Leeann Remiker
Jodie Foster and Colman Domingo made history last month for their Oscar nominations for their respective roles as lesbian swimming coach Bonnie Stoll in Nyad and Bayard Rustin in Rustin, marking the first time two openly gay actors were Oscar-nominated for playing gay characters. According to The New York Times, Ian McKellen was the first and only openly gay man other than Domingo to achieve this academy recognition with his leading role in Gods and Monsters in 1999. However, in this year alone, Bradley Cooper, a straight actor, was nominated for his portrayal of legendary (and closeted) composer Leonard Bernstein in the Netflix biopic Maestro and straight actress Annette Bening was nominated for Best Actress for her portrayal of lesbian swimmer Diane Nyad in Nyad.
Conversely, openly gay actor Andrew Scott was snubbed for his emotional, tender turn in Andrew Haigh’s All of Us Strangers. According to the director, Haigh casted Scott because he was “trying to unpack some nuances of a certain generation of gay people. I needed someone who could understand that and have those conversations with me.” Haigh’s sentiment represents my opinion, that film will be better off if authentic queer stories that represent the joy, pain, and nuance that comes with being LGBTQ+ are told by directors, actors, and other crew members that share in that identity. Scott’s work in All of Us Strangers is commanding and sentimental, truly coming from a place of authenticity; viewers can tell that Scott has lived, breathed, and endured the queer experience, the experience of coming out and the nuances of the gay dating scene. Despite having a wealth of proficient queer films to nominate this year, films like Bottoms and Passages, which sport LGBTQ+ directors Emma Seligman and Ira Sachs and follow a lesbian fight club and the tumultuous relationship of a gay couple respectively, were completely locked out of this year’s Oscars.
The definition of queer films, as studied by theorist Sharon Marcus, has changed substantially over the years. During the Hays Code, a set of conservative industry guidelines that governed American filmmaking from the 1930s to the 1960s, queer films were severely restricted in their portrayal of LGBTQ+ themes due to their perceived deviance and risk. The Hays Code imposed strict censorship rules on the film industry, prohibiting the depiction of homosexuality or any other "sex perversion." Queer films exhibited "sexual deviance" according to Marcus, referring to representations of non-heteronormative sexualities and gender identities. This term encapsulated portrayals of same-sex desire, gender nonconformity, and other forms of sexual expression deemed deviant by societal standards. The significance of this portrayal lies in its reflection of the societal perception of queer people as deviant or abnormal, contributing to the stigmatization and marginalization of LGBTQ+ individuals. Queer people were often depicted as predators, threats, or villains to societal norms, reinforcing negative stereotypes and attitudes towards them, thereby perpetuating discrimination and bias against the queer community. With the rise of new feminist gender theories and genderqueer and transgender activists/artists/theorists in the 1980s, queer films began to demonstrate "how homosexuality and heterosexuality mutually define each other." This quote suggests that the boundaries between homosexuality and heterosexuality are not fixed but are constructed and reinforced through societal norms and power dynamics, often with heterosexuality defining the norm. It highlights the interconnectedness of these identities and challenges the notion of a rigid binary between them. This perspective is crucial in the representation of the queer community as it acknowledges the fluidity and complexity of sexual and gender identities, promoting greater acceptance and understanding of diverse experiences within the LGBTQ+ community, thus fostering inclusivity and breaking down traditional barriers to queer expression.
To me, queer filmmaking is cinema that hires LGBTQ+ people in front of and behind the camera, that tells stories of queer people as they live their lives, lives which are detailed and depict not only the troubles, but also the bliss that can be found in queer existence. The Oscars rarely give space for such films.
Instead, the Academy Awards have a history of lauding the transformative work of straight, cis actors as they don queer identities as costumes. A deep dive into the history of queerness at the Oscars and the phenomenon of nominated and award-winning queer performances by straight/cis actors is integral to understanding the importance of representation in normalizing and validating the LGBTQ+ population.
How does the increased viewership brought by these awards reshape the public understanding of queer people? How have the stereotypes, generalizations, and misappropriations perpetuated by the wins noted above devalue the existence of a rich, vibrant queer culture rarely depicted on screen?
