Author: affirmedally

December 1st was World AIDS Day, just as it has been for every year since 1988. This year, however, a day that was supposed to be dedicated to remembrance and raising awareness of a disease that has claimed countless lives was overshadowed by another event. One day prior, on November 30, 2018, George H.W. Bush died. The fact that the 41st U.S. President’s death seemed to take precedent over World AIDS Day is rather ironic considering his stance on the matter. Upon hearing the news of his passing, many felt it was necessary to remember Bush’s legacy, completely disregarding the negative aspects of his administration, especially in regards to HIV/AIDS.

While in office, Bush pledged a better approach to the AIDS crisis than his predecessor, Ronald Reagan, but when he gave a speech on the subject in 1990 he “was long on compassion but short on strategy and commitment to funding” (Signorile). Despite Bush’s negligence toward the virus and those living with and effected by it, in the wake of his death his mourners attempted to portray him in a positive light, wanting to only note his accomplishments. Simultaneously, they chose to completely ignore the hundreds of thousands that died due to utter carelessness from Bush and his entire administration. The close proximity of these recent events merely serves as a modern example of how elected officials have remained silent when it comes to HIV/AIDS, and furthermore, how they are never held accountable for their actions, or rather their lack thereof.

Although the first cases began showing up among gay men in the late 1970s, the United States Center for Disease Control and Prevention (CDC) did not issue a warning about what would later be known as AIDS until 1981. That same year, The New York Times published an article announcing: “Rare Cancer Seen in 41 Homosexuals.” Initially calling it “Gay Cancer,” the name of the disease was soon changed to GRID or Gay-Related Immune Deficiency (“GMHC/HIV/AIDS Timeline”). At the time, virtually nothing was known about the disease other than that it primarily affected gay men, making them susceptible to “germs that normally wouldn’t hurt a baby” (The Normal Heart). Doctors had no idea how the virus was spread, nor how to stop its rapid progression in patients. To make matters worse, elected officials offered no guidance for how to deal with what the CDC had by then declared an epidemic. Despite more cases being reported daily, with seemingly no end in sight, politicians refused to discuss the matter publicly. In fact, it was not until September 1985 that President Ronald Reagan mentioned AIDS publicly for the first time. Although, this response was insufficient as, by this point, thousands had already died or been infected, while the president had failed to provide any feasible solutions to the crisis.

While this disease was beginning to unfold, writer and activist Larry Kramer was witnessing its effects firsthand. Countless members of his community were dying and he saw that no one in power was taking direct action. As a result, Kramer was compelled to co-found the Gay Men’s Health Crisis (GMHC) in 1982. With a mission to end the AIDS epidemic and uplift all those affected by the disease, the GMHC worked to create change by finding and funding treatments to counteract the virus. However, due to a difference of opinions and strategies, Kramer was eventually removed from the GMHC. Shortly thereafter, he wrote the play The Normal Heart, not only to recount his experiences amid the AIDS crisis, but more importantly to chronicle the U.S. Government’s lack of involvement when it came to battling the disease.

Based on Kramer’s 1985 play of the same name, the 2014 television drama film, The Normal Heart, follows the onset and subsequent rise of the AIDS crisis from 1981 to 1984. Largely autobiographical in nature, the film takes place in New York City, detailing the efforts of the GMHC, particularly through the eyes of the film’s protagonist, Alexander “Ned” Weeks (Mark Ruffalo). Ned, like Kramer, is a writer turned activist that watches, horrified, as those in his community rapidly die from an unknown disease. When his partner, Felix Turner (Matt Bomer), contracts the virus, the fight becomes all the more personal for Ned. Desperate to save Felix, and outraged by the government’s absence in the matter, Ned is determined to not only find a cure, but to make AIDS the nation’s top priority.

Ned feels that loud, public confrontations and consistent media coverage will warrant results while peaceful cooperation simply makes it easier for the government to ignore the issue entirely. As those in power tried to suppress all aspects of the disease, it merely continued to spread, taking more lives as time passed. Ned is blatant and bold in his articles and letters, refusing to censor any aspect of the virus, whereas elected officials choose to not discuss the disease whatsoever, acting as though it does not exist. The longer these officials refuse to talk about and take action against AIDS and its effects, the worse the epidemic becomes. By equating silence with stagnation as well as leaving viewers with an ambiguous ending, The Normal Heart argues that the lack of discussion regarding HIV/AIDS is what has ultimately allowed the virus to remain a threat, both in the 1980s and even today in 2018.

From the beginning of the film, the lack of reporting about AIDS is what causes the disease to be transmitted and thus progress so quickly. The first time Ned hears of the virus is when he is reading The New York Times article mentioned earlier. This story is not on the front page, but rather it is only given a small column inside the paper. This placement alone allows the disease to be ignored as many would completely skim over the article unless they were reading the newspaper from cover to cover. Soon after Ned reads the article about AIDS, he contacts Felix, who is a New York Times reporter. Seeing as how they were the company to originally release information regarding the virus, Ned hopes that his connection with Felix will result in more stories about AIDS being published. Unfortunately, Felix says the attitude at The New York Times is like most other newspapers, as both of them know that media outlets tend stay away from gay issues because there is “too much room for criticism” (The Normal Heart). 

Reporters often feared they would lose their jobs or be subject to harsh judgement from the public if they covered AIDS or any topic related to the gay community. Along with this, those who did not experience the direct effects of the health crisis did not see a reason to inform others or themselves about it, feeling as though they were immune to it. As a result, Ned and other members of the GMHC must take to the street for donations as they try to spread information about the disease via word of mouth. Despite getting articles published in the New York Native, a smaller scale, gay newspaper, they are still unsuccessful in their attempts at raising awareness. Even those that do take a copy of the newspaper seldom read its contents. Instead they simply discard the paper into the nearest trashcan, having only taken a copy to get the members of the GMHC to leave them alone.

Much like passersby that took the GMHC’s papers only to throw them away, those in power often feigned interest as a means to keep activists content, if only for the time being. This approach further silenced the AIDS epidemic as officials typically felt that if they ignored the issue long enough the problem would, quite literally, die off. Ned’s homophobic brother, Ben Weeks (Alfred Molina), is one of the first characters to employ this strategy. Ben is a lawyer and the senior partner at his firm. Ned knows that not only would the law firm be able to afford and advise the GMHC pro bono, but that his brother could greatly influence this decision. Even though Ben tells Ned that he will bring up this possibility at the next meeting, Ned realizes this promise is only said to make him drop the matter, as his brother still thinks Ned is sick for being gay.

When those in power are not dismissing the impending threat of AIDS, they utilize red tape tactics to deter activists’ efforts in hopes that they will eventually abandon their cause altogether. Whether it be through put-off requests or a mountain of paperwork, officials use these “necessary” procedures so they can continue to remain silent. For instance, it took the GMHC well over a year to get a meeting with Hiram Keebler (Denis O’Hare), the mayor’s assistant, and even then he was an hour and a half late. The meeting takes place in a remote and dimly lit basement, suggesting that the mayor wants to keep this encounter as secret as possible. To appease the GMHC members, Mr. Keebler tells them just how much the mayor cares and is impressed by how well they are shouldering their own responsibilities. Yet, when Ned begins demanding answers and assistance, Mr. Keebler’s tone abruptly changes. He tells them that “315 cases doesn’t seem too high” and that both he and the mayor think they are simply “overreacting” (The Normal Heart).

This strategy continues to be employed when Dr. Emma Brookner (Julia Roberts) applies to receive AIDS research funding from the government. Her first reported case occurred three years ago and the National Institutes of Health (NIH) received her initial request over two years ago, to which it took them nearly a year to print and send applications. Dr. Brookner notes how, in the past, the government has spent $3 million investigating seven deaths from Tylenol, therefore, the AIDS crisis and its some 2,000 cases should assuredly receive funding.

Despite this, however, the board still votes to reject her application for funding. Along with saying that her research is “imprecise and unfocused,” the examining doctor (Remy Auberjonois) argues that the government receives more requests than they can possibly grant funding to. After going through the grueling process of filling out the appropriate forms and then having to patiently wait for the government’s response, Dr. Brookner’s appeal is still denied. This blatant rejection illustrates how these departments and their members merely hide behind the guise of caring only to repeatedly let down those in dire need of assistance. Without the proper funding, Dr. Brookner will no longer have the means to adequately research the disease. Halting Dr. Brookner’s studies ensures that she cannot release any new information regarding the virus. Although the examining doctor claims there are other researchers studying this disease, there is no guarantee that this is actually the case, which is yet another way the government works to suppress the AIDS epidemic.

Although they momentarily provide a glimmer of hope, it is soon revealed just how empty elected officials’ promises truly are. When Ned receives a call from the White House, he believes the GMHC’s cause is finally gaining some momentum and that, at last, the AIDS crisis will reach a solution. Unfortunately, he is met with similar opposition that he has faced thus far in the film. Instead of meeting with the president directly, Ned has an appointment with the Advisor to the President, John Bruno (Corey Stoll). When Ned mentions how AIDS is a plague, Mr. Bruno discourages him from using such a “negative term” as it only “scares people” (The Normal Heart). He goes on to reassure Ned that he is consistently introducing new ideas to the president, to which Ned replies, “what we desperately need is for somebody to help us cut through all this red tape” (The Normal Heart). Rather than answering Ned’s plea, the advisor simply places more obstacles in his path.

It then becomes clear that ulterior motives are at work within this meeting. The advisor merely wants confirmation that straight, “regular” people cannot contract AIDS. He claims that there is “not a single documented case of a heterosexual man getting it,” (The Normal Heart), frantically searching for affirmation as he, like so many others, believes that if the disease does not affect straight people, then there is no need for alarm nor action. When Ned says that he does not have that information, the advisor promptly ends the meeting as he has not received the news he was hoping for.

In all three cases (with the mayor’s assistant, the examining doctor, and the president’s advisor), each individual made either the GMHC or Dr. Brookner feel as though their cause was not important enough to receive the proper attention or funding. Stating that the government receives too many requests as a reason for not approving the GMHC’s indicates that the AIDS crisis is insignificant to them. Regardless of how many people die, in the minds of the government and numerous American people, those losing their lives are not the ones that matter. By ignoring the issue and not saying anything in regards to AIDS, the government is still sending a message. Their message is actually quite similar to that of anti-LGBT protesters that believe those with AIDS should die as punishment for being gay. Just because politicians communicate this notion through their silence, in a more subtle manner or professional setting, does not make it any less egregious than the picketers standing outside of the GMHC building in the film.

Even when Ned attempts to break through this red tape and make some noise in the process, he is nevertheless silenced by those in more powerful positions. His fellow GMHC members are willing to accept whatever support they can get, no matter how minimal, whereas Ned believes “the only thing [politicians] really respond to is pressure” (The Normal Heart). Ned thus decides to take matters into his own hands, appearing on a variety of talk shows as a way to call out the U.S. Government and its lack of involvement in a national health emergency. On one such occasion, Ned boldly tells a talk show host, “the government is intentionally ignoring this epidemic” (The Normal Heart). In another appearance, Ned presents a similar notion just before he accuses the mayor of being a closeted homosexual, to which the show quickly and frantically cuts out, telling viewers it was due to “technical difficulties.”

Despite Ned’s efforts, he continues to be silenced by those around him. After multiple outbursts at political officials and publishing several articles that are deemed controversial, the GMHC Board votes to have him removed from the organization. This dismissal coupled with the governments lack of reporting are suppression techniques that result in the advancement of the AIDS epidemic. Ned was the only person in the GMHC that fearlessly spoke out about the fact that nothing was being done to alleviate this national health emergency. Therefore, without his presence in the fight, the future for those that are and will be affected by AIDS looks rather dismal.

