This post originally appeared on my LiveJournal in this entry, which may include a lively discussion in the comments.
I really want to emphasize that I’m doing this extended re-read/review of Frances Hodgson Burnett’s A Little Princess because I love the book (despite its flaws). So I thought it makes sense to start out by talking about why I love it.
One of the things that really strikes me is how thoroughly female-centered the story is. There are significant male characters, of course: Captain Crewe, Mr. Carrisford, Ram Das. But they are external to the core of the story. The friends, the enemies, the supporters, the antagonists, the authority figures, the followers--all of them are women and girls. And we get to see a wide variety of characters, such that none of them has to support the concept of femaleness on her own.
One might point out that this is not at all peculiar in a story set in a girls’ boarding school, but it is a rather strong contrast with the usual structure of current children’s literature. There is never any sense within this book that a girl can’t be a hero, or a faithful friend, or a jealous rival, or a redeemed guttersnipe. And with one sole exception that I can think of, the female characters are not interacting with each other, for good or ill, in relation to men. (The exception that comes to mind is the incident toward the end of the book when Cook has been treating her boyfriend the policeman from the school kitchen, and then blaming the missing food on Becky.)
In appreciating this, it can be important to read the book by its own lights and not look for meanings or implications that would feel off if it were written today. Some of this is purely in the use of language. So, for example, when the text describes Sara and her father as being “the greatest friends and lovers in the world,” one is not to understand that any inappropriate relationship exists. Only that an archaic sense of the word “lovers” is being used that does not necessarily imply romantic love. There are other plot points that might have a less innocent spin today, but which are innocuous taken in a context where the characters are simply not sexualized in any way. So it is, to some extent, unremarkable that interactions within the school are untroubled by tensions between the sexes. Unremarkable, but refreshing.
The other major thing I love about this story is the way in which Sara’s redemptive arc is constructed. This book came immediately to mind when I was in grad school and we were discussing the concept of “moral accounting” as a way of analyzing and studying literature. (Or, for that matter, any sort of story.) The basic idea is that our culture has a theory that the “accounts” of a person’s moral experience should balance. And specifically in a literary context, that a story tends to “make sense” when the accounts balance. (The metaphor of “moral accounting” is laid out in Lakoff and Johnson’s Philosophy in the Flesh. A concise and focused presentation of the component parts of the metaphor can be found here.)
What does it mean to have a moral balance? Having good things happen to you is to acquire “wealth”. Having bad things happen to you removes “wealth”. But taking good actions creates credit--something the person is owed. Alternately one might think of it as giving away wealth. However viewed, it reduces one's overall balance. Conversely, taking bad actions is the equivalent of acquiring a debt, or of stealing wealth, in either case creating a situation where something must be paid out to create balance.
Taken all together, there is a drive toward a balance of zero. So, for example, if a person starts from a neutral position and does lots of bad things, they’ve acquired debt that must be balanced out either by having something awful happen to them, or by having them repent and “make up for it” by doing good deeds. If someone is favored by fortune without having “earned” that acquisition, the story expects them to balance it either by doing good deeds, or by suffering calamity. Whereas the character who suffers from misfortunes--and especially one who does nothing but good at the same time--builds up a massive negative balance that can only be zeroed by having really wonderful things happen to them.
Sara Crewe starts off life with the handicap of a positive balance. She’s wealthy, talented, and beloved by her father. She balances this somewhat by always behaving well, but Accounting demands that she suffer some calamity. The magnitude of the calamity (losing her father and her fortune, and being forced to become a servant), combined with her determined insistence on behaving well (even when she struggles to do so), drive her even farther into a negative balance than the positive one she started with. This makes it possible for her to “earn” the reward of gaining a benevolent guardian (which isn’t quite as good as having a loving father) and regaining an even larger fortune than she started with. As the story ends, Sara is continuing to balance the weight of her good fortune by finding good deeds to perform. The moral balance is in constant motion, with adjustments and hyper-corrections, until it finds an equilibrium that brings Sara the reward she deserves. But if she hadn’t suffered so badly, or if she had given in to circumstance and become bad-tempered and spiteful, she wouldn’t have earned the same ending.
One of the consequences of looking at stories through the lens of moral accounting is that if you assume that a character’s accounts must zero out at the end of the story, you can work backwards to identify the moral “value” placed on their characteristics and actions. Fairy tales are an interesting exercise for this approach. For example, if you run the accounts for the witch in the Grimm Brothers’ story of Rapunzel, the only way you can make the accounts balance is if you consider the fact of being a witch to create a significant moral debt, regardless of any actions the character takes.
