From Taboo to Triumph: 60+ Years of Must-Watch Trans Films

06/06/2025

Author:

Olha Rybak

Olha Rybak (she/her) is Fiorry’s Chief Editor, where she executes and operates in a writer, editor, and content creator capacity. At university, she studied the English language and literature but found that she loved psychology almost as much. Olha is an industrious content creator and committed team leader. Her academic background gives her a unique view of the complex aspects of how people act and communicate. As a hobby, Olha also translates literature, which she passionately reads and seeks out stories by which she’ll be completely absorbed.

Lights down, screen up—let’s talk about trans films that have shaped hearts, challenged norms, and sparked conversations. Whether you’re here for trans characters that leap off the screen, trans actresses rewriting Hollywood’s rules, or movies based on true stories that honour real resilience, this list is a love letter to the trans community and its allies.

This selection is deeply personal. Like all the best-of roundups, it’s subjective—but these films aren’t just good.” They’re lifelines. Some made me laugh, others made me sob, and a few (looking at you, Dog Day Afternoon and Boys Don’t Cry) reshaped how I see humanity. From trans women owning their narratives (Paris Is Burning) to trans men carving space in hostile worlds (Southern Comfort), these stories guided my own journey toward understanding identity, love, and the messy beauty of trans dating.

You’ll find grit and glitter here: documentaries about trailblazers and rom-coms defying stereotypes. Some centre women who are in the margins; others celebrate men rewriting masculinity. What unites them? They’re not just films—they’re mirrors, windows, and doorways.

So grab popcorn (or tissues) and dive in. Your watchlist is about to get a whole lot brighter.

Why Transgender Representation in Film Matters

Seeing yourself on screen isn’t just about entertainment—it’s about survival. For the transgender community, representation in film is a lifeline. When a transgender woman lights up the frame, a young trans man recognises his own struggles in a character’s journey, or a story about FTM or MTF experiences defies stereotypes, it does more than entertain. It shouts, You exist. You matter.

Films hold a unique power to shape how society views gender identity. For decades, Hollywood reduced trans lives to punchlines, villains, or tragedies. But when movies center transgender voices—like a transgender boy navigating adolescence or a young transgender woman claiming her truth—they rewrite harmful narratives. These stories challenge audiences to see beyond binary boxes, fostering empathy and dismantling ignorance. Imagine a closeted teen stumbling onto Paris Is Burning and feeling their first flicker of pride, or a parent watching Southern Comfort and finally grasping their child’s journey. That’s the alchemy of cinema: it turns pixels into possibility.

Nuanced portrayals also celebrate the full spectrum of trans lives. A transgender woman isn’t just her transition; she’s a sister, a lover, a hero. A young trans man isn’t defined by his body; he’s a poet, a rebel, and a dreamer. Films like Mutt and Tangerine refuse to flatten these identities, offering messy, joyful, and achingly human stories instead. Even flawed films can spark change—think of Boys Don’t Cry forcing mainstream audiences to confront anti-trans violence or Disclosure unpacking decades of Hollywood harm.

But this isn’t just about “awareness”. It’s about belonging. As one anonymous viewer once told me, “The first time I saw a character like me, I didn’t feel alone anymore. I felt possible.”

Ready to explore stories that do more than entertain? Let’s dive into this list together—because everyone deserves to feel possible.

PR Manager

Olena Kosonogova

Representation saves lives. It’s that simple

Movie Magic: How Some Like It Hot Quietly Redefined Acceptance

Let’s start with a classic: Some Like It Hot (1959). Of course, everyone knows this beloved comedy—a riotous tale of two musicians (Tony Curtis and Jack Lemmon) forced into cross-dressing to escape the mob. Disguised as women, they join an all-female band, leading to mistaken identities, slapstick chaos, and Marilyn Monroe’s iconic performance.

But here’s the twist: while there are no explicit trans people in the film, it’s the bizarre romance between millionaire Osgood Fielding III (Joe E. Brown) and Lemmon’s drag persona, Daphne, that steals the show. Yes, it’s played for laughs—Osgood’s relentless pursuit of Daphne is pure farce. But buried in the absurdity is something radical. When Daphne finally reveals “her” true gender, Osgood shrugs it off with the legendary line, “Well, nobody’s perfect!”

