52 Films By Women: Fire (1996)

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By Andrea Thompson

To say that Deepa Mehta’s film caused a stir when it was released in her home country of India in 1996 is an understatement. It was the first mainstream film in the country to depict a lesbian relationship, and the response was explosive. Conservatives practically foamed at the mouth to denounce it, and crowds of protestors attacked theaters where it screened.

There was certainly much to provoke. “Fire” isn’t just a film about two women falling in love, it’s about the various ways women are exploited in a home environment which is enabled by the staunch traditionalism outside of it. Yet a few still manage to take their power back and find happiness, even as some remain complicit.

Conservatives, however, are very right to fear modernity, as Radha (Shabana Azmi) and Sita (Nandita Das) have a hell of a lot more choices than their cinematic predecessors. Much like the women who embrace queer love in “Portrait of a Lady on Fire” and “The Handmaiden,” they fall for each other not exactly because they identify as queer (which doesn’t seem like much of an option for them anyway), but rather, in the sense that they are able to find freedom and understanding only with each other in their stifling patriarchal surroundings. 

Sita and Radha actually have more in common with Carol and Therese of “Carol,” and Wil and Vivian of “Saving Face,” and it’s directly related to its more contemporary 90s setting. If their love stories have a common thread in settings hell-bent on heteronormativity, there are still far more options than the far too fleeting, isolated feminist utopia of “Portrait.” 

That said, Sita and Radha probably never would have connected if not for one of the most traditional structures in existence-marriage. Mere days into Sita’s arranged marriage with Jatin (Javed Jaffrey), she’s already feeling the pain of his cold indifference, exacerbated by the rigid expectations of her new home, where she is expected to serve not only her new husband, but his mute and paralyzed mother Biji (Kushal Rekhi), who is also subject to perverse exploitation by the family servant Mundu (Ranjit Chowdhry), but nevertheless rigidly helps to enforce conservative standards of behavior and dress.

Sita’s consolation is her older sister-in-law Radha, who is unable to bear children and likewise suffers from the emotional abuse doled out by her pious husband Ashok (Kulbhushan Kharbanda), who has fallen under the sway of a local religious leader and believes that desire is the root cause of all unhappiness. To prove his devotion to self-control, he has refused to have sex with Radha for 13 years, and whenever he feels the urge, has her lie motionless next to him while he refuses all touch.

It’s an excruciating way to live, and Radha has resigned herself to it until the younger, more rebellious Sita joins the household. Sita quickly realizes that her husband Jatin would much rather spend nights with his Chinese mistress Julie (Alice Poon), but her pain fades as she and Radha form a close friendship that quickly blossoms into a connection that’s as emotional as it is physical. And neither much bothers with what the men around them think. After they consummate their relationship, Radha is quick to reassure the more forward Sita that they’ve done nothing wrong, and they refuse to put a stop to their affair, which they’re essentially having in plain sight.

When they are discovered, as we know they will be sooner or later, “Fire” only reserves the last fifteen minutes to others’ reactions, and perhaps that might be the biggest insult of all to those who opposed this film and its empowering message. “Fire” never shies away from painful realities, but the emphasis is always on life, and the right to defy those who would try to deprive others of it. It’s a dangerous message for those who insist on adhering to a rigid code at the expense of all else, and that it involves a tender love story between two women might just represent the greatest threat of all.

52 Films By Women: Xena: Warrior Princess-Here She Comes...Miss Amphipolis (1997)

The Mary Sue

By Andrea Thompson

Note: Some spoilers ahead.

I’m cheating a bit for this week’s column, since I’m writing about a TV episode rather than a film. But hell, it’s Pride Month, “Pose” has recently ended, and the episode I’m focusing on was not only directed and written by women, it has a fantastic origin story.

But, as is habitual with me, I’m getting ahead of myself. Like many, I’ve turned to fun, light-hearted content during the pandemic, some new, some rediscovered. One example of the latter has been “Xena: Warrior Princess,” a show which I enjoyed whenever I could catch it (ah, life before streaming) and have likewise enjoyed revisiting. If you’re somehow unfamiliar with the premise, it was set in a fantasy version of ancient Greece and followed the titular character Xena, (Lucy Lawless) a former warlord who chose to fight for good in an effort to atone for her past. On her journey to redemption, she was aided by a farm girl named Gabrielle (Renée O'Connor), who became her conscience, friend, fellow warrior, and eventually, far more, even if it couldn’t become official canon at the time, although it was clear enough to the ardent fan base it garnered during its six season run from 1995 to 2001.

