Gotham discriminated against me for age, race and disability.

Instead, what he said (and I’m paraphrasing) was that their decisions are protected free speech, and if I followed up on my threat to sue them, they’d come after me for violating SLAPP law.

That’s sooo sad, right?

The first communication I got back from a non-profit film org of which I’m a member — was a legal letter from their lawyer at a hundreds-of-millions-of-dollars-law-firm.

Now, if you’re interested, you can read all of my attempted correspondence with Gotham, the legal letter from their lawyer and my lawsuit at www.astillsmallpaw.com — just click on “About” and scroll down to Lantz v. Gotham.

There you’ll find much more information I uncovered during my research, including my allegation that that Gotham is really operating like an Elite Private Filmmaking Club.

Now I don’t have any illusions here — the chance of me prevailing against a big law firm with hundreds of lawyers is miniscule.

But a wrong has been done — and I have to try and make it right. Right?

To be clear, Gotham is a public non-profit organization; it receives public support and is given tax exempt status by U.S. taxpayers.

So Gotham, if you’re reading … “Hello…?” Let’s fix this, okay? Please let’s have a human conversation.

Let’s Right this Wrong.

This summer I’ve been slammed with so many applications, fundraising plans, and markets for our film to support trans and LGBTQ youth in rural, small-town, and Middle America — and one Wall that keeps showing up and blocking our way. Ugh!

The job of producing a feature film is already nearly impossible. So why do the very institutions meant to serve our industry make it exponentially harder? Who knows. There’re so many reasons. However one thing’s for certain: when you see a movie that actually works and connects with an audience — it’s truly a miracle.

THE WINS:

1. GRANT WIN: We won a $10,000 grant to produce a short film adapted from “A Still, Small Paw.” The new short will add to our other proofs-of-concept for the film. The grant is called the Vermont Film Production Economic Impact Pilot Program and you can read about it here.

2. BLACK LIST ESSAY: I’m honored to have the Black List include my essay in their “Why We Write” series. It’s an essay about what inspired “A Still, Small Paw” and what I hope to accomplish with its production. You can read the essay here.

3. BLACK LIST REVIEW: Speaking of the Black List, in late July I received another great review of the script that included the quotes below. Because AI has made things so … weird, virtually any writing is now suspect of being generated by AI. So I purposely ran our script through Pangram to preemptively show that I didn’t use AI to write it. You can see the Pangram report to show that it’s 100% human written (I, being the human). You can also read the whole script here and see the Lookbook here.

4. NEARING 3 MILLION VIEWS: Holy moly! Our short film Not Losing You with Michael McGill (Shameless) and Sophie Schwefel is now nearing 3 million total views on social media. The latest post on Instagram has gotten nearly 350,000 new views and 800 new comments. It’s also beginning to be shown at film festivals including the Out South Queer Film Festival in a shorts block titled, “This is Who I Am” — and the Made Here Film Festival here in Vermont.

5. NO CANCER (for now): I recently had all my scans done and to my surprise there’s currently no cancer evident in my body. Here’s my doc’s letter attesting to it. He also reported that, to his surprise, I have “a new gene” that apparently repairs damaged genes.

6. FISCAL SPONSOR: We got a Fiscal Sponsor, FilmIndependent. Yay! We’re also working on getting a Vermont Fiscal Sponsor, too. So we can now accept donations that are tax-deductible. I made a video to speak directly to sponsors that you can see the Fiscal Sponsor’s website here.

7. NO MO PROBATION: If you remember, last year I was convicted of “criminal mischief” and fined $17,000 for protesting a MAGA anti-LGBTQ state senator in PA that I held culpable in the suicide deaths of five trans youth. I was put on a year’s probation which ended last month. This video here tells the story.

THE WALL:

The walls filmmakers have to deal with during the normal day-to-day struggles of making an independent film are legion. The dragon that sits atop the gold we need has no idea what to do with the gold — except to deny it to us. Ugh.

I’ve been trying to get our script to actress Fiona Shaw, but was told by her agent at CAA that if I can’t make a contractual Pay or Play offer just to get her the script, there’s nothing he could do.

So what does a Pay or Play offer mean in this context? It means before her agent will even send her the script to see if she’s interested in our movie, I have to sign a contract legally binding me to paying Ms. Shaw’s full salary whether the movie is made or not.

For independent filmmakers like me, it’s an insane requirement. And IMHO a move by big agencies to keep indie filmmakers away from top talent. It’s about money and control.

The first three videos in this series at Angry Gay Grandpa explain.

FINALLY:

I hope you and yours are doing well and are optimistic about the future (despite the challenges of the crazy times in which we live). I’ll leave you with a few Vermont scouting photos below for our new proof-of-concept video for “A Still, Small Paw” that we’ll shoot late this Fall.

Meantime, if you’re a trans or LGBTQ youth, hang in there. Know that you are loved. More love in the world is better than less love — so be safe, be smart. ❤️

A lot has been happening with pre-production for our feature film “A Still, Small Paw” — including attaching Producer Cara Feinberg, and Production Designer Michael Schweikardt.

Cara and I produced “Not Losing You” together (she was invaluable) and Michael was production designer on The Bus when we played Off Broadway. Not only did Michael completely knock it out of the park designing our shows at 59E59 (note pic below) he and I also share a mutual love of the work of Production Designer Jack Fisk (Badlands, There Will Be Blood, Marty Supreme).

We’re off to a great start with these two super talented film artists. Welcome Cara and Michael!

Meanwhile, I’m continuing to reach out to producers and potential actors: all with zero luck. Nobody returns any kind of contact in Hollywood: phone calls, snail mail, or email. It’s hubris and a dead-black hole — a closed system that’s designed to keep independent producers out.

At the same time, Cara and I are applying like crazy to grants and markets. Hopefully at least one of the film markets this fall will stick. Fingers crossed.

Our broad production goal is still the same: shoot mid to late next year in a state with generous tax incentives (eyeing Texas at the moment with a 31% cash rebate), then post-production for a summer/fall 2028 release prior to the 2028 Presidential election.

To keep improving our script, I’m continuing to get coverage from reviewers including The Black List to add to our recent score of 8 including this coverage from last week:

Oh! And I think I caught sight of our lead actor, Michael Patrick McGill, in the trailer for the new Nicholas Cage series on Prime, “Spider-Noir.” Below is a screenshot.

Angry Gay Grandpa: Content Creator

Finally I’m using today’s Substack to start our daily social media posts in pursuit of the audience for our film.

Angry Gay Grandpa already has 25,000 followers on YouTube, but in our new film world (as we’re often reminded here on Substack) it’s going to be up to me to grow the audience for our film. So that’s what I’m doing: I’m committing to daily videos uploaded to Instagram, TikTok and YouTube for the next year, one a day, every day for one year.

My goal is to collectively get to 1 million followers.

Here’s our Day 1 Video:

**

Okay, that’s it — hope all is well with you and yours. Be well and stay safe — and enjoy our soon-to-be-arriving Summer.

More soon!

Jim

The Unreal has a question for us: Who are you?

I first noticed this in movies.

In The Wizard of Oz, the first question the Wizard asks Dorothy is “Who are you?” In Elia Kazan’s A Face in the Crowd, the first question a duplicitous huckster asks his soon-to-be mark, played by Patricia Neal, is “Who are you?” In Steven Spielberg’s A.I. Artificial Intelligence, the question turns: a tearful mother asks her newly imprinted robot son to tell her, “Who am I?”

From Lawrence of Arabia to Amy Schumer’s I Feel Pretty, chances are, if a film has a character who is not what they say they are — if they’re not real — the most existential question of all will be asked.

Now we’re confronted with a new great impostor in AI. And just like all the others in the movies, it's asking us: Who are you?

I decided to answer:

I’m a filmmaker making a movie to support trans and LGBTQ youth — and there’s almost nothing I wouldn’t do to get that movie made.

So with little money and new friends named Claude, Kling, Seedance, Eleven, and a silly kid named Nano Banana, I made a proof of concept that is 99% generated by AI.

I know, I know. The environmental concerns. The ethical concerns. The jobs. The quiet reality that I’m helping make a handful of powerful oligarchs even more powerful. Despite these and other justifiable concerns, I spent two weeks with the above named platforms to create a one minute proof of concept for A Still, Small Paw, the feature film I’m producing.

The video is embedded above or you can watch it at the film’s website. Please check it out and let me know what you think.

Despite it being born from unreality, I’m pretty darned proud of it. It accomplishes what I prompted it to do: it conveys the film's tone, suggests the world of the story, and feels like a viable feature film.

It took two frustrating weeks, a few hundred dollars, and about five hundred prompts to create. I averaged about one successful clip per day. Each clip probably required discarding 30 or more that were wrong, broken, or weren’t consistent (keeping characters consistent was my greatest challenge). AI tends to over execute everything, so many of my prompts were focused on pulling it back.

Even though the video is far from perfect, I’m blown away by what I was able to accomplish with AI. I’m sure I’m only scratching the surface of what it can do. No wonder artists of all stripes are worried and just about everybody is anxious about their futures. From what we already know, I can’t imagine AI’s impact on humanity being anything other than seismic.

Of course we’re worried — we should be!

AI isn’t life, yet it seems poised to replace it. And the tech oligarchs don’t seem to care much about what happens. Elon Musk casually talks about a future with great tech, but no people. Our hand-wringing and apocalyptic talk isn’t for nothing.

So what can you do about something so big as an earthquake?