For the author of this article, that moment is revolutionary. In 1959, a movie dared to suggest that love could transcend rigid gender norms. Osgood—a cisgender, ostensibly heterosexual man—doesn’t care that Daphne is “really” a guy. His affection isn’t conditional; it’s a manifesto of serene acceptance. While the film isn’t about trans people, Osgood’s blasé reaction feels like a quiet nod to queer possibility. If he were alive today, you could easily imagine him Googling “trans near me” with the same open-hearted curiosity.

Sometimes, progress hides in the punchlines.

Characters in the Shadows: The Haunting Allure of Black Rose Mansion

Black Rose Mansion (1969) is a fever dream of obsession, identity, and desire. Set in a lavish Tokyo cabaret, the film shows a wealthy businessman enchanted by Rei, a mysterious performer whose gender-fluid allure blurs the lines between masculinity and femininity. As secrets unravel, the story spirals into surrealism, weaving themes of power, betrayal, and societal hypocrisy.

While not explicitly framed as a TG narrative by modern standards, Rei’s character—a young trans woman navigating a world obsessed with ownership—offers a provocative glimpse into gender nonconformity in post-war Japan. The film’s bold visuals and melodramatic tension mirror the chaos of its characters’ inner lives, challenging rigid norms long before mainstream conversations about gender identity began.

Worth watching for its haunting atmosphere and audacious commentary on performative identity, Black Rose Mansion feels ahead of its time. It’s a cinematic oddity that dares to ask: Who gets to define who we are?

People in Revolt: Funeral Parade of Roses (1969)

Toshio Matsumoto’s Funeral Parade of Roses explodes Tokyo’s underground queer scene onto the screen, centring Eddie—a fierce tgirl played by transgender icon Peter—as she navigates a chaotic love triangle between her boss and his jealous lover. Blending avant-garde visuals, mockumentary interviews with transgender characters, and psychedelic chaos, the film follows Eddie’s rise as a bar madame and her clashes with rival drag queens and gangs.

Eddie’s raw sensuality and unapologetic existence as a trans person defy 1960s taboos, while the film’s mix of campy theatrics and gritty realism spotlights transgender people and women thriving in the margins. Matsumoto doesn’t just document queer life—he weaponises it, turning Eddie’s body and story into a rebellion against societal norms.

A groundbreaking ode to self-invention, Funeral Parade of Roses remains a riotous, essential slice of queer cinema history.

A Girl’s Quiet Rebellion: I Want What I Want (1972)

Roy, stifled by societal expectations of masculinity, escapes to live a new life as Wendy—a trans girl clawing for selfhood in a hostile world. Though cast with a cis actress, Wendy’s raw quest for trans identity pulses with quiet urgency. Rejected by her biological family and mocked by strangers, she navigates fleeting connections with new friends, mirroring the isolation many young people face during gender transition.

The film avoids modern terms like gender-affirming surgery, focusing instead on Wendy’s fragile acts of defiance: a stolen dress, tentative steps into the world as herself. Flawed yet groundbreaking, it’s a window into early attempts to portray trans issues.

For those tracing the roots of trans cinema, Wendy’s resilience—though fractured—reminds us how far we’ve come and how hard-fought every inch of progress has been.

Sometimes, just surviving is a revolution.

Women in Transition: My Dearest Senorita (1972)

My Dearest Senorita follows Adela, a 43-year-old Spanish spinster who discovers she is intersex and begins living as Juan. The film’s protagonist—played with aching vulnerability by José Luis López Vázquez—navigates societal scorn and rejection and a tender romance with Isabel, all while grappling with his newfound identity.

Set against Franco’s repressive Spain, the film quietly rebels. Adela/Juan’s journey isn’t just about medical transition; it’s a poetic meditation on selfhood. Though framed through the lens of intersexuality (a term rarely explored then), the story resonates with broader women’s struggles for autonomy in a world that polices bodies and desires.

Worth watching for its Oscar-nominated bravery and nuanced humanity, My Dearest Senorita is a time capsule of resilience. It’s not perfect—modern viewers may bristle at dated terminology—but its heart beats with timeless questions: Who gets to define us? And at what cost?

Women at the Heart of Chaos: Dog Day Afternoon (1975)

Based on a shocking life story, Dog Day Afternoon follows Sonny (Al Pacino), a desperate man who robs a Brooklyn bank to fund his partner Leon’s gender-affirming surgery. Leon, a transgender woman (played by Chris Sarandon), becomes the emotional core of the film—a main character whose needs highlight systemic neglect of trans healthcare.

