Overall Quality 4.0 / 5.0 (engaging and interesting)
Gay Inclusive? Very – the subject is a gay man and his beginnings in gay porn
Gay Positive? Mostly – a positive tone undercut by negative implications that go unexplored

A fascinating look into a culture and man full of unexpected contradictions.

Jeffrey Schwartz’s documentary explores the evolution of Jack Stillman – a small, unathletic child of Beverly Hills privilege – into Jack Wrangler, who epitomizes rugged male sexuality. The evolution is far from linear. Jack begins in gay porn at a time when pornography was produced for the big screen, and acting was actually expected of the stars. Sometimes adult films could even get reviews in venues like Variety.

Stillman forged Wrangler in the fire of the gay porn business in the 1960s, during the time of the sexual revolution. The gay experience was fraught with peril; the documentary largely ignores that and focuses instead on the sexual openness of the pre-AIDS period.

The documentary strikes me as a bit one-sided in this sense. In fact, with Jack as the chief narrator, the film seems more like an autodocumentary. The overall tone is self-congratulatory, although to his credit Jack seems as startled by his successes as anyone. Still, I can’t help but think there’s another side to this story not being told.

I do deeply appreciate one of the themes of the documentary: a presentation of gay men counter to common stereotype. In fact, he’s one of earliest media images that counters the stereotype of gay men as effeminate sissies; it’s interesting that his image is not just masculine, but powerfully sexualized. Jack Wrangler represents a “manly man” – rugged, handsome and sexual – who is also gay.

Which makes it so odd that Wrangler moved into straight pornography. He had his first sexual encounter with a woman on-camera. He managed to become successful even in straight adult films, including The Devil in Miss Jones 2 and Debbie Does Dallas 2.

He’s also one of the few porn stars to bridge the gap from porn to mainstream theatrical work.

Perhaps most curiously, Jack became romantically involved with vocalist Margaret Whiting, a woman twenty years his senior. They have since married.

I’m not straight, and I’m not bisexual. I’m gay, but I could never live a gay lifestyle because I’m much too competitive. When I was with a guy I would always want to be better than him: what we were accomplishing, what we were wearing — anything. With a woman you compete like crazy, but coming from different points of view, and as far as I’m concerned, that was doable. (1)

It’s a puzzling development in the personal life of an otherwise openly gay man. Watching this portion of the documentary, part of me shrugs it away: to each his own. At the same time, I can’t help but notice that it’s suggestive that gay men can “change” their sexual orientation, and that the image of a manly gay man “turns out” to be straight … or at least turns to a straight lifestyle.

The most interesting-and perplexing-event of his life is his relationship with Whiting. Wrangler is a self-professed gay man who, according to the film, can´t see himself living with another man. As a condition of moving in with Whiting, and subsequently getting married, the actor agreed to give up performing in porn films as well as having encounters with other men. He makes light of it, saying he has a healthy masturbatory life. However, for a generation of gay men who looked up to Wrangler-not to mention the era he ushered in-I have to think this is a slap in the face. Certainly there is not a list of requirements to be considered gay; what fits one person doesn´t necessarily fit another. But a out gay man married to a woman and abstaining from sex with other men? Does that even qualify as being gay anymore? (2)

Again, I return to the point that the documentary doesn’t present “another side” to the story. Despite including interviews with colleagues from his work in porn, the documentary never delves into what it all means.

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Theatrical trailer:

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(1) Brother, Job. “The Anatomy of Jack Wrangler.” The Advocate. 5 November 2008. http://www.advocate.com/print_article_ektid64690.asp (retrieved 30 November 2008).

(2) Vargo, Jason. “Review of ‘Wrangler: Anatomy of an Icon.’” DVDTown.com. 26 October 2008. http://www.dvdtown.com/reviews/wrangler-anatomy-of-an-icon/6426 (retrieved 30 November 2008).

(Please click for Part One of my review and analysis of “The Outcast.”

Thank You, Star Trek…

Let me start with the singular, but important, positive attribute of the show: It brought the issue of sexual bigotry into millions of homes, and made a plea for tolerance.

