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Queer Cinema In Southeastern Europe
''Queer film festivals have gradually become well established and a part of contemporary culture in the Western world over the course of the last 20 years. Although most of these festivals are still regarded as independent and marginal events, some of them have become part of mainstream culture,'' wrote Serap Erincin in Encyclopedia of Queer Culture (2006). In the late 1970's and early 1980's the first annual gay film festivals developed, especially in big cities - which have historically been more welcoming to subcultures and gay communities - in the US. In 1977 the very first edition of what today is known as the Frameline Festival in San Francisco took place under the name of the Gay Film Festival of Super-8 Films.
HERE is a map of LGBT Film Fetsivals Global (1977 - 2015)
In the mid-1980's several festivals were founded in Europe. Somewhat surprisingly the first European gay and lesbian film festival started in Yugoslavia, now Slovenia, in Ljubljana on April 23, 1984. This is surprising because queer film festivals massively spread to Eastern Europe in the late 1990's and early 2000's in a sort of queer globalisation. This anomaly can be explained by Yugoslavia's position as a country that was open to the West and enjoyed relative independence from the strict Soviet political agenda in contrast to the rest of the Eastern bloc.
While homosexual acts had been decriminalized in a number of countries in the region in the 1960's and 1970's, homosexuality was certainly not accepted or encouraged by the state. Lenin's dictum that film is the most important of the arts coupled with the fact that most film studios were state run meant that control over film production was even tighter than over book publishing or theater. While there no doubt were gay and lesbian directors, screenwriters, and actors, they do not appear to have smuggled much if any covert gay meaning into their films. Homoerotic images—images presented as or read as the objects of same-sex desire on the part of either the viewer or a character in the film itself—could be found: women's bodies have always been objectified in film, and Socialist-Realist films often presented male bodies for admiration as well.
Queers and queer desire are virtually invisible in feature films from Eastern Europe before the 1980's. There were a few films about homosocial relationships with homoerotic overtones: Wajda's Promised Land (1975) and Zanussi's Camouflage (1977), for example; and occasionally stereotypical gay characters were included in episodes for comic relief, for example in Zivko Nikolic's Beauty of Sin (1986), where the swishy gay character wears makeup and makes fruitless passes at the visiting village macho. But only in the 1980's, with increasing relaxation of political scrutiny, did the first gay and lesbian characters appear as the focus of feature films.
The first film in Eastern Europe to feature homosexuality openly was Karoly Makk's Another Way (1982). It was also the first film in Hungary to refer to the events of 1956 as a revolution, rather than a counter-revolution. Makk's film was therefore groundbreaking in its portrayal of both sexual and political dissidence. The screenplay by Makk and Erszébet Galgoczi was based on Galgoczi's 1980 novel, Another Love. Makk's film, which won the 1982 FIPRESCI critics' award at Cannes, centers on the love between two women journalists in the aftermath of 1956. In his article on Hungarian film in Post New Wave Cinema in the Soviet Union and Eastern Europe, David Paul writes that ''at first glance the issues of lesbianism and censorship may strike one as unlikely twins'', but the connection between sexual and political dissidence should be obvious, and the parallels are drawn brilliantly in both the film and the novel. Makk, one of Hungary's top directors, confessed that the story grabbed him both because of its dramatic tension and because it contained two taboo subjects: lesbian love and 1956. In October 1956, the people of Hungary stood up against the oppression of Soviet rule. The subsequent uprising almost succeeded but the Soviet Union, in a full show of force, re-established its control and the revolution was quashed as quickly as it had erupted.
Eva is politically the more outspoken and the more out of the two journalists. At the newspaper she crusades for revealing the truth about the methods used to coerce farmers into joining the collective, and her refusal to compromise results in her losing her job. Eva is much more cautious in her affair with the married Livia, who obviously loves her, but is less willing to brave the consequences. When Livia finally tells her husband Donci she's leaving him, he shoots her, perhaps leaving her paralyzed for life. Livia then rejects Eva again, and the latter is shot trying to cross the border.