But I digress. What it comes down to is: I love A Little Princess because of how thoroughly Sara earns her happy ending through her own agency. While the overt facts of the story appear to return her fortune to her through a somewhat improbable chain of events, on an accounting basis, the ending is not merely probable, but actively required.
I'd meant to begin chapter 1 this week, but I think this is enough. Next week I’ll start the actual analytic review with The Mystery of Captain Crewe’s Money.
This post originally appeared on my LiveJournal in this entry, which may include a lively discussion in the comments.
I’m finding that the new Wednesday series of research squibs is being more creative work than I’m happy about currently, so I thought I’d jump the tracks to a different series that I’ve been contemplating for years.
Sometimes we like things that we know are problematic. Sometimes it takes us a while to realize many of the problematic aspects of things we like. And sometimes we aren’t sure how to engage with that aspect of things we like. For a number of years, I’ve been promising myself to expiate the problematic aspects of one of my favorite comfort-reads by dong a detailed examination and dissecting what it is about it that appeals to me, and what parts of it make me wince and why. So for the foreseeable future, my Wednesday blog is going to be a detailed, chapter-by-chapter critique and celebration of Frances Hodgson Burnett’s novel A Little Princess.
It’s a story with some really delightful themes: I love the way the entire world of the story centers around female characters, and the way the protagonist is shown to struggle to follow her better impulses, and the overall symbolic structure of how the protagonist earns her happy ending. And it’s a story with some seriously problematic shit: like orientalism and colonialism, and some peculiar gaps in its critique of class, and a rather nauseating equation of being fat with lower intelligence, and some plot holes you could drive a coach-and-four through.
And yet I come back to this story again and again. Back when I was in grad school and avoiding fiction that made me work too hard (because my academic reading sucked up all my reading energy), I’d do a Little Princess re-read any time I needed a pick-me-up. When I started having massive problems with insomnia and discovered that running audiobooks was the best mitigation I could find, the Librivox.org recording of A Little Princess read by Karen Savage went into heavy rotation (with its only flaw being that it doesn’t run quite long enough to cover the whole night). So rather than simply calling it my “guilty pleasure” (a term I hate), I decided to do penance by acknowledging the flaws while explaining why I keep coming back.
This first installment is going to be a bit of background, and then I’m going to begin working through the book chronologically (though I’ll be bouncing around when discussing themes and plot-holes). Spoilers will abound, but dammit the book was published over a hundred years ago. Statute of limitations and all that.
The Wikipedia entry on the novel gives some interesting background, including that it was an expansion of a previous, much less detailed novella, and may have been inspired by an unfinished fragment by Charlotte Brontë. Burnett was a prolific writer of both children’s and adult fiction, though she is best known now for the former. In addition to A Little Princess, the works people are most likely to have heard of include The Secret Garden and Little Lord Fauntleroy, all of which have a continuing theme of children who have lost their parents (although in the case of LLF, the loss of his mother is temporary), are massively displaced from their original place of residence, and eventually are beneficiaries of wealthy and privileged men with some indirect family connection to them.
One suspects a certain amount of authorial wish-fulfillment, given that Burnett’s father died when she was very young, and her family moved from England to the USA in impoverished circumstances when she was a teenager (she began writing to help support her family). She never relied on a wealthy benefactor, however, and even though her husband became a physician early in their marriage, she was the primary breadwinner of the family, enabling them to enjoy international travel and rather lavish socializing.
The basic plot of A Little Princess involves the riches-to-rags-to-riches story of motherless Sara Crewe, who is sent from a life of colonial privilege in India to boarding school in London and, after establishing her place in the schoolgirl pecking order, loses everything when her father simultaneously loses his fortune and his life. Sara is demoted from “princess” to scullery maid at the school and struggles to maintain a positive approach to life until, as a reward for her inherent virtue, she is discovered by her late father’s business partner who restores her fortunes and whisks her away to a life of comfort and affection.
Next week, I’ll lay out the basics of why the story appeals to me and begin Chapter One.