So before I launch into my criticisms, let me first say: thank you, Star Trek, for making this episode. I have a lot of problems with it, and I think the show could have done more, and better. But at the same time, I appreciate the episode being made at all.

Having said that, I must qualify my appreciation.

…For Stale Crumbs

Defamation by Invisibility

In Part One of this article, I noted other examples of gay content on TV around the time “The Outcast” was aired. I criticized the nature of the content in hindsight, but also recognized any mainstream representation was an improvement during that time period. In the same spirit, I appreciate The Next Generation making any kind of effort for the gay community.

But I have to stress, this show offers no gay content. It is pure allegory. Even when discussing romantic relationships, Riker and Dr. Crusher frame their comments in the context of heterosexual romance – how men and women deal with each other regarding attraction, sex roles, and sexuality. When discussing what men find attractive, Riker doesn’t offer a single phrase to the effect of, “And then some men are attracted to other men instead of women.”

Without some demonstration of inclusiveness, the episode isn’t inclusive at all. Instead, it suggests that gay people don’t exist in the 24th Century, at least not in Starfleet. They preach tolerance for diversity, but fail to demonstrate that value in practice.

Author Henry Jenkins writes:

”If allegory depends upon the readers’ abilities to fill its silences with their own voices, to complete the statements the text has left unfinished, the fans saw only the gaps and the evasions. Nowhere do any of the characters make explicit reference to the possibility of homosexuality nor do they directly confront homophobia. Homosexuality remains a connotative ghost, still that form of sexual desire that dares not speak its name [emphasis mine]…. What made this episode particularly dangerous was its insubstantiability [sic], its refusal to state directly and explicitly what its message was intended to be (6).”

It’s Just a Phase / Not Real / A Mental Illness

And then, the show posits that “deviant” sexuality can be cured, a stance taken by anti-gay activists. Even after Soren’s eloquent and moving plea for tolerance at her trial, the court still finds her guilty and sentences her to psychotectic therapy, which is successful. Riker tries to “rescue” her, but Soren rejects his advances and apologizes for creating such an unpleasant situation.

In effect (if not intent), the episode endorses the idea that sexual “deviants” can be “straightened out,” which will make them happier and more productive members of society. Both the American Psychological Association (8) and American Medical Association (9) take the position that reparative or conversion therapy may be harmful to the individual.

Furthermore, it implicitly supports the view of gay people as sexual predators who seek to convert others into “deviant” behavior. Yes, it’s supposed to a reverse allegory, which could be interpreted as heterosexual society demanding that gay people be “cured.” Probably, the viewer is supposed to leave the show thinking, “Wow, that’s awful what they did to poor Soren; we shouldn’t do stuff like that.”

It’s problematic, however, because J’naii society is used as an allegorical stand-in for both mainstream society and the gay community, and it is they who insist on the reparative therapy.

The Gay Villain

Atara Stein, an associate professor at Cal State University, Fullerton, writes:

“This episode could be read, of course, as a reverse allegory of discrimination against gays and lesbians, but the fact that it is reversed (the character’s rebellion consists of affirming heterosexuality) testifies to how careful Star Trek’s creators are to maintain a level of deniability. In addition, the androgynous species, presumably representative of gays and lesbians, turn out to be the bad guys, enforcing their ‘deviant’ sexuality by means of brainwashing [emphasis mine] (7).”

This aspect of the episode astounds me. The producers have gone on record offering this show as their token gesture to the gay community (even though there’s no actual gay content). But the society supposedly standing in for the gay community turns out to be villainous!

Once again, I wonder how much the final script varied from the original. A lot of people have input into the scripts (other writers and producers, studio approval, etc), and perhaps what was originally a fine story incrementally broke down into a series of mixed messages in order to appease a large group of less progressive people.

“Do As I Say, Not As I Do”

So the episode “The Outcast” makes a plea for tolerance of sexual diversity, while the show refuses to include any openly gay characters.

Worse, when they make an episode intended to placate their gay audience, not only is homosexuality omitted, it is also maligned through the subtext.

