Joychild
An intimate look at young trans lives that's full of hope and humanity.
“Do I really care about what everybody thinks? Yes.”
There are many moments in Aurora Brachman’s Joychild (2020) which take my breath away, but none more than this.
The world is awash with banal advice which nonetheless spreads like wildfire (what we might call the live-laugh-love industrial complex).
Don’t worry about what other people think! You do you!
Which is fine for hermits and psychopaths, and nobody else.
And here is this eight-year-old kid, reflecting on their gender, who is brave and honest enough to admit that actually, yeah, other people’s opinions matter.
Here in the UK, this week served up more depressing reminders that trans people are subjected to a visceral hostility which should embarrass a civilized society.
Trans lives are not abstractions to be turned into point-scoring Tweets. Aurora’s gentle, beautiful film shows us how we could and should be.
Its quiet hope is incredibly powerful.
I spoke with Aurora over Zoom from her home in California. You can see more of her work on her website and her Instagram.
Why did you want to tell this story?
I had been in a relationship with someone for several years, and a couple of years into our relationship, they confided in me that they felt that they might be interested in transitioning.
I was only 21 or 22 at the time, and I wanted to receive them with unconditional love and acceptance, but it was really difficult.
We struggled to communicate, and I struggled to respond in the way that I wish I could have. And so the film was a part of my process to navigate those feelings.
It was an attempt to communicate something to my partner – that I’m listening, I’m trying to understand, I love you. As a filmmaker, it came in the form of this film.
I also feel like I was hoping to provide a blueprint for others about how a really loving reception of this information can look, and sound, and feel.
But honestly I needed that as much as I was trying to give it to anyone else.
The other layer is that prior to entering the film world, I really wanted to be a therapist. I studied psychology in undergrad, specifically attachment theory.
In an ideal situation, a parent is what they call a safe haven for their child. If their parent is a secure base, then the child always knows they can return to them for love and acceptance, and they can feel comfortable exploring the world.
I was really interested in putting this lens on the story of a child who wanted to explore their gender identity.
That’s why the film is bookended by these images of an intimate moment between the mother and child and the rest is the child at play, exploring their environment.
What were the biggest challenges?
It was super challenging to cast.
Obviously parents are protective of their children, especially their gender expansive kids, and the political climate in the US is terrible. It was a tonne of rejection.
I was on Facebook groups and reaching out to my own network – everything I could imagine.
Some people had strong emotional reactions, like you shouldn't even be asking this of a child.
I ended up finding a playgroup in Berkeley where gender expansive kids and their parents meet up at a playground a couple of times a month.
I essentially went to the playground saying, “Hey I’m making a movie and I’m so sorry for showing up like this.”
I was very open and vulnerable about why I was making the film, especially as I identify as a cis gendered woman.
In many ways, building a relationship with someone you’re filming is no different to building a relationship with any person. You need to be kind, genuine, and a good listener.
I come in with a lot of humility and try to express that I understand it’s a privilege that someone would entrust me with telling their story, and that I am in service to them.
What would you do differently if you made the film again?
I would not do anything differently, not at all. I’m not a particularly spiritual person, but when I make films I’m somehow overcome by this feeling that things transpire as they are meant to.
Probably for my own sanity I need to sell myself that narrative, so that I’m not constantly second-guessing the choices I am making, or feeling regret about what didn’t happen.
For me, it’s a lesson in surrender and I just have to have this radical acceptance.
And the things that happen that I don’t plan become opportunities for finding creative solutions that ultimately make my films more interesting.
The one big tragedy of the whole experience happened when I went to change the roll and the film was accordioned in the back of the camera.
I could tell it was destroyed. I was distraught.
But now in the scene with the trampoline, the film starts degrading and there is even one frame of a mother and child on the bed that’s spliced in. It’s this really sweet little Easter Egg, like a little memory or something.
What are you most proud of?
The way that the film has had a really positive, enduring legacy for the family.
To be able to capture that moment and crystallise it is so special. I feel incredibly grateful that the film continues to be so meaningful for them.
I recently made a film with my mom. I spent a year working on it, and I’ve had a lot of interest in it. But less than a week ago I had to turn The New Yorker down because my mom wasn't comfortable yet having it in the world.
That was one of the most difficult ethical moments. It was heart-wrenching. Why do I make films? Who do I make them for?
Ultimately, I pride myself on making sure the people I make work with feel safe and respected.
How did making this film change you?
As a filmmaker, it made me way more intentional about the way I shoot. I’d never shot on film before, and not on a camera as frustrating to work with as a Bolex.
Previously I had a strategy I would call spray and pray, shoot as much as I can and hope I get something good.
Now that’s not at all how I approach my work – it’s always pretty crafted, which doesn’t work for every type of film.
As a person I got some of the clarity I was looking for. I have gone on to date other trans people, and the conversation I was confronting at that time I have continued to navigate with new partners.
I do think I have taken a lot from the experience. It’s not that it’s given me all the answers – like, I will just say what the mom says!
But it’s forced me to hold myself to a higher standard.
I created this piece of work that is presenting something that I believe in, and so I need to practice what I preach in my personal and professional life.
It’s encouraged me to remain committed to this cause, and that’s been a beautiful thing to carry with me.
Thanks to Aurora, and to Jessica Best for editing this interview. And thanks for reading. It’s been lovely to hear from so many of you (although a LOT of pushback on my use of the word “alchemic” in last week’s issue…)
You can always reply to this email or leave a comment if you’d like to get in touch.
Next week, we’re running with the bonfire boys of Naples…