Acquired by Netflix just after its premiere at Sundance in January and streaming as of June 19th, Disclosure: Trans Lives On Screen is an in-depth examination of the representation of transgender people in media, specifically on film and TV. All of its interview subjects are trans, nonbinary, and/or queer people in media who reflect candidly on the impact these representations of trans people have had not just on their own lives, but on society’s perception of trans and nonbinary people at large.

This film was released during one of the most difficult Pride Months in recent history, amid a global pandemic that prevented people in the LGBTQ+ community from celebrating their queerness in the streets, plus another epidemic — the murder of countless Black people (including trans man Tony McDade) by police — which has forced Black people into the streets to defend their right to simply be alive in this country. The film also happened to come out just days after author JK Rowling released a firestorm of anti-trans tweets, then published an essay on her website doubling down on her hateful “opinions.” All of this is to say that Disclosure is an incredibly timely and important film, perhaps in more ways than even the filmmakers could have anticipated.

The first thing that struck me while watching Disclosure was the novelty of seeing so many trans people in a single film. As its interviewees touch on again and again, the opportunities for trans actors are scarce, and often, seeing even one trans person on screen is noteworthy. Watching a film about trans issues told entirely from a trans perspective (including that of director Sam Feder) shouldn’t be revolutionary, but it is — especially since we are so used to watching trans stories as told by, and played by, cisgender people. 

Not knowing much about it going in, what I expected from this documentary was a deeper dive into the ongoing discussion of whether or not cis people should play trans people on screen. It’s a conversation that’s been going on for years, yet no matter how public the discourse becomes, we are still seeing cis performers make the same mistakes; just this past weekend, Halle Berry revealed she was planning to take on the role of a trans man (a decision she has since rescinded and apologized for thanks to the resulting social media backlash). For the record, I already know where I stand on this point, which is where I believe anyone paying attention should stand: in order to encourage real representation and open up opportunities for trans actors, cis actors should NOT play trans characters. Period. 

What surprised me about Disclosure was that this conversation, which is all but endless on Twitter, is just one small section of the film. Disclosure’s broader concern is the fact that for the average American, transness on screen is the only kind of transness they’ve ever interacted with. The film drops the following statistic at its start: 80% of Americans don’t know a single trans person in real life. To me, a twenty-something artist living in Brooklyn, this is a startling percentage, but to people in Middle America and in small towns across the country, it’s just reality. Thus, all of these Americans who’ve never known any trans people are left to form perceptions about them based solely on the trans characters they see on TV or in movies — many of whom, until very recently, were written and played by cis people without any understanding of what the trans experience is actually like. 

I don’t think I need to tell you that this is a huge problem. And it doesn’t just go back to the early days of film, when crossdressing men were played entirely for humor (because what’s more hilarious than the absurd idea that anyone would ever want to be a woman?). It persists in more insidious ways: that trans characters are often cast either as victims or villains, that the most common profession trans characters are depicted as having is sex work, and that a trans character’s disclosure — the moment they reveal their transness — sees other characters, often the story’s supposed heroes, reacting with repulsion. 

These representations do not just affect the way cis people see trans people, but also the way trans people see themselves. Almost every trans interviewee in the film has a story to tell about the media they consumed before, during, and even after transitioning — characters that haunt them and scenes they witnessed as children that still fill them with discomfort and shame. 

Director Sam Feder manages to weave together a compelling history lesson out of these deeply personal interviews. The film gets into the nitty gritty of trans representation throughout the years, from the problematic nature of The L Word’s Max Sweeney, television’s first ever trans man series regular character, to the disturbingly common trope of cis characters vomiting when a trans person discloses their transness. We learn about the way transphobia and racism have been wound up in each other since the days of D. W. Griffith’s The Birth of a Nation, and the troubling consequences white America’s historically racist ideas about Black sexuality have had for Black trans people. 

Disclosure also touches on the very recent evolution of media with the presence of well-rounded trans characters brought to life by incredible trans writers and performers. The stories told by the film’s interviewees brought me to tears more than once, not just for the pain of their experiences, but in joy for what success they’ve found, in knowing how tirelessly they have worked to carve out a place for themselves in an impossible world. But as good as it feels to celebrate every triumph, the film is clear that there is still a lot of work to be done, and not just in media representation. Educator and filmmaker Susan Stryker puts it this way: “Having positive representation can only succeed in changing the conditions of life for trans people when it is part of a much broader movement for social change. Changing representation is not the goal. It’s just the means to an end.” 

Needless to say, Disclosure was a real learning experience for me, and I recommend it not just for people who don’t quite have a grasp on the subject of trans representation, but also for people who already consider themselves active allies. We can never learn too much, and we can never stop doing the work to uplift the trans community.

Get started by checking out this list of Black-led queer & trans organizations, and donate if you can.