As Franklin Hummel, a member of the gay science-fiction group Gaylaxians, says:

“The depiction of Soren’s society seemed to be something taken right from Rush Limbaugh’s show or Pat Buchanan’s campaign literature. [They talk] about how the feminist and homosexual political agendas want to destroy the traditional family and make society into a sexless, genderless collection of politically correct clones, and if you don’t toe the line, you’ll be censored. Soren’s society was a depiction of those people’s worst nightmares. It seems to me that if you were of that mindset to begin with, this show did nothing but confirm those unfounded fears, and nothing to challenge them” (10).

I have tried to seek out its positive aspects (mostly that an episode recognizing gay concerns peripherally was even made). And I want to make one last point in this vein: while I criticize the producers for a homophobic episode, I also have to recognize that they’re creating a product to sell, and they have to appeal to their demographic.

Which means, the demographic itself shoulders some responsibility for the homophobic content of the show. I suspect if the fan base had responded with overwhelming outrage (or even just disdain) at the poor representation, future episodes would have been much more gay friendly.

I complain that this show sends a mixed message to its audience; I also suspect the producers receive mixed messages from the viewers in response to gay content as well. So if I’m going to accuse people of homophobia, with whom should I start?

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Soren’s argument against discrimination after she has been accused of being gendered:

“I am female. I was born that way. I have had those feelings, those longings, all of my life. It is not unnatural. I am not sick because I feel this way. I do not need to be helped. I do not need to be cured. What I need, and what all of those who are like me need, is your understanding. And your compassion. We have not injured you in any way. And yet we are scorned and attacked. And all because we are different. What we do is no different from what you do. We talk and laugh. We complain about work. And we wonder about growing old. We talk about our families and we worry about the future. And we cry with each other when things seem hopeless. All of the loving things that you do with each other – that is what we do. And for that we are called misfits, and deviants and criminals. What right do you have to punish us? What right do you have to change us? What makes you think you can dictate how people love each other?”

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For more posts on all things gay in the Star Trek universe, check out my Gay Star Trek Main Page.

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(6) John Tulloch and Henry Jenkins, Science Fiction Audiences: Watching Doctor Who and Star Trek, Routledge: 1995.

(7) Atara Stein, “Minding One’s P’s and Q’s: Homoeroticism in Star Trek: The Next Generation,” Genders Journal, Volume 27, 1998. The text of the article can be read here: http://www.genders.org/g27/g27_st.txt

(8) “APA Discredits ‘Ex-Gay’ Movement,” 365gay.com, 11 August 2006, http://www.365gay.com/Newscon06/08/081106apa.htm (retrieved 20 June 2008).

(9) “AMA Policy Regarding Sexual Orientation,” American Medical Association, last updated 24 April 2008, http://www.ama-assn.org/ama/pub/category/14754.html (retrieved 20 June 2008).

(10) Henry Jenkins, Fans, Bloggers, and Gamers, New York University Press: 2006 (pp. 106-7).

Original air date: 16 March 1992

Overall Quality 2.5 / 5.0 (not one of their finer efforts)
Gay Content 2.0 / 5.0 (it’s the closest they come to a gay episode, but it’s all allegory)
Gay Positivity 2. 0 / 5.0 (decidedly mixed, leaning towards negative)

“The Outcast” is one of the most important episodes in the Star Trek universe regarding the inclusion of gay content, and certainly the most important in The Next Generation. Note, however, that the episode includes no gay characters nor any gay relationships. The episode does not reference same-sex inclinations or pairings at all.

Plot Summary

The Enterprise is assisting the J’naii, a completely androgynous race, to track down a shuttle that’s gone missing. Commander Riker (Jonathan Frakes) works closely with a J’naii named Soren (Melinda Culea) to locate the shuttle, and Soren reveals that she is one of a minority of J’naii who was born with a gender identity…female, in her case. They begin a relationship, but J’naii society considers gender identity a sickness, and those who “suffer” from it are subject to psychotectic (i.e., reparative) therapy.

Jeri Taylor, who worked as a producer on the series, wrote the episode. Taylor is probably the most gay-friendly of all the producers associated with the Star Trek franchise (1).