You never know where you’re going to stumble across some of these books. I found this one in the Half-Price Books in Concord California (my current residence), a venue and location where I ordinarily wouldn’t even bother to check out the single case that houses their entire collection of women’s studies, gender studies, and sexuality (including any LGBTQ fiction they bother to carry). But there it was. Furthermore, it appears that at some point the author inscribed it to somone. (At least, there’s an inscription to someone from a “Terry”. Could be unrelated. On the other hand, Wikipedia claims she lives in SF, so it’s entirely possible.)
Castle, Terry (ed). 2003. The Literature of Lesbianism: A Historical Anthology from Ariosto to Stonewall. Columbia University Press, New York. ISBN 0-231-12510-0
This is a massive (over 1000 pages) collection of works and excerpts of literature relevant to lesbian history. I’ve broken my coverage up in fractions of centuries that produce very roughly similar numbers of items, rather than according to the organization in the book itself.
Unsurprisingly, the collection is skewed toward the modern: 600 pages of 20th century material (which I have not covered), another 250 from the 19th century. And particularly among the earlier material, the lesbian aspect may be subtextual rather than overt. (For example, it includes an excerpt from the Book of Ruth from the King James translation of the Bible.)
What makes this collection valuable--even to the casual reader--is how much it includes of the 15-18th century material commonly referenced in other publications covered under this project. It's far from exhaustive, but if you want to read through some of the original materials (often in translation) that keep coming up in these entries, this is a useful one-stop shop. Shorter works are included in full, and even longer works have extensive excerpts that provide much more context for the lesbian motifs than can be included in analytic articles.
Time to pop some more DVDs in the player! I only have one more pre-written review in this series after this. (And I'm currently getting to the less happy items in my previous set, since I started by focusing on the happier ones.)
I’m re-posting (sometimes in expanded form) a series of reviews of lesbian-themed movies that I originally drew up in answer to a request for recommendations of "good movies involving lesbian romances that don't end up with the protagonists deeply unhappy, dead, or both." To this set of criteria I’ve added the question, “Is the story primarily about coming out?” This set of index questions will necessarily involve some spoilers, but since I'm not reviewing any current releases, I think the statute of limitations has expired.
Many of these items are not currently in print. I'll link each to their imdb.com entry for reference. But for those currently available, Wolfe Video is the go-to distributor for lgbt movies.
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Aimée & Jaguar (1998) Based on a true story set in WWII, Lilly, the wife of a German soldier falls in love with Felice, a member of the Jewish underground. Being biography rather than fiction, the story has the expected tragic outcome when Felice declines to flee Germany in order to remain with Lilly. (It's small compensation that Felice was doomed for being Jewish rather than being a lesbian.) So, no happily-ever-after, one of them dies, and there's a fair amount of coming-out story. Not recommended for comfort-viewing but an interesting period piece.
I was hoping I'd finish my current gym book in time to be this week's review, but it's a bit of a slog. (That is foreshadowing that the review will not be entirely positive.) I only have two more of these pre-written lesbian movie reviews, but I actually have a whole stack of lesbian videos I haven't watched yet, plus some that I've watched but haven't written up. Maybe I'll have a chance to get a few more into the queue over vacation next week.
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I’m re-posting (sometimes in expanded form) a series of reviews of lesbian-themed movies that I originally drew up in answer to a request for recommendations of "good movies involving lesbian romances that don't end up with the protagonists deeply unhappy, dead, or both." To this set of criteria I’ve added the question, “Is the story primarily about coming out?” This set of index questions will necessarily involve some spoilers, but since I'm not reviewing any current releases, I think the statute of limitations has expired.
Many of these items are not currently in print. I'll link each to their imdb.com entry for reference. But for those currently available, Wolfe Video is the go-to distributor for lgbt movies.
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Kissing Jessica Stein (2001) Straight girl Jessica gets frustrated with men and dabbles in same-sex dating with heretofore straight Helen, who falls more on the "questioning" side rather than the "experimenting" side. A romantic arc develops that goes through stumbling courtship, consummation, arguments about being closeted, coming out, a rapid slide into a platonic relationship, breaking up over that, and Jessica ending up back with a man while Helen keeps on with women. A mixed evaluation as only one of the two sticks the lesbian landing. No death, one recantation, a bit of unhappiness, and a fair amount of coming out. The movie comes across as a bit of a stereotypical cautionary tale about getting involved with apparently straight women, but it's funny and comes from a solidly female gaze.
I really should come up with a special icon for my lesbian movie reviews series. Just for fun.
