An official selection in the Emerging Filmmaker Showcase at the 2026 Cannes Film Festival’s American Pavilion, co-directors Daniel Talbott and Andrew Klaus-Vineyard’s Welcome to the Tool Shed is an impactful look at queer history, the challenges our community currently faces, and where we go from here. At the center of the documentary short, made with an urgent DIY “queercore” spirit, is the popular Palm Springs gay bar the Tool Shed, an oasis in the desert for leather lovers.
The film introduces us to the bar’s dedicated owner Robert Cole, along with some its spirited patrons, many whom are sex-positive seniors who gravitate to the space as a sanctuary. Honoring the fighting spirit and resilience of this first generation of openly LGBTQ seniors, Welcome to the Tool Shed reflects on the oppression they faced, the scars of the height of the HIV/AIDS crisis, and the lessons we can learn from how they stood up for equal rights.
Following the documentary’s screening at Cannes, filmmakers Daniel Talbott and Andrew Klaus-Vineyard speak exclusively with The Queer Review’s editor James Kleinmann about how the film came about, their focus on the current political climate in the United States, contextualizing the story of the Tool Shed within queer history, and the continued importance for our community of LGBTQ bars.
James Kleinmann, The Queer Review: How did you come to work together on this film?
Daniel Talbott: “Andrew is one of my best friends and we had been wanting to find something to work on together for a while. We were out in Palm Springs when we decided to make this doc.”
Andrew Klaus-Vineyard: “ It was a story we were both really passionate about telling and we magically had some down time and we wanted to make a scrappy punk rock, queercore documentary. In light of the current situation with the US government it felt like time was of the essence.”
How did the idea for the film come about?
Daniel: “It actually came up because of Larry Kramer. He was a dear friend of mine and when he passed in New York during the pandemic I was in Los Angeles. We had a get-together to celebrate his life in LA where I got to meet some of his friends from ACT UP in the 80s and 90s. They kept talking about the Tool Shed. So I decided that the next time I was in Palm Springs visiting my grandma I’d go check it out. When I did eventually go, I met the owner Robert Cole and instantly loved the place.”
Andrew: “We have our first generation of openly queer seniors, many, if not most of whom, never thought they would live to be seniors because of the ravages of HIV/AIDS. They are not only our blueprint and trailblazers as to what aging in our community can look like, but they’re also the blueprint for how to survive an oppressive regime, and how the next generation steps up to meet this moment politically. We are standing on the shoulders of invisible giants, and we wanted to document some of those voices who so often go unheard.”
Had Larry Kramer gone to the Tool Shed?
Daniel: “I don’t think he’d been there often, but a lot of his friends ended up living in Palm Springs and that is their place. I knew Larry later in life. He could still get on his soapbox and do his thing, but he was kind and loving and a total romantic. We’d mostly talk about what it is to be a queer person and to fall in love with so much of this country looking at what you’re doing as wrong. It was cool to hear firsthand stories about Larry the warrior from his friends. He was an absolute badass. You did not mess with that guy. I was very blown away by those stories and meeting those men was also my introduction to the Tool Shed.”
One of the things that I love about the film is that you center queer seniors. So often older folks in the community are not present in queer stories. Was that something that you were conscious of as you embarked on making the film?
Daniel: “Hugely. I’m middle aged myself now and I was at a barbecue the other night with someone who I love dearly, an amazing filmmaker, who is only 21 and has just graduated from film school. He wasn’t sure who Harvey Milk was, which made me think that something is wrong when it comes to passing on queer history. There’s a bridge that is broken here that we need to fix.”
“I grew up really rural, really working class, and it was not cool to be queer. I fell in love with this guy when I was young and we were serious for a long time. I remember the first time he ever kissed me in public was after seeing Beautiful Thing. We’d driven three and a half hours from the mountains down to San Francisco and that night was the first time that we felt we could openly be ourselves as a couple. The people in my life who gave me permission to be queer and proud, who gave me the strength to be who I am and to fight, were queer elders.”
“Our elders are such an important part of our community. They taught me the true meaning of words like pansy, faggot, limp wrist, and fairy. Words that are meant to mean weak, but our queer elders are the strongest, most tethered to the Earth people I know. These people who were called faggots and fairies make me proud to be who I am. So I wanted to honor them by sharing their stories and getting their voices out there because they blow me away. Especially with everything going on the US right now, I was grateful to have their voices in my head as we were in post-production on the film. It was a life-saver for me.”
Andrew: “Queer history is woefully under archived. It’s usually passed lover to lover, one friend group to the next. But for this older generation so many of their chosen family and lovers have passed and the younger generation are not being taught their history. I think one massive consequence of our digital algorithm curation age is the loss of third space, the loss of intergeneration connection.”
“There is a real lack of understanding that the rights we enjoy were hard fought for and very recent. For example, marriage equality is only eleven years old in the US. I’ve been lucky enough to have been with my now husband for twenty four years and it’s only been legally recognized for a decade. We now have at least ten states with lawsuits attempting to overturn marriage equality. One thing that came up in every single interview we conducted was a real sense of fear for the future for queer youth. They haven’t had to fight as hard as previous generations—thankfully—but now it’s time they pick up the fight, and they need to learn how and why.”
How would you describe the Tool Shed itself?