While the heist spirals into a media circus, the film never sensationalises Leon’s identity. Instead, it frames her struggle with aching humanity, exposing how society fails women like her. Pacino’s frenetic performance as Sonny—equal parts flawed and heroic—mirrors the chaos of a world that drives marginalised people to extremes.

Dog Day Afternoon isn’t just a thriller; it’s a protest. By centring Leon’s dignity amid the madness, it asks: Who gets to be called “human” in a broken system?

A masterclass in tension and empathy, with one of cinema’s most raw portrayals of love against the odds.

Care is revolutionary—even when it’s messy.

Change of Sex (1977)

A teenager flees a violent home, seeking solace in Barcelona’s streets as María. Bibí Andersen’s debut captures the fragility and ferocity of a soul fighting to exist. The film doesn’t flinch from depicting the brutality María faces—rejection, exploitation, a world that refuses to see her humanity. Yet in stolen moments—a shared cigarette with fellow outsiders, a defiant glance in the mirror—her resilience flickers like a match in the dark.

Though rooted in its 1970s context, Change of Sex transcends time. It’s a stark reminder that survival often means carving space for yourself in a world that denies you air. Andersen’s María isn’t a martyr; she’s a quiet revolutionary.

El transexual (1977)

Lorna, a cabaret star in 1970s Spain, hides her past to protect her romance with a wealthy lover—all while quietly pursuing gender reassignment surgery to align her body with her truth. A journalist’s snooping threatens to unravel her carefully crafted life, forcing Lorna to confront shame and societal scorn. The film veers between telenovela camp and earnest drama, framing her struggle with unexpected empathy (for its time).

Yes, it’s messy—overripe with melodrama and dated tropes. But Lorna’s defiance, whether belting onstage or facing down bigots, crackles with raw humanity. A flawed relic, yet a defiant spark in Franco’s shadow.

The Place Without Limits (1978)

In a crumbling Mexican town, Manuela, a trans woman running a brothel, battles the suffocating grip of machismo. Her life collides with Pancho, a hypermasculine politician’s son whose violent desires threaten her fragile world. Directed by Arturo Ripstein, the film is a searing indictment of toxic masculinity, painting Manuela’s resilience in stark contrast to the rot around her. Her defiance—whether confronting Pancho’s cruelty or protecting her found family—is both heartbreaking and heroic. Though unflinching in its brutality, the film finds poetry in resistance.

La Cage aux Folles (1978)

Renato, a flamboyant drag club owner, and Albin, his star performer, face chaos when their son brings home his fiancée’s ultra-conservative parents. Cue panic: hide the sequins, tone down the camp! What unfolds is a riot of mistaken identities and heartwarming chaos, as love—both romantic and parental—triumphs over prejudice. The film’s genius lies in its balance: biting satire of homophobia, paired with unabashed celebration of queer joy. This trailblazing comedy didn’t just inspire—it proved queer stories could dominate the mainstream, one feather boa at a time.

A Man Called Autumn Flower (1978)

By day, a lawyer plotting to assassinate Franco’s ally; by night, a drag sensation named Autumn Flower. This audacious Spanish thriller weaves political rebellion with gender rebellion, as the protagonist’s double life becomes a metaphor for resistance under fascism. Every lip-synced performance is a middle finger to tyranny, every clandestine meeting a dance with danger. The film’s boldness is staggering—imagine Cabaret meets V for Vendetta, but with more glitter.

In a Year of 13 Moons (1978)

Fassbinder’s most personal film follows Elvira, a trans woman abandoned by her lover post-transition, as she drifts through a cold, predatory world. Flashbacks reveal her coerced surgery and exploitation, while present-day scenes depict her clinging to shards of connection—a slaughterhouse worker, a homeless child. Fassbinder’s lens is unsparing, framing her agony in stark, clinical shots that mirror societal indifference. Yet Elvira’s humanity pierces through, even in despair. A harrowing howl against systemic cruelty and proof that Fassbinder’s genius lay in making us feel injustice, not just see it.

Vera (1986)

Inspired by Brazilian trans poet Anderson Bigode Herzer, Vera follows a young transgender man fighting for dignity in a brutal correctional facility. Ana Beatriz Nogueira’s award-winning performance captures the ache of self-discovery amid violence as Vera navigates hormone treatments and bonds with fellow outcasts. The film’s unflinching gaze at institutional cruelty contrasts with tender moments of solidarity—a scribbled poem, a shared cigarette. Though semi-biographical, it transcends Herzer’s tragic life story, becoming a universal anthem for trans creators claiming their truth. A raw gem that blends poetry and protest, proving resilience can bloom even in concrete.

