Edward II (1991)
Directed by Derek Jarman

Film Review

Derek Jarman's unique brand of cinema, startlingly original in its visual artistry and suffused throughout with important contemporary themes, made him one of Britain's pre-eminent auteur filmmakers throughout what is now considered one of the most turbulent and socially destructive periods in British history, from the late 1970s to the mid-1990s.  Jarman's dazzling re-interpretation of Christopher Marlowe's 1953 play Edward II is among his most personal and provocative works, one that succeeds admirably in bringing a classic text to a modern cinema audience whilst brazenly engaging with one of the most appalling social malaises of the time - homophobia.  Whilst it may not be quite as accessible as Jarman's more widely seen films - Jubilee (1978) and Caravaggio (1986) - his Edward II is unquestionably one of his greatest achievements, an important political protest film and an essential contribution to British queer cinema.

In the hysteria whipped up in the media at the height of the AIDS pandemic in the mid-to-late 1980s, gay and bisexual men throughout Britain were stigmatised in the mainstream press (and society at large) as being the sinful originators of the deadliest, most virulent disease in modern times.  The so-called 'gay plague' made queer bashing acceptable and the British government under Margaret Thatcher (possibly the most callous and authoritarian the country has ever known) played no small part in fanning the flames of hatred against the gay and bisexual communities.  The 1986 Public Order Act gave the police new powers to arrest anyone engaging in activities that might results in alarm or distress.  The ones who were most likely to be on the receiving end of this were gay rights protesters, one of whom was Derek Jarman, whose activism intensified after he was diagnosed as HIV positive.  In 1988, Thatcher's government brought in Clause 28, which prohibited the 'promotion' of homosexuality in schools.  So whilst 'Maggie's boot boys' (as the police came to be known during the bitterly fought miner's strike) roughed up gay demonstrators and dragged them away into custody, the rights of gay and bisexual men were trodden into the mud in a climate of escalating homophobia, fuelled by a large cohort of government ministers who were soon to be exposed for their own egregious sexual misdemeanours.

Jarman's Edward II magnificently evokes the sick anti-gay sentiment that festered at the heart of British society in the 1980s, most memorably with a sequence in which gay rights protesters (representing Edward's loyal army) are viciously attacked by baton-waving riot police (the army of Edward's arch-rival, Roger Mortimer).  The rabidly homophobic British establishment of the '80s is aptly portrayed in the film by suit-wearing noblemen who conspire in secret with the king's embittered queen Isabella and her lover Mortimer to usurp the throne and put down an insurgence of moral turpitude.  Lord Mortimer, the central villain of the piece, appears as a British army officer, deftly played by Nigel Terry with an air of neo-Nazi nastiness - but he is nothing more than a sadistic thug who delights in brutalising and torturing to death the king's gay defenders.  Superbly portrayed by Tilda Swinton, Isabella dominates much of the film with her mesmerising glacial aloofness - at times bearing more than a passing resemblance to Thatcher, a woman considered pathologically heartless by her opponents - but we also have a sense of the searing womanly passions lying beneath the surface, the desperate yearning of a sexually frustrated neglected lover pining in agony for love and acceptance.  It's one of the odd things about the film that Jarman chooses to make Isabella such a sympathetic and powerful character - her love for Edward is every bit as keenly felt as Edward's love for Gaveston.

Whilst the homophobic allegory is an extraordinarily effective one, it is in the film's intense evocation of the power of gay love that it is most effective.  As Edward and Gaveston respectively, Steven Waddington and Andrew Tiernan bring a blistering authenticity to their portrayal of two men hopelessly in love with one another, of the kind that had rarely - if ever - been seen in cinema up until this point.  (A comparison with Ron Nyswane's tepid but well-meaning Philadelphia (1993), made just two years later, shows at once how reluctant commercial filmmakers were to convincingly portray gay relationships on screen.)  Jarman's decision to cast two straight actors (not because they were straight, but because they were ideally suited for their parts) was vindicated by the remarkable sense of reality that Waddington and Tiernan bring to their performances, the former's aura of effete play boy indifference effectively contrasting with the latter's casual air of cocksureness and contempt for court convention.  The intense bond that connects Edward and Gaveston is emphasised by their apparent almost total estrangement from the world around them.  When they are together, it is as if they inhabit a Disney-style fairytale romance; separated, they are in the worst kind of hell, victims of a cruel and vicious world that wants only to obliterate them.

