For two years in a row, I have attended Sundance Film Festival world premieres for trans films that made me decide to finally get top surgery in 2025. As a Latinx, queer, trans nonbinary storyteller, I know intimately that trans representation in the media inspires hope for many LGBTQ+ people and allies, even as Donald Trump and Project 2025 attempt to erase us from existence.
Trans people have always been here, and we have always found ways to transmute our grief and rage into something beautiful. In the Sundance world premiere of the Tig Notaro-produced Come See Me in the Good Light, poet Andrea Gibson’s own rebellious legacy puts the spotlight on this comforting truth.
Before director Ryan White’s documentary, I had never heard of Gibson, the charming queer nonbinary poet laureate and cancer survivor from Calais, Maine, whom their partner (fellow poet Megan Fally) calls “the gay James Dean.”
But by the time the credits rolled, I would have invited the still very much alive Andrea and Megan over for dinner if my home wasn’t thousands of miles away.
At the film’s start, we learn that Gibson’s fragile immune system is no match for COVID; isolating at home has become the norm for several years. Andrea deeply misses being on the road performing, but test results indicate Andrea’s ovarian cancer is rapidly spreading. In the days that follow, Andrea and Megan ride the rollercoaster of experimental treatments and setbacks, using humor to bond and move forward.
While Andrea initially wanted to end their relationship with Megan when they were first told they had cancer, the couples’ unwavering love for each other turns every heartbreaking moment of the film into something equally beautiful.
I’ve never laughed so hard at a cancer story before; Andrea’s passionate, comical, and profound perspective on mortality reinforces that joy is a tool you can use to give healing to yourself and others, even in the darkest of times.
As the film progresses, we see Andrea reconcile having a terminal illness, a history of mental illness and suicidal ideation, and internalized bigotry. Their trademark radical sense of humor serves as a protective container on even the hardest days.
What struck me the most while watching their story unfold is that instead of accepting their medical team’s suggestion that they stop treatment after an “incurable” diagnosis, Andrea doubles down on experimental trials. After years of confinement, Andrea makes their dream of performing again for their fans come true—despite knowing this may be the last time their supporters will ever see them alive.
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Just as the prophecy foretold.
Andrea’s poetry has a unifying message: you must feel all your feelings in order to grow and heal, even when it’s hard. How you process your emotions is key to surviving and thriving, despite this world not being designed for us.
As a nonbinary storyteller and journalist who worked closely with TIME100 Honoree Imara Jones on TransLash Media, I know more than most about how and why trans people are dying at alarming rates.
The work was often heavy, weighed down with the sobering statistics we reported on, and punctuated by DMs on TransLash’s social channels from trans people in crisis: folks sharing photos of themselves after being violently attacked in hate crimes, terrified about losing family support, their jobs, healthcare, and housing, and sometimes expressing suicidal ideation.
I was the voice online who replied to these messages with all of the love and referrals I could give; interactions that led to me enduring many private tears and sleepless nights. My half decade with the org, a nonprofit with a mission to tell trans stories to save trans lives, both fed my spirit and decimated my mental and physical health.
I am still in recovery from it.
I never expected to laugh along so much with a fellow chronically ill, nonbinary person up on the big screen at Sundance this year, but I did. My joy spilled over into my K95 mask from my seat in the theatre, awestruck.
Throughout the film, Andrea overcomes one traumatic event after the another with hope and humor, firmly grasping onto life with tattooed hands. Just in my own circles, I know of at least 10 trans people who can directly relate to this experience, down to the faded ink on their middle fingers.
Come See Me In The Good Light, and the related song they co-wrote, is just another dimension of Andrea’s thought-provoking, brilliant artistry. At multiple points in the doc, Andrea shares that their overall quality of life became fuller; richer, and afforded more opportunities to cherish each moment in the present. Even one minute alive is a gift. Against all odds, Andrea remains in control of their own destiny; a powerful message for trans people and any person who is being dehumanized by systems designed to destroy them.
Andrea’s courageous journey to seek the truth of all things, no matter how scary and uncertain it may feel, is a theme that also resonated in my soul at Sundance in 2024 at the world premiere of I Saw the TV Glow.
While trans director Jane Schoenbrun’s psychological horror film is a work of fiction and Come See Me in The Good Light is a documentary, both films have further propelled me on my own gender journey that culminated in my first-ever top surgery consultation last fall, with my resolve to complete my gender-affirming surgery in 2025 cemented after experiencing Come See Me in the Good Light at this year’s fest.
At the end of the Come See Me In The Good Light premiere, I was too overcome with emotion to move.
Trans stories do save trans lives and representation matters. I am living proof, and so is Andrea, a survivor of the ovarian cancer that they continue to fight, and of a country and a current administration that doesn’t recognize our humanity.
Despite everything, Andrea remains truly alive; they rebel with heart and grit by sucking the marrow from the bones of life, alchemizing it into joy and hope that they freely share with their loved ones and the world, even as their own government continues to betray them.
At the end of the Come See Me In The Good Light premiere, I was too overcome with emotion to move. From my seat, I felt proud tears welling up in my eyes after witnessing a nonbinary rebel and activist transmute what was once self-loathing and buried emotions into magical foresight & unrelenting hope: a powerful medicine for LGBTQ+ people and allies who feel sickened by the disease that is systemic hate, upheld by elected officials who in so many ways celebrate our deaths.
I walked out of the theatre into the cold, snow-covered streets of Park City ready to face the chilling unknown on my own journey to honor and protect my trans nonbinary body in 2025 and beyond.
This film was exactly what I needed to see, at exactly the right time. I was reminded that even as we die and pass on to the next plane, many of our legacies as trancestors will comfort and empower future generations.
Trans immortality flourishes through the opposite of generational trauma: generational healing. It is our birthright in a world that doesn’t want us to exist.
And through our own writing, art, and stories for all screens, we create possibility models of trans humor, strength, and hope that can shine bright, everlasting.♦
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