While I am not arguing that straight/cis actors should never play queer roles, I do believe that authentic, lived representation of queer identities is essential to LGBTQ+ progress and safety. However, throughout Hollywood's history, the exploitation and marginalization of queer people and identities have been persistent issues, reflecting broader societal stigmas and prejudices surrounding LGBTQ+ identities. In the early 20th century, the film industry often relegated queer characters to the roles of villains or figures of ridicule, perpetuating harmful stereotypes and contributing to the invisibility and silencing of LGBTQ+ voices. The Hays Code, established in the 1930s, explicitly banned the depiction of homosexuality on screen, forcing queerness into subtext and shadows for decades. Even as the Code's influence waned in the late 1960s and societal attitudes began to shift, queer representation often remained fraught with clichés and pathologizing narratives, sidelining authentic queer voices and experiences in favor of sensationalized portrayals.
The 1980s was a tumultuous decade for queer representation in film, deeply influenced by the political climate of the Reagan era and the devastating impact of the AIDS crisis. The conservative wave led by President Ronald Reagan in the United States, along with the rise of moral panic and homophobia, created an environment where LGBTQ+ issues were often ignored or actively suppressed at the federal level. This socio-political context directly influenced Hollywood, where queer representation was scarce and, when present, fraught with problematic portrayals.
During this time, the few films that did feature queer characters or themes often did so through a lens of tragedy, villainy, or comic relief, reinforcing negative stereotypes and societal prejudices. The AIDS crisis further complicated the landscape: mainstream media and Hollywood were slow to address the epidemic, and when they did, it was often through a lens of fear-mongering and misinformation, contributing to the stigmatization of the queer community, particularly gay men.
However, the 1980s also witnessed the emergence of a more defiant and politically charged queer cinema, albeit mostly outside the mainstream. Independent filmmakers and queer activists began to produce works that not only challenged the invisibility and negative portrayal of LGBTQ+ people in popular culture but also sought to document and address the AIDS crisis directly. Films like Parting Glances (1986) and Longtime Companion (1989) were among the first to represent the AIDS crisis on screen, offering narratives of love, loss, and community amidst the backdrop of an often hostile society. These films, along with the activism of the era, laid the groundwork for future generations of filmmakers and artists to explore queer stories and identities with greater depth, complexity, and visibility. The difference between mainstream productions featuring straight actors and marginalized works lies in the authenticity and personal experience brought to queer narratives. Director of Longtime Companion Norman Ren was intimately familiar with the struggles of the LGBTQ+ community, as he was a gay man who fell victim to AIDS in 1996, the knowledge he brought to his films serving to infuse them with nuance, empathy, and a depth of understanding that mainstream productions often lack.
The trend of straight actors being celebrated for playing gay roles, often viewed as "Oscar-worthy," underscores a complex intersection of representation, authenticity, and industry biases. This phenomenon can be attributed to several factors, including the perception of such roles as requiring exceptional acting prowess due to their perceived deviation from the actor's own identity, thus showcasing their range and dedication to their craft. Additionally, Hollywood's historical reluctance to cast openly queer actors in any kind of roles has contributed to the limited visibility and opportunities for queer talent, reinforcing the idea that queer stories are most legitimate or marketable when filtered through a heterosexual lens. This practice not only sidelines queer actors but also subtly reinforces the notion that queerness is an "otherness" to be portrayed rather than lived, perpetuating a cycle of marginalization and stereotype under the guise of accolade-worthy performance. Mainstream audiences often only accept queerness in small doses and superficially, preferring its portrayal in fictional realms where they do not have to confront its reality. Moreover, they even gravitate towards narratives where queer characters suffer or lose in love, as it aligns with societal notions of punishment for deviance, reinforcing harmful stereotypes and limiting authentic representation.
Queer roles have often been highly dramatized and caricaturized. Hollywood's history has long been marked by a troubling fascination with depicting queer individuals as subjects of violence, ridicule, misgendering, and villainization, a trend that both reflects and perpetuates societal prejudices. While this translated to great material for straight actors to snag their Oscar nominations, this approach to queer representation, particularly pronounced in earlier decades, often served to dehumanize queer people and legitimize their mistreatment in the eyes of the public. Films and television shows frequently relegated queer characters to the roles of tragic victims, comedic relief through harmful stereotypes, or sinister villains, effectively othering them and reinforcing the notion that they were outside the norms of society. Misgendering, in particular, was used as a tool to undermine and invalidate transgender and non-binary identities, contributing to a culture of ignorance and hostility. By consistently casting queer people in such negative lights, Hollywood played a significant role in shaping societal attitudes towards the LGBTQ+ community, fueling stigma, and obstructing the path toward acceptance and equality.
