“It Takes a Lot of Fucking Work To Be At Peace with Yourself”: Beth B on Glowing

For decades, Beth B has been telling stories of defiance on her own terms. The former No Wave filmmaker–– who opted for the term “Now Wave” in 2023–– has tackled taboo subjects from religious corruption to intergenerational trauma to addiction to sex work. She’s a chronicler of desire and pain, as well as a ribald storyteller with a no-bullshit approach that merges airy experimentation, probing direct address, and, of course, plenty of music. Her latest feature, an associative, diaristic work that resists genre categorization, is called Glowing. It’s a showcase of eight artists’ personal stories told in sequence, a collage of recollections that reverberate off of one another. Featuring queer performance artists Rose Wood and No Anger, writers Nick Flynn and Rose Tang, polyglot musicians Little Annie, Joseph Keckler, and Robert O. Leaver, and body artist Evelyn Frantti, it’s a cathartic yet ethereal rallying cry to embrace one’s vulnerability, a challenge to embody one’s past and stand in solidarity with the hardships of others.

The director joined Film Inquiry this week to celebrate the film’s world premiere–– and as often happens with her, things got nicely philosophical.

Something that I enjoyed so much about Glowing was this palpable feeling of collaboration. You’ve known most of your subjects for a long time, right?

Beth B: I’ve known Nick Flynn for probably twenty-six years, since I did a film with him called Breathe In, Breathe Out about intergenerational trauma and the Vietnam War. Nick really brought a profound voice to that film, and when I started Glowing, he had just come out with his newest book, The Night Our House Will Catch Fire. I read it and immediately called and said, “I need a glowing Nick. You need to be in this movie.” The story in the film is a very condensed version of the extraordinary writing in that book. I’ve also known Robbie Oliver for a long time because he collaborates with Jim Coleman, who is my longtime music collaborator and the love of my life–– thank God I met that man because he really helps keep me sane. Then there were people like No Anger. I didn’t know them at all, but I saw them in a film and as soon as I did, I was like, “I have got to work with this person.” It was transformative for me.

How did you meet Evelyn Frantti? I was so struck by that section with the needle play.

BB: Yes, that is the one that gets the most reaction. I say reaction, not response, because I feel like if you’re responding, you’re more in a listening mode. When you’re reacting, it’s more like a trigger mode. Evelyn and I had never met her before until I ended up working with her and Little Annie in a theater production in Germany. Evelyn had a take on pain that helped me understand pain of the heart, pain of the flesh, pain the scope of our lives. Suffering. Do we choose it? That’s what she says in Glowing, “I choose this pain.” I think so many of us can put ourselves into a victim mode–– like, “I have to suffer because they’re doing this, I have to suffer my pain.” I think that there is a kind of a power that she gives to that concept of choosing, not being a victim. The idea that she chooses physical pain over emotional pain is kind of profound. What did you think of that segment?

I found that incredibly elegant. Needle play is such a such an interesting way to interact with your body. It’s so grounded, but at the same time is so reliant on delicacy. I loved the way you held on the that little pinprick of blood. It made me think about the way the body moves and the rhythms of an individual’s body. I thought was so beautiful.

BB: I also I didn’t see it when we were filming, but when I looked at the footage afterwards and started editing, I realized there is one part where you can see her artery throbbing. It’s like the body is in concert! I really love this film because I feel like it defies categorization: It’s not a documentary, it’s not a narrative film, it’s not experimental. Each person brings their story to it, and their deep emotions and vulnerability, and then I feel like when my voice as a filmmaker comes in, it’s echoing, but also bringing a different perspective to it. I think the film is an invitation to the audience to expand their limits. Cineplexes don’t allow an audience to participate, and I feel like this film gives a space to ask, “What is your perspective as an audience? What are your thoughts?” I really want to help people to get unstuck, to be able to see actually the gray areas. I think that’s what brings us to more of a place of balance.