One episode in particular was one of those completely random watches I enjoyed as a teenager, and ended up being one of those childhood gems that’s even better once you can really appreciate what it was doing. Granted, there are many episodes of “Xena” that fit this description (and to be fair, some that don’t), but the one I’m singling out is the season two episode “Here She Comes...Miss Amphipolis,” which aired in 1997. 

As the title suggests, it revolves around a beauty pageant, but in typical Xena fashion, there are higher stakes than just determining a winner. A fragile peace has been in place in the unnamed setting for about a year, but that peace may soon be shattered. All three of the warlords who previously waged war on the battlefield are now basically fighting by proxy, with each having entered their respective girlfriends as contestants. Now someone has been attempting to not only sabotage each contestant’s chances of winning but do away with them completely, which would kick off another war.

Xena and Gabrielle aren’t shy about sharing their thoughts on beauty pageants and how degrading they can be, but as Xena points out, “War makes everyone a victim.” So she decides to pose as a contestant for the title of...Miss Known World (not making that up), with Gabrielle adopting another kind of disguise, complete with a hilarious accent, as her sponsor.

And what happens next is surprisingly complicated, far ahead of its time, and in many ways, our current time. But perhaps the biggest relief is how this episode avoids the most tired cliche of all - the “tough girl” struggling to perform traditional femininity. Xena sees no conflict between her warrior skills and the demands of a contestant, gamely donning a blonde wig and various costumes. She not only performs her part to perfection, she WORKS IT as a blonde bombshell. To her, it’s just another adventure, and this one happens to demand this particular set of skills, some no doubt inspired by Lawless, a former beauty queen herself. It’s what I refer to as the “Clueless” brand of satire, which maintains a respect for the characters they’re portraying even as they’re poking fun at them.

So it makes sense that the other contestants are far different from the “underdressed, over-developed bimbos” Xena was expecting. As the episode reminds us, all of them have seen the horrors of war up close, and it’s given them the kind of perspective that makes it impossible for them to take such frivolities seriously. As one contestant puts it, “You can’t know how stupid something like this seems when you’ve been through a war where it was a fight just to survive.” It’s what they stand to gain that get them invested in winning rather than the pageant itself, with one contestant being promised food for her village, another hoping to find another life far away from the trauma she’s endured, and one believing she has so little right to her own feelings she’s chosen to go along with her sponsor/boyfriend’s decision to enter her in the pageant.

Only one contestant is actually invested in the pageant itself, and that is Miss Artiphys, which is when the episode really gets interesting. Yes the name is pronounced artifice, and Xena quickly discovers they weren’t born a woman. In fact, Miss Artiphys was played by Karen Dior, a bisexual adult film star who was a female impersonator, then moved into more mainstream roles in the 90’s, and from what I could discover, apparently identified as a man rather than a trans woman. Given that information, I will use he pronouns when referring to Dior, and they when referring to the character of Miss Artiphys.

The character of Miss Artiphys not only isn’t a joke, but is treated with dignity. When they lock Xena in a steam room, it’s not out of a sense of competition, but out of fear that Xena will reveal their secret. As Miss Artiphys struggles to explain their reasons for joining the competition to Xena, they point out that Xena was born a woman and can take her identity for granted, while for them, “This is a chance to use a part of me most people usually laugh at or worse. The part I usually have to hide. Only here that part works for me.” Xena doesn’t pretend to fully understand, but she not only listens to Miss Artiphys, she refuses to out them and says, “May the best person win.”

How was such respect possible at a time when trans (or in this case, trans implied) characters were nonexistent, or when they were acknowledged, were generally treated as jokes at best, or violent killers at worst? That’s probably due to writer Chris Manheim, who was inspired to create the character of Miss Artiphys by her brother Keith Walsh, who apparently died of AIDS in 1992, and was also a regular drag performer. 