Shortly thereafter, Ned attends Gay Week at Yale University (an engagement Felix had planned on attending with Ned before he died). While couples dance, the camera slowly pans over to Ned, who is sitting alone watching everyone else as tears fill his eyes. When he attended Yale, there was no such thing as Gay Week as many were not even out yet. Presently, Ned is not only saddened by the fact that this event reminds him of Felix, but also that he cannot even celebrate this newfound liberation and acknowledgement that exists for younger generations. He is no longer a part of the GMHC, therefore, he will not be taken seriously when speaking out about AIDS because he does not belong to a credible organization anymore. Furthermore, he knows that to create any real change, large numbers and support is needed. However, most of his peers have rejected his help, so he can only wonder what will become of this epidemic with no discussion taking place. Although he is pleased to see progress being made in terms of acceptance for the LGBT community, Ned realizes that now a far more serious threat awaits, and with elected officials taking no action, he is fearful, as the fate of future generations is looking bleak.

As the film draws to a close, viewers are left with an ambiguous ending, indicating that the future of AIDS is still unclear. Prior to the credits, the film presents a series of facts and figures that appear on screen all while Tommy Boatwright (Jim Parsons), the executive director of the GMHC, is seen removing cards from his Rolodex. Earlier in the film, while at a friend’s memorial, Tommy talks about how when one of his friends dies he removes their card from the Rolodex on his desk. Rather than simply throwing away the cards, he rubber bands them together and stores them in a drawer, as he states that discarding them “feels too final” (The Normal Heart). The way that Tommy keeps removing cards as the statistics come and go indicates that nothing is being done to stop the AIDS crisis, and people are continuing to die as a result.

The statistics at the end of the film displays how the Reagan administration completely ignored the AIDS epidemic, then presents the disease’s death tolls. If viewers think that positive developments and improved statistics will follow, they are merely waiting for something that will never come as “[t]he credits feel abrupt, with signs of hope, but nothing resembling resolution” (Molloy). The ending of the film is not even slightly triumphant because, while people would like to believe that AIDS is a thing of the past, that is simply not the case.

Presently, more is known about the disease now than ever was in the 1980s and even the early 1990s. HIV, or Human Immunodeficiency Virus, is a lifelong condition that attacks a person’s immune system, making them more susceptible to infections and diseases that their body would normally fight off. AIDS, or Acquired Immune Deficiency Syndrome, is the most severe stage of HIV and usually results in death over time. People with HIV do not always have AIDS, as it typically takes about 10 years for a person with HIV to develop AIDS if they are not receiving any treatment (“HIV/AIDS” qtd. in Hostert).

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Since the AIDS crisis first began, what was once an epidemic has now become a pandemic, effecting people around the world. Although additional research has been conducted and there is more information and resources available today, the silence surrounding the disease remains. The disease itself is a silent killer as it can lay dormant in a person’s body, and symptoms tend to be non-existent, sometimes taking 10 years to appear. As of today, about 36.9 million people globally are living with HIV, with more people being infected daily (“Global Statistics”).

Although many would like to believe it, we are far from being considered a post-AIDS society. New treatments, both ones that help manage HIV/AIDS as well as pre-exposure medications, have been developed and released, but “AIDS, while certainly different from before, is not yet over” (Román 282). Simply because issues are not constantly reported on does not mean they cease to exist. Often under the pretense that they do not want to incite worldwide panic, elected officials do not want to discuss AIDS in any capacity. In reality, this silencing technique has been used for decades in hopes that the general public will forget about the matter entirely. That way, the government will not have to deal with the disease or work to find and thus fund solutions.

The Normal Heart serves as a reminder of the painful history endured by the LGBT+ community. While HIV/AIDS is briefly touched on in sex education classes, it is never even mentioned in history courses. Changing this aspect of curriculum in schools would not only be accurate in showing that LGBT+ identities have and will continue to exist, but it would also encourage open discussion on the subject. Throughout the film, those in positions of power attempt to prevent any public dialogue about AIDS from taking place. Due to this impediment, countless lives are lost and audiences soon realize that the other characters are “well within their rights to spend the entire film screaming” (Molloy). The anger felt by characters is thus transferred to viewers and, when combined with the unresolved ending, the film provides a call to action, urging audiences to keep the conversation about HIV/AIDS going because lives literally depend on it. Moreover, viewers are persuaded to hold their elected officials accountable, while also pushing them to take necessary action, as it was their silence and idleness in the past that ultimately led to the death of millions.

Works Cited

affirmedally [Lexi Hostert]. “The War Rages On: A Close Look at ‘How to Survive a Plague.'” Queer Cinema, 8 Sept. 2018, WordPress, https://queercinema.movie.blog/2018/09/08/the-war-rages-on-a-close-look-at-how-to-survive-a-plague/. Accessed 11 Dec. 2018.

“Global Statistics.”HIV.gov, 20 Nov. 2018, https://www.hiv.gov/hiv-basics/overview/data-and-trends/global-statistics. Accessed 11 Dec. 2018.

“GMHC/HIV/AIDS Timeline.” GMHC, http://www.gmhc.org/about-us/gmhchivaids-timeline. Accessed 11 Dec. 2018.

“Julia Roberts The Normal Heart.” YouTube, uploaded by broadwayarchive, 27 May 2014, https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jlH1QtFuDGk.

Molloy, Tim. “‘Normal Heart’ Review: Ryan Murphy Lets the Awful Facts Speak for Themselves.” TheWrap, 23 May 2014.

Román, David. “Remembering AIDS: A Reconsideration of the Film Longtime Companion.” GLQ: A Journal of Lesbian and Gay Studies, vol. 12, no. 2, 2006: 282-283.

Signorile, Michelangelo. “The Media is Erasing George H.W. Bush’s Catastrophic Harm to LGBTQ People.” HuffPost, 2 Dec. 2018.

“The Normal Heart: Clip #3 (HBO Films).” YouTube, uploaded by HBO, 19 May 2014,  https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HONfmLjf2Ys&feature=youtu.be.

The Normal Heart. Directed by Ryan Murphy. Performances by Mark Ruffalo, Matt Bomer, Taylor Kitsch, Jim Parsons, and Julia Roberts. HBO Films, 2014.

For queer people, the act of coming out can be an utterly terrifying endeavor. For someone in high school, with the pressure of preparing for their future weighing on them, the task becomes all the more daunting. Even if one has a stable support system, the choice can still be scary as they do not want to alter certain relationships as a result. The 2018 film Love, Simon deals with this precise dilemma. The main character is a teenager that is struggling with the decision to come out to his friends and family. As a whole, the film not only looks into the act of coming out, but challenges the notion entirely.

Based on Becky Albertalli’s 2015 young adult novel, Simon vs. the Homo Sapiens Agenda, the film follows Simon (Nick Robinson), who is a 17-year-old that has not told anyone that he is gay. Simon has a solid group of friends and a loving family, however, he is still afraid to come out to them. After reading a post from another closeted gay kid on his school’s gossip blog, Simon begins forming a connection and building a relationship with this person who is only known as “Blue” using his own pseudonym–“Jacques.” However, this relationship and Simon’s secret are jeopardized when one of his classmates, Martin (Logan Miller), discovers this correspondence and decides to blackmail Simon. Martin uses this information against Simon to get closer to Abby (Alexandra Shipp), threatening to out Simon if he does not help him. The film continues with Simon reluctantly helping Martin all while trying to figure out who Blue is in the process. 

Despite his supportive friends and family, Simon still fears coming out for multiple reasons. First and foremost, Simon worries he will be rejected upon coming out. He sees the way Ethan (Clark Moore), his openly gay classmate, gets harassed and teased at school for his sexuality. The words and phrases these bullies use influence others’ behavior, which goes into the concept of “terministic screens” and how they operate. Essentially, these screens act as a sort of filter as “much that we take as observations about “reality” may be but the spinning out of possibilities implicit in our particular choice of terms” (Burke 46). Both the bullies and a majority of the school are simply ignorant and uneducated about queer identities, therefore, when a derogatory term or stereotype is presented, they all adopt a homophobic mentality. As a result of this, Simon is afraid of coming out because he believes he will be subject to the same kind of ridicule, and he is not completely wrong in these assumptions as he is mocked after being outed.

Whereas with most films, audiences do not get to hear a character’s inner thoughts and monologue as they would with a book, the way Simon communicates with and relates to Blue gives viewers this insight into his feelings regarding coming out. Aside from his fear of rejection, Simon tells Blue how he wants things to stay the same as he is not ready for his entire world to change just yet. He does not want his friends and family to view him differently because, as he also tells Blue, he likes the way his life is now.

The way Simon is attempting to sort out his emotions gets disrupted when Martin blackmails him. Initially and apprehensively, Simon agrees to help Martin become closer with his friend Abby. However, this situation becomes complicated when Simon has to lie to both of his other friends, Leah (Katherine Langford) and Nick (Jorge Lendeborg Jr.). Nick and Abby have mutual feelings for one another, but Simon tells Nick that Abby has an older, more experienced college boyfriend. He then pushes Nick to go out with Leah, who he believes is in love with Nick when Leah actually has feelings for Simon, unaware that he is gay. While these actions are harmful to his friends, they can be justified in a sense as Simon lies in order to protect his own secret.

Simon is constantly trying to piece together who Blue may be, using context clues from their emails in an attempt to identify him at school. At first, Simon thinks Blue is Bram (Keiynan Lonsdale), one of Nick’s soccer teammates, but he rules this possibility out after he discovers him making out with a girl at a party. Following this, Simon believes Blue could be Lyle (Joey Pollari), a Waffle House waiter and classmate of his. Although, he abandons this assumption when Lyle asks Simon if he is romantically involved with Abby because he is interested in her. Upset that he keeps striking out when it comes to finding Blue, Simon shrugs off Martin when he asks for advice on his latest plan to win Abby over. This results in Martin being rejected by Abby at a football game in front of the entire school.

A flood of posts making fun of Martin appear on the school’s gossip blog. Humiliated and desperately wanting the attention off of himself, Martin posts Simon’s emails, thus outing him to anyone that reads the blog. Knowing that Blue wanted to remain anonymous, Simon is terrified that he will lose him altogether. Along with this, Martin has taken away a decision that was meant to be solely Simon’s. Coming out is a personal choice that should be left up to that specific person and no one else, which Simon addresses when Martin tries to apologize. While the situation could have been much worse for Simon–as after the post is uploaded, his phone is inundated with positive and supportive messages rather than offensive and hateful ones–the fact that Martin took away something that is meant to be an intimate and private decision is inexcusable.

Since they are likely not even aware that the school blog exists, Simon gets more autonomy with coming out to his parents. The fear remains due to the fact that Simon’s father (Josh Duhamel) has made homophobic remarks the entire film, at one point calling a male contestant on The Bachelor “fruity.” Even after Simon comes out, his father immediately asks, “Which girlfriend turned you?” trying to make a joke out of the entire situation. His mother (Jennifer Garner) stays almost silent the whole time, seeming to ruminate on the news.

Overall, Simon’s parents actually set a positive example for all parents when addressing their child who has just come out. When given the opportunity to talk one-on-one, Simon’s mother emotionally tells him that he is still him, dispelling his long held belief that his life would be changed by coming out. She equates him hiding his sexuality to holding one’s breath, reassuring him that he can finally exhale. She goes on to tell him that he will not be viewed differently, but rather that he will now get to be more him than he has ever been before.

The conversation Simon subsequently has with his father is all the more touching. His father does not ignore his previous comments, but instead acknowledges them and apologizes for the years of jokes that he now realizes only made it more difficult for Simon to tell them. He continues to tell Simon just how much he loves him and that he would not change a single thing about him. Shortly thereafter, the two resume talking about his father’s anniversary present for his mother, indicating that (as both Simon and viewers hoped) nothing has drastically changed and, as his parents reassured him, he is still the same person to them.