The Strengths & Weaknesses

Commenting solely on the quality of episode, it’s a mixed bag. I found the exploration of an androgynous race to be thought-provoking. It seems unlikely that all alien species would reproduce through sexual dimorphism, and some form of asexual reproduction strikes me as a likely alternative.

But after Soren reveals she’s part of a persecuted minority, the episode changes tone into an issue-driven storyline.

The good part: she makes an intelligent, impassioned, and articulate argument against prejudice, and it’s easy to make the jump from the issue being gender identity to sexual orientation. I have included the full text of her argument at the end of Part Two of this article.

The bad part: delving into an issue-of-the-week story introduces an artificial feel to the plot, and forces the characters to become mouthpieces. That in turn alienates the viewer from the story, and the viewer becomes aware of the episode as a narrative with an agenda. It feels heavy-handed and forced, and it’s just less engrossing and enjoyable.

I wonder how much the final product diverged from Taylor’s original script. Taylor has proven herself a talented writer at other points, and I question whether the same or a similar message could have been conveyed through a more organic and engaging story.

It doesn’t help that the plot contains a series of contrivances. Why is Riker working on the project, and piloting the shuttle, instead of Geordi or Data? Because he needs to be working closely with Soren to develop feelings for her; screw the chain of command! Why would Worf make a blatantly sexist comment, and neither Doctor Crusher nor Counselor Troi get in his face about it? That’s out of character for all three. It’s because the script needs to make a point about gender and sexism, and they are the tools through which it’s done. But it’s jarring, and once again forces the viewer out of the story.

The Gay Content

Let’s place this episode in context. The year is 1992 (over 15 years ago from the date of this writing). In 1991, the sitcom Roseanne introduced a regular gay character, Leon (played by Martin Mull), which was extremely progressive at the time. Also in 1991, the red ribbon made its debt as a symbol of the campaign to stop AIDS.

Ellen wouldn’t come out until 1997, and Will & Grace wouldn’t premiere until 1998. Philadelphia, Brokeback Mountain’s spiritual precursor, wouldn’t open until 1993.

The major shows with gay characters or content in 1992 included: Roseanne, Northern Exposure, The Simpsons, One Life to Live, The Real World New York (the premiere season), and Melrose Place.

All of these shows were cutting-edge in their inclusion of gay characters or stories, and many fell far short of ideal. For example, Matt (Doug Savant) on Melrose Place was basically a genital-less Ken doll. Billy Douglas (Ryan Philippe) on One Life to Live was a troubled teen struggling with his sexuality in a homophobic environment.

Still, they all occurred at a time when any kind of representation on network TV was a step up from invisibility. And I think it’s important to remember that when considering “The Outcast.”
Expectations and Disappointment

Star Trek: The Next Generation’s two major mistakes were (A) trying to be inclusive by making homosexuality itself the story, and (B) including homosexuality only through allegory. The episode, on a literal level, isn’t gay inclusive at all.

Rick Berman says in Star Trek: The Next Generation Companion,

“We thought we had made a very positive statement about sexual prejudice in a distinctively Star Trek way, but we still got letters from those who thought it was just our way of ‘washing our hands’ of the homosexual situation” (2).

I suspect the producers thought that gay people wanted a “gay episode.” In the early days of gay inclusion on TV, that’s about the most we could hope for: that one episode that might revolve around gay themes, such as the gay wedding on Northern Exposure.

But that’s not really what gay and gay-friendly Star Trek viewers desired. Rather, they wanted full-throttle inclusion in the Star Trek universe. They wanted to see themselves portrayed within Starfleet, not necessarily as objects about which a story is told, but as part of the social milieu in which the stories are told. Gene Roddenberry’s 1991 comment only fueled the desire:

“My attitude toward homosexuality has changed. I came to the conclusion that I was wrong. I was never someone who hunted down ‘fags’ as we used to call them on the street. I would, sometimes, say something anti-homosexual off the top of my head because it was thought, in those days, to be funny. I never really deeply believed those comments, but I gave the impression of being thoughtless in these areas. I have, over many years, changed my attitude about gay men and women” (3).

