I'm not going to say I saw this movie and suddenly understood the full depth and breadth of what would go on to become THE civil rights movement of our time. But it was definitely, in its own modest way, a real eye opener.
I had gay friends, sure, but I really had no conception of the hate and vitriol they faced on a day-to-day basis — and I certainly had no context for dealing with transgender issues. I certainly had no idea how horrible transgender men and women were too often treated — the violence and humilation they regularly found themselves subjected to. Particularly in places like Falls City, Nebraska, where Brandon Teena (Hilary Swank) moved and fell in love, and then was brutalized, raped and murdered for the crime of being different.
Kimberly Pierce's debut feature came at the tail end of the 90s indie boom, well after "Sex Lies and Videotape" and "Pulp Fiction" but a year before Christopher Nolan's "Memento." Looking back, it's a little disheartening to see how male-dominated and fundamentally hetero that whole scene was. It makes filmmakers like Pierce (along with Allison Anders, Kasi Lemmons, Lisa Cholodenko and others) all that much more important. While us dudes were wrapped up in our neo noirs and shoot-em-ups (which I love... just look at my list), women like Pierce were busy crafting nuanced films that changed the way gay and trans men and women were depicted on film. In their hands, LGBT people weren't just victims or wacky best friends. They were our brothers and sisters and our sons and daughters.
"Boys Don't Cry" stood high above the others, as much for its public profile as anything else. It won rave reviews, had huge audiences (for a film of this type), and won Hilary Swank a well-deserved Oscar. But this is not to say that it is in any way overrated. If I were to make a list of the five most essential films of the last 20 years — the ones that absolutely need to be preserved for posterity — this one would come at or near the top of the list.
Coming in the wake of Matthew Shephard's murder in Wyoming, this film dealt with the true-life murder of another LGBT person in another small Midwestern town. It was an important subject, and an essential one for its time. But it's also just a very good film. Pierce approaches this story and these characters with a deep empathic sensitivity, but doesn't romanticize or pull any punches. Her analysis is sharp and incisive, and she scrutinizes the dynamics that lead to Teena's death with an almost cold, documentarian's eye.
Pierce is a courageous filmmaker, but also a skilled one. She trusts in the material and her own abilities enough to not pad the movie with needless melodrama. As tragic as the story is, she doesn't treat it as a tragedy. There aren't a lot swelling strings here. She allows us to get to know Brandon Teena as a person, first and foremost, long before we ever come to see him as a victim.
She lets us like Brandon.
Incredibly for that time, Pierce even lets us experience the heart-pounding eroticism of Brandon's relationship with Lana Tisdale (Chloe Sevigny). Those scenes are hot, and this is not a small point — even if maybe it should be. In 1999, showing a trans man cinematically as a source of a classically MALE sexual power was not just bold — it was truly brave.
By letting us fall in love with Brandon and Lana a little bit, Pierce allows us to forget what's to come. We sink into the relationship and get comfortable there, so when the brutality (in the form of terrifyingly human John Lotter, portrayed magnificently by Peter Sarsgaard) arrives, it's that much more shocking.
Pierce doesn't flinch. She forces us to endure the full measure of Brandon's degradation. And Swank throws herself into the role with a fearlessness and raw vulnerability that is staggering. It's nearly unbearable to watch.
I've heard this movie described as a classic "one-timer." I disagree. Yes, it's a hard sit at the end. But Swank and Sevigny bring their characters to life and make them our friends. We owe it to our friends to stand by them.
No comments:
Post a Comment