While it is meant to be a humorous component of the film, the scene where Simon questions the act of coming out is nonetheless an important one to note. When reflecting on how big of a deal it is to come out, Simon wonders why this pressure is only one felt by queer people. What ensues is a montage of his straight friends coming out to their parents as heterosexual, while the reactions mimic the ones often given to queer people. By challenging the entire concept of coming out, the film delves into the issue of assumed or compulsive heterosexuality. All too often, heterosexuality “remains, for the most part, relatively unquestioned,” however, “accepting that heterosexuality is “natural” or “normal” does not simply make it so” (Sullivan 119). This notion is exhibited in the film when Simon’s father assumes he is looking at pictures of female models at the beginning of the film. Also, when Blue’s post is seen (and even when Simon is outed) the entire school becomes absorbed by it. Up until this point they have merely assumed that all of their classmates were straight until proven otherwise. This illustrates how being straight is perceived as the norm, which therefore leads all other sexualities to be labelled as “other” in regards to this societal standard. This is obviously problematic as it not only makes queer people feel they need to hide who they are, but also in that it results in the victimization of queer identities.

Love, Simon is a romantic comedy for queer people. Although it is often viewed as a soft queer film, it is nevertheless a story that needs and deserves to be seen. This film provides a balance in regards to the other, more serious movies we have watched in this course. However, just because this film is lighthearted does not mean it is not necessary or relevant. In the movie Blue (who is eventually revealed to be Bram after all) and Simon give each other the courage to be themselves, which is one of the many reasons why stories like this one need to be told. Due to the fact that we are “never simply consumers of popular cultural texts, but in and through our very ‘reading’ of them we actively (re)create them” (Sullivan 189), more films like this need to be made. If more queer stories are told, it starts an open conversation about them. Furthermore, showing stories that have a happy ending for a change helps queer people envision one of their own. This film deserves to be seen by everyone, regardless of race, gender, sexuality, etc.–both parents and children alike.

Works Cited

Burke, Kenneth. “”Terministic Screens.” Language as Symbolic Action; Essays on Life, Literature, and Method. University of Pennsylvania, 1968, 44-62.

Love, Simon. Directed by Greg Berlanti. Performances by Nick Robinson, Jennifer Garner, and Josh Duhamel. 20th Century Fox, 2018.

Sullivan, Nikki. “Queering ‘Straight’ Sex.”A Critical Introduction to Queer Theory. New York University Press, 2003, 119-135.

Sullivan, Nikki. “Queering Popular Culture.” A Critical Introduction to Queer Theory. New York University Press, 2003, 189-206.

In an ideal world, queer films would be authentic, inclusive, and capture honest LGBT+ experiences without having to be sanitized for mainstream audiences. Unfortunately, this is usually not the case as queer films are often forced tailor their stories to white, heterosexual viewers to even be made. The 2010 film, The Kids Are All Right is no different. Despite having a lesbian couple front and center, the film “does not contest dominant heteronormative assumptions and institutions but upholds and sustains them” (Duggan 179). The movie weighs heavily on the side of assimilation as it pushes the notion of “gay families are just like yours.” In doing so, The Kids Are All Right presents a story that is essentially made for straight audiences, rather than the people it is actually depicting on screen.

The movie tells the story of Jules (Julianne Moore) and Nic (Annette Bening), who are married and have two children–Joni (Mia Wasikowska), who is 18 and about to leave for college, and Laser (Josh Hutcherson), who is 15. Since Joni is now 18, she and Laser become curious about their sperm donor father. The two siblings quickly get into contact with their father, Paul (Mark Ruffalo) and after meeting once, Paul knows that he wants to be part of their lives. While the kids initially try to keep this relationship a secret, their mothers eventually find out and they too want to meet Paul. Nic is extremely apprehensive toward Paul’s presence in and around her family, while Jules takes a job remodeling his backyard and eventually begins having an affair with him. The rest of the film deals with Jules and Paul attempting to hide the affair and the eventual discovery of it by their family and what it does to this unit as a result.

From the opening scene, the film pushes the agenda of “we’re just like you” as a means to connect with mainstream audiences and to make the story they are viewing more palatable. The family is even given traditional roles to establish this common ground. Nic is a doctor and the breadwinner of the family, but she also takes on a traditional disciplinarian role, much like a father would in a straight, nuclear family. Jules, on the other hand, is the housewife set on starting her own business. She takes on the more nurturing role in regards to her and Nic’s children. Due to this, the film becomes no different than any of the other hundreds of comedy-dramas that have been released in the past several decades. The only slight variation is that this time, the marriage involves two women.

While this is not to say that this movie is a completely inaccurate representation of a lesbian marriage, the performance of it does feel overdone. It often felt as though the film was attempting to make straight audiences as comfortable as possible by not straying from the family dynamics they themselves practice. The movie was a hit among straight audiences, being nominated for multiple awards and even winning several of them. While it should be celebrated that a queer film was well-received by mainstream audiences, in this case, it merely allowed Hollywood to give themselves a pat on the back for being “inclusive” and allowing for a film about lesbians to receive visibility. They felt that, as a result, LGBT+ representation was no long an issue in the film industry, failing to account for the fact that this film is heavily sanitized for straight viewers.

To make matters worse, despite Jules being a lesbian, she still has an affair with Paul. This main conflict puts forth the notion that, if given the chance, a lesbian will choose to be in a heterosexual relationship. Moreover, it must also be noted how Nic is portrayed throughout the entire film. It feels as though viewers are made to dislike Nic, so that they can sympathize with Jules and justify why she had an affair. They fail to see that, even if Jules was feeling underappreciated, there are alternate avenues through which to handle the situation–one of which is not sleeping with your sperm donor. Jules’ choices are not only inexcusable, but they also suggest that mainstream audiences would rather see a straight affair instead of a healthy and loving same-sex marriage.

The movie does not delve into any real issues that it presents, sometimes choosing to not even address these issues at all. The entire film is surface level and lacks development as conflicts are introduced and then never returned to again. For instance, there appears to be a budding relationship between Joni and her friend Jai (Kunal Sharma). Yet, after making out at a party, nothing about Jai is ever mentioned again. This relationship is never discussed or unpacked more, thus leaving audiences without answers and often wondering why the potential romance was even brought up in the first place.

Furthermore, issues presented in the film are left unresolved simply because they are never fully addressed. After Jules’ affair with Paul is discovered, she and Nic obviously have a lot of issues that need to be worked out. Jules ends up sleeping on the couch for a while and then gives a heartfelt speech to her entire family as an apology. However, it is never explicitly stated or shown if Jules and Nic truly make up. The final scenes simply show them dropping Joni off at college and holding hands on the drive home. Even when Laser makes a comment about why they should not split up, they both just smile, therefore viewers can only assume they have reconciled. Due to this lack of development with characters and scenes, the film made it impossible to connect with or relate to any character, which in turn made the film seem even more superficial.

While many conflicts were introduced and then never referenced again, some issues within the film were not even addressed at all, with the most glaringly obvious of these being the blatant racism. The main cast for the film is entirely white and the few characters of color that do make an appearance on screen can be counted on one hand. As Richard Dyer points out in his chapter, “The Matter of Whiteness,” “[a]t the level of racial representation, in other words, whites are not of a certain race, they’re just the human race” (11). White people are typically seen as just “people,” whereas P.O.C. are raced and thus labelled as “something else” or “other,” and the film uses this notion to make the characters of color completely disposable. Luis (Joaquín Garrido), the gardener Jules hires to help with her landscaping business realizes that Jules and Paul are having an affair. Even though he gives no indication that he will use this information against her, Jules nevertheless “recognizes that he has too much power” (Kennedy 127). To assert her superiority and dominance over him, Jules decides to fire him on the spot, leaving no room for negotiation.

Another character of color that gets easily glossed over is Tanya (Yaya DaCosta), one of Paul’s employees that he sleeps with on a regular basis. After starting an affair with Jules and realizing that he is falling for her, Paul decides to break things off with Tanya since he does not believe she is ready to start a family like he is. Even though Tanya has always been supportive of Paul, especially in his relationship with his kids, he still chooses to leave her “because she cannot compete with the heteronormative white ideal in [his] mind” (127). Both Luis and Tanya are easily dumped by the white characters in the film, either being wrongly fired or coldly broken up with. This illustrates how, unless characters of color are of immediate use to their white counterparts, they are deemed worthless and indefinitely cast aside as a result.

Prior to the literal disposal of Luis and Tanya’s characters, both of them are made subject to casual racism from the other characters. Paul mocks the way Luis talks as a way to flirt with Jules, and before she fires him Jules accuses Luis of having a drug problem, when it is actually just his allergies. As for Tanya, Joni’s friend Sasha (Zosia Mamet) first asks Tanya if she got her necklace from Africa, then proceeds to ask if she is from Africa. These racist remarks are merely glossed over and they are never called out even if others are present. The film attempts to hide behind the guise of comedic relief or filler dialogue when it comes to this racism, as those present simply laugh off the prejudiced comments from their fellow white characters if not ignore them altogether. As a result, the film not only caters to just straight audiences, but white ones as well.

It would be harsh to say that this film does not provide any accurate depiction of what a lesbian marriage is like, as the film’s writer and director, Lisa Cholodenko, is a lesbian mother who is in a long-term relationship. Therefore, the film likely does provide some truth in regards to the particular relationship it displays. However, it is still problematic in the fact that it presents a family dynamic that is nearly identical to the straight families depicted in movies and on televisions every day. Furthermore, pertinent issues regarding LGBT+ people and P.O.C. are never fully addressed or even given a second thought. The fact that this film did so well at the box office and award shows suggests that mainstream viewers will only watch a same-sex marriage if it is heavily sanitized. Many believed that the film’s success was the start of straight viewers finally accepting and supporting same-sex relationships. However, the movie likely did well simply because it portrays a lesbian relationship that so closely resembles that of a straight family. Had the film strayed from this set-up, I highly doubt straight, white audiences would have been as welcoming as they were of this film. While acceptance is immensely important, even crucial, it should come without queer people’s experiences having to be sanitized for mainstream audiences for fear of upsetting them.

Works Cited

Duggan, Lisa. “The New Homonormativity: The Sexual Politics of Neoliberlism.” Materializing Democracy: Toward a Revitalized Cultural Politics, edited by Russ Castronovo and Dana D. Nelson. Duke University Press, 2002, 175-194.

Dyer, Richard. “The Matter of Whiteness.” White Privilege: Essential Readings on the Other Side of Racism, edited by Paula Rothenberg. Worth Publishers, 2002, 10-14.

Kennedy, Tammie M. “Sustaining White Homonormativity: The Kids Are All Right as Public Pedagogy.” Journal of Lesbian Studies, Routledge, 2014, 118-132.

The Kids Are All Right. Directed by Lisa Cholodenko. Performances by Annette Bening, Julianne Moore, Mark Ruffalo, Mia Wasikowska, and Josh Hutcherson. Focus Features, 2010.

Performing a certain gender can be difficult waters to navigate. For black men, the task becomes all the more troublesome as they not only have to assert their masculinity, but they often feel forced to defend their blackness as well. This situation is contradictory as “the rules that govern adjudication of these performances shift in different contexts among different groups” (Young 4). Furthermore, these presentations do not remain constant because “an exceptional performance in one site is an unacceptable performance in another site” (4). Thus, black men often struggle with conforming to society’s standards since they are always changing. This, of course, leaves little to no room for these men to be their authentic selves. The 2016 film Moonlight depicts a black man as he grapples with these impossible standards all while attempting to discover his own identity. In more ways than one, the film is a breath of fresh air in that it reverses a multitude of stereotypes surrounding black male relationships as well as redefining what being both black and gay entails in terms of gender performativity.