Daniel: “As Reo says in the film, it was a real dive bar, but Robert has completely opened it up. The windows were painted over in black for a long time, but now it’s actually filled with light during the day. There’s this huge patio out back that’s actually double the size of the bar itself with misters and a built-in stereo. It’s this wonderful place. There are naked leather guys everywhere. I’m not part of the leather scene myself, but I really love it there. It has such a joyous, fun, raunchy, sex-positive vibe. There’s so much laughter there. There’s a Mariah Carey Bingo Night, which is the coolest, most crazy thing I’ve ever seen. It’s a very joyful place where generations can meet each other. When Robert says that everyone’s welcome there, he means it and the bar lives up to that.”
Andrew: “It’s like a community center with a side of kink.”
Robert is a great subject in the documentary, how open was he to being involved in the film?
Daniel: “I love Robert and we’ve become close. Understandably, he was very protective and it took a long time for us to get him to trust us, in a really beautiful way. We approached him several times over a couple of months with the idea to make the film and we eventually took him out to lunch to discuss it. He got emotional and he told us that ever since election night in November 2024 he’d been having a bad time and the bar had been getting a lot of threatening calls. Initially he was worried because he’s so protective of the community and of the people who congregate at his bar. But once we’d earned his trust, he was so on board with it and we had total access to him and his life. I hope we made him proud.”
Andrew: “Everyone was extremely protective of Tool Shed and its patrons. We were outsiders, not from the leather scene, coming into the space with a film crew, albeit a small one. You never know if the work will be manipulative, or spun in a negative light. Trust is built on actions as much as words and we have worked hard to not just build a connection, but maintain one. I adore them all like chosen family now. “
What about the Tool Shed patrons, how open were they to speak with you?
Daniel: “They were awesome. We would go up to everyone without a camera first and tell them what we were doing there. I think that there might be a feature version of this film that is actually not as political. Of course, everything queer is political in the US right now, but I mean a film that is more focused on their lives and their stories and who they are. We had the opportunity to respond to what’s happening in our country in real time because we were working on this so fast and making it in such a queercore way. We made this for no money, everyone volunteered their time, including our amazing editor, Patrick Smith.”
“We let the news speak for itself. I want my cousins in Arkansas to watch this and pay attention to what’s happening to our community. Even if it’s not as sophisticated or as nuanced as other films, we wanted to get it out there and have it be loud and political. That was really important to us.”
Andrew: “We spoke to some amazing folks who declined to participate further after our initial interviews with them because digging into these old wounds is not easy. It hurts. It’s a deep psychic trauma to unpack and its not for everyone. We deeply respect that. I think those who chose to tell their stories, so vulnerably and openly, do so from a place of strength, understanding the shared sense of importance to the next generation who need to learn this history.”
The opening minutes are really moving and contextualize the Tool Shed within queer history and the height of the HIV/AIDS crisis. Why did you want to spend some time doing that at the beginning of the film?
Daniel: “The 70s into the 80s, and the onset of the AIDS crisis felt like the first time that queer people were allowed to be really on the streets and loud and present. Even though the stories were buried on page eight of The New York Times, they were still in The New York Times. I wanted to go back to when we first got to be publicly loud and to remind us to be publicly loud again now. These people fought these battles so we could have what we have now. We’re going to have to go back to that kind of work to protect ourselves and our community. I wanted to remember and honor the people who created that roadmap for us. I wanted to show anyone who doesn’t know that history whose shoulders we’re standing on as we’re facing backlash today.”
Andrew: “I have a background in Queer, Feminist, and Marxist Theory. Yes, I’m a reformed academic from the PNW! So context is so very Important to me in how we place a piece of art, or a historical document. Since queer history isn’t taught to most queer kids we thought it was really important to at least provide a refresher or an overview to drop us into the world before we flash forward to our present-day issues, which really are cyclical religious persecution and institutional homophobia.”
Why do you think that spaces like the Tool Shed across the country continue to be so vital to us as a community?
Daniel: “For me, going into a queer bar, my shoulders drop and I breathe a little bit differently. You feel like you belong. It’s our space, we can let our guard down and be fully accepted. You’re not looking over your shoulder all the time, like in the outside world. Mostly, what I find in queer bars is a sense of camaraderie and laughter. I play darts and pool when I’m in a bar. We have a blast, we make dirty jokes, we sing along to Madonna, or Chappell Roan, or Lady Gaga. You can meet people, or do whatever you’re there for.”
“It’s also a bridge to the past and to the people who stood up and fought when being queer was illegal. It’s a reminder of what they fought for. I feel braver after I leave a queer space. I don’t drink, so I’m a good fly on the wall and I love getting to see people express themselves freely without fear. I’m very thankful for these spaces, but they are falling away and that’s really scary. We have to celebrate and protect them.”
Andrew: “The fact still remains that the majority of queer people do not come from queer inclusive families. Having a space to gather with a commonality is deeply healing. For example, when a child faces racism, they go home to a family that most likely has also faced similar discrimination. There is an implicit empathy and understanding of that pain, and tools for coping, overcoming, and retaliation. For a queer person, they may likely be the only queer person—that they know of—in their family. Often, their first bully may even be their parent. To find a space to gather to have that chosen family is such a vital part of a person’s well-being. We are not meant to be solitary animals; we need our tribe. The often misquoted “blood is thicker than water” actually reads the blood of the covenant is thicker than the water of the womb. To me that holds true. Those we choose our bonds with are often stronger than those we are born into. That’s what the queer community is to me.”
By James Kleinmann
For updates on Welcome to the Tool Shed including upcoming screenings head to welcometotoolshed.com.