Note that Roddenberry also told The Advocate that the fifth season of The Next Generation would include gay crew members (4). His comments raised hopes and expectations for gay inclusion, but I suspect a comment made by Ronald Moore in 1997 summarized the prevailing attitude in 1991:

“We have no plans to [include gay characters], chiefly because dealing with one’s sexual orientation in Gene’s 24th century is kinda simple: ‘Hey, Captain, I think I might be gay.’ ‘Okay. Now get back to fixing those transtators.’ It’s not really an issue to these people, so ‘exploring’ it doesn’t hold much promise” (5).

In other words, if a character’s sexual orientation is not explicitly and specifically germane to the plot, why bother addressing it at all? This homophobia is unintentional, the product of missing the point; but it still renders the gay person an outcast from the Star Trek universe. What an ironic title for this episode then.

But I digress from the show itself.

Please click for Part Two of my analysis of “The Outcast.”

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(1) It is said that Taylor suggested that Seven of Nine (Jeri Ryan) on Star Trek: Voyager should be a lesbian, although this idea was discarded. She also wrote a couple of important Star Trek: Voyager novels, including Pathways, which included secondary gay characters.

(2) Larry Nemecek, Star Trek: The Next Generation Companion, Pocket Books: 1992.

(3) David Alexander, “Interview with Gene Roddenberry: Writer, Producer, Philosopher, Humanist,” The Humanist, March/April 1991. The text can be read here: http://67.104.146.36/english/STAR_TREK/humanistinterview/humanist.html (retrieved 11 June 2008).

(4) Joe Clark, “Star Trek: The Next Generation – Queer Characters Join the Enterprise Crew,” The Advocate, 27 August 1991. The text of the article can be read here: http://www.webpan.com/dsinclair/advocate.html (retrieved 11 June 2008).

(5) “Answers,” Star Trek News, 16 July 1997, http://www.geocities.com/Hollywood/6952/ron41.txt (retrieved 11 June 2008).

Overall 1.5 / 5.0 (not recommended)
Gay Content 1.5 / 5.0
Gay Positivity 1.5 / 5.0

The story follows Danny’s (Thierry Pépin) progression from college student to aspiring model to stripper to porn actor. And truth be told, this movie is a form of porn. It’s not about selling sexual acts, but it’s using beefcake and sexual suggestiveness to sell a weak story. In place of a stronger script and more clever editing, the main character takes off his shirt, hoping to distract the discerning audience with his chiseled torso.

The basic story is sound. Danny is estranged from his father, who is concerned that Danny is going to follow his deceased mother by leading a wild life full of drugs. Danny doesn’t strike me so much as unstable as adolescent. He still has a lot of figuring out to do, and the filmmakers could have made a very interesting, thought-provoking story following that line of thought. They could have done it with the same characters and even many of the same major plot points.

But the presentation is poor. The viewer never really delves deeply into any of the characters. I don’t know any of them, not even Danny, who’s at center stage throughout the whole production. In the same way, many scene transitions felt abrupt, and so did Danny’s growth. The movie tells us at the end that he’s ready for a new start, thanks to the love of Karine (Véronique Jenkins). A revelation that left me thinking, “Where the hell did that come from?”

To my dismay, I understand why this movie was marketed so heavily to the gay community. It’s filled with beautiful young men baring all (in a couple of full-frontal scenes, and a plethora of shirtless shots). Some characters are strippers catering to a gay audience. Two male characters (Greg, played by a smoldering Jessie Beaulieu, and Danny) share a brief, homoerotic moment. And Danny’s father (Eric Cabana), a minor character, is gay. So yes, there are a number of elements of peripheral interest to the gay viewer.

But none of the main characters are gay, and Danny’s father barely appears in the film. The storyline is not gay; in fact, Danny is “saved” from self-destruction by falling in love with a woman, Karine. The one brief homoerotic moment leads to nothing except an apology. The word “fag” (or, more specifically, the French equivalent) is used liberally, and in a soliloquy, Danny reveals that being gay was so terrible for his father, that THEY HAD TO MOVE, because they were just that reviled by the community where they lived.