Barry Jenkins’ film Moonlight is based on Tarell Alvin McCraney’s unproduced play In Moonlight Black Boys Look Blue. The movie takes the form of a triptych, with its poster literally reflecting this type of work with three separate images combined to form one. The film presents three periods that are connected and therefore meant to be appreciated together. Set in Miami, Moonlight follows a young black man named Chiron through three stages of his life–childhood, adolescence, and young adulthood–each titled “Little,” “Chiron,” and “Black” respectively. The film is sort of fragmented as the stages end on pivotal moments in Chiron’s life, with the next chapter picking up after a substantial amount of time has passed.

Throughout his life, Chiron deals with a myriad of issues, whether it be his neglectful and drug abusing mother, homophobic neighborhood bullies, or struggling to define his own masculinity. Chiron must adapt to fit into various spaces as much of his motivation to do so is hinged on survival. Perhaps the main focus of the film is centered around Chiron’s ever-changing relationship with Kevin, whom he has known since childhood. During adolescence, the two become intimate, but both boys still wrestle with how to present themselves for fear of being labelled and/or targeted if they do so in an unaccepted manner.

Moonlight is a difficult film to concisely summarize because it encapsulates more than just a relationship or a man’s journey through life. While it does includes both of these components, the film adds multiple layers to each scene, often to the point where audiences cannot possibly catch every subtlety in merely one viewing.

The entire movie was excellently executed, from the plot to the casting to the cinematography and score. It is no wonder, at least to me, that the movie was not only nominated, but won the Oscar for Best Picture at the 2017 Academy Awards. While the honor was obviously well-deserved, even in the midst of what should have been an immensely celebrated and monumental win, the Moonlight cast and crew were still sort of snubbed by the mistake during the award presentation. There was a mix-up with the results card, causing audiences to believe La La Land had won Best Picture, when Moonlight actually received the award. The film was thus still robbed as more people were discussing the mix-up itself rather than the film or the fact that it was the first film with an all-black cast and the first LGBTQ+ film to win Best Picture.

While it is not the main relationship within the film, the bond shared between young Chiron (Alex Hibbert) and Juan (Mahershala Ali) is an important one nonetheless. Juan becomes a father figure to Chiron as his biological one is absent. Although Juan is a drug dealer, his character is crafted so carefully that it alters the perception that most viewers are so used to seeing on screen. As theatre director, Kimahli Powell notes, “We’ve seen the black drug dealer so many times [but] I can’t recall a portrayal with so much sensitivity” (Parris). With Chiron, Juan is patient and compassionate, which is unfortunately a relationship that is not commonly depicted in mainstream films about black men. Juan and his girlfriend Teresa (Janelle Monáe) provide a supportive environment for Chiron, where one of the house rules is “all love and all pride” (Moonlight). 

One of the most heart-warming and compelling scenes comes when Juan takes Chiron swimming for the first time. Since Chiron does not know how to swim, Juan teaches him, holding him up in the water at first. He reassures Chiron that he will not let anything bad happen to him, saying “Whatever happens. I got you” (Moonlight). While many audiences likely felt a sense of apprehension at the introduction of this relationship, I never once found myself frightened or worried that it would soon take a turn for the worse. All too often, black relationships involving an adult and a child are made out to be manipulative or predatory, but this one was different. Despite Juan’s job and the possibility for disaster, there was something in the portrayal of his character that made me feel that I could genuinely believe in his words and actions. Writer David Lewis-Peart initially felt some of this unease as he notes: “I realized that the feeling of patiently waiting to be disappointed was exactly what Chiron was struggling with up until that scene. Can I trust this man? I was genuinely moved as I realized he, and I, could” (Parris). This scene proves that a relationship does not necessarily have to be romantic to be a meaningful one that resonates with viewers.

This, however, makes it all the more heartbreaking when Chiron discovers not only that his mother is doing drugs, but that it is Juan who is selling them to her. Chiron has just finished asking Juan what the term “faggot” means. Juan responds and continues to tell Chiron that it’s okay to be gay, as he has always preached to him about how he must decide for himself who he is going to be and that he cannot let anyone else make that decision for him. Shortly thereafter, Chiron puts two and two together as he sees that his mother’s drug addiction and Juan’s job as a drug dealer can only mean one thing. Chiron’s place of refuge is destroyed as he realizes that Juan, who has up until now been a source of protection and acceptance, is simultaneously the root of Chiron’s pain. The image of Chiron getting up and leaving after his fears are confirmed and Juan sitting with his head down, conflicted, is not only an image that stays inside a viewer’s mind, but the one that ends the section of the film titled “Little.”

From a young age, Chiron learns that he must act both black and masculine enough or face harsh judgement from his peers. Following Juan’s death, as Chiron enters his teenage years, he is almost completely on his own as he no longer has that model for masculinity that Juan once fulfilled. The only other example of manliness Chiron has aside from Juan is Kevin, whose black masculine performance has always come easy, or at least appeared to. When they are children, Kevin (Jaden Piner) tells Chiron that he has to show the other boys that he “ain’t soft.” When they are teenagers, it becomes Kevin (Jharrel Jerome) that feels pressured into proving his masculinity when Terrel (Patrick Decile) dares him to beat up whoever he picks out, his obvious choice–Chiron (Ashton Sanders).

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Chiron, however, does not stay down after the first punch from Kevin but stands up, staring into the eyes of both his attacker and the boy whom he deeply cares for. Kevin almost begs Chiron to stay down, completely contradicting the lesson he taught them when they were children. In this instance, both characters are trying to prove they are not weak, which makes for a disastrous combination. The following day, Chiron attacks Terrel with a wooden chair and is subsequently arrested by police, staring at Kevin as he is escorted to the cruiser, thus ending the second section of the film.

As an adult, Chiron (Trevante Rhodes) is completely transformed from his younger self. However, this stage of Chiron’s life can be viewed in several different ways. Some may believe that he is exhibiting hyper-masculinity, while others may argue that this is who he truly is. A third possibility for his persona is that he is emulating the only male role model and father figure he had while growing up–Juan. Chiron has become a drug dealer in Atlanta, Georgia and is no longer scrawny, but muscular and dons a grill, all of which are reminiscent of Juan.

Although, his reserved nature remains, and at this point in his life it adds to his masculine performance. He reconnects with Kevin (André Holland) in Miami who, even after all these years, is still able to break through Chiron’s presentation. Later at Kevin’s house that night, Chiron reveals that Kevin is the only man he has ever been with. The film concludes shortly after this confession, with one of the final images being Kevin affectionately holding Chiron, allowing both men to be themselves in that moment.

Moonlight is unlike any other film I have seen before. It adequately and accurately displays men that have always been token characters if they were not omitted from films altogether. Furthermore, it captures the complexity of these characters in a way that allows the film to resonate with audiences, even if they cannot directly relate to the experiences being portrayed on screen. The film is not only one of the most beautifully crafted films to exist, but it is significant and relevant, as representation does matter. Moreover, Moonlight has worked to pave the way for other stories–ones that have often been pushed aside or silenced–to emerge at last.

Works Cited

Moonlight. Directed by Barry Jenkins. Performances by Trevante Rhodes, André Holland, Janelle Monáe, Ashton Sanders, Jharrel Jerome, and Mahershala Ali. A24, 2016.

Parris, Amanda. “Masculinity and ‘Moonlight’: Eight black men dissect Barry Jenkins’ momentous film.” CBC Arts, 4 Nov. 2016. https://www.cbc.ca/arts/masculinity-and-moonlight-eight-black-men-dissect-barry-jenkins-momentous-film-1.3836460. Accessed 17 Nov. 2018.

Young, Vershawn A. “Compulsory Homosexuality and Black Masculine Performance.” Sexing the Colorlines: Black Sexualities, Popular Culture, and Cultural Production. vol. 7, no. 2, 2011, 2-20.

Queer people of color struggle more than any other group when it comes to freely expressing themselves. This is often the case because, in addition to facing racism on a daily basis, these people are forced to deal with prejudice in regards to their gender identity or sexuality. Worse still, they are constantly having to defend themselves because, according to white, conservative society, they are black and LGBT, both of which they label as “deviant.” More often than not, this leads queer P.O.C. to conform or adjust their behavior to fit the requirements outlined for them by their peers. Looking at this concept in terms of mainstream cinema, it is typically not a topic of open discussion. However, the 2011 film, Pariah, seeks to change that, offering an honest depiction of the hardships endured by a young, black lesbian as she learns to embrace her identity.

A feature-length expansion of a short film by the same title, Pariah tells the liberation story of Alike (Adepero Oduye). The 17-year-old is a black lesbian that comes from a relatively conservative, middle-class family.  Her father, Arthur (Charles Parnell), is a police detective, while her mother, Audrey (Kim Wayans), is quite religious. Audrey thinks that Alike is spending too much time with her best friend Laura (Pernell Walker), who is an out lesbian, and she therefore worries that this is causing Alike to go through a tomboy phase. As a result of this, Audrey makes Alike hang out with Bina (Aasha Davis), a co-worker’s daughter that also attends their church.

While the girls seem to have nothing in common at first, they ultimately bond over music and writing, and Alike begins to fall for Bina. The two become intimate one night, but the next morning Bina wants nothing to do with Alike relationship-wise, leaving Alike confused, angry, and heartbroken. These mixed emotions and her parents’ turbulent marriage prompt Alike to come out to her parents during a heated argument, which in turn forces her to confront her own sexual identity in the process. While she initially presents a certain gender depending on who she is around, Alike eventually disrupts the notion that a person must be either masculine or feminine, thus resulting in the consolidation of the multiple genders she has been performing.

In her gender study focused on black lesbians, Mignon R. Moore outlines three ways in which gender is physically presented–femme, gender-blender, and transgressive. The first category includes traditionally feminine clothing, such as dresses, skirts, low cut tops, etc. Jumping to the third category, transgressive consists of more masculine clothing, that is baggy as opposed to form fitting. While the middle category is related to an androgynous presentation, “[r]ather than a de-emphasis on femininity or masculinity, gender-blenders combine specific aspects of both to create a unique look” (125). Over the course of the film, Alike moves back and forth between these categories until she is finally able to settle into an honest presentation of self.

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At the beginning of the film, after leaving the club with Laura, Alike changes her outfit on the bus ride home. She swaps out her hat, durag, and baggy shirt for a tighter pink top that reads “Angel” as well as a pair of earrings. This shows how Alike dresses a certain way to please her parents, particularly her mother. Despite not feeling like her true self in the clothes her mother buys for her, Alike ultimately gives into her mother’s wishes when it comes to clothing. This is likely the case because she has witnessed firsthand the resentment and rejection Laura faced with her mother upon coming out. Alike is essentially paralyzed since “those whose opinions matter most, those to whom one feels closest, and those to whom one turns to for support and protection from outsiders” have the potential to become her “harshest critics” (118), therefore she chooses to present herself as femme when she is in her family’s presence.

When Alike is at the club with Laura, she presents a much different version of herself. Borrowing some of her best friend’s clothes, Alike dresses in looser, more masculine outfits, often wearing snapbacks to complete her look. This gender presentation also occurs when Alike is at school, going to the bathroom to change the moment she enters the building. Even though she seems to be more content in the transgressive category, Alike still comes off as performative when doing so. Whenever Alike is with Laura at the lesbian bar she appears to be physically uncomfortable. The fact that she is a virgin and has never been in a lesbian relationship likely adds to this awkwardness, however, it is clear that Alike feels that she is unable to be her true self in this space. She sees no room to be who she truly wants to, believing that in the club she must either be feminine and thus oversexualized or totally masculine (complete with a strap on), and she does not feel entirely comfortable with either of those options.