I think of the movie No Country for Old Men, and a scene near the end when Sheriff Bell visits Ellis, a wise old man confined to a wheelchair. With a worn and worried face, Bell tells his friend that he feels “overmatched” by the world.

Ellis’s response is just as true about AI as it is about anything else that’s come down the road and frightened us with its awesome power:

“You can’t stop what’s coming. It ain’t all waiting on you. That’s vanity.”

Okay, then. Even though I feel deeply uneasy about this technology, I’ll do what I can with what I’ve got — and that includes AI.

Ours is a feature film for trans and LGBTQ kids who are being told, by legislatures, in state after state, that they should not exist.

So, yes, there’s almost nothing I wouldn’t do to get this movie made.

That’s just who I am.

As if trans and LGBTQ youth didn’t already have enough pain coming their way, the Supreme Court ruled yesterday that conversion therapy bans in more than 20 states may be unconstitutional, opening the door to this practice being used on LGBTQ kids across the country.

Think about it. In 2026, we’re still debating whether it’s okay to psychologically torture kids for being who they are.

If there was ever a moment for a film in support of trans and LGBTQ youth in these f*cked up times — and I believe A Still, Small Paw can be that film — it's now.

I want you to know: we’re on it. I’m deep into creating another proof of concept, and I’m constantly reaching out to film producers, Hollywood actors and agents who could help us get our film made.

I’ll be honest, getting responses from folks higher up the film food chain has been tough, if not damn near impossible. I’ve tried the front door, the back door, people who know people, I’ve sent video letters, boxes of goodies, and simple queries — and for the most part, crickets!

A chilling effect has settled on folks in the film business and in Hollywood; for many of these very wealthy and very privileged people, speaking truth to power is a lot easier preached than practiced. Lotta posers out there.

So for the coming months, I’ll be working on something new that I hope will change the calculus.

Something has to break through, right?

In the meantime, I want to say something from the heart: we are so blessed — heck, I’m so blessed. Not every project gets to be carried by incredible people like you: non-celebrity supporters who show up with passion and generosity. That means everything.

Meantime, the script for A Still, Small Paw is doing really well; we scored an 8 out of 10 on The Black List, one of Hollywood's most respected script evaluation platforms (only 5% of all scripts at the Black List score and 8 or higher) and placed in the 99th percentile at Greenlight Coverage. Recently I’ve applied for a couple of grants and, as always, I’m constantly knocking on doors looking for funding to keep us going. I’ve been fundraising so long, I think people cross the street when they see me coming.

There’s still a mountain of work ahead, but I’m doing it. Damn the torpedoes.

Because here’s the thing: as the news cycle churns out one devastating headline after another, it becomes so easy to go numb. That’s totally understandable. But to forget about the very real, very crushing pressure that trans and LGBTQ youth are living under every single day, risks kids’ lives.

We can’t let that happen, right? We need to be there for these kids. They need a new story.

On a hopeful note — because we need those, too — Erin in the Morning is reporting some genuinely good news out of Wisconsin. Despite a Republican-controlled legislature, Democratic Governor Tony Evers marked Transgender Day of Visibility yesterday by vetoing five anti-trans bills in a single day, surrounded by LGBTQ kids and families at the state Capitol. The bills would have forced schools to out trans students to their parents, and criminalize doctors who provide gender-affirming care to minors.

As Erin in the Morning reported, Governor Evers was unequivocal: “While the federal government and other states across this country may give way to anti-LGBTQ hate, here in Wisconsin, we will continue to decline to do the same.”

Wow. There are still good leaders out there. Thank you, Governor Evers. Onward we go.

The word resilience comes from the Latin resilire, meaning to spring back, to rebound.

A pretty simple definition for something that’s anything but simple. To bounce back means you’ve been knocked down. And being knocked down, truly knocked down, is the price of admission to life.

I know something about this. Over seven years, I’ve undergone somewhere between twelve and fifteen surgeries for cancer. Each one was a negotiation with mortality; a conversation I wasn’t sure I’d be allowed to finish.

The will to live isn’t passive. It’s an active, daily, and sometimes furious choice to insist that you belong. Here and now. That your story isn’t finished until it’s finished. That the next chapter is worth the work and pain of turning the page. It’s why I’ve declared I’m making my feature film for trans and LGBTQ youth, or I’m gonna die trying.

It’s a refusal to quit.

That’s resilience. Not the absence of fear, but the decision to keep going despite it.

These are dark times. No doubt about it. Certainly the darkest of my lifetime. Democracy, under siege. Authoritarianism. Truth is negotiable. And the most vulnerable among us — especially trans and LGBTQ kids already navigating a world that refuses to fully see them — are being asked to absorb a cruelty that’s both systemic and intimate.

Just in recent days: Florida cut off life-saving drugs to LGBTQ patients. Kansas sent letters demanding trans people immediately surrender their driver’s licenses. And Pete Hegseth announced that the Pentagon would target trans scouts who will be outed and segregated from Scouting America (commonly known as the Boy Scouts).

And just today, Ken Paxton in Texas issued a legal ruling declaring it illegal for mental health providers to provide care for trans youth.

Our national cruelty to LGBTQ youth continues.

For these kids and adults, resilience means survival. It’s the radical act of continuing to exist joyfully, honestly, and wholly in a culture that would prefer them to not exist. Their persistence isn’t just personal. It’s political, and it’s heroic.

Halfway around the world, the Ukrainian people have given the rest of us a masterclass in collective resilience. Against an invasion designed to erase a national identity, they have held. They’ve mourned and rebuilt. They’ve sung in bomb shelters. They’ve insisted, with everything they have, that we are still here. That a people’s spirit can’t be trampled. Their resistance reminds us that resilience isn’t merely endurance. It’s the refusal to let darkness have the final word.

And then there are those of us who make things: writers, filmmakers, and artists operating inside industries dissolving in real time. Right before our eyes. Artificial intelligence threatening to automate the very acts of imagination we once thought irreducibly human.

But perhaps this is precisely when creativity and imagination is needed most.

David Foster Wallace wrote that “In dark times, the definition of good art would seem to be art that locates and applies CPR to those elements of what’s human and magical that still live and grow despite the times’ darkness.”

Yes and yes. Art as resuscitation. An act of pressing your hands against the chest of the world and refusing to stop until it coughs and breathes again.

That’s what resilience asks of us. The cancer survivor, the LGBTQ youth, the Ukrainian grandmother sweeping rubble from her front step, the filmmaker mortgaging everything to tell a story that needs to be told. We’re all performing the same essential act. We locate the pulse. Refuse to let go. We spring back.

Not because it’s easy. But because we refuse the alternative.

And that’s everything.

Hey there, friends, backers, and supporters!

A quick update on our film, and then I’m going to talk about earplugs. Please bear with me.

First, “A Still, Small Paw” is moving forward. Like, actually moving. I’ve been meeting with producers, I’ve started casting, and we’re planning to film a proof-of-concept scene later this spring. Our lead, Michael Patrick McGill (you might know him from the series Shameless) has already committed to the project, which is friggin’ terrific.

Our screenplay recently scored an 8 at the Black List which is also very good news as only 5% or less of all screenplays at the Black List score that high, which I’m told is kind of big deal in Hollywood.

We’ve also begun casting the LGBTQ boy named Hank, and a casting notice in L.A. has brought in close to a hundred applicants. We’ll be sending out requests for tapes later next week.

Also in the mix for the proof-of-concept: I’ll be filming on desert land this spring owned by the Bureau of Land Management. I’m figuring that out along with how to avoid the rattlesnakes and scorpions we might encounter during the spring mating season. H’oh boy.

If you want to read the 5-page proof-of-concept script (an excerpt from the feature film screenplay), click here.

On the Angry Gay Grandpa front, we’re at 25,000 YouTube subscribers. I’m pretty proud of that number. But I also know it can, and needs to be, so much bigger. Much bigger. So I’m shifting to grow our audience, both on and off line. I want to do some public speaking. Upload more videos, shorter, less formal, more social: YouTube, Instagram, Facebook, here on Substack. And yes, vertical video, too. Which kinda goes against my filmmaker grain. But I’m learning.

**

Now, onto the surgery thing.

Friday I go in to the hospital for what I’ve come to think of as my every-once-in-a-while-remove-a-possible-cancer-thing-from-Jim surgery. The doctors have been keeping an eye on a “suspicious node” on my lung, and their advice is: take it out. So out it comes. Should be a few days in the hospital.

For friends who are new here, seven years ago I was diagnosed with a pretty rare cancer, something I’ve been public about. Only a couple hundred people a year get this kinda cancer. And somehow, somehow, it’s been relatively slow-moving and forgiving. According to a genetics test, I most likely have a gene mutation that is keeping it at bay. My doctor recently told me I have “lots of runway ahead of me.” I wrote that down and am hanging onto it.

My oncologist asked me what my priorities were — like, life priorities. I told him that my number one priority was to keep fighting the good fight for trans and LGBTQ youth, and to shoot "A Still, Small Paw" fall of next year. He seemed genuinely glad to hear that. So did I, honestly, saying it out loud.

Over the years I’ve had … what? Twelve? Fifteen? Let’s just say a lot of surgeries.

Which brings me to the subject of earplugs.

After all those hospital stays, I’ve become a passionate, slightly evangelical advocate for bringing earplugs to overnight stays at the hospital. Hospitals are loud. Alarms going off, people in the hallway, someone shouting something at 3am — it’s not always a restful environment, especially when you’re trying to heal from something. Earplugs are a priority. Like number one on my list.

