Rating: 8 out of 10.

What makes you think she has a place in this world?

“Jean is no hero.” That’s what writer/director Georgia Oakley says before revealing it to be the reason her story was so rewarding to tell. Because it’s the complexity of being caught between worlds and identities that intrigues. The authenticity of being trapped into believing your voice only has the power to destroy your life rather than save others.

This is what the LGBTQ+ community had to contend with during Margaret Thatcher’s reign in England courtesy of laws like Section 28 vaguely (intentionally so) stating that schools and local governments couldn’t “promote” homosexuality. Much like laws being passed in America today, the premise itself is flawed since no one is trying to promote homosexuality. Even if they were, you can’t “turn” someone gay. Tolerance doesn’t convert. It merely provides the safety and empathy necessary to accept.

So, when the means to allow yourself to be your true self is prohibited for a large portion of the population through systemic homophobia, what is there to do but hide? Rather than tell a story about a closeted woman dealing with the stress of pretending she’s someone she’s not, however, Oakley’s Blue Jean presents a character who’s forced to choose in a way that leaves her destined to either fail her community or herself.

What’s worse still for Jean (Rosy McEwen) is that she knows this fact from experience. She was that young lesbian let down by a society that stigmatized her sexual orientation. She witnessed the ridicule and unabashed bigotry of everyone around her to the point where conformity became the only way to survive. It wasn’t until after she married a man that it became too much. But by then she was a gym teacher. To live honestly now means risking everything else.

We meet Jean at the height of this fear. All those details about her past are sprinkled throughout the text with an elegant potency mainly driven by a sister (Aoife Kennan) who’s never shy about reminding her that her support is conditional. The film is thus allowed to delve into Jean’s anxieties and present her an opportunity to do better than what was done for her.

We’d like to believe such a goal is guaranteed—that we’d never perpetuate the insidious lies pertaining to “normalcy” that are dictated by a myopic ruling class. But it’s not that easy. Not when you can be fired without cause. Or accused of sexual assault. Or simply found guilty of being gay. Jean must wonder if her bosses know she got divorced. If they speculate about her shorter haircut. If a student jokes that she was looking at her in the showers. And if Jean isn’t on edge enough already, just imagine what happens when a student (Lucy Halliday’s Lois) turns up at her usual gay bar.

Oakley does a fantastic job creating a comment on Section 28-era Britain without overtly focusing on the law itself. All we need is a billboard, a few radio snippets, and the not so whispery whispers of peers to understand the climate. The drama is therefore in how Jean reacts to the gradually tightening noose around her neck. Neighbors watching through their windows as her girlfriend (Kerrie Hayes’ Viv) leaves. Teachers asking if she has a “man.” Her sister questioning “trust” when relying upon her as a babysitter for her nephew.

McEwen delivers an unforgettable performance as a woman caught between the love of her partner and the acceptance of her career when one could very well erase the other in an instant. Understanding this struggle doesn’t make things easier, though. It actually makes things harder. Because you can’t begrudge someone for choosing self-preservation. And your disappointment in them will never be worse than their own.


Kerrie Hayes and Rosy McEwen in BLUE JEAN, a Magnolia Pictures release. © Blue Jean Productions Ltd. Photo Courtesy of Magnolia Pictures.

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