Set in 1988 at the dubious peak of Thatcherism in Great Britain, director Georgia Oakley’s hauntingly tense Blue Jean is a period piece, but much of its content reflects eerily onto the present. The recent months have seen an uptick in the push for anti-LGBTQIA+ legislation by conservative lawmakers like Florida’s bigoted governor (and presidential candidate) Ron DeSantis, seemingly intent not only on preventing the discourse surrounding these identities within the educational system but erasing their existence entirely. The fight, not only to be seen, but to exist reasonably within the bounds of your own body and community, is the struggle at the heart of Oakley’s debut feature, which makes it a difficult but essential film for the current moment.
Blue Jean is a slow burn narrative that follows Jean (Rosy McEwen), a semi-closeted PE teacher living in Newcastle, where she unsteadily maintains a double life with her openly gay girlfriend, Viv (Kerrie Hayes). In the film’s opening moments, we hear a news broadcast discussing the proposed Section 28 legislation, which would prohibit the “promotion of homosexuality” throughout Britain by local authorities. Fearing the loss of her job if her sexuality were to be exposed, Jean’s day-to-day life is one of shielded concealment, only letting her guard down at the local gay bar. But her precarious existence is threatened by the arrival of a new student, Lois (Lucy Halliday), a young gay teenager who, after recognizing Jean at the bar, begins to turn to her for guidance. Faced both with the pressure of being too closeted and not closeted enough to help, Jean’s life slowly begins to unravel.
Despite the pressure cooker nature of Blue Jean’s narrative, Oakley’s screenplay and direction are wonderfully nuanced in their execution. Much of the story is told through subtle glances and actions that convey the various ways in which Jean must construct her outward identity to fit in, decisions that can occasionally have adverse effects on those around her. At school, she reluctantly overlooks the homophobic bullying of Lois by another classmate, Siobhan (Lydia Page), worried that interfering too boldly would attract unwanted attention on herself.
She’s similarly cagey with Viv, eventually leading to significant issues in their relationship. When Jean tries to watch Blind Date, a British dating show, Viv turns it off, claiming its “anti-gay propaganda.” By casual inference, we understand that Jean is not as confidently situated within her own identity, tentatively maintaining a grasp on heteronormative culture even as she struggles to free herself of it. Through Jean’s spiral, Oakley creates a compelling portrait of the ways in which societal bigotry can distort a person’s perception of themselves, and how concealing your true identity can feel both necessary and like a betrayal. McEwen is excellent in the title role, reserved but brimming with a quiet intensity that threatens to boil over at any moment. It’s an impressive, multi-layered performance that could rank amongst the best of the year.
The film is also visually rich. Shot on 16mm, the older, more rugged format allows for a naturalistic aesthetic that fits comfortably within the ‘80s setting, whilst intimate, handheld camerawork remains close up on the characters at all times. Careful attention to period detail in the production design is never overstated but emphasizes the sinister shadow of Thatcher’s conservative policies upon the film’s physical and emotional landscape. A government billboard Jean drives under on the way to work gradually becomes covered in graffiti as the story progresses, illustrating the increasing level of resistance from outer society, but also within the lead character’s resolve. Occasionally, Blue Jean’s visual symbolism can be heavy-handed, such as a brief sequence following a liberating moment for Jean in which she looks out and sees wild horses galloping on the open plain. It’s an infrequent flaw in an otherwise nuanced film. The only other real issue is the potential difficulty of understanding people’s accents, though that concern drifts away as the story goes on. As is common with the more typically deliberate nature of some international cinema, the drama here works on a level of gradual ingratiation into the character’s lives. By the end, nothing has necessarily been resolved, but you’ve gained a new perspective into a window of time both specific and unsettlingly current.
Blue Jean, which premiered at the Venice Film Festival in 2022, will probably not gain as much mainstream attention as other, more buzzy independent films from this year, but it’s well worth seeking out for those inclined. Magnolia Pictures’ decision to theatrically release it during Pride Month is probably not a coincidence, but the film isn’t insistent upon its own relevance or even particularly didactic in its messaging. Instead, it’s mostly a character piece, and like the best stories of that sort, you feel incredibly invested in both Jean and the teenage Lois by the end. “Not everything is political,” Jean says to Viv at one point. “Of course it is,” Viv responds. Section 28 was officially repealed in 2003, but its legacy remains in discourse throughout the UK, and is unfortunately mirrored through attempts at similar state-wide legislation in the United States. It’s worth remembering, on an individual level, the impact that these types of “political” decisions can have on people’s lives. What’s also worth recognizing, as Blue Jean posits, is the distinct ability of a community in spite of this to support one another and thrive.
Photo courtesy of Magnolia Pictures
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