One might argue that the shape of the plot is homophobic, since one lesbian is killed in a quasi-suicide and the other is shot by her jealous husband and paralyzed. Vito Russo doents numerous Hollywood films in which homosexuals are punished by death at the end of the plot, but the suicide and homophobic violence in Another Way are not meant to confirm heterosexual values. Donci's actions are meant to turn the audience against brutal homophobia. The predicament of real lesbians in Hungary is revealed both in the authorities' ignorance about lesbian sex (one investigator asks, ''how do you do it?'') and in a scene in which the police harass the pair for kissing on a park bench. After checking their doents, the policeman reminds Eva that ''we are not in America'', she is detained, and Livia is warned to return to her husband.
Two films from Yugoslavia in the early 1990's feature transgendered heroes / heroines: Srdjan Karanovic's Virgina (1992), about a girl raised as a boy in the early 1900s, and Zelimir Zilnik's Marble Ass (1994), about a transvestite prostitute in contemporary Beograd. Set in the mythic past, Karanovic's Virgina is about a sworn virgin - a village girl raised as a male because the family had no male children. Virgina shows a culturally conservative society in which the expectation that the sworn virgin will live as a man comes into conflict with her desire to live as she wants. In the West people usually think of transvestites and transgendered people as going against societal norms to perform their desired identities, but in the case of sworn virgins, it is the patriarchal society that forces the women to live as men.
Transvestism is also a central plot device in a more recent film from the region, Ahmed Imamovic’s Go West (2005). Go West focuses on a mixed gay couple in Sarajevo: Kenan, a Muslim, and Milan, a Serb. Though set in the 1990's, when some sort of gay community surely existed in Sarajevo, there is no evidence of any such community. Kenan reads as convincingly gay, unlike his partner Milan. There is no chemistry whatsoever between the two supposed lovers. The two plan to emigrate to the gay-friendly Netherlands, but the war strands them in Serb-controlled territory, and Kenan adopts female drag to avoid being found out as a circised Muslim. They escape to Milan's village, where the disguise is maintained through a traditional wedding. These two men barely kiss onscreen, though Kenan, who is bisexual, is shown having sex at least twice with Ranka, the village prostitute. Ranka eventually outs the gay men to Milan’s father, while Milan is drafted into the Serbian army and killed. The connection between violence and gender in the Balkans is captured in a saying quoted by Kenan: ''Ako ne nosiš suknju, onda nosiš pušku'' (If you don't wear a dress, then you carry a gun). Kenan wears a dress and, unlike Milan, is spared being drafted into the army. During the wars nationalists derided homosexuals as traitors to the nation. Anyone against the war was ''not a real man'' because a real man is a man with a gun.
Violence is central to the other three recent feature films from ex-Yugoslavia, though they show lesbian, rather than gay male, desire: Maja Weiss's Guardian of the Frontier (Slovenia, 2002), Dalibor Matanic's Fine Dead Girls (Croatia, 2002), and Dragan Marinkovic’s Take a Deep Breath (Serbia, 2004). Guardian of the Frontier is the first Slovene film directed by a woman and the first to show lesbian desire. Take a Deep Breath portrays a younger generation that blames parents for the dire situation of contemporary Serbia. In Fine Dead Girls Iva and Marija move into an apartment building that is home to a rogues' gallery of characters: a war veteran suffering from post-traumatic stress, a prostitute paid to break up the couple by one girl's religiously-motivated father, a homophobic gorgon landlady, and her son, a slacker mama's boy who rapes one of the pair to prove his masculinity. The film takes aim at the brutality and amorality of contemporary Croatian society, targeting patriarchy, nationalism, and the Catholic Church, as well as homophobia. It obviously struck a chord, becoming the audience favorite at the Pula festival in 2002 as well as Croatia's nominee for an Oscar the following year. Though convincingly antihomophobic, Fine Dead Girls still hews to some stereotypes: the women are shown making love for the titillation of the audience, and the more butch of the pair is murdered, while her femme girlfriend (conveniently bisexual) marries and has a child.
