Camp is so back in Queens of Drama (Les reines du drame), the debut feature of Alexis Langlois (read our interview with the filmmaker here) that has no doubt cemented the French filmmaker as a new queer icon creating soon-to-be cult works unlike anyone else today. The film has had a terrific festival run, world premiering in Cannes’ Semaine de la Critique in 2024 and screening most recently (and over a year later) at the 2025 XPOSED Queer Film Festival in Berlin. Yet, Queens of Drama is not your traditional glitterpop wonderland: don’t expect the clean-core aesthetics of Greta Gerwig’s Barbie or the colour-blocked universe of Jamie Babbit’s But I’m Not a Cheerleader. Despite its elevated tone, this universe (screenplay by Langlois, Carlotta Coco, and Thomas Colineua) is arguably much truer to life in its messiness. For an instant and accurate look into the film’s vibes, have a look at the poster.
The film (with musical elements) traces the personal and professional rise and fall of Mimi Madamour (a radiant Louiza Aura) and Billie Kohler (butch dream Gio Ventura), two fast musical celebrities and an even faster pair of exes. Beginning as lowly nobodies, they crawl their way up to the top, only for Mimi to put aside her relationship with Billie in order to ascend, petrified of being outed. The dynamic of their relationship is pulled straight from Avril Lavigne’s “Complicated”: he was a punk, she did ballet—or rather, she sang punk, and she sang bubblegum pop. One might describe the relationship between Mimi and Billie as toxic; others would simply say its a tough match to keep precious in the business. To add to the layers, the story is told—from their first encounter in 2005 to their breakup and aging lives in 2055—by aging influencer SteevyShady (an ultra-stan, per lingo), hilariously overplayed by French pop star Bilal Hasani), who has now been transformed into a geeking, screaming Mimi fangirl, nails and knives out. The group is complemented by small parts played by Asia Argento and Mati Diop.
Langlois leans so far into the pushed-to-the-limit that it’s hard not to be impressed by the commitment to the bit. This is true, messy camp, embracing the chaos and beauty of queer relationships through both story and visuals; many scenes often feel like they’re shot through a sort of prism, glittery vortex. The filmmaker also plays heavily with appearance, not afraid to contort those of their lead actors, especially as they grow older and their external features are suggested to be a heavy product of plastic surgery. But any ugliness, the director seems to say, is projected onto them from the outside.
It’s impossible to avoid the acute catchiness of the film’s music, with original songs by Rebeka Warrior, Yelle, Pierre Desprats, Mona Soyoc,and Louise Bsx. The repertoire ranges from “Pas touche !” (sung by Ambriel, who provides Mimi’s singing voices)—a pop stereotype but extraordinarily catchy song that catapults Mimi to fame—to the film’s infamous song about fisting between a loving couple ultimately imbued with the sweetest of sentiments.
With the film’s nearly two-hour runtime, some of the narrative turns feel overly winding, but Langlois also dares to take those risks where others haven’t, and Queens of Drama never grows overbearingly cringeworthy. Rather, there’s a certain tenderness to the titular drama, where we can never laugh fully at our two leads for anything they do, no matter how foolish. These are young people acting with the fullness of their souls and emotions. How can we fault them for that, despite their worlds crashing down around them?
Langlois also offers a very potent critique of what being in the limelight can do to a person. Mimi’s mid-film crash-out echoes that of—and pays homage to—Britney Spears by finally granting that moment the recognition that it deserved, not of infamy but of pain and of a cannibalistic industry that preys on the young and those crushed under pressure to conform. Queens of Drama draws attention to the horrors of being perceived by those who never have your best interest at heart, the horrors of the public persona, and the horrors of fame and wealth. And so, to the sounds of “Pas touche !”, we celebrate this equally firm, beautiful, and sparkly critique.
