The Decade Of 'The Crying Game' | Pocketmags.com

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The Decade Of 'The Crying Game'

In 1993 audiences were shocked at the twist in the final reel of Neil Jordan’s The Crying Game, which told them that all along, unbeknownst to them, they’d been watching a queer love story unfold. IRA member Fergus (Stephen Rea) promises a kidnapped British soldier in his custody that he’ll visit his girlfriend, Dil (Jaye Davidson) in London. When Fergus flees to the city, he seeks her out and so begins a gently unfolding romance. The twist? Dil is a pre-op trans woman, a fact that Fergus (and the audience) discovers when the two get together in the sack, so essentially it sneaks its queerness in the back door.

Spoiler alert! The Crying Game is an unusual queer film in another way, in that its central lovers have a happy ending. In the final scene, Dil asks Fergus why he loves her, and Fergus says: “It’s in my nature”. It ushered in a decade of film that explored the Irish queer sensibility, not always with such a happy ending.

Suri Krishnammam’s A Man of No Importance (1994), told the story of a thespian bus conductor, Alfie, who falls head over heels with the young male star of a staging of Oscar Wilde’s Salome in Dublin of the 1950s, which he is directing. No sex and no self-love ensue for poor, celibate Alfie.

In 1998 Jimmy Smallhorne directed the little-known 2 By 4, the story of Johnny, an Irish builder in 1990s New York grappling with his sexuality and a disturbing past. Again, it’s a story in which the main character’s homosexuality is a source of angst.

Neil Jordan was back on queer street in 2000 with Breakfast on Pluto, the tale of Patrick ‘Kitten’ Broden, a gay boy on an odyssey of self-discovery as he searches for his birth mother in London. As queer Irish representations go, it’s a positive one – the audience root for Patrick all along – but there’s little exploration or understanding of his sexuality. It only seems to underline his otherness in a story of increasing alienation.

Then in 2003, a movie came along that represented queer sexuality in a way we had never seen in Irish film before. Set amid the apartments and restaurants of boom-time Dublin, Liz Gill’s Goldfish Memory featured a cornucopia of relationships, some straight, some lesbian, some gay, some bisexual, and there was lots of conflict amid its lighthearted comedy, but the thing that united them all was a lack of shame. Gill’s characters negotiated relationships rather than sexuality, and they reflected an Ireland that in only a decade, had changed beyond recognition.

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