The troubling history of transgender representation in film can be found in the 1999 film Boys Don’t Cry, where actress Hilary Swank took home the gold for her portrayal of real trans man Brandon Teena. The film follows the true story of Teena as he flees from his transphobic hometown and falls in love with aspiring singer Lana, played by Chloë Sevigny. Boys Don’t Cry was originally lauded in 1999 upon its release but has drawn criticism recently due to reassessment from queer audiences who saw the exploitation of Teena’s true suffering as disrespectful and tasteless. A violent, gritty, and somber film, Boys Don’t Cry, which came out around the time of the murder of gay teenager Matthew Shepard, depicts in full view the brutal assault of Teena at the hands of violent transphobes, the camera seemingly reveling in his suffering. The combined role of the film and violent murder of Shepard led to the passage of anti-hate crime legislation in the United States, yet little was done for the social understanding or acceptance of trans people, in part due to the presentation of Swank on the awards campaign.
Boys Don’t Cry was not completely the radical “truth to power” film it was considered, as it further perpetuates the myth that trans people are merely dressing up, playing a character, and more sinisterly, indicates trans identity as trickery. Boys Don’t Cry producer Christine Vachon believes “There was definitely this fascination with the notion of that kind of deception, the stranger, the masquerade, the person who comes in and turns the town upside down,” reflecting the interpretation of Swank’s role as a performance, a costume, and a deceit. Angel, who understands the importance of dress, presentation, and demeanor to keep herself safe and affirmed in her identity, believes that common Hollywood stereotypes of trans women as “men, or that we are tricking people” are derisive and harmful representations of the trans experience. So, the casting of Hilary Swank has created a divisive legacy amongst trans people.
While it is important to recognize that the film “was the first mainstream film to focus on a transgender man,” and its queer director Kimberly Pierce was “questioning her identity at the time” and “felt an instant connection with Teena,” the depiction of the brutal rape of Teena has also created an unsettling legacy about proper representation for trans men. Trans male actor JJ Hawkins stated “Of course it’s a step in the right direction — one single story about us — but also, she played a boy and she won Best Actress.” When I think of the Oscars success of Boys Don’t Cry, I am haunted by the image of Hilary Swank, in her beautiful green gown and stunning diamond necklace as she accepts Best Actress for her role as a man. She appropriated the life of Brandon Teena, a man who endured gender-based discrimination, horrifying violence, and hatred as one of the first rans people openly claiming an identity that has never been accepted. Kate Borstein, a transgender activist and author explained, “You’re seeing a movie about yourself and then yourself is murdered, why would you want to go see that? Why?” Borstein underscores a key point, that trans people and society at large deserve to witness transgender joy, love, and beauty represented in film, just as cisgender, straight people have had since cinema’s inception. Boys Don’t Cry, as well as other recent output such as The Danish Girl, where actor Eddie Redmayne was Oscar-nominated for his turn as trans woman Einar Wegender, seem to revel in trans suffering. A specific scene, wherein Redmayne is nude, tucking his genitals between his legs, received specific vitriol for its voyeuristic qualities, and Redmayne recently stated in an interview with The Sunday Times that taking the role was “a mistake.”.
All in all, transgender representation has often been exploitative, banking on scenes of violence, graphic sex scenes, moments where the genitals of transgender characters are exposed for the voyeuristic pleasure of intrigued audiences, and also rarely casts authentic trans actors. Luckily, we have seen progress in the casting of trans actors in transgender and even cisgender roles. Sean Baker’s Tangerine follows trans actresses Mya Taylor and Kitana Kiki Rodriquez as they navigate sex work and friendship on the streets of Los Angeles. Additionally, Gasper Noé’s 2019 film Climax casts trans actress Claude Gajan Maull as a cisgender mother in an eclectic dance collective in France. More recently, Hunter Schafer ws a part of one of the most successful films of last year, Hunger Games prequel The Hunger Games: The Ballad of Songbirds and Snakes, donning gorgeous costumes and her fame helping to propel the film towards its 337.4 million dollar gross. Schafer recently stated in an interview with Variety that she hopes to be offered more cisgender female roles, saying “I just want to be a girl and move on”, demonstrating how casting trans people in cis roles can help in the understanding of trans people as truly the gender they’ve transitioned to. The increasing visibility of transgender actors in both transgender and cisgender roles marks a significant step forward in authentic representation within the film industry, challenging exploitative tropes and offering more opportunities for transgender performers. This shift underscores the importance of casting trans actors for cis roles, highlighting the revolutionary potential to reshape narratives and provide a broader range of opportunities for transgender talent, while also addressing the historical imbalance of casting cisgender actors for transgender roles.
