Premiere: Zhe Zhe, "Semper Fidelity"

Newly fueled by a Kickstarter campaign, the show is in its second season and gloriously spiraling into new depths of absurdity as Mona and Jean claw their way to the top, blithely unaware of the evil plot lurking in the background.

office is pleased to premiere episode 4, entitled “Semper Fidelity,” and as part of the release, we asked the show’s co-creator, writer, producer, and co-star Leah Hennessey about the show, its influences, and where she hopes it will go next.

Can you start by telling me a bit about how the show was born and how you feel it’s developed since your first episode?

Ruby (McCollister, who plays Mona), Emily (Allan, who plays Chewie), and I had been in a theater group together, and we wanted to make a show that was draggy and vulgar and fun and trashy and easy. We enlisted our friend E.J. (O’Hara) to direct the show, thinking that, as an artist and not a film person, he would make it look cool and not slow us down with film production standards. I guess we didn’t really consider what a precise and ambitious artist he was, and the “easy” part of making Zhe Zhe pretty much stopped with the first episode. Every time we come up with something we want to do on the show I feel like it’s beyond our abilities. The musical episode (Season 1 Episode 6) nearly broke up the band, but somehow we always pull it off.

We used to be really militant about being alienating, using our grab bag of Brechtian tools to ensure that no one ever empathized with the characters, but we’ve kind of let that go. Culture has changed so radically since 2013 and we no longer think escapist, emotionally manipulative, cathartic, narrative fiction is the Big Bad. Now the world is more Zhe Zhe than we are. Post-Trump it's hard to have faith in absurdity as a tool of mental liberation.

You’re obviously influenced by an enormous range of music when writing the episodes. What aspects of the music world are you reacting to and picking up on in Zhe Zhe, both in general and in this episode specifically?

I was always obsessed with relationships in bands. I love how the fabricated intimacy of pop groups seems inseparable from the devastatingly real stories of love and loss. Band stories are their own category of romance. We also love feminine or queer takes on the band story: Josie and the Pussycats, The Mighty Boosh, and Hedwig.

We're also heavily influenced by the ethos of Ze Records (even going so far as to calling our de facto record company Zhe Records). We love music that exists on the fringe of novelty song and soundtrack, and music that’s written for comedy. Especially when it's cool.

I love when parody songs transcend the reference, like the Chris Morris parody of Pulp on Brass Eye, "Blouse", (which in some ways does Pulp better than Pulp). There’s a freedom in making “funny music” that’s still thrilling and daring to me in a way that feels, for lack of a better word, punk. Some of the music I'm most inspired by right now feels new because of how it navigates irony, like Chicken, or Zhe Zhe stars Young God and Toasty.

I always wanted to be in a band. I also wanted to make music. It took me a while (and a few bands) to realize that those were separate desires. Zhe Zhe is not only the story of a band, it also is the band in my life. The five/six of us are the Behind the Music: Fleetwood Mac I was looking for, and sometimes we even make music together.

What is your own musical background like?  

Zhe Zhe has been an exorcism for all of us; all the demons we started with have been vanquished or accepted. I think I’ve been able to let go of my band fetish and now I can actually start focusing on my own music. Recently as a songwriter I’ve been trying to bridge the gap between the highly developed camp part of my brain the more vulnerable part that can communicate strong feelings. I think great songwriters don't have that gap. I've been listening to a lot of Lucinda Williams, Momus and Cardi B.

Zhe Zhe is also chock-full of references (both subtle and non-subtle) to shows and movies spanning from the ‘20s to the present. How do you find ways to work these into a sort of collage that’s both surreal but also drawing very potently from our concrete reality?

A lot of our primary inspirations and references are pretty old and/or esoteric but we’re using these quotes and images to talk about contemporary issues and feelings. We love Derek Jarman and Ken Russell and John Waters but we’re not trying to make a show that feels like it’s from the 1970s, we want it to be on the bleeding edge. It’s not important that people get all or any of the references on the show, we’re just using them like colors.

I remember as a kid watching The Simpsons, I loved the feeling that there was a parody at work which I didn’t understand, like in the episode where Homer goes to The Island from “The Prisoner.” I had never seen “The Prisoner” and I didn’t feel like I was expected to get the reference, but there was an eerie and clever aura that I found exciting. I love the Simpsons episode when Homer goes to the 3D world because it had that same feeling. Maybe that was a reference I still don’t get.

It’s impossible for me to write about life without writing about culture. Pop culture is the religion of Zhe Zhe, it makes meaning and purpose out of chaos and nausea.

