Jackson with Robson, who idolized him. Robson says he was molested from ages 7-14. (Image via HBO)

Leaving Neverland — the documentary about allegations that Michael Jackson sexually abused two of his most famous-to-fans young playmates — is controversial only because of Jackson's undeniable talent and inescapable fame.

Directed by Dan Reed and set to be presented March 3 and 4 on HBO, it methodically attempts to create an exhaustive record of the claims of James Safechuck, 37, and Wade Robson, 41, exploring along the way how Jackson allegedly groomed them, how he managed their families, how he was able to basically date male children right out in the open, what these arrangements did to the kids' relationships going forward, and why both young men testified, under oath, on Jackson's behalf when he was closest to facing justice for his actions.

ABOVE: (Very) Happy Boxing Day!

BELOW: Trump visits the troops, Adam Lambert Cher-enades a national institution, hottest male booty in the movies, the kid raised with a cow and more ...

Thank God Sweet thought to capture anything and everything, especially things others took for granted.  (All images by Andy Sweet)

I've got a full review of The Last Resort — a gripping doc about the photography of Andy Sweet and Gary Monroe — over at Gr8erDays, and I encourage you to read it and seek out the film. Sweet, who was murdered in 1982, was probably gay, and whether or not he was, along with shooting indelible images of the aging Jewish culture of Miami Beach in the '70s, he also shot incredible images of drag gatherings.

Full Book of Sweet's Images Here!

Keep reading for a peek at his work with LGBTQ people ...

What fresh hell! (Images via Fox Searchlight)

Yorgos Lanthimos's The Favourite teaches the kids that shade is nothing new, and that the desperately insecure trolls surrounding royalty may have been kings and queens of the art form centuries before social media made it look easy.

Viola Davis takes the lead. (Images via 20th Century Fox)

With Widows, opening Friday, director Steve McQueen (12 Years a Slave, Shame) and writer Gillian Flynn (Gone Girl) have delivered a rare animal — an Oscar-baiting thriller that offers all the action of a heist movie as well as organically interwoven ocial commentary. It's a blast.

"I'm dark, I'm 53, I'm in my natural hair – I'm in bed with Liam Neeson. And he's not my slave owner. I'm not a prostitute. We simply are a couple in love. I've never seen it before." pic.twitter.com/0vtaUM8338

— Diversity School (@DiverseSchool) November 10, 2018

Viola Davis is Veronica, a Chicago schools union rep married to a career criminal (Liam Neeson) who finds her cushy lifestyle — and her life — threatened when her man and his crew are immolated in a shoot-out at the end of a job gone wrong. He's gone, but so are the millions they had just stolen, and that means she will have to pay back the money's unrightful owner, a mobster running for alderman named Jamal Manning (Brian Tyree Henry). Her only choice is to contact the other overnight widows whose men were killed along with hers and lean on them to help her pull off a heist of their own.

The plan is to steal a cache of stolen public funds that Veronica's dead husband detailed in a notebook he left behind.

How do you spell disbelief? (Images via Amazon Studies)

I'm becoming disenchanted.

I have a soft spot for the horror genre, but increasingly, it feels as if horror films that horror fans praise as brilliant are really just unapologetically of the genre; they're not necessariIy good films overall.

Case in point: Suspiria, which has generated enthusiasm among the crowd that had previously been wary of Luca Guadagnino remaking the 1977 Dario Argento classic. Yes, it's a serious entry in the genre, yes it is exquisitely well-shot and is taken as seriously as death by its talented cast, but it's also maddeningly dry, pretentious, nonsensical and relentlessly nihlistic. Like the far more over-praised Hereditary, it's claustrophobic claptrap. Unlike Hereditary, it's also embarrassingly self-indulgent filmmaking that proves the impossible — that too much of Tilda Swinton can be a bad thing.

Hedges, the boy erased (Images via Focus Features)

Boy Erased, based on Garrard Conley's 2016 memoir about his time in conversion therapy at the insistence of his religious parents, has been brought to the screen by producer, director, writer and actor Joel Edgerton, who has given the book an empathetic, sobering, unimaginative yet affecting adaptation that rises above its shortcomings to pack an emotional punch.

Lucas Hedges on His Sexual Orientation

Coming after the release of the gutsier The Miseducation of Cameron Post, whose protagonist and director are female, Boy Erased can't help but feel decidedly more conventional, focusing on the story of an attractive white male who endures a stint at Love in Action just long enough to discover it's a harmful fraud, and who is immediately delivered from its clutches — the end.

(Image via Making Montgomery Clift)

Playing at NewFest, Making Montgomery Clift is an utterly absorbing recasting of the image of the trailblazing actor by his nephew, one that meticulously pares away propaganda — Hollywood and otherwise — in place for decades that would have us believe Clift was a self-loathing gay man who all but killed himself.

Monty Clift was a new kind of emotional actor, one whose style was soon embraced by contemporaries James Dean and Marlon Brando. He made only 17 films, but they included such classics as The Heiress (1949), A Place in the Sun (1951) and From Here to Eternity (1953). His gayness was an open secret in Hollywood, and fairly jumps off the screen in many of his appearances; it's shocking that Red River (1948), with its gun-comparing scene between Monty and John Ireland, wasn't banned for promoting homosexuality.

(GIF via GIPHY)

So why does everybody think Clift drank himself to death in an increasingly tiny closet of his own making?

Massive Monty Photo Gallery!

Co-directors Robert Anderson Clift and Hillary Demmon had at their disposal an unprecedented amount of material for any subject, let alone one so private. Most compelling are the hour and hours (weeks?) worth of audio tapes made clandestinely by co-director Clift's dad, Monty's brother Brooks Clift. These pristine tapes (there is a momentary Capturing the Friedmans vibe as his son ponders why the tapes were so obsessively made) hold the private thoughts of Monty and his entire family, including his mother, a direct window into what made Clift — and the Clifts — tick.