But here’s the thing: I’ve been thinking about earplugs as a metaphor lately, because life has become so unbelievably loud right now. For all of us. The noise, noise, noise. The tech, the politics, the cruelty. On and on it goes.

And if you’re trans, if you’re LGBTQ, or if you’re just a kid trying to figure out who you are, that noise isn’t just exhausting, it can be truly life threatening. Especially if that noise is aimed at you.

Sometimes you need something that muffles the awful noise out there just enough so you can hear yourself. Your breathing. Your heart. To take a deep breath. And then, you can keep going.

The LGBTQ activist Marsha P Johnson said the “P” in her name stood for “Pay It No Mind” which became her motto and her bulwark against all the hate thrown her way in the 1970s. Good advice.

Anyway, below you can see the two vertical videos I’ve uploaded in the last few days. One of them is about the importance of earplugs.

Onward we go. Wish me luck Friday.

For three years now, the subject of my films, a web series, and my Substack has been trans and LGBTQ youth: trying to prevent suicides in the face of a hostile culture and national leadership.

Right now, I’m producing a feature film for those kids and their families, and I’m facing the question many filmmakers reading this are wrestling with:

How the f*ck am I gonna get this film made?

My sense of urgency comes from lived experience. As a filmmaker, I became witness to the devastating suicides of five trans youth in a single county. No more. I refuse to stand by while a profound loss like this occurs again.

Now I’ve run into the brick wall that many filmmakers run into: the Hollywood wall that gatekeepers and decision makers hide behind to keep talent and resources secreted away and out of our reach.

Over thirty years, I’ve hit this same wall over and over again — whether it’s actors, music, or production talent — my calls are always met with hubristic silence from an industry that is financially incentivized to prevent competition from coming up from below. From independent filmmakers.

There’s a film movement gaining steam right now that says I should stop knocking on those doors. That I should lower my expectations and accept my exclusion as liberation. That I should make my film smaller, cheaper, and accept that it will reach almost no one.

That movement is called NonDē, the non-dependent film movement being pushed by a steady drumbeat from venerated and highly respected filmmakers.

I think it’s leading us down the wrong path at the worst possible time.

I keep trying to say the word, NonDē. But every time I write it, say it, or reference it in my work, something feels off. Wrong, even.

Maybe it’s the “non” itself. NonDē performs linguistically what it does structurally—it asks you to define yourself by withdrawal, by what you’re not doing, rather than by what you’re creating.

I don’t want to define filmmaking — an art form I hold dear — by negation. By absence. By retreat.

I want to be clear: I understand the appeal. God, do I understand it!

The exhaustion. The rejection. The feeling of being a victim. The constant humiliation of begging gatekeepers and rich people and kowtowing to multi-billion dollar corporations. The fantasy of just walking away from all of it and building something pure, something ours, something that doesn’t require us to compromise, bow or plead.

I’ve felt that and a whole lot more. And if you’re reading this, you probably have too.

But I think the phrase NonDē is hiding something: a kind of regression. A retreat. A refusal of the call.

And that’s what this essay is all about.

What Is NonDē?

I’ll let film producer , NonDē’s self-described “instigator,” speak for himself. From an upcoming panel at Slamdance called Market Day:

The NonDē Way: Fun and Dangerous Ideas to Disrupt What Once Was “Indie” and to Separate From a Lame Ass Corporate Film Industry

“A non-dependent ecosystem predicated on the artists and their team accepting full responsibility for their work each step of the way, never looking for a rescue or a golden elevator, believing in collaboration over competition, mutual support over individual action, transparency over secrecy, sustainability over singular success is the promise of NonDē—and fuck if it is not time yet for you to join the movement.” Ted Hope

Before I go further, let me be clear about my relationship with Ted, a filmmaker I have profound respect for. I met him over thirty years ago at a Sundance producers conference; I’ve been learning from him ever since. Over the past few years, we’ve connected on Substack. He’s given me advice, jumped on Zoom calls, and I engage with his writing virtually every day. He’s been generous with his time and wisdom. And for that, I’m truly grateful.

What he’s done for independent filmmakers over decades deserves more recognition. He’s inspired countless people, myself included.

This essay isn’t an attack on Ted Hope the person; it’s a critical examination of an idea that I think, despite its good intentions, will lead us somewhere we don’t want to go.

On the surface, NonDē sounds incredible. It promises:

• Freedom from corporate control

• A sustainable, artist-centered ecosystem

• Collaboration over competition

• Mutual support and transparency

• No saviors, no gatekeepers, no “golden elevators”

• Full artist responsibility at every step

Who could be against this?

Well, I guess, I am. Not because I don’t want these things. I desperately want them! But because I don’t think NonDē will deliver them.

In fact, I think it'll do the opposite: it will atomize us, diminish our work, and waste time we can’t afford to lose.

Déjà Vu All Over Again

I’m older than most people reading this. I went to college in the 1980s. I’ve made hundreds of shorts, commercials, and longer works. I lived through the rise of the independent film movement and the broader cultural moment that shaped it.

That moment also happened to be the ascendancy of hyper-individualism in America.

This is the era of Reagan (”government is the problem”), Thatcher (”there is no such thing as society”), and eventually Trump (”I alone can fix it”).

Many films of that time reflected this ethos: Taxi Driver. Mad Max. Rambo. Lone heroes (all men) who operated outside institutions and owed nothing to anyone.

I love those films! They spoke truth to a specific moment. The entire ethos of punk of that time, and then new wave, was also deeply individualistic: DIY culture, rejection of establishment, carving your own path.

This is also the generation that started the indie film movement: the Coen brothers, Robert Rodriguez, Spike Lee, Christine Vachon, Steven Soderbergh, Quentin Tarantino, Ted Hope and many more.

Being present to your times is a blessing, and these filmmakers were richly rewarded for it.

But the remedy for one era is not necessarily the remedy for another.

We all see the world through the lens of the age we were born into. It’s completely understandable — natural, even — that filmmakers who came of age in the ‘80s might look at today’s broken system and reach for the same tools that worked back then:

Radical self-reliance, DIY rebellion, walking away from corrupt institutions.

But what if the problems we’re facing today aren’t the same as we faced back then? What if today’s problems — climate catastrophe, runaway inequality, rising fascism, oligarchy — require different tools entirely?

What if what we need isn’t more individualism, but less?

While NonDē performs the language of collective care, it structurally enforces radical self-responsibility.

It’s Reaganomics for filmmakers.

What NonDē Actually Does

NonDē calls for “a non-dependent ecosystem… predicated on artists accepting full responsibility for their work at each step of the way.”

This sounds empowering. Who wouldn’t want agency? Who wouldn’t want ownership?

But in practice, “full responsibility at each step” means something very specific:

• You finance the development

• You absorb the production risk

• You shoulder the marketing burden

• You find the audience

• You carry the loss if the system fails you

• And if the film doesn’t break through, the failure is framed as yours—personal, not structural

The language of collaboration remains, but the burden of consequence does not. Responsibility is pushed downward, step by step, until it rests entirely on you, the filmmaker.

While NonDē speaks the language of community, what it actually produces is atomization.

You become an atom: a single unit, alone, disconnected from collective power. You can bump into other atoms, sure. You can console each other. But you can’t build pressure. You have no leverage. You can’t force institutions to answer.

We already work alone, fund alone, market alone, and fail alone. We’re already drowning in isolation.

To me, NonDē doesn’t look like a movement or a revolution, but the prevention of one.

Don’t Knock on That Door

NonDē warns artists to “never look for a rescue or a golden elevator.”

Again, this sounds good, right?

But what it actually does is reframe knocking on the door of the powerful as weakness.

Let me be clear: most filmmakers, myself included, aren’t asking to be rescued. I’m not waiting for a savior. I’m demanding access to tools that already exist: platforms, audiences, capital, distribution, and legitimacy that were built collectively by artists and culture itself — and often by independent filmmakers!

By labeling all institutional engagement as “rescue” or “golden elevators,” NonDē stigmatizes the pursuit of scale; the desire to get our films onto platforms, into theaters, in front of the audiences who need them.

Knocking on the door becomes shameful. Speaking publicly becomes suspect. Demands for accountability or redistribution of access are treated as personal failure rather than structural critique.

The result is silence and self-containment. Filmmakers internalize exclusion. Hierarchy is protected by our own personal stigma.

NonDē tells us: If you can’t make it on your own, that’s on you, bud. Don’t ask power for help. Don’t make demands. And god forbid, don’t make people uncomfortable.

This sounds familiar. It’s the same logic that’s been used to dismantle every collective safety net in American life for the past forty years.

And that’s why I call NonDē “Reaganomics for filmmakers.”

Collaboration Without Power

NonDē promises “collaboration over competition, mutual support over individual action.”

Of course filmmakers want this. Of course we want mutual support.

But beware. I think this is Kool-Aid.

Real collaboration requires more than goodwill between peers. It requires shared infrastructure, unequal parties negotiating openly, and institutions staying in the picture long enough to be pressured or changed.

Without that, collaboration has no teeth.

Under NonDē, collaboration is permitted only after you’ve left the room where power resides.

What remains is atomization with a smile. Isolated filmmakers supporting each other emotionally while remaining structurally powerless, without having real agency.

The institutions that control access, capital, distribution, and scale have been left to do their thing — unquestioned and unchallenged.

