Gay Christmas Returns: My BFI Flare 2025 Diary

It’s that time of year again — my favourite LGBTQ+ event. And yes, I still stand by it — even better than Pride. In London, they call it Gay Christmas, and if you’ve ever been to BFI Flare, you’ll understand why.

There’s nothing quite like it. For 10 glorious days, the BFI Southbank becomes the unofficial living room of London’s queer community. You don’t even need a ticket to feel the buzz — just show up, grab a coffee, and let the chance encounters unfold. Friends you haven’t seen in a year appear out of nowhere — like magic. There’s laughter, hugs, catch-ups, and of course, lots of passionate film chat.

And yes, the ticket panic is still real. Films sell out within minutes, and the short programmes? Good luck. But somehow, Flare always rewards the persistent. Between rush tickets and the surprise online midday releases on the day of, the universe seems to conspire to get you into the screenings you need the most.

The Trailer That Got Me Every Time

One of my favourite parts of Flare every year is the trailer — and 2025’s did not disappoint. It features a remix of Donna Lewis’s “I Love You Always Forever”, and honestly, it still rings in my head.

There’s something about that chorus — “I love you always forever, near and far, closer together” — paired with flashes of intimacy, longing, and connection on screen, that made it feel like a love letter to our entire community. Every glance, every touch, every joyful dance — it all hit harder with that dreamy beat pulsing underneath.

I found myself rushing into screenings just to catch it, like a little ritual. And each time, as the opening notes started playing, I felt the whole room soften. It felt like a collective breath — like being held, seen, remembered. That trailer reminded me why this festival means so much —  it’s not just the films; it’s the feelings they stir, the togetherness they ignite. It’s the celebration of queer love in all its messy, beautiful forms. It’s the permission to feel everything, together.

Every night, cycling home along the Southbank and over Tower Bridge — headphones in, that song on repeat — I’d replay moments from the films, or snippets of conversations I’d had with others at the festival. Someone crying quietly behind me during a short. A friend whispering, “Loved that.” A stranger complimenting my intensely marked up programme and then launching into a full review of Manok before we’d even order a drink.

These in-between moments are what make Flare feel like home. That bridge between screen and real life, between fiction and community. The trailer captured that feeling perfectly: a montage of not just films, but of connections. And every time I hear that song now, I’m right back at BFI Southbank, heart full.

Watch it above — just be warned, you’ll have it stuck in your head for days.

A Queer Line-up Worth the Wait

This year’s programme brought the usual mix of the heartfelt, the hilarious, and the deeply political — all through a distinctly queer lens.

Among the feature films, I found myself captivated by Wedding Banquet, a gorgeous tribute to queer family dynamics. A remake of the 1993 Oscar-nominated classic, this updated version breathes fresh life into a story I first encountered in the ‘90s — one of the rare gay rom-coms I could get my hands on back then. The 2025 take expands the lens to include queer women’s experiences and subtly highlights the financial burden many queer people face when trying to start a family. It’s funny, tender, and quietly political in all the right ways.

​Lake View is a comedy about a group of queer women who’ve known each other since high school and are still slightly haunted by their shared entanglement with a Shane-esque heartbreaker. It's a film full of unresolved feelings, inside jokes, and lingering glances — the kind of story that rewards a queer audience with layered humour. Also, a rare and refreshing bonus: not a single cis man in sight.

Hot Milk, adapted from the novel of the same name, is one of those quietly intense films that leaves you needing an immediate debrief. Without the book’s inner monologue — and given most Brits’ aversion to emotional transparency — it becomes a game of picking up cues and “reading the room” to catch the deeper story. Thankfully, after ten years in London, I’ve had some practice. As soon as the credits rolled, all I wanted to do was talk to the friend who’d read the novel — and before I knew it, two more groups of friends had joined our table to unpack the film together. Those spontaneous post-screening chats? That’s the kind of group therapy I live for.

Queens of Drama was one I had circled in advance — a friend who caught it at the London Film Festival told me I had to see it. And she wasn’t wrong. This one has all the makings of a future cult classic (unless the subtitled format puts people off — but I hope not). It’s a love story between France’s sweetheart — a pop star who wins a reality singing competition like ‘French Idol’ — and her punk boi girlfriend, told through the eyes of an obsessive groupie. The result is a deliciously over-the-top, hyper-stylised rollercoaster that had the audience laughing, gasping, and fully along for the ride.

But the film that truly stole my heart was Manok. Set in South Korea, it centres around an older lesbian who runs one of the city’s oldest remaining lesbian bars. Feeling dismissed by a younger generation of queers who don’t seem to value the history or the battles that came before, she leaves the city and returns to her rural hometown — where, awkwardly, her ex-husband is now the mayor. 

