WHY EVERYONE NEEDS TO MEET THE (REAL) DANISH GIRL(S)

By Samuel Leighton-Dore

There occasionally comes a film which connects well beyond the popcorn-lined foyer of your local cinema. A film which humanises the complexities of experiences foreign to us; panning out those golden nuggets of resonance often lost in the otherwise dense waters of isolating subject matters. Despite some disappointing omissions, Tom Hooper’s The Danish Girl could prove to be one of these films.

Set in a picturesque 1920’s Europe, the film re-imagines the true story of transgender woman Lili Elbe (Eddy Redmayne) – formally known as respected Danish landscape artist Einar Wegener – and her marriage to illustrator/painter Gerda Gottlieb (Alicia Vikander). Despite some justifiably heated discussion surrounding the director’s choice not to employ a transgender actress in the lead role, there’s no denying Redmayne is more than suitable – if not a little too pretty – for the softly-spoken and seemingly steadfast Einar. Meanwhile, Danish actress Vikander presents a compelling case for her first Best Supporting Actress nomination as the unwaveringly loyal and unjudging Gottlieb.

It’s immediately apparent that we’re meeting a strong couple, united by a mutual respect and love exemplified in their shared passion for painting. However, after a portrait model fails to show for a routine sitting, Einar’s wife convinces him (perhaps too swiftly) to wear the subject’s stockings in her place – knocking him into a dizzying tailspin of sexual self-realisation. Lili, as they jokingly name her, not only becomes the couple’s secret, but Gerda’s most popular muse. As the film progresses, Einar becomes increasingly liberated by his time spent as Lili – to the point of attending social functions and gallery openings in disguise.

And so begins the long, tumultuous and inspiring journey – at one point being wrongly diagnosed with untreatable schizophrenia – to Einar realising her true self as Lili Elb, becoming one of the first documented transgender women.

Following a warmly-received preview screening at The Art Gallery of NSW, my partner was curiously driven to reflect on a previous romantic relationship he’d shared with a woman (now a close friend of ours) and the feelings of anxiety and confusion innate to that period of his life. He recalled the distinct sense of entrapment that came with dishonouring his authentic self, as well as the guilt he still carries for hurting someone he loves. On the other hand, I was left pondering my own anxieties surrounding identity, sexuality and the ability to love under occasionally challenging circumstances.

Perhaps this is the truest sign of The Danish Girl’s potential (realised or not) to be a significant film; the rare ability to deliver a gut-wrenching blow – before holding up a cracked hand-mirror to the experiences of its audience. If anything, the film succeeds brilliantly in it making the polarising feel personal – which alone is worth the price of admission.

However, as with most biographic adaptations, the film isn’t without a hefty dash of Hollywood creative liberty – omitting several intriguing character details in favour of a more widely digestible plot. For instance, while the script suggests that Lili died following vaginal constructive surgery, it was more likely the attempted implant of ovaries – driven by the insatiable desire for natural motherhood – which killed her. Similarly, several lines of dialogue drawn from Elbe’s final diary entries were injected with a sense of romantic conclusiveness concise to the film’s simplified relationship framework.

Here’s an interesting fact for nothing: Gerda Gottlieb wasn’t an emotionally resilient wife driven by a sheer desperation to understand her husband’s secular desires – but a closeted lesbian widely known and celebrated for her erotic artworks, one who openly preferred the company of Lili to that of Einar. In fact, so heartbroken was she by the eventual death of her polyamorous lover, that she was driven to a second divorce, alcoholism, reclusiveness and illustrating Christmas cards to feed herself.

By avoiding some of these more challenging character dynamics, there were moments in the film which felt a little disingenuous and spoon-fed. While it remains true that a spoonful of sugar helps the medicine go down, the real story behind The Danish Girl should have been an eye-opening dose of reality worth suffering unsweetened. There appears to be a concerning trend in recent LBGTQI cinema, the apparent need to straighten (however slightly) important stories which are unashamedly queer and diverse in nature.

Verdict: The Danish Girl is a visually striking and emotionally transcendent film – packed to the brim with Oscar-worthy performances from an unquestionably brave and immersive cast. However, the true beauty of this film lies not in its proud cinematic splash, but in the ripples which quietly follow. Yes, everyone should go and see it – hell, take your homophobic auntie along for the ride – but they should also return home, open their Macbooks and research the remarkable true stories of not one, but two strong Danish women.