Wiktor Grodecki's three films about Czech rent boys, Not Angels, but Angels (1994), Body without Soul (1996), and Mandragora (1997) purport to be objective, honest doentaries in which the boys' ''frankness and need to talk become the engine that drives the film.'' The first film, Not Angels, but Angels, comes the closest to being a doentary, with interviews with the rent boys arranged by theme to tell the story Grodecki wants us to learn: these are straight guys exploited by gay men from Western Europe. Religious music and intercut shots of statues of angels emphasize by contrast the evil of what is happening. The second film, Body without Soul, introduces us to a pornographer as well. With his last film in the trilogy, Mandragora (1997), Grodecki gives up all pretense of making a doentary - though the video box still claims that ''all the events in this film actually occurred, and were photographed just as the street kids described them''. Mandragora is in fact a feature film, scripted by Grodecki and one of the rent boys, David Svec. It is the dramatization of Grodecki’s fantasy of the boys’ experience, this time with no messy testimony by the boys themselves to get in the way of the director's interpretation of their lives.
Another film from Prague, David Ondricek's Whisper (1996), also includes prostitution as a secondary plot motif in a film that is mostly about amoral Czech youth. Compared to other parts of Central and East Europe, Prague's gay scene was more fertile ground for prostitution and pornography. While Grodecki's ''doentaries'' capture some of the ethnographic detail and geography of these worlds, they do so in an extremely moralizing way. They also present a world in which Czechs are innocent straight victims, while gay men are all old, ugly, and Western. Grodecki seems obsessed with sex, particularly gay sex, and his portrayals certainly do not reveal queerness in a realistic light.
In most of the films from Central and Eastern Europe queer characters appear not as themselves, but as a metaphor for political dissidence, or for capitalist exploitation and corruption. Homosexuality is presented as an isolated phenomenon or as an import from the West. With the exception of Marble Ass, which features real transvestite prostitutes, these films show only isolated queer characters, not real queer people or a local LGBT community. Another phenomenon worthy of mention is the use of Central and East European queer characters in films scripted and produced in the West. These are not films in which LGBT people from the region would recognize themselves. In this age of globalization, it seems much more likely that LGBT people anywhere will get their media representations of LGBT identities from the same sources: predominantly US and Western European media. An American reporter once claimed that ''gay culture is absolutely uniform across the world. A gay bar in Ulan Bator is no different from one in Chicago or Berlin or Buenos Aires. You’ll hear the same vapid dance music, smell the same cologne, hear the rustle of the same neatly pressed Polo shirts, and touch the same tanned, well-moisturized skin.''
''Queer film festivals have gradually become well established and a part of contemporary culture in the Western world over the course of the last 20 years. Although most of these festivals are still regarded as independent and marginal events, some of them have become part of mainstream culture,'' wrote Serap Erincin in Encyclopedia of Queer Culture (2006). In the late 1970's and early 1980's the first annual gay film festivals developed, especially in big cities - which have historically been more welcoming to subcultures and gay communities - in the US. In 1977 the very first edition of what today is known as the Frameline Festival in San Francisco took place under the name of the Gay Film Festival of Super-8 Films.
HERE is a map of LGBT Film Fetsivals Global (1977 - 2015)
In the mid-1980's several festivals were founded in Europe. Somewhat surprisingly the first European gay and lesbian film festival started in Yugoslavia, now Slovenia, in Ljubljana on April 23, 1984. This is surprising because queer film festivals massively spread to Eastern Europe in the late 1990's and early 2000's in a sort of queer globalisation. This anomaly can be explained by Yugoslavia's position as a country that was open to the West and enjoyed relative independence from the strict Soviet political agenda in contrast to the rest of the Eastern bloc.
While homosexual acts had been decriminalized in a number of countries in the region in the 1960's and 1970's, homosexuality was certainly not accepted or encouraged by the state. Lenin's dictum that film is the most important of the arts coupled with the fact that most film studios were state run meant that control over film production was even tighter than over book publishing or theater. While there no doubt were gay and lesbian directors, screenwriters, and actors, they do not appear to have smuggled much if any covert gay meaning into their films. Homoerotic images—images presented as or read as the objects of same-sex desire on the part of either the viewer or a character in the film itself—could be found: women's bodies have always been objectified in film, and Socialist-Realist films often presented male bodies for admiration as well.
Movie available HERE
Queers and queer desire are virtually invisible in feature films from Eastern Europe before the 1980's. There were a few films about homosocial relationships with homoerotic overtones: Wajda's Promised Land (1975) and Zanussi's Camouflage (1977), for example; and occasionally stereotypical gay characters were included in episodes for comic relief, for example in Zivko Nikolic's Beauty of Sin (1986), where the swishy gay character wears makeup and makes fruitless passes at the visiting village macho. But only in the 1980's, with increasing relaxation of political scrutiny, did the first gay and lesbian characters appear as the focus of feature films.
