Writer/Director Alex Bush’s proof of concept short Thaw had its world premiere at Tribeca in 2023 when the USA was seeing record numbers of anti- LGBTQ bills introduced and is now coming online in 2025 at a moment when the wilfully concerted erasure of trans rights is more prevalent than ever. Regardless, their film, whilst clearly speaking to much larger pressing issues, is first and foremost a captivating piece of romance cinema and a short that embraces classic storytelling tropes to challenge outdated societal norms. Bush has crafted a love story which reveals the messy, evolving nature of identity and self-expression. In Thaw they sought to create a piece of work, rooted in a love of melodrama, art and folklore, which didn’t fit with more traditional depictions of trans and gender fluid individuals and their communities, rather than a piece speaking to otherness. Ahead of Thaw’s premiere on DN today, we invited Bush to talk to us about their resourceful shared production model, drawing influence from the cinematic language of classic melodramas from colour, framing and the reappropriation of typical gender roles.
This film is both a young love story and a testament to the myriad journeys taken in explorations of gender variance.
Thaw was born from a desire to make something that explored my language of beauty – beauty in regards to aesthetics, narrative styles, tropes, design, poetry, and spirit. It was a great and deep time of creative gestation, where I was looking inward for a story that could lead to a technically challenging and spiritually generative process. After some toiling, this story emerged. This was during an earlier stage of my own journey in exploring my gender-variance. That time was fraught with working through various preconceived notions around myself and what my relationship to my gender could be that ultimately held me back and internalized shameful notions in our culture about what gender-variance is. Thaw ended up being a confrontation and salve to what we’ve internalized, creating a fable-like and dreamy environment in which two characters can shut the world out and reckon with the tension of who they’ve been taught to be and what they truly desire. As they literally swap clothes, they take on personas of gender roles they have long seen performed – the dinner scene being, in many ways, a roleplay of the melodramas that taught me how a man and a woman should be and love. But as the story continues, the two attempt to shed any identity at all, ending as something close to a blank slate without many identifiable differences.
The writing process quickly revealed this short to be a proof-of-concept, the feature script currently in script development and exploring the real circumstance of what happens after the characters have established this new blank slate for themselves. The story begins to directly confront the function of gender roles, giving Huck and Smith the decision of either keeping their love sacred in this isolated space or finding ways to integrate these more authentic selves into their real, social lives.
Every element of Thaw feels so well thought out and considered, and we can see each part of the narrative carried through. Can you walk us through your writing process, especially since this was a proof of concept and you knew there was so much more you wanted to say?
Thank you for this! The idea for the film developed quite organically as both a short and a feature, which made the process easier compared to other proof-of-concept shorts I’ve worked on. The real challenges arose during post-production, where I was sometimes writing the feature script while also working on the cut of the short. At times, I felt it was crucial for the characters to remain consistent across both the feature draft and the short, maintaining the same tone and circumstances. However, this phase often led to clunkier work, where the film felt forced. When that happened, I would revisit our initial references or send the cut to trusted artists with no context on the story to gauge what was coming through. Ultimately, both versions worked best when I allowed each to evolve as its own entity. While there are some variations in circumstance, tone, and character details, I can confidently say that both versions share the same philosophy, feeling, circumstance, and beating heart – which was always the most important thing.
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Tell us about your unique, but clearly very fruitful, joint production.
I am lucky to be dear friends with a slew of fantastic writer/director/producers. My friend, Lex Lapp and I had already been in early talks to find a way to produce her proof-of-concept short The Savior, the Sick, & the Golden One, struggling to find the money to shoot the winter-based story in our LA community, when the idea struck to package these two films into one shoot. We financed the film as a joint package, fund two shorts for the price of one! We brought on collaborators we shared that had equally vested interest in both stories, and the films were conceived around a shared gear list. Shooting both on ALEXA Mini with shared lens packages.
We first AD’d for each other and shared producing duties with collaborator Olivia Cade, while our respective cinematographers swapped gaffing roles for each other. All other collaborators shared positions on both projects, with just the cast traveling in and out. One of the cast members of Savior, Christopher Michael Ward, was also our 1st AC! There were two-and-a-half months from deciding we were going to make this happen until production, which allowed for a confidence and intuitive excitement that really informed the work. We shot the film in and around Buena Vista, Colorado, a town that welcomed us with open arms. Principal photography for each was three days total, with two days off in between. It was the craziest and most wonderful week of my life.
