19. Victim (1961)

What? — In this fearless, enthralling thriller, successful barrister Melville Farr (Dirk Bogarde), a married, bisexual closet case, hunts down the people who blackmailed his “friend” Boy Barrett (Peter McEnery) and brings them to justice. At first, Farr is hesitant to take on such a career-threatening case, but he finally does so out of remorse after learning of Barrett's suicide. He adamantly argues that “paying the blackmail won't change the law; it'll just encourage the blackmailer.”

As he searches for clues, Farr discovers a sizable subculture of men in similar predicaments to Barrett's: living in the shadows and paying their dues to callous crooks to escape public condemnation and criminal prosecution. As the plot drives forward, public attacks on Farr's private affairs start to occur. His wife finds the words “Farr is queer” painted in huge, white letters on their garage door. The accusations having taken their toll on Farr, he confesses to his shrewd spouse in a gripping scene that highlights the couples' cut-with-a-knife-thick sexual tension as well as their mutual compassion. Director Basil Dearden pieces together a narrative chock-full of surprises, culminating in Farr's decisive encounter with the goggle-sporting blackmailer.

Why? — Basil Dearden's Victim paints a harrowing portrait of an intolerant society that hunts down gays like heretics and convicts them in ways reminiscent of the Salem Witch trials. As the mysterious blackmailer says, “Someone's got to make them pay for their filthy blasphemy.” Even though men are never shown locking lips, and we don't get a glimpse of the incriminating picture of Farr and Barrett “embracing” (which led to the blackmail and Barrett's subsequent arrest and suicide), the film broaches controversial themes in a gutsy way that avoids sensationalism or sanctimonious lessons of the “just say no” variety.

Victim is inexorably linked to the historical context and political climate it came out of. As the first film to use the word “homosexual,” it was banned from American cinemas. Far from reducing its narrative to a trite manifesto of rights and freedoms, it exposes the moral absurdity of the law in an understated way. Granted, the central theme of Victim is gay identity, not gay sexuality, but this film was released long before Stonewall or the heyday of Studio 54. British law still outlawed “homosexual acts” at the time Victim was produced, which made any involvement in this project an audacious career move, especially for lead actor Dirk Bogarde.

For its remarkable sophistication in refusing to portray gays as villains or pansies, and for shedding light on the devastating effects of anti-sodomy laws, Victim marks a milestone in queer cinema. It really was a pioneering film in its frank treatment of the grave issues afflicting homosexuals at the time, yet its status as a precious historical document doesn't detract from its entertainment value. It simply ensures that future generations will be exposed to this powerful account of gay life in 1961.

Almost Made the Cut: Rebel Without a Cause (Nicholas Ray, 1955)

A tale of teen angst and burgeoning sexuality set in conformist 1950s America, Nicholas Ray's radical Rebel is more often cited in reference to its mythical status after star James Dean's fatal car crash than for introducing Hollywood's first tormented gay adolescent. John “Plato” Crawford (Sal Mineo) is Rebel's equivalent to Victim 's Boy Barrett: a sad young man utterly infatuated with another young man, in this case Jim Stark (James Dean). Plato crushes hard on his drag racing friend, and the coded clues to his sexuality abound: the gentle shoulder rub he gives Jim while barely masking bedroom eyes; the Alan Ladd poster hanging in his school locker; the daring proposition he makes to Jim in his car: "Hey, you want to come home with me? I mean, there's nobody home at my house, and heck, I'm not tired. Are you?"

Unsurprisingly, most people involved with the film have repeatedly dismissed homoerotic interpretations of the relationship between Plato and Jim by arguing that the production code would have forbidden it and their bond was of the brotherly kind. That probably explains why bisexual director Ray pushed for the inclusion of a gay kiss between the two men, only to have intransigent Warner heavyweight Steve Trilling forbid his wish in writing. Nevertheless, most contemporary viewers recognize the signals of Jim's sexual ambiguity and the budding romance that never dared speak its name.

Next - The Living End

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