Movie available HERE
The first film in Eastern Europe to feature homosexuality openly was Karoly Makk's Another Way (1982). It was also the first film in Hungary to refer to the events of 1956 as a revolution, rather than a counter-revolution. Makk's film was therefore groundbreaking in its portrayal of both sexual and political dissidence. The screenplay by Makk and Erszébet Galgoczi was based on Galgoczi's 1980 novel, Another Love. Makk's film, which won the 1982 FIPRESCI critics' award at Cannes, centers on the love between two women journalists in the aftermath of 1956. In his article on Hungarian film in Post New Wave Cinema in the Soviet Union and Eastern Europe, David Paul writes that ''at first glance the issues of lesbianism and censorship may strike one as unlikely twins'', but the connection between sexual and political dissidence should be obvious, and the parallels are drawn brilliantly in both the film and the novel. Makk, one of Hungary's top directors, confessed that the story grabbed him both because of its dramatic tension and because it contained two taboo subjects: lesbian love and 1956. In October 1956, the people of Hungary stood up against the oppression of Soviet rule. The subsequent uprising almost succeeded but the Soviet Union, in a full show of force, re-established its control and the revolution was quashed as quickly as it had erupted.
Eva is politically the more outspoken and the more out of the two journalists. At the newspaper she crusades for revealing the truth about the methods used to coerce farmers into joining the collective, and her refusal to compromise results in her losing her job. Eva is much more cautious in her affair with the married Livia, who obviously loves her, but is less willing to brave the consequences. When Livia finally tells her husband Donci she's leaving him, he shoots her, perhaps leaving her paralyzed for life. Livia then rejects Eva again, and the latter is shot trying to cross the border.
One might argue that the shape of the plot is homophobic, since one lesbian is killed in a quasi-suicide and the other is shot by her jealous husband and paralyzed. Vito Russo doents numerous Hollywood films in which homosexuals are punished by death at the end of the plot, but the suicide and homophobic violence in Another Way are not meant to confirm heterosexual values. Donci's actions are meant to turn the audience against brutal homophobia. The predicament of real lesbians in Hungary is revealed both in the authorities' ignorance about lesbian sex (one investigator asks, ''how do you do it?'') and in a scene in which the police harass the pair for kissing on a park bench. After checking their doents, the policeman reminds Eva that ''we are not in America'', she is detained, and Livia is warned to return to her husband.
Two films from Yugoslavia in the early 1990's feature transgendered heroes / heroines: Srdjan Karanovic's Virgina (1992), about a girl raised as a boy in the early 1900s, and Zelimir Zilnik's Marble Ass (1994), about a transvestite prostitute in contemporary Beograd. Set in the mythic past, Karanovic's Virgina is about a sworn virgin - a village girl raised as a male because the family had no male children. Virgina shows a culturally conservative society in which the expectation that the sworn virgin will live as a man comes into conflict with her desire to live as she wants. In the West people usually think of transvestites and transgendered people as going against societal norms to perform their desired identities, but in the case of sworn virgins, it is the patriarchal society that forces the women to live as men.
Movie available HERE
Transvestism is also a central plot device in a more recent film from the region, Ahmed Imamovic’s Go West (2005). Go West focuses on a mixed gay couple in Sarajevo: Kenan, a Muslim, and Milan, a Serb. Though set in the 1990's, when some sort of gay community surely existed in Sarajevo, there is no evidence of any such community. Kenan reads as convincingly gay, unlike his partner Milan. There is no chemistry whatsoever between the two supposed lovers. The two plan to emigrate to the gay-friendly Netherlands, but the war strands them in Serb-controlled territory, and Kenan adopts female drag to avoid being found out as a circised Muslim. They escape to Milan's village, where the disguise is maintained through a traditional wedding. These two men barely kiss onscreen, though Kenan, who is bisexual, is shown having sex at least twice with Ranka, the village prostitute. Ranka eventually outs the gay men to Milan’s father, while Milan is drafted into the Serbian army and killed. The connection between violence and gender in the Balkans is captured in a saying quoted by Kenan: ''Ako ne nosiš suknju, onda nosiš pušku'' (If you don't wear a dress, then you carry a gun). Kenan wears a dress and, unlike Milan, is spared being drafted into the army. During the wars nationalists derided homosexuals as traitors to the nation. Anyone against the war was ''not a real man'' because a real man is a man with a gun.
