Clocked Tells a Poignant Trans Story Made in Miami

For filmmaker Noah Salzman, creating his feature film Clocked was a case of writing what you know — and what he didn't know, he learned from consulting his surrounding community of actors. Salzman, who's been based in Miami for about two decades, wrote a queer Miami story made with queer Miami performers, and on Trans Visibility Day, it's screening here for the first time, at Coral Gables Art Cinema.

Clocked follows the story of an 18-year-old boxer from a conservative family who begins to question their identity and finds mentorship and acceptance through the local drag scene. The performers themselves are queer and bring their own histories to the narrative. The film's lead actor, Germain Arroyo, is nonbinary, and Salzman says they not only "brought literally everything to our film" but that the actor came out to them smack-dab in the middle of their callback audition.

"It was like going on this almost autobiographical journey with Germain playing Adolfo," says the filmmaker. "There were things that they did for the first time on screen that they hadn't even done yet in real life."

Take the scene in the film where Adolfo tries on dresses for the first time: "There was such an emotional gravitas in the room that we made it a closed set — just me, Germain, the DP, and a boom — and we let the camera roll for fifteen minutes as they tried on these dresses and all of the emotions that came out of that were 100 percent real. There was no direction given at that moment."

Salzman wanted to ensure Arroyo felt comfortable and able to be vulnerable on set. "It was divine timing when we cast Germain, as they were personally going through their own internal conflict," says Salzman. "A year earlier or a year later, the performance would have been completely different, but they were in that specific space of self-discovery and willing to be vulnerable like that. We even made sure that after emotional scenes, they could take a breather, like when Adolfo puts on lipstick for the first time. Obviously, it was directed and scripted, but the tears and emotion that came with that moment were real."

Adolfo's character finds comfort in exploring their identity within the drag scene. It's not a conflation of "transness" and "drag," but rather a realistic mirroring of the way many trans people (some that I personally know, including myself as a trans writer) are able to explore and understand their own gender through drag.

Those opportunities are particularly important in places like South Florida, where queer spaces are disappearing. "With the limited number of queer spaces that do exist," says Salzman, "the places [where] you feel safe are essential." In Clocked, that home is Villain Theater, where he performed comedy for years and which regularly hosts drag shows today.

"So many of the people I met in the arts community and at Villain who were queer were always so vibrant and funny and outgoing, but once you get to know them on a deeper level, you discover that a lot of them found outlets like this because they weren't accepted for who they were in their religious Catholic Hispanic homes," Salzman explains. He was also struck by the way many of these queer spaces are built directly across from churches. While many people believe queerness and faith don't intersect, the filmmaker took an interest in characters who embrace both.

"Look at Cleo, played by Armand Fields, and the scene where she says a prayer before going on stage. That was not in the script — it was supposed to be a pep talk — but Armand said that was something they did sometimes." Salzman also notes Fields — a nonbinary performer best known for their work in recent shows like Work in Progress, The Chi, and Queer as Folk — was also able to make their role loosely autobiographical. "Cleo is their actual drag persona. They actually asked if they could play a slightly fictionalized version of themselves, even handing a card that says 'Armand Fields' to Adolfo in the film. It's not a fake card, that's just what they had in their bag."

For Salzman, diverse individuals like Fields and the film's other drag performer Jasmine Oolong (played by Daniel May, who gets one of the film's best monologues) serving as mentors for Adolfo was simply a reflection of the communities in which he grew up. "I was never in any strictly white rooms as a child, being born in L.A. and moving to Chicago and then Miami. In all of the stories I write, I just try to have these diverse spaces because that's the community I was around. I also find it interesting to see how different cultures go about handling different societal topics, so for Adolfo to receive their information from so many viewpoints was important to me."

One of the film's heaviest threads involves a missing trans woman (played by South Florida trans drag artist Kat Wilderness) and the local community's navigation of her disappearance, with characters actively faced with the reality of existing as trans in a hostile state. Says Salzman, "I thought it was important for Adolfo, as someone who's done very light research on being trans, to understand the dangers associated with transitioning and the rates of trans people that are killed. It was for them to have a direct association with the real world rather than just looking things up online and for them to still know they want to go through with this. They can look at that happening and still feel safer being open in this community rather than just staying closeted at home."
It's easy to question whether or not a self-identified "straight ally" should be diving into this terrain, and Salzman is well aware of that skepticism. "I wanted to tell this story authentically and needed to rely on my actors, who have lived experiences like this, to catch me when I was faltering," he says. "Being on a whole bunch of sets with bad directors taught me a lot about what not to do, and it gave me the mindset: you're a director, not a dictator."

Nearly four years after Salzman shot the movie, conditions have not improved for trans people in Florida, with the government attempting to erase our existence entirely. The director is upfront about what it means to screen the film these days: "I want to show this in as many places in Florida, and beyond, as I possibly can. This type of story matters, and just because you erase the 'T' in LGBTQIA+ on your website doesn't mean trans people don't exist. They will always exist, and I think the more places you can show [the film] in states that specifically try to outlaw trans people, the more you should.

"In places where the general audience is unaware but afraid, it gives you an opportunity to open that door to education for people," he adds. "Some of the people most impacted by our film have been older white people who came up to us after the film and said they needed to call their kids or grandkids that they hadn't spoken to in years because they 'didn't understand their choice,' but after seeing the film they understood them more."

Salzman says younger trans people often flock to Germain Arroyo during Q&As to share their own experiences. "I want the theater to be a safe space for people to fully experience their emotions," says the filmmaker.

"There was this trans theater worker in Atlanta who asked if they could give me a hug after the Q&A because the film opened up old wounds for them in a way that will allow them to heal. For someone to feel vulnerable enough to think that we are safe people to share this information with means a lot, and, in this political climate, I want trans people to have a film that's about acceptance and love."

Clocked. 8 p.m. Monday, March 31, at Coral Gables Art Cinema, 260 Aragon Ave., Coral Gables; 786-472-2249; gablescinema.com. Tickets cost $12 to $13.75.