Gay Film Festivals are so hot right now. Having sat through weeks of all that is gay and cinematic, much like Carrie Bradshaw from Sex In The City, we got thinking: What are the hackneyed gay film clichés?

TRAGEDY!
Historically Hollywood’s glass closets have stayed firmed closed, since playing gay is supposedly a career breaker. This has less to do with sexuality and more to do with the fact that all gay roles are tragic, in the literal spoon-my-eyes-out-with-a-rusty-fork way, or in the flaming flouncy deep-as-a-pool-of-piss way. Practically all gay characters presented in film and tv are a tragic mix of depressively suicidal or shamefully shallow (apart from in the gay media obviously, they’re still prepared to arse lick John Barrowman’s mumjazz hits because he bats for our side). Enough already!

AWFUL AWFUL CLUB SCENES
Most dance tracks should have sell by dates, after which they should never be heard in public again; typically it is exactly these songs that gay films end up having on their soundtrack which means you can pinpoint to the nearest six months the making of the film. Somewhere along the line, a mum or a fag hag will have the gay scene ‘revealed’ to them. A shady back alley door is opened, or a curtain pulled aside and from the flashy lights emerges the ‘I Will Survive - ’93 Remix’ or an Almighty version of Donna Summer. Pur-lease.

DRAG
The kind of thing that makes Pat Butcher look like the after shot of a particularly subtle and artful Trinny and Susana makeover. Movie drag queens are always several feet taller than the average woman, or done as a lame cover up as the only way to get a job. Drag and Abba formed an enduring love affair stronger than Elton John’s civil wedlock, whilst a drag queen’s lip syncing skills are about as convincing as a bummed out Britney comeback on MTV. Next!

THE WORKING CLASSES
Yes, gay love blooms in the most unlikely places, as – shock horror – the gays are everywhere, even council estates. Film makers go out of their way to beautify these scenes (step one: check the title. Beautiful Thing, My Beautiful Laundrette[pictured], etc.) fulfilling the directorial fantasy about boning a bit of rough. Since we’ve left and can barely remember the nineties, all we have nowadays is Triga films. Obviously they haven’t been to the suburbs of Leeds and tried to pull a chav.