I said to my performers, “I want your stories of struggle and how you have tried to work through them and become more at peace with those ghosts.” It wasn’t by design that people kept going to the theme of childhood in making this film, but that’s why this film was so great for me because there’s a repetition within the stories. There’s just such poignancy and generosity. I think all of them are so generous and brave to tell us these stories that are tough, you know. I think we often feel like, “God, I’m the only one who experienced this, or I’m the only one who feels so lonely.” The film invites people to connect with the voices in Glowing, and that can be cathartic.

That immediately reminded me of a line that I loved in Robbie’s section, “Since when did the voices in your head get such a bad rap? Maybe I’m praying. Maybe this is a meditation.” This movie, as you were saying, deals with the ghosts of ourselves, and that line to me was the crux of that concept: Taking the voices in your head and turning them into meditation.

BB:  I’m gonna write that down.

Circling back to questions of collaboration, you’ve said before that you bring a lot of your work together in the editing room. Here though it feels like every single segment’s visuals are so specific. How did you synthesize your perspective with your subjects’ visions as you were building out these little mini poems?

BB: Well, I’m asking people to do something very tough: I’m asking them to trust me with their very emotional, fragile stories. That’s such a gift that they give me. With Joseph, I heard his music, and there were two songs I wanted to shape the piece around. Then I asked him to send me other writings–– lyrics that he hadn’t composed music for. His is the most ethereal, which I love because what he’s talking about is I think something that a lot of young people can relate to: The landscape of this world is very lonely. Everyone is striving for perfection through social media, and there’s no place for the imperfect self. I have a twenty-three-year-old daughter, Lola, and at the end of this, she said, “I can relate to Joseph’s the most, it’s the essence of my generation.” This feeling of almost being a vapor rising up, not quite knowing what your place is in this really fucked up world.

Would you say that the core of this piece is finding an intuitive way to create synthesis out of profound individuality?

BB: Yes. What I look for these days is support. In the past, I didn’t want to support people. It was all about me and my ego. I wouldn’t let anybody get very close and I was always on the attack. These days, I love hearing other people’s ideas, their stories. I like to listen. I do have a big mouth, and I can go talk forever. But especially when I’m working with someone, man…

Let’s talk about the ending with Rose Wood. That question she asks, “How do I live my life with courage?” How would you answer that question?

BB: I think it’s all about letting go of fear and expectations for what something will be or what someone will think about you. Find something that you are so passionate about that it fills you with an intensity and joy, even if it’s not successful. You’ve got to redefine success. You have to redefine identity and be open to navigating new ways of being with yourself and other people.

Fixed ideas just limit the possibilities. I’m 71, you know? When I was younger, I was so in a place of rage. I was like, “You’re not fucking stopping me. I’m doing whatever I want to do and I’m saying whatever I want to say.” That was the only way I thought I could get through life: Knock everyone down before they could knock me down. Luckily, I came to understand that I can be at peace in the world. But it takes a lot of fucking work to be at peace with yourself! You have to be willing to go to some really dark places, to be transparent and honest, to not hide from the horrors that you experienced. You need to learn to get those little glimmers of light.

Is that where the title of this latest film comes from?

BB: The title Glowing comes from Michael Gira‘s album “Glowing Man.” You know, Swans [the noise rock/post-punk band]. I’ve always been so in love with his music and his voice and his really disturbing mind. Each story in my film is glowing through the darkness. They’re reaching, they’re searching. I think that’s the catharsis that can be found in going deeply into our pasts and moving into a place where we’re not being defined by it. It’s not taking us out anymore. We’re aware of it. We learn from it, but now, in a sense, we have the wisdom to do things differently and behave differently–– to be open to being loved in a very gentle way.

We want to thank Beth B for her time. Glowing plays through July at The Roxy in NYC alongside two of her previous documentaries, Exposed and Lydia Lunch – The War Is Never Over.