From Silence to Spotlight: Lex Melony on Queer Cinema, Community & the Healing Screen

When a quiet boy from a conservative Ukrainian town moves to London and turns his scars into a cinematic manifesto, the world has no choice but to listen. Lex Melony — film director, curator, and founder of OFN — has, in just a few seasons, built one of the boldest queer platforms in the British capital. His films refuse to decorate emotion; they expose pain, desire, and isolation exactly as they are, laying bare the most delicate nerves of human experience.

In this candid conversation for Prominent Magazine, Lex shares his journey from silence to a resonant voice: how a childhood stutter became a springboard into imagined worlds, why cinema can be an act of care, and how frustration evolved into a festival that gathers people from across the globe. We discuss the joys and traumas of the queer community, the balance between directing and curating, and the first feature film already taking shape in the quiet margins of his notebooks.

ABOUT YOURSELF AND YOUR JOURNEY

1. What was your path from “just a guy from Ukraine” to a film director and curator in London?
I grew up in a conservative town in Ukraine where I had to hide who I was. I had a stutter, spent a lot of time alone, and built my own worlds. That’s how it started: turning silence into imagination. I never planned a career in film; I simply followed what made me feel alive. One small project led to another. Moving to London gave me the space to create openly. Telling stories helped me speak, even when words were still hard. From silence to voice, from hiding to showing—that’s the core of my journey.

2. If you had to name one defining moment when your journey as an artist truly began, what would it be?
The day I wrote my first short film Because of Love in 2020 and organised my first casting call. That was the moment I realised I didn’t need permission to tell my story. It changed everything. I felt empowered and was pulled into a fast‑moving wave of nonstop creation. From that point on, it wasn’t just an idea; it became action.

3. What shaped you the most—education, relocation, or personal struggles?
All three shaped me in different ways. Relocation gave me tools. Education gave me language. Personal struggle gave me the reason to create. Growing up in Ukraine and finding freedom in London helped me find my voice. Without one, I wouldn’t fully understand the other.

ABOUT CREATIVITY AND MISSION

4. Why is it important for you to explore pain, desire, and isolation?
I wouldn’t say I explore them—they never left me. After everything I’ve been through, I still carry them, and many others do too, often alone. These are the feelings we’re told to hide. I try to give them space, not to fix them but to let them breathe. My work is a way of saying: I see you, even the one in the faraway corner. It’s my way of being honest with myself and others.

5. Why do you think audiences resonate so deeply with your visual stories?
Because I don’t decorate emotion. I hold it as it is—raw, human, sometimes a little broken.

6. You create more than films; you create spaces for dialogue. Do you see your art as an act of care?
Yes. Every story I share is a hand reaching out, saying these are important stories—you should see them. It’s not about telling people what to feel; it’s about creating a space where they are allowed to feel anything. Making space for queer voices and complexity is what care looks like to me. Art is a kind of presence. Sometimes that’s all someone needs—to know they are not alone.

ABOUT THE FESTIVAL AND COMMUNITY

7. What was the spark that started OFN?
It began with frustration. I wasn’t seeing the kind of queer films I wanted to watch. There was no combination of truly high‑quality short films and meaningful awards for LGBTQIA+ creators in London, and not enough international work. I had no clear plan; I just knew we needed a space that felt bold, emotional, raw, and real—something I would want to attend myself. So I created a night for it, and people came. It started with love—love for cinema, queer voices, community. I wanted to build a platform where people could experience powerful films, join discussion panels and workshops, connect with each other, and enjoy the energy of live shows during the festival.

8. How does curating differ from directing for you? Where do you feel most at home?
Directing is deeply personal; curating is about community. Directing feels like writing an intimate letter to yourself—emotional and focused. Curating is more like building a chorus, tuning individual voices into a whole. When I direct, I speak from within. When I curate, I listen and help others speak. I need both to feel complete. Right now, I feel at home in both roles, but I’m open to discovering something new—maybe theatre next. Let’s see where the road leads.

9. What stories in queer cinema are still waiting to be told?
Stories where queerness is not just about struggle but about joy; not just about trauma but about legacy. As an immigrant, I want more stories from Eastern Europe, especially Ukraine—stories from queer people who don’t speak the “right” language or fit the polished version often shown. Many are still missing: intergenerational queer stories, queer parenthood, queer disability, trans lives beyond transition narratives. We’re only at the beginning.

ABOUT THE NEW AND THE IMPORTANT

10. Tell us about Queer Spotlight. Who do you invite, and what conversations come to life there?
Queer Spotlight is for people shaping queer culture—artists, party makers, activists, performers. It’s about honesty, laughter, and depth. We talk about everything: nightlife, shame, joy, grief, survival. Each guest brings their truth. It’s not just interviews; it’s shared moments—what I wished I’d had growing up.

11. What currently occupies your mind the most?
Balance. Trying to stay sane, worrying about relatives and friends still in Ukraine under the threat of Russian bombings, while managing the festival, finishing post‑production, preparing Queer Spotlight, and writing. All of that while trying to be human—sleep, rest, enjoy something as simple as the sound of the sea. It’s a lot.

12. What do you envision your first feature film to be?
Something raw, slow, and intimate—a film that doesn’t try to be correct or explain itself but simply makes you feel. It will be personal and political, filled with silence, memory, queer desire, and tenderness. That’s the world I want to build.

FINAL QUESTIONS

13. What does being prominent mean to you—visible, influential, free?
Being honest. Being an unstoppable force that brings something new, building a path toward the light, being seen. Prominence without purpose means nothing. It’s about being fully myself and creating space for others to do the same.

14. How do you see the future of independent queer cinema?
The future is in our hands. More collaborations, more risks, less waiting for permission—global, gritty, tender, unstoppable. Queer cinema isn’t going anywhere.

15. What are you afraid of, and what are you dreaming about today?
I’m afraid of losing time, missing chances, waking up and realising I waited too long. I’m dreaming of creating something that outlives me—something honest, holding queer joy and pain together. Something real.