Zhe Zhe Season Two Episode 4 Semper Fidelity

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I have to ask about the show’s costumes. Who comes up with them? How do you find them? What factors might go into the outfits for a given scene?

Arabella Aldrich is our official costume designer. She also plays bisected silent film legend Patty Frome in “Back From the Dead” and Jean’s mysterious one night stand in “Five High School Paintings.” She comes up with and crafts most of the more elaborate gowns and sculptural pieces, and she styles a lot of the more casual outfits from her own magnificent wardrobe. Sometimes we want the costumes to be exact references to films, (like some of Jean’s “High Fidelity” looks in this episode) but sometimes we just want them to be ridiculous and disruptive (like Mona’s fur coat and cowboy hat look in the hospital). In the first season Ruby made a lot of the costumes, but now she pretty much only makes clothes for her clothing line, Sofia Paris (which will show its next collection this September).

You guys started a Kickstarter to raise money for season 2. Which aspects of the show did most of the money go towards? What do you feel are the biggest differences between this season and the first?

We purchased a few basic things like microphones and hard drives but I think we’ve spent most of the budget on cabs and wigs. We didn’t raise enough money to pay anyone for anything, so we still rely on the endless kindness of our friends.

Do you have any aspirations to get the show onto a different platform, or do you like the format of the web series? What do you feel are the pros and cons of producing it this way?

We started making Zhe Zhe in 2013, when the internet still felt like a place to be freaky. We naively thought we could use YouTube like public access TV in the 80s or something and that we could make a show about our community and our community would be able to watch it. We didn’t realize that without corporate support the algorithms would bury us. People always ask us whether we’re trying to get “picked up” and the answer is that we aren’t actively pursuing any platforms, but we would be willing to listen to a great offer!

We’re such a small operation. If we had money/support we wouldn’t have to do every tiny detail of the production ourselves, which would free us up to make more episodes more quickly. That would be fun, but it might not be as special. I would like more people to watch Zhe Zhe and I no longer think YouTube is the right place for people to see it. I like showing episodes at galleries, or theaters, and on intelligently curated websites like office.

Tell me a bit about this episode. So far this season, we’ve mostly seen a number of episodes that can essentially stand on their own while also dropping little hints of this developing conspiracy plot. This time, we’ve got Jean opening a record store and Mona going to college. What went into the writing process for this one in particular, and how does it fit within the grander scheme of the season?

This is, definitely, all part of a bigger conspiracy. This episode is something of a stand-alone but it also features some elements of the unfolding conspiracy (some more explicit than others). I don’t remember who came up with the idea of Mona going to college, it wasn’t me, but I know I always wanted to do at least one High Fidelity scene. When I wrote the episode I didn’t really think much about what connected the two plots, other than liberal arts college being as much of a financial sinkhole as opening a record store, but when I started acting out the John Cusack parts I had some disturbing revelations. I think this episode is our own kind of exploration of “toxic masculinity.” When I was a tween I completely idolized Rob Gordon/Rob Flemming and even though I thought he was “an asshole” I still loved him and wanted to be him/date him. Rewatching the movie and inhabiting that character I finally understood what a miserable butt monkey Rob is, and I can’t believe that I dated him/was him.

And finally: any hints for the rest of Season 2? Or plans for a potential Season 3?

The next episode is very much a Now For Something Completely Different. All I can say is that Chewie fans are going to be very happy. By the end of the season (there will be six episodes in total), many of the questions about the aliens, about the death of Pat Phone, about who’s pulling the strings….will be answered. We will not David Lynch our fans.

Also in September Emily Allan and I will be debuting a play we wrote called "SLASH" at MX Gallery. It's not our Zhe Zhe characters but it deals with a lot of the same themes. There's a lot of cosplaying homoerotic pairings of bandmates so I guess what I said earlier about being over my band relationship fetish is a lie.

Culture

Mowalola x Miss Sixty Launch with H. Lorenzo

I swing my legs over the ropes that guard the VIP entrance. Always over (I’m 5’10), never under. I’m late to the H. Lorenzo x Mowalola event, and the line wraps around the block. I don’t want to be an asshole, but I hate waiting in lines; it just ruins everything.

“Hey, my friend is DJing right now. My name should be down,” I say.

