by L.B.
"I know all there is to know about the crying game ..."
Well - not quite, but ...
Much has been said about Neil Jordan's sexy and surprisingly mischievous 1992 thriller; at one point critics managed to condemn it as being both pro and anti-IRA in tone. Inevitably, the film did far better business in America (notoriously happy to glorify the IRA as romantic freedom-fighters) than in Britain, prompting actor Stephen Rea to comment wryly that maybe British audiences weren't ready to warm to a film where the lead character is an IRA man - even one with a conscience. Going further, in The Crying Game (British Film Institute Modern Classics 1997), Jane Giles points out that the film asks "conservative mainstream audiences to root for the love affair of an IRA terrorist and a gay transvestite."
Jordan himself was puzzled by the accusations that the film promoted a positive view of the IRA: "I did not set out to make any moral judgments on these people, not on the IRA or the British Army. I aimed to portray them as people stuck in situations where they have to do unacceptable things. I think the IRA do unacceptable things and I wish they would stop, but I don't think it helps to censor consideration of political violence." (ibid) What's interesting too is that for a supposedly "pro-IRA" film, only Fergus, the one who gets out, is drawn kindly ("You're never out," Jude informs him smugly). Jude and Maguire are unsympathetic; Eddie and Tinker are ciphers. Meanwhile, with the exception of the Devereaux caricature (although he is played by Tony Slattery ...), the British characters are portrayed sympathetically. Even gruesome Essex-man Dave has redeeming qualities; whatever his motives, he clearly took care of Dil after Jody's death and, when Dil throws his stuff out of their flat (including his goldfish: "Murderer!"), he cuts such a pathetic figure in his shell-suit and neck brace that one suspects that for all his braggadocio, he's a lonely, vulnerable man, and it's not hard to feel pity for him.
The plot seems straightforward. An IRA cell capture a black British
soldier at a fairground outside Belfast and hold him captive in a deserted farmhouse. He
and Fergus Hennessy, one of the terrorists and clearly the most sympathetic of them,
quickly bond and swop stories. Jody shows Fergus a picture of his girlfriend, Dil;
"Now she's my type," he tells Fergus. "She'd be anybody's type,"
replies Fergus approvingly - only for Jody to react with unexpected vehemence and make it
clear that she wouldn't be Fergus's type:
JODY: Don't you think of it, fucker.
FERGUS: Why not?
JODY: She's mine. Anyway, she wouldn't suit you.
FERGUS: No?
JODY: Absolutely not.
FERGUS: She your wife?
JODY: [chuckles]: Suppose you could say that ...
At the time we assume this is because she's black - it's only later, when Fergus is in all
too deep, that we realise exactly what Jody means.
Fergus is eventually detailed to shoot the solider - of which Jody says: "I'm glad you're doing it, do you know that, Fergus? 'Cause you're my friend ... you wouldn't shoot a brother [soldier] in the back ..." But Jody escapes and is killed by a Saracen tank just as the Army open fire and destroy the gang's hideout. Fergus goes on the run and escaped to England, where he meets and falls in love with Jody's girlfriend Dil, "The Soldier's Wife" of the film's original title - never even dreaming of the secret she's hiding.
Meanwhile, Jude and Maguire, who survived the Army attack, come back to haunt him. "We held a court-martial in your absence," Jude tells him breezily - but he can redeem himself from the inevitable bullet in the head if he carries out one more hit. If he fails, Dil will have to pay the price. Fergus, not trusting Jude, disguises Dil as a boy in Jody's cricket whites; but Dil, realising that something's wrong, ties him up whilst sleeping, and keeps Fergus from his appointment with death. Maguire is killed and Jude comes looking for revenge - only to be killed by Dil when she discovers that it was Jude (physically,k at least, a 'real" woman) who tempted Jody away at the fair.
Knowing that Dil couldn't survive in a male prison, Fergus sends her away and wipes the gun, putting his own prints on it before settling down to wait for the police to arrive. The film ends with Dil coming to visit Fergus, and him recounting Jody's story of the scorpion and the frog to her whilst Lyle Lovett croons "Stand By Your Man" over the end-titles.
"Details, baby - details."
