Coming Out of the Subtext: A Timeline of Queer Adaptations
By Film and TV Editor Mia Tobin Power and Editor in Chief Claire Watson
Cinema and society have always mirrored each other. As a traditionally accessible medium, cinema is uniquely positioned to influence societal perceptions of certain issues, and in turn, changing attitudes about those issues become reflected on the screen. Using film, we can timeline the transformation in attitudes towards marginalised groups. For example, queer audiences have historically had to settle for subtext. Writer Susie Bright explains in The Celluloid Closet, “It's amazing how if you're a gay audience and you're accustomed to crumbs, how you will watch an entire movie just to see somebody wear an outfit that you think means they're a homosexual.” In writing this article, we are interested in how cinematic adaptations are uniquely positioned to reflect the change in attitudes towards queerness from one era to another.
1920s – 1940s
Alfred Hitchcock’s Rope (1948), adapted from Patrick Hamilton’s 1929 play, is an interesting text on the timeline of queer representation in cinema. Contemporary viewers often perceive the two male protagonists as coded as being in a relationship, though we receive no explicit confirmation of their queerness. At the time, however, the references to queer identity in the film were considered overt. Bisexual actor Farley Granger, who plays Philip in the film, notes in The Celluloid Closet, “We knew that they were gay [...] nobody said anything about it - this was 1947, let's not forget that. But that was one of the points of the film, in a way.” Given that the film is about the cover-up of a murder, identifying the protagonists as queer feeds into the cinematic stereotype of queer people as dangerous, and in this case, murderous. While for some audiences, any representation of queerness may be welcome, such a representation may be used by homophobic viewers as justification for the marginalisation of queer people. This kind of complexity can lead to a call for “better” queer representation, but what form exactly that should take is entirely subjective. Fortunately, queer representation on-screen has evolved since 1948, in line with audiences’ expectations for what they consider to be sufficient queer representation.
Philip Morgan and Brandon Shaw from Rope dir. Alfred Hitchcock
1910s – 1980s
Written in 1913 and completed in 1914 by E.M Forster, Maurice follows the titular Maurice Hall as he embarks on an exploration of his queerness. Maurice, and his first partner, Clive Durham, are the ideals of English society, their only flaw, is that they are queer. Even more controversially, the novel explores a cross-class relationship between Maurice and Clive’s groundskeeper, Alec Scudder. The novel was never published during Forster’s lifetime, though he made sure to share the manuscript with his friends. In his terminal note, Forster explains that he only way the novel would be well received would be if it ended “with a lad dangling from a noose”. For this reason, the novel remained unpublished, as he thought that a queer love story featuring a happy ending, was “imperative.”
With the Wolfenden Report fighting to decriminalise homophobia, in the 60s Forster was hopeful to see the end of systematic homophobia, although he was unsure if queer people would be less accepted and more tolerated. The Report led to the Sexual Offences Act of 1967, which legalised homosexuality, so long as that it remained private. Maurice was not published until 1971, just one year after Forster’s death. The Merchant Ivory film adaptation was released in 1987.
While writing Maurice, Forster made a point as to not depict sexual relations between his male characters. As Leavitt writes, “its sex scenes [...are] relegated to the spaces between the chapters.” The 1987 Merchant and Ivory film remedies this. Maurice, who has been left broken-hearted by Clive, begins a relationship with Clive’s groundskeeper, Alec, their relationship is raw and completely emotional, as both must force the other to become their equal. We watch Maurice and Alec in bed together; Alec grapples Maurice, and kisses him, before they both stand to redress. While the scene is not overtly erotic, the representation of the two men sharing a space wherein they are both stripped bare, is powerful. This representation of nudity, in a way that is more emotional than it is sexual, expands upon Forster’s presentation of queerness. It is a change that is essential to the adaptation of Maurice to a contemporary audience.
Clive Durham and Maurice Hall from Maurice dir. James Ivory.
1970s – 2020s
The various Interview with the Vampire (IWTV) texts provide a fascinating case study in the evolution of queer representation in on-screen adaptations. Vampires are literature’s ultimate symbolic “Other”, often interpreted as a metaphor for queer sexuality. Anne Rice’s novel IWTV was published in 1976. In the novel, Louis de Pointe du Lac narrates his life story to a journalist: how he became a vampire, and his complicated relationships with both eternal life and Lestat, the vampire who turned him. The book series acknowledges Louis and Lestat’s romantic love for one another, and thus, the series has become beloved by queer readers.
Neil Jordan's 1994 film adaptation, starring Brad Pitt and Tom Cruise, hints at the characters' queerness, but their relationship remains subtextual. Like Rope, however, the film was considered overtly queer within its own cultural context. On an episode of Saturday Night Live, Norm Macdonald jokingly says, “Here’s my review: not gay enough.” While this serves to validate a queer reading of the film, it also suggests society’s discomfort with two of the period’s biggest Hollywood stars playing characters coded as queer in a mainstream film.
