Future of Film is Filthy: Femme Filth Short Film Festival Founder and Filmmakers talk Confidence, Shame and Body Horror
Words: Ozge Sargin
As women, we learn shame young. But that shame we carry isn't ours, and not questioned enough, which is exactly what makes a festival like this one feel so urgent. I only know that now because of women like Abby Wright, the founder of the Femme Filth Festival, and Aimee and Danielle, two writer-directors whose films screened at the festival in Los Angeles from January 9-11, 2026.
The lobby before the screenings felt exceptionally open. Anyone could walk up to anyone and skip straight past small talk. It carried the same energy as a bar bathroom, where women who have never met instinctively look out for each other. There was a shared ease in being around women who are not ashamed of who they are - their bodies, desires, fears, even insecurities.
It was such a well deserved break for any of us tired of the clean-girl lore, which is so obsessed with “purity” that the only women they care about empowering are white. Being together like this helps metabolise our collective shame that doesn’t belong to any of us. And I find it necessary, healing, and radical to bring each other into the light like this - grotesque and beautiful and funny and romantic and intelligent - to chase away the internalised male gaze that has taught us to hide.
I spoke with Abby, the founder of Femme Filth, alongside writers/directors Aimee Hoffman and Danielle LeBlanc, about why filth matters now, and how they don’t let insecurity, shame or fear stop them.
Polyester: What does Femme Filth mean, and why do we need more of it? Is it a genre, a manifesto, a way of being…
Abby: At Femme Filth, we screen gross, weird, taboo, provocative, experimental, and transgressive films made by women and queer/trans people. It’s a sort of a battle cry. Or maybe a small but mighty militia. It’s in protest to basically everything happening in our country right now.
It can feel really silly to talk about these things when we have ICE agents murdering civilians in broad daylight, or when we have paedophiles being protected at the highest levels of government. But I do truly believe that art is resistance, and using art to push back against these injustices is one of the ways we can keep these things from becoming normal.
In the wake of conservatism, fascism, and far-right extremism, we need to be filthy more than ever. We need to be gaudy, garish, brash, unafraid, unflinching, unapologetic, and undeniably gross. Filth is intimate, honest, and brave. Filth is political, and the future of film is filthy. lol
___STEADY_PAYWALL___
What made you start the Femme Filth Festival? Who is it for?
I remember when I was 10 my dad taking me to see Piranha 3D in the movie theatre (why did he do that?) and I was obsessed. I wanted to be disturbed!!
As an adult, I’ve seen so many bizarre films that have opened my eyes to what independent cinema can truly be. I’ve always wanted to see strange femmes represented in front of and behind the camera in ways that feel authentic for us and represent our lived experience.
It just so happens that a lot of what we experience - as women, femmes, queer people - is incredibly filthy in nature. We go through things in life that are truly disgusting and disturbing, and often we’re told to go through those things in secret or be ashamed of them. Cinema is one of the vehicles we have to make sense of life, but often the more challenging films aren’t platformed by traditional outlets. I just really wanted to create a space for filmmakers and film lovers to safely share these experiences and ideas in a place where they knew they could be understood.
How do you decide which films make the cut?
My favourite films are ones that have a distinct POV and directorial vision. I want to see films that have something to say. Budget and resources have never really been a deciding factor in the films that get programmed for Femme Filth.
What keeps you going when festival organising gets overwhelming?
My partner, Brittany (who believed in the fest before it was real and always talks me off the ledge), my best friend Brianne (who is always willing to talk about any of the most weird and disturbing things she’s screened for the fest), and our supporters/attendees. There are so many moments where the festival feels insurmountable on my own and I question whether I can actually handle it. But the feedback I get is just so overwhelmingly encouraging and uplifting; it really cements the need for this space. And I’m already doing it so I might as well keep going because I don’t think I trust anyone enough to hand over the reins.
What's been your favourite moment at the festival so far?
This year we screened Annapurna Sriram’s Fucktoys as our opening night film, which was such an incredible honour and privilege because her film truly embodies everything that made me start the festival in the first place, and I find her to be so incredibly brave and inspiring. I was honestly so terrified to welcome her to Femme Filth because we’re so new and tiny compared to some of the prestigious festivals she’s screened at. We had a pole showcase by Fantasy Suite LA ahead of our screening and our audience was so excited and enriched by it. After the screening Annapurna told me it was like a “dream come true” screening for her and I did cry a little. Because wow how affirming and special. So grateful for her co-sign.