We brought on collaborators we shared that had equally vested interest in both stories and the film’s were conceived around a shared gear list.
The concept of sharing funding, equipment, etc., is ingenious, but I can see there being a lot of challenges. How did you make sure it worked for both your production and The Savior, the Sick, & the Golden One?
Our team benefited from existing close friendships and collaborations, and a lot of the motivation for making these films stemmed from mutual admiration. Lex Lapp, the director of Savior and co-producer of Thaw, and I took a risk because we believed in each other’s projects. That central philosophy, rooted in belief and trust, helped protect us from any creative or practical friction. The DPs of Thaw, Alli Gooch, and Savior, Nick Kaladjzic, are incredibly kind and collaborative, so we began cross-conversations early in development, which prevented us from getting too attached to gear or scheduling ideas that could have hindered each other’s work.
You’ve done an admirable job of breaking away from traditional transgender representations in cinema, which we definitely need more of. How much of a conscious process was that during the writing and production of the film?
I really appreciate that. The conscious effort was always to reflect my own perspective and the perspectives of people in my life. I suspect that a lot of the drive came from not finding much widely distributed art that reflected my own experiences at the time. However, I don’t recall that feeling being a fully conscious or intentional decision – it was more of a personal response to what I felt was lacking in the broader media landscape.
I was struck by the moment when Smith tried on the arm of the jacket. It felt so powerful and served as our introduction to what was to come. It was also so tonally different from Huck playing around with the dress.
That’s such an interesting observation. Both of those moments are deeply subjective to the characters’ perspectives (if not literally, then at least spiritually). The way they’re shot and structured is meant to capture how these characters feel about their own explorations, with a touch of fabulistic perspective thrown in. Huck and Smith have such different energies, and the moments are paced in a way that allows their unique experiences to unfold and I trusted that the audience would pick up on the parallels. It was our job to simply immerse ourselves in how these moments feel for these two very different people.
Huck and Smith have such different energies, and the moments are paced in a way that allows their unique experiences to unfold and I trusted that the audience would pick up on the parallels.
You play with gender roles very intentionally, especially with traditional roles such as indoor vs outdoor. What was the intentionality behind these choices?
The film is heavily influenced by classic melodramas and gothic stories, where social roles and the performances required of characters are tightly constructed, often in direct relationship to their environments. I think the inspiration came from a desire to romanticize gender exploration and acknowledge how the journey is inherently connected to social performance, archetype, perception, and the conflicts that arise when our desires conflict with our expectations – all elements that are central to these genres.
I’d love to know more about the stylistic choices for color, cinematography, and the overall feel of this love story.
We drew a lot of inspiration from Romantic-era paintings, as well as melodramas and specific Eastern European psychodramas where characters are similarly exposed in their relationships and undergo a kind of transcendence while confronting their deepest desires in contained environments, sometimes during long, lonely winters.
All of these references come from a time before modern cinematic color processes, so we wanted to give the film a look that feels almost entirely designed in-camera
The film revolves around the idea that it’s human nature to find beauty in all environments and to perform for one another. To communicate this, we sought out frames and design elements that could turn the natural world into a stage. Shooting through windows, framing in precise prosceniums, and lighting with a focus on beauty. There’s a deliberate balance between desaturated blues and oranges, with the colors gradually warming up as the film progresses. All of these references come from a time before modern cinematic color processes, so we wanted to give the film a look that feels almost entirely designed in-camera… and, therefore, a bit theatrical, which fits both my sensibility and the story. Our colorist, Zack Chalmers, did an incredible job of highlighting this depth and dimension while preserving a ‘natural theatricality’.
Considering you were working on the feature at the same time, did the edit pose any particular issues?
The next nine months was a steady on-and-off post-process. I edited the film myself and would give it a good two weeks of work before stepping away for another few weeks. There was some heavy restructuring of the first half of the film during this time, most coming from shedding context that was accurate to the feature and supplementing them with scene structures and bites of information that best supported short-length cinematic storytelling. Keeping the film’s sense of rhythm and tonal shifts anchored was extremely important, which is why it was so helpful to work with the composer Kyle Brenn throughout the entire process. He composed initial drafts of certain pieces before photography began, including the first shot, which ended up being timed in blocking on the day to the score, which played off a phone near the camera and monitor.
And finally, how is everything going with the feature?
It’s going great! I developed it with the WeScreenplay Feature Lab in 2023, and I have some more labs coming up. We’re also meeting with potential producers and talent, and I’m excited about finding the right team to bring the feature to life.
