In Vito Russo's book The Celluloid Closet (1981)—a landmark sociological examination of the historical depiction of gay characters in film—the author comments, "As expressed onscreen, America was a dream that had no room for the existence of homosexuals. And when the fact of our existence became unavoidable, we were reflected, onscreen and off, as dirty secrets. We have cooperated for a very long time in the maintenance of our own invisibility. And now the party is over."
Almost a quarter-century later, one wonders what Russo would say about this year's gay-friendly movie season. At the forefront of the awards buzz this year—among several films with gay, transgender, or transsexual themes—are two standouts: Ang Lee's Brokeback Mountain, a deeply moving drama about two ostensibly heterosexual ranchers in the conservative 1960s who, much to their own bewilderment, stumble into a fervent love affair; and Transamerica, featuring an astonishing performance by Felicity Huffman as a man in the midst of medical procedures to turn him into a woman. Bennett Miller's Capote likewise is driven by a mesmerizing characterization, with Philip Seymour Hoffman channeling the iconic writer Truman Capote in a portrayal that goes beyond superbly realized physical characteristics to illuminate the psychological breakdown of a prodigious but obsessive creative talent. Another intriguing portrait comes in Neil Jordan's Breakfast on Pluto, for which Cillian Murphy has received glowing reviews for playing a transvestite.
On the other hand, mixed critical reactions have greeted Chris Columbus' adaptation of the 1996 Broadway rock musical phenomenon Rent and Craig Lucas' film version of his psychological stage thriller The Dying Gaul, in which Peter Sarsgaard gives a fine performance as a bisexual writer who enters a troublesome affair with a married film executive (Campbell Scott). At this writing, the jury is out on the critical response to the soon-to-debut film version of Mel Brooks' Broadway blockbuster The Producers, which incorporates flamboyantly gay characters and campy humor. The Producers isn't likely to generate much discussion about its treatment of gay issues, which are presented in broad, burlesque strokes. Yet, in a climate of diverse dramatic portraits of the GLBT experience, a touch of levity might not be a bad thing.
The progression toward this year's phenomenon has been a step-by-step process. With the pioneering works of gay playwrights Mart Crowley, William Hoffman, Terrence McNally, and others, theatre has always been ahead of Hollywood in presenting gays as multidimensional human beings. Meanwhile television made slow but steady progress from Lamont Johnson's watershed 1972 TV movie That Certain Summer to Ellen in the 1990s and, more recently, Queer As Folk and the still-running Will & Grace. Films have had a slower trajectory. Lillian Hellman's vintage play The Children's Hour, filmed twice by director William Wyler—first as These Three in 1936 and under its original title in 1962, with Shirley MacLaine and Audrey Hepburn—was intended as a sympathetic portrait of lesbian love but was unintentionally condescending and ended with the cliché of the shameful gay character bumping herself off. Then came sordid depictions of depraved gay characters, such as in William Friedkin's despicable Cruising (1980). Though it included preachiness and too many mustache-twirling villains, Jonathan Demme's Philadelphia had to be considered a breakthrough in 1993, thanks to an Oscar-winning performance by Tom Hanks as a gay man with AIDS. More recently the annual awards derbies have honored Hilary Swank's performance as a cross-dressing victim of violence and bigotry in Boys Don't Cry and Charlize Theron's harrowing characterization of a murderous lesbian in Monster.
Finding the Audience
Jim Talbot, longtime chairman of the theatre-screening committee for the Los Angeles chapter of the Gay and Lesbian Alliance Against Defamation, has an expert handle on the pulse of gay characterizations on local stages; he is also a film buff who has observed this year's rich harvest of gay-related film fare. "Theatre tends to be playwright-driven, while film is more actor-driven," he says. "Plays can often be put up quickly, while it can take five to six years for a film to be produced. I think the message we have been seeing for a while in theatre, and now are finally beginning to see in films, is that it's okay to be gay. One reason film had been slower to catch up is due to the demographics, which state that the biggest filmgoing audience is from ages 12–26. And, for a long time, most have not been able to identify with what it means to be gay, so these topics were avoided in films. It has been easier to present gay themes in theatre, because the audience for gay fare there tends to be primarily adult gay men. But as more of society begins to believe gay is okay, the younger generation gradually gets that message, as well. Teenage guys maybe won't go to see a 'gay' film on their own, but if their girlfriend wants to go, they are willing to go along."
Unlike Transamerica and Breakfast on Pluto, which cater to a more selective audience, Brokeback Mountain is a mainstream release. Accordingly many eyes in the industry will be on Brokeback to see how awards groups and the paying public respond to such a frank man-to-man love story, with its explicit sex scenes and passionate kissing between two presumably heterosexual actors. Lee is courageous in making this film, but the biggest gambles are taken by Heath Ledger and Jake Gyllenhaal, who play the lovestruck cowpokes. The movie industry has come a long way since Rock Hudson and Tab Hunter had to hide their private lives and protect their images, but this film—and these performances—are envelope-pushers by any measure. Counterbalancing what could be a hard sell to a diverse audience is the consummate artistry of Lee and screenwriters Larry McMurtry and Diana Ossana in adapting the story by Annie Proulx.
Brokeback feels like it is confronting dicey, powerful issues, yet it has an air of old-fashioned, well-made romantic drama. As the two main characters struggle—as much with feelings they don't understand as with a society that refuses to tolerate them—we experience thought-provoking views on the nature of enduring love and the losses we sometimes face by the roads we choose to take—or to avoid. More with body language and nuance of character than with devices such as makeup, these actors convincingly portray the aging process, as the story spans many years; Ledger, in particular, hauntingly evokes the sad regrets brought on by decades of repressed emotions. Though there were subtle gay undertones to the male relationship portrayed by Jon Voight and Dustin Hoffman in John Schlesinger's best picture Oscar winner Midnight Cowboy (1969), that film was essentially a heartbreaking view of close male bonding that transcended matters of sexual involvement. Midnight Cowboy often came to my mind while watching the achingly poignant Brokeback, which is reason enough to believe its importance will be widely noted.
Switch On
Though the theatre world can boast Hedwig and the Angry Inch as a masterful exploration of the world of transsexualism, no film until writer-director Duncan Tucker's Transamerica has presented such an intelligent view of the topic. The film is as much a story of familial bonds and unconditional love as of gender issues, as Huffman's character is reunited with her delinquent son after years of separation, and they must learn to reconnect. Huffman's work is brilliant. The physical aspects—convincingly capturing the mix of masculine and feminine facial and vocal characteristics—are marvelous, but she furthermore proves herself to be an actor of range and sensitivity in a role that seems destined to propel her career.
As Kitten in Breakfast, Murphy also reaches a career high point in a comedy-drama about a transvestite who dares to flaunt his ambiguous gender identity in the staid Church-dominated Ireland of the 1960s. On reel.com, Pam Grady wrote, "This has been quite the year for Murphy, who played Dr. Crane, the psychiatrist with an evil agenda in Batman Begins and [Jackson Rippner], the cold-as-ice professional terrorist in Red Eye. If he was worried that those roles could have typecast him as a villain, he can stop now. Kitten gives him a chance to demonstrate his range, and he runs with it, stepping into Kitten's platform heels and sashaying walk with ease and turning his emotions on a dime in those moments when Kitten shifts from cockeyed optimist to grief and back again."
As the march toward award nominations intensifies, it's possible one victory the angry Russo wished for in the early 1980s is close to fruition. The last line of his book was: "There have never been lesbians or gay men in Hollywood. Only homosexuals." In this year's crop of GLBT films, perhaps the most important message of all is that they are all about people.