Paris Is Burning (1990)

This iconic documentary feature immerses viewers in NYC’s ballroom scene, where Black trans women and queer visionaries redefine family, fame, and survival. Through archival footage and electrifying interviews, the film charts the birth of voguing and houses like LaBeija—a chosen family for those rejected by their biological family. Dorian Corey, Pepper LaBeija and Venus Xtravaganza command the screen, their wit and vulnerability underscoring the high stakes of living authentically in a hostile world. A joyous, heartbreaking ode to ballroom’s legacy—where “realness” is both armour and art.

The Adventures of Priscilla, Queen of the Desert (1994)

Climb aboard a glittering bus with two drag queens and the fiercely elegant trans woman Bernadette (Terence Stamp’s iconic role) for a cross-country road trip across Australia’s sunbaked outback. Campy, heartfelt, and dripping with sequins, the film balances disco-fueled spectacle with moments of raw humanity—Bernadette mourning lost love, Mitzi grappling with fatherhood, and their shared quest for belonging. Its anthem of chosen family over blood ties still resonates decades later, while the ABBA-heavy soundtrack remains pure, unapologetic euphoria.

All About My Mother (1999)

Pedro Almodóvar’s kaleidoscopic melodrama traces nurse Manuela (Cecilia Roth) as grief propels her from Madrid to Barcelona, where she collides with her ex-lover—now a transgender sex worker—and the irrepressible Agrado (Antonia San Juan), whose barbed wit (“Authenticity is expensive, darling!”) fuels a legendary monologue on surgeries and survival. Almodóvar laces All About Eve homages and Tennessee Williams-level theatrics into a whirlwind of maternal ache, weaving in a pregnant nun (Penélope Cruz) and an addictive actress (Marisa Paredes). Amid candy-coloured chaos, Agrado’s raw confession—detailing her costly transformation—becomes a rallying cry for self-made identities. A camp-soaked, tear-streaked tribute to women and the messy alchemy of chosen family.

Boys Don’t Cry (1999)

This was the first trans-themed movie I ever watched—and it shook me to my core. Based on transgender man Brandon Teena’s murder, Hilary Swank’s Oscar-winning performance captures his desperate hope and fragile charm, even as violence looms. Yes, Swank isn’t a trans man, and today, the role might go to a trans actor. But her portrayal remains searingly honest, a window into the isolation and euphoria of living one’s truth. I still hesitate to revisit it—the brutality is crushing—but its unflinching humanity makes it essential. A harrowing milestone that forced mainstream audiences to see trans lives as worthy of grief, rage, and remembrance.

Hedwig and the Angry Inch (2001)

John Cameron Mitchell’s cult musical roars to life with genderqueer punk rocker Hedwig, born Hansel in Cold War-era East Berlin. To escape oppression, Hansel undergoes a botched sex-change surgery (leaving the “angry inch”) and marries an American soldier—only to be abandoned in Kansas once the Berlin Wall falls. Channelling rage into glam rock anthems like Wig in a Box, Hedwig forms a band with fellow misfits, chasing stolen glory after her protégé/lover Tommy Gnosis steals her songs. Mitchell’s raw performance—equal parts snarling humour and wounded poetry—peels back Hedwig’s sequined armour to reveal a search for wholeness, riffing on Plato’s myth of split souls. The climax? Hedwig shedding her wig, literally and metaphorically, to embrace her fractured self. A genderfluid storytelling masterclass—chaotic, cathartic, and screaming with heart.

Southern Comfort (2001)

Kate Davis’ documentary trails Robert Eads, a trans man in rural Georgia battling ovarian cancer after being denied care by dozens of doctors fearing “professional scandal”. Surrounded by his chosen family—fellow Southern trans outcasts—Robert faces mortality with wry humour and grace, even as his body fails. The film unflinchingly exposes healthcare inequities (doctors’ prejudice, insurance loopholes) but shines brightest in quiet moments: lovers slow-dancing, friends tending goats. Robert’s final wish? To attend the Southern Comfort Conference, a trans gathering where he’s hailed as a pioneer. A tender, infuriating testament to trans community strength—and the urgent fight for dignity.