It is not until she begins spending more quality time with Bina that Alike is slowly able to combine the genders she has been presenting. She wears shirts, jackets, and scarves that include a vast spectrum of colors so that her outfits cannot be definitively labelled masculine or feminine. She is able to enter the gender-blender category, presenting a personalized look that unites components of both of her previous roles. Although, while Bina allows Alike to be more vulnerable and thus let her true colors show, she is not the sole reason that Alike is able to be who she really is, as she continues to consolidate these genders even after Bina breaks things off.

Coming home after Bina tells her to not mention their relationship to anyone, Alike strips off all of her clothes, lying down in just her underwear in the privacy of her room. This shedding of clothes symbolizes how, due to her recent experiences, Alike will no longer be satisfied presenting herself in a particular manner for the sake of those around her. In this instance, Alike is no longer performing, but rather just being–existing as her authentic self.

Awoken by the sound of her parents fighting, Alike goes downstairs and discovers it is her they are discussing. Alike inserts herself into the argument, which ends with her coming out to her parents, screaming at them that she is a lesbian. This scene delves into the fact that this is unfortunately the reality for many queer P.O.C. when they come out. Unlike their privileged, white counterparts, P.O.C. are often forced into coming out as the decision to do so is taken away from them, as is depicted here. Audrey robs Alike of the choice to come out when she begins assaulting her, both verbally and physically. However, rather than giving into the shame and guilt as she did before, Alike instead chooses to fight back. She confidently and wholeheartedly asserts herself, all while dispelling misconceptions before her parents even have the opportunity to address them. She states with conviction that “this is not a phase” and “there’s nothing wrong with me” (Pariah), supplying herself with the reassurance that her parents are too homophobic to provide. The heartbreak caused by Bina in conjunction with the episode involving her parents causes Alike to realize that simply because one or even a handful of people do not accept her does not mean that she should change to fit their requirements.

 

Throughout the film, Alike uses poetry as an outlet to express her true identity, and thus she finds solace in it. Her poems become a vehicle through which she can be her natural self, even when she is performing multiple genders outside of her writing. The poem that she recites at the conclusion of the movie serves as a way to indicate Alike’s liberation from her current situation and the oppression she has faced.

In a last ditch effort to reconcile with her mother before leaving to begin college early, Alike is once more let down as Audrey responds to Alike saying “I love you” by coldly replying “I’ll be praying for you” before exiting the room. However, if the final poem stands as a symbol for Alike’s coming out and breaking free from society’s constraints, then her teacher’s nod of approval at this poem simultaneously grants Alike the acceptance that she desperately wanted, but that her mother refused to give. By telling her father, “I’m not running, I’m choosing,” when he questions her moving to California, Alike proves that she is not doing so out of shame, guilt, or even fear, but that at last she is making a decision for herself and no one else.

It is clear to see why this film resonates with so many viewers, as it provides a more accurate illustration of the emotions and reactions that countless queer P.O.C. have on a daily basis. It then becomes upsetting when it’s noted that “Pariah has made about $750,000″ and that it only “opened at four theaters…[getting] to twenty-four at its peak” (Keeling et al. 434). Even though the feature film was adapted from a short, Pariah is still a relatively small film. The hopes that it would potentially become more mainstream were crushed at the Oscars when it received no nominations, while The Help gained all the praise that year. Pariah’s director, Dee Rees, questioned why there seems to be a finite amount of space for black cinema so much that there is only room for one film to be acknowledged at a time. She stated, “[t]here’s room enough for The Help and Pariah” (436), as both of the stories detailed in each respective film are significant and deserve to be told.

The mainstream film industry has more than enough capacity for and quite frankly needs more films that feature P.O.C., especially queer P.O.C. All too often, people presume that a person is either black or LGBT+, and that they somehow cannot be both. Obviously, this is not the case, and contrary to this belief, race and gender/sexuality are not always separate topics, therefore in many instances they should not be treated as such. Numerous P.O.C. identify as queer and it’s time that more of their stories got told.

Works Cited

Keeling, Kara, et al. “Pariah and Black Independent Cinema Today: A Roundtable Discussion.” GLQ: A Journal of Lesbian and Gay Studies, vol. 1, no. 2-3, June 2015, 423-439.

Moore, Mignon R. “Lipstick of Timberlands?: Meanings of Gender Presentation in Black Lesbian Communities.” Signs: Journal of Women in Culture and Society, vol. 32, no. 1, 2006, 113-139.

Pariah. Directed by Dee Rees. Performances by Adepero Oduye, Kim Wayans, Aasha Davis, Charles Parnell, and Pernell Walker. Focus Features, 2011.

 

More often than not, the quality of a film is discerned by the amount of nominations and awards it receives. In 2005, when Brokeback Mountain was released, audiences labelled it ‘ground-breaking’ as, up until that point, mainstream cinema had not produced a blockbuster film that was centered around a gay relationship. In 2017, with the premiere of Call Me By Your Name, similar praise was given to the film as viewers flocked to theaters and left sobbing, as was the case with its predecessor. Both of these movies won multiple awards and received much critical acclaim because mainstream audiences felt as though they were seeing an accurate depiction of a relationship involving two men. However, these viewers do not take into account that these films are high budget, feature big name, well-known actors, and unfortunately give way to the countless stereotypes surrounding gay men.

The British film Weekend is similar in the sense that it was popular and highly praised upon its release in 2011. It differed in its attempt to stray from the secrecy, predatory nature, and self-loathing aspects that usually plague this specific genre. While it is not entirely free of problematic elements–still giving way to tropes that are often used when depicting white, gay males–it puts forth a more authentic portrayal of a gay relationship. Therefore, it is quite disheartening that this film is slowly beginning to fade from public memory, while the other two movies have been able to hang on.

Weekend details the brief relationship between Russell (Tom Cullen) and Glen (Chris New) as they have a one-night stand after meeting at a gay club toward the start of the movie. The rest of the film follows their ensuing relationship over the next 48 hours, as Glen is about to embark on a two-year stay in the United States. Their encounter differs from a typical hook-up wherein the next morning Glen pulls out a tape recorder and asks Russell to recount intimate details about the previous night. Embarrassed,  but nonetheless intrigued, Russell cooperates. Glen later reveals that these tapes are going to be used as part of his next art project about the personas people take on when hooking up with someone new as he believes these experiences show the gap between who people truly are versus who they want to be. The two men end up spending much of the next two days together, sharing personal details, stories, and emotions prior to Glen’s inevitable departure. The film displays a more realistic relationship, or at least the possibility of one, but it does so in a much different manner than other films within its genre.

Brokeback Mountain illustrates the relationship that takes place between Ennis Del Mar (Heath Ledger) and Jack Twist (Jake Gyllenhaal) after they work together herding sheep in Wyoming one summer. Their intense relationship ends when summer does, but their feelings remain intact as they try to secretly carry on their relationship over roughly the next 20 years.

Call Me By Your Name details the relationship that develops between 17-year-old Elio (Timothée Chalamet) and his father’s 24-year-old research assistant, Oliver (Armie Hammer), when he lives with them for a summer in northern Italy. While the two initially seem to dislike each other, they eventually spend more time together and their relationship turns romantic. Like Brokeback Mountain, Elio and Oliver feel the need to hide their relationship from everyone around them.

Many find it difficult to watch Weekend in its entirety not because of the content but perhaps because of the lack thereof. The film has a slow start, and hardly progresses from there. Much of the movie consists of simple scenes filled only with dialogue, as most of the film takes place at Russell’s flat with just he and Glen present. Whereas films like Brokeback Mountain and Call Me By Your Name employ mountainous views or shots of the Italian countryside, Weekend removes these outside factors to strip down the scenes to just that of the conversations between the two men. The movie rarely uses music, typically only utilizing it if the characters are the ones listening to it. This can make the film appear lackluster or monotonous, but it does so to give an honest portrayal of a budding relationship.

Due to the components that appear to be missing, the film adopts an almost documentary feel, with many of the conversations coming off as quite candid. This authenticity was likely a goal put forth by the production team as many of the scenes were improvised during filming. The dialogue therefore felt honest because, in a way, it was since a set script was not always followed. Specific shots and angles also contribute to the realistic nature of the film. In many of the scenes where they are in public, Russell and Glen are viewed almost as if the camera is across the room from them, listening in on their conversation. The product of this technique is that the two men are viewed clearly while the other people around them as well as the setting are out of focus. This gives viewers an “outside looking in” perspective that makes them feel as though they are peering into private conversations that occur while a relationship is beginning to unfold. Thus, even though the film follows a fictional story line, it nevertheless embodies the true nature of the start of a new romance.

Whether people want to admit it or not, Brokeback Mountain and Call Me By Your Name include events and scenes that, for the most part, can be classified as fantasy. The couple in Weekend, on the other hand, meet at a club, which is where many people, regardless of sexuality, go to meet potential partners. The other two films also grant their characters several decades or, at the very least, an entire summer to develop their relationship. In Weekend, Russell and Glen are only given a 48 hour period. Despite having to pack their encounters into an hour and a half window, the film still presents the developments that occur as their relationship progresses. For instance, when he is leaving on the morning following their initial hook-up, Glen shakes Russell’s hand, almost as if he is completing a business transaction. However, the next time he leaves Russell’s flat, Glen leans in and kisses him. It is a subtle change, but nonetheless important to note in terms of development.

The film does not attempt to draw in audiences with grand gestures or quotable lines like standard, straight dramas, but instead does so by presenting genuine conversations in all their intimacy and awkwardness. Moreover, the movie captures the fine line people walk when beginning a new relationship–wanting to be with the other person, yet not wanting their feelings to be one-sided or to come off too strong for fear of scaring the other person away. While other films that deal with romance rely heavily on outlandish acts that are not typical in day-to-day life, Weekend opts for a more conventional approach when given the opportunity. If given a similar situation to Russell and Glen’s, an overly-dramatic film would have included Glen miraculously locating Russell’s birth parents to give him a “proper” coming out experience. Weekend provides a more realistic, yet just as affectionate response. Glen suggests Russell pretend that he is his father as a way to give him a sort of artificial coming out experience. While he is reluctant at first, Russell agrees and when he’s finished Glen, still pretending to be Russell’s father, tells him how proud he is of him. This not only gives Russell a coming-out moment of his own, but Glen makes it a positive and supportive one, which is unfortunately not the case for many.

With all this being said, Weekend is not the exact opposite of Brokeback Mountain and Call Me By Your Name as all three films share many of the same themes and ideas. The people involved in each relationship know that their time is limited and if not at the film’s center, each movie at least includes aspects of internalized homophobia. While Russell and Glen do not necessarily feel the need to hide their relationship in the same way that Ennis and Jack or Elio and Oliver do, they also are not completely outright and open with it. However, Russell and Glen’s relationship is not nearly as unhealthy nor predatory as the ones shown in Brokeback Mountain and Call Me By Your Name, as the other films either display violent behavior or a gross age gap.

While Weekend still presents some stereotypes and problematic elements, it does provide a more honest version of a gay relationship than Brokeback Mountain and Call Me By Your Name. Although, despite it being a better option than mainstream films about similar subjects, it is unfortunately falling off the radar. Instead, films like Brokeback Mountain or Call Me By Your Name are often referenced in regards to gay relationships. Weekend likely gets dismissed for its lack of action, yet by taking this different approach, it is much more relatable and authentic in comparison with the other two films. It is clear that the movie industry has a long way to go in terms of creating films that depict completely honest, and healthy gay relationships. While Weekend is a step in the right direction when it comes to queer films, the gay community deserves better than what they have been given.

