The quietness of the film, its elegant restraint, is what constitutes one of its biggest strengths and will make it pass the test of time
10 years ago, Carol was limitedly released in North American theatres. After years of development, a majestic premiere at the Cannes film festival and a following year of acclaim leading to 6 Academy Award nominations, the film has established a far-reaching reputation, being now considered a modern classic, a pillar of lesbian representation and LGBTQ+ media… but it is, for me, the film that made me feel seen in a way no other ever has, and has transformed my life in unforeseen ways.
Adapted from Patricia Highsmith’s novel The Price of Salt by Phyllis Nagy, Carol is a love story set in 1950s New York City between an aspiring photographer, Therese (Rooney Mara), and an older woman, Carol (Cate Blanchett), going through a divorce. It explores a confrontation of age difference, but also class disparity, motherhood and repressed queerness, painting the portrait of a society that only shuts down love between two women, but female desire as a whole. Through a simple premise, Carol takes us on a journey of self-discovery on both women’s sides, who, at very different times in their lives, connect in a way that eludes any sort of reason, social propriety, or past endeavours.
Its translation to the big screen leads to major differences with the book, from the time of the relationship to some dynamics between characters, but Phyllis Nagy’s brilliant screenplay transforms the very commanding subjective point of view present in the novel to create a story where, instead, the protagonists meet in the middle, constantly. The character of Carol is transformed from a manifestation of Therese’s desire, a ghost of fantasy, to a multidimensional character with her own grievances, wants and repressed sexuality. And that balance is what makes Carol work so well. Both women are equally stripped naked to the core of their feelings, raw and vulnerable with their emotions, all social metrics abandoned for their physical and spiritual attraction, only to matter in the exploration of their desire. A meeting of souls. Two people who everything opposes, and strive to keep apart, and yet.
It is hard now to grapple with what Carol was at its inception, having become one of those films everyone has seen and has an opinion on. With how it imposed itself in the cinematic canon and the landscape for queer films has evolved since its release, it is even difficult to imagine that Phyllis Nagy wrote the first screenplay in 1997, and the film spent almost 15 years in development hell, between scheduling conflicts, rights issues, and especially financing problems. The issue was not, as one could assume, about the same-sex relationship but rather that it was focused on two women.
While Cate Blanchett was always attached to the project, as Carol Aird, and producer Elizabeth Carlsen joined in the 2010s, the film really took off once Todd Haynes committed to directing it, with his long-time collaborator Christine Vachon joining as a producer. Rooney Mara officially signed on to play Therese in 2013, with composer Carter Burwell and cinematographer Ed Lachman, who had both previously collaborated with Haynes, joining the project soon afterwards. A long but true journey to what they all now fondly describe as a "labour of love".
The film found me in 2021 as I had recently moved to another country, was doing online school and found myself in a state of particular isolation. Coming from a town where even whispering the word "lesbian" launched a controversy, I had kept my recent realisation of being attracted to women to myself. Finding myself in a much bigger and open-minded city didn’t really change things, as I simply knew no one, nor was I going anywhere. So watching films it was. I grew up in a family that was very inclined towards cinema. My parents were excited for my sister and me to reach a certain age so they could show us their favourite movies. We would have family watching evenings and marathons on Sundays. I had seen many films that I loved, but I had never encountered one that spoke to my soul. I didn’t understand how you could fall in love with cinema. I still remember pressing play on Carol for the first time, hearing Carter Burwell’s score, the train’s rumble and whistle, the grate and the title card. Little did I know just how much this film was about to impact my life. Little did I know how much of myself I would see in it, buried within me so deeply I didn’t even suspect it existed.
Carol is, before and foremost, a love story. A lesbian love story, yes, but still a love story. Its universality is what first reached me. Therese says it best, "two people, out of the blue", two strangers meeting at random and falling in love. And while their story develops in a society that doesn’t accept them, the love being shared between two women doesn’t fall into stereotypes, into lesbian romances that had to this point in the mainstream been reduced to fantasies and graphic sex scenes. Their characters are intricate, both grappling with difficult aspects of their lives. Lesbian identity and motherhood, in particular, are explored through both characters as well as their relations with other close ones. They sometimes make ugly choices and close off from vulnerability, but that’s what makes them deeply human, complex beings instead of a canvas to throw on a usual lesbian portrayal. Complications come from the outside world, but their love and feelings for one another are within the confines of their own relationship; their evolving sexual identity is never once questioned by the film.