We’re collaborating over crumbs while the overlords who control the food factory walk away untouched.

NonDē collaboration happens only among the powerless — after we’ve left the room where power resides.

Think about what this means in practice:

You and I can share resources, give each other notes, lift each other up emotionally. That’s beautiful. That’s real. But it doesn’t get your film onto a platform with millions of subscribers. It doesn’t lift you in the algorithm. It doesn’t get you distribution, or access to name actors, or licenses to popular songs.

Without those things, you have no audience.

“No audience. No echo. That's part of one's death.” — Virginia Woolf

Follow the Money

“Life is pain, Highness. Anybody who says differently is selling something.” —The Princess Bride

**

Here’s where my skepticism is coming true in real time.

Every movement that declares itself “anti-system” eventually spawns its own cottage industry. This is predictable.

What we’re living through is the exact moment that attracts money extractors. Especially when the people being sold to are desperate filmmakers who just want to make their movies and have them seen.

When supply far exceeds demand, watch out.

Now, not all of what follows is asking for money, and some may offer genuine value—but a quick search shows how quickly a branded ecosystem emerges. Of special note is the $388 webinar about being nondependent on the film industry that is sponsored by the publication called …

There’s already a NonDē film festival. Multiple NonDē Substack subscriptions. NonDē webinars, panels and branding. A YouTube channel and Masterclass. A legal lab specializing in NonDē film. A website featured during a recent NonDē webinar is selling annual memberships for $500 and promises to “help filmmakers connect with their audiences and make money.” (pic below)

In the 1980s and 90s, it was the same ‘ol song.

I bought stacks of books. Transcripts. Cassette tapes mailed from what was then called the Independent Feature Film Project. I spent thousands of dollars on conferences, tapes, and resources that promised — almost word for word — to help filmmakers connect with audiences and make money.

Consider Robert Rodriguez’s 1995 book title:

Rebel Without a Crew: How a 23-Year-Old Filmmaker with $7000 Became a Hollywood Player.

There it is again! The heroic myth of the 80s and 90s, the self-made filmmaker, the lone man who does it by himself without anybody else’s help.

Some of the material I received was useful. But much of it was Kool-Aid. And all of it hid the plain truth that some of a filmmaker’s success is due to talent — but a much greater part is owed to timing and luck.

So here we go again.

Caveat emptor:

When you’re listening to the presentations at Market Day at Slamdance, watch out for the Kool-Aid.

Listen for specifics. Be a critical thinker.

Ask of the speakers: What are you actually proposing, IRL? Who pays? Who benefits? What’s the catch? Know the difference between inspiration and actual strategy. Separate the rah-rah from anything concrete.

In times like these, we’re so hungry for optimism that we’ll hear a few uplifting lines and latch onto an easy answer because it feels like relief.

And always ask, quietly, in your own mind: What are you trying to sell me?

What NonDē Would Mean for My Film—And Maybe for Yours

Let me bring this back to where I started: my feature film to save lives of trans and LGBTQ youth.

If I subscribed to the NonDē way (which, honestly, is how I've made most of my films, often on an iPhone), here’s what I’d do:

I’d say, fuck it. I’m not playing in their sandbox, anymore. I’d whittle the script down to micro-budget size. Hire people who’ve rarely been on a set or behind the camera. Actors: friends and family who cannot act. I’d spend time doing it all—wrangling props, locations, cast, crew, all by myself. I’d apply for a few credit cards, maybe launch a Kickstarter, amass $20K in debt. Enough for pizza for lunches and maybe a hundred bucks per person, per day.

Exhausted, I’d then shoot our makeshift movie and hope I got something.

Then I’d edit on a laptop in my bedroom. Then call up some people, make announcements on social media, and if I’m lucky, a hundred or so folks would come to the premiere at some room I wrangled. Then a micro-cinema or two. Maybe a few fests. Small ones.

Most of the people seeing the final film would be film friends and people who worked on the movie. Mainly filmmakers.

But — and this is the most important part — the intended audience of trans and LGBTQ youth would never see it. Certainly not at a state, regional, or even national level.

NonDē would atomize my project. It would break it down to its smallest possible unit, reduce its reach to the local, ensuring that the kids who need it most will never see it.

I don’t think that’s sustainability.

To quote Eleanor Rigby: “No one was saved.”

**

, founder of the , recently wrote: “I still believe that a popular movie, done right, is a small act of care at a global scale. Look around. The world out there is rough right now for almost everyone.”

For trans and LGBTQ youth, this is so true.

And that’s the film I’m determined to make: a popular movie, done right. Not a NonDē project seen by hundreds of people, but a low-to-mid-budget film with national reach. A small act of care at a global scale. One that can save lives.

As I said in my launch announcement, I’m going to make this movie or die trying.

NonDē tells me that’s the wrong impulse. It tells me that I’m a victim. Stop knocking on doors. Stop demanding access to power. I should not just sit at the back of the bus, but that I should get off of it. Now. Accept my limitations and walk.

I reject that completely.

Finding Leverage in Found Value

“To live outside the law, you must be honest.” — Bob Dylan

**

I believe creative activism is something we, as filmmakers, should consider.

As an activist, I’ve been arrested and jailed before for protesting in support of trans and LGBTQ youth. In fact, I’m currently on probation in the state of Pennsylvania for that activism. Let’s just say it involved glue. For the first time in my life, I have a probation officer.

But I can assure you, it was not only worth to do what I did, it worked. Being loud works. Speaking truth to power works. Fighting mega-corporations works.

Over the past couple of months, I’ve done some activism lite by producing two open video letters — one to Richard Rushfield, journalist and founder of The Ankler, and another to independent producer Christine Vachon, whose career has been built on LGBTQ films.

I respect both of these folks — a lot. I did these videos hoping they might meet with me on Zoom to offer help and connections getting my feature film for trans and LGBTQ youth off the ground.

These two people have extraordinary institutional knowledge and contacts. They’re deeply committed to the art of filmmaking, and both have publicly supported filmmakers facing overwhelming adversity; from censorship, institutional gatekeeping, to our current fast-becoming fascist government.

I need their help.

**

The leverage I’m looking for is value. Specifically, where value is derived, how it gets created, and who gets credited for it.

Despite what conservative capitalists will tell you, value is co-produced by communities.

For instance, independent filmmakers created the aesthetics studios monetize. After Pulp Fiction, how many studio films suddenly had nonlinear narratives? After Moonlight, how many prestige dramas about Black queer life got greenlit?

The studios didn’t elevate those styles — independent filmmakers did. We did. They harvested what we built.

The same applies to audiences. built The Ankler partly on LGBTQ readers. Christine Vachon built Killer Films on LGBTQ stories and audiences.

If 10% of the value of their success and income comes from LGBTQ communities (and I’d argue it’s much higher) then that value was co-created.

When you build your career on a community’s stories and support, you have responsibility to that community in crisis. Economists call this “stakeholder value theory.” Sociologists call it “moral economy.”

That’s what I’m trying to do with my video letters: making visible the value LGBTQ communities contributed, and asking for reciprocity.

Is it polite? No. But trans and LGBTQ youth are suffering. I don’t have time for polite.

I know this kind of leverage approach works because I’ve used it before.

Times Are A-Changin’

In 2021, I was making a narrative short film about the climate crisis. The story centered on a troubled teen trying to communicate his fears to his grandfather.

Bob Dylan’s “The Times They Are A-Changin” was essential to the story. We applied for a sync license from Universal Music Publishing Group (UMPG), got a reasonable quote, and proceeded to production good faith. We’d arranged it to be sung by a 27-member children’s choir.

Later UMPG asked to screen the final film for “creative approval.” Then they denied our request. Twice.

What had changed? Dylan had just sold his catalog to Universal for nearly $400 million. And Tencent, a Chinese media conglomerate, had become Universal’s largest shareholder with 20% ownership. My film was about climate change at a critical time when China had a very different public position on climate policy.

We learned that UMPG “was not comfortable with the story in the film, nor Mr. Dylan’s place in that story.”

Are you kidding me!? Censorship! By a Chinese-owned corporation! Of American children singing about climate change. By an American legend, no less!

Holy moly. I was furious. I wrote them a certified letter naming Tencent, naming Chinese censorship of an American icon, and warning them this could be a public relations disaster which I was ready to deploy. In my letter I wrote:

“I assure you that we will seek remedies in public that not only address the issue of China’s controlling ownership in UMPG and its censorship of American culture — but also the costs we have incurred, notwithstanding the emotional toll it will have taken on myself, our Vermont cast and crew, as well as our choir of twenty-seven children.”

I bought a plane ticket to Los Angeles. Hired an LA cameraman. Found an LA Staples where I could buy poster material. I was ready to picket their Santa Monica headquarters.

But I didn’t have to.

Ten days later, UMPG approved the license at a reasonable price.

When you make the cost of saying “no” higher than the cost of saying “yes,” institutions move. I found leverage by making visible what they wanted invisible. I found where their value was hidden.

As filmmakers, we have more leverage than what we know.

What’s the Doughboy Afraid Of?

Ben and Jerry know this.

I live in Burlington, Vermont. Our town is proud to call Ben and Jerry are our neighbors. My son’s first job was at their flagship ice cream store. Ben Cohen advised me on one of my documentaries.

There’s an origin story about Ben & Jerry’s that not many people know. It’s called: “What’s the Doughboy Afraid Of?”

