Is it just me or are a disproportionate amount of acclaimed films featuring lesbian relationships marred by an interminable melancholia, inevitable separation, or an outright death? It’s as if filmmakers and audiences alike revel in watching lesbians suffer from doleful circumstances on the big screen. Like so many others, I love to indulge in a film that navigates emotional entanglement between lovers 一 especially when its sapphic 一 but why do lesbian relationships I see appear incapable of avoiding a tragic ending? Or including taboo relationship dynamics like the dreaded age gap? Taking into consideration the immense popularity of some of these sad, cinematic sapphics, are these representations problematic?
Céline Sciamma’s Portrait of a Lady on Fire portrays the development of the intimate and all-embracing romance between painter, Marianne and her intended muse, Héloïse. Although their relationship is quite literally doomed by the narrative as Héloïse is due to leave in order to marry a Milanese man, the expectations of their historical era tearing them apart. Once separated, Marianne does not see Héloïse until much later, gazing at her longingly, unseen, from across the other end of an opera house. Sciamma’s choice to present the audience with a deeply considered romance between two women before ripping it away and preventing its fruition could be seen as leaning into the “tragic lesbian” stereotype, in which the demise of lesbian relationships is inevitable. However, the film’s ending does not subject these lovers to a life of shame and misery. Their tragic ending, without merely serving as a reminder of historical reality, is testament to the strength and depth of their emotional and romantic bond that prevailed and conquered the passing of time. Sciamma subverts the tragic ending, leaving the audience impassioned by the intensity of this love, rather than the despair of separation.
Although narrowly avoiding a tragic ending, Todd Hayne’s much beloved Carol delves into the relationship between the young, naïve Therese and the assured, elegant, but older, Carol. Throughout the film, Carol is embroiled in an ongoing custody battle for her daughter with her husband, however, she eventually surrenders guardianship in return for freedom to be herself, and ultimately, to be with Therese. For some, this evokes the tired cliché of the predatory older lesbian who preys on her younger counterpart. Although it can run the risk of fetishising a relationship, the age gap in Carol instead exemplifies the uncertainty of accepting one’s sexuality versus the security in accepting it, done through Therese and Carol, respectively. Therese’s youth, in comparison to Carol’s adulthood, therefore, allows the film to display how her self-understanding and their relationship have both matured by its last scene.
So, what about when a cinematic lesbian relationship takes a deadly turn, literally? David Lynch’s utterly bewildering Mulholland Drive¸ which follows Betty and Rita (portrayed by Naomi Watts and Laura Harring, respectively), who meet following Rita’s almost-fatal car accident, as they attempt to uncover the mystery behind it. There is no way to simply explain this film’s enigmatic conflation of fantasy, reality and desire, but it ultimately results in the suicide of struggling actress, Diane (portrayed also by Watts), after she murders fellow actress, Camilla (portrayed also by Harring), due to the failure of their relationship. What then, does Diane’s death represent? The futility of stardom perhaps? How about the lethal impact of structural homophobia? Sapphic characters in films are often killed off as some kind of punishment, so much so that such representations have developed a name: dead lesbian syndrome. Diane’s death has certainly been accused of perpetuating such a dreadful cliché, but Mulholland Drive offers more; with a complex relationship between the two leads and its bizarre surrealist storyline, there is an endless amount at hand to question.
Is it really a problem that so many films about lesbians feature these tragic elements to the extent that they could probably make up their own genre of cinema? Personally, I’m not totally convinced. By reducing our perspective on films about lesbians and queer cinema more generally to whether these elements can be deemed “morally acceptable” or not, we overlook the film’s specific dynamics and settings that contribute to the depth of the experiences and emotions endured by the characters. Sometimes, it feels like films about heterosexual relationships are not subjected to this degree of moralisation, so why are homosexual relationships?
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