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For Miss Artiphys, the pageant is genuinely empowering, and it’s easy to see their arc as Manheim’s wish fulfillment for her brother. Miss Artiphys not only steals the show (no small achievement when you’re standing next to Lawless), they get the best moments. They not only appear onstage in Xena’s signature costume and proclaim, “Honey, I’m no princess. I’m a queen,” they also get to (spoiler!) win the pageant. All the other finalists proudly declare their agency and decide to drop out of a competition that’s based on their objectification, leaving Miss Artiphys as the winner to raucous applause and tears that were probably genuine on their part. 

Such dreams were rarely fulfilled in real life at the time. Karen Dior never found mainstream stardom and died of AIDS-related complications in 2004. Manheim had long been a prolific TV writer and continued to not only write but produce several “Xena” episodes, but her last IMDB credits is as a writer of an episode of “Monk” in 2004. This was also the last director credit for Marina Sargenti, who also directed the underrated 1990 horror film “Mirror Mirror.” 

No, pop culture as a whole wasn’t prepared to follow the example set by “Xena” at the time, even if Lucy Lawless and Renée O'Connor embraced their status as queer icons long before it became trendy or just good PR. Nevertheless, “Here She Comes... Miss Amphipolis” sums up the show’s legacy nicely, and in a fashion that much of the mainstream is still struggling to catch up to. Or as Xena herself quite simply puts it, “Beauty is beauty.” Indeed it is.

52 Films By Women: Appropriate Behavior (2014)

Appropriate Behavior

By Andrea Thompson

Can a film not be groundbreaking but still do something new? Take the 2014 film “Appropriate Behavior,” which follows another aimless twentysomething who finds herself completely adrift after a breakup. Such a plot couldn’t be called anything close to original, but the aimless young woman in question just happens to be Shirin, played by Desiree Akhavan, who also writes and directs. 

Shirin isn’t just a bisexual woman who couldn’t even bring herself to tell her parents that she and her ex Maxine (Rebecca Henderson) were dating in the first place, said parents are also Persian immigrants, and while they’re far more liberal and open-minded than on-screen immigrant parents typically are, they also have clear expectations for Shirin. Ones that aren’t up for discussion even after they visit the apartment where their daughter and Maxine are cohabitating and note that it only has one bed.

Bisexual representation isn’t just woefully lacking, it’s also extremely misrepresented, or more often, ignored in favor of characters whose sexuality could be firmly placed in the far less complicated category of gay or straight. But Akhavan, who identifies as bisexual herself, ensures that Shirin’s journey never veers into territory that cold be called stereotypical or exploitative, which is even more impressive given that it also consists of a series of graphic sexual (mis)adventures with both men and women in a Brooklyn now firmly hipster and gentrified.

If you can get past that, “Appropriate Behavior” is a damn delight as Shirin physically and emotionally gropes for some sort of solid ground, following Maxine around in an attempt to reconnect, and teaching a class of five-year-olds how to make films, in spite of the fact that she has no experience whatsoever in filmmaking. You’d think that her unused journalism degree would practically mandate at least an interest, but there clearly are exceptions. Luckily for Shirin, the parents clearly don’t care much about their kids’ education. In an age of helicoptery overparenting, it’s actually kind of sweet.

If “Appropriate Behavior” ever does risk veering into the stereotypical, it’s ironically when exploring Shrin and Maxine’s relationship, which is delved into in a nonlinear fashion. At first it’s hard to see just what drew these two together in the first place, and why Shirin is so eager to reunite with a woman who comes off as another uptight, pretentious hipster who is so humorless that when Shirin tells her about an encounter with a guy that involved a soft dick (when they first meet no less), Maxine makes a snide remark...in the guy’s favor. If that isn’t a violation of the girl code, I don’t know what is.

Thankfully, Maxine doesn’t deteriorate into a shrew or a symbol of all the wrong choices Shirin has made in her life. She actually becomes human (eventually), and their time together quickly seems less like a waste than well spent, only to curdle in large part due to Shirin’s refusal to be honest with her parents. Or at least, completely open with them, as their denial seems clear enough.

