The sexuality of a character in a movie isn’t discussed unless it’s explicitly shown that they’re queer. This unquestioned passing of everyone as straight is the very product of heteronormativity. On the other hand, when movie-makers depict a character’s interiority through their sexuality, they end up creating an imbalance between the exterior influences and internal dilemmas, leaving most cine-goers, especially queer ones, disenchanted.
Though of late exceptions have begun to materialise, from exposing society’s hypocrisy to kickstarting meaningful conversations around acceptance. Anmol Sidhu’s Jaggi (2022), which is playing on Mubi now, is one such movie. Its lead Ramnish Choudhary navigates sexual predators and loneliness because he has been convinced by society that shame is a virtue to keep, especially if you could be labelled a homosexual — even though you’re not. Unhinged because he’s rendered supportless, he drifts apart. Not entirely unpredictable but the inevitable happens, shocking people and jolting them out of their reverie, making them rethink raising adolescent children, hypermasculinity, sex education, and notions of safety.
Sometimes even if one confides in their own, their freedom is bartered for “respectability”. This is exceptionally depicted in the 2023 Malayalam movie Kaathal — The Core directed by Jeo Baby. One knows several LGBTQIA+ people who are in heterosexual marriages for a variety of reasons. While some know about their partners, many non-queer people don’t and end up being in a suffocating relationship, especially cisgender women, who continue to have it worse in a cishet marital set-up. The way a woman takes the step in this movie while being sensitive about her husband makes Kaathal a moving watch. There’s a dialogue towards the end of the movie in which the character that Mammootty plays says how his father told him that “everything will be alright if [he] get[s] married,” as if it’s some conversion therapy. Is marriage a cure for a queer person?
Then there is the Sri Rao-created Netflix series The Fame Game (2022), which explored queerness at the intersection of parenting and mental health. Though deftly essayed by Lakshvir Saran, Avi’s character arc ails from a privileged queer person stereotype. Surely they live in a bubble, but a writer’s imagination can go beyond the boundaries of insecurity, money, and compulsory closeted-ness. To that end, in my view, cinema is going through a disruptive phase and there will be a mix of empty projections and sincere attempts at exploring sexuality in cinema.
Visibility lacking
I’ve two cases in point in support. One is Neeraj Ghaywan-directed short from Ajeeb Daastaans (2021), Geeli Pucchi, which depicts same-sex desire in a casteist environment, laying bare the naked truth of Brahmanical heteropatriarchy everywhere — be it at home, in office, and non-normative relationships. The second is a well-made humorous take on acceptance, a short film made by FNP Media, Almariyaan (2021). Woke parents in this short end up imagining that their son is queer and keep offering themselves for help, signalling to him that they’ll happily “accept” him if he comes out as a queer person. It’s hugely enjoyable and ends with an important reminder: “My being gay is my truth, but your being homophobic is a choice. Don’t forget this difference.” But not enough such movies get made, and if made, don’t get requisite visibility, although platforms like KASHISH Pride Film Festival are bringing material changes, supporting several independent queer filmmakers’ works.
Despite everything, sometimes I wonder if there’s a dearth of stories. Then why do shoddy pinkwashing attempts like in Sanjay Leela Bhansali-directed Heeramandi (2024) and trauma-dumping in the two seasons of Made in Heaven (2019-) get celebrated? But I’ve concluded that it’s more about power and complacency than about willingness and bringing forth narratives that are rooted in reality and are gutsy in their portrayal. For example, while one finds several big names kissing onscreen a person of the same sex despite being heterosexual, what prevents film stars in India from doing that? The only exception here is Ayushmann Khurrana (in terms of name, fame, and reach). What is preventing India from having a romcom like Matthew Lopez’s adaptation of Casey McQuiston’s novel Red, White & Royal Blue? The 2023 movie is such a tender, heartwarming watch, and both Nicholas Galitzine and Taylor Zakhar Perez ace their roles as privileged queers.
And even when it comes to exploring the dramatic side, there hasn’t ever been a sensitive, complex portrayal of the contours of desires as presented in Andrew Haigh’s 2023 movie All of Us Strangers. An exceptional adaptation of Taichi Yamada’s 1987 novel, the movie explores the themes of loneliness, alcoholism, memory, grief, and queerness. Its liminality is only exceeded by its powerful performances, especially by Andrew Scott who plays Adam. Teary-eyed, I felt what was different in this movie that I couldn’t find in others. Going through it over and over again, I realised that “representation” is such a boring thing to witness when it comes to seeing an identity depicted on celluloid. If only a maker could focus on “presenting” the character’s truth as is, then that’d be enough.
No need to project, just play it as it is, in all its complexity — not always with pride, but with a tinge of shame, too, because only when you keep the snake in your eye line, it isn’t going to bite you, as John Didion noted.
The author is a Delhi-based independent journalist who writes about books, gender and sexuality.