Works Cited

Brokeback Mountain. Directed by Ang Lee. Performances by Heath Ledger, Jake Gyllenhaal, Anne Hathaway, and Michelle Williams. Focus Features, 2005.

Call Me By Your Name. Directed by Luca Guadagnino. Performances by Armie Hammer, Timothée Chalamet, Michael Stuhlbarg, and Amira Casar. Sony Pictures Classics, 2017.

Weekend. Directed by Andrew Haigh. Performances by Tom Cullen, Chris New. Sundance Selects, 2011.

 

All too often, queer identities tend to be written off as a virtually new concept. Simply because accurate terminology did not exist in earlier times does not mean that these identities were absent. In her chapter, “Transsexual Empires and Transgender Warriors,” Nikki Sullivan notes that “[a]lthough the terms transsexual and transgender have been coined only relatively recently, a variety of forms of gender ambiguity can be found throughout history and in a huge range of cultural contexts” (99). Contrary to conservative beliefs, it is a known fact that queer identities have always existed, however, sometimes it’s refreshing to be given a tangible example of this.

Both the 2018 film Colette and the 1999 film Boys Don’t Cry provide audiences with dramatizations of gender non-conforming people that existed centuries ago as well as just decades in the past. These biographical films serve as reminders that queer people have and will always be present, both then and now. On the surface the two movies appear to be complete different, but they actually exhibit many of the same themes while also highlighting historical figures that challenged and redefined the idea of masculinity as we have typically come to view it.

Premiering at the Sundance Film Festival earlier this year, Colette gives a glimpse into the life of the world-renowned French novelist, Sidonie-Gabrielle Colette (Keira Knightley). The film begins in France in the 1890s, where it introduces viewers to Gabrielle Colette who, at the time, is a young and high-spirited woman that marries the much wealthier Henry Gauthier-Villars (Dominic West), who is a well-known critic and publisher.

Desperate to write a successful novel in hopes of generating some sort of revenue, he employs the talents of his wife. Basing the book on her personal experiences, Colette writes the Claudine series, which are then published under Henry’s pen-name “Willy.” The novels are a huge hit and Claudine becomes a household name. For quite some time, no one is aware that Willy is not the true author, as he receives the credit that Colette deserves. The film then details Colette’s various struggles within both her relationships and her art. Eventually she is able to break free from her husband’s control and, in doing so she subverts traditional gender roles and undergoes a sort of self reinvention.

Boys Don’t Cry, on the other hand, hits a little closer to home–quite literally as it takes place in Falls City, Nebraska in 1993. The film details the story of Brandon Teena (Hilary Swank) and the heinous events he endured. Born as Teena Brandon, he decides to move to Falls City after facing discrimination in his hometown. Upon this move, Brandon befriends Candace (Alicia Goranson), John (Peter Sarsgaard), Tom (Brendan Sexton III), and Lana (Chloë Sevigny)–whom he immediately falls for. When John and Tom find out that Brandon was born as Teena they brutally beat and rape him. Despite Brandon reporting the assault to the police, they decide to not press charges as they are more concerned with Brandon’s “sexual identity crisis” rather than the crime committed by his attackers. The police briefly question John and Tom, which does nothing except alert them to the fact that Brandon reported the incident. Several days later, they find out where Brandon has been hiding out and murder him.

At first glance, these films have nothing in common. They are set in different countries and occur in entirely different centuries for that matter. Yet, despite this distance, both movies illustrate people who refuse to conform to specific gender expectations while also displaying how gender and sexuality exist on a spectrum.

Judith Halberstam introduces a concept that she refers to as “female masculinity,” which challenges the widely held belief that masculinity is exclusively reserved for men. She states that “masculinity must not and cannot and should not reduce down to the male body and its effects,” (1). This point is particularly displayed with Colette, and is encapsulated in the scene where she strolls into Willy’s office wearing a full-fledged suit for the first time. She is confident, not cocky as she has assumed an attire that does not make her feel physically and socially restricted the way her old outfits did.

Along with dressing differently than the women in her social circle, Colette adopts characteristics that many would only associate with men. She makes snide comments to Willy regarding the Claudine books, in a way that hints at the fact that she is the true author. Colette is not only witty and blunt, but she is also fearless as she unapologetically owns and expresses her sexuality within her relationships. In her relationships with Georgie (Eleanor Tomlinson) and Missy (Denise Gough), Colette does not force herself onto her partners the way her husband and so many other men often do. Instead, she remains kind and respectful in her encounters.

When Colette meets Georgie, an American debutante, she quickly begins a relationship with her. Willy enthusiastically encourages this romance, and even begins having sex with Georgie behind Colette’s back. Willy dismisses Colette’s anger upon her discovery of the affair, telling her that it’s “what men do”. Shortly thereafter he contradicts himself when he tells Colette that he would be infuriated if she were with another man. Despite the fact that this is the behavior many men often exhibited, Colette refuses to just accept it, as she continues on with her relationships on her own terms, regardless if Willy approves of them or not.

Other characters that exhibit queer masculinity are Missy from Colette and Brandon in Boys Don’t Cry. Neither of these characters’ gender identity is explicitly stated, but the films suggest they are trans men, using he/him pronouns in both cases. Although their gender identities are more closely related to the male characters in their respective movies, Missy and Brandon present masculinity in a way that contradicts their cisgendered, male counterparts. Missy and Brandon are compassionate, gentle, and courteous as they provide emotional support for Colette and Lana. The women in Missy and Brandon’s lives thus fall for them because their behavior “contradicts and challenges traditional assumptions about what it takes to be a man and to please a woman” (Cooper 53). Missy and Brandon understand Colette and Lana in a way that Willy and John choose not to for fear of being labelled as “weak” or “feminine.”

Unlike the other men in the films, neither Missy or Brandon were born male, yet their masculinity comes off as more natural and authentic compared to Willy, John, and Tom. Contrary to Missy and Brandon, the cisgendered men in each film appear to be more performative in their attempt to present themselves as men, perhaps because they feel that if they are not more masculine than their peers then they are not masculine at all. In stressful situations Missy and Brandon maintain their composure while Willy, John, and Tom exhibit violent tendencies whenever they feel intimidated. In fact, Willy, John, and Tom attempt to emasculate Missy and Brandon, constantly misgendering them simply because they feel their relationships are threatened by them.

In Colette, Willy consistently questions and criticizes Missy, at one point even stating “there’s no word for Missy.” He was unbothered by Colette’s romance with Georgie because he was able to partake in it in one way or another–either by having sexual relations with both women or by creepily daydreaming about his wife and another woman together. However, with Missy, Willy feels threatened because he is no longer the only male figure in the relationship. He cannot share in the relationship as it is clear that both members are not interested in him. Since he feels that he is not in control he wants nothing more than the relationship to cease altogether.

Similarly, in Boys Don’t Cry, John and Tom try to deprive Brandon of his masculinity through both their words and actions. Most of the time Brandon is referred to using he/him pronouns, however, “in the few instances in which “she” is used, those referring to Brandon as a female are typically the men whose manhood has been threatened by his appropriation of masculinity” (Cooper 54). John is possessive of Lana and thus intimidated by Brandon’s relationship with her, therefore he misgenders Brandon to make himself come off as the only “true” man in her life. John and Tom later attempt to assert their masculinity through the use of violence. Both John and Tom believe that by brutally beating and raping Brandon they can strip him of any maleness he possesses. They viciously assault Brandon as they feel it proves that they are more masculine than Brandon could ever attempt to be. However, the assault does not make Brandon any less of a man, but only solidifies the fact that John and Tom are not only cowards with fragile masculinity, but criminals that deserve to rot for their actions.

The two films have vastly different outcomes, with one leaving viewers on a positive, even uplifting note, whereas the other ends in a horrific tragedy that often creates feelings of hopelessness. With this being said, the contrasting conclusions weigh heavily on the fact that there is a class distinction between the two films. In Colette Missy notes his class privilege when he states that were it not for his social status and title he would be forced to deal with harsh backlash. Brandon, however, is residing in small town, “white trash” Nebraska, therefore he gets absolutely no respect and has no hopes of being treated with any kind of dignity.

While one films ends with a horrendous death, and the other displays a rebirth of sorts, both Colette and Boys Don’t Cry illustrate how queer identities have always existed globally. Although, with one film taking place in the 1890s and the other occurring in the 1990s, it is disheartening to see just how little progress has been made over the course of nearly a century. Even though such a substantial amount of time has passed between the movies, it proves just how far we still have to go. Oftentimes it feels as though we have made more progress from the late 1990s up until now, as more terms and resources have been made available. However, with the current state of the nation and a president that is attempting to take away trans rights, it is clear that the minimal progress achieved by the LGBT+ community could start to unravel soon. Therefore, it is pertinent that we do not let queer identities and historical accounts be erased, as stories have the power to change the way we view history, and hopefully they will have an effect on the way we proceed into the future as well.

Works Cited

Boys Don’t Cry. Directed by Kimberly Peirce. Performances by Hilary Swank, Chloë Sevigny, Peter Sarsgaard, Brendan Sexton III, and Alicia Goranson. Fox Searchlight Pictures, 1999.

Colette. Directed by Wash Westmoreland. Performances by Keira Knightley, Dominic West, Eleanor Tomlinson, Denise Glough, and Aiysha Hart. Bleecker Street, 2018.

Cooper, Brenda. “Boys Don’t Cry and Female Masculinity: Reclaiming a Life and Dismantling the Politics of Normative Heterosexuality.” Critical Studies in Media Communication, vol. 19, no. 1, March 2002, 44-63.

Halberstam, Judith. “An Introduction to Female Masculinity.” Female Masculinity, Duke University Press, 1998, 1-43.

Sullivan, Nikki. “Transsexual Empires and Transgender Warriors.” A Critical Introduction to Queer Theory, New York University Press, 2003, 99-118.

Whether they have seen the films about his life or not, a majority of people have at the very least heard the name Harvey Milk. Personally, I was aware of his existence, but was entirely unaware of the massive impact he made through his work. Therefore, after viewing the 2008 film Milk for the first time, I experienced a multitude of conflicting emotions. As the credits began to roll, an overwhelming sense of tiredness came over me as, upon learning of the historical events portrayed within the film and being reminded of the eerily similar events happening today, I was utterly sickened by the state of the nation, both then and now. It feels that monumental progression is continually made by hundreds, even thousands of people, only to have it be completely negated by the actions of a few. At the same time, however, the film and its ending enraged me and despite the tears forming in my eyes, I wanted to take and demand action against all of the injustices taking place within the country. I believe this demonstrates the ways that Milk has the ability to adapt to the context in which it is viewed.

Directed by Gus Van Sant, the biopic details the life of Harvey Milk (Sean Penn), who was the first openly-gay city supervisor elected in San Francisco in 1977. The movie opens, quickly introducing Milk’s relationship with Scott Smith (James Franco) as they decide to move to San Francisco in hopes of living a more relaxed life as an openly-gay couple. They open a camera shop on Castro Street, rightfully named “Castro Camera,” which steadily becomes a sort of sanctuary for gay men living in the neighborhood. Due to it being a predominantly gay district, police and other residents often invade and terrorize Milk and his patrons. This in turn causes Milk to decide to run for local office, serving as a gay rights activist and attempting to speak for the voiceless along the way.