What's next for you?
Abby: Right now I’m really focused on just expanding our reach and impact, and putting gross films in front of as many audiences as possible. I’m always looking for partners who are passionate about our mission and want to connect unique films with our audiences. My inbox is always open for collaborations or partnerships in any capacity.
In the future one of my big huge reach goals is to open my own theater. There are so many derelict, boarded up theaters in LA and it’s my dream to restore and revive one. Specifically there’s an old porn theater in West Hollywood called the Studs Theater that I daydream about reopening to showcase independent and queer fringe cinema. So if a millionaire out there wants to make a filthy girl’s dream come true… call me.
Two of the films screening at this year’s festival, Aimee Hoffman’s Dadda and Danielle LeBlanc’s BUSH, approach shame, insecurity, and the body from radically different angles. I spoke with both filmmakers about their movies.
Tell me about your film. What is it about, who is it for?
Aimee: Dadda follows a once-hotshot director turned stay-at-home dad who becomes convinced his hands are inexplicably shrinking. As his wife’s career flourishes, his fixation spirals into obsession, putting his family and sanity at risk. The film is for anyone who’s felt insecurity creeping into a relationship, especially when career imbalance or jealousy goes unspoken. While it centers on masculinity, I think both women and men can recognize the emotional terrain it explores.
Danielle: My film BUSH is about a woman who wants to have sex with her boyfriend, but is insecure about her body hair, so she attempts to remove it. I wanted to make this film for anyone experiencing shame over their body hair. I wanted to show an alternative perspective, one that affirms and empowers the bush.
What was the inspiration behind your films? How does the genre help tell that story?
Aimee: The inspiration came from researching the men’s rights movement and the broader manosphere. It struck me as both absurd and deeply frightening, which naturally led us to horror satire. That genre let us play with humor on the surface while exposing the insidious consequences underneath. Ultimately, the film is about how easily insecurity can be weaponised by nefarious actors, and how quickly private doubt can turn into something destructive.
Danielle: The first time I wanted to have sex, the only thing on my mind was what I should do about my bush. I was raised Catholic, so I thought my big obstacle was going to be shame around sex itself, but it was all body shame. I didn’t have enough money for a professional wax, so after confiding in a friend, she told me I should try an at-home waxing kit. I was in my bedroom trying to build up the nerve to put myself through the pain of it, but in the end, I decided not to use it, and I had sex anyway. No one I’ve ever had sex with has ever seemed to mind, but every time I had a new partner, a bit of that body hair stress would come back up in me, since it seemed like absolutely everyone I talked to was waxing or shaving. I knew there had to be other people out there with the same feelings as me.
Most of the story is from the anxiety inside her head. I wanted to show comedic nightmare-type sequences because most of the time, our insecurities are ridiculous to the point of being a bit silly.
What do you hope audiences feel walking out of your film?
Aimee: I hope audiences feel like they’ve been on a ride, that they laughed, felt unsettled, and maybe recognised something uncomfortably familiar. Ideally, the film is entertaining first, but lingers because of how closely it mirrors what’s happening right now.
Danielle: I want audiences to feel empowered to be more accepting of their bodies.
What scares you most about releasing work and how do you shake it off?
Aimee: Releasing work is always vulnerable. Film pulls so much from your unconscious that I have a fear people will start psychoanalyzing me along with the movie. But not releasing it feels worse. I remind myself that getting it out is healthier than holding it in, and you’re often surprised by how many people relate to what you make, it makes it all worth it.
Danielle: Almost everything scares me-- that I'm opening myself up to criticism, or that people will misunderstand what I'm trying to say. I have no idea how to shake it off! At the moment, I do it scared.
What’s next for you?
Aimee: I have a feature film, a wild surreal buddy comedy, in development with my co-writer Elinor Howells, exciting things are happening. You can follow us on IG and stay tuned! @aimeekhoffman and @elinorhowells1
Danielle: I’ve submitted BUSH to a handful of other festivals. I’m posting monthly on my substack: danielleleblanc.substack.com. I'm also currently writing a romcom feature script.
