Upon accepting my queerness, there was a part of me that wasn’t so much obsessed with looking for modern representation, but to understand the place of LGBTQIA+ in cinema’s rich history. Of course, I watched The Celluloid Closet (1996), doing everything to consume details that would help me notice things a lot clearer. While there is something instinctual about understanding what qualifies as positive representation, noticing all forms of it is both exciting and disheartening, making you notice details that were largely hidden in plain sight. As an asexual who prefers stories where everybody ends up friends (no innuendos intended), I never thought twice about watching characters end up confirmed bachelors, serving more as the loyal friend than someone whose own agency was validated within the narrative.
There is a whole code to discovering these invisible arcs. At least in America, credit should be given to The Hayes Code for needing to sanitize cinema, make everything feel moralistic. Bad guys suffered, good men prevailed. For as many titillating tales as were produced, they were subtle, capable of hiding further eroticism. Somedays I prefer it, believing that it makes artists more creative, finding ways to beat the system. Sure, it meant that a lot of gay subtext was often written out or overlooked, but people like Marlene Dietrich and Mae Whitman did their part to make the supporting cast have these small codes that let you know. There was a wink to it, androgyny that could be read as performative instead of condoning “sinful” acts. Other days, I notice how censoring artists to not express queerness ultimately hurts public acceptance, where Crossfire (1947) turns from a story about homophobia to Anti-Semitism. It’s not to say that certain oppressive feelings aren’t universal, but there’s not as much room to point out representation without extensive academia.
It is partially why Mädchen in Uniform (1931) feels revolutionary for me. This German film from director Leontine Sagan exists in a world where lesbian cinema was always allowed to be expressive. There is no sense of a studio hand demanding that a longing glance be edited out or the more suggestive language of affection is dubbed with something more mundane. While the story still reflects the struggles of women to love women, it’s ultimately in such an affirming way that it’s often surprising to realize that this film is NINETY years old. For any issues around pacing, the story more than lives up to something much more satisfying. With an uncredited co-writing credit by Colette (of “Gigi” fame), the film feels like a fever dream. How can something this complex and open possibly exist in 1931?
To provide more context this film existed in a very interesting time for Germany. It was that brief period right before The Nazis overtook the country. One can guess how they treated freedom of expression, including an attack on media that presented any form of rebellion in a positive light. Because of that, this film was threatened to be destroyed, wiped off the face of the planet. It’s a miracle that it wasn’t. In other countries, the film was almost censored or banned due to thoughts around lesbianism. Among those who defended the film was then First Lady Eleanor Roosevelt who believed that it was an important film worthy of preservation.
I can’t help but compare Sagan to other lesbian filmmakers like Dorothy Arzner with Dance, Girl Dance (1940). While the film shares the flamboyance and even women showing affection and dressing masculinely, there are clear marks of The Hayes Code where the women aren’t allowed to end up together, where the masculine woman dies via car collision. Sure it’s still wonderfully queer, but it’s reserved, playing in the shadows of a greater story. Meanwhile, Mädchen in Uniform is proud of every last second. There’s so much affection, so much acceptance between characters that displays far more warmth than most 1930s films usually do.
One of the smartest moments of the film is the opening. When introduced to these characters, they are seen marching in lines. Their jumpers are striped, which have a striking prison-like quality in black-and-white. They are heading into the school where most of this story will take place. Without learning a single character’s name, Sagan has done an excellent job of personifying the theme of school as a place of censorship. There is an order to every action, and based on certain protocols there’s no sense that they’re allowed to express any positive or negative emotion. They simply exist in the grey area in-between, finding education to be the most fulfilling part of their day.
Quite simply, that’s Coming of Age Story 101. There needs to be clear boundaries that block childhood from a more adult world. For teenagers, their whole lives are in that fluctuating state where childlike wonder still consumes them even as they naively wish to explore adult emotions, maybe even romance. Throughout the film, characters are seen breaking protocol by looking at posters of actors who they deem sexy, having wall collages hidden away from staff. There’s nothing pornographic about it, just a simple longing for certain aesthetics. At other times, the women gather to perform odd tricks with their bodies, such as watching someone heave their chest so that the buttons of their shirt pop open. It’s a celebration of womanhood, of bodies changing and not feeling any shame for being fascinated by every square inch. Again, while these emotions are budding to something more adult, there is something inherently childlike about most of it, innocent and without malice.
The mornings are often the equivalent of prison exercise yards, having staff count down the laps they walk around the towering building. Everyone needs to fall in line, obey the orders. The sense of repression is painful, and there’s a constant sense that someone will break free, but how? Any letter they plan to send out is read and censored, keeping any parental figures from discovering the school’s dastardly secrets.