The youngish security guard looks me up and down. I have made an adventurous choice for this type of crowd. Neon pink hoodie, bright orange vest, my Raimundo jeans, and Jeremy Scott animal print sneakers. I let him take me in and look over his shoulder. Hmmm… I will be swathed in darkness when he lets me in. Dark night, dark clothes, dark makeup, furs, hoods, leather accessories, and sunglasses. I don’t recognize anyone, but it’s hard to tell who anyone is because I can’t see after 8 pm without my glasses. Night blindness. I can still catch a vibe though.

“She’s in the bathroom,” Mr. Guard says, interrupting my squinting.

“Who?” I ask.

“The woman in charge of the list.”

That’s a drag. I want to dance. Lately, I’m going out in the name of music.

“So…can I go in?” I ask.

“Just wait for her to get back.”

That sounds fine. I wait. The outdoor smoking area is packed. I hope the inside mirrors this, maybe with people dancing instead of blowing smoke in each other’s eyes.

“You got instagram?” The guard asks me after about ten minutes of flirting.

“Can I go in?” I said.

He laughs. He lets me in the event without a wristband.

Inside, I understand why the other guard was gone for so long. I make a mental note to not drink too much liquid; the bathroom line is almost as long as the line to get in. The party is popping, far from a flop.

I push through the crowd solo, following the speakers to the DJ booth. The immersive visuals provide me with enough light to make out Mowalola in a gold bikini and her low rise denim. My pulse races like the horse printed on the front of her coochie. That’s the point of the collection, obviously.

I spend a good thirty minutes grinding my hips before swaying to the open bar. I smile to myself, noting that it’s a mezcal forward menu. I see a drink that disgusts me, so I order it without hesitation. It’s a mezcal coffee concoction. My heart ’s ran through already, why not go all in? I hear Shigecki’s set start so I head back to dance. I’m jumping around, sweating, and I yelp when I pause for a beat. Strippers have materialized and are working poles opposite and behind the DJ booth. Good. Events should be sexy.

I end the night smoking my friend’s Korean strawberry cigarettes taking in the air of cool- when a man comes up to me wild-eyed exclaiming that we look just like one another. I look at him- no, not at all. I turn slowly, remembering what I should be doing: listening to DJ G2G’s set. Back inside, she is playing reggaeton type beats with lasers beaming out of her headphones (I want these). A rave in it of herself.

Too bad all the events end at 2 am in LA.

Culture

Vans Pipe Masters 2024

On the first night, Steve Van Doren and the Vans team hosted the heat draw for the competitors at a casual backyard barbecue. The son of Vans’ co-founder Paul Van Doren, Steve has worked in the family business for decades, and is now known as the Ambassador of Fun. Wearing a Hawaiian shirt and a cowboy hat made out of old shoes, he was definitely dressed for the part. The surfers, along with family and friends gathered in a relaxed setting as 40 men’s and 20 women’s names were drawn from a shoebox. The competition would run in 3 rounds, the top 4 men and 4 women with the highest scores moving onto the finals. When asked about their strategies, most gave answers along the lines of “get waves.” Refreshingly simple.

After waiting a few days for favorable conditions, the first day of competition kicked off with Women’s Round 1. It was finally time to see Pipeline in action. Banzai Pipeline is known as one of the most dangerous places to surf due to the powerful waves breaking over shallow and sharp reefs. With the potential to crash into the rocky edges or have leashes caught in caves, it takes a ton of skill–-and even more courage–to surf here. No stranger to these risks, the first heat included favorites Caity Simmers and “Queen of Pipeline” Moana Jones Wong, who showed off exactly why they’d been successful here in the past. Midway through the heats, Mother Nature decided to throw in another element as a light drizzle turned into a proper downpour. Rain or shine, the athletes went out unfazed, focused on getting their first points on the board.

After another short day’s break, the competition continued with the women’s second round and the men’s first. The beach was filled with spectators, locals and tourists alike, as the competition was free for all to attend. While fans rooted equally for the women and men, the most popular were the local Hawaiian athletes, which made up about half the competition. The women started off the day again, hyping up the crowd with incredible rides. One ride by Bettylou Sakura Johnson earned the first Bag of Cash of the day– a cash prize (of undisclosed amount) awarded in a brown paper bag to any surfer that pulls off a wow moment, excites the crowd, and pulls off something spectacular regardless of what the conditions might look like.

Winds picked up as the men’s competition began and two strategies quickly emerged: an aggressive approach, targeting any decent waves to build small scores; and a patient approach, waiting for the perfect wave to chase a high single score. Even the waves that were unrideable were a spectacle in itself. The sheer size, illustrated by the length of surfboards riding up and over, and the following crash of white water spray was hypnotizing. Then imagining having to experience it out on the water, duck diving under or being lifted over, brought a renewed respect for the surfers.

