Pride and Carol and Gods and Monsters (Part 1)

One of the ideals that the far-right movement has continuously focused on for decades is a return to "better days". I'm talking about the post-WWII-era when America was truly great, when the economy was booming and good wives happily busied themselves cooking and managing household chores, while their white, hard-working Christian husbands brought home the paycheck and led their families in prayer at the dinner table each night. Or so goes the myth. Most of us know--or should know--that the nation's recent prosperity was not extended to everyone (especially people of color) and that not all women were content yielding to a society that insisted upon adherence to embedded cultural norms. As for LGBTQ+ people--we have always been here and always will be, but in the 1950's it was necessary for most of us (outside of Greenwich Village, PTown and a few other subterranean hideaways) to remain invisible, at least to the outside world. 

In Carol, Todd Hayne's 2015 romantic drama, the titular character is in a bit of a pickle. Though separated from her wealthy husband, Carol is certainly no feminist. Even as she demands independence from soon-to-be-ex, Harge (and his rich family), she relies on him to keep her in the style to which she has become accustomed. This includes an elegant home in the countryside and all its upscale furnishings, a smart, sophisticated wardrobe, a Packard Super Deluxe 8 sedan, a group of sophisticated friends, and most of all, their adored 4-year-old daughter, Rindy. Carol also has an eye for the ladies, which has become a bone of contention between Harge and herself, even if she hasn't acted upon her desires since her daughter was born. Harge, who was aware of Carol's proclivities before their marriage, remains convinced that she is carrying on with her ever-present best friend, Abby. The truth is that Carol and Abby, childhood friends and adolescent lovers, were over long before Harge entered the picture; they're now simply BFF's. Still, the blustering Harge clearly has other ideas. 

In the city, a young woman named Therese (or as Carol calls her Teh-rez), toils away behind the toy counter of a large department store. Underappreciated by her snotty supervisor, Therese has ambitions of being a successful photographer. Serious and taciturn by nature, Therese has men falling all over themselves to be with her, but she's really not all that interested, especially when one suitor assumes that they are going to Paris to be married. This scares Therese, who's not exactly sure what she wants until she locks eyes with Carol one day during the Christmas rush. Slowly, and oh-so-seductively, this glamorous older woman in mink sidles up to the counter and asks the entranced "shopgirl" about a doll that has already sold out. Subtly sizing each other up, the women discuss the improbability of Therese's interest in toy train sets before Carol suddenly decides to purchase one for Rindy as a Christmas gift. Leaving her delivery information with the smitten Therese, Carol also manages to leave behind her pair of pricey gloves. What to do, what to do? Therese decides the best course of action is to hand-deliver the gloves to this expensively bedecked lady. And so she does. The sparks between them explode and, despite the age and class differences, the two women can't help falling in love. 

An unfortunate turn of events--involving Harge and Rindy--finds the newly enamored pair embarking on a cross-country road trip that comes to a swift end in Iowa, where Harge's private detective confronts them with the evidence Harge needs to gain complete custody of Rindy. What the PI hasn't counted on is the fact that Mamma got a gun tucked away in her suitcase. Uh-oh. Is Carol heading into film noir territory? In another director's hands, this might well be the case. After all, Carol certainly looks the part of femme fatale: all slinky-eyed and smokey-voiced, she's positively dripping in come-fuck-me allure. Confused, self-sufficient Therese, on the other hand, is still wet-behind-the-ears, making a perfectly unsuspecting fall guy (gal) caught up in a web of intrigue and betrayal. 

However, Todd Haynes makes a different choice here and this film is all the better for it. Haynes, a notable figure of the New Queer Cinema, has forged a distinguished career directing such psychologically complex, slyly transgressive dramas as Poison, Safe, Velvet Goldmine, HBO's Mildred Pierce miniseries, and, most recently, May December. However, the movie Carol most resembles in look and tone is Haynes' 2002 Sirkian melodrama, Far from Heaven, a well-regarded hit that sent his stock soaring. Set in roughly the same time period, both films exhibit a luxe, suburban background and feature strong, affluent characters enduring unhappy marriages that come undone when one spouse takes a member of their own sex as a romantic partner. 

Cate Blanchett is absolutely ravishing in the title role of Carol, a woman graced with good stock, good looks, and good fortune, yet cursed by the expectations of her class and era. Prowling with the instincts of a feral cat, Blanchett comes across as both predator and prey, chicly confident yet incredibly vulnerable. As Therese, Rooney Mara has a coiled intensity, and a shy manner that belies Therese's determination to succeed in a man's world. She's cool and collected on the surface but there are plenty of things going on behind her eyes. Swept up into Carol's orbit, she's in over her head, decidedly uneasy, but happy to go along with whatever Carol chooses to do, even if it means burning her bridges and riding off with Carol towards the sunset if not into it. It's a finely nuanced performance that deservedly earned her an Oscar nom for Best Supporting Actress (Blanchett was nominated for Best Actress). Kyle Chandler is believably verklempt, a little scary yet understandably angry as Harge, who barely manages to conceal his rage as his wife refuses to submit to the "rules" of acceptable, male-dominated society. Sarah Paulson also gives a bittersweet performance as Abby, who, though purportedly pursuing a female conquest, still harbors deeper feelings for Carol that go far beyond the "best friends" facade. 

The movie was based on author Patricia Highsmith's 1952 novel, The Price of Salt. Highsmith, herself a lesbian (and legendary misanthrope) is perhaps better known as the author of The Talented Mr. Ripley, Strangers on a Train, and The Two Faces of January. While homosexual male desire was a subtext in many of Highsmith's novels, she delved into her own psyche and privately expressed desires in The Price of Salt. Phyllis Nagy, a friend of Highsmith's, penned the first draft of Carol in 1997,but  the project, at that time, was deemed "too risky" because the leads were two women, and, to a lesser degree, because any actress of professional stature might be jeopardizing her career by playing a lesbian. It took nearly 20 years for Carol to finally see the light of day, but now that it has, it's a lovely light indeed.