An intimate glimpse into the stories and creativity of the talent shaping this year’s Iris Prize LGBTQ+ Film Festival.
BY LIV EVELEIGH, IMAGES PROVIDED
Capturing experience, identity, and the layers of our past and present selves is at the heart of April Kelley’s work – and what better way to do it than alongside one of her best friends? The power of her creative partnership with Dylan Holloway is undeniable, resulting in exquisite explorations of identity and connection.
April Kelley’s work brims with subtext, heart, and raw humanity. This year at the Iris Prize LGBTQ+ Film Festival in Cardiff, two of her latest films take centre stage: the turbulent Plainclothes and the deeply intimate documentary Tomorrow’s Too Late.
Plainclothes, starring Tom Blyth and Russell Tovey, follows Blyth’s character through late ’90s New York – a man caught between desire, duty, and the weight of self-denial. It’s a visceral portrait of queer identity, anxiety, and grief.
In Tomorrow’s Too Late, musician Dylan Holloway turns the camera inward, documenting his transition and the shifting textures of his singing voice under testosterone. The result is a tender meditation on growth, honesty, and becoming one’s truest self.
In our conversation, April and Dylan reflected on the power of queer storytelling – its joy, its struggle, and the quiet miracle of helping even one person feel seen. You can catch them both at the Iris Prize LGBTQ+ Film Festival in Cardiff, running 13–19 October.
What first drew you to these stories, and why did it feel important to tell them now?
April: With Plainclothes, I was drawn to the script from the start because I saw so much of myself in it. That’s the beauty of the film – even if you’re not queer, you can relate, because everyone knows what it’s like to carry a secret that eats you up inside. There are scenes with Lucas’ ex-girlfriend that make me cry every time I watch.
It premiered at Sundance, for which we won [the US Dramatic Special Jury Award for Ensemble Cast]. It was an incredible, surreal experience. It’s also been lovely for Tomorrow’s Too Late to travel the same festival circuit, not piggybacking, but standing alongside Plainclothes in its own special way.
With Tomorrow’s Too Late – I’m sure Dylan will agree – it all happened accidentally. He called me one day about documenting his transition, and Dylan and I only have one gear – gear six – so we just said, “Let’s do it.”
We’ve collaborated many times before, so we’re very used to working closely. He understands things in my head that I don’t realise. It was such a joyous experience. It started with just the two of us in Cornwall with his family, two cameras, totally scrappy. But it was such a special experience. There were so many moments of emotion – Dylan was crying most of the time, and honestly, so was I. Four years straight of us just… crying.
Both Plainclothes and Tomorrow’s Too Late balance the complexities of queer experience – from anxiety and shame to joy and hope. How consciously do you strive to represent both the struggles and the celebrations of queerness in your filmmaking?
April: I mean, Tomorrow’s Too Late is definitely more joyous than Plainclothes. It’s important, though, as a company, we don’t usually lean toward coming-out stories. We really want to celebrate life after, to show it doesn’t have to be a tragic, scary moment every time.
But Plainclothes straddles so many lines. I saw myself in both characters, especially Lucas. My “coming out” story was unique and traumatic to say the least, and bringing this story to life was really cathartic for me and my younger self. Honestly, we didn’t expect it to do this well. We were shocked. It was beautiful and special to make, and usually, the more special the experience, the worse the outcome – but this one just hit a nerve. There’s no rhyme or reason to the festival circuit; sometimes you just catch a wave.
The team always had Russell in mind to play Andrew. I had previously worked with Russell, so I approached him to play Andrew. I think his exact words when I said would you be willing to read it were “Yeah, I love gay shit”. He came on board, championed it endlessly, and as such a strong, outspoken gay man, he really fuelled the excitement behind it.
It must be difficult to create something so raw and intimate without knowing how the world will receive it. Dylan, what was it like documenting your journey this way — and when did you realise it would become a documentary you wanted to share so openly?
Dylan: I think I always had a little voice inside me saying, “This could be a big story”. Because of the context, part of me felt it might become something larger. But at first, we were just aiming for a 15–20 minute short, maybe a YouTube documentary, to inform people who are transitioning about what might happen to their voices or bodies – something factual and exploratory.
But in capturing that, we opened Pandora’s box. We started exploring family relationships, friendships, and the emotional and spiritual journey of discovering one’s true self. That’s how it grew into this feature-length film with so many layers and pathways.
Did you expect it to be this educational and to reach such varied audiences through queer spaces?
Dylan: Honestly, it’s kind of two parts. First, we’re so happy with the outcome because it speaks to so many different people. We never wanted to make something too niche – it was meant to be factual to my story, but also universal. Even in my songwriting, when I write about something personal, like a breakup, I make it relatable so everyone can feel it. That’s what I love about our film – you don’t have to be trans, queer, male, female, old, or young. Anyone can connect to the story of transformation.
At festivals, we’ve reached people we never expected. In Arkansas, a super Republican state, an ex-Army man working security watched it without knowing what it was, then told April afterwards he wanted to send it to his army mates. Moments like that mean everything.
Being in the film space has been incredible. It was April’s idea to take it on the festival circuit, and it’s been amazing. Being featured at a queer film festival like Iris is especially meaningful – my nan and a lot of my family are Welsh, so coming back to the South Coast feels like a homecoming. It’s super special.
Do you ever feel vulnerable about having shared so much of yourself?
Dylan: I joked in Q&As that the one thing I was grateful for was having control of the footage, since a lot was filmed on my phone. I could record myself crying, knowing I could delete it if I wanted – but I never did. I’d rewatch it, think, this is scary, but then realise deleting it wouldn’t help anyone. That vulnerability was the whole point. Now, I can see the layers I peeled back, but I know it was for the greater good – it’s helping people, and that’s what matters.
Would you say there’s a particular moment from the journey that stands out for either of you?
April: My standout moment was when Dylan sang Tomorrow’s Too Late in that dark room with the candles – it was the first time he’d ever played the song for anyone, and we both cried.
Dylan: For me, there’s a moment that still really impacts me – it comes through in the editing. Towards the end of my journey, I was talking about remaking Off My Brain as a duet. I had planned to take all my old music offline and shut out the person I used to be, but instead decided to embrace that version of myself and make music with them. It was a full-circle moment. In the film, Lauren edited it so that as I’m talking about letting go of my past self, it cuts to childhood footage of me, just this little version of me moving through a crowd – it’s so subtle, but it always moves me.
It was a tough journey, but that scene feels like a light at the end of the tunnel. It shows that you can go through something transformative and still hold love for who you were. That’s not a story often told – there’s this idea that being trans means shutting out your past, but it doesn’t have to be that way. I love that person; they just weren’t who I was meant to be. You can have both, and that’s the narrative we really wanted to put into the world.
You can find out more about this year’s Iris Prize here: irisprize.org
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