I’m re-posting (sometimes in expanded form) a series of reviews of lesbian-themed movies that I originally drew up in answer to a request for recommendations of "good movies involving lesbian romances that don't end up with the protagonists deeply unhappy, dead, or both." To this set of criteria I’ve added the question, “Is the story primarily about coming out?” This set of index questions will necessarily involve some spoilers, but since I'm not reviewing any current releases, I think the statute of limitations has expired.
Many of these items are not currently in print. I'll link each to their imdb.com entry for reference. But for those currently available, Wolfe Video is the go-to distributor for lgbt movies.
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Fingersmith (2005, mini-series) This is yet another lush BBC adaptation of a Sarah Waters period piece. A plucky orphan, raised as a thief (a "fingersmith"), and an heiress collide romantically in the midst of a complex, multi-layered con job in Victorian England. There are plots and betrayals and counter-betrayals to complicate the romance. The ending is, in most respects, happy, even triumphant but there's a great deal of suspense and angst along the way. The romantic couple are both alive at the end, although that can't be said for other key characters. Coming out is a part of the story, but only a minor part.
So the summary is: no death (of protagonists), no recanting, angst but not really unhappiness, and coming out as only a minor sub-plot. But given that this is a Sarah Waters story, don't go into it making the mistake of thinking it'll be all fluffy glitter-kittens.
This is technically a digression from my lesbian movie review series since it’s a new movie, but it fits well within the thematic questions. To recapitulate the series: these are reviews of lesbian-themed movies, originally drawn up in answer to a request for recommendations of "good movies involving lesbian romances that don't end up with the protagonists deeply unhappy, dead, or both." To this set of criteria I’ve added the question, “Is the story primarily about coming out?” This set of index questions will necessarily involve some spoilers. Although the movie is new, the book it’s based on (The Price of Salt, by Patricia Highsmith) was published in 1952. If you don’t want to be spoiled, stop reading, because the nature of my analysis will inherently involve talking about endings.
No buy link this time because it’s not out in video yet.
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Carol is based on the 1952 novel The Price of Salt, by suspense novelist Patricia Highsmith (perhaps better known for titles like Strangers on a Train and The Talented Mr. Ripley). There were significant autobiographical aspects to The Price of Salt which was published under the pseudonym Claire Morgan, and which Highsmith did not publicly acknowledge until late in life. Give the date of the book’s publication -- the height of the lesbian pulp era -- what stands out most about the story (and its current film adaptation) is its failure to have a tragic ending. I use that phrasing advisedly given the plot’s set-up, with the title character in the middle of an acrimonious divorce from a controlling and potentially violent man who knows about a prior affair she had with a woman and who is angling to use Carol’s personal life as leverage to get sole custody of their young daughter. (Alternatively, to use his ability to get sole custody as leverage to force Carol to remain in the marriage. He is presented at the type who believes that if everyone will agree to pretend that the marriage is successful and happy, it will become so.) This is a story that telegraphs in bright blinking lights: “This Will End In Tears!” The fact that it doesn’t (and that a story breaking that established trope was published) is revolutionary for its era.
That isn’t to say that this is a happy story. Carol is depressed, isolated, and trapped, in that “what has she got to complain about” way of a wealthy socialite. Her best friend Abby (her former lover) is supportive, but in a closeted, sneaking around sort of way. Then Carol encounters Therese, working at the toy counter in a department store, where Carol is shopping for a Christmas present for her daughter. Therese is drifting through life, as she puts it “saying yes to everyone” from lack of a clear understanding of what she wants. She has a boyfriend she doesn’t want who is badgering her to have sex, to marry him, to travel to Europe with him, or any combination thereof. She never directly tells him she doesn’t want any of those things, but neither does she actually “say yes” to any of them. She has vague artistic aspirations (in the book, as a set designer; in the movie, as a photographer) but lacks to the self-confidence to pursue them. And she’s bleakly contemplating an unending future that’s missing something she can’t even put her finger on.
What the movie depicts clearly is the sparks that fly between the two women at their first encounter. Therese takes advantage of having access to Carol’s mailing address to return a pair of gloves she left at the store, followed by a thank-you meal out where she desperately tries to imitate the sophistication she sees in Carol. Carol certainly knows the nature of her own attraction, but Therese is only slightly behind Carol in self-knowledge. Another thing the movie depicts realistically is the awkward dance of communication of that attraction and knowledge in an era when open lesbian relationships could lose you your job...or custody of your child.
