Sara Michelle Fetters: Adriana, what was the genesis for this project? When did you get involved with Pucks?

Adriana Guiman: I came pretty late in the process. Pucks was actually looking for someone to document the festival, and I was recommended by a common friend. I really enjoyed the idea, and we explored multiple storylines that went beyond the festival. That was my approach, but I think Pucks has a better way to describe how things came about.

Mx. Pucks A'Plenty: Part of it was recognizing that we were making history. It's something that we recognized pretty early on, but I just looked around and was like, we need to document this. I was really thinking for educational purposes. We have burlesque schools and academies, and folks wanting to learn as much as they can about burlesque all over the world.

It was like, what an excellent opportunity to create a little behind-the-scenes for our festival! And it could end up in all of these burlesque schools and collections and libraries all over the world. But I made this decision pretty late in the game. It was less than three weeks out. Maybe four weeks out.

SMF: Holy cow! I didn't realize that.

Pucks: Right? I feel really fortunate and blessed. In the Seattle burlesque community, everybody wears multiple hats and has different jobs. They come from different worlds and different backgrounds. Our mutual friend, who goes by the burlesque name Vixen Valentine, is really involved in film and in acting here in Seattle. They connected me with Adriana. It was the best choice. I honestly can't imagine working with anyone else on this project.

SMF: Adriana, what were the challenges of making sure that you could document as much as possible and get things to feel intimate and authentic, yet also let the performers just have their space to be who they are? How do you keep from intruding?

AG: Where should I begin? [laughs] The challenges were first in terms of storyline and how to capture all the stories that were involved in this project. To try to get multiple perspectives in such a short time. We did some filming before the festival, trying to capture as much as possible. There is a sequence before the festival at a dinner where multiple performers were invited, and they were... talking about why they are doing this and why [this festival] is important to them.

This type of small sequence, these small moments, I think, bring very much to the story, because it's not just the show — just what someone would see if they attend the show — but it's behind the scenes. You can hear or listen to these stories and motivations and learn the reason why they were there on the stage.

From a technical perspective, the challenge during each show was to be a fly on the wall and not to intrude. To use as little space as possible while filming in very low-light conditions and dealing with a lot of sounds. Music, crowd noise, all of that.

These were the main challenges. But, above all of that, there was the lack of financing and finding the time to gather a proper crew. I don't know. In a way, this [lack of financing and time] proved to be interesting, because I don't know if having more people in the green room [would] have been more intrusive than it would have been beneficial. The small crew and limited time gave us extra intimacy with the performers.

SMF: From a technical filmmaking perspective, it is impressive, because I have been in the Queer Bar space and the Columbia City Theatre multiple times, and those are not big spaces. For you to be able to film as intimately as you do and yet still keep a sense of perspective and not have the audience become intrusive or stumble over the performers is rather remarkable.

AG: Thank you. It was a team effort, because all the performers, Pucks, everyone who was involved in the project, they knew what we were doing. They just welcomed me and the camera into their family. That was amazing.

SMF: Pucks, you strike me as somebody that doesn't like to hear the word "no."

Pucks: I don't like it. I don't like the word "no." I don't like being told what I can and can't do. I don't like people limiting my dreams, my drives, my determination. I don't like it. What I do is acts of oppressed pettiness. When someone tells me "no" or "that can't be done" or "no one like you has ever done anything like that before," I just smile and nod and I go about my business. I do what I'm going to do anyway.

Part of it is giving people informed consent. If something is going to directly affect someone's day-to-day world, I'm going to let them know that the thing I'm going to do is going to do that. But for the most part, what I'm doing is building my own table. So people telling me, "No, you can't build your own table; you have to take scraps from this other table," or "we already have a table; we would love for you to come serve at our table, not necessarily sit at our table," that doesn't work for me. That needs to change.

What the Funk?! as a festival really started as an act. It was an act of oppressed pettiness: someone saying, "Funk music from the '70s isn't really classic music. You can't do a classic burlesque act to that," and me looking at them and smiling and being like, okay, I hear what you're saying. I don't respect what you're saying, and I'm going to go do my own thing, and not only am I going to go do my own thing, I'm going to elevate Black and Brown bodies and voices as well.

SMF: And create a three-day festival that sells out all three nights.

Pucks: Absolutely, and continues to do it.

SMF: But when you try to distance yourself from what you've accomplished, what is that like for you? Can you take that step back and just watch as an observer?

Pucks: I can't, and I don't think that a lot of folks in marginalized bodies have that luxury to do that, because it's always the next project, the next thing. How do we use this existing project to get our message out there further? How do we put more money in the pockets of marginalized performers? How do I get more sponsors so I can keep doing this work and doing this work well?

Our festival gets bigger every year, and so it's inspiring to sit back and watch. I look at 2019, at our very first run of this festival, and I was still pretty green to producing a festival. This was my first one. When I look at some of the things that I was doing and saying at that time, it's looking into the beginnings of the stronger producer than I am now. I am seeing the little seeds that were planted of me trying to learn how to do that dance, to take control, and to be a leader.

And them seeing that play out before the pandemic? That's the other thing. We didn't know, in 2019. We did not know when this was being filmed, when we were putting it on, that we were not going to be able to do this again, to get everyone all together again like this, for a very long while. We didn't know that burlesque as we knew it was going to change. That the world as we knew it was going to change.

There is this interesting energy when you watch the film of like, "Oh! This is pre-pandemic!" The energy is very bright and hopeful in the film, and we just didn't know. It's pretty fascinating to watch with those eyes. I'm able to watch it with those eyes.

