I Hate How We Talk About I Saw The TV Glow
It is hard to say whether or not I Saw The TV Glow is actually one of the most talked about films of the year, or if it is just because the queer and film circles I roll in can’t stop talking about it. Starting with its festival run, the film has only picked up steam since being released in theaters and now onto TVs themselves via VOD. As such, I haven’t gone a day without someone asking me what I thought of the film — not because of who I am, but what I am.
I Saw the TV Glow has been heavily praised — especially for its directing, visual style, and soundtrack — but if there is one common criticism of the film, it is the increasingly bleak tone that culminates in what many have called a “disappointing, nihilistic ending.” Personally, I am unbothered by the dark tone. In fact, I much prefer it to the countless paint-by-numbers coming out stories or sugary-sweet fares like Billy Porter’s Anything’s Possible.
Because if anything, I Saw The TV Glow is the inverse of a coming out story, focused on the horrors of living a lie, even from yourself. It’s a scared gay (as opposed to “scared straight”) PSA if you will. On paper, this should be a film that I love — or at the very least, appreciate — but it’s not. It’s also not even a story that I can relate to, which certainly puts me in very sparse company as a trans woman.
Sure, there are superficial details of I Saw The TV Glow that are extremely familiar. I was an escapist kid who did everything I could in a house with no locked doors to avoid my family. I used to race home from school to watch tapes of Adult Swim that I had recorded the previous night before my parents got home and could see what I was watching. I escaped my hometown and lived out of my car for a period, which is where I had the time and space to learn about myself — eventually accepting that I was trans. Hell, I work in a movie theater now. Plenty of fragments of this film happen to overlap with my personal life, but pieces do not make a whole, and I still don’t connect with this core of the movie. It leaves me with some strong feelings but not the feelings so many seem to be sharing.
People don’t need to (or at the very least, shouldn’t need to) see themselves in the mirror of the TV screen to be invested in or love what a story is about, but this movie certainly feels like it wants you to see your reflection. If I can be hyperbolic for the funsies, I’m not sure I’ve ever seen a movie that is more obviously about one thing. This film is reaching out a helping hand to trans people and future trans people to say “I know it’s been hard. I see you.” Despite the obviousness, somehow a lot cis people totally missed that point, but whatever, this isn’t about them.
The helping hand has worked. The reflection has been seen. Trans people by and large are calling this film a triumph. I’ve seen them cry leaving the theater. I’ve read at least one review on Letterboxd of someone who came out as trans because of it and I’m sure that was the first of countless others. This has been such an important film that several people I know straight up refuse to say anything negative about this film publicly — knowing that to do so would either provide ammunition to people who blast it simply for being queer, severely hurt the feelings of people they love, and/or bring upon the wrath of the defensive army of trans people who refuse to allow even the smallest bit of negativity related to this film any oxygen. There’s no benefit when speaking negatively can either send the wrong message to studios who are looking for any reason to not make any more trans films and/or ignite backlash from people who see criticism of this film as a personal attack.
For me, there is no satisfaction in being negative about this or any trans film, but this piece isn’t a review of I Saw the TV Glow. It’s a review of how we talk about I Saw the TV Glow.
I’m not sure whether I Saw The TV Glow was aiming to wear the crown as THE definitive trans film with the aided reach of being an A24 film, or if it was put there by those who celebrate it. Both could be true but the latter definitely is. Discussion of this film is often paired with incredibly intimate stories, which makes analysis feel incomplete. It’s apt, as the movie ends so abruptly because so many people are still figuring out so much about themselves and their own stories. The grim life that Owen has lived is obviously hellish, but why is it? Why is this a horror movie in the first place? Because coming out is scary, right? Yeah, in the immediate sense but if we are being honest, and I mean really honest — it is because being trans is scary.