Humanization has always been the gift that keeps on giving, so when Shirin finally starts to get it together, we actively root for her. Yeah, there’s the usual results, such as a friendlier state of coexistence with Maxine, and actually being honest with her family, some of whom are supportive, some not. One achievement though, will remain uniquely her own, as she decides to take the lead from the kids in her class and help them make a short, uplifting film about...zombie farts. Between this and “The Miseducation of Cameron Post,” I hope Akhavan continues to make films that are so truly, uniquely, her own.

52 Films By Women: To Wong Foo, Thanks For Everything! Julie Newmar (1995)

Universal Pictures

By Andrea Thompson

Critics may not have been ready for “To Wong Foo, Thanks for Everything! Julie Newmar,” but a lot of other people sure as hell were. A comedy about three drag queens driving from New York to compete in a drag beauty pageant in L.A., the film received such mixed reviews that Rotten Tomatoes disgraced itself by giving it a rating of 39%. It clearly made an impression on audiences though, since it was the top grossing movie at the box office for two weeks.

The title refers to a signed photo by Julie Newmar that Vida (Patrick Swayze), the most maternal of the trio, steals as a kind of good luck charm on their journey. It seems to have done the trick, seeing as how Newmar makes a cameo as herself in the film. 

It also seems to have worked its magic on the remainder of the film as well, which remains charming, even if the ending veers too far into wish fulfillment. “To Wong Foo” doesn’t just take the concerns of Vida, her friend Noxeema (Wesley Snipes), and Chi-Chi (John Leguizamo), the newcomer they take under their wing, seriously, it reslishes their passionate appreciation of glamorous femininity.

Nor were any of these ladies defined by their oppression, or what so many outside of their tight-knit community and surrogate family thought of them. Aside from a brief glimpse of Vida’s disapproving mother from afar, Noxeema, Vida, and Chi-Chi are wholly themselves, with no need of validation from said family who are typically the focus, even as they constantly rejected those they deemed outsiders, only to tearfully embrace their choices by the end. 

Perhaps critics also expected the film to at least mention the AIDS crisis, which was the leading cause of death for adults aged 25 to 44 at the time, according to The Advocate. While suffering seems to be the industry’s go-to strategy to build compassion for the marginalized, “To Wong Foo” immerses us in the drag community from the beginning. It’s not only aware of the tough guy/heartthrob personas of Swayze and Snipes, it plays on them, both in the original trailers, and from the moment the film kicks off, with an objectified Patrick Swayze stepping out of the shower in all his swoonworthy, abtastic glory, only to objectify him in much different way as he begins to put on his feminine persona.

How this process is portrayed sets the tone. Just four years prior in “The Silence of the Lambs,” a man feminizing himself was depicted as the ultimate horror, but as the central characters delightedly, carefully adorn themselves with makeup, wigs, stockings and all around style, director Beeban Kidron likewise relishes their joy and the care that goes into it. It’s indicative of the movie’s respect, not just for femininity, but women in general.

Critics might have accused “To Wong Foo” of timidity, political correctness, and a lack of originality in terms of plot, and they weren’t completely wrong. There’s a certain suspension of disbelief required, not just for the over-the-top, utopian ending, but that almost none of the residents of Snydersville, the small town Noxeema, Vida, and Chi-Chi become stranded in, recognize them as men in drag. 

No, “To Wong Foo” couldn’t be accused of diving too deep. But it does mostly accomplish what it set out to do, which is be funny as hell. Snipes, Swayze, and Leguizamo are all in top form, and it’s not only the jokes that land perfectly, it’s the banter, which ranges from tough love to outright animosity, and finally, to camaraderie. 

It’s also not as if the movie is unaware of the very real danger these three face on a daily basis. They only become stranded in Snydersville in the first place because a sheriff attempts to assault Vida one night after he pulls them over. She fights him off, but believes she kills him in the process rather than merely knocking him out, causing all of them to flee in terror. That terror is also present from the moment their encounter with him begins, when Sheriff Dollard pulls them over while they’re driving in a remote area at night. As he comes up to them with his hand firmly on his gun we know is going to be unpleasant at the very least. The only question is whether it will also be horrific.

Thank goodness not all small towns are completely hellish, because while Snydersville proves to have the kinds of characters who benefit from the trio’s presence, it has its share of dangers as well. At one point, Chi-Chi gets harassed from a group of male rednecks in an encounter that threatened to become a gang rape, only to be saved by a nice local boy who actually becomes her love interest. 

