Sapphics on Film: Why Are We Always Crying

Earlier this year, I frustratedly took to Twitter to mourn the fact that there were no happy, romcom-esque, women-loving-women (WLW) films for me to devour during quarantine. My queer friends and I have repeatedly whined about the “quiet” nature of most WLW films, yearning for loud, fun movies about girls falling in love. While some do exist, the sapphic film canon is overwhelmingly driven by tragic narratives. 

So what does the sapphic film canon look like today? In recent years, there has been a rise in on-screen depictions of lesbian period dramas. Much of this trend can be attributed to the success of 2018’s The Favourite, which set a precedent for the success of lesbian films of its kind, raking in not only 10 Oscars nomintions, but also two Venice International Film Festival Awards and 10 British Independent Film Awards. While The Favourite certainly was not the first sapphic film of its kind, with giants like Carol (2015) and The Handmaiden (2016) preceding it, the film’s success marked a turning point for the future of WLW in film.

The popularity of period films within sapphic communities, particularly those set in the 18th and 19th centuries, makes perfect sense when we examine the history of lesbianism and WLW relationships. In a 1982 essay entitled “Sexuality in Nineteenth-Century America: Behavior, Ideology, and Politics,” historian Estelle B. Freedman explores the history of lesbianism, citing that intimacies between women in the early 19th century were “casually accepted by society because there was no lesbian presence to taint them with the charge of a deviant sexuality.” In other words, because there was no true lesbian culture, there was no shame surrounding the culture either. This historical tidbit is huge for filmmakers, in that it allows for sapphic narratives that do not necessarily center around shame surrounding WLW relationships. 

Art by Rebekah Czukoski

Most recently, Portrait of a Lady on Fire (2019) takes advantage of the time period in which it’s set, crafting a delicate, heartbreaking depiction of a love that is forbidden—not because of shame, but because of circumstance. It exists outside of hate, and deals with the intricacies of navigating a sapphic relationship before lesbian culture even truly existed as a canon. And yet, despite the opportunity to depict two women in an unashamedly loving (while still secretive) relationship, most of these period dramas share common themes of tragedy that many WLW find frustrating. No matter how much we might love the movies we do get, we find ourselves wondering why we can’t get one happy, sapphic romance.

It is a topic of discussion among WLW communities each time a new sapphic film makes its debut in the movie world. Most recently, discourse surrounding the upcoming release of Ammonite (2020) has centered the question yet again. Set in the early 19th century, the film is based on the life of Mary Anning, a British paleontologist, and focuses on a romantic relationship between Anning and Charlotte Murchison, two women from completely different worlds. 

The film has been the subject of great controversy from the beginning, as there is no historical evidence supporting the fact that Anning had any such relationship in her lifetime. Of course, that part of the controversy is easily shut down by the fact that the addition of a fictional, male romantic interest in her story would not turn heads. However, since the film premiered at the Toronto International Film Festival in September, many critics have alluded to the fact that Ammonite’s ending is less than happy. For many queer women, this put a damper on the excitement for the film. 

The thing to consider when we have conversations about the sapphic film canon is what exactly it is that makes a good WLW movie in today’s cultural context. Sometimes, that is a question about how big a role queerness plays or whether the relationships portrayed are healthy. Some people feel that we need to move past dated coming out and secret affair tropes. For me, I think the most significant argument in favor of centering happy queer stories lies in the simple fact that young sapphics deserve to see themselves represented in films that are not tragedies. By no means does this imply that harsh portrayals of the very real struggles that come with queerness no longer have a place in the sapphic film canon. It’s just that it becomes exhausting and even damaging to only see the ways in which people must suffer and be punished for being queer, especially without lighter stories of sapphic joy to balance the narrative.