The plot of The Crying Game may seem simple enough, but this film has plenty of layers and resonances to explore. For instance, the common impression is that The Crying Game is a sombre, serious thriller. Well indeed, it certainly has its painfully dark moments, but for me there's also a lot of glorious humour, ranging from light and frothy to deepest black. The greenhouse scenes between Jody and Fergus have their horror and poignancy, such as when Fergus is detailed to execute Jody and the latter pleads with him to tell him a story. But there's also a great deal of wicked humour in the warm, oddly sensual relationship on show here.
Neither does it matter that Dil's no lady. The question of gender is practically irrelevant in this wonderful, sweeping romance as we cheer on the star-cross't lovers as they (or at any rate Fergus) fumble their way to happiness. Somehow Dil and Fergus's relationship is far more romantic than in traditional "boy meets girl, boy loses girl, boy gets girl back again" movies because of the apparent barriers to their love and because there are so many other factors at work here. It's also far less offensive to me personally than the romance in Pretty Woman, for example. Even Fergus, initially horrified after being confronted by heterosexual man's worst fear, doesn't seem as devastated as one might expect; instead, it's as though suddenly everything makes sense and falls into place. He accepts, resignedly, because he's already fallen in love with Dil - and besides, it's in his nature ...
The romance in the film is interesting on several levels. For instance, the relationship between Fergus and Jody in the greenhouse is hardly that of prisoner and captor. Jody is wonderfully flirtatious and his delicious, teasing conversations with Fergus have their own spark of eroticism, as well as eliciting a smile of pleasure in the viewer. Consider Jody's description of Fergus: "You're the one about 5'10", with the killer smile and the baby face ... And the brown eyes ... you're the handsome one." Later he retracts this, but it's done with a wonderful, teasing smile. Is there perhaps a mutual attraction there? With that in mind, what is it that makes Fergus laugh after he's helped Jody pee in the bushes during his night's captivity? "The pleasure's all mine," Fergus says. It may be purely the absurdity of the situation, or there may be a bawdy, gay-angled joke here; but in view of what happens later it flags up a neat parallel with his discovery of Dil's real gender.
Another 60s song which shouts for attention in relation to The Crying Game is Lola by The Kinks - particularly that triumphant last line: "Well I'm not the world's most masculine man, but I know what I am, and I'm glad I'm a man, and so's Lola ..." There's a double entendre there, but it's incredibly appropriate in this context; Fergus isn't "the world's most masculine man" when compared with what many of us would consider to be a typical macho guy, but then he's so much more appealing for that. Besides, one message of this film seems to be that there's more than one way of being "a man".
The gun (the movie world's traditional phallic symbol) Fergus wields in The Crying Game is brandished - well - limply, for want of a better word; his attitude seems to veer between that of distaste and that of the little boy playing at Cowboys and Indians. Maybe I'm looking at this with the 20/20 vision of hind-sight; but it's possible that this could be taken as a subtle, though not insulting, sexual hint; that if we equate "weapon-with-genitals", then maybe Fergus is unconsciously far less set and secure in his sexuality than the others.
Totally unconvincing as a gunman, he gives the impression of being a "man of violence" who, frankly, would rather not have to get involved in it, thank you very much. It's as though bearing arms embarrasses him and he'd far rather use words than the bullet. Where other members of the gang grasp their weapons firmly and with unnerving ease, Fergus looks glum and uncomfortable, perhaps only able to brandish his gun by reminding himself that when kidnapping soldiers it's a necessary evil. The gun never looks to be anything to do with him, and he never looks at ease pointing it at anyone, and certainly not at Jody; by the time the two have bonded, he clearly seems to find it obscene to be pointing a weapon at a friend. in fact, there are times when one feels that he's actually not safe with the gun he carries.
Perhaps his being much older than the other gang members plays a part here. We're not given any clues to his age; but the rest of the cell appear to be in their late 20s and 30s and Fergus, in looks and manner, certainly seems the elder of the group, and it seems odd that a man of his years and experience should be subservient to the younger and brasher Maguire. But maybe this experience and world-weariness has gradually led Fergus to embrace a different philosophy: "I'm a lover, not a fighter." There's much in this film to suggest (to this viewer at least) that this is indeed the case, whether or not Fergus himself consciously acknowledges it. ... Which brings us back to Jody and what can only be described as the way he flirts with Fergus.