One of them also gets his comeuppance from Noxeema in a scene that’s become both iconic and queer canon, and deeply reflective in how the women of Snydersville become stronger and more confident thanks to the three, who literally brighten up a place which initially appears as drab and almost colorless, only to become awash in a sea of red as Noxeema, Vida, and Chi-Chi decide to participate in the town Strawberry Social. By the time the despicable Sheriff Dollard tracks them down, the stage is literally set for a fabulous Western standoff that involves literally running the toxic men in their midst out of town. 

Interestingly though, one of the most difficult tasks wasn’t finding the movie’s leads, it was finding a director. Swayze, Snipes, and Leguizamo eagerly signed on, but practically every male director passed, with Beeban Kidron getting the gig, it seems, more out of desperation than any appreciation for her very considerable skills. 

The ending is also more bittersweet than intended, what with Dollard’s rant about how the Constitution doesn’t apply to such “deviants,” amidst the resurgence of an alt right determined to roll back every hard fought gain progressives have made, including recent court rulings. But at least he gets the clap back he deserves, and “To Wong Foo” also remains an unapologetic celebration of its leads and queer culture, (with cameos from icons that include Ru Paul) paving the way for much more to come.

7 Films To Watch For Pride Month

By Andrea Thompson

Happy Pride Month! Since there's still a few days left to enjoy it, here are seven films that you should make time to watch.

Dracula's Daughter (1936)

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This Golden Age Hollywood film is somewhat limited by its time, but it's also got quite a bit going for it. Countess Marya Zaleska (film goddess Gloria Holden) should be more well-known as not just one of the great female villains, but just a great villain in general. She could even easily be anti-heroine, as we meet her far before our hero and his love interest, who aren't nearly as interesting. What makes Zaleska so tragic is that what she truly wants is a normal life. She believes Dracula's death has freed her, only to discover she still craves blood and death. She is a great danger to both men and women, and lesbian undertones are quite clear, given her ultimate temptation is the sight of a young woman's bare throat. So Hollywood's first reluctant vampire was a complex female character, whose was equally regal, beautiful, and terrifying.

Desert Hearts (1985)

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First off, that dynamite outfit on Cay Rivvers (Patricia Charbonneau). Cay doesn't exactly arrive on-screen, she bursts onto it, laughing as she recklessly drives backward, wind in her hair. The prim and proper Vivian (Helen Shaver), who has just come to a Nevada ranch for some peace and quiet after filing for divorce, is fascinated by her, and only gets more so. Their mutual attraction practically sets the screen on fire every time they meet, and their love scene together is both tender and sensual without coming off as objectifying. The love story is also blissfully free of any love triangle, and the sweetly optimistic ending was a rarity for LGBTQ films at the time.

The Watermelon Woman (1996)

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“The Watermelon Woman” isn't just a criminally underappreciated classic, it's a 90s time capsule, a time which saw a resurgence in Black cinema. Director and writer Cheryl Dunye plays a fictionalized version of herself who's also named Cheryl, a Black lesbian who works in a video store (ah, nostalgia) in Philadelphia with her best friend Tamara (Valarie Walker). Cheryl soon becomes obsessed with a Black actress who played a series of mammy type roles in the 30s. It's a meta narrative that's also socially conscious, as Dunye creates her own history in order for the fictional Cheryl to confront the lack of resources devoted to Black women on-screen, just as she's dealing with a fallout with her best friend Tamara after she starts dating a white woman. It's groundbreaking, fascinating watch on its own merits, not just because “The Watermelon Woman” is the first feature film directed by a Black lesbian.

Imagine Me & You (2005)

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In many ways, “Imagine Me & You” is just another rom-com. The difference? It revolves around two women. Also, it stars Lena Headey. Yes, Queen Cersei. And she's fantastic as Luce, who shares an intense chemistry with Rachel (Piper Perabo) from the moment they lock eyes...on Rachel's wedding day to Heck (Matthew Goode, yes this movie also has Matthew Goode). Even if the poster makes it seem as though this relationship blossomed behind the back of not just one, but two men, Luce is very aware and comfortable about her preference for women. It's Rachel who is initially very sure of who she is, then begins to question her sexuality after she meets Luce. Their love story is sweet and tender as it grows in spite of Rachel's conflict over her kind and decent husband Heck, who senses the change in his wife but is unable to discern the cause. Even if the the movie keeps things light, it also delves into the prejudices and disapproval Luce still has to face simply being who she is, and Heady and Perabo have the kind of chemistry that makes rom-coms soar.

