When photographer Jen Graylock pitched a "drag to riches" documentary to RonMar Productions, she didn't realize the much more expansive story that the idea would become. Yet, it didn't take long for that project to become an urgent documentary chronicling the lives and careers of drag artists fighting against a wave of anti-drag legislation in the United States. And just like that, a new project titled Save the Queen was born.At the center of this story is Bella DuBalle, a drag queen and activist in Memphis, Tennessee whose career and life story is both personal and universal serving as a vessel for drag artists across the country.The production company behind Save the Queen, RonMar, was co-founded by Marcie Mule and Roni Selig with a mission to create "content that matters." Thus, Graylock's "drag to riches" idea made perfect sense and Mule, who's an out lesbian herself, immediately understood and was drawn to the concept.For years, Graylock watched drag's influence on high-fashion runways, collections, and creations. "Marc Jacobs was in the clubs. Jean Paul Gaultier was in the clubs. [Domenico] Dolce and [Stefano] Gabbana were in the clubs. They were there with the drag queens," Graylock tells Out, adding that she never saw drag queens as "gritty street people," but as "beautiful entitieswhich we see today on RuPaul's Drag Race."But drag bans came into effect, and nothing was the same.DuBalle, who's done drag for 12 years and calls Memphis her home, never planned to become a national figure. But that's what happened when she spoke out against a drag ban introduced in Tennessee. "I went viral for speaking out against Tennessee's anti-drag ban, and that's when Jen and I fell in together, and I met Marcie," the queen says.DuBalle argues that drag isn't just meant for entertainment, but is also an effective tool for social change, highlighting a "through line of how much we [drag artists] have contributed to the political movement, and liberation."DuBalle, who had been making a living as a full-time drag performer, was hit hard by the drag bans. "It wasn't just my creative outlet; it was my full-time job. Suddenly, I'm destitute," she recalls. Mule was struck by the image of DuBalle having to put "all of [her] beautiful gowns and wigs into storage," remarking on the psychological impact that this experience must've felt like.The drag bans, tragically, also happened around the time when DuBalle's father died. "I put him in the ground, and her [DuBalle] in the closet, in the same week," she says.Between the drag bans and anti-drag rhetoric being pushed by conservative forces, DuBalle didn't back down. She continued her all-ages drag brunches and essentially dared authorities to stop her. The ban was overturned for a little while after a dispute in the courts, but it didn't take long for new anti-drag legislature to return, though DuBalle insisted on "not paying any attention to it."Some of the biggest Pride Month events in the country banned drag performers altogether, or moved drag performances into private, ticketed tents. "There wouldn't even be Pride without drag queens," DuBalle recalls feeling at the time.This relentless anti-drag narrative struck DuBalle as deeply hypocritical. As someone who had worked as a professional Shakespearean actor for many years, DuBalle just couldn't shake this irrational contrast between two art forms she was attached to. "Right now, you're telling me I cannot put on a dress and go read in front of children," DuBalle recalls telling Republican Governor Bill Lee. "But last year your government paid me thousands and thousands of dollars to go into schools and play the nurse in Romeo and Juliet."DuBalle subsequently called out Governor Lee's reported history of dressing in drag for a high school powderpuff football fundraiser. "Now sir, you are out here in full drag in front of children. Is this not what you're saying is illegal?" DuBalle questioned.Selig says that drag is "an art form; it's a performance art," and notes the dangers of denying drag performers from their right to make a living essentially threatening all artists. DuBalle agrees that these vague laws "open the door for us to start shutting down creativity and pure artistic performances."Through it all, the Save the Queen project has not only been documenting DuBalle's hurdles, but also her comeback. After a year and a half away from the stage, DuBalle is now ready to come back with a drag brunch performance at Bao Toan in Memphis that's set for Sunday, August 31. And she's putting in the werk, okay?! DuBalle says she's even doing "housework in the heels" to get her muscle memory back.DuBalle's grand return to the stage is a performance with "four of my closest girls," she teases, including two of her "drag kids." When asked which song she's doing for such a memorable number, DuBalle says she's still figuring that out, explaining that she wants to find a balance between telling her story and giving people the upbeat energy they'd expect at drag brunch. Maybe some Dolly Parton will make it in there, though.As a production company, RonMar wants to sell this Save the Queen project to a major streamer like HBO Max or Netflix in order to keep following DuBalle's journey. For Selig, this project is urgent and significant because the world is at "a time when we need to bring some joy to the world." She adds that joy is an essential part of people's mental, physical, and spiritual health.DuBalle not only agrees, but sums it up perfectly: "Queer joy is resistance."