And in fact, the sole gay character is slightly unhinged (as when he chokes his son) and clearly wounded (alone for fifteen years, withholding affection from his son, and then when his son confesses that he wanted more from his father, the father turns around and tells him, ‘I’m putting myself first now.’) No, not a gay positive film.

Book. Forster, E. M. “Maurice” (published 1971; written 1913-14)
Overall Quality 4.0 / 5.0 (recommended)
Gay Content 4.5 / 5.0
Gay Positivity 3.0 / 5.0 (mixed, but weighted more heavily toward positive)

Movie. Maurice (1987)
Overall Quality 4.0 / 5.0 (recommended)
Gay Content 4.5 / 5.0
Gay Positivity 3.5 / 5.0 (mixed, but weighted more heavily toward positive)

The Story

The movie “Maurice” (pronounced “Morris”) is a faithful Merchant & Ivory adaptation of E.M. Forster’s novel of the same name. The story follows Maurice (James Wilby) and Clive (Hugh Grant), two gentlemen in turn-of-the-century England, who meet and develop a romantic relationship while studying at Cambridge. Unfortunately, homosexuality is still criminal in England at that time, and it would seem the whole world is set against them.

The book is well-titled: the story’s true focus falls on Maurice’s personal evolution as a human being and as a homosexual. The movie, by contrast, places greater emphasis on the relationships involved, while incorporating Maurice’s personal journey.

** Note – This commentary contains as much analysis as review, and so contains spoilers.

The Movie

The story makes for a lovely gay romance, although somewhat inconsistent in quality. In fact, the editing in the first half is simply poorly done. Scenes end abruptly and jarringly, just as they seem to be getting started. As the movie progresses, the editing evens out, and the story becomes more fleshed out. The last half turns into an engrossing exploration of two paths gay men might take in turn-of-the-century England.

The last two scenes are easily the most powerful and poignant in the movie (not so in the book), contrasting Maurice’s and Clive’s choices, and yet also leaving them open for interpretation. I see a happy ending for one, and a bittersweet, sad resolution for the other. But I also see how other people might interpret the ending differently.

The film also does a great job of exploring the themes raised in the story. It questions culture (such as England versus France, Italy, or Greece), class, and wealth and sexuality. It explores how a society founded on judgmentalism can be personally destructive. Everyone must fit in a box, and every box must relate to the others in a clear hierarchy. Failing this, the characters begin to experience crises of self-identity.

The film also boasts a fantastic cast. Wilby brings the right mixture of sensitivity and obtuseness to the role. Interestingly, Grant’s performance marks the greatest departure from the characterization in the book. The supporting cast, including Denholm Elliott (as Dr. Barry), Rupert Graves (as Alec Scudder), and Ben Kingsley (hypnotist Lasker-Jones), simply shines.

I should also note the movie departs from the book in some minor respects. Some scenes are re-ordered, and the movie adds a dramatic sequence about Risley (a minor character played by Mark Tandy) being entrapped, arrested, and convicted for homosexual acts. In the movie, this event precipitates Clive’s breakdown, which leads to a key development in his relationship with Maurice. In the book, Clive’s breakdown occurs without this catalyst as he apparently begins to re-think or grow out of his infatuation with Maurice.

The Book

As I mentioned above, the book doesn’t come across so much as a gay romance as a fictional biography of Maurice C. Hall. Still, it makes for an engaging, relatively fast-paced read, and I will say the scene in which Maurice and Clive first declare their love for each other is one of the most romantic passages I’ve ever read for a same-sex couple.

Forster, a skilled author, also writes with a nice turn of phrase. My favorite quote, which I swear I am going to use in real conversation some day:

“[Clive:] ‘May I ask whether you intend–’
“‘No, you may not ask,’ interrupted [Maurice]. ‘You belong to the past’” (244-5).

The book exceeds the movie in terms of evenness – it’s well-written all the way through – and theme. While the movie did a good job of capturing the most important themes from the book, it does not explore them with as much depth or subtlety, and it misses some of the less obvious ideas.