I always find myself in awe on every single rewatch of how Therese and Carol’s environments are used to convey messages and feelings that they cannot. From the characters being shot through windows and reflections, confined in cars and door frames. Experiencing something so pure and personal, something at that time taboo but that existed nonetheless behind closed doors. An atmosphere is created, a world in which only Therese and Carol live, together, next to one another, where men don’t get to interfere. They are together, and everything around them disappears. They have something precious, something only lived and understood by themselves. A space sometimes translates their isolation, other times revealing the small spaces in which they can reveal themselves, let the mask slip and simply exist, find themselves and each other.
The film uses a plethora of other symbols, reminiscent of codes used in the community at that time to signal to one another when they were safe, in the company of queer people. The cigarette, here for example, is a want, a need to resist this patriarchal society. "So? You like it." Carol to her friend when the latter explains that her husband doesn’t like to see her smoke. A marker of how the act is a symbol of revolt, for their own pleasure, their freedom and their right. By proposing a cigarette to Therese at their first lunch, Carol invites the younger woman to join her in this opposition, to defy society’s codes. And they succeed in that defiance.
One of the big aspects of the film, and what The Price of Salt was the very first to do, is that these two lesbians know a happy ending. Something extremely rare, even to this day, and even more in a healthy relationship. Growing up, it got ingrained, despite my belief, that a non-heterosexual relationship couldn’t end well. That it couldn’t have a happy ending, that I couldn’t know that happy ending. Or if the relationship continued, it implied being cut off from your loved ones, or life as you lived it up to this point. That's a part of yourself that would have to be sacrificed. But the sacrifice made in Carol, by Carol, is to reach the opposite, to reach her whole self and finally feel complete. The movie, in no way, makes her look selfish for accepting Harge (Kyle Chandler) having Rindy’s custody instead of "living against her own grain". A reshuffling of options that opened up a whole new arena of possibilities for me, a different outlook on what life could lead to.
Another aspect of the film that touches me personally is how they both enjoy dressing up, putting on makeup and having a feminine look. One thing that they don’t tell you when you come out is that if you don’t "look gay", you will constantly have to do it again. Somehow, your sexuality and non-feelings for men are being questioned more. Your straightness is just assumed. But here, their femininity doesn’t make their feelings less believable. Their clothing and makeup are even used to translate their state of vulnerability. Accents of red symbolise whoever holds the power. And Carol’s other shields translate throughout her red lipstick, her red painted nails and her majestic coat. The scene of Therese removing her coat in her car is full of meaning—you are safe with me, here you don’t need to hide behind this fortress.
The quietness of the film, its elegant restraint, is what constitutes one of its biggest strengths and will make it pass the test of time. In a world where every touch of affection has to be restrained, the littlest show of love, whether it is a lingering gaze, a cracking voice, a passing caress… brings me to tears from the sheer force of its intensity. A lot is happening between smiles, tension felt between the bodies, and most importantly, the eyes. In a fraction of a second, a thousand emotions go through both protagonists’ eyes. An undeniable chemistry between the two actresses, remarkable performances that bring layers to every single gaze, and Carter Burwell’s extraordinary score that sweeps us off our feet. Carol is perfectly balanced in what it chooses to say and show, never once over-explaining or overexploiting pathos.
A balance is also maintained through the narration, with the allegory of the train following them along the way, while Carol’s brooch completes itself into a full circle. The inspiration from Brief Encounter (1945) of the first scene, actually being one of the last and the emotional impact of coming back to it with the context of everything that happened between the two women. We start by Therese being in awe of Carol, as we are too, by being intrigued by this mysterious woman and, in a certain way, captivated by her. But the narrative shifts and ends up being Carol’s point of view, seeing her vulnerable, having to open up, facing a more distant than ever Therese. Coming back to the scene makes us able to grasp how Carol isn’t as confident as she makes it seem. And Therese isn’t as distant as she appears. It is subtle, but Carol lowers her eyes for a second, Therese letting out a breath, her shoulders relaxing for an instant, Carol avoiding making eye contact before asking if Therese lives with someone else, Therese's panicked eyes when they are interrupted by her friend. They all betray a deeper affection than what we first see, and also a greater fear that they let the other witness.
"Everything comes full circle", they say. Things don’t happen by simple coincidence, but have meaning and a destiny. A mantra that has now entered my daily vocabulary. A film that has now found itself in the confines of my soul.
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