Looking back at 2016, which seems odd given that we’re
already well into the 2017 film season, there were many films that were
overlooked and went under the radar of the mainstream media – or, at least, the
documentary-hungry critics’ review list of The New York Times. Of particular interest to myself – because,
let’s face it, I’m me – is the surprising number of queer films that made
ripples last year. Apart from the fantastic
triumph that was Moonlight, several
other films emerged with less publicity, equal cinematic value, and elements in
narrative that, for better or for worse, differentiated them from the
cookie-cutter “coming-of-age” story that pities the queer struggle. Instead, many of these films addressed the
queer experience with the respect and nuance that it deserves, and I recently
had the privilege to view one of these with a friend. Premiered at the 2016 Sundance Film Festival,
First Girl I Loved is not so much a
coming-of-age story as it is a realization of self, a prologue to the long road
that queerness takes, complimented by unique imagery that builds the emotional
suspense and frustration that coming out of the closet poses to suburban youth.
How do you come out of the closet when everyone else keeps
avoiding the conversation? This is the
question that First Girl I Loved
poses, and it evades the answer at every turn of its fragmented narration. The framing scene of this film is when the
main character, Anne (Dylan Gelula), comes out to her best friend, Clifton
(Mateo Arias). Unfortunately, Clifton
has a crush on Anne, and lashes out in jealousy. Throughout the rest of the first half of the
film, scenes depict Anne falling for her first crush, Sasha (Brianna
Hildebrand). Afterwards, Clifton
proceeds to sabotage the budding romance between the other two, but the
subsequent doubts between all three of them leads to unexpected and yet wholly
predictable consequences for anyone who has watched a gay film before.
Let’s face it, First
Girl I Loved is not a triumph of pride.
It is not an answer to “yes, I’m gay, so what now?” It is the story of a first love, a first romance, with all its budding sweetness and the
haze of a dream, but also with all its downfalls, and its ultimate
self-destruction. Immediately after watching
this film, my friend looked me in the eye and said, “I had such high hopes for
this one. Why did it have to come to
this?”
There is an avoidance of happy endings in queer romance, and
it’s clear why. First Girl I Loved touches on the standard points of most young
adult romance films – insecurity, jealousy, the social demons of high school –
but it also doesn’t ignore the fact that it is a queer story. Yes, it might ignore the fact that
bisexuality is a thing, but it doesn’t pretend like being queer doesn’t come
with its own obstacles.
My immediate argument to this, as a queer person, is that “Yes,
we get it. Being queer is hard, and not
always in the fun way. Can’t we just
have a happy story already?” Because it’s
frustrating, honestly. Since even before
Brokeback Mountain, queer characters
have never been allowed a happy ending.
Under the Hayes Code, it was illegal
to give us happy endings. A strong
argument could be made for Some Like It
Hot, but that film is what largely led to the Code to begin with (and such
a travesty too, Marilyn). But don’t lose
hope for First Girl I Loved just yet!
Yes, despite the fact that First Girl I Loved falls into this trope – and not exactly
smoothly, either – I believe that it’s still worth a watch. First of all, you have to appreciate its cinema. Visually, First
Girl I Loved is beautiful, merging the glowing neon of dream sequences and
the hazy deep focus that all student films love into a style that is simply
youth. It pulls you into the rebellious psychedelic
mindset that Anne lives in, and you find yourself feeling the same rush of
dumbstruck love that she sees. Time
passes slowly, and yet in the blink of an eye a month has passed, and before
you know it they haven’t kissed but maybe they’re about to and maybe they just–
As I’ve mentioned before, the narrative of First Girl I Loved is not anything
new. But it differentiates itself from
the rest of its queer company of 2016 by focusing on the story of first
love. Specifically, it focuses on a
first love that does not succeed, and this is not a bad thing by any
means. It takes the same elements of
insecurity, jealousy, and loneliness that are seen in every straight romance
and lets you know that it’s gay. It
allows these complications to come in a twist up the characters as much as the
camera does, confusing you and building tension until its final conclusion.
This film also doesn’t stray away from the hard topics. The nuances of rape culture and sexual
assault are placed front and center for a spectacular scene with Arias. Writer-director Kerem Sanga walks a careful
line, and never once is the victim blamed by the system of power at play. Instead, the assaulter is questioned,
questions himself, and the hard questions are asked. In this way, the film triumphs.
First Girl I Loved
also leaves several questions unanswered.
It has a relatively short runtime of only 91 minutes, and given ten
more, maybe we could have fleshed out the relationship between Anne and her
mother, or between Sasha and her parents.
This is something the movie never truly addresses: the relationship that
queer kids have with their parents through the process of coming out. Perhaps it’s because we don’t truly
appreciate that relationship enough, or maybe because the film didn’t want to
focus on it, but nevertheless that relationship shouldn’t be removed from the
equation. So much of the anxiety and fear
surrounding the culture of coming out is based on familial reaction; let’s face
it, we don’t care what our peers think in the long run. But us queer kids had to live with our
families, for better or for worse, the “worse” being not having a family left
after the fact. While this is brushed
upon in one scene in the film, I couldn’t help but hope with all my heart that
some final confrontation would come about in the end.
Despite the failed romance, and despite the many flaws the
film has in expanding as far as it could, we do receive closure. In the final scene, the wonderful, iconic
Cameron Esposito takes the stage, side swept hair and all. Even if she hadn’t shown up in small scenes
throughout the film, it’s hard to be surprised.
(Pals… it’s a film about teenage lesbians. If not Cameron Esposito, then who?)
This final scene is what pulls First Girl I Loved away from truly being a coming-of-age
story. Anne finally says the words: “I’m
gay.” Exhale. Sigh of relief. No credits yet. Because these words are finally in the
open. Is there a conclusion? Not exactly; instead, there is the lingering
thought of “what now?” As I mentioned
before, First Girl I Loved never
answers this question. Because the only
answer that you get when you’re queer is: keep moving on. Take this moment of realization, and grow
from it to love yourself and love the world around you. In this way, First Girl I Loved is no longer so much a coming-of-age narrative
as it is a self-realization and a prologue of the road to come.
Whether you’re queer and out, or queer and closeted, or if
you’re not queer at all and just want to watch a gay film (I mean, come on, who
doesn’t?), I would recommend watching First
Girl I Loved. Don’t go into it like
my friend and I did (we really just wanted to see THE KISS (and were not
disappointed until afterwards)), but keep in mind that it is, first and
foremost, a first love story. Let it take you back to high school, and
those years of constant insecurity and vulnerability, of finding self, and let
it teach you a little more. As writer-director
Kerem Sanga makes sure to remind us, before we can start to grow, we first must
know who we are.