Trailblazing trans actor Elliot Page stated in an interview with Oprah that he wants to see more films in which "trans people [get] to be people," as opposed to the storyline focusing on "intense trauma, violence, or the idea that there's mental illness." Hollywood has historically taken a different approach, disregarding the truths of queer joy and community to instead tell stories of pain, trauma, and repression. These stories are not told for representation, but for awards. From viewing the tragic and visceral progression of AIDS in Philadelphia, which won Tom Hanks his first of two back-to-back Best Actor Oscars in 1994, to the psychological torment of Benedict Cumberbatch’s closeted character in Jane Campion’s The Power of the Dog, straight actors have been given a wealth of opportunities to perform the suffering of queer people.
Oscar-winning performances like Hilary Swank's portrayal of Brandon Teena in Boys Don't Cry and Tom Hanks's role as Andrew Beckett in Philadelphia exemplify Hollywood's historical trend of awarding straight actors for playing queer characters in narratives centered around tragedy and adversity. While both performances were lauded for their emotional depth and commitment, they also underscore the industry's tendency to prioritize stories of queer suffering, often told through a lens of heterosexual empathy. Swank's embodiment of Brandon Teena, a transgender man who faces violence and discrimination, and Hanks's depiction of Beckett, a gay lawyer battling AIDS-related discrimination, are framed within narratives of victimhood that cater to mainstream sensibilities, reinforcing the idea that queer lives are most valuable or meaningful when defined by struggle and suffering. This trend not only perpetuates harmful stereotypes but also sidelines authentic queer voices and experiences, contributing to a continued marginalization within the film industry and broader society.
Representation is integral to normalizing the existence of minorities, lessening stereotypes and violence, and creating a more well-rounded and inclusive world. According to a Pew Research study of trans and non-binary people, the subjects generally noted a feeling of “otherness”, stating “they [people enacting anti-trans discrimination] still don’t consider them [trans and nonbinary people] to be a human beings, they are an ‘other,’ they are an ‘it,’ they are a ‘not like me,’… so they are put into a place socially where they can be treated badly”. As the Pew Research participants noted, the underrepresentation of queer people in the workplace, the arts, and in broader society have led to both subconscious and purposeful aggression. The testimonies of the participants represent a clear pattern of societal ignorance about queer life, and film as an institution could be an important tool in education if done correctly. The practice of only hiring cisgender heterosexual actors for queer roles can contribute to a sense of queerness being almost fictional, perpetuating the feeling of "otherness'' experienced by many LGBTQ+ individuals. Additionally, when these roles are cast based on stereotypes or include excessive violence, it further normalizes violence in real life against queer and transgender people, reinforcing harmful societal attitudes and behaviors.
The Academy Awards have the potential to play an important role in the growth of queer cinema, as the ceremony is a cultural touchstone for many, and there is a forgotten audience of LGBTQ+ people who would not only enjoy, but feel validated by seeing their peers on screen with the statuette in their hands.
The Oscars have been shown to cause an “Oscar bump”, identified by The Boston Globe as a significant boost in a film's box office draw following a nomination or win. Moreover, Best Picture winners like 2019’s Parasite have been canonized by Sight and Sound and the British Film Institute following its unlikely Best Picture award. Best Picture wins and other Oscars demonstrably have an impact on viewership, and also serve to validate a film as worthwhile, a film deserving of study and repeat-viewings.
To me, the Oscars symbolize the film landscape and culture of their time, indicating to film fans and wider audiences what deserves their attention. The issue is that genuine, representative queer filmmaking rarely achieves such a spotlight, and queer filmmaking is often left in the shadows.
When asked how she felt about straight/cis actors portraying queer roles, Elbershawi had mixed feelings, as she both desires “proper representation” while also recognizing that the Hollywood system makes it difficult for LGBTQ+ actors to even make it into the casting room, let alone get booked roles over their notable, straight/cis contemporaries. Proper representation to Elbershawi and I means authenticity, that casting directors and studio executives put in the work to ensure that the stories that receive funding are authentically queer, non-exploitative, and well-researched. Martinez concurs, stating “there are more than enough trans actors to be able to show trans experiences well, and while we understand that the best actor will win the role, providing opportunity is the main key.”
