INTERVIEW | Todd Verow: Strange Bangor energy

A New Queer Cinema mainstay and his upcoming Maine-shot film

I’ve been familiar with filmmaker and Brewer native Todd Verow’s work for many years. I first encountered him when his film “Vacationland” came out in 2006, a coming of age story about two gay teenagers that was filmed, in part, in Bangor. I make a point of being aware of any and all cool artists that grew up in Maine - especially those from the Bangor region.

For more than 30 years Verow has been a mainstay of New Queer Cinema, a film movement that began in the late 1980s and which includes filmmakers like Gregg Araki and Todd Haynes, staking a claim for queer voices in independent filmmaking. Verow is incredibly prolific, with more than 50 short films, documentaries and features made since 1989 - many of which are experimental in nature and highly explicit, exploring the extremes of both gay male sexuality and microbudget filmmaking. He’s fearless in his subject matter, and in his commitment to making his art the way he wants to.

It didn’t dawn on me until this year, however, that Verow’s dad was Arthur “Archie” Verow, who was the beloved city clerk for Brewer for 40 years and a Democrat who was elected three times to the Maine House of Representatives. I met him a few times over the years; a devoted public servant and an incredibly nice guy. His third term was cut short by his sudden death in December 2019.

Todd Verow’s newest film, “We Don’t Dance No More,” is based on the Maine-set short stories his father wrote over the course of his life, mostly in private and for his own satisfaction. In the years before he died, father and son wrote the screenplay together - a distinct departure in subject matter for the proudly queer and experimental Verow.

Verow and crew finished shooting the film in the Bangor area earlier this month. I caught up with Verow while he was in town, over coffee and bagels at Bagel Central.

I would guess that most people that knew Archie knew him as a public servant, whether it was for the City of Brewer or as a state representative. When did you realize he was also a prolific writer?

Ever since I was a little kid, I always remember him writing in his spare time. He would always be writing on a pad, and none of us could read his handwriting, so we never really got to read his stuff until he started getting involved in some writers groups and started actually, like, typing stuff out [laughs]. It’s something he really loved doing. And that was definitely an influence on me, because he always encouraged me to just write, or do whatever your artistic inclination is. It doesn’t matter if anyone ever reads it or ever sees it. Just do it.

Many of your films are very provocative, very explicit. What was it like showing that to your parents? What was that part of your relationship like?

It’s funny, because they always encouraged me, no matter what. But there’s certain films that I’ve made where my dad and my mom would ask me, “Is this a film that we can see?” And sometimes I would say, “Oh yes, absolutely.” And sometimes I’d say, “No, maybe not this one.” [laughs] They saw my movie “Little Shots of Happiness” and really liked it. And when “The Once and Future Queen” was playing in Boston, they came down to see it. Sometimes I think I don’t give them as much credit as I should for being open minded about things.

When did you and your Dad decide to collaborate on the script for what became “We Don’t Dance No More”? What stories did you end up landing on out of all his writing?

They’re all sort of inspired by things in Bangor and Brewer, and because my dad was a city clerk for many, many years, and in politics, and he just knew everyone, everywhere we would go with him. He had a lot of different characters that he wrote about that were inspired by different people. But each story has this main character of Lenny, which is sort of his doppelganger interacting with these different people. He’s based on my dad, in a fictionalized sort of way.

He actually approached me about writing a script together, years ago. And I really liked his stories - I think they are really funny and dark and interesting. Every week or so he’d type one out and send them to me until we had a bunch written out. And then I went through them all and figured out a structure that the lead character, Lenny, could go through. We finished it just a few weeks before he died. I am so glad we were able to do that together. It is truly a collaboration between the two of us. It’s been emotional, in a good way, because it really feels like he’s been here with us while we’re doing this.

You’ve lived in New York for decades, but Maine is a throughline in your work – from the name of your production company, to the other films you’ve shot in the state over the years. What is it about Maine - and the Bangor region specifically – that continues to inspire or inform your work? What keeps bringing you back here?

I think growing up here in the 70s and 80s, it was a really scary time to be gay. I was a teenager when Charlie Howard was thrown off a bridge. I couldn’t wait to get out of here. I needed to get out of here. And yet, I am always drawn back here - not just because of my family, but because of what this place is. And it’s changed so much since then, of course, in a lot of good ways, but there’s also just something that I truly do think is magical. The energy is strange. Isn’t it strange? In a good way, but still: strange. I think there’s also something that unlocks creativity in people, even if they aren’t setting out specifically to be an artist. Look at my Dad. And I think people are also really crafty and scrappy and make do with what they have.

Kind of like how an independent filmmaker works.

Yeah, exactly. And so filming here has been a really nice process. People have been really eager to help. We borrowed this guy’s car for a scene. There was a dog we encountered that we put in a scene. And, you know, my mom is involved, and my sisters are all gonna have little cameos. We’ve cast a lot of local people. And just filming around Bangor and Brewer in real locations has been really great. You don’t need a film permit. You don’t actually need one anywhere in Maine, except Portland and in national parks.

You’ve long been associated with the film movement called New Queer Cinema. Do you consider yourself a part of that legacy?

I definitely consider myself a part of that movement. I was right in the middle of it when it was first starting. I worked on Gregg Araki’s “Totally Fucked Up,” and I knew Todd Haynes from New York. And between that and my time with Act Up, I feel very much a part of it. I think my experimental work and my features are all still a part of it as well. I think some people think that New Queer Cinema has kind of passed us by, but I very firmly feel that it is still happening. Maybe that means there are some more mainstream movies being made now, but the thread is there. You see it in lots of different ways.

And I think that as these sorts of stories become more mainstream - teen dramas, or big Hollywood movies, say - I think we see at the same time a turn back towards more experimental queer filmmaking. And I prefer the term queer, because anybody can be queer. I like that term. It’s all about experimenting with the form of filmmaking, and expressing things in different ways, and from different points of view.

Finally, since we’re at Bagel Central. You’ve lived in New York for decades. Are Bagel Central bagels actually bagels? I maintain that they are not really bagels, but that is perfectly fine because they are also delicious.

Are they bagels? I don’t know. I mean, even if they aren’t really bagels, they’re still really good. I’ve brought them back to friends in New York, and they’re kind of like, “What is this?” But they like them. I like them. I don’t think it really matters if it is a ‘real’ bagel or not, if you like it.