In 1984 when Ben & Jerry’s was still regional, Pillsbury, who owned Häagen-Dazs, leaned on ice-cream distributors with an ultimatum: Carry Häagen-Dazs or Ben & Jerry’s. Not both.

It was nakedly anti-competitive.

Ben Cohen and Jerry Greenfield didn’t quietly retreat. They didn’t decide to “stay small” or “sell regionally” or “work around the system.”

They went public. They found leverage in value.

They launched the “What’s the Doughboy Afraid Of?” campaign aimed directly at Pillsbury’s smiling mascot. They printed the slogan on pints, along with an 800 number: the Doughboy Hotline. If you called, you got letters you could mail to the FTC and to Pillsbury’s chairman. You got bumper stickers. They ran ads in Rolling Stone. They plastered buses with images of the Doughboy strangling a Ben & Jerry’s pint. Ben Cohen picketed Pillsbury headquarters (pic below).

It was loud. Embarrassing. And unavoidable.

The public responded. The press piled on. Pillsbury backed down.

Ben & Jerry’s forced their way onto shelves — not by asking nicely, not by hiding, not by disengaging — but by protesting, shaming, and exposing an unfair system to daylight.

Here’s the point:

They could’ve done it the NonDē way and said, “We’re not going to play in their sandbox. We’ll just stay regional.” They could’ve walked away and framed that retreat as principled.

But they didn’t. They stayed in the room with a corporate giant, found leverage in value, and made it uncomfortable.

It worked. And it’s the reason that, wherever you’re reading this, you’re probably ten minutes or less away from a pint of Cherry Garcia.

There’s a powerful lesson here for filmmakers.

Exit Fantasies vs. Staying

“You say you got a real solution, well you know, we'd all love to see the plan” — The Beatles, “Revolution”

**

NonDē calls us to “escape our current hell hole” and promises “a peaceful revolution,” declaring “we’re not going to play in that sandbox anymore.”

This is total fantasy.

Withdrawal feels clean because it avoids conflict. Power remains untouched, unpressured, and unaccountable. The revolution stays “peaceful” because no one with leverage is actually being challenged. It’s a refusal of the call.

Filmmakers are asked to disappear from systems that control capital, distribution, attention, and legitimacy, and to call that freedom.

Real change isn’t quiet. It requires staying in the room, making dependence visible, and applying pressure where it can be felt.

During a recent interview with Richard Rushfield of The Ankler, Ted Hope said, “What is happening to our country is happening to our [film] culture.”

So friggin’ true!

But our reaction can’t be walking away and not “participating in the mainstream corporate structures” as Ted says NonDē aims to do. That’s beyond wishful thinking.

It might’ve been possible thirty or forty years ago. But today, corporate power is ubiquitous; it’s everywhere all at once. There’s no part of society that escapes its reach.

Mainstream corporate culture is like the face-hugger from Alien: sucked onto the face of America. Suffocating us. Parasiting lives away. Impossible to remove without killing the host.

However, it can be resisted. It can be moved. It can be forced to negotiate.

Cinema culture built on sustainability and responsibility doesn’t come from escape fantasies. It comes from refusal to disappear and insistence that shared systems must answer back.

What We Could Build Instead

I’m not ready to leave this sandbox. And I’m not ready to cede filmmaking to billionaires and AI.

I believe our call as filmmakers is — to borrow Jungian language — to stay in the tension of the moment. Not flee it. Not spiritualize our exit. Not pretend the conflict isn’t real.

Throughout history, civil rights leaders have known this: the answer to oppression isn’t walking away. It’s staying. It’s fighting and forcing. It’s refusing to disappear.

Fight and Force:

Film journalist wrote in his latest Substack that the Melania movie “may have been the breaking point” for the independent film community.

I agree. It should have been. Unfortunately I think that train has left. What was missing was collective action that could’ve coincided with the movie’s release.

“We need to hold people accountable,” Richard Rushfield recently wrote in an essay subtitled, “Hollywood Cowards.”

Exactly. And this is what works: Organized leverage that targets and shames individuals; actual people with faces and names who are complicit in an institution's crimes and failures. Name and shame. Action that forces institutions to the table at the right moment.

What if we built: A union of sorts. An issues nonprofit. A social-welfare organization for independent filmmakers — something like AARP, Salvation Army, United Way, the Human Rights Council.

Think about the numbers that could be part of collective action.

If Sundance has received roughly 16,000 submissions a year for the last five years (and only a small percentage are repeat filmmakers) and if each film represents a bare minimum of three filmmakers, that’s close to a quarter of a million people! A quarter of a million voices brought to bear against streamers, studios, corporations, and our government.

That’s not nothing. That’s leverage. Political and corporate leverage.

**

We have so much to fight for — specifically, to be heard. To have our work seen. To reach the audiences who need the films we’re making.

What a loss it would be to leave that power, and rename our leaving as virtue.

Don’t be fooled by phrases like “creator economy,” either. That’s more Kool-Aid.

As journalist writes, “People talk about the ‘creator economy’ like it’s this liberating thing when in actuality it should be called the ‘exploitation economy.’”

Staying small can be a choice. Yes, and a great choice. But being forced to stay small by gatekeepers, and then calling that freedom — is something else entirely.

Yes, we need something better. But it’s important to be honest with ourselves. To cede what NonDē is asking us to give up is to accept a future of tiny projects in tiny rooms, seen by tiny audiences.

I don’t think that counts as resistance. It hands the field to corporate powers that are, as journalist puts it, “pillaging almost every single human being in this country every single minute of every single day.”

You know what I’m talking about. You feel it. You live it. It’s a force you can’t escape.

Pretending you can is delusional.

A Final Note to Ted Hope

Ted, in one of your recent posts you wrote, “I think criticism is the clearest indication of love — or at least respect.”

I would say that is absolutely true with respect to this essay. I respect you and love all that you’ve done for filmmakers. You deserve lots of praise and credit for the inspiration and spirit you give to so many filmmakers.

I imagine you're responding to the same pain and frustration all of us are feeling. This essay is my response to that same crisis. I hope it can be a conversation starter.

Onward we go.

James Lantz

Hope you’re doing well and holding up despite all the turmoil in our fair land. Here’s a new 4-ish minute video update on our film and much more. If you get a chance please watch it, comment, like and subscribe.

Much love from Vermont!

Jim

www.astillsmallpaw.com

www.ungovernme.com

Leave a comment

Hey there you incredible supporters!

This video is my open letter to Christine Vachon — one of the most important independent film producers of the last three decades.

I’m asking Christine to help intercede on our behalf — to help connect us with producers and allies who can help bring our feature film into the world that we’re creating for trans and LGBTQ youth and their families.

As you know, our film is called A Still, Small Paw and, if you don’t know what it’s about, you can learn more here at www.astillsmallpaw.com.

Christine Vachon is a giant of independent cinema.

Beginning in the mid-1980s — when being gay was still illegal in half of the United States — she helped produce fiercely independent films that insisted LGBTQ lives were worthy of love, dignity, and visibility.

I respect the hell out of her.

And I’m writing to her because we need her help — as in the trans and LGBTQ youth my work supports.

Making a movie is a deeply collaborative process. Without experienced producers who know how to connect artists, allies, and resources, our film will not get made, period.

The stakes for our film could not be higher.

Trans and LGBTQ youth are one of the most vulnerable populations in the world right now — and they’re being attacked from the largest stage imaginable. These kids and their families need a new story. I think we’ve got that story and I’m working hard to make it a reality prior to the 2028 presidential election.

You can check out my video letter to Christine Vachon here or at the YouTube link below.

Until next time, thank you so much being here — hope you and your family have a GREAT HOLIDAY!!

James

www.angrygaygrandpa.com www.jameslantz.com www.astillsmallpaw.com

Leave a comment

Subscribe now

Hey everybody. I filmed this 3 minute video in a very rare place (hope you watch it) — a brand new movie theater in Burlington, Vermont, called Partizan Film.

And this is extraordinary, because new theaters just aren’t opening these days. In fact, since COVID, America has lost over 5,000 movie screens. So for a brand new independent theater to open — especially one like this — is something worth stopping and marking.

And it also happens to be a pretty great place for me to make an important announcement.

We’ve made our first casting choice for A Still, Small Paw. We reached out to the actor, and the response came back quickly — a clear thumbs up. Yes. He’s doing it.

That actor is Michael Patrick McGill.

Michael is someone you might recognize from the series Shameless. He was also in our short film Not Losing You, and I think it’s fair to say he absolutely killed it in that. Truly.

Michael is an under-appreciated and undervalued film artist — an actor with real depth and talent — and I believe he’s going to be phenomenal in this lead role in A Still, Small Paw. I couldn’t be more excited to be working with him again.

THANK YOU!

I also just want to take a moment to thank you — genuinely — for your support this year. It’s been an incredible year. We got a lot accomplished, and none of it would have happened without your help.

Next year is going to be even awesomer. And I really hope you’ll stick with us.

As always, please like, subscribe, and if you’re able, consider becoming a backer.

You can find us at AngryGayGrandpa.com, and also at AStillSmallPaw.com, or on GoFundMe.

And we’ll see you next week. I’m hoping to have another open letter ready — this time to one of the most successful independent film producers of all time.

Until then, be safe, be smart, and I’ll see you next week.

PS. Here’s the YouTube link to the video:

As we wrap up the year, I want to share with you what we accomplished together in 2025 — what all of us made happen.

