And with last week’s monumental and historic Supreme Court ruling in favor of marriage equality, it’s a good time to take a look back. One way to do that is through motion pictures, that arbiter of national mood, morals, values, and tastes.
Through the end of the 1950s, the subject of homosexuality, in any treatment, was still highly taboo in the movies. But filmmakers began to tackle the topic in the early 1960s, mostly tenderly, if tentatively.
In films of the 1960s, homosexuals were treated alternatively as subjects of sympathy, comic stereotypes, or criminals and psychopaths. I’ve selected just four films of the early years of the decade that stand as important illustrations of changing attitudes in what evolved into ten years of real upheaval.
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| Movie poster for "The Trials of Oscar Wilde." |
Peter Finch portrays the flippant playwright, and in early scenes depicts his popularity in the world of British theater and society, as well as his devoted marriage to his wife Constance. But it also documents his affair with Lord Alfred Bruce Douglas, as well as the libel case that Wilde brought against John Douglas, 9th Marquess of Queensberry (and father of Alfred).
When Wilde went to court against John Douglas, fortunes eventually reversed, and Douglas brought charges of gross indecency against Wilde due to his relationship with Alfred. It was this case that ended up bankrupting and ruining the world’s then-most popular playwright.
The film is genteel, but it doesn’t whitewash the unseemly aspects of the court case, or Wilde’s relationship with Lord Alfred. The movie makes it clear that Wilde’s wife and some close friends are aware of his predilections, and depicts Victorian society’s emphasis on maintaining appearances for the sake of society.
Through Wilde’s story, the film illustrates a singular aspect of the experiences of gay men in the Victorian era, and certainly demonstrates the hypocrisy of a society that embraced the flamboyance of Oscar Wilde in terms of his art, but which turned against him when his truth was revealed. As Wilde’s friend points out in an early scene—when Wilde was certain he was safe from judgment—“A halo doesn’t have to fall very far, Oscar, to become a noose.”
Finch plays Wilde in an effete and humorous manner, as befits the playwright’s wit; but the real standout is from John Fraser, an actor with whom I was not familiar before this film. He impressively captures the impulsive, spoiled nature of the beautiful Alfred.
As a side note, this is one of two British films made about the trial in 1960; the other, starring Robert Morley, was simply titled, “Oscar Wilde.” I’ve never seen it, but it would be worth seeking out to compare to the Peter Finch version.
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| "I did love you! I do love you!" |
In Lillian Hellman’s play, first staged in 1934, two women open a private school for girls. When a conniving student starts a rumor that the women have a romantic relationship, it begins a chain of events that leads to tragedy.
Director William Wyler adapted the play for his 1936 film, which was renamed “These Three.” Due to the production code in place at the time, the rumor had to imply not that the women were lesbians, but that one of the women is having an affair with the other’s fiancé.
Twenty-five years later, Wyler directed an updated, and more faithful, version of Hellman’s storyline.
In it, Shirley MacLaine and Audrey Hepburn portray the teachers, Martha Dobie and Karen Wright, respectively. James Garner plays Karen’s fiancé, a local doctor. When the student tells her wealthy grandmother what she thinks she has witnessed, the grandmother makes the rumor known publicly. Parents react, pulling their daughters out of the school. Martha and Karen file a libel suit against the grandmother, but the evidence (not to mention popular opinion) is stacked against them, and they lose the case.
The audience is led to believe that the rumor was just that. But in a later scene, after the court case has been lost, Martha admits—furtively—that she realizes now that she is, in fact, in love with Karen. In a dramatic scene near the film’s conclusion, Martha admits, “It's there. I don't know how, I don't know why. But I did love you! I do love you! I resented your plans to marry. Maybe because I wanted you. Maybe I've wanted you all these years. I couldn’t call it by name before, but maybe it's been there since I first knew you.”
The admission is a little frustrating to watch, because Martha’s confession is written in a circuitous way, no doubt in an attempt to soften for 1961 audiences what she was really saying to Karen. Martha is made to be an object of pity, if not scorn. When she hangs herself in the film’s conclusion, it’s clear what happens to gay people when they come clean.
The fact that Wyler made a movie that even broached the subject of lesbianism was a stride forward for Hollywood in 1961. It is not a movie that could have been made even five years before. The film is flawed, but is a milestone for its sympathetic treatment of homosexuality, albeit wrapped in tragedy, which was not unusual for films of this period that attempted to tackle this touchy subject.
What’s different today? We can call it by name. In an era when men and women can freely admit who they are and who they love, “The Children’s Hour” stands as a restrained artifact of a time in which shame, fear, and confinement were facts that gay people simply had to live—and sometimes die—with.
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| Movie poster for "Victim." |
In this, the first English-language movie to use the word “homosexual,” Dirk Bogarde plays Melville Farr, a married barrister whose male lover has been arrested for stealing money he planned to use to pay off blackmailers. In 1950s and ‘60s England, blackmail was a common crime against gay people because they were easy targets with much to lose if found out.
As the police inspector explains to Farr in an early scene, "There's no doubt that a law which sends homosexuals to prison offers unlimited opportunities for blackmail." He goes on to say, “Someone once called this law against homosexuals the blackmailer’s charter." And continues by noting that 99% of all blackmail cases have a homosexual origin. Clearly, at this time, the cards were heavily stacked against gay people.
As the police inspector explains to Farr in an early scene, "There's no doubt that a law which sends homosexuals to prison offers unlimited opportunities for blackmail." He goes on to say, “Someone once called this law against homosexuals the blackmailer’s charter." And continues by noting that 99% of all blackmail cases have a homosexual origin. Clearly, at this time, the cards were heavily stacked against gay people.
