After huffing spiritual cleansing room deodorant spray, Trinity (writer and director Molly Hewitt), one of four glam oddball roommates, begins to hear the voices of the dead. After a while, these voices begin to interfere with her life, her career as a dominatrix, and her relationship with her sub partner / pet, Baby (Theo Germaine).

Fame soon finds her and she’s inundated with requests to speak with dead relatives, dogs and loved ones, as she seeks the answers for herself through flashbacks and lots and lots of huffing. “It’s no big deal, it’s just like poppers,” she says whenever someone gives her a side-eye for this habit.

This is one of those very queer band-of-friends films that I like, reminiscent of some Bruce LaBruce or John Waters, but with more care about pronouns. Holy Trinity is fun, care-free, and delves into some depths as it addresses topics of loss, grieving, childhood trauma and found family.

There are some oddities. Novelty drag queens, human pets, glam-branded diet soda and latex-clad nuns are all treated as normal and unexotic, compared to the unusual ability to speak to the dead, and even that is a only few days’ wonder. The internal struggles of the principles are really what the story is about, amidst this brightly-colored and bizarrely decorated fairy tale of a parallel world where everything is glamorous and nothing hurts but our past.

This is Molly Hewitt‘s first writing/directing credit, but they’ve been in a couple of oddball bits of cinema in the past. One wonders if this is where they met this gaggle of beloved misfits this story revolves around.

Holy Trinity is funny, silly, and full of heart, and I’ll definitely give it a second watch when the need arises.