Movie available HERE
Violence is central to the other three recent feature films from ex-Yugoslavia, though they show lesbian, rather than gay male, desire: Maja Weiss's Guardian of the Frontier (Slovenia, 2002), Dalibor Matanic's Fine Dead Girls (Croatia, 2002), and Dragan Marinkovic’s Take a Deep Breath (Serbia, 2004). Guardian of the Frontier is the first Slovene film directed by a woman and the first to show lesbian desire. Take a Deep Breath portrays a younger generation that blames parents for the dire situation of contemporary Serbia. In Fine Dead Girls Iva and Marija move into an apartment building that is home to a rogues' gallery of characters: a war veteran suffering from post-traumatic stress, a prostitute paid to break up the couple by one girl's religiously-motivated father, a homophobic gorgon landlady, and her son, a slacker mama's boy who rapes one of the pair to prove his masculinity. The film takes aim at the brutality and amorality of contemporary Croatian society, targeting patriarchy, nationalism, and the Catholic Church, as well as homophobia. It obviously struck a chord, becoming the audience favorite at the Pula festival in 2002 as well as Croatia's nominee for an Oscar the following year. Though convincingly antihomophobic, Fine Dead Girls still hews to some stereotypes: the women are shown making love for the titillation of the audience, and the more butch of the pair is murdered, while her femme girlfriend (conveniently bisexual) marries and has a child.
Movie available HERE
Wiktor Grodecki's three films about Czech rent boys, Not Angels, but Angels (1994), Body without Soul (1996), and Mandragora (1997) purport to be objective, honest doentaries in which the boys' ''frankness and need to talk become the engine that drives the film.'' The first film, Not Angels, but Angels, comes the closest to being a doentary, with interviews with the rent boys arranged by theme to tell the story Grodecki wants us to learn: these are straight guys exploited by gay men from Western Europe. Religious music and intercut shots of statues of angels emphasize by contrast the evil of what is happening. The second film, Body without Soul, introduces us to a pornographer as well. With his last film in the trilogy, Mandragora (1997), Grodecki gives up all pretense of making a doentary - though the video box still claims that ''all the events in this film actually occurred, and were photographed just as the street kids described them''. Mandragora is in fact a feature film, scripted by Grodecki and one of the rent boys, David Svec. It is the dramatization of Grodecki’s fantasy of the boys’ experience, this time with no messy testimony by the boys themselves to get in the way of the director's interpretation of their lives.
Another film from Prague, David Ondricek's Whisper (1996), also includes prostitution as a secondary plot motif in a film that is mostly about amoral Czech youth. Compared to other parts of Central and East Europe, Prague's gay scene was more fertile ground for prostitution and pornography. While Grodecki's ''doentaries'' capture some of the ethnographic detail and geography of these worlds, they do so in an extremely moralizing way. They also present a world in which Czechs are innocent straight victims, while gay men are all old, ugly, and Western. Grodecki seems obsessed with sex, particularly gay sex, and his portrayals certainly do not reveal queerness in a realistic light.
In most of the films from Central and Eastern Europe queer characters appear not as themselves, but as a metaphor for political dissidence, or for capitalist exploitation and corruption. Homosexuality is presented as an isolated phenomenon or as an import from the West. With the exception of Marble Ass, which features real transvestite prostitutes, these films show only isolated queer characters, not real queer people or a local LGBT community. Another phenomenon worthy of mention is the use of Central and East European queer characters in films scripted and produced in the West. These are not films in which LGBT people from the region would recognize themselves. In this age of globalization, it seems much more likely that LGBT people anywhere will get their media representations of LGBT identities from the same sources: predominantly US and Western European media. An American reporter once claimed that ''gay culture is absolutely uniform across the world. A gay bar in Ulan Bator is no different from one in Chicago or Berlin or Buenos Aires. You’ll hear the same vapid dance music, smell the same cologne, hear the rustle of the same neatly pressed Polo shirts, and touch the same tanned, well-moisturized skin.''