In 1973 and 1975 Milk runs for city supervisor and loses both elections. In 1976 he decides to run for California State Assembly, but again is denied. Finally in 1977, Milk wins a seat on the San Francisco Board of Supervisors. His focus then shifts from campaigning for votes to pushing for political change in regards to gay rights, with Proposition 6 (which sought to ban gays and lesbians from working in public schools in California) at the center of his attention. After a hard fought battle, Prop. 6 is denied in the state of California and celebration ensues. But on November 27, 1978, only 20 short days after this monumental decision occurs, Dan White (Josh Brolin), Milk’s former, conservative colleague, enters City Hall where he then shoots and kills both Mayor George Moscone (Victor Garber) and Milk, who had only been in office for a mere 10 months.

Milk attempts to take audiences back in time and thanks to the great lengths Van Sant and his production team went to, the film succeeds in completing this transportation. Much of the movie was filmed on Castro Street, and Milk’s former storefront was utilized. In order to accurately capture the time and place they were portraying, regulations were put in place so as to not break the illusion. Volunteers and extras used during crowd scenes were even given a list of items that were off limits, including:

No overt rainbow themed outfits, as the rainbow flag was not yet the official symbol of the gay community in 1978.

No “circuit party” clothing or “Rave clothing” that would read as trendy or modern.

No trendy designer jeans with over modern finishes. . .

No clothing with branding such as Abercrombie, Nike, Gap, etc.

No overt phrases or logos (Rich 245).

Actual footage from the time period, coupled with Penn’s noteworthy performance causes audiences to feel as though they are either in that specific time or as if it is not the past, momentarily forgetting that neither of these notions are true. In her chapter, “Prosthetic Memory: The Ethics and Politics of Memory in an Age of Mass Culture,” Alison Landsberg discusses the concept which she refers to as “prosthetic memory,” stating that mass media makes it possible for people to possess memories of experiences that are not their own. She notes how this can “affect people in profound ways–both intellectually and emotionally–in ways that might ultimately change the way they think, and how they act, in the world” (158). This is essentially the case with Milk, as those who watch it cannot help but be affected by it, and with the authentic aspects of its production at times it feels as though you lived through it. The film reaches through time and impacts or at least influences whichever political climate it is viewed in.

The film was released in 2008, almost 30 years after the time in which it is set. However, its messages still translate to viewers as if no time has passed whatsoever. In the movie, shortly after a victory occurred for gay rights with Prop. 6 being denied, one of its leaders, Milk, is murdered. Fast forward roughly three decades and the situation feels almost inverted. In 2008, only three weeks after the film’s premiere, the federal election took place, “which provided liberal voters with both extraordinary pleasure (on account of the election of Barrack Obama) and unanticipated pain (because of the passage in California of Proposition 8, which defined marriage as a union between a man and a woman)” (Erhart 166).

In the first instance progress was made while a leader fell, whereas in the latter circumstance regression took place while a new leader rose. Both of these situations feel bizarrely similar, especially since both elected officials (Milk and Obama) led their campaigns with messages of hope. Even today, in 2018 (almost ten years after the film was released and nearly 40 since the actual events took place), the movie reminds viewers of the quickly approaching midterm elections, along with how little has changed in regards to LGBT+ rights. With all of this in mind, the film proves just how crucial it is to take to the polls, as voter turnout can be a deciding factor on laws and bills that affect people’s day to day lives.

While Milk both influences and affects viewers, in doing so it still begs the question of which is worse: misrepresentation or absence? Both concepts leave much to be desired, and it is a difficult task determining if it would be better to have a straight man portray Milk or to not have a blockbuster film be made at all? B. Ruby Rich shares her discontent upon first viewing the film as she wonders, “Would I have been more mesmerized by an unknown in the role? Maybe, but would any company have bankrolled it” (248). Perhaps in this circumstance, an accurate portrayal is better than a low-budget film or one that features a less capable or revered gay actor. While Penn is straight, he more than fully commits to the role, from his mannerisms down to his slight resemblance to the actual Milk. He delivered an exceptional performance, to which he received much acclaim and praise. In total, the film received 8 Academy Award nominations, to which it won two–Best Original Screenplay and Best Actor in a Leading Role, the latter courtesy of Penn. Rich even admitted, as I’m sure many others would, “[w]hile it’s a sad truism that straight actors all too easily win an Oscar for playing gay, in this case Penn deserved it” (255).

I think more than anything, the film puts into perspective the fragility of circumstances. All too often people work tirelessly and eventually see substantial progress being made over the course of several years, only to have their hard work unravel overnight. This can be extremely discouraging and regularly makes people want to give up, feeling as though their efforts are done in vain. Then people like Harvey Milk emerge. He would receive death threats on a daily basis and largely due to this, he knew that tomorrow was not promised, yet he fought for change anyway.

As mentioned previously, Milk (both the person and the film) carries with it a message of hope, reminding viewers “It’s not just about winning” (Milk), but rather about gaining visibility for one’s cause. The film reaches through time and serves as an act of remembrance for Harvey Milk (who even today, is mourned like that of an old friend) as much as an igniter of change, teaching that change happens steadily, not immediately. Sometimes the best way to progress a movement is with the exact mentality Milk used–start with your street and slowly expand.

Works Cited

Erhart, Julia. “The Naked Community Organizer: Politics and Reflexivity in Gus Van Sant’s Milk.” a/b: Auto/Biography Studies, vol. 26, no. 1, 2011, 156-170.

Landsberg, Alison. “Prosthetic Memory: The Ethics and Politics of Memory in an Age of Mass Culture.” Memory and Popular Film, edited by Paul Grainge, Manchester University Press, 2003, 144-161.

Milk. Directed by Gus Van Sant. Performances by Sean Penn, Emile Hirsch, Josh Brolin, Diego Luna, and James Franco. Focus Features, 2008.

Rich, B. Ruby. “Got Milk?: Gus Van Sant’s Encounter with History.” New Queer Cinema: The Director’s Cut, Duke University Press, 2013, 236-257.

 

 

Hedwig and the Angry Inch is a complex film that can be confusing at times but is nevertheless thoroughly entertaining. With often self-deprecating humor that provides comedic relief for its darker scenes, the movie is well-known in the realm of queer film as well as that of musical theatre. Adapted from the 1998 Off-Broadway production, the 2001 film was written and directed by John Cameron Mitchell, who also stars in the film’s title role. Ultimately, the film promotes the notion of self-acceptance, however, it feeds into problematic elements and queer stereotypes to get its message across.

The film follows and is narrated by Hedwig Robinson, a German transgender rock musician, as she recounts her path to stardom in the United States. Born as a boy named Hansel Schmidt in East Berlin, Hedwig longed for a way out of his impoverished life and viewed the U.S. as his opportunity to start over. Amidst this yearning, Hansel meets and falls for an African American G.I. named Luther Robinson (Maurice Dean Wint). In order for them to marry and move to the U.S. together, Luther persuades Hansel to undergo a sex-change operation, thus becoming Hedwig. However, the operation is botched and while Hedwig survives, she is left with a one inch mound of flesh on her crotch, which she later dubs her “angry inch.”

Luther and Hedwig move to a trailer park in Kansas together, but Luther eventually abandons her for a man. While taking multiple jobs in order to support herself, Hedwig meets Tommy Speck (Michael Pitt) while babysitting his younger sibling. She subsequently teaches Tommy all he knows about rock music and he becomes a renowned rock star under the new name of Tommy Gnosis (which was given to him by Hedwig). Tommy’s success emerges when he passes off Hedwig’s songs as his own and leaves her abandoned once again. The film thus becomes Hedwig’s retelling of these events as she and her band, “The Angry Inch” (a reference to her botched operation), follow Tommy’s tour while pursuing a lawsuit against him. They support themselves by playing run-down restaurants with the patrons as their only audience members.

Throughout the film, Hedwig is constantly referencing and even sings an entire song devoted to Aristophanes’ speech in Plato’s Symposium, entitled “The Origin of Love.” The song outlines how humans once had two heads, four legs and arms, and were round. When the gods feared their deviant behavior they decided to split them in two, consequently causing them to spend their whole life longing and searching for their other half. Hedwig states:

 It is clear that I must find my other half. But is it a he or a she? What does this person look like? Identical to me? Or somehow complementary? Does my other half have what I don’t? Did he get the looks? The luck? The love? Were we really separated forcibly or did he just run off with the good stuff? Or did I? Will this person embarrass me? What about sex? Is that how we put ourselves back together again? Or can two people actually become one again?

This obsession-like search for her other half exhibits that Hedwig feels a sense of incompleteness within herself. This desperate desire to find her missing link takes up most of Hedwig’s time and efforts and often results in her being taken advantage of. When Hedwig was still Hansel her mother warned her, “To be free, one must give up a part of oneself.” With Luther, Hedwig does this quite literally by agreeing to a sex-change operation. Despite going through with this surgery, it needs to be addressed that “Hansel never expressed a desire for re-embodiment. His desire was for his other half, and for the West” (Jones 462). So determined to find her other half in hopes of becoming whole, Hedwig blindly follows the requests of the people she loves and trusts, regardless of how she actually feels or identifies herself. However, the cycle of abuse began long before Hedwig’s forced procedure.

As a child, Hansel’s father sexually abused him and even though Hansel is 26 when he meets Luther, their encounter still feels predatory on behalf of the latter. Luther baits and seduces Hansel with candy and faulty premises of love, thus earning the title of “Sugar Daddy.” While Luther initially seems to provide for and support her, it becomes clear that in this relationship it is Hedwig that must give more than she takes, especially when she is left in a trailer in Kansas with only her inch and a small amount of money.

It’s shortly after this that Hedwig begins to adopt the destructive tendencies that were employed upon her. Tommy is only 17 when he is introduced to Hedwig, who is almost 30 by this time. After masturbating Tommy (i.e. sexually assaulting him) in the bathtub, Hedwig lures and grooms Tommy in a similar manner to how she was by Luther. She becomes a sort of musical guide for Tommy, educating him on the history of rock music, writing songs together, and even allowing him to play multiple shows with her. In a way, Hedwig creates in Tommy what she never had the chance to be. But when he leaves her after discovering her mound of flesh, taking their songs with him, Hedwig is rejected and left feeling hopeless and helpless.

One character that we hardly get any background on is Yitzhak (Miriam Shor), Hedwig’s husband and bandmate. Since the story is told from Hedwig’s perspective, this lack of attention to her current spouse illustrates how she is much more focused on the people that have hurt her. Hedwig’s preoccupation with them exhibits that she has not gained any closure from the trauma they caused. In these instances, the abused then becomes the abuser as Hedwig displays the same harmful behavior to her partner(s). Due to this, Yitzhak “becomes the target of her misplaced rages against her father, Luther Robinson, and Tommy Gnosis” (Jones 459).

Hedwig is constantly preventing Yitzhak from wearing any of her wigs, restricting him from presenting any gender he wants. The way Hedwig attempts to dictate Yitzhak’s identity is reminiscent of how Luther constructed and altered Hedwig’s gender. Even when Yitzhak tries to escape Hedwig’s control by touring Guam with the musical Rent, Hedwig withholds and then rips up his passport. This scene depicts an instance where “[a]n abusive lover again evokes the passport as a tool to fix an unwilling partner into a coerced identity” (460). Luther convinced Hedwig to have an operation because he made her feel that it was the only means by which she could escape her current situation. By waving Yitzhak’s ticket out in front of him and then destroying it right before his eyes, Hedwig becomes the people that have tricked and mistreated her, those that hid behind the guise of love, only to shatter her hopes and desert her in the process.