Pariah (2011)

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“Pariah” doesn't sugarcoat just how rocky coming-of-age can be for LGBTQ youth in an environment that wants them to be anything but. For her feature film debut, Dee Rees pulls few punches in just how much 17-year-old Alike (Adepero Oduye) must overcome despite of her status as a gifted student and writer who lives in Brooklyn, which is often depicted as a liberal haven. Alike is very certain of her lesbian identity, but her conservative parents prefer denial and conformity. Alike's mother is especially invested in her daughter conforming to a more conventional femininity, buying her pink clothes Alike clearly isn't comfortable in, and displaying open hostility towards her supportive and out friend Laura (Pernell Walker). For a time, Alike thinks she's found comfort and love with Bina (Aasha Davis), only to experience her first heartbreak as she learns just how invested Bina is in denying not only her own truth, but their shared one. Even if Alike emerges firmly committed to breaking free of the forces that constrict her, those forces still ensure her freedom has a price.

The Handmaiden (2016)

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“The Handmaiden” is one of the most unusual on-screen love stories. The plot seems simple enough at first. In Japanese-occupied Korea, a Korean pickpocket named Sook-Hee (Tae-ri Kim) is hired to serve as a handmaiden to the supposedly naive and innocent Japanese heiress Lady Hideko (Min-hee Kim) in order to assist a conman in robbing Hideko of her inheritance. What seems like a straight path (pun intended) soon proves to be more of a maze, as Sook-Hee begins to develop feelings for Hideko, who is also more complicated than she appears. Unlike other films that claim to be erotic, “The Handmaiden” actually lives up to the genre, giving us a thriller that is equal parts suspenseful, stylish, and yes, sexy.

Can You Ever Forgive Me? (2018)

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Unlike the other heroines, or even the other anti-heroine, on this list, author Lee Israel (Melissa McCarthy) isn't even trying to be good. It's understandable though, since other priorities like survival take precedence. In 1991 New York Lee is deeply out of step with the times. She not only a female writer, she's an older woman who's also a lesbian, and not interested in making nice with entitled, successful male authors. To make some extra cash, she decides to forge letters from deceased authors, and before long is actually able to find quite a bit of success. McCarthy manages to make Lee not only sympathetic but lovable without softening her or making excuses, taking us gleefully along for the ride as Lee cons the industry that has shut her out.

52 Films By Women: Pariah (2011)

IMDB

By Andrea Thompson

The 2011 Dee Rees film “Pariah” may be a coming of age film about a Black teenager who is also a lesbian, but her struggle isn't with her sexuality exactly. From the film's opening shots, it's pretty clear that 17-year-old Alike (Adepero Oduye) knows she's into women. As “Pariah” begins, Alike is staring in awe at a female stripper at a club with mostly Black lesbians while the very uncensored version of Khia's “My Neck, My Back” plays. So no Alike isn't in denial, but most of those around her are. Alike has to leave soon after, and her insisting that her best friend Laura (Pernell Walker) leave the bus before her is the first sign that Alike doesn't feel. Sure enough, Alike sheds her preferred masculine clothing for a more conventionally feminine look.

The reasons why are soon clear enough. New York City is generally depicted as a bastion of liberalism and acceptance, where stand-up comics can confess onstage that they're pregnant and planning on getting an abortion the next day. Not so in Alike's Brooklyn neighborhood, a more conservative world where in seems most are happily in denial when reality doesn't suit their beliefs.

Alike's parents certainly are. They're not only in denial about their daughter's sexuality, but their marriage itself. “Pariah” never officially reveals that Alike's father Arthur (Charles Parnell), a police detective, is having an affair, but the late-night phone calls, the absences, his lack of interest in almost any kind of intimacy with his wife Audrey (Kim Wayans), and his general defensiveness, are all clear indications.