Whilst Jarman sticks mostly to Marlowe's original text, he eschews the classic dramatic approach in favour of a highly stylised form which was, to a large extent, forced on him by a fairly restrained budget.  (Originally, the film was so generally financed that it was planned to be shot on location, but Jarman had to completely re-think the entire project when one of the principal backers pulled out.)  Instead of specially constructed sets, bare flats are used to enclose the space in which the action takes place, with lighting used - with an extraordinary degree of care and inventiveness - to imbue scenes with mood and substance.  Some of the shots are so artfully composed and photographed that they could easily be mistaken for fine paintings of the 15th or 16th centuries.  Surreal erotic inserts (such as a naked crowned man kissing an enormous snake), along with humorously anachronistic props and costumes, heighten the film's eerie dreamlike quality and make it a distinctively weird odyssey in male sexuality.  The most surprising interlude is Annie Lennox's heartfelt rendition of an old Cole Porter number, Ev'ry Time We Say Goodbye, to which Edward and Gaveston perform an affectionate parting dance in their pyjamas before the latter goes off into exile.  It's a delightfully tender excursion away from the brutality that overtakes the drama from this point on in this film, so intensely evocative of the romantic bond connecting the king and his favourite, and rendering what follows so much more horrific.

And it is the film's final third, depicting the gruesome downfall of Edward and his lover, that Jarman's gloriously original historic masterpiece delivers its most savage body-blows.  The kind of government-sanctioned homophobic madness that overtook Britain in the 1980s is potently symbolised in the film by Mortimer's ruthlessly aggressive campaign against his monarch and his loyal supporters.  The murder of Gaveston is particularly nasty, all the more so for the relish with which his killer - clearly an S&M addict - does the deed.  The most notorious scene, in which Edward is impaled through the rectum by a red-hot poker, is just as difficult to watch, the horror of the supposed execution heightened through the use of a blazing red filter.  Jarman's choice of presenting this only as a dream, from which Edward awakes to be kissed by his executioner (and thence, presumably, liberated) is a controversial one, departing from the original play but offering a sliver of hope to its audience that one day the homophobic rage will pass and society will look on non-straights with somewhat kinder eyes.  It's a sobering thought that Jarman was in an extremely poor state of health throughout the making of this film (weakened by the AIDS-related illness that would claim his life three years later).  That he was able to fight the disease and create such an astonishing work of art is testament both to his resilience as a human being and his commitment as an artist.

Film Synopsis

England, 1307.  After the death of his father, Edward II is proclaimed king and immediately calls back from exile his loyal friend Piers Gaveston.  It is a joyous reunion and Gaveston is offered titles from the man who is not just his king, but also his devoted lover.  Not everyone is as pleased by the return of Gaveston.  The powerful nobleman Roger Mortimer, leader of the king's armies, regards him as a dangerous enemy of the state and a corrupting influence on a weak monarch.  Edward's French wife, Queen Isabella, is equally loathing of the king's favourite.  Jealous of Gaveston and spurned by her husband, the queen takes her revenge by taking the ambitious Mortimer as her lover.  Gaveston's enemies close ranks on him and he is once again driven into exile.  It is the queen who engineers his return, in a vain hope that this will allow her to win back the king's affection.  When Gaveston comes back from exile a second time the hostility he encounters is far greater than before.  By now, the queen has resolved to usurp the crown with the help of her lover, Mortimer, placing on the throne of England her infant son (the future Edward III).  After Gaveston's brutal murder, Edward is captured and cast into a dungeon, where the executioner is ready to impale him with a red-hot poker.  This gruesome fate turns out to be no more than a dream, and when Edward awakes he is greeted by his executioner with a loving kiss.