I Saw the TV Glow isn’t about coming out as trans, it’s about the fear of coming out as trans. But stopping the conversation there does a disservice to both the film and the material reality of so many trans people. Saying that “coming out as trans is scary” is like saying “getting stabbed is scary.” Being stabbed isn’t really the scary part, it’s what comes after. It’s the pain, the bleeding, the possible infection, the scarring, the potential that a limb may won’t be as strong as it used to be. Maybe it’s that breathing will never not hurt again, or perhaps it’s as simple as being afraid of dying in a matter of minutes.
Make no mistake, part of coming out as trans absolutely requires facing the fear of knowing the whole truth about oneself, but that’s nothing compared to the nightmarish world that surrounds all trans people. Everyone knows the danger of being trans in society even if they aren’t out as trans. Will they stab you and will it hurt? We already know the answer is a loud, resounding, “YES.”
I Saw the TV Glow and Jane Schoenbrun’s previous film We’re All Going to the World’s Fair are both deeply interested in the internal struggle. In both films, there is not a lot of the world at large within the worlds of the films. They are isolated characters in lonely worlds, and in all honesty, these are the kinds of stories a lot of folks need right now. With the number of eggs that cracked open during the quarantine era of the pandemic when everyone had nothing else to do but sit with the thoughts they had been keeping on the back burner and endlessly scroll on the internet — these interior trans stories are the exact kinds of films for our time. Lacking the larger scope of severity (which in fairness, I don’t think either of these films are attempting to explore), the harshness of the world is embodied by a distant father (or father figure) in both films, which gives the horror a vagueness that I personally feel undercuts what is actually scary about being trans.
But then again, if you want to scare people into coming out, the last thing you want to do is front-load them with all the real shit. And again, still, this is why the discussions surrounding this film feel incomplete. We’re stopping at the acknowledgment that “there is still time” without acknowledging what that time will bring. Online spaces aren’t devoid of toxicity, but they’re far less scary than the walking world. This is why so many people are “out” online but stealth in the real world, which leaves many people in a kind of purgatory — often for years — because it is easier and safer to be out online where community exists, rather than face the world … possibly alone.
Ironically, going outside is a pretty significant albeit understated bit of advice in both of Shoenbrun’s films, but one that too many folks are ignoring in favor of delaying the inevitable discomfort. By all means, dear reader, come out at your own pace — but if we’re going to hold a movie to a standard of “groundbreaking art,” then we need to dissect it like it is. And yes, given its relatability to so many — that will require discomfort.
The time and function of the titular glowing TV is one of the most interesting aspects of the film, rooting the film in the analog age — long before the prevalence of online havens where trans youth could find each other and themselves. The sharing of information wasn’t much easier during the void that was the Bush era than it was in the ’90s, though, and much of this movie is about a bygone age in which we pick and choose what elements shape our memory, as is the convenience of nostalgia.
Later this year, it will have been 15 years since I came out as trans and that isn’t something that a lot of people can say right now, especially those close to my age. I’ve been reflecting on what that means, trying to determine if I’ve gleaned anything after all these years that might help people, and attempting to catalog my trans experience from a time before we recorded/documented everything. Coincidentally this is exactly within the timeframe before Owen completely shut down and cast aside the hope that “there is still time.”
Do you want to know what things might have looked like for Owen had he cut himself open and looked at what’s inside sooner?
Well for me, my father never spoke to me again. I lost all of my friends, some gradually, others instantly. I was unemployed for years because no one would hire me, not even for entry-level, minimum-wage jobs. I sold speakers out of a van in parking lots because concealing my transness behind remote work wasn’t a thing yet. I did what so many other trans women do and entered the world of sex work as a means of survival. I wish I’d been able to pursue it out of passion and not desperation because I was damn good and sex workers are badasses.
When I finally found a job, I was making $100 a week under the table. My apartment was in a part of the city deemed “dangerous.” I spent roughly 5 years living off of rice, potatoes, and the occasional $5 hot-and-ready pizza on the rare occasion I had more than $13 to my name. To make rent, I lived with a revolving door of other rejected queers I met through my local LGBT center. Some of them stole my money (and underwear). One of them destroyed my hormones after they were evicted — hormones that I could only get after seeing numerous therapists who tried to “cure my transsexuality” because when I came out, being transgender was still classified as a diagnosable mental illness.
