Upside Down, Inside Out and Right Side Up Again
By Laura Watilo Blake
Steven Haworth -- the son, the brother, the husband -- is gone. In his place stands Gwen Haworth -- the daughter, the sister, the wife.
She's a Boy I Knew is a courageous and coming-of-gender autobiography that documents the filmmaker's own personal gender reassignment, and serves as a compassionate resource for those trapped in the wrong body and, especially, for the people who love them.
"Eight years ago, when I came out about my gender identity, I wanted to show my family filmic representations of empowered transgender individuals, along with images of families who had stuck by them through their transition," Haworth says. "However, there's a real dearth of films out there whose target audience are the families and friends of trans folk."
While there are mainstream representations of transsexuals, Haworth explains that they are usually portrayed as disempowered victims, societal outcasts and objects of sexual fetish.
"I definitely wasn't about to bring home Boys Don't Cry or The Crying Game in order to reassure my parents about my upcoming gender transition!" she adds.
She decided to document not only her successful physical transformation from man to woman, but also the, sometimes, painful transition those around her went through during the process.
"Many of them went through the stages of shock, denial, anger, compromise and acceptance," Haworth says. "It's quite natural that people need time to adjust to a gender transition, especially those who have had a long history with you. Even though my family and friends had come to realize that I was the same person within, there was an understandable grieving for the loss of the son, the brother, and husband that they had known and loved."
Despite a failed marriage to the woman he loved, Haworth ultimately developed stronger relationships by finding the courage to reveal the person she closely guarded inside for 23 years.
"I've learned to take big risks -- the most important being the ability to allow myself to share my vulnerabilities with others, and to recognize this as a strength that leads to empathy, mutual understanding and compassion," Haworth says. "It's given me a voice in the world, one that only materialized after I was willing to make decisions based on love, rather than fear."
The entire interview with Gwen Haworth is below the cut.
CIFF: The story about your gender reassignment (She's a Boy I Knew) is such a personal story. What gave you the courage to share it with the world?
GH: Eight years ago, when I came out about my gender identity, I wanted to show my family filmic representations of empowered transgender individuals, along with images of families who had stuck by them through their transition. However, there's a real dearth of films out there whose target audience are the families and friends of trans folk, and to this day, mainstream representations primarily portray trans individuals as disempowered victims, societal outcasts, and objects of sexual fetish. I definitely wasn't about to bring home Boys Don't Cry or The Crying Game in order to reassure my parents about my upcoming gender transition!
It also dawned on me that the trans representations I saw in the mainstream media were all by non-trans filmmakers. Self-representation is a necessary step towards self-empowerment for any marginalized group. So as my transition neared its end and I found that my family and friends were still a big part of my life, I realized I had this amazing opportunity to capture a portrait of a family that had not only stuck it through a gender transition, but had grown closer in doing so.
CIFF: What was most difficult for you during your transformation, versus the difficulties those around you faced?
GH: Change, even when it's for the better, often has an element of loss and letting go of some of the things you truly love. During my transition, my marriage slowly came apart and I found it incredibly hard to lose the intimacy and companionship of the woman (Malgosia) I'd loved so dearly for seven years. Yet, I understood that this wasn't her path and that she equally needed to be true to herself and subsequently move on from our relationship. Still, I mourned her deeply, and with all the other changes simultaneously taking place, I was overwhelmed and fell in to a depression for about eighteen months.
On the flip side, even though my family and friends had come to realize that I was the same person within, there was an understandable grieving for the loss of the son, the brother, and husband that they had known and loved. Many of them went through the stages of shock, denial, anger, compromise, and acceptance. It's quite natural that people need time to adjust to a gender transition, especially those who have had a long history with you.
CIFF: What were some of the challenges in making the film?
GH: Honestly, editing such a personal film for two and half years was an incredibly emotional journey. I spent many sleepless nights working through footage of my family, our vulnerabilities, and the gender identity that I had conditioned myself to suppress for so many years. At the best of times it was extremely cathartic, but it was also quite overwhelming and all consuming.
Of course, another big challenge was self-financing the project as I spent most of my time producing, directing, writing, editing, and sound designing the film. Needless to say, I really didn't have much time to do anything else, and consequently find myself staring at a $90,000 debt load.
CIFF: What has been the response from other festival audiences? Was there anything in particular that surprised you?
GH: So far, the audiences have been incredibly thankful for the level of personal intimacy and vulnerability that I allow to come through in the film. There's also been a big sigh of relief by queer and transgender audiences who really appreciate seeing an emotionally balanced, uplifting, and family centric representation of a gender transition. I think we're all tired of watching films about transgender individuals that leave you feeling depressed and hopeless as you leave the theatre.
CIFF: Do you have any behind-the-scenes stories that our audience might find interesting?
GH: I think many people are blown away by just how loving and supportive the people in my life have been. In fact, Malgosia and her new husband Michael are great friends of mine and Heidi's (my new partner). I actually hired Michael to create the animated sequences seen in She's a Boy I Knew, and while I'm here in Cleveland, Malgos & Michael are off representing the film for me at another festival, in Canada.
CIFF: Do you have an upcoming projects? / What kinds of projects do you hope to work on in the future?
GH: I have a number of projects I hope to start up in the next few years, but honestly, until I get my debt load under control, I really can't justify starting another film. However, the one 'project' I am excited about is that Heidi and I are planning on having children in a year or two.
CIFF: Anything else you'd like to add that our audience might find interesting or that you'd like people to know about you, your family, the film or any unrelated issue?
GH: When making She's a Boy I Knew, I was more influenced by the raw, low-tech, and politically subversive movements of Riot Grrrl and 70's punk than I was by any wave of filmmaking. I purposely made the film DIY, self-funded, and with consumer-grade video equipment in order to encourage others from lower-income communities to pick up accessible cameras and begin filming their own unique stories.
Video is a powerful tool for grass roots activism and social change. It's incredibly important that we get more video cameras into the hands of women and members of 'marginalized' communities, to let them tell their own stories and to hear new perspectives that help create alternative narratives that instill a sense of hope, community, and personal agency.
CIFF: FINALLY, the theme this year is How Will it Change You; How has this film changed you?
I've learned to take big risks, the most important being the ability to allow myself to share my vulnerabilities with others, and to recognize this as a strength that leads to empathy, mutual understanding and compassion. It's given me a voice in the world, one that only materialized after I was willing to make decisions based on love, rather than fear.