And by “us,” I mean everyone who makes this work possible: you who support me, the talent, the backers, the camera folks and allies, the wise people who advise me and keep me going, my friends and family — and the thousands of trans and LGBTQ youth who comment on my videos and keep me inspired.

We Did a Lot This Year

This was a year of creating, healing and building — sometimes painful, sometimes beautiful — toward our feature film production of A Still, Small Paw.

• Made 10 videos including “Surviving Trump” which topped 140,000 views, and received thousands of comments from trans and LGBTQ youth.

• Kept promoting “Not Losing You,” our PSA micro-film that has now gotten over 2.3 million views on YouTube and TikTok.

• For my activism, we gained national exposure from all sorts of media including The Advocate to local and regional TV news stations.

• I read a statement in court and again at the press conference — one of the hardest, proudest moments of my life — and I was profoundly moved by those who stood beside me at a press conference afterwards.

• I worked with a couple of great Vermont actors to make this animated video “When a Chair is Worth More Than the Life of a Trans Kid” which got 60,000 views on YouTube. It was storyboarded by the super talented Isaac Prevatt (whose Instagram series, The SoupDumpling, you should absolutely check out and follow).

• I finished the Pitch Deck and Proof-Concept Video for A Still, Small Paw of which I hereby promise never again to use A.I. for creating imagery of any kind (it was both torturous, plus I caught a lot of justifiable sh*t in the comments on YouTube for doing so).

• And the biggest milestone of all: I finished the new script to A Still, Small Paw — over a year of writing, research, revising, and development.

What’s Coming Next

To launch our film production, we’re moving into a crucial first phase: growing our community and audience, and pulling together the necessary seed money that will make the next steps possible.

We’re not yet fully engaged in all out fundraising for the film (just the seed money part) but we are friend-raising. We need to acquire as much credibility as possible — especially for a filmmaker working outside of the system.

There will be more open letter videos to folks who I want to connect with for A Still, Small Paw — next week’s video regards one of the most transphobic folks out there, and she also happens to be one of the richest. Who is she? Stay tuned.

Early casting has begun — I recently sent out my first letter of intent to a super talented actor who I hope says “Yes.”

And, for the New Year, I’m committing to weekly Tuesday morning posts, many of them videos, to document every step toward production. As I’ve said previously, we’ll be creating this film in public.

Why does this matter?

Because showing every step along the way — continuously, transparently — is how we’re going to make the production of our film inevitable. It’s how we keep the momentum alive for our backers and show potential partners that this project is not going away.

We will have our feature film completed prior to the 2028 Presidential election.

Meantime, if you missed it, please watch my video “I’m Gonna Make This Film or Die Trying.” It’ll answer lots of questions.

Activism Is Expensive

Holy moly! Lawyers, court fees, lodging, travel, and a substantial fine — it all adds up.

As much as I know this won’t be my last act of activism, I need to close out this Pennsylvania chapter before stepping into the next. Today, literally, is the day of the month that I check in with my probation officer in Harrisburg PA.

It was never on my bucket list to have a probation officer. Still, for my protest against anti-LGBTQ MAGA Republican state senator Ryan Aument, I was convicted of misdemeanor “Criminal Mischief” and have to report in once a month for a year.

It beats jail.

You can learn more here and here.

Cancer Update

Thankfully, the cancer that’s been in my body for seven years appears to be, at the moment, nowhere to be found.

That’s good, right? Don’t know how long it’s going to last, but I’m lucky that — so far — it’s been fairly kind to me. It’s slow, and it’s contained. So that’s good, too. Yes, it’s left me partially disabled and required a bunch of operations, but I’ve got time ahead of me — more than enough time to finish this film.

As one of my doctors recently said, “You’ve got a long runway ahead of you.”

Still, I’m optimistic yet realistic at the same time — I’ve got time but not necessarily an abundance of it. Which is the reason I’m hellbent to get this film off the ground ASAP in 2026, so we can shoot in 2027, so we can premiere it in 2028 prior to the Presidential election when, once again, trans and LGBTQ youth will be in the crosshairs of MAGA and Republicans.

The main mission of our movie: To save trans and LGBTQ youth lives.

So, How You Can Help?

If my work matters to you — the films, the activism, the production of A Still, Small Paw, and the goal to support trans and LGBTQ youth and their families during these mean times — please consider supporting this next chapter by becoming a backer of my work.

👉 Become a backer on GoFundMe here or here (you can also access the links through any of my websites)
👉 Or become a paid subscriber here on Substack

👉 Or shoot me an email and I’ll be glad to pass along a snail mail address where you can send a check.

Subscribe now

Please note: The Not Losing You company is a Vermont non-profit public benefit corporation — however, contributions are not tax-deductible.

Your support is so invaluable and helps keep my work moving forward. I’m honored to be able to do this work, and so grateful for your support. I hope that I — or rather, we — do you proud!

Onward we go.

Leave a comment

Hey there, Everyone!

So this video’s a little different. It’s an open letter to Richard Rushfield — founder of The Ankler, one of the smartest, most influential and inspirational voices covering Hollywood today. I respect the heck out of him. And frankly, we — as in you and I, this community — need his help.

Why? Because what we’re doing here isn’t small; we’re trying to save lives in a moment when an entire generation of trans and LGBTQ youth is being publicly targeted and bullied on the world’s largest stage. And the only way a story like A Still, Small Paw reaches the scale it needs to reach, is with serious help from people inside the system.

People who still believe in the power of movies.

So this video is the open letter I sent to Mr. Rushfield — explaining who I am, why this project matters, and why I’m reaching out to him now, with this level of urgency.

It’s about the crisis facing trans and LGBTQ youth, and the broken, gate-kept systems independent filmmakers face today. It’s about The Hollywood wall, and a dragon sitting on a lot of gold — the challenges of Trumpism/MAGA — and why we need courageous producers, allies and filmmakers to step up.

And it’s about what most of us already know: Stories can change the culture. Stories can save lives — and a new story is what we need now.

Millions of trans and LGBTQ kids, their families, friends, schools, and communities, need that new story. Now is the time to make it happen.

If not now, when??

So if this speaks to you, please watch the video (especially if you’re Mr. Rushfield!) and share it. Leave a comment. Subscribe. Help us amplify its signal. The time is now.

Meantime, thank you for being here. I’m truly grateful. I hope you had an awesome Thanksgiving. See you soon.

— James

Leave a comment

PS. Here’s the video on YouTube:

This week in cold, blustery Boston in front of the historic Old North Church, I filmed a video where, yes, I made the above proclamation: I’m going to make a feature film for trans and LGBTQ youth over the next 2 years, or die trying.

I truly hope it’s a movie and not, like, death, but either way I’ve put the film gods on notice that this is my full-throated promise and Tom Petty-won’t-back-down-way-better-than-a-pinkie-swear commitment.

It’s called, “A Still, Small Paw” and I’m going to create the film in public — step by step — here on Substack and on the Angry Gay Grandpa web series.

Watch the video and let me know your thoughts, please — shoot me an email or leave a comment. Thanks!

Leave a comment

PS: If you want to share, like, or comment on the YouTube video (which helps) here’s the link. j.l.

LAUNCHING: A Still, Small Paw

Today I’m launching A Still, Small Paw — a feature film project I wrote for trans and LGBTQ youth and their families in Middle America. This is a story that will save lives.

WHY THIS FILM MATTERS

It’s no secret that the last few years have been brutal for trans and LGBTQ youth. From my activism, friends, family, and film work, I’ve heard from countless young people across the country who are suffering.

This sucks. It feels like, as a culture, we’re regressing.

According to The Trevor Project’s 2024 National Mental Health Survey:

“39% of LGBTQ+ young people seriously considered attempting suicide in the past year — including 46% of transgender and nonbinary young people.”

“90% said their well-being was negatively impacted due to recent politics.”

Politicians, from state legislatures to the president, have used these kids as a political cudgel. Trans and LGBTQ youth have been publicly bullied on the world’s largest stage. The emotional and physical toll has been devastating.

After the last election, with its loud rhetoric and cynical they/them ads, then this year’s threats from the White House and numerous lawsuits, many media outlets, nonprofits, hospitals, and universities have quietly stepped back from supporting trans and queer youth.

But these kids still need us. Maybe now more than ever.

And while it might seem contrarian to make a feature film about a subject that has become radioactive, I think it’s exactly the right time.

In college, my economics professor gave me this advice:

“When everybody runs, you walk. When everybody walks, you run.”

So today, I’m running.

Above: the video Proof of Concept for “A Still, Small Paw”

WHAT THE FILM IS ABOUT

On his 14th birthday, in a dystopian America, a sensitive boy must convince his veterinarian father to disobey a fascist mandate to euthanize all small dogs, while trying to save his own scrappy little dog and struggling with his true identity.

A Still, Small Paw is a coming-of-age story — and a father’s story — about courage, tenderness, and finding your voice in a loud world that rewards silence.

WHY ME — AND WHY NOW

As a filmmaker and LGBTQ activist, I’ve seen how stories can literally save lives.

My short film Not Losing You garnered over 2 million views on YouTube and TikTok. Judging by the thousands of comments I received, it made a huge impact on trans and LGBTQ youth all over the world.

My earlier plays and films have explored love, belief, and community in Middle America; this project brings those same themes to the kids who need them most at a critical time.

As a closeted teen, I grew up in that world, specifically conservative Christian Virginia. I know its beauty and cruelty; its contradictions, and its heart. This is rich terrain which has rarely been mined in film.