Some of these greatest hits in the immediacy of coming out (and there are plenty more) left larger wounds than others, but are you starting to see why I’m so frustrated with the discussion of this as a horror film ending with the threat of self-realization today rather than the eras the movie is set it?
I want to be clear for those who missed it the first time — this isn’t about I Saw The TV Glow itself, it’s about the Dan Savage-ass “It Gets Better” platitudes about how coming out sooner rather than later is the only option. Yeah, lying to yourself about who you are may make you feel like a husk — but that’s between you and God or whatever. Unlike Owen, I did come out at a young age in the 2000s and it brought me misery. Unlike the company that comes with the misery of watching I Saw the TV Glow, I came out in a lonely world where I had to do everything myself out in the public square for everyone to see.
As dystopian as it is that so many trans people today need to crowdfund treatment or bills just to survive, that option wasn’t even a thing when I came out. The hells I had to deal with had nothing to do with dysphoria or any internal struggle about my body because I wasn’t able to disassociate for a day, let alone years that could disappear in the blink of an eye. My existence was hanging on by such a slim margin for error and the really fucked up thing about all of this is that I don’t feel like I’m even allowed to express these feelings or discuss what it was like to be trans “back in my day” because I know it’ll only end up like the ending of Day of the Locust and I’ll be ripped apart like Donald Sutherland by other trans people who accuse me of tragedy sparring or discounting their struggles when all I’m doing is sharing my lived experience. I’m not saying I “had it worse,” I’m saying that I experienced a different kind of misery that is being lost to time. There isn’t as much documentation of what it was like to be trans in that era, and those of us from that time don’t get to share our stories — ever.
Everyone wants to argue about whose Hell is hotter but my idea of Hell is yet another week of ceaseless bickering between children saying “If you didn’t transition while you were in your teens you might as well just kill yourself” followed by a retaliation thread saying “If you’re over 30 and trans post a picture so everyone can see how hot you are.” We are stuck in an endless loop where a bunch of typically white, indoor kids (and make no mistake, that IS what defines the trans experience since the pandemic started) are loudly perpetuating petty, high school bullshit rather than actually doing anything meaningful like helping each other. It’s like fighting over whether kink or bisexual girl’s boyfriends should be allowed at pride — but we get to have this discourse year round.
I am 33 years old. In another few years, I will have been out as trans for longer than not. So much of what goes into my gender presentation is so routine that I don’t even think about it until someone else gives me a reason to remember. But so many would-be peers want to stay lost in The Pink Opaque despite knowing it is a children’s show for children. I fear there has been far less inter-community progress than there should be because we’re so fixated on “second puberties” regardless of what anyone’s age actually is, and clinging to Ikea sharks (or whatever visual stereotype you want to imagine here) instead of moving forward. Don’t get me wrong, I will welcome anyone to our community, but I will not talk down to you like we’re 13 (unless you are 13) because I’m a full adult and I’m so tired of me and trans people as a whole being stuck sitting at the kid’s table.
No matter how much time passes, I can’t help but feel like we are, as a whole, stuck at the exact moment the knife enters and twists again and again — where we are unable to look past what coming out means, let alone heal. I Saw The TV Glow is a coming out story. The People’s Joker is a coming out story. The Matrix was a coming out story. The goddamn Christine Jorgensen Story was a coming out story in 1970.
In all fairness to these specific filmmakers, they made undeniably trans films and that goes far beyond the “every movie is a miracle” saying since so much is stacked against them compared to some random cis white guy. Honestly, the most commendable thing about each of these stories is how personal they are (especially The People’s Joker). They’re taking ownership of their perspectives and visually — or sometimes textually — using a lot of “I” statements. But many viewers glom onto these stories as a universal sensation to speak for us. The downright venom I have seen some trans people direct at those who dare to merely present an additional read of I Saw The TV Glow is counterintuitive to actually processing the film as art. I would even go so far as to say it teeters on being anti-trans because of its inflexibility towards new ideas and explorations in favor of a droll, rigid singularity that all transness should be “like this.”