When Carol’s husband puts the screws on her in the lead-up to the divorce settlement, she impulsively invites Therese to accompany her on a cross-country drive -- not so much to go anywhere in particular, but just to get away. What neither of them know is that Carol’s husband has hired a private eye to tail them and gather incontrovertible evidence of Carol’s “deviance” via tape recordings from the motel room next door, the night that the two women finally end up in bed together. When this is discovered, Carol leaves in the middle of the night and flies back to New York to try to do damage control, with BFF Abby flying in to break the news to Therese and drive her back to the city. There are psychiatrists and tense, brittle family get-togethers, and meetings with lawyers.
There are a lot of ways the story could have taken a left turn into tragedy. When Carol is holding a gun on the private eye after confronting him, she could have decided she had nothing to lose. The divorce proceedings could have gone in the most historically-prevalent direction with Carol being forbidden any further contact with her daughter and her life being turned into an open scandal in court. A more traditional lesbian-pulp ending (which often included contractual requirements that the characters be punished or converted) might have involved a suicide or fatal accident, a return by one or the other of the characters to the waiting male partner (probably Therese who plays the role of nearly-innocent ingenue in contrast to Carol’s experienced and world-weary character).
And none of that happens, although we are set up to expect it. This is what I mean by the movie “failing to have a tragic ending”. The mistily ambiguous ending at least strongly suggests that Carol and Therese have decided to return to their relationship, and that Carol may have succeeded in being granted occasional supervised access to her daughter, despite openly refusing to recant or reform. But this isn’t anything you could call a “happy” ending. The characters themselves have little expectation of more than a temporary fling, then moving on to similar affairs once the initial passion has cooled. (When Abby discusses her and Carol’s affair with Therese she says something to the effect of, “And then it changed and we moved on. It always changes.”) They have no models for stable, long-term relationships and absolutely no support from society. Therese has a couple of encounters with other characters that it is suggested are lesbian or bi: a “mannish” couple in a record store, a woman at a party who seems to be meant to ping our gaydar (and possibly to ping Therese's as well). But the characters have an overwhelming sense of being cut off from their social contexts, of needing to keep their romantic interests entirely apart from their day-to-day interactions with friends and co-workers. Because, of course, that was what life was like in the ‘50s if you were queer and were clinging to the illusion of a “respectable” life.
So how does this match up with the review questions? No death. Somewhat surprisingly for the genre, no recanting (though we’re kept on the edge of our seats on this point, particularly in the opening scene before we flash-back to the beginning of the story). I wouldn’t necessarily put this strongly in the category of a coming-out theme. Therese is experiencing her first relationship with a woman, but she accepts her attraction rather easily. (And nobody is technically “coming out” in this context since they're all solidly closeted.) Although the resolution can’t exactly be called “unhappy”, neither can it really be called “happy”. I think I’d have to settle for non-tragically dreary.
As noted above, in taking this route, the original novel was ground-breaking. But this isn’t the ‘50s. And while the movie is a gorgeous period piece of its setting (and one can’t deny that Cate Blanchett and Rooney Mara act the hell out of their roles), one has to consider why this particular story was chosen to produce. Who is the audience for this film? What message is it intended to convey? To today's young queer people, it must seem as disconnected from their lives as…well, as a Victorian setting would have been for me. Despite the sympathetic and non-tragic depiction of the characters, it's hard not to see it as a costume-drama for the entertainment of straight audiences in the same way that the sanitized, white-washed Stonewall is. I'd like to have loved this movie, but it doesn't feel like I was the intended audience. That doesn't mean much, I suppose -- I so rarely am.
I’m re-posting (sometimes in expanded form) a series of reviews of lesbian-themed movies that I originally drew up in answer to a request for recommendations of "good movies involving lesbian romances that don't end up with the protagonists deeply unhappy, dead, or both." To this set of criteria I’ve added the question, “Is the story primarily about coming out?” This set of index questions will necessarily involve some spoilers, but since I'm not reviewing any current releases, I think the statute of limitations has expired.
Many of these items are not currently in print. I'll link each to their imdb.com entry for reference. But for those currently available, Wolfe Video is the go-to distributor for lgbt movies.
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Mädchen in Uniform (1931, b&w, German, subtitled)
Title translation: "Girls in Uniform"
There has been more than one version of this movie made, and I believe they differ somewhat in the aspects considered under this review series. So this review only applies to the specific version listed here. Trigger warning for (unsuccessful) suicide attempt.
