A drag queen sits alone in her home, out of drag, in the dark during some of Syra McCarthy timely film, After What Happened at the Library. In terms of my own personal experience, I have only dated one drag queen, but seeing a queen’s personal space bathed in darkness felt so alien to me. I am used to texture, color, and sparkle, but this space is quiet and subdued for a reason. Based on star Kyle Casey Chu’s actual experience, Library captures the volatile, terrifying moment a lot of queer and trans artists are living through. This is not just about a dangerous protest but about its aftermath. How trauma lives in our bodies and threatens to tear us down from the inside.
As Akita YaHeart was preparing for her Drag Story Hour, she was heartened to hear that families were eager to attend. This kind of story time has been an easy target for far-right and right-leaning groups for years now, but their shortsighted attacks are linked to a long history of how conservatives try to degrade queer folks.
Akita has received backlash on multiple fronts. People barge into the library right when she’s about to begin reading, but anonymous Instagram users have been packing her inbox with hateful and threatening message so much that it extends Akita’s experience. McCarthy hurls these screenshots at the screen, creating a compilation so overwhelming that anyone watching will feel a flood of fear. One message shows Akita’s house on Google Maps with the phrase, “Is this your house?”
When Akita interviews with a sympathetic journalist, she has the chance to be heard on her own terms. Notice how even her makeup and hair are darker than the bright blue she wore when she was ready to read at the library. Chu os such a compelling presence, their face telegraphing not just fear but understood, tangible heartbreak. In a time when facts are constantly under attack, McCarthy doesn’t just confront but hits back with assured emotional truths.
After What Happened at the Library is playing virtually through October 12 on Out On Film’s programming.