Alike's inclinations are just as equally clear. It's inescapable even in trivial moments, such as when Audrey buys Alike a pink shirt, and her coworker immediately assumes it's for Alike's younger sister Sharonda (Sahra Mellesse), who is clearly interested in boys and what dress to wear to the school dance. Rather than accepting Alike, Audrey tries to mold her into the image she believes Alike should conform to, which backfires as such efforts usually do.

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The really heartbreaking thing is that it backfires in a way neither Audrey nor Alike predict. Audrey disapproves of Alike's friendship with the openly gay Laura, and pushes Alike to befriend Bina (Aasha Davis) instead. Alike is at first reluctant, but quickly forms a bond with Bina, who proves to be more complicated than she appears. In a film where music plays such a large role, the two first bond through a shared appreciation of the underground rap Alike adores. This also gives her a welcome relief from the club scene that the studious Alike has never felt truly comfortable in.

It turns out though (if it needs to be said...spoiler alert!) that Bina is pretty deep in denial too. She's very aware that Alike is a virgin, and takes the initiative throughout their relationship. Bina is the one who makes the effort to get to know Alike, and is the first one to kiss Alike, invite her to stay the night, and take their relationship deeper. But the morning after Bina and Alike have sex, Bina is detached, picking up stuff around her room and not looking at Alike. Not good.

It gets worse, as Alike naturally assumes that Bina still cares about her, even telling Bina that last was amazing and thanking her. In response, Bina dismisses both Alike and the ramifications of their night together, telling her it was just playing around and that she's not “gay, gay, just doing her thing.” The only concern she has left for Alike is whether or not she'll tell anyone. It's basically every girl's worst nightmare of how your first time will be.

This can't leave Alike anything but devastated, but it seems to make her more determined than ever to live her own truth. When she hears her parents arguing, she decides to get involved and finally tell them the truth neither of them wants to hear. Far from being cathartic, Audrey beats Alike in spite of Arthur's pleas, and Alike retreats to Laura's house. Even though Arthur makes a feeble attempt to bring Alike back home, Alike decides to head to Berkeley for an early college program she's been accepted to. “I'm not running, I'm choosing,” she says defiantly. Even if Alike's mother still refuses to reconcile with her daughter at the end, Alike's loved ones, which include not just her father and her sister, but Laura, are there to see her off.

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In a way, “Pariah” is a far more brave film than “Moonlight,” a far more iconic film directed by Barry Jenkins that came out in 2016. Dee Rees even utilizes many of the same techniques as Jenkins, albeit in a far more subdued fashion. Jenkins used a far more instrumental score in “Moonlight,” bathing its Miami neighborhood setting in far more sumptuous colors that spoke to Jenkins's influences, specifically Wong Kar-wai.

“Moonlight” also has Chiron reconciling with his mother and finding love by the end. In contrast, diligent student Alike leaves by the end for a new life, still estranged from her mother and the classmate who was her love interest. Even Alike's closeness with the father who was far less interested in changing her remains tenuous. Yet Rees leaves us in no doubt of the bright future Alike has ahead of her. Her heartbreak has allowed her to delve deeper, leaving us with a poem that speaks of her brokenness, and defiance, the freedom she has found as the result of her struggles.

52 Films By Women: Desert Hearts (1985)

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By Andrea Thompson

Few things are more satisfying than a groundbreaking film that's actually good. And in 1985, lesbians were doing the Western romance way before “Brokeback Mountain.” So if you haven't heard of the 1985 film “Desert Hearts,” get familiar.

“Desert Hearts” isn't just groundbreaking because it's a lesbian love story that's written and directed by women. There's more to it than that, as director Donna Deitch is also a lesbian, so we're also seeing a queer love story as told through a queer female gaze, which helps explain why the love scene is sensual and appreciative rather than leering or objectifying.

Many films also love to claim they're subversive, but such claims are genuine in this case. “Desert Hearts” kicks off when 35-year-old New York academic Vivian Bell (Helen Shaver) comes to Reno, Nevada in 1959 for some peace and quiet during her divorce. As she explains to her lawyer, there was nothing really wrong with her marriage. Her husband was good to her, and they had a good life together. It just wasn't the life she wanted, which is an honest one that doesn't depend on having the right friends and the right prints on the wall.