Does Jody see a kindred spirit in Fergus beyond that of a
fellow soldier? There's a sense of attraction beyond gender or accepted conventions of
sexuality, and there are absurd elements of romance; for example, Fergus feeds Jody
chocolate, that age-old symbol of courtship. In fact, their relationship is both aural -
given the way they fall into conversation so easily - and oral, since because of his
restraints Fergus feeds Jody with toast and gives him a cigarette. The former is echoed in
Dil's response to Fergus's accent; she doesn't know what it is, but she knows what she
likes:
FERGUS: And what's it like?
DIL: Like treacle. [she imitates his accent saying it.]
(Fergus laughs)
DIL: Nice laugh.
My own feeling is that the two men are attracted, although others might argue
that this is purely wishful thinking on my part. certainly Fergus probably wouldn't
describe - or perhaps even recognise -his response to Jody as such. Yet the
curious fact is that throughout the film, Fergus is just as much obsessed with Jody as
ever he is with Dil. Even when Dil's giving him oral sex his eyes are fixed on Jody's
photograph - and his conversations with her are peppered with questions about him:
"Did you do that to him? What would he think? Did he come here too? Did he dance with
you?" Does this indicate that Fergus wants to become like Jody for Dil's sake, to
make things right for her - or is there some other, deeper reason, that Fergus might feel
even more uncomfortable about admitting, such as an unspoken love for the dead British
soldier? It could be that his obsession simply stems from a desire to know more about the
fellow soldier that he came to care for and whose death he inadvertently caused - or
perhaps it's another way of seeking redemption.
However, it's easy to interpret Fergus's questions as inspired by love - this movie is too full of romance and sensuality and shifting sexuality not to ascribe such a motive to him. Though clearly he's deeply in love with Dil by the end of the movie, it's tempting to see The Crying Game's real romance as that between Fergus and Jody, albeit an incorporeal, mind-game affair.
Not that this really seems to be a "gay" movie in any accepted sense of the term. When Fergus declares his love for Dil, it's far too easy to say: "Oh, so Fergus was gay all along..." Instead, the feeling is that race, colour, gender and all the other barriers to relationships are not important: only love matters, and that no matter what the outside world might say, there really is nothing to fear. As long as you don't hurt anyone else (or at least be quick to make amends if you do), all consensual adult love is acceptable, natural, and a balm and a blessing against a cold and often hostile world.
Perhaps Fergus's sexuality has always been rather fluid - though it may be crass to draw attention to the fact that Jude, Fergus's lover before he flees Ireland and the IRA, is portrayed as being remarkably unfeminine in her single-mindedness. I'd suggest that Jude's the dominant one in their relationship, since Fergus is so much more gentle than she is, without ever being in any way effeminate. Certainly critics have argued that Jude is masculine and Dil feminine almost to the point of caricature, but at least this works; perhaps paradoxically the faces - the masks - that people present to the world in this film genuinely reflect their true selves.
The Crying Game has been the inspiration for some very welcome fan-fiction in slash fanzines, although there's very little of it. The only Crying Game pieces I know of are "Someone to Watch Over Me" and "No Greater Love" by J.E. and "Witch's Brew" by E.M. in No Holds Barred #3, and "Waterloo Bridge" by J.E. and "Pull Off the Mask" by J.M. in No Holds Barred #5. "Waterloo Bridge" is particularly interesting. In it, Col (barman at The Metro, the bar where Dil and Fergus meet up) relates the film's plot to Dil. The story of Roy and Myra has poignant echoes of the relationship between Dil and Jody; it's also the sort of movie that Dil would probably adore.
J.M.'s poem "Pull Off the Mask" sums up both the end of the movie and what may indeed be elements of Fergus's character: "I fled the horror to a land where I could make amends,/For things are not what they would seem to all the willing blend;/ ... To live by your own heart's decree will be your hardest task -/But you will find the truth within when you pull off the mask .../Now I'm the captive, and my captive's lover visits me - /But for the first time in my life, my spirit's flying free./For I have spend too many years a child, being blind./But I became a man, and put all childish things behind./I chose responsibility, far more than she would ask -/And in the end, I saved my soul when I pulled off my mask./Because it's in my nature; I don't need to wear a mask."
