All Lesbian Movies Make Me a Little Sad. Why is that?

by Alyssa Sileo

I’ve been noticing that I get sad while watching any sort of lesbian or sapphic movie or TV show. Maybe it’s quarantine, maybe the movies are supposed to make me a little sad. I’m not sure why this is happening to me, and I wanted to talk it out in blog form. I’m obviously drawn to all sapphic stories and media, and I don’t want to stop watching them, but I can’t lie that I get a little emotional every time, and not in the good cathartic way, but in the way that we do not want to be feeling nowadays. Nowadays, everything calls for serotonin.

Here are the facts. It’s rare that I see something sapphic that does not acknowledge how hard society makes it to…you know…be a sapphic person. I’ll make another clarifying statement — there’s the media that suggests that queerness is a problem and therefore has consequences of challenges, and then there’s media that tells the truth that society imposes the challenges on individuals and groups and therefore is the problem. I try to not even bother with the first kind of media, because I’m over that. I’m talking about the second kind of media, and how it makes me sad.

With every flirting and dating experience depicted on screen, there’s often challenges that transcend the normal trials and tribulations of romance. Sometimes someone is still in the closet, or dealing with internalized queerphobia. I know this is the reality of queerness in real life, and I’m a writer who writes about these commonplace struggles too. But when I watch media, I sometimes want to be transported into a world in which being gay is not considered an “alternate” identity. So, I don’t think what I’m saying is so much a problem caused by filmmakers from the sapphic gaze, in their just endeavors for making realistic stories. I think it’s a reaction I’m personally having from watching so much of those stories all the time. The world is already sad enough. And sadness, anger, and disappointment is critically important to giving us signals for what needs to change. But I’m tired. I just want a teeny tiny break, that’s all. Which I can control myself by stepping away from Netflix or Hulu for a second.

I watched A Secret Love the other day, which is a tearjerker for sure. It’s about two women who had been together for nearly 7 decades, when they started dating in the 40s, and they spent most all of those decades closeted to their families. I know it was supposed to be inspiring and heartwarming, which it was, but I also was heartbroken. I think a lot about how many generations of people were made unable to both pursue queer relationships and have those queer relationships not be endangered, so this documentary just brought up so many of those feelings. I think about people who never had the chance to come out to themselves. Thank goodness these women had the life they had. I just wish the world for them and more.

I’m also looking back on Lady of a Portrait on Fire, which I raved about in a blog piece last month. The film is practically devoid of the male gaze, so that’s a breath of fresh air, and there’s definitely a lot of joyful moments in the story. But I think if I watched it again, I would just be so sad the whole time, because of the time period these women live in. Yeah, they get to have their love story, but I want them to have the time to play it out that they deserve, like how every person in love deserves.

Something that pops into my head when I think about a piece of sapphic media that doesn’t elicit the same sad feeling from me is in the TV show Euphoria. I also love Tessa and Janelle’s love story in Dirty Computer. It’s challenging to put into words why these stories work so well. I think it’s because it’s clear that the story is being told from the perspective of the sapphic figure themselves. It’s also just lucky that these characters live in realities in which queerness isn’t necessarily an “alternative” experience from heterosexuality. (Well, that’s debatable when it comes to Dirty Computer. And there’s a bunch of other topics in Dirty Computer that tug at my heartstrings and have to do with oppression — the high policing and the censorship, to name two. But we have the “Pynk” sequence, which makes everything worth it.) Booksmart was also funny, endearing, and uplifting in the way it depicted queer female identity.

It’s important to view media that has storylines concerning marginalization with a lens of resilience, because I think that acknowledges our world in a way that demonstrates the wholeness of those made vulnerable by systems of power. We can all agree that their stories shouldn’t be all-sad and all-lacking all the time, so I appreciate any inclusion of joy and resistance in their journeys. And one of the beauties of queering the canon is how it deviates from normative ideas and institutions, in the best ways, which has to do with actively benefiting society. So I don’t think I am vying for sapphic media that looks like straight media. Because it’s not meant to be straight media. And it can’t be, because it isn’t. But when it comes to sapphic stories, in particular, love stories, I want the whole package for the lovebirds — chances to laugh, chances to grow, and safety from fear and discrimination. I want them living in the world that we’ve been working hard to usher in.

I am drawn to media that discusses issues, since it’s critically important in order to envision new worlds. So, I think this sad feeling I often have has much to do with mental fatigue. I also gotta admit that I have my moments where I think “will I ever be able to go outside again, to meet a pretty girl to be happy and sad with?” Honestly, I’m jealous of anyone inside a movie. (But that doesn’t mean I want movies about quarantine or the pandemic. I’m not feeling the desire to have anything to experience in the future that helps me process this time. That’s just me, though, everyone should write what is best for them and their need to understand this era. Maybe I’ll tolerate a dramedy about two girls falling in love through Tik Tok. But that’s all.)

You know what? I think some of this sadness might have to do with feelings of loneliness too. It’s real, and we don’t always talk about our own solitude. It’s not always comfortable to put it into words, we shouldn’t be ashamed of it. I sort of spent all of high school thinking that I didn’t have time for any young love story, and that it was a silly thing to buy into. Half of that is the Capricorn in me, but I’ve come to think that I also may have told myself that fun and easy relationships are not possible for a young queer girl like me. It after all would have more baggage than a “normal” relationship — right? That’s what I got from media, anyway.

Now as a person in college, I’m trying to tell my younger self that the signals I received from media (which is slowly unraveling from its initial missions of upholding normative ideas) don’t have to be my truth. Yeah, it’s not gonna be all perfect all the time, but that doesn’t mean I won’t have the love story I wish for. I can not only live it, but I can also write it, with the plays and stories I create for our community.

Does anyone else experience these feelings I’m describing? I’d love to have a convo in the comments. In the meantime, I’m going to keep everything I discussed in mind, because I am not giving up on sapphic media, just like I’m not going to give up on my search for my own version of sapphic happiness.

About the Author:

Alyssa Sileo’s Thespian identity comes first and foremost in anything she carries out. As a member of the Drew University Class of 2022, she studies theatre arts, women’s and gender studies, and Spanish. She’s a proud NJ Thespian Alumni and member of their state chapter board. She is the leader of the international performances network The Laramie Project Project, which unites worldwide productions and readings of the acclaimed Tectonic Theater Project play and encourages community-based LGBTQ+ advocacy. Alyssa is humbled to serve as the 2017 Spirit of Matthew Award winner and as a Youth Ambassador for Matthew Shepard Foundation. She believes there is an advocacy platform tucked into every piece of the theatre catalogue and intends to write outreach into the canon.