There are films that want your approval. And then there are films that demand your attention because they refuse to negotiate their existence. Below Her Mouth belongs firmly in the latter category. Premiering to fierce conversation at the Toronto International Film Festival, this unapologetically queer film did something radical in a cinematic landscape still allergic to women’s agency: it centered women—fully, messily, politically—both onscreen and behind the camera.
This is not a story about being palatable. It is a story about being prioritized.
A Film That Refused the Male Gaze
Let’s establish something immediately. Below Her Mouth was not controversial because it portrayed intimacy between women. Queer women’s intimacy has been depicted for decades. It was controversial because it refused to frame that intimacy for male consumption.
Directed by April Mullen and written by Stephanie Fabrizi, the film employed an almost entirely female crew—a deliberate, ideological choice that shaped every frame. The result is not voyeurism. It is subjectivity. The camera lingers not to take, but to witness.
This distinction matters. Cinema has long trained audiences to confuse access with understanding. Below Her Mouth disrupts that habit. It does not invite the viewer to own what they see. It asks them to sit with it.
Putting Women First Is Not Neutral—It Is Political
The story itself is deceptively simple: two women meet, desire unfolds, lives destabilize. But simplicity is often where ideology hides.
The film’s power lies in its refusal to moralize queer desire or domesticate it for comfort. The characters are not symbols. They are not lessons. They are not there to reassure straight audiences that queerness can be tidy, temporary, or tragic.
Instead, the film insists on women as decision-makers—women who want, choose, hesitate, risk, and act. Desire here is not a detour from “real life.” It is real life.
That insistence is feminist to its core. Patriarchy tolerates women as objects of desire. It panics when women are subjects of it.
Why TIFF Mattered
Premiering at TIFF was not incidental. Film festivals are gatekeepers of legitimacy. They determine which stories are elevated to “serious cinema” and which are relegated to niche obscurity.
By debuting at one of the world’s most influential festivals, Below Her Mouth challenged the industry’s unspoken rules. It asked why films centered on queer women are so often expected to justify themselves—to explain their existence in ways straight, male-led narratives never are.
TIFF’s platform amplified the film’s refusal to ask permission. And in doing so, it exposed the discomfort that still greets women-led queer stories when they refuse to soften their edges.
The Backlash Was the Point
Critics were divided. Some dismissed the film as indulgent. Others accused it of excess. But let’s interrogate that language.
When men direct films saturated with desire, they are praised for boldness. When women do the same—especially queer women—they are accused of narcissism. The double standard is not subtle. It is structural.
The backlash revealed exactly why films like Below Her Mouth are necessary. Because women’s pleasure, when framed on women’s terms, still unsettles an industry built on controlling it.
Offscreen Labor, Onscreen Integrity
What truly sets Below Her Mouth apart is the alignment between its politics and its production. An all-female crew is not a gimmick. It is a material intervention in an industry where women—particularly queer women—are routinely excluded from technical and leadership roles.
This choice reshaped power dynamics on set. It altered who felt safe, who was heard, who could take creative risks. The film’s intimacy feels different because it was made differently.
Feminism is not just about representation. It is about labor. About who gets hired, paid, credited, and trusted.
Queer Cinema That Refuses Translation
Many LGBTQ+ films are designed as bridges—carefully constructed to lead straight audiences toward empathy. Below Her Mouth refuses that assignment.
It does not translate queer desire into something familiar. It does not pause to educate. It does not dilute itself for accessibility. And that refusal is itself an act of resistance.
Queer women are not obligated to make themselves legible to survive. Art that centers them should not either.
Why This Film Still Matters
Years after its premiere, Below Her Mouth continues to matter because the conditions it challenged have not disappeared. Women-directed queer films remain underfunded. Female pleasure is still policed. Feminist filmmaking is still treated as a genre rather than a perspective.
This film stands as a reminder that putting women first is not about exclusion—it is about correction. About rebalancing a medium that has long mistaken dominance for neutrality.
A Feminist Reckoning
Below Her Mouth does not ask to be liked. It asks to be taken seriously. It asks what cinema looks like when women are not merely included, but centered—creatively, economically, ethically.
And that question lingers far beyond the screen.
At TIFF, in theaters, and in the ongoing conversations it sparked, the film proved something essential: when women are trusted to tell their own stories, the result is not chaos. It is clarity.
This is what it looks like when women come first—onscreen and off.