The turning point in Hedwig’s actions only occurs after her band leaves due to her careless behavior and she is reunited with Tommy. After accidentally crashing Tommy’s car, paparazzi flood the scene. Tommy denies their relationship, whereas Hedwig finally receives recognition and her popularity soars while Tommy’s plummets. Back and performing with her band, Hedwig discards her drag, this time only wearing a pair of black leather shorts. In another drastic change of behavior, Hedwig rectifies her previous attitude towards Yitzhak, dancing with him for the first time and offering him her coveted wig. Rather than continue to exercise unnecessary control over him, Hedwig instead enacts a gesture that “signifies that Hedwig finally allows Yitzhak to cross-dress, an act that the latter has longed to do” (Hsu 113). Relinquishing her hold over Yitzhak not only insinuates that Hedwig has gained closure with her own trauma, but exhibits that she has broken the cycle of abuse that was imposed upon her so early in life. By ending this cycle, Hedwig becomes more free than she has ever been, as the film’s closing scene shows Hedwig walking down a dark alley completely naked. While she never technically finds her identical or complementary other half in a person, at the conclusion of the film Hedwig is whole nonetheless, finally acknowledging that her other half exists within herself.

Despite its multitude of problematic elements and queer stereotypes surrounding transgender people in particular, Hedwig and the Angry Inch puts forth important notions regarding identity and behavior. After her final encounter with Tommy, Hedwig learns that she did not need to attempt and create her other half in someone else, nor did she need to find her other half to be whole. In fact, the film is more so about Hedwig’s “obstacle filled journey from borderline self-loathing to true self-acceptance” (Hart 61). The theme of self-love and acceptance is crucial as it speaks to a broad range of audiences, however, I feel the film could still have portrayed this message without insinuating that LGBT+ people are manipulative predators. With this being said, the film proves that a person is not defined by the traumatic events they have faced, nor do they have to be become the people that hurt them.

Works Cited

Hart, Kylo-Patrick R. “The Incredibly Queer Adventures of Hedwig and the Angry Inch.” Presentations of the 29th Annual SW/Texas Regional Meeting of the Popular Culture and American Culture Association: Gender, edited by Gypsey Elaine Teague, Cambridge Scholars Publishing, 2009, 57-64.

Hedwig and the Angry Inch. Directed by John Cameron Mitchell. Performances by John Cameron Mitchell, Michael Pitt, Miriam Shor, and Andrea Martin. New Line Cinema, 2001.

“Hedwig and the Angry Inch – Origin of Love.” dailymotion, https://www.dailymotion.com/video/x57grk. Accessed 6 Oct. 2018.

Hsu, Wendy. “Reading and Queering Plato in Hedwig and the Angry Inch.” Queer Popular Culture: Literature, Media, Film, and Television, edited by Thomas Peele, Palgrave Macmillion, 2011, 103-117.

Jones, Jordy. “Gender Without Genitals: Hedwig’s Six Inches.” The Transgender Studies Reader, edited by Susan Stryker and Stephen Whittle, Routledge, 2006, 449-467.

 

It’s a well-known fact that lesbian films are few and far between, and the minimal ones that do exist lend themselves to a multitude of stereotypes. Traditionally low-budget, these films have produced cliché notions about lesbians. From the butch/femme relationship, where one woman must be decidedly more masculine than her partner, to the ‘kill or be killed’ trope, in which the lesbian character tragically commits suicide, gets killed, or becomes murderous and thus villainous, these themes work to generalize and disenfranchise lesbians. Due to these exhaustive concepts, the 2015 film Carol was widely welcomed and anticipated because it offered a refreshing lesbian narrative that attempted to diminish many of these previously constructed beliefs. Carol had a budget much higher than its predecessors, of $11.8 million. This increase in association with a mainstream production company “represents a shift in Hollywood’s attitude toward lesbian romance movies” (Landsbaum).

Adapted from Patricia Highsmith’s 1952 novel, The Price of Salt, Carol depicts the relationship that develops between young Therese Belivet (Rooney Mara) and Carol Aird (Cate Blanchett). This budding relationship occurs amidst the societal standards of the time as well as Carol’s impending divorce and subsequent custody battle. Set in “gray-green postwar Manhattan” (White), the film introduces viewers to Therese, a young woman in her 20s that is working in a department store around the holiday season. She has a boyfriend, Richard (Jake Lacy), who pressures her to commit long-term, but the only thing Therese is certain of is that she wants to pursue photography, at one point stating “I barely even know what to order for lunch” (Carol). 

Carol, on the other hand, is a well-established housewife whose life seems to vastly differ from Therese’s. She is more experienced and exudes a confidence that Therese lacks, yet longs for nonetheless. However, Therese’s initial assumptions surrounding Carol could not be more wrong. Carol and her husband, Harge (Kyle Chandler) are going through a bitter divorce after he discovers the affair she had with her friend Abby (Sarah Paulson), and when he senses her intention to do the same with Therese, he turns it into a custody suit over their daughter Rindy (Sadie and Kennedy Heim). Carol must therefore hide or repress her sexuality for any hope of keeping her daughter.

In her chapter, “Art Cinema and Murderous Lesbians, Anneke Smelik writes about how in lesbian relationships there can be movement “back and forth between identification (the wish to be the other) and desire (the wish to have the other)” (75). In Carol, Therese sees stability, poise, and a tenacity she wishes she had, whereas Therese exhibits freedom since she has her whole life ahead of her while Carol feels stuck, even stranded in her current predicament. These women see both their reflection and desire in one another, and additionally the life they yearn to have.

While this film banishes many stereotypes of the past, it is not entirely error-free, giving way to some problematic elements. One of these shortcomings is that the two leading roles are played by straight women. Although, novelist Patricia Highsmith, producer Christine Vachon, scriptwriter Phyllis Nagy, and actress Sarah Paulson are all lesbians, and the production team features numerous women in leadership roles (White). Openly-gay director, Todd Haynes also plays a vital role in the way the film comes across to viewers. Haynes is seen as a trailblazer in regards to the New Queer Cinema movement, and he has become infamous for the picturesque scenes he creates within his films. His 2002 work, Far From Heaven, utilizes saturated colors that are so expressive in nature they almost dictate the entire mood of the scene, as if telling viewers how to feel before action or dialogue even takes place.

This employment of color as a storytelling device is used inversely in Carol, as the vibrant tones seen in Far From Heaven become muted and more subtle this time around. While still aesthetically pleasing, this softer palette causes the film to adopt a more delicate and nuanced ambience. Nevertheless, in the midst of these quiet settings and backdrops, a bold hue emerges and is visible in almost every scene. Red has been known to symbolize anger, urgency, compassion, and a state of heightened emotion among other things. In this case, it represents Therese and Carol’s love for one another, while also conveying the state of their relationship. Red can be seen in restaurants, lining the streets, and most notably on the women’s clothing, nails, and lips. Studied throughout the film, the color red additionally comes to indicate the change in the structure of Therese and Carol’s relationship.

With every encounter in the film, Carol and Therese’s ensembles are comprised entirely of or at least incorporate red in some way. Carol is more daring in her approach, as she typically wears red dresses and hats while donning lipstick and nails of the same color. As their relationship begins to develop, the color red becomes more prominent in Therese’s wardrobe as well. It’s when Carol invites her on a road trip that Therese wears a full-fledged red sweater, whereas there were only hints of the color in her hats and scarves before. This change in color signifies the progression of Therese’s confidence, as the shades she wears grow bolder from their surroundings so does she.

When their trip is cut short by a private investigator hired by Harge, Carol is forced to either return home or give up custody of Rindy. Her attempt at resuming her life as Harge’s faithful and dutiful wife is shown by the fact that she begins seeing a psychotherapist along with her attire. Her clothing that once contained vibrant red hues has been replaced by subdued tones and her nails are no longer red but clear and transparent, as if proving to Harge that she is no longer hiding anything from him while also indicating the repression of her sexuality.

Several months pass before Carol sees Therese again. She watches from a cab as Therese crosses the street, confidently wearing red. She learns that Therese is working as a photographer for the New York Times, and has therefore established herself career-wise. Therese is now viewed as the unobtainable one, while Carol can do nothing but longingly gaze after her, the way in which she used to be by Therese. This brief occurrence causes Carol to realize that she is willing to make the ultimate sacrifice of giving up custody of her daughter so that she’s able to live her life fully and honestly, asking that she only be allowed to visit Rindy on a regular basis. Carol then writes to Therese, extending an invitation for them to meet, unaware of whether or not her request will be answered.

It is then that viewers are brought back to the scene that opened the film, with Carol and Therese sitting together in the lounge of the Ritz Tower Hotel. The narrative that preceded this revisited encounter is now understood as Therese’s flashback, confirming that the film has taken on her perspective. In an interview with Nick Davis, Todd Haynes explains, “We come back, then, not just to experience that scene a second time, but to do so from another character’s perspective.” Initially audiences likely believed Carol was in control of the situation, when in reality Therese is the one being sought after. Therese has a steady job and feels reserved, even mysterious, much like Carol was perceived in the beginning. Carol states that she is taking a job at a furniture house and will be moving into an apartment. She whispers, “I love you,” almost desperately to Therese before they are interrupted. It is now Carol who is vulnerable and left feeling rejected at this exchange. She exits the lounge composed, leaving Therese with a gentle touch on her shoulder as a way to display her sorrow, yet understanding of the situation.

While the power dynamic may have shifted in Therese’s favor, she still feels conflicted by Carol’s departure from their trip and the fact that she loves her nonetheless. At a party with her colleagues, Therese feels disconnected from everyone in attendance, causing her to realize the only place she longs to be is in Carol’s presence and thus decides to go to her. The suspense builds as Therese enters the restaurant, the camera using a point of view shot, thereby transferring the anticipation and nervousness she feels to viewers. In these heart-racing final moments of the film, Therese finds Carol among the crowd, her red smile standing apart from everything else. In this scene, both women are vulnerable yet strong and confident at the same time. Neither of them needs to lean on the other, but they choose to do so anyway as they trust and genuinely care for each other. Red has symbolized each and every emotion felt by both women throughout the film: passion, anger, power, confidence, and love. But perhaps the most significant use of the color comes in the final shot, with Carol’s bright, red lips breaking into a gentle smile. Nothing is said, yet enough is understood, providing a well-deserved resolution to the issues the women previously faced.

Carol exhibits how a film can make bold statements through the proper use of color, glances, and seemingly trivial gestures. The film was sensual and soft, yet still transcending in nature. Since its release, there has not been a lesbian film that has had as substantial of an impact as Carol. It is my sincere hope that more lesbian films are created as “[l]esbianism at the movies means, conversely, an opening up of aesthetic, political, fictional, and psychological horizons that extend traditional narrative boundaries” (Pick 104). This step toward change is not only something the LGBT+ community deeply wants, but one that the mainstream film industry desperately needs.

Works Cited

“Carol (2015) – Last Scene.” YouTube, uploaded by Marcos Silva, 22 Feb. 2016. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TXXG0lrrRjM.

Carol. Directed by Todd Haynes. Performances by Cate Blanchett, Rooney Mara, Sarah Paulson, Kyle Chandler, and Jake Lacy. The Weistein Company, 2015.

Davis, Nick. “The Object of Desire: Todd Haynes discusses Carol and the satisfactions of telling women’s stories.” Film Comment, 4 Nov. 2015. Web. 28 Sept. 2018.

Landsbaum, Claire. “Lesbians on the Silver Screen From Desert Hearts to Carol.” Slate.com, 19 Nov. 2015. Web. 28 Sept. 2018.

Pick, Anat. “New Queer Cinema and Lesbian Films.” New Queer Cinema: A Critical Reader, edited by Michele Aaron, Rutgers University Press, 2004, 103-118.

Smelik, Anneke. “Art Cinema and Murderous Lesbians.” New Queer Cinema: A Critical Reader, edited by Michele Aaron, Rutgers University Press, 2004, 68-79.

White, Patricia. “A Lesbian “Carol” for Christmas.” Public Books, 24 Dec. 2015. Web. 28 Sept. 2018.