At NewFest, David Hatkoff Made the Room Matter
After helping NewFest grow into one of New York’s defining queer cultural institutions, David Hatkoff reflects on the power of gathering,
the future of queer film, and why visibility still needs infrastructure.
By: Alexander Kacala
You might assume the executive director of a film festival belongs in Culture. But that would be too easy.
In an era when streaming services have made it almost effortless to experience film privately — at home, on the couch, alone in the glow of a laptop screen — a film festival reminds us why cinema was never meant to be experienced in isolation. It belongs in community. In a room full of strangers laughing together, crying together, and seeing themselves more clearly in the dark.
That is what NewFest does. It gathers people for the communal experience of watching queer film in one place, at one time, with a shared energy that can feel almost spiritual.
A NewFest screening rarely feels like just a screening. The rooms are full. The conversations spill into the lobby. The films become a reason for people to find one another. And in a world where so much culture is consumed alone, NewFest reminds us that seeing ourselves together still matters.
For the last seven years, David Hatkoff has been at the helm of making that possible. Under his leadership, NewFest grew dramatically, expanding its budget, staff, programming, and reach, while putting more than $1 million directly into the hands of queer filmmakers. In the process, the organization became a force in insisting that queer audiences are not niche audiences. They are the audience.
It was recently announced that Hatkoff will be stepping down, but the impact he has made will be felt for a very long time.
He helped prove that queer film is not niche. It is infrastructure. It is memory. It is community.
What made this feel like the right moment to step away?
Leading NewFest for seven years has been a dream job, and it’s changed how I see the world. Of course it’s bittersweet. I love this organization and the people I’ve met doing this work. They’ve inspired me to push the limits of what seems possible. But I’ve also had a front-row seat to where the queer cultural ecosystem breaks down: where funding stops, where stories don’t get made, where audiences don’t get found. The truth is that most of the resources we need already exist. The challenge is connecting filmmakers, funders, audiences, brands, cultural institutions, and community organizations. I’ve come to believe that creating those connections is where I can make the greatest contribution.
What are you proudest of helping build?
The budget and staff size both grew by more than 400%, but what I’m most proud of is that we’ve put more than $1 million directly into the hands of queer filmmakers and helped convince studios, distributors, and brands that queer audiences aren’t niche audiences. We deserve infrastructure, and we deserve to be taken seriously. NewFest is one of the increasingly rare spaces that exists entirely for us — where queer stories are the default, not the exception, and queer audiences are the whole point.
What happens when LGBTQ+ audiences experience their stories together, in a room?
Something magical and irreplaceable. Streaming is extraordinary for access, but it’s fundamentally private. When a queer audience laughs together, cries together, and recognizes itself together, that’s something different. In those moments we realize we’re not alone, and that we’re part of something bigger than ourselves. The room is the point.
What do queer film festivals provide that the industry cannot?
Permission. The industry is always doing the math: market size, crossover appeal, commercial potential. A queer festival can simply say: this story matters. This community matters. And for the right partners, supporting that can be both culturally meaningful and good business.
Why was year-round expansion so important to you?
Because “festival” can become a euphemism for “the one week a year we take you seriously.” I never wanted NewFest to be that. The queer community doesn’t stop existing after closing night, and our stories don’t stop having impact outside of Pride month. An organization like NewFest can be an event, or it can be an institution. I was always more interested in the second.
What do people misunderstand about supporting queer filmmakers meaningfully?
Making the film is only half the work. The other half is making sure people actually find it. Support isn’t a transaction. It’s a relationship.
How does NewFest balance preserving queer history and making room for new voices
Those aren’t competing goals. They reinforce each other. When emerging filmmakers understand the lineage they’re entering, they make bolder work. And when older work is revisited through new eyes, it stays alive. History isn’t fixed, it’s an ever-evolving conversation.
What feels most urgent about NewFest’s work right now?
The forces aligned against us right now don’t want us visible, vocal, or together. They want us silent, isolated, and afraid. NewFest is a direct answer to that — a space where we come together, see ourselves reflected, remember that we’re not alone, and leave stronger than we came in. That’s not programming. That’s resistance.
Who in New York’s queer cultural world is inspiring you most right now?
I’m inspired by people who refuse to stay in one lane. As someone who loves film, theater, literature, and music, I’m drawn to artists and organizers who create conversations across disciplines and communities. Some of the most exciting queer cultural work happening right now is bringing different audiences into the same room and helping people discover unexpected points of connection. Those kinds of intersections — between identities, art forms, and communities — are where I find the most hope.
What does Pride mean to you in 2026?
Pride means bringing all of myself to any space I enter. To be my most authentic self — imperfectly, honestly, and willing to move through any discomfort or fear. To navigate the world with integrity and humor, invest deeply in the people and communities I care about, and know that I did my best. None of that happens alone. I need my community. And I’m fucking proud to be a part of the queer community.
People don’t fully understand that our era was rich with artistry, music, and survival. We weren’t trying to be copy-and-paste queens. We were building community in the middle of fear, loss, and uncertainty.
To follow David on Instagram, head here.
Throughout Pride Month, RAG MAG NYC is spotlighting 30 queer New Yorkers shaping culture, community and nightlife right now.
These are the people creating the spaces, conversations, organizations, performances, and moments that make LGBTQ+ New York what it is. Some are household names. Others are the quiet forces making an impact every day.
Because Pride has always been more than a celebration. It’s the people who show up for one another.