A student at an authoritarian girls school develops a crush on a sympathetic teacher but her public declaration of love triggers an untenable situation when the teacher stands up for the students and is forced to resign. Although she saves the student from tragedy at the end, there is no clear indication of any "happy ending" available for either of them. Nobody dies (barely). It doesn't follow the typical "coming out" plot, as the emotional relationship between the student and teacher is (barely) deniable as "just a schoolgirl crush". Indeed, it's the reactions of those around them that frame it as being more significant than that. But as the lesbian themes are (barely) subtextual, one can't really evaluate the story arc on the "(no) turning straight" axis. Let's sum it up with "no happily ever after."
One of the fascinating aspects of this movie is that it was made at all. Compare this movie--actually made in Germany in the early 1930s, with Cabaret which portrays the same era (although obviously not the same social setting!) from the safe distance of decades later. The suggestion of sexual open-mindedness reflected in different ways in both films are the more poignant for knowing what was to come under Nazi rule (which is explicitly depicted in Cabaret). The lesbian themes in Mädchen are, in some ways, incidental to the message about the need of human beings, and especially children, for loving connections. In the setting of an all-female institution, those connections will necessarily be between female characters. But the authorial choice to use that setting, and therefore to present the message via intense emotional relationships that cannot help being read as "lesbian", is not one that could have been made in many times and places. In 1931, it almost certainly could not have been made in the USA under the Hayes Code.
I’m re-posting (sometimes in expanded form) a series of reviews of lesbian-themed movies that I originally drew up in answer to a request for recommendations of "good movies involving lesbian romances that don't end up with the protagonists deeply unhappy, dead, or both." To this set of criteria I’ve added the question, “Is the story primarily about coming out?” This set of index questions will necessarily involve some spoilers, but since I'm not reviewing any current releases, I think the statute of limitations has expired.
Many of these items are not currently in print. I'll link each to their imdb.com entry for reference. But for those currently available, Wolfe Video is the go-to distributor for lgbt movies.
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Life in the LA lesbian bar scene in the '90s. The film feels like a bit of an "L Word" precursor of sorts, in the way is focuses on the lives of a group of implausibly glamorous (largely femme) urban women, centering around their shifting relationship dramas. It's much more of a slice-of-life film than one with a clear story arc, although there is one main romance being followed. I confess that even though I've watched it several times, I never come out of it feeling that I knew what the movie was "about". Heck, I generally have a hard time staying awake through it. The ending isn't unhappy, by any means, but if you aren't a "bar scene" sort of person, the overall feel is a bit dreary. Nobody dies. The characters are all long past coming out. No recanting that I can recall.
I’m re-posting (sometimes in expanded form) a series of reviews of lesbian-themed movies that I originally drew up in answer to a request for recommendations of "good movies involving lesbian romances that don't end up with the protagonists deeply unhappy, dead, or both." To this set of criteria I’ve added the question, “Is the story primarily about coming out?” This set of index questions will necessarily involve some spoilers, but since I'm not reviewing any current releases, I think the statute of limitations has expired.
Many of these items are not currently in print. I'll link each to their imdb.com entry for reference. But for those currently available, Wolfe Video is the go-to distributor for lgbt movies.
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When Night is Falling (1995)
Uptight college professor Camille, in a fit of uncertainty and confusion about her relationship with her boyfriend, meets free-spirited circus performer Petra for whom it is love at first sight. Petra pursues and Camille succumbs, followed by a hostile confrontation with her (now ex?) boyfriend. But in the end, with the circus leaving town, Camille runs away to join it. (Note that despite the "lesbian" in my review series title, Camille seems rather solidly bi rather than lesbian. I don't recall whether that aspect is directly addressed.)
No lesbians die, but Camille's dog's death is deeply intertwined in the plot’s symbolism. Definitely a coming-out/seduction story. No recanting within the scope of what the movie covers, and implications of happily-ever-after, but you have to have doubts about the stability of the relationship given the mis-match in personalities.
In essence, this is the queer version of the manic pixie dream-girl. As such, while the same-sex twist is refreshing, the story has a bit of a stale feel (even for 1995). The overall tone comes across as a bit dark and angsty, giving the viewer a fair amount of uncertainty over how things will turn out. And the secondary message about women making choices between their careers and their romantic lives isn't exactly progressive. But there are some lovely sensual scenes.