The LGBTQIA+ community has worked for decades to be seen, stop shutting the door
By Devon Harvey
(Shannon Schaefer/ CanCulture)
Have you ever found yourself sitting on the couch with your snacks perusing the seemingly endless options of Netflix, Amazon Prime, or other streaming services? You take your time choosing the perfect film just to hunker down and watch the same hero save the day, the typical weird kid with superpowers throw some other person through a wall, or the predictable heterosexual romantic comedy where the guy gets the girl.
This is a ritual we have all come to repeat time and time again. Except for people like myself who struggle to see ourselves represented on screen for even a fraction of a second. For people like me, people of the LGBTQIA+ community, the ritual is choosing to watch that one television series or film that we don’t particularly like for a singular purpose – a three-second scene where maybe, just maybe, there is a hint of LGBTQIA+ representation.
Two girls hug for a fraction longer than normal, one guy puts on lipstick and doesn’t scream in horror, or there’s a minuscule morsel of representation that we think is worth the other hour and a half of boredom.
This speaks volumes about the lack of representation the LGBTQ+ community has in Canadian films. We spend years hoping, wishing, and protesting for representation only to be handed the same old LGBTQIA+ stereotypes: “The fabulously fashionable yet vapid gay man, the boring lesbian who dies, the greedy indecisive bisexual, the predatory trans woman and the non-existent trans man,” as Holly Mallett writes in their article for Backstage.
Breakfast with Scot, a film shot in Canada with the endorsement of the Toronto Maple Leafs, follows the story of gay couple Eric (Tom Cavanagh) and Sam (Ben Shenkman) who are given temporary custody of a young boy named Scot (Noah Bernett).
The film industry loves to portray gay men as fashionistas with a taste for drama and what is considered the more feminine aspects of life but Eric and Sam represent the romantic merging of a sports broadcaster/ex-hockey player with a well-respected lawyer. They dress like any man you would see walking in the business sector of Toronto and don’t speak with that stereotypical nasally voice. It is a momentary breath of fresh air and a step in the right direction.
However, the lack of intimacy in their relationship is disappointing with a single chaste kiss at the end of the film. On top of that, Scot’s character seemingly embodies every stereotype about gay men one could reasonably think of, putting a damper on the earlier mentioned accurate queer representation.
It is not enough for a film to tiptoe around LGBTQIA+ representation or use the heterosexual gaze to fulfill the needs of queer audiences.
What the community needs are accurate, thought-out, and realistic depictions of what it means to be LGBTQ+ that take inspiration from members of the community. Without this representation, which the Canadian film industry is horrendously lacking, LGBTQ+ people will remain lost in the whirlwind of the overwhelmingly heterosexual media, struggling to see themselves in the world outside of their closet.
If I had seen a non-binary lesbian strutting their way across the screen when I was younger, my eyes would have popped out of my head. I would have had the reaffirming moment that many LGBTQ+ people only dream of. The ability to look at someone, recognize their identity, and think, yes, that is me. Heterosexuals don’t long for this moment because all they have to do is turn on the TV.
When Below Her Mouth was released I had high hopes for the onslaught of accurate lesbian representation I was about to see on the big screen but, once again, I was disappointed. This film follows the torrid affair of fashion editor Jasmine (Natalie Krill) who is engaged to a man and Dallas (Erika Linder) who checks off every stereotype about a butch lesbian I could list.
The steamy sex scenes in this film do satisfy the lesbian gaze, and I’m sure many heterosexual men were also delighted. Although it deserves credit for being one of the first Canadian films made by an all-female crew, the film is laced with bi-erasure and lesbian and queer stereotypes. Besides the frequent sex, it does not offer much else for lesbian or bisexual representation.
This issue of representation, or the lack thereof, goes unnoticed by a great deal of the film industry because heterosexual people make up the majority of on-screen characters. In 2018, GLADD surveyed 110 films from major studios and found that only 20, which is 18.2 per cent, contained characters that identified as a part of the LGBTQIA+ community.
13 per cent of the Canadian population belongs to the LGBTQIA+ community. They are as integral to our society as anyone else - so, why aren't they depicted in our movies? Why is their representation in film still an issue?
This is not to suggest that the entire Canadian film industry has failed LGBTQIA+ people in terms of representation. With each passing year, more films and streaming services feature diverse queer characters and there are even film festivals devoted entirely to the LGBTQIA+ community and their presence in Canadian films.
In March 2020, Telefilm Canada held an inaugural working group meeting on diversity and inclusion. They concluded that there are many misperceptions in the industry including the assumption that all minority groups have the same perspective and a lack of diversity for underrepresented identities.
But this isn’t enough.
We have to remember that representation amounts to more than simply dropping a character in a movie and fitting in as many LGBTQIA+ stereotypes as possible. Accurate representation means creating realistic and relatable characters that accurately reflect the identities they embody.
Films like Breakfast with Scot and Below Her Mouth have satisfied some aspects of LGBTQIA+ representation. The next step is to back away from stereotypes and tropes and take a look at what it means to be LGBTQIA+ through the eyes of the LGBTQIA+ community.
I’m still waiting for my non-binary, queer, sword-wielding Disney character, but I’d settle for an accurate depiction of LGBTQIA+ romances and experiences, for now.