It is with Fräulein von Bernburg (Dorothea Wieck) that the film finds most of its light. Just the mention of her name lights up the faces of the many students. Her existence is hailed as the one positive in this miserable life, where everyone grows jealous if anyone gets some one on one time with her. From the beginning, Sagan does a great job of painting that dynamic like a teacher and student relationship, where positive reinforcement ultimately improves their mental health for the better. It’s the type of subtext that makes von Bernburg capable of being so empathetic from the minute she is introduced, preparing to fix a jumper for the new student while having a comical exchange about how ridiculous the rules of the school are.
Who wouldn’t want von Bernburg in their corner? She is the compassionate middleman, able to understand the plight of the student and able to coerce the faculty to be more lenient with their rules. When she sees students “acting up” by exploring their identities in very rebellious ways, she doesn’t reprimand. They are, after all, just teenagers trying to find the boundaries and learning how far they’re capable of going. There is a camaraderie among them that suggests a small army, ready to attack at a moment’s notice if one or two teachers fell out of line. It’s beautiful, sweet, and captures the disconnect perfectly.
So what exactly makes the story “queer”? On its surface, the very idea of attacking a world of rules is its own form of being an outsider. These aren’t women who fall into place but instead will climb the many floors lined with staircases that look like spiraling prison bars from the bottom and a descent into madness from above. This great big hole separates so much, allowing them to perform grandiose pranks while having the safety to hide. Very few of them get caught, so the punishment often falls on the group writ large. It’s a way to fall in line, but time and time again, Sagan refuses to let the staff win. They think they have control, but they ultimately can’t control the feelings within each of the characters.
In what may be the most striking feature of the film, von Bernburg does one particular act that allows her to be deified by every teenager. Before falling asleep, she goes around to each girl and gives them a kiss. It’s a silly little act, but to watch how Sagan uses the focus speaks volumes to what this one piece of affection ultimately does. There are several times where the film lingers on somebody’s face, blushing or smiling from the sensation of being loved. Even the way that they observe an action off in the distance feels framed to hold these deep emotions, reflecting something insular. Sagan knows that a lot of the passion is something unspoken, and it is why the film is often at its best when allowed to simply stop and take in this moment. Whereas everyone wants this prison-like school year to be over, nobody wants to say goodbye to von Bernburg. Nobody.
Without getting too far into the climax of the film, there is of course a conflict that centers around a character announcing her lesbianism. This is done in one of the queerest contexts imaginable. The all-girl school is allowed to put on theater, where some can dress up as men and even kiss. This is socially acceptable because it is seen as performative, where they are promoting the idea of heteronormativity. Men kiss women. Men fall in love with women. It’s how it has been going back to the days of King Arthur. Because of this, nobody really questions the joy that everyone puts into the role, finding their own imaginations running wild as they finally get to express repressed feelings publicly. Sure, some can argue that there are other gender-bending concepts at play, such as women who identify with more masculine sensibilities, but it all fits into this strange box where the otherwise strict school doesn’t judge their urges, so long as they fit inside the familiar.
There are several moments that feel so normalized that it becomes staggering to notice where cinema would go by the end of the decade. Sagan doesn’t judge these acts. Like all teens, they’re riding on pure emotion and it’s thrilling to watch. The story of misunderstanding is given layers that would continue to be misunderstood to this day. For as much has changed, the intolerance still runs rampant, the sense that everyone needs to fall into the prison-like logic and be joyless remains crucial to American ideology. Mädchen in Uniform feels so ahead of its time. It feels like where cinema should’ve begun embracing more identity, potentially cracking open more boxes that would make cinema much more interesting and wild than it currently is – at least on a mainstream level.
It should be noted that deep down, part of accepting my queerness has been personally enjoying LGBTQIA+ characters being allowed to be themselves. Their every day doesn’t need to be filled with these rich conflicts, just a sense of personal affirmation and acceptance. It is a small reason I love Mädchen in Uniform, wishing that I could see more films this confident from Pre-1950s cinema. I continue to see traces of them in Hayes Code-style cinema and every time I get a little excited, glad to know a small representation is still there. Even then, Sagan was miles ahead for whatever reason in allowing her characters to be shamelessly queer, so alive and accepting of themselves that I can’t help but applaud.
On some level, the very preservation of this film following Nazis and censorship provides some faith in this world. That this film continues to last allows me to feel like there’s some richer history to LGBTQIA+ culture, that it didn’t just magically appear in 2015. It makes me genuinely happy to know that a lot of this has been building, that the familiar emotions of longing and desire have always been around, where artists are doing everything they can to express themselves. I’m aware that circumstances were much different then, but that speaks to what Mädchen in Uniform does so right. It captures such universal feelings in unrestrictive ways. They may be symbolically in a prison, but the hearts of the characters are free. It’s beautiful and a symbol that I hope others see and find some comfort in knowing that a 90-year-old movie can feel so modern, so real without having to hide some of its features in shame.
Comments
Post a Comment