SMF: There's a striking moment in the film where you're talking about venues, and that the gentrification of Seattle is taking away performance opportunities. It's so weird to watch that moment now, because what that comment meant in 2019 has changed significantly in 2022.

Pucks: It's painful. This is the work that we do. Our relationship with these venues is very symbiotic. We need them and they need us. I think back to March 12 or March 13 of 2020 and when we're like, "This is really happening." Seeing the emails come through from the venues that we work with being like, "Hey guys, we're canceling the shows for the rest of March, we'll be back in April," only for that to become, "Guys, we're canceling the shows in April. We'll be back in May." It just kept going.

Columbia City Theatre shut down completely during the pandemic, and that was our home theater for 2019. That was a crushing blow. It was really difficult as a community, as a burlesque community, to see that space shuttered. They just couldn't operate.

But as we come back from the pandemic, it's beautiful that Columbia City Theatre is now owned by a Black man. That's magical. Columbia City Theatre was the only place in the '70s where you could watch blaxploitation film. There is this huge history there, so it's beautiful to see that place come back.

But we've lost a lot of spaces. We've lost a lot of performers, not to death, but because their heart isn't in it anymore. Their life has changed so dramatically. Performers of color were definitely hit harder in the pandemic, and so trying to get those folks to come back and bring this art form back, it's hard.

Seattle continues to change, and Seattle is built around its art. To see almost so little regard for this art right now, and not see any serious action taken to preserve some of these spaces, it's heartbreaking. I'm literally sitting in my car in front of Century Ballroom right now and looking at how dramatically different Capitol Hill is. It's wild.

So it is sad. And it is difficult. So it's interesting to watch that film and talk about losing spaces to gentrification, because the pandemic just accelerated all of that. At that point, with gentrification and with rents skyrocketing, who knew it would get so much worse so quickly? Now it's over the top.

SMF: At the same time, there is this euphoria of this low-budget, local, independent film about something that is passionate and important to you, so vital to you, opening one of the largest LGBTQ film festivals in the country. That has to feel pretty dang special, right?

Pucks: It's really emotional. When I start to think of it, I get really overwhelmed. I've cried a lot about it, mostly because... I don't see myself in the work that I do the way that other people see it. The empowerment that you see that comes with burlesque is really doing this shadow work of, "How much do you love yourself" and "How much do you despise yourself" kind of thing. It's finding that balance and dealing with those issues.

So, it's wild to think about that this my reality. I produced this film, and that's not something that would've been on my bingo card ten years ago. It's crazy!

AG: I'm going to add to that not only did you produce the film but you as a producer made it possible for the film to premiere to Seattle Queer Film Festival audiences. That's amazing. That's a true accomplishment as a film producer.

Pucks: I don't really think about it as this achievement that I did on my own. It's all these wonderful people that are in our sphere, that are in our lives, that believed in this film and believed in this festival. For me, it's like, how do we take this momentum and get more people to see what we're doing and want to give us money so we can keep getting bigger and more amazing? How can we make sure that these performers get paid for what they do? These amazing, beautiful, smart, witty creatives — they're so freaking funny and smart and sharp! I love them all.

Yes, burlesque is sexy, but these folks are so smart about the work that they're creating. How do we get more money into their pockets? Burlesque minimum wage across the country is somewhere between $30 and $50 an act. That's nothing. These costumes cost ten times that. We want to make sure that they can keep creating this art and entertaining us. That's vital.

SMF: Adriana, Pucks is so smart. She has this creative and inspiring energy that can fill up a room. But you also have to make sure that you get all of the voices into the film. How hard was that do to?

AG: It wasn't easy. The first cut was more than two hours. It was definitely complicated, to get that balance.

But it was easy because Pucks has such great message to share, and then the entire community comes together to amplify this message. It was amazing to see this. It's a family, and they do have, in the end, one voice. They fight for the same thing. One of the other reasons why I got involved in this project? This one. Burlesque is family.

SMF: What is it going to be like when you get to see the film in front of a packed audience and you know that they are watching it for the very first time? What are you imagining this moment is going to be like?

AG: I'm not sure. I would rather not think too much about it. [laughs]

I know I will totally enjoy the moment, and I will totally enjoy hearing how the audience reacts. The boohoos and the laughter. But in the end, I think this a film that needs to be seen.

SMF: Pucks, just a couple of final questions to wrap things up. First, what are you more nervous or excited about, actually showing the film, or getting some of your performers back together to introduce and perform before and after the film?

And second, what do you hope the audience is talking about once the curtain closes and the film has come to an end?

Pucks: Honestly, it's seeing the film with everyone. That energy. Being in the room. My performers are freaking lit. They're so good. They know what they're doing. I trust these humans to do what they need to do. I feel blessed that I get to work with these amazing freaking performers.

The audience? I want them to be talking about how they're going to come to every single burlesque production that is ever, ever happening in Seattle. I want folks to be like, how do we get involved? How do we get money into these people's pockets so they can keep doing this work?

But I also want people to leave understanding, damn, racism really is everywhere. It is everywhere. The access that people of color have to spaces that they can thrive in are very limited, very limited. I want them to want to come see Pucks and their productions. I want them to feel a need to put more money in the pockets of these incredible performers. That would be wonderful.

We still have so much work to do to create these inclusive environments for marginalized people to thrive in. Hopefully, a film like this can start conversations.