Perhaps Almodóvar and Ozon are onto something by not only providing a multitude of characters with varying identities, but also by avoiding labels and embracing fluidity. “Almodóvar’s films represent an eloquent example of queering gender as a way to vindicate the rights of stigmatized identities” (Pastor 2). In an analysis of queer representation in film, Hanson addresses the murky lines between representation, appropriation, misrepresentation, and critical outrage at what passes for queer in mainstream cinema. Hanson has identified three models of queer film criticism, including “a moralistic politics of representation that seeks to liberate us from damaging stereotypes”(7). This is referring to critics who not only want queer representation in film and media, but they want positive representation. In the case of minority representation under the queer umbrella, we are looking for more representation specific to bisexuals and bisexuality. “We are still in the throes of a lesbian and gay campaign for so-called positive images, representations of sexual minorities as normal, happy, intelligent, kind, sexually well-adjusted, professionally adept, politically correct ladies and gentleman” (Hanson 7). On one hand, I understand where these critics are coming from and why they seek what they seek. For a century, films and television have subjected queer characters to pain and death, have made them out to be villains (and therefore worthy of pain and death), or have made them invisible to all but the discerning audience member. Women loving women are less likely to be represented, and bisexuals are practically non-existent. Queer advocates would love to see happy and positive characters in film to be able to point to them and say, “See? Worth the same rights as you.” Realistically, this is not a fair criticism. First of all, who determines what is normal? While one viewer could enjoy watching an older man copulating with a younger man (as seen in Almodóvar’s Bad Education and Law of Desire), another viewer could find it distasteful or inappropriate. Who determines what is “sexually well-adjusted”? Promiscuity could be seen as a “damaging stereotype” by one critic, while another could point out that many men and women engage in promiscuity with no detrimental repercussions. Despite there being a “b” and a “t” in “LGBTQ” and “LGBTQIA”, there is still rampant biphobia and transphobia, and bi-invisibility, even amongst the queer community. In Law of Desire, Tina experiences blatant transphobia in the film when interacting with the cops. This is a realistic scene, and worth portraying. While viewers may not want to witness the sexual abuse of a minor at the hands of a teacher or a priest, it is a reality both in the 80s and now, and at least in Bad Education it is tastefully portrayed, though still squeamish and awful. In both Bad Education and Law of Desire, the trans characters experienced abuse as a child by a person who was close to them and in an authoritative position. A queer film critic could argue that it would be more helpful to the trans community to have a trans character live a happy and full life with no history of abuse looming in their background. The bisexuality in these films could go unnoticed, if one is not paying attention to the details.
Almodóvar is a Spanish film director, and therefore influenced by the way identity politics play out in Spain. Among countries in Europe, Spain is a bit of a paradox. Though it has followed a “political evolution closer to the identity politics model found in the Northern countries”, it is still a Mediterranean country that does not have a “strong political movement or an established gay community” (Tofino 18). The “Mediterranean” model of homosexual identity is one that says homoerotic acts between men are there, but there is not necessarily a “homosexual identity”. “Coming out”, which is something highly emphasized in other countries, such as the United States, is “viewed as a disruption of the social order” and carries with it an implication of a “permanent gay persona that must accompany the person in every situation” (Tofino 18). It isn’t that there are not gay spaces for LGBTQIA people to exist, it is just that many people may only see themselves as gay when they are in those spaces. Smith notes that though Spain may be less prone to categorization, the “fluidity of gender categories and sexual identities explored by psychoanalytic film theory outside Spain may correspond to some degree to sexual behavior within Spain” (Smith 194). It is possible that Spaniards experience “more flexible ‘cartographies’ of desire than Anglo-Americans”, without publicly visible collective queer communities, which would mean that Almodóvar is merely reconfirming, rather than redefining, sexual experience, falling in line “with the sociodemocratic ethos of his time” (Smith 194). Almodóvar is a product of his home and era.
The collective identity is not the same in Spain and France as it is in the United States, and the notion of slapping a label on a person, let alone being loud and proud about that label, does not always translate in other cultures and countries. “Some academics have criticized this indirect form of expression as a surrender to straight values and ‘heteronormativity’. What this misses is that the key concept in Spain is the balance between a private self and a public political discourse” (Tofino 18). Social movements based on collective identity of a specific group also do not have equal opportunities in different countries. For instance, France has a “prevailing republican tradition of egalitarianism and universalism” and it “conflicts with the pursuit of a specific group identity and the representation of particular desires and interests” (Duyvendak 56). François Ozon hails from France, so surely he has been shaped by the identity politics in his home country when he approaches how he incorporates representation in his films. Because of a “republican distrust of separate identities” that shows up in politicians and the public alike, there is a “deeply rooted antipathy toward groups and intermediary organizations between the state and the citizenry is both characteristic of French politics and of a selective nature” (Duyvendak 60). The presence of bisexual characters is there, with or without a label, and your own identity politics will influence your interpretation of the representation. The important factor is that the representation is there.
Johnson argues that “monosexism and biphobia are omnipresent in media, reinforcing the idea that attraction to more than one gender is inherently unnatural, immoral, disingenuous, and/or invalid” (379). The question is whether bi-invisibility is directly linked to biphobia, or if it is less detrimental than biphobia. “Currently, in mainstream media, female bisexuality is oversexualized and male bisexuality is erased, contributing to damaging stigmas about bisexuality in general” (Johnson 381). Is the presence of a bisexual character in a film enough? Does the writer or the director have a responsibility to “out” the bisexual character so that their bisexuality is more visible? Is there then a responsibility to have only positive representation? This would imply that not only do some critics, and audience members, want bisexual representation, but they want it to be done in such a way so as to not add to any negative stereotypes or feelings about bisexual people. This line of queer film criticism mirrors Johnson’s argument about how damaging negative representation and bi-invisibility can be in media. Clear representation and even labeling can prove to be more difficult when directors hail from countries, such as France, that are “averse to identity politics in the name of republican universalism” (Schilt 35). There is also the audience to consider, both the intended and the actual, where some may consider the idea of labels to be a token of pride, and others may feel that labels can be damaging or constricting.
Ultimately, Almodóvar has been producing queer films for decades, for queer and non-queer audiences alike. Ozon has also directed numerous films over the years that have been embraced by queer audiences. Representation matters, and it is up to the writer and the director of the film to determine how that representation plays out. We do not live in a perfect world, so it is unrealistic to portray perfectly happy characters, queer, gay, bi, or straight. In the three Almodóvar films addressed here, the audience is given a glimpse into desire and its many manifestations, not just a heterocentric desire that permeates most mainstream films. While the male gaze is still fostered in these films, it at least is not a straight male gaze. “What is more, homosexuality is no asylum from the straight sexual fix, revealed in Almodóvar at least to be as prone to delusion and dissatisfaction as heterosexuality” (Smith 192). In the three Ozon films addressed here, Ozon does not shy away from the queer, though it doesn’t always play out in a straightforward manner. Film critics and scholars need to decide if they want to join the “morality police” or if that will do more damage than intended. Screenwriters and directors should take some responsibility for what they produce, but there are so many varying opinions and people and backgrounds and cultures and experiences that there is no one right way to do or portray anything. Hanson asks, “What are the blindspots—historical, political, psychological, aesthetic—in such theories of desire?” (15). It is important to examine our own blindspots when critiquing a film, and to seek the opinions of others and to open our own minds and hearts along the way. In the meantime, Almodóvar and Ozon continue to create queer stories for queer and non queer audiences alike, and in their successes, they are inspiring other filmmakers to do the same.