After watching these early rounds, it was time for office to head back to the cold. With the competition officially spanning from December 8-20, it seemed the forecast was gearing up for some massive waves— and it didn’t disappoint. Following from afar through Vans’ Instagram and live updates, we saw the full extent of what it means to surf at Pipeline. After a series of electrifying and daring surfs, the 2024 winners were crowned: Erin Brooks and Nathan Florence.

The thrill of watching top athletes compete at the highest level of their sport, even remotely, never fails to inspire. Few sports surrender so completely to the forces of nature as surfing does. And at its core, surfing is all about having a deep respect for the ocean—its unpredictable whims, its immense power, and its ever-changing moods.

Culture

The Cost of Queendom

December 17, 2024

One summer afternoon in New York, a few days after their New York premiere of the acclaimed documentary Queendom, office met up with documentary filmmaker Agniia Galdanova and producer Igor Myakotin at a tattoo parlor on the west side of Manhattan. While Agniia received a tattoo of the portmanteau “DOCU CUNT” across her fists, she — unfazed by the needle on her knuckles — answered our questions alongside Igor about the making of the stirring story that has traveled around the world.

One of the opening scenes of Queendom depicts a ritual many of us are all too familiar with in the 21st century. Jenna Marvin, the documentary film’s central subject, takes her friend along with her to take photos for Instagram. When she finds a suitable backdrop, she poses, poses, poses, and then reviews the photos. Dissatisfied, she gives her notes, and then returns to pose, pose, pose again.

By Brook Aster
Photos by Liv Solomon

The ritual may be familiar, but nothing else about the scene — from its setting to its stakes — is ordinary. The backdrop behind Jenna is a sweeping expanse of ice and snow in a small Russian port town called Magadan. Jenna is dressed in drag, but not drag of the Rupaul’s Drag Race variety; her drag has been referred to as “creature drag.” Her signature white face paint, platform heels and surrealist costumes, with their exaggerated sculptural proportions and use of duct tape and repurposed items, catches the ire of her neighbors and the love of online admirers alike. Jenna eventually accrued a following on social media for her public and technically illegal drag performances, which often involved little more than her walking or being in public spaces but nevertheless were often met with abuse and threats of imprisonment.

But when Agniia first encountered Jenna, she hadn’t yet reached the level of virality that would eventually come in the years to follow. The filmmaker was researching different drag performers in Russia for her sophomore project, which she thought would be a docuseries, when she heard from a friend about a young drag queen from Magadan. “I was like, this is impossible. I have to meet this person,” Agniia remembers. “And I could not actually go meet her because I was in Moscow and she was in Saint Petersburg, so I sent a friend of mine with whom I’d been studying with in film school, and she went and filmed the sample.” The simple video, showing Jenna and her friend getting dressed up for a party, struck something in Agniia. The drag was an earlier, more prototypical version of the style Jenna is now known for; less duct tape and ornamentation, but still that signature striking makeup. “Something sparked. I knew I just had to stick to this feeling,” Agniia says. She decided to turn the docuseries into a documentary solely focused on Jenna.

Around that time, the entire world came to a grinding halt: the onset of COVID-19 pandemic had just led to lockdowns around the globe. With only a couple thousand followers on social media at that point in time, Jenna had tried to branch out and connect with other drag artists in Moscow and Saint Petersburg, but faced rejection; her drag was extremely unconventional, and not even other drag artists quite understood it. “I think we found each other at the right moment, because nobody knew what to do, how to cope with all this,” Agniia says. “Jenna was saying that she was lost, and she also didn't know how to develop her art next.”

Unlike some of the other artists Agniia had initially researched, Jenna didn’t need much convincing to allow the camera into her life. “[Especially] after COVID came, there wasn't really [any] drag in my life,” Jenna recounts when I speak to her later over Zoom. “I realized that what drag is for me is not just a costume, a dress, something that you leave, that you take off and then in the dead of the night you put back on. Later, I understood that this is who I am, that I am art and I am drag, and that this is way bigger and more important than just clothing or costume.”

[LEFT TO RIGHT: Agniia Galdanova, Jenna Marvin, Igor Myakotin]

When it came time to move into production stages, Agniia sent a clip to Igor, who had been referred to her by a past colleague. When Igor saw the footage, he was similarly struck by Jenna — and even more struck to find out she shared his small hometown of Magadan. “It was just so fateful to know that I also come from this town, and I've never seen it through this cinematic lens, through the vision that Agniia has,” he says. “I was mesmerized by the footage, mesmerized by Jenna. I thought to myself, I have to do everything I can [for us] to work together, whatever the collaboration is gonna be.”