Forster addresses, for example, how people change. “One could be absolutely transformed … provided one didn’t care a damn for the past” (172). This idea hints at the constraints of a society that rigidly enforces roles relating to class, gender, profession, race, sexual orientation, etc. We grow comfortable in the niches to which we become accustomed, and even though we may experience pain in those places, we would have to sever ourselves completely from what we know in order to free ourselves from that pain. No wonder so few people exceed their so-called station in life. We are defeated by our own ambivalence, which is born of the comfortable ties we form with our past experience. In fact, Maurice begins to finds happiness because he transforms himself in one fundamental way (he increasingly accepts himself the way he is) while remaining steadfast in another (refusing to “become normal”). By the end, he even becomes willing to leave behind his family, station, and job in order to satisfy his heart.

Clive walks a different road. In the book, Clive writes from Greece, “‘Against my will I have become normal. I cannot help it’” (116). Based on the book’s presentation, I am inclined to think that for Clive their relationship was infatuation or adolescent experimentation. But the book also clearly reveals that Clive is never quite comfortable with heterosexuality either. He and his wife Anne, for example, never see each other naked.

If Clive lived today, in our contemporary culture, we would interpret his behavior as a gay man unable to accept his homosexuality but unable to truly fill the role of the heterosexual. But Clive lived in an era of excessive sexual repression. Lasker-Jones says, “England has always been disinclined to accept human nature.” Clive is the victim of his era. Although it’s definitely open to interpretation, I think in the book Clive had a youthful infatuation for Maurice, intensified by the single sex educational setting, and perhaps prolonged by Maurice’s genuine love and passion. Then Clive grows out of these feelings, but never finds himself quite comfortable with heterosexuality either. His culture’s sexual mores leave him unable to experience himself as a sexual being one way or the other. Although perhaps physically capable of sex, he is an emotional eunuch.

The movie presents Clive as a gay man who chooses the path of least resistance and conforms to the social norms of his society, at great personal cost. The ending, for him, is tragic: he stares out the window at a happy life that could have been and that he has lost forever.

Forster also uses his story to address questions of faith, because of course religion is intimately tied into homophobia. Forster writes with polite detachment but manages to convey a disdain for religious faith, which he suggests fails in day-to-day application because it is composed of one part inertia and one part arrogance. “He believed that he believed,” Forster writes of Maurice early in the novel, “and felt genuine pain when anything he was accustomed to met criticism – the pain that masqueraded among the middle classes as Faith” (45).

Later, Maurice has a conversation with a rather unpleasant, sanctimonious priest, who states hypocritically, “The unbeliever has always such a very clear idea as to what Belief ought to be, I wish I had half his certainty” (189-90). I chuckle at that statement because it seems to me the believer enjoys twice the unbeliever’s certainty. But that reaction is a version of “the grass is always greener on the other side” cliché.

Gay Positivity

As for Gay Positivity, both movie and book must necessarily reflect the mores of turn-of-the-century England, which was not a gay-positive time or place. It would thus be almost impossible to have a 100% happy gay story. And yet, both end well, with at least two characters finding strength and self-acceptance in themselves.

I weighted the movie and book a little bit differently. Both have essentially the same ending, and yet the presentation differs somewhat. The movie emphasizes a great romance, and the sadness of Clive’s path, while the book dithers a little and (in some ways appropriately) removes the focus from Maurice and his lover back to Maurice and Clive.

The Ending

Regarding Maurice’s relationship with the servant Alec Scudder, Lytton Strachey wrote to Forster on 12 March 1915, “As you describe it, I should have prophecied a rupture [in Maurice's and Alec's relationship] after 6 months — chiefly as a result of lack of common interests owing to class differences — and your Sherwood Forest ending appears to me slightly mythical.” Forster himself, in his afterward, says that he wanted a happy ending for his same-sex couple but implies he felt such happy endings lie in the province of fiction. Note how much later the book was published after it was written. I wonder how Forster might have revised this tale if he had lived to publish it today.