THE STORY – Spring 1991: queer life faces attacks in Britain as Derek Jarman transforms Edward II into a radical protest film. Unseen behind-the-scenes footage reveals the power and cost of queer visibility, then and now.
THE CAST – Derek Jarman
THE TEAM –Theo Rollason (Director/Writer)
THE RUNNING TIME – 97 Minutes
There’s a long history of art being used for political purposes. It’s not always the main intention behind every work, but there’s no denying how powerful a mechanism it can become to deliver a searing message for the times. It’s a polarizing action that isn’t the guarantee for critical or financial success that it could be, but the legacy of those artists who infuse such staunch ideology, for better or worse, is more easily secured. In the raging turmoil that has always found itself targeting minority groups in society, voices that seek to amplify those perspectives and challenge the status quo are seen as valuable fighters, and there’s no doubt that Derek Jarman provided a necessary response during his career as a filmmaker. “Queer Edward II” is both a revealing analysis of what it took to mount one of his notable productions, but also tracks the resistance movement against an oppressive system that proved vital to endure and remember.
By 1991, Jarman had already established himself as one of the daring new perspectives in queer cinema, with daring works like “Sebastiane,” “Jubilee,” and “Caravaggio” already getting a great amount of acclaim and notoriety for their bold visions. His filmography had already cemented a unique style of exploring centuries old figures but drenched within a lens of modernity, indulging in current day aesthetics that also spoke to the struggles of the moment. That thesis continued with his mounting of “Edward II,” which turned the story of the old monarch into a scorching indictment of the anti-LGBTQ sentiment that was ripping through England. Margaret Thatcher’s government was proposing new legislation that would criminalize homosexual activity, and Jarman’s intent to protest was heavily infused into the project. The sexuality of the characters would be made more explicit in his film, and real-life activists were hired as background players to give an even greater sense of urgency. The filmmaking process is captured in intimate detail, along with the circumstances surrounding the production that made it a grueling, yet fulfilling, endeavor.
There are essentially two sides to the making of “Edward II,” that the film documents. The first is the actual method in which a group of artisans came together to create the film. Seamus McGarvey may be currently known as the Oscar-nominated cinematographer of “Atonement” and “Anna Karenina,” but here he is a lowly camera operator who has been given the task of shooting B-roll. On its own terms, it’s compelling to watch the different creatives execute their plans. It’s appealing to see the sets come together and see the gruff working class gentlemen move large bits of scenery for a project that would seem far apart from that world. It’s captivating to see Jarman gleefully directing his actors with sly witticisms, especially when it’s the likes of Tilda Swinton. We also get to see the less glamorous side, like producers complaining about extras needing more money and having to work within a tight budget. It’s a perspective that shows how difficult it is to make any film, especially independent productions, and any person with an interest in all the difficult work it takes to balance conflicts in order to finish a movie will be delighted by what is showcased. As a time capsule for this specific film, it’s a compelling sight. Though one wishes title cards appeared for some of the participants so the exact roles could be known. Those who are familiar with Jarman’s work will automatically know that a passing reference to “Sandy” is indeed costume designing legend Sandy Powell, but others who are less informed may be somewhat at a loss.
Alongside this track, however, is the political climate that informed every decision about how to tell the story. The conservatism that rose in the country in the 1980s was dominant, and made the promotion of homosexuality a focal point of the administration. It’s fascinating to watch the staged protests that occur in the film mirror those that were happening in the streets, many of which Jarman participated in. It’s difficult to imagine that, not so long ago, the mere acknowledgement of a person’s identity could be deemed as illegal and punishable. The simple act of two men kissing in public could literally become a defiant act, and to see how Jarman supported the movement gives him a more layered portrait. There’s even points of contention within the group, like when he criticized Ian McKellen for accepting a knighthood, an endorsement from the establishment that was actively trying to suppress the rights of the gay community. It’s an intriguing point of friction that plays into the overall goal of securing basic rights. A battle to get the government to lower the age of consent between same-sex couples so it matched their heterosexual counterparts was filled with disappointment, even shortly after Jarman’s death in 1994 from AIDS complications. But it signals just how recent these fights were being held to pursue equality, and why his voice and those around him were necessary participants.
There are, occasionally, some moments of indulgence that can feel a bit tedious and disrupt the natural flow of the momentum. While the behind the scenes footage is alluring, there are some circular conversations that occur which slow down the pacing. There is also an incident involving the protesters hired for the film in which they barge into the recording studio of Cliff Richards, a singer known for his Christian music and was suspected of being a closeted gay man. The interaction caused headlines in major newspapers and a concern of legal action put pressure on the production team. It’s a harrowing moment, but nothing really comes out of it other than a slight headache and a further conversation about whether such harassment is truly justified. The sequence has its amusing players, particularly with a group of men in nun outfits who are spouting off their religious ethos drenched in camp, but the commentary it provides doesn’t seem worthy enough to completely justify this sidetrack.
“Queer Edward II” has a great affection for the spirit that Derek Jarman always chose to approach his work. The pop remix of “Rue Britannia” that’s featured in “Jubilee” plays over the opening credits, showing us the radical style he employed in his art along with the turbulent era in which he existed. He makes a statement about the state of “queerness,” a way to define not just his own work but underline the political attitude he was always willing to amplify. As one of the most important filmmakers in queer cinema, it’s vital to have this history discussed. The film works as an examination of the means in which filmmaking is a collection of problem-solving techniques to overcome an array of hurdles to deliver a finished project. It’s also captivating in how it showcases the necessity to fight against regimes that aim to target marginalized groups and the lengths is required to establish the stakes. It’s an effective portrayal, even if it includes some tangents that would have given the narrative a tighter focus had they been excised. Those who are familiar with Jarman’s repertoire might be more invested in this piece, but there is a broader appeal for those who find this intersection of art and history fascinating. It’s a crossroads that finds a way to impact all kinds of groups, and it’s wonderful to see just how different, and sadly similar, these times have become from one another.