Beautiful Boxer (2004)

This groundbreaking Thai biopic chronicles Muay Thai champion Parinya Charoenphol (played by real-life kickboxer Asanee Suwan), whose journey from a rural boy to a fierce fighter funded her gender-affirming surgery at 18. Known as Nong Toom, Parinya battles opponents in the ring and societal stigma outside it, embracing her identity as a kathoey—a Thai term for gender-nonconforming or transgender people. Director Ekachai Uekrongtham blends brutal training scenes with tender moments, like Parinya defiantly applying lipstick before matches. The film climaxes with her emotional farewell fight, where crowds chant her chosen name—a victory beyond trophies. Post-boxing, Parinya thrives as a model and actress, cementing her legacy. A raw, triumphant ode to athleticism and self-discovery, proving fists and femininity can coexist.

Tomboy (2011)

Céline Sciamma’s delicate gem follows 10-year-old Laure (Zoé Héran), who spends a summer in Paris presenting as Mikaël—cropping hair, stuffing swim trunks, and joining soccer games. Héran’s performance is a marvel of subtlety: shy grins, fumbled lies, the thrill of being called “he”. Sciamma avoids labels, focusing on childhood’s fluidity—Mikaël’s joy splashing in lakes, panic when secrets unravel. A subplot with a supportive sister adds warmth, while the parents’ confusion mirrors real-world tensions. A childhood gender exploration tale so tender and specific, it feels universal—reminding us that selfhood often blooms in summer’s fleeting freedom.

Tangerine (2015)

Sean Baker’s neon-drenched comedy throws you into a whirlwind Christmas Eve in LA with trans sex workers Sin-Dee Rella (Kitana Kiki Rodriguez) and Alexandra (Mya Taylor). Fresh out of jail, Sin-Dee discovers her boyfriend/pimp cheated—cue a chaotic odyssey across doughnut shops and dive bars to confront him. Shot entirely on iPhones, the film pulses with raw energy, blending slapstick humour (a chase involving a wig and a stolen fish) with moments of aching vulnerability. Baker casts trans women of colour in lead roles, refusing to sanitise their lives while celebrating their resilience.

Disclosure (2020)

This searing documentary unpacks Hollywood’s history of trans stereotypes—from Psycho’s predatory killers to Ace Ventura’s punchlines. Through clips and candid interviews with icons like Laverne Cox, Jen Richards and MJ Rodriguez, Disclosure exposes how media tropes fuel real-world violence against trans people. But it’s not just a takedown: the film spotlights milestones like Pose and Orange Is the New Black, proving authentic storytelling can heal. Director Sam Feder balances rage and hope, urging viewers to demand better.  A wake-up call on media’s impact on trans lives, armed with receipts and a roadmap for change.

Mutt (2023)

Lío Mehiel shines as Feña, a trans man scrambling through a dizzying day in NYC. Between bonding with his estranged little sister, dodging his ex-boyfriend, and navigating public restrooms, Feña’s story crackles with messy, relatable tension. Director Vuk Lungulov-Klotz rejects trauma porn, opting for wry humour and quiet intimacy (shaving scars in a mirror). The film’s handheld camerawork and 24-hour timeline make you feel every subway rattle and heartbeat. A tender, intersectional snapshot of modern trans experiences—no grand speeches, just life, loud and unapologetic.

The Stroll (2023)

Co-directed by Kristen Lovell, a former Black and Latina trans sex worker, this documentary resurrects the stories of NYC’s Meatpacking District. Archival footage of street raids clashes with present-day interviews as Lovell reunites her sisters, now elders, laughing over shared trauma and glitter-coated resilience. The film doesn’t flinch from violence or loss but centres joy: makeshift families, stolen kisses under scaffolding, surviving against all odds. A love letter to survival and sisterhood, narrated by those who lived it—because history isn’t written by the victors, but by those who outdance them.

Writer

Kai Cheng Thom

Those who have survived the unthinkable are also those who know how to create a better world – because it’s ended for us before

Conclusion

From the raw resilience of Paris Is Burning to the glittering chaos of Hedwig and the Angry Inch, these films remind us that trans stories are human stories—messy, radiant, and unapologetically alive. They don’t just entertain; they dismantle stereotypes, foster empathy, and yes, even highlight the mental benefits of dating a trans woman: deeper emotional intelligence, expanded perspectives, and relationships rooted in authenticity. But this is just the beginning. Want to connect with a community that celebrates these truths? Join Fiorry, an app built by and for trans individuals and allies, where you can share stories, find support, or simply vibe with folks who get it. Lights, camera, action—your next chapter awaits.