Elisa and Marcela
Netflix’s ‘Elisa and Marcela’ puts up the question about women’s alliance to fellow women
Based on the true story about the first recorded same-sex marriage in history, the movie is slow-paced but equally intense.
Perhaps the problem does not lie with representation alone but in the way something is being represented. Keeping up with that thought Isabel Coixet’s Spanish biographical romantic film, ‘Elisa and Marcela’, does not tell an unusual story about a lesbian couple. Inspired by the true incident of 1901, the year that records the first same sex marriage in Spain, when Elisa Sánchez Loriga got married to Marcela Gracia Ibeas, Coixet’s representation of lesbian love is at its best subtle and ordinary.
It is not shrouded by the grim imagery which is often evident in movies such as ‘Disobedience’ and ‘Carol’ where same sex love seems to have no other purpose but to be the victims of societal cruelty. ‘Elisa and Marcela’ certainly does not rule that out. The picturesque grey scale which engulfs the entire frame on each side is at once an indication at the colourless perspective of society which in the early years of the 20th Century was not yet ready to take in something that wasn’t usual. We only get to know the true colours of the lead characters skin, hair and dress through carefully weaved dialogues. It comes when Elisa describes Marcela to a blind nun who in spite of carrying a book by Emilia Pardo Bazan (the late 19th Century Spanish writer who openly opposed the conservative values imparted by the education system and who was the first woman to occupy a chair of Neo-Latin literature at the Central University Of Madrid) approaches Elisa’s description with a rather conservative notion. This moment where the characters, the setting, and the entire frame is covered in a monochrome palette while Elisa talks about Marcela’s red hair, brown dress and blue eyes quite subtly represents the repression experienced by those who are unlike others.
The snaring gaze of the society is countered immediately by the more daring gaze of the two lovers who do not let the concept of secrecy hinder their romance, and that is quite refreshing. We find a direct representation of the social prejudices in Marcela’s father who warns her to not study too much but only study enough. The grimness sets in when he suspects her affair with Elisa and compels her to spend three years away from the town of A Coruna where they first met as college graduates. However, Coixet has carefully measured just the right amount of serious undertone and lighter moods as she does not spend more than 3-4 minutes on each emotion. If at the present Elisa and Marcela have parted ways then be sure that a few minutes down the line they will be reunited. There is no unnecessary emphasis on one particular aspect but each compartment serves its own purpose in its own time. Coixet’s story does not put the lovers on the margins but they occupy the tiny center which is being constantly peeped into by an overcurious society.
This aspect is chiefly relevant when Elisa disguises herself as a man named Mario and Marcella gets herself pregnant by a local woodcutter in an attempt to fit in. But as nothing ever escapes the curiosity of the crowd their so-called treachery is soon discovered and the story sky-rockets to a climax there on. However, it is the momentary break for romance in between that truly makes the film a refreshing take on same-sex love stories. The two women almost embark upon a Vita-Virginia love story when they share letters during their years of absence from each other’s life. Soon their love becomes their own weapon to fight against prejudice, norms and conformation. However, even here the fight is not a prolonged state of admirable depression but a real struggle depicted in an indistinct manner.
Perhaps what actually stood out in the entire movie was the women’s treatment of women. A lot like HBO’s adaptation of Elena Ferrante’s ‘My Brilliant Friend’, ‘Elisa and Marcela’ gives us a bunch of women characters who reside on both sides of the spectrum. Some like the nuns are typically not supportive of the ordinary ones around them but boast about intellectuals who fight for women’ rights. On the other hand, there are the ones like Marcela’s mother who has subjected herself to her husband’s rule but rebels in secrecy by reading books when he is not around. Finally, there are those women in the society who time and again complain about breaking free but do not hesitate to harm two girls who have only fallen in love with each other. The two find support in the criminals behind bars, those women who are social outcasts and are perhaps sentenced to imprisonment for some heinous crime.
This once again brings out the question what is feminism for? And who is a real feminist? The nuns who are sworn to virginity for an invisible god while the harp the need of freedom for women? The mother who does speak up when her husband beats her daughter but does everything he does not approve of in secrecy? Or the women who have committed crimes but do not shun those who choose to be different? Perhaps the answer lies in the character of the prison warden played by Manolo Solo, the man who finally helps the two lovers escape Spain. Maybe that is what the movie has hinted at all along, a real feminist who would go up to any extent to assure freedom from chains.
