Last week’s screening of Carol at Cornell Cinema was a moving tale about two women who find each other amidst the constant motion of life. Displaying brilliant visuals and scenery, as well as featuring a stellar soundtrack, I enjoyed seeing the perspective of someone who feels like she does not fully belong. Last year in a writing class I took, we discussed queer theory, which relates to individuals who hold a characteristic that differs from the “norm,” and how they adjust to this normalized society while still maintaining their identities. This particular section of class resonated with me greatly, as I realized that though we typically associate the term “queer” with members of the LGBTQ community, we all have “queer” aspects to ourselves. For example, my minority race has always differentiated me from the caucasian “norm,” and I have had instances where I felt like I did not belong. Many others have many different defining aspects to themselves that make them feel this way. For this reason, I saw Carol as more than an LGBTQ film. It was a film about women who find their true place in the world; it was a film about belonging.

I had a bit of trouble writing this entry. Not that it was stressful or anything, it most definitely wasn’t, but Carol was a movie that affected me more personally than I was expecting. Forgive me for deciding to keep some elements of my reaction undisclosed.

Fortunately, director Todd Haynes composed one shot which nicely represents the feelings his film evoked in me. Unfortunately, I couldn’t find the shot through an image search and ASCII art is a bit hard to do here, so this is the best visual aid I could generate:

In the scene, our protagonist Therese (Rooney Mara) is at a party hosted at a friend’s apartment. At first, she stands in the frame of the right window, talking with some friends (or friends of friends or whatever) about who-rembers-what (it’s one of those conversations). She then leaves their company and moves across the room so that she is framed by the left window. She stands alone for a moment, but then a woman who has been watching her all night (Carrie Brownstein) approaches her. They make brief small talk, and the scene ends with the woman tellingly saying something to the effect of “I see why your ex-boyfriend speaks so highly of you.” As this conversation occurs, Therese’s friends continue talking amongst themselves, occupying the same space while also existing completely apart from the two women. At no point does anyone in Carol say “lesbian”, “homosexual”, “gay”, or anything of that nature. Acts of kindness, acts of malice, statements of resignation, statements of indignation, and the bluntly invisible words that go unsaid reveal the truth regardless.

For reasons I can’t quite explain, there is something about being gay that produces an intuitive sense of otherness. It’s not particularly acute and it only occurs ever so often, but it happens. Therese and her admirer aren’t that different from everyone else, not really, but here they are, separated from everyone else anyways.

Going to the Cornell Cinema is always a treat. This time, going to see Carol with a few people from Rose, was perhaps especially memorable because of the important topic the film concerns itself with, which is portrayed so compellingly. Namely, the romance between two women, Carol and Terese, and their struggle to break away from societal pressures and pave a way to find happiness. Besides the obvious visual beauty of the film, the chemistry between the characters seemed authentic and natural. What bothered me most was the apparent age gap between Carol and Terese, which seemed to me to be a detracting element in the film in that it distracted the attention away from the issue at hand and led one to consider all the other factors keeping the women apart, including different levels of experience, and the fact that Carol is already married and has a young daughter. That being said, the surrounding story certainly added depth to the film and made the characters less two-dimensional. For instance, Terese’s love for photography and her advancing career path gave her a personality apart from her attraction to Carol. Overall, I enjoyed this film and the opportunity to watch a story about something that few movies address.

Last Thursday, I got to see the movie Carol at Cornell Cinema. The movie which stars Cate Blanchett, Rooney Mara, and Sarah Paulson focused mainly on the developing relationship between Carol and Therese throughout its entirety. I loved seeing Blanchett and Mara’s chemistry come to life on screen, watching how their characters initially meet to seeing their reunion at the end of the film.

There were one thing that bothered me about the film, however: the treatment of Blanchett’s character by her ex-husband Harge. By the looks of their estranged relationship, it seems as if they had conceived their daughter Rindy and had only gotten married and stayed together for her sake, not because they actually loved each other. And while this may be a real life scenario for many couples with children, I felt that her husband did not have a right to force her to stay married to him if only he was the one in love in the relationship. His forcing of the “morality clause” onto her speaks volumes not only on his abuse towards Carol, but also of his bigotry towards the LGBT community. Maybe it was because this film took place in 1952, but a woman’s sexuality does not and should not have an impact on her love for her daughter. Harge just dismissed Carol’s sexuality, acting as if he can’t have her, then no one else can.

I found myself rooting for Carol and Therese to be happy by the film’s end, even if there were a number of factors keeping them both apart.