It's interesting that the idea of Fergus's "childhood dreams" also occurs in "Someone to Watch Over Me" by J.E. "But there was no death here in Spitalfields, no brothers in arms, no war or politics or ancient hatreds. There was only the beautiful night and anticipation of romance. Fergus crossed the street and looked into the shop window, and seeing her, reclaimed the dream he had lost as a child." When Jody asks for a story the night before his death, Fergus quotes St Paul: "When I was a child, I thought as a child. But when I became a man I put away childish things." It's interesting that in the film script he tells of getting free swing rides at his uncle's carnival: perhaps it's the same one from which Jody is lifted - in a movie like this, such a coincidence wouldn't be surprising ... Like the fact that Fergus's christian and surnames both ultimately mean "chosen one": does this, perhaps, indicate that he was fated to become embroiled in these sorcerous events?
In conclusion, then, The Crying Game may indeed be classed as a nourish thriller, but its' so much, much more. In The Crying Game (British Film Institute Modern Classics 1997), Jane Giles says: "Full of premonitions and echoes, the ironic story unfolds with the dizzying logic of destiny while the pathos of the lovers' situation never diminishes."
And yes, this film has its serious side; yet to me what
really lies at its heart is humour and romance. Indeed, the movie's many sexual/sensual
possibilities form much of its charm and appeal. The viewer delights in the sexual
undercurrents in the Jody/Fergus relationship and Fergus's response to Dil's endearments
(to her amusement) after discovering her true gender:
FERGUS: Don't call me that ... [she takes his arm] ... Don't!"
We egg on Fergus and Dil and enjoy the tenderness and tentativeness of their romance.
It's also refreshing that the film doesn't treat its theme of alternative sexuality in a negative way; at no time are Dil and her friends ever shown to be freaks: purely and simply "they are what they are", and it's no-one's business but their own. In fact, The Metro becomes something more than simply a transvestite bar; this is far too limiting a description. The theme of Fergus and childhood is echoed in the way that The Metro by night is shown to be a magical place of wonder and escape, a safe haven where people can be who they really are; a non-threatening and strangely innocent, almost non-sexual world people by exotic creatures, where Fergus indeed becomes like a child again, lost in a secure land of dreams and fantasy.
This is partly why for me personally, this is a deeply satisfying movie, although one that's crying out for some kind of epilogue to show us what happens to Dil and Fergus once Fergus is released from prison. I'm sure that the sweeping romance will continue! It's also one hell of a sexy movie, full of erotic over-tones and suggestions.
"The characters feel like old friends," Jane Giles says - and this is most definitely true. This is why the viewer cares so much about them. The responsibility for this must lie partly in the writing and partly in the casting. The acting is first rate all round, even down to minor but vital characters like Dagenham Dave (Ralph Brown) and enigmatic barman-cupid Col (Jim Broadbent). Miranda Richardson (Jude) is terrifying; Adrian Dunbar (Maguire), volatile and psychotic.
But ultimately it's the triumvirate of central characters which touch the emotions most. Forrest Whittaker is heartbreaking as the doomed Jody, Jaye Davidson coquettish and capricious as Dil. Above all, the acting honours are due most to Stephen Rea, whose Fergus is, by turns, a compassionate, naive, vulnerable, heroic, stubborn and romantic hero. As Giles says, "Stephen Rea's sad face is endlessly fascinating, still waters open to imaginative interpretation."
A columnist for the American movie magazine premiere wrote waspishly that if The Crying Game had been (God forbid) an American film, the hero would have had "a tan and better arms" - but she misses the point. In this movie the seemingly "wimpish" hero turns out to be far stronger than he ever dreamed he could be - and gentle Fergus works much better as the film's hero than some bronzed, muscular Yank.
And besides - it's Stephen Rea's mournful, always interesting face which haunts you most, long after the film ends.