WHAT IT TAKES TO LAUNCH A FEATURE FILM PROJECT

Short answer: Everything.

To start, I’m building a full creative package that includes:

1. The Script

2. A Video Proof of Concept

3. A Pitch Deck

4. A Website

Later, I’ll be reaching out to producers, talent, and collaborators who might want to share in our film’s art and mission.

THE SCRIPT

This screenplay has taken about a year to write and develop. Of all the scripts and plays I’ve written, this screenplay is the one I’m most proud of.

Writing while juggling other projects and development (not to mention, life) is no small feat. When I write, I go all in, 24/7. I enter another world, muttering to myself, leaving notes all over the house, rewriting endlessly. The characters are super real to me and often say and do things that surprise and delight me.

To strengthen it, I sent the script to trusted friends and several coverage services, including The Black List, Shore Scripts, and Script Ventures (Dustin Lee). Their insights were invaluable in shaping the story’s final form.

“Absolutely genius in that it mimics many current sociopolitical issues plaguing countries across the globe, giving it worldwide appeal in a highly competitive feature film market.” — The Black List

“The dialogue remains the jewel in the crown of this script.” — Shore Scripts

THE VIDEO PROOF OF CONCEPT

A proof of concept is a short video that captures some of a film’s tone, imagery, and emotional world; proof that it’s viable as a feature.

The best examples show a single key scene. For Blood Simple, the Coen Brothers filmed the bathroom scene where the private detective (later played by M. Emmet Walsh) shoots, then hammers his fist through the wall to pull a knife out of his hand. It’s an unforgettable scene in a brilliant movie.

But there was no way I could film a scene. I’m out of money. Like, flat broke.

After fundraising, borrowing, begging and spending a lot money on last year’s short film Not Losing You, along with my activism in Pennsylvania (which ended up being a nearly $25K endeavor with lawyers, fees and fines), I had to get creative.

So instead of shooting a scene, I storyboarded key images from the film and paired them with sound and music from existing films and songs that matched the spirit of A Still, Small Paw.

Inspired by Joe Carnahan’s Daredevil pitch reel, I focused on the emotional tone of the film.

You can watch our proof of concept at the video link above.

THE PITCH DECK

A pitch deck is a visual business plan used to introduce potential backers, producers, and collaborators to the project.

Our 17-page deck includes an overview, the concept, script reviews, the social need, audience research, comparable films, and a projected budget.

It’s long because this project demands context. I hope it’ll be more than a movie: I want it to become a lifeline for kids, and a model for intransigent fathers.

THE WEBSITE

The home base for our project is www.astillsmallpaw.com.

A website is essential for any filmmaker today; it’s where people can learn about the film, read about its themes, and contact me directly.

It also includes a private log-in for access to the script, proof of concept, and pitch deck; perfect for producers, investors, and allies who want a closer look.

OUR IMPACT AND VISION

I believe A Still, Small Paw will be more than a film. I want it to become a focusing event, a conversation starter.

My goal is to reach the largest audience possible and for the film to have a lasting impact. But I also want to reach audiences in small towns, schools, and churches in middle America, places where kids often feel most isolated. I want it to spark dialogue about love, empathy, and courage.

I want to remind folks that even in divided times, listening to that still, small voice inside us can change everything — especially for a trans or LGBTQ kid and their family.

NEXT STEPS

After weeks of nonstop work to prepare this launch, I’m ready to move into the next phase: contacting producers and fundraising. Given the current state of the film industry, it’s going to be a heavy lift. But I believe in the power of putting a project out there, and seeing what it attracts from the Universe.

I recently re-watched the excellent film “Almost Famous” where Frances McDormand’s character quotes Goethe, “Be bold and mighty forces will come to your aid.”

I’ve never been more certain about a project than A Still, Small Paw, or more convinced of its necessity — and inevitability.

So here I am, Universe. I can use all the mighty forces and aid you can muster.

WANT TO READ THE SCRIPT OR PITCH DECK?

If you’d like to see more, email me at jim@jameslantz.com and I’ll gladly share a private log-in. I’d love to get your feedback on the script.

If you’re a producer, actor, journalist, or advocate who believes in what our story stands for or the power of its potential, let’s connect.

And if you simply believe these kids deserve better, please share this project with someone who can help make it happen.

Because sometimes the smallest voices need the biggest stories.

Below: pages from the pitch deck for A Still, Small Paw

1

The trauma of our times is the inability to act — or, impotence.

As filmmakers, we carry this wound no less than anybody else.

We’re born oglers, watchers, witnesses. We see so much and we imagine more. We think: If only I could make a movie about this, the world would see something it’s never seen before.

But making a movie is often a repeated exercise in impotence. Unanswered emails. Unreturned calls. Nobody reads. Applications vanish into black holes. The check never arrives. Potential investors sit on our materials, never saying yes, never saying no. Agents? Forget about it. Nobody cares about our movie.

We spend so much time waiting, hoping, pushing — only to end up like the poor travelers in Humphrey Bogart’s café in Casablanca: waiting and waiting for a letter of transit that never comes.

Meanwhile, time — precious time — ticks by. Weeks slip into months, months into years, until a question begins to haunt us:

What if I never make my movie?

2

The first word that makes a movie is “Action.”

And yet, as independent filmmakers the stories we tell are so often about inaction — what can’t be done, what slips away. Deep longings. Thwarted ambitions. Reckonings with frustration.

Impotence has always been one of our richest story sources. The word itself comes from the Latin impotentia: lack of power.

Sometimes, in our films, impotence is overcome — but more often it’s not.

Anora finally gets her golden ticket, only to have it ripped away by a family and a system larger than her. A Real Pain is one man’s inability to change another. Drive My Car is a man’s grief over words he never spoke. Aftersun is a daughter’s inability to save her father, seen only through memories.

On and on the movies go — The Rider, Showing Up, The Sound of Metal — stories of impotence of the body, of time, of grief.

Lee Chandler in Manchester by the Sea says it best: “I can’t beat it.”

Hollywood, by contrast, shouts: “Impotence? Not with my big gun.”

There’s Dexter who kills the ones he believes deserve it. Walter White outwits cancer by becoming a killer and a kingpin. John Wick avenges a puppy with an endless body count. Batman. Deadpool. Travis Bickle. Tony Soprano. Joker. The Bride in Kill Bill. The list goes on — all carrying the same message: violence is the cure for impotence

The philosopher Hannah Arendt once said the reason there’s so much violence in American culture is our inability to act — and so we settle for explosions, gunfights, and vigilantes as substitutes for true agency.

3

Lemme tell you about impotence.

I’ve been a filmmaker most of my adult life. Measured in U.S. presidents, I started about seven presidents ago.

Over the years I’ve made things and had successes. I’m proud of a career made largely off the grid. Living in Vermont I’m about as far away from Hollywood as you can get.

Still it’s heartbreaking to think back on the scores of my unproduced scripts, treatments, pitches and think what could’ve been, what might’ve been. So many readings, trailers and short films produced for the sole purpose of being part of a larger thing. So many enthusiastic starts that would wither and be forgotten.

It wasn’t for lack of trying. The reasons for filmmaking impotence are as numerous and complicated as the causes of cancer.

Last year I learned of a tragedy in a rural Pennsylvania town: at the time, four trans and nonbinary youth had died by suicide. This was a county served by a Republican Senate Majority Whip, a MAGA-aligned state senator known for stoking anti-queer sentiment and pushing numerous anti-LGBTQ bills. Nobody in the local or national press was covering this story.

As a father, teacher and someone with trans family and friends, as well as family and friends who’ve died by suicide — this hit me hard. No kid should ever die by suicide. And yet here was a senator, in his own county, adding to the cruelty instead of responding to it.

I immediately thought: This is a documentary short. This is a story the world needs to hear.

So I requested an interview with the senator. Six times through official channels. Of course he ignored me. But later he even ghosted the parent of one of the kids.

Then another unspeakable tragedy occurred — a fifth trans youth died by suicide. Same county. Five lives lost — and still, nothing.

Once more, impotence was writing in my book.

Then I decided: not this time.

4

Martin Luther King once said:

“If you can’t fly, run; if you can’t run, walk; if you can’t walk, crawl; but by all means keep moving.”

So I did something I’d never done before — activism. I traveled seven hours to the Pennsylvania statehouse, and glued my hand to the railing in the state senate gallery. When the senator appeared on the senate floor, I shouted, as loud as I could:

“SENATOR! YOU ARE CULPABLE IN THE DEATHS OF FIVE TRANS YOUTH IN YOUR OWN COUNTY!”

I have a big voice. I scared the sh*t out of him.

For my act I got twelve hours in jail, a misdemeanor conviction, a $17,000 fine, and a parole officer.

Still, I held the floor of the Pennsylvania state senate for about five minutes — long enough to make sure these kids’ story and legacy would not be forgotten.

Not long afterward their story would reach national media — then hundreds of thousands of people would see it on social media, too — similar to what I would’ve hoped a documentary short might accomplish.

This was a cure for the inability to act — for impotence. It wasn’t a film, but it was action that had meaning and impact. Not glamorous. Not easy. And not without cost — but it was a way forward.

On the night of my arrest when I was frog-marched, hand-cuffed, in front of a crusty old night judge, he asked me what careers I’d had — I told him I was a filmmaker and before that, a high school teacher.

He tried to shame me, “And what would your students think of you now?”