Shut out the world for a second.
There is so much unnecessary pressure (and backlash) to trans creatives making something personal because what they are doing feels like it needs to represent everything but simultaneously only one thing — and that is a liferaft in a storm for people who need to feel seen. There has literally never been more knowledge, resources, representation, and lifelines for trans people and we should be able to use them to move forward, but so many instead stay tethered to these flights of fancy where we tell ourselves that everything is okay and coming out still feels good. They lock themselves into the euphoria of seeing The Pink Opaque for the first time, unable to accept that it has been off the air for quite some time and they need to move on.
This piece isn’t about trans filmmakers or the art they make, this is about me and how therapy wasn’t enough for this conversation.
Is it better to come out sooner or later? The answer is neither because being trans is scary no matter when you come out. I came out early and the trans-specific grant that would have supplemented me to tell the kind of trans story I want to see didn’t come through, because I was “too old.” Wasn’t old enough when I came out to have a house, or a 401k, or a career, or even a fucking savings account, and now I’m “too old” to tell trans stories. I applied to join a program for trans people trying to work in the film industry and again, I was told I was “too old.” All I can say from my experience is that if you want to achieve something — it will be so much harder after you come out. I don’t believe the closet is an inherent constraint because sometimes it’s for your own safety. Look out for yourself in whatever way you need to.
The grass is always greener but if I can get really raw — I’m not convinced that sooner is necessarily better. Don’t get me wrong, I don’t hate myself or my body or anything like that and I haven’t for a very long time. But I am still waiting for that trans joy I’m always seeing people talk about. I’ve been here for 15 years and I’m still waiting for that “a-ha” moment where hormones will allegedly provide some fabled new clarity. I’m still waiting for my body to make some kind of meaningful change. I’ve changed prescriptions, dosages, and doctors and I’m still waiting.
When someone dies, people usually say “At least they aren’t in pain anymore” and maybe that’s the difference. It’s less about joy and more about killing off the life that was suffering to enter the neutral state that cis people live in that feels so much better. I’ve heard countless accounts of people tearfully recounting how they would be dead without transitioning and how it saves trans lives (don’t let anyone ever tell you it doesn’t), but I can hardly remember the honeymoon phase of it all because it has never stopped hurting.
I might be a miserable old fuck but there are a lot of things I love with my whole heart. I love my wife. I love listening to and supporting indie bands. I love sharing dinner and drinks with friends. I love pro wrestling and would die for Thrussy (Google them). But I’m more likely to recognize myself in the music of Jim Steinman or Jeff Rosenstock than the self-reflection of SOPHIE or Transgender Dysphoria Blues. (Although I do still love pre-White Crosses Against Me!) I guess what I’m saying is that my joy is as unrelated to being trans as my not-so-daily recommended dose of suicidal thoughts are.
When you’ve been out as trans for as long as I have, you eventually stop having these watershed moments. The first time you take hormones, shave your chin hair, go out in public dressed a certain way, or what have you — they won’t be milestones anymore. The firsts eventually stop and certain aspects of queer growth cease to be exciting or new — and that isn’t a creeping threat of nihilism or apathy, it’s just a healthy aspect of life moving forward.
We don’t need to be stuck in this endless loop of coming out in an attempt to maintain a constant state of achieving euphoria. By definition, euphoria is an elevated state, not a constant one, and the end goal should be contentment. Even without this high and all of the shit I shovel, I still did it all and I’m still here. That speaks for something even if it’s not the inspirational story folks would prefer it to be. Like The Pink Opaque itself, I want to think that I Saw The TV Glow will one day be a film that some people will graduate past while others hold it close as an essential part of their own lore.
But I’m already there and the ice cream man has been selling soup for a long time.