Modern artists have given me hope for the future of trans representation that is three dimensional, intersectional, educational, and empathetic. Martinez praises recent television smash hit Euphoria from creator Sam Levinson as a worthwhile representation of the trans experience, as Hunter Schafer, a transgender actress and model, was not only involved in the writing process for her character Jules, but was able to characterize her as “a normal girl, who did go through horrible events that does circle back to the trans experience, but it was not constantly highlighted throughout the whole show.” We see Jules navigate high school, her first love, and party culture in the show, as well as her illuminating therapy sessions in the hour long special “F**k Anybody Who’s Not a Seablob,” Schafer participating intensely in the writing process for the episode. Thinking of Jules in Euphoria conjures images of her joyfully riding her bike, her powerful monologue to Cal Jacobs, played by Eric Dance, as she is framed by the warm glowing lights of the fair, and her emotional first kiss with her partner Rue. Unlike Boys Don’t Cry, which has been criticized for reveling in the violence, oppression, and pain Teena bravely faced due to his tran identity, Jules, to Martinez, “is just any girl next door”, who we see struggle and triumph through a wide range of relatable experiences.
As of 2024, an openly gay person has never won an acting Oscar besides, regrettably, Kevin Spacey for American Beauty and Jodie Foster for The Silence of the Lambs and The Accused, but Foster was not out at the time of her wins. While Spacey’s character in American Beauty was straight, the climactic moments of the film find him being forcibly kissed by his closeted gay and violently homophobic neighbor, making Spacey’s Best Actor win for the film even more haunting. Foster’s character Clarice Starling never has her sexuality defined in the film, but her portrayal by lesbian actress and her apathy to romantic attention from her male coworkers have led to theories abound on Starling being a closted lesbian. The history of out queer Oscar winners is far too short, and the characters which they played were either intensely and demonstrably straight or aromantic and ambiguous.With the nomination for two-spirit indigenous performer Lily Gladstone for their stunning work in Killers of the Flower Moon, there is an iota of hope for the future not only for gay and trans representation, but non-binary and two-spirit representation at the Oscars. Emma Stone’s win for Best Actress over Gladstone at the 2024 Oscar’s not only meant that we would have to wait even longer for the first Native person to win an acting Oscar, but demonstrates how a nomination for queer actors is not enough, and it is time for talented LGBTQ+ actors to start taking home the gold for their brave and trailblazing work.
As we enter into a new decade of filmmaking, where queer filmmakers enact their visions like Jane Schoenbrun with I Saw the TV Glow, Rose Glass brings lesbian bodybuilding to the fore in Love Lies Bleeding, and Hunter Schafer tries her hand at horror in Tilman Singer’s Cuckoo, there is hope for the future of LGBTQ+ representation in Hollywood. I wish for a future where Hollywood prioritizes nuanced representations of queerness, with the LGBTQ+ actors and crew to support and reinforce the projects. Nick McCarthy, the director of programming for New York City LGBTQ+ film festival NewFest stated “We can only hope that today’s nominations for Colman Domingo and Jodie Foster signal that we’ll see many more LGBTQ+ actors — and LGBTQ+ writers and directors and all crafts — celebrated for telling authentic LGBTQ+ stories in the near future and beyond.” However, these noted titles will most likely be ignored by the Oscars and other awards bodies, and will rely on the word-of-mouth praise and the testimony of queer audiences in order to receive the viewership they deserve. Hollywood is a gloriously flawed machine, a machine that prioritizes profit, and we must continue to view, promote, and celebrate genuine LGBTQ+ representation to ensure that those films continue to be greenlit; there is a large and hungry audience for celebratory queer filmmaking, filmmaking that will build upon and subvert the legacy of queer cinema. Martinez, who I would specifically like to thank for her honesty, bravery, and helpfulness in crafting this article, unequivocally states Hollywood must “do better, and cast trans people''.
While representation is crucial, it's essential to recognize that it alone cannot dismantle the systemic issues within Hollywood and broader society facing LGBTQ+ people. As Audre Lorde aptly stated, 'The master's tools will never dismantle the master's house', and this remains true when considering the vast wealth, whiteness, and straightness that rules that American film landscape. We must advocate for systemic change and rebuild the industry from the ground up, ensuring genuine inclusivity and equity for all marginalized voices. True liberation for queer and marginalized communities requires not only representation on screen but also dismantling the oppressive structures that uphold systemic inequalities and perpetuate violence. Let us continue to demand accountability and push for transformative change, ensuring that every voice is not only heard but celebrated in the vibrant tapestry of cinema.