“Allies matter, but allyship doesn’t erase difference. Sometimes it even clarifies it”
IMAGE BY EL PERRO DE ARGENTO
In Victoria Linares’s Don’t Come Out (No Salgas), violent killings start to unfold in Liz’s Dominican town and she suspects the deaths may have their roots in homophobia. After her girlfriend is brutally slaughtered, Liz decides to hide her sexuality to keep herself and others safe. But on a weekend trip, forbidden desires are reawakened.
Ahead of BFI Flare 2026, DIVA chats with Victoria Linares about this exciting new film.
Why was it important for you to tell this story?
There are very few queer stories/films in the Dominican Republic. Growing up in Santo Domingo, the queer films I encountered were always foreign. With this film, I wanted to speak from my own experience of growing up queer in this city. Coming out to my parents was a difficult and painful process, especially because I was outed due to a false promise of maintaining a relationship.
Was there a specific moment or reference point which inspired your film?
Carlos Marranzini, my co-writer, once described an image to me: four girls driving on a highway in the dead of night, covered in blood. He knew something terrible had happened, but he didn’t know what. As writers, we set out to uncover the story behind that image, to find out what had taken place.
Did making this film change how you understand your own queerness?
Working on the film brought me back to my youth. We’ve been trying to make this film since 2016, and I think that if we had made it back when we first started writing, it would have been a film filled with rage. My wounds were still too fresh then. Now that some time has passed and those wounds have begun to heal, what I feel instead is nostalgia, and a kind of grief. It almost feels like I’m mourning that period of my life.
The film also deals with the idea of allies. Most of my close friends have always been straight, and there comes a moment in life when you begin to realize that your paths slowly diverge. My way of inhabiting the world is fundamentally different. Queerness becomes clearer not only through sexual identity, but through the subtle moments where you realise you are standing slightly outside the structures that organise their lives. Those kinds of friendships can come at a cost, and making this film helped me understand that.
Allies matter, but allyship doesn’t erase difference. Sometimes it even clarifies it. And recognizing that can lead to a deeper, more honest sense of who you are.
BFI Flare is a celebration of LGBTQIA+ storytelling. What do you hope LGBTQIA+ audiences at BFI Flare take away after watching your film?
I’m hoping that specifically the lesbian audience can feel seen by this film. I hope it can create a spark and talk around the idea of allyship and the hardships of coming out. I know a lot of people want to see happy films, but coming from the place where I live it’s very hard to do that.
BFI is celebrating its 40th anniversary this year. What LGBTQIA+ film from the last four decades has changed your life and why?
Céline Sciamma, Lucrecia Martel, and Todd Haynes have deeply shaped my filmmaking. I’m drawn to the way they construct desire through image and sound rather than mere explanation. Their films trust silence, atmosphere, and gesture, allowing queer desire to exist with complexity and ambiguity. As it often is in real life.
Christine Vachon has also been a pillar for me. Her book has been a bible in my life, and it’s one of the reasons I became a producer.
Why is it so vital that we continue to support and celebrate spaces like BFI Flare for the next 40 years?
Spaces like BFI Flare are vital because they affirm that our stories matter. Queer filmmakers need spaces where our experiences can be seen, shared, and celebrated. Festivals like this create a sense of community and visibility that is still deeply necessary and will always be.
BFI Flare has been running since 1986. What do you think queer audiences in 1986 would make of your film?
I’m not sure, but I would have loved to make this film in the 1980s. Horror cinema was at its peak then, before it began to be more heavily dissected in the 1990s. Being part of that wave of horror filmmaking, and doing it in an explicitly queer way, would have probably been a life changer.
Why do you think LGBTQIA+ filmmaking is so important in 2026?
Because we’re living through difficult sociopolitical times. We’re witnessing a real regression, with authoritarian and fascist ideas gaining ground again. In that context, LGBTQIA+ filmmaking becomes a form of resistance. It allows us to continue telling our stories, asserting our existence, and imagining other ways of living.
What queer cinematic ancestor would you want sitting next to you at your BFI Flare screening and why?
Definitely Todd Haynes or Cheryl Dunye. I was so close to meeting Cheryl Dunye at Berlinale.
The 40th BFI Flare: London LGBTQIA+ Film Festival takes place 18 – 29 March at BFI Southbank. Don’t Come Out (No Salgas) premieres at BFI Flare on 19 March. You can find out more about BFI Flare here: whatson.bfi.org.uk/flare
Love media made by and for LGBTQIA+ women and gender diverse people? Then you’ll love DIVA. We’ve been spotlighting the community for over 30 years. Here’s how you can get behind queer media and keep us going for another generation: linkin.bio/ig-divamagazine
Did you know that DIVA has now become a charity? Our magazine is published by the DIVA Charitable Trust. You can find out more about the organisation and how you can offer your support here: divacharitabletrust.com