“I yearn for something you couldn't analyze or reason away,” Vivian explains. “I want to be free of who I've been.” She accepts that this might mean she's alone for the rest of her life.

Or not. Enter the 25-year-old free-spirited Cay Rivvers (Patricia Charbonneau), who feels like a force of nature from the moment she appears on-screen, laughingly, recklessly driving backward to greet Vivian as she's arriving at the ranch where Cay is also staying. Vivian is immediately interested, if not quite consciously at first. From the first time the two actually meet and chat, the chemistry is off the charts. Blue really is the warmest color the way Charbonneau rocks that crop top and jean shorts. It's bodice ripper level of swoonworthy.

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The setting for their slowly building romance also soon proves to be far more complicated than your typical repressive small town. Cay is pretty open about her numerous affairs with women, which her surrogate mother and ranch owner Frances (Audra Lindley) tolerates while simultaneously turning a blind eye to. She also has a true friend in Silver, an older woman who works with Cay, and who's happily engaged to a man, but also has a tenderly physical relationship Cay as well.

“Joe's in the kitchen, you're in the tub,” Silver sighs to Cay. “Jesus, I'm happy.” Unconventional to be sure, but it becomes one of the film's more beautiful portrayals, not only of love, but of female friendships, with Joe (Antony Ponzini) accepting of them both and unconditionally loving towards Silver. Silver is also the only one who seems to have Cay's best interests at heart, and offers her advice that is actually geared towards her betterment.

Cay does seem to have all the freedom in the world...until she finds that “somebody who counts,” as she puts it. As her and Vivian's connection grows, so too does the opposition to it. Frances kicks Vivian out of the house, but then, she might have done that with any connection Cay formed. Her lack of acceptance is also ironically born out of a deep need for Cay's love and presence. She was the mistress of Cay's father for ten years, even taking Cay in after her mother left her, and Frances desperately wants to keep Cay close to her.

It's indicative of Deitch's refusal to allow either women to be defined by the reactions of the straight women around then, and it's most likely why reactions to their tender love story were mixed. There are few things straight white men dislike more than such complete and utter dismissals of their perceptions and opinions. Deitch even had a difficult time finding actresses to audition, since fear of playing LGBTQ material was at an all-time high, especially when the script didn't involve suicide, heartbreak, or a love triangle with a man.

It is also the older, prim and proper Vivian (who actually wears a string of pearls) who is seduced by Cay, slowly and tenderly in the gorgeous desert landscape. I'm no fan of small towns, having hated the one I grew up in. But they do lend themselves to a kind of poetry onscreen, which makes certain one-liners sound wise rather than laughable, such as when Vivian tells Cay her marriage “drowned in still waters,” and Cay replies, “Say no more.” Even the country music is used to great effect. As Silver sings a love song and the two eye each other up, the heat they generate radiates off the screen.

The best, most enjoyable exchange between the two actually happens right before their love scene, where Vivian is explaining to Cay what a respected scholar she is, and how fond she is of order and how unused she is to raising her voice, only to turn around and see Cay naked in her bed. “I wouldn't know what to do,” Vivian protests. Cay replies, “You can start by putting the do not disturb sign on the door.”

What happens after, when the two women leave the hotel room and spend time in the outside world, is difficult to watch. It's clear they love each other, partially because they both tell each other, and that Cay's feelings for Vivian make this a new experience for her too. Vivian is unused to having to defend herself and her relationship against the world, and feels exposed just sitting in a restaurant with Kay, resulting in their first fight. In another film, this is where they would part ways, and “Desert Hearts” would end in either a terrible accident or their declaration to love each other regardless of what the outside world thinks. When they do risk parting, it has nothing to do with any outside opinion, which must have set so many critical teeth on edge.

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When the real suspense comes is when Vivian has to return to New York, and Cay's real insecurities swim to the surface. Vivian wants Cay to come with her and really commit to a new life, even if it may not work out. “If you want a sure thing, stay in Reno,” she tells Cay, who is hesitant to leave the comfortable world she knows. “Desert Hearts” likewise gives us no guarantees, only a glimpse of what could be a happy ending when Cay jumps on Vivian's train at the last minute, at least deciding to give Vivian another forty minutes to the next station. I can only hope she decided to take the ride for as long as it lasted.