The two followed Jenna for over three years; Agniia first relocated to St. Petersburg, where Jenna had taken up residence after leaving her grandparents’ home in Magadan, and later Jenna moved in with Agniia in her home in Moscow. All the while, Igor and his team worked remotely from the United States to meet Agniia’s production needs. Inevitably, with all their time spent together, Agniia and Jenna became close.

“There is an unspoken rule in documentary filmmaking that you have to keep this line, and you can’t overcome certain boundaries,” Agniia explains. “In my first film, it was not an easy subject [to do this with] as well. I was following a family for seven months, and [we became] close, but I always was trying to keep my distance, and was constantly thinking about it. How much should I say? How much should I give?” But as she got to know Jenna, it became clear that this time, that distance wouldn’t be possible. “With Jenna almost from the very beginning, I was like, fuck it. That’s not going to work with this one. I'm going to break this rule 100%. I never regretted it, because that's actually what built up the trust that is there.”

As Jenna's public performances continued and began to garner more public attention, her online audience multiplied. Among her virtual admirers was French fashion maven Michèle Lamy, who would eventually sign onto Queendom as an executive producer. Lamy's discovery of Jenna led to an invitation to walk in the Rick Owens show in Paris — her first time modeling, and her first time leaving Russia in her life. Of course, Agniia and her camera followed. But most of their excursions were not so glamorous; many of Jenna's performances shown in the documentary were undertaken at a real risk to her physical safety, and by extension, to the safety of Agniia. But neither of them were daunted.

I remember who I am. And this is what carries me through this life.

After all, Jenna was used to both taking risks and documenting them well before she was the subject of a film; she and her friends long filmed the often impassioned, sometimes violent reactions of strangers and policemen to their mere existence in public spaces in drag. And after a protest performance in which she wrapped herself in the Russian flag, Jenna was kicked out of beauty school, her last attempt at a practical route before pursuing her drag as a full time venture.

The only time Agniia tried to dissuade her was on Paratrooper’s Day, a Russian military holiday often characterized by the drunk soldiers roaming the streets. The risk for violence was especially high. “On Paratroopers Day, people say you can't come out in skinny jeans or with nail polish,” Jenna describes. “[I think] you should do the opposite. You should really make a statement and come out wearing what you want to wear. I think that clothes, what we wear, is really at some point beyond our psyche, our mind, our understanding. It is as if it's a certain kind of spice that is enticing you and you follow the scent of that spice and you don't see anything else except that scent and you follow it. That's how I see it.”

“I was like, ‘girl, maybe we should not do that,’” Agniia says. “Igor was stressing out and she told us, ‘well, you don't need to follow me. I'm gonna go and do it. I don't care if you're coming or not.’” In the end, Jenna ventured out for her performance anyway, protesting the then-recent invasion of Ukraine. Agniia followed. Not shown in the film is that the two were arrested, and managed to talk the police out of their arrest.

Not too long after, she would have to leave Russia again, this time moving for Paris for good; the film follows her struggles to get a visa in time to leave the country after the onset of the war. “It's already been three years that I've been in France, and it is important for me to understand and remember who I am, and to remember that pain, those moments when we were back in Russia doing drag, fighting with the police and law enforcement,” Jenna says. “It is important that this resistance continues and that those voices are not being silenced. Yes, here there’s much more freedom, there are pride parades and queer people can get married, but this is an illusion because there are also places where you cannot get married and you cannot enjoy the same freedoms. I cling to who I am, who I was from the very beginning. I remember who I am. And this is what carries me through this life.”

“Meeting Jenna gave me hope for the future of the country, because governments come and go, people in power come and go, but the generations change at the same time,” Igor says. “So it warms my heart to see that someone like her came from somewhere like that. If I saw her back then at a similar age, it would be even more personal. I think I would’ve accepted myself as gay quicker, and I wouldn't be nervous or closed and not open to the world or myself… Working with this project also meant that we were amplifying the voices of many, many people who couldn't speak like Jenna could.”

For Agniia, the honor of telling Jenna's story is only paralleled by the honor of having her in her life. “We found each other,” Agniia says. “And what I learned from Jenna is so precious; about life, about art, about surviving. And I appreciate it a lot. This film grew so much larger than just a documentary, because I have a family now, a working family.”

Queendom is now available to stream on Apple TV.