Indeed, the stakes are high for Farr, as he is slated to become a Queen’s Counsel, and eventually a judge. If it comes out that he had a homosexual affair, it will ruin his career, if not his seemingly happy marriage to Laura (Sylvia Syms).
When the lover hangs himself in prison (shades of “The Children’s Hour”) in an attempt to protect Farr's reputation, Farr decides to take on the blackmailers himself. He works with a friend of the lover to help identify other gay men who are also being blackmailed, including a well-known theater star and several business owners. It’s clear that these men all live in a shadow world in which their true identity is meticulously hidden—thus perfect targets for blackmailers.
But none of them is willing to help. The price of coming out is too high, and it’s cheaper to keep paying off the blackmailers. They are caught, truly "victims."
When Farr’s wife sees “Farr is Queer” scrawled in bold white paint on their garage door, she confronts him. He decides to help the police catch the perpetrators, which means giving evidence in court. He knows that the ensuing media firestorm will almost certainly compromise, if not destroy, his career aspirations. And perhaps his marriage.
When Farr’s wife sees “Farr is Queer” scrawled in bold white paint on their garage door, she confronts him. He decides to help the police catch the perpetrators, which means giving evidence in court. He knows that the ensuing media firestorm will almost certainly compromise, if not destroy, his career aspirations. And perhaps his marriage.
When I saw this film for the first time recently, I was struck by how inclusive its screenplay is in terms of representations of various perspectives on homosexuality: The sympathetic straight male ally; the bar owner who takes the gay men’s money but secretly despises them for who they are; the prim woman who trades on her twisted view of morality and believes gay people deserve to be blackmailed; the fair-minded police inspector who takes a wider view of humanity; his more narrow-minded colleague; and many others who illustrate the challenging opinions that gay people experienced from every corner of society: Their families, their friends, their employers and coworkers, the authorities, and so on.
To value the freedoms gay people hold dear today, it is critical to see the incredible obstacles that were experienced by those in the past. Bigoted and biased laws and police practices, gays pitting themselves against each other for self-preservation, and the fear and loathing foisted upon them from wider society—we have come very far indeed.
(Side note: Although controversial upon release in England, "Victim" was initially banned in the United States.)
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| Brock Peters, Leslie Caron, and Tom Bell |
Most people know of Leslie Caron for her incandescent musicals, such as “Gigi” and “An American in Paris.” But she was a fine dramatic actress too, and was nominated for an Oscar for Best Actress for “The L-Shaped Room.” She creates a touching portrayal as Jane Fosset, a single and pregnant young Frenchwoman who moves into a run-down London boarding house.
The film focuses mainly on her budding romance with another tenant, a young writer named Toby (Tom Bell), but it’s her relationship with two other tenants that place this film in my blog.
Her next-door neighbor is Johnny (Brock Peters), a gay black man with whom she becomes fast friends. Although the fact that he’s gay is not stated outright, it’s obvious. Johnny is protective of Jane, and even somewhat jealous of her romance with Toby. But it’s clear to the audience that Johnny really yearns for a romance of his own. To be gay and black in London in 1962 presented double the challenges.
The boarding house is run by an older woman named Mavis (Cicely Courtneidge), who was once a dance-hall entertainer. In her cluttered apartment are mementos of her theatrical past. In early scenes when Jane meets Mavis, we see a WWI military uniform hanging on the back of a door. Jane knows that Mavis’s act included a partner. When Jane asks, “Was he on the stage, too?” Mavis is quizzical. “Who, dear?”
Mavis’s partner on stage, and in life, was in fact a lady. Later in the film, when Jane sees a framed photo of a woman dressed in the uniform, Mavis realizes that Jane understands. “It takes all kinds,” she says slyly, but unapologetically. Jane is touched by Mavis’s honesty, which ultimately inspires her to follow her own heart to do what is right for her.
The film takes a poignant and sympathetic look at these disparate people, all living with their own circumstances, demons, and dreams. It’s refreshing to see a film in which all the characters help and support each other in small, simple ways, with no judgment.
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| Jon Voigt and Dustin Hoffman in 1969's groundbreaking "Midnight Cowboy." |
The new decade of the 1970s kicked off with the all-male cast of “The Boys in the Band” (1970), but the gay theme was still couched in fear and self-loathing. The obscure “Some of My Best Friends Are” (1971), made after the Stonewall riots of 1969—which fundamentally kicked off the gay rights movement—is a small film that takes place in a Greenwich Village gay bar. The men and women (including Rue McClanahan) don’t fret about being victims; instead, they have real conversations about their lives and relationships. It is markedly different from the films of the early 1960s I’ve discussed here.
As the ‘70s wore on, gay men were brought into America’s living room. The flamboyance of Paul Lynde, Charles Nelson Reilly, and Alan Seuss was played strictly for laughs in sitcoms, game shows, and variety shows, making them safe for public consumption. Outside of Billy Crystal’s more substantially written gay character in the satirical sitcom “Soap,” the ‘70s was just as limited as previous decades in depictions of gay characters in mass entertainment, albeit in a different way. But when Rock Hudson, the ideal Hollywood heartthrob, died of AIDS in 1985, it snapped America out of its reverie and forced it to look at gay people not as one-dimensional comic foils, victims, or dangerous, shadowy figures, but as multi-dimensional people with the same hopes and aspirations as everyone else.
Movies will always show us what we strived for, what we achieved, and how far we’ve come. It will be fascinating to see what comes next.
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