I told him I hoped that they’d be proud of me — proud that I stood up, spoke truth to power, and refused to be silent.

He stared at me. Then set bail at $5000.

5

As filmmakers our ability to act is not going to improve over time.

Sad, but true.

There will be more A.I., more algorithms, more gatekeepers, and less money. The machinery of delay will only grow more sophisticated.

So yes, we’re going to have to live with filmmaking impotence. But here’s the thing: there’s a cure. Our ability to act depends on our capacity to change.

You know this. You’re a filmmaker. When you’re editing and a shot isn’t serving the story, what do you do? You don’t agonize over it for a long time — you cut it. You get rid of it. You move on.

Change is the cure for impotence.

Unless impotence is a conscious choice you’re making (and some people make this choice) — this is the time for action on virtually every front: artistic, social, political. Democracy is teetering. Our industry is in shock. People in power want our voices silenced. Immigrants, LGBTQ youth, trans folks, universities, the climate, free speech, on and on the list goes — all are under siege.

We cannot wait.

Richard Rushfield of The Ankler put it clearly:

“If change is going to come — if boldness, courage and imagination are going to come to Hollywood — it is going to come from outside the studios.”

Then he ended with a rallying cry for filmmakers like you and me:

“It’s all up to you.”

So here’s your challenge: Don’t stall. Don’t wait. Don’t let impotence define you. Find your way forward — fly, run, walk, crawl if you must. But keep moving. Be passionate about life and telling your stories, your way.

Nothing — not life, not art, not film — begins without action.

Subscribe now

Leave a comment

A quick note to share our latest video — it’s my attempt to get the word out to a younger audience about the outcome of my protest in Pennsylvania and the $18,155 in charges from the Keystone State (holy moly!)

A special shoutout to our team: Isaac Prevatt who sketched and animated our dogs, Nico D'Elisa (aka Nico Suave) and Phinn Sonin who voiced the dogs, Keats Overman-Smith who did the narration, and Dillon Tanner our recordist.

Let me know your thoughts — and please share the YouTube link!

Howdy Friends, Neighbors and Supporters!

Last week I entered into a plea agreement at the Dauphin County Courthouse in Harrisburg, Pennsylvania, that keeps me out of jail for protesting MAGA Republican and then-State Senator Ryan Aument for refusing to acknowledge five suicides of trans and non-binary youth in his own county — all within 18 months. I plead guilty to “criminal mischief” and was ordered to pay nearly $17,000 in fines and restitution, plus probation for a year.

Personally, I believe the $17K is grossly inflated and politically punitive — nevertheless, I now have a probation officer and some new debt.

Here are a couple of articles from The Advocate, Penn Live, and Them.

In court, the judge allowed me to read a prepared statement. Since cameras aren’t permitted in court, I re-read that statement at a press conference immediately following the hearing. I also displayed a poster of the graphic below which made the point: Pennsylvania values a chair more than the life of a trans youth.

I was honored to be joined at the press conference by Mark Clatterbuck, the father of Ashton Clatterbuck, the fifth youth to tragically die by suicide from Lancaster County PA. Mark read a heartfelt and profoundly moving statement.

Below is a YouTube video that includes edited news clips as well as an edited version of the press conference including both Mark’s and my statements. If you want to see the entire press conference, unedited, go here.

I share this with you in hopes that this story finds a wider audience, warning our friends, neighbors, and fellow citizens to the dangers of cruel legislation and executive orders that target LGBTQ kids.

If you get a chance, please share the video.

When I got home from Pennsylvania, I ended up eating some bad pizza and was flat on my back for a couple of days. During that time a friend (thank you, DT) created a GoFundMe in my name to help support my activism and continued media work for trans and LGBTQ youth.

As always, I’m super grateful for your support!

Here’s a link to GoFundMe for donations: https://gofund.me/7422ee55

Finally, I hope you’re doing okay given the cruel and crazy times we’re in — hope you’re able to walk in some wet grass, listen to wind rustling leaves, watch a chipmunk pack his cheeks. Summer is good.

I’ll be posting more in the coming months and trying to get media out to trans and LGBTQ youth that supports them, and maybe brings a smile to their face — these kids need our help like never before.

Much love from Vermont!

Jim

PS: As you probably know, LGBTQ youth can no longer call the 988 Suicide hotline and be connected with counselors trained in LGBTQ youth care — more targeted cruelty from the Trump administration. However, the awesome Trevor Project is still there. Here are ways to connect:

Holy moly, WTF is happening to our country??

While many of us have been staggered by Trump’s cruelty and indifference in the last two weeks, as well as Elon Musk’s Treasury Department coup — trans and LGBTQ youth have also been deeply affected. Several of Trump’s executive orders have singled these kids out to have their healthcare and insurance withheld while also criminalizing their providers, hospitals, schools, and teachers.

The bombardment of executive orders has also left some youths in a tailspin, as evidenced by comments on my videos in the last few days.

Here are five:

“I've been having a really tough time … I sadly have Trump-supporting parents. And my mom, who’s been trying recently to understand my identity, agrees with this [executive order].”

“[I know] I should be staying more strong for my friends and that I should stay alive out of spite, but as a trans teen, it's been really trashy seeing how many people don't want me alive. I always knew that it was a lot of people, but I didn't realize it was this bad.”

“[My girlfriend] is worried she will never see her family again because they live in a red state and she doesn’t want to risk getting harmed because of her voice. I’m scared for her. It’s hard to see a reason to keep going. Neither of us see a way out.”

“The world never fails to take my breath away, becoming even colder than it already was.”

“Everyday I'm just scared to look at the news and feel helpless to do anything”

The whole reason I started the Angry Gay Grandpa web series and created the Not Losing You company (and our PSA), was to help prevent self-harm in trans and LGBTQ youth — especially those kids in rural areas and red states.

In order to keep doing that and give these kids some encouragement, I wanted to take Bishop Budde’s example and address President Trump directly — to stand up for these kids and let them know that many people are rooting for them.

In the attached YouTube video, I compare Trump to a walking pandemic who “spreads his disease everywhere.” I liken what he’s attempting to do to trans kids as a “mass conversion therapy.” I tell those kids among the 20,000 subscribers to the Angry Gay Grandpa web series, to stay strong, that they are needed, and to remember the old saying, “This too shall pass.”

You can also see the video at the Angry Gay Grandpa website here.

It’s been a minute. How’re you doing? You holding up okay?

In late November I had surgery on my left leg — my surgeon used a metal brace, screws and even concrete to leave me with an 18 inch scar and a stronger, healthier leg.

When I went into surgery I believed that my doctor was competent and would do a great job; I believed that his instruments were clean and the technology would work; I believed that the twelve people in the operating room that day had my best interests at heart.

Lucky for me and my leg, all of that was true.

However, what if we’re heading into a future where the things that you and I believe — things like justice, competence, fairness, truth, and equality — are baldly marched before us as examples of things that no longer have meaning?

Is it possible that nothing means anything anymore?

To me, this sounds like the very definition of a dystopia. So while I recuperated over the past two months, I read classic dystopian stories and watched some dystopian movies — from Snowpiercer, The Road, Hunger Games, Severance, Black Mirror, a few episodes of The Twilight Zone, The Handmaid’s Tale, Brazil, Solyent Green, Silo, Children of Men, THX 1138, to George Orwell’s 1984.

For good reason, the above movies and shows are all downbeat, cold, depressing, and darned if somebody doesn’t always get beaten up, badly.

But these stories are supposed to be this way, right? Their goal is to critique, provoke and warn us about a society that has gone terribly wrong.

Still, I began to wonder, would it be possible to tell a dystopian story that is warmer and leaves us with some hope. A story that guides us, and maybe heals us. That, like David Foster Wallace said, “…locates and applies CPR to those elements of what’s human and magical that still live and grow despite the times’ darkness.”

So I also spent my time in recovery writing a new film project that, I hope, like “Not Losing You,” has the power to help and to heal, with a focus on trans and LGBTQ youth in middle America.

It’s called “A Still, Small Paw” and I wrote it as a short film (it’s 34 pages long) with an eye toward shooting it later this year and possibly releasing it widely on YouTube. Since our recent project, “Not Losing You” got a combined millions of views on TikTok and YouTube, I’ve been impressed by YouTube’s reach along with the nearly 5000 heartfelt comments we got, mostly from trans and LGBTQ youth. (Interesting fact: as a streamer, YouTube has a market share greater than Hulu, Max, Prime and Disney combined.)

While I was writing, I also tried to find a dystopian metaphor that would work in my story that reflects how trans and LGBTQ youth are feeling (especially after Trump’s harsh executive orders on Monday). Anti-trans legislation, the lead up to the election, and now the executive orders, have taken a profound emotional toll on trans and LGBTQ youth — and they need all the help and support we can muster for them.

The title for the script is taken from the Old Testament quote, “…a still, small voice.”

The log-line is: In a divided world teetering on the absurd, A Still, Small Paw follows the family of a small-town Oklahoma veterinarian as they confront a dystopian government mandate to eradicate small dogs.

**

I’ve got a new hero, and her name is Bishop Mariann Edgar Budde.

It seems yesterday during the inaugural prayer service, Bishop Budde addressed President Trump directly and, “implored him to have mercy on gay, lesbian and transgender children as well as undocumented immigrants.”

If you get a chance, read this New York Times gift article about this incredible moment and watch the video.

Later, when he was asked if he liked her sermon, Trump said, “I didn’t think it was a good service.”

Leave a comment