Rolin Jones’ TV adaptation of IWTV premiered in 2022. It uses Rice’s novel to explicitly associate the vampire trope with themes of identity, including queerness. Originally, Louis is a white plantation owner in 1790s New Orleans, grieving the death of his wife and unborn child. In the TV show, however, Louis is a gay Black man in 1900s New Orleans and the owner of a brothel. Louis’ characterisation in IWTV (2022) allows for an exploration of intersectional identity, especially in his relationship with Lestat.
In all three versions of IWTV, Louis makes an active choice to become a vampire and live forever with Lestat. However, the TV show’s telling of this particular scene grants Louis the most agency. It also directly links Louis’ decision to become a vampire with his shame around his sexuality and his anger at the racist and homophobic society he lives in. When he offers vampirism to Louis, Lestat tells him, “I can swap this life of shame. Swap it out for a dark gift.” Embracing queerness is described by Lestat as a “gift” - something entirely positive. Later in the scene, Lestat asks Louis to be his “companion.” A romantic relationship with Lestat comes automatically with becoming a vampire, and thus, queerness is intertwined with vampirism. Louis then nods and kisses Lestat, in a display of agency and symbolic acceptance of both his sexuality and a proposed eternal life without shame.
IWTV (2022) finds an opportunity in Rice’s novel to explore various forms of identity, including queerness. In adapting her text, Jones chooses to make explicit the queer themes that had previously been subtextual, and to engage directly with historical associations between vampirism and queer sexuality. While the film shies away from the implications of the text it adapts, the TV show embraces them fully, and is all the better for it.
Louis de Pointe du Lac and Lestat de Lioncourt from Interview With The Vampire dir. Rolin Jones.
1990s – 2020s
Screen media can be a measure of how society has changed in both the representation and normalisation of queerness. A great example is the adaptation of the 1990 novel Good Omens, co-authored by Terry Pratchett and Neil Gaiman, into the 2017 TV series. The protagonists, the angel Aziraphale and the demon Crowley, have long been read as queer, with the book even stating that “Many”, on first meeting Aziraphale, believed “that he was gayer than a tree full of monkeys on nitrous oxide.” In a later tweet Gaiman explains, “Gay, meaning homosexual.”
The primary reason that Aziraphale and Crowley are so often read as queer, is that despite being “hereditary enemies” they have devoted their eternities to each other. But the secrecy that hangs around their relationship is one that many queer people, especially those who have been in the closet or have been forced to keep a queer relationship hidden, can relate to. Consistently, we see these characters struggle between choosing their “sides,” i.e. Heaven and Hell, and choosing each other. Many queer fans interpret this as the struggle between conforming to society’s ideals and coming out.
The TV show saw many of the “supernatural beings” as genderless. This isn’t entirely new as the book states, “angels are sexless unless they really want to make an effort”, but it warmed the hearts of many transgender and gender non-conforming viewers. In season two, it is heavily implied that Crowley identifies as androgynous, and after David Tennant’s explicit show of support for the transgender community, it seems fitting that Crowley’s queerness should extend to his gender as well.
The TV adaptation expands on the tension surrounding Aziraphale and Crowley’s secret relationship by showing both characters struggling to find a place where they can belong together, without the surveillance of Heaven and Hell. While fans have speculated for a long time that the Aziraphale and Crowley’s relationship was more than platonic, viewers were completely blindsided by the sheer amount of queer representation in season two. There are many love stories to be enjoyed in this season, one in particular being the Soho sapphics Nina and Maggie.
The season finale was a flurry of queer love, and not to spoil too much, left many viewers positively broken-hearted. Gaiman had described the second series as “quiet, gentle, and romantic” but it left many viewers screaming, sobbing, and clutching their chests in agony.
Aziraphale and Crowley from Good Omens dir. Douglas Mackinnon.
It is important to note that we have focused primarily on adaptations featuring queer relationships between male characters. Unfortunately, many shows and films featuring queer women are either cancelled early, most notably I Am Not Okay With This, or are not shown in cinemas worldwide, such as the new film Bottoms. Crucially, there is a lack of representation of queer people with disabilities. Netflix’s silent cancellation of Special was simply gutting. Though IWTV, Our Flag Means Death, and What We Do in the Shadows are successful shows that feature queer people of colour, western media rarely focuses on their realities outside of the lens of white characters. Netflix’s The Get Down was an inclusive project that was well-received but cancelled after one season. While the rise in queer representation has been semi-successful in putting queer stories centre-stage, illustrating the growth in acceptance of queer identities, many are still finding themselves settling for subtext.