It was one of the most beautiful films I’ve seen in a long time. I didn’t even notice time passing — I was completely absorbed. It balanced comic moments with deeply moving portrayals of stigma, rejection, and the slow, delicate process of rebuilding trust. At its core, it’s about community: showing up for one another, even after years apart, and remembering what we’re really fighting for. I’m not Korean, but I felt a profound connection to the characters and their struggles. It’s the kind of story that reminds you how universal queer resilience can be.

Shorts That Never Disappoint 

As always, the short film collections were a goldmine of fresh queer voices. 

In the “To Your Souls: Shorts from the UK” series, Before I Do was a charming and funny standout. It follows a British Indian bride getting ready for her wedding, battling a classic case of the pre-ceremony jitters — but for reasons that aren’t quite what we’re led to believe. A clever little twist, delivered with warmth and humour.

In “The Flame of My Resistance”, White Glass Globe stood out as a quietly moving Iranian short. It captures rare moments of joy and connection between Afghan and Iranian teenagers — something I’ve never seen depicted on screen before — and beneath that tenderness lies a heart breaking reality: the film gently reveals the struggle faced by stateless Afghan in Iran and the risks they have to take. 

The “Queer and Now” programme delivered some of the rawest, most urgent stories of the festival. Home, in a world assumed past the AIDS crisis, was utterly heartbreaking — a stark reminder of the lengths queer youth go to just to feel warmth, safety, and care in an often unforgiving world. Blackout offered a sobering look at sexual assault and abuse within a relationship, challenging assumptions about what harm looks like. Both films left me breathless — shaken, tearful, and deeply moved.

On a lighter (and sweatier) note, the “Sporty Spice” programme was a joy to behold. We’ll Go Down in History, a documentary about trans footballers from TRUK United, was inspiring in all the right ways. I left feeling deeply grateful for the folks in our community who dedicate their lives to making the world a more inclusive place — one pitch at a time. Even more special was seeing some of the people from the film in the audience that night — I felt so lucky to be able to thank the founder of TRUK United in person. Solers United offers a glimpse into one of London’s many queer women’s football teams. They’re part of a vibrant, tight-knit community often hidden in plain sight, so I loved getting a little snapshot into their world through this charming short. These weren’t just stories about football — they were about belonging, resilience, and reclaiming space together.

It’s this balance — the tender and the unflinching — that defines so much of what Flare does best.

Documentaries to open our eyes 

You can always count on Flare’s documentaries to introduce you to queer icons you didn’t know you needed in your life.

Peaches Goes Bananas was an absolute riot — full of punk energy, juicy behind-the-scenes chaos, and that unmistakable Peaches flair. I had no idea about her sister’s struggle with MS, and I’m really grateful that artists like her use their spotlight to shed light on this disease and the toll it can take on families. The film featured plenty of wild performance footage — a brilliant reminder of just how fearless she’s always been on stage. Still, when the credits rolled, I was left wanting more — like we’d only scratched the surface of who she is beyond the spectacle. As a proud Canadian, I can say she’s absolutely a national treasure. I’ve seen her perform everywhere — from intimate venues in Toronto to massive shows in London — and every time, she’s wicked, electric, unforgettable.

In true Flare fashion, I accidentally wandered into NFT1 and ended up watching The World According to Allee Willis — and honestly, I’m so glad I did. I was shocked that I’d never heard of such a queer icon before. How is that even possible? People like her need to be celebrated, and I’m so grateful her wife made this documentary so we could all finally see her in full technicolour. Not only was Allee the genius behind hits like “September” (Earth, Wind & Fire) and “I’ll Be There For You” (yes, the Friends theme song!), but she was a wildly creative force of nature — like a one-woman Andy Warhol. She painted her house pink and blue, threw legendary parties, and documented absolutely everything.

The documentary was lovingly crafted by her wife after Allee passed away, pieced together from thousands of tapes, home videos, and treasures they found. You can still visit the house — for now — but it’s heart breaking to think that such a vibrant piece of queer history might soon be lost. I spoke to many people after the film, and they too had never heard of her — which just made us all the more grateful for Flare, and for the power of queer cinema to spotlight our hidden icons.

I don’t know how they manage it every year, but BFI Flare always feels like a beautifully queer miracle— one that brings us together not just to watch films, but to feel like we are part of something bigger than ourselves.

If you missed out this year, start planning early for next. And if you were there, I hope your heart is still as full as mine is.

Just like the trailer’s dreamy remix promised — near and far, closer together — Flare reminds us that queer love always finds its way home. And for ten days each year, so do we.