Two girlfriends ride the bus home from the club. It’s late, the bus’s lighting is dim. They joke, they laugh about who they saw and what numbers they got. The bus stops, doors creak and people exit. The bus continues with the stragglers/the partyers/the graveyard shift on board. Girlfriend with the fro is Laura. Girlfriend with the hat is Lee. And from the back, in terms of attire, they could both be boys. When Laura is refused the opportunity to see her best girlfriend home she gets off the bus in a huff, fades into the night. Lee leans back against the window, the lights flicker,or maybe the music comes in came in so slick/ Lee’s face changed so suddenly, that I thought a light flashed.

The camera zooms in and, I don’t know…I dressed cute to go see Dee Rees’s “Pariah,” at Washington’s One in Ten Film Festival, but from that moment I knew my jacket/shoes/face would be coming off. Lee’s jaw fixes (Lee is a gorgeous/ like not even fair to the rest of the world type of pretty), her eyes focused, she takes off her hat. She takes off her oversized shirt to reveal a pink baby tee. She puts on her earrings. And I started to cry/choke/ put my head down. The world is a mountain. And this movie said, ‘move!’

“Pariah,” is a story that’s rarely told/even though I live it. Films often examine the process/repercussions/heart of men dressing like women. This film talks about when a girl wonders whether she wants boxers or panties. It follows the life of a young, Black woman battling her family about her sexuality. If I wasn’t a young, Black woman; I’d still be impressed. But since I am, this film catapults itself into another realm for me. It is revolutionary because it’s never been done before, giving voice to a community that was once silenced.

Seductively sad and ridiculously honest, this film reads like the church family it features. Dee Rees, already on her next project, “Eventual Salvation,” has the antennae of a poet. The director preaches to an audience/congregation and still has the finesse to avoid a didactical or accusatory tone. With every mishap/location/detail/character— from the cute curious girl in the bathroom to the old lady giving looks on the bus— Rees provides every perspective. She delineates obscure/ignored/denied lifestyles by embracing stereotypes in one scene—like opening in a strip club—then flipping the script in another— like when Laura becomes soft, and nurtures her friend in one of Pariah’s most powerful scenes.

— Girlfriend Lee runs to best friend Laura after a fight with her family. Laura with the afro and the baggy jeans lives in what looks like a cave. Laura in the sports bra nurses her girlfriend’s wounds, lays Lee’s head in her lap and rubs her head. While Sparlha Swa’s voice charmed my tears like a snake. The relationship between Laura, played by Pernell Walker, and Lee, actress, Adepero Oduye, is the crux of this film. Their interactions illuminate the rest of the work’s success in challenging/questioning/embracing what it means to be a Black lesbian/dom/ femme/child/girl/friend.—

The topic is sensitive but the characters remain approachable, like you are no longer a member of the laity but a, dare I say it, dyke. At best, strangely akin to a woman who knows who she is. I want a sequel. I want Laura and Lee to fall in love. I want her father to still be an asshole (oh wait! That would make it a movie bout my life). I want her sister to hang out with her girlfriend—and that’s the mark of a great film/ book/meal/ kind of love you rise up in. With Pariah, you are left satisfied, but standing like a dolphin clapping for more.

-- reviewed by jade