‘Blue Jean’ review: Georgia Oakley’s searing feature debut is a remarkably poignant British drama of the viciously homophobic Thatcher era [A] | LFF

It’s 1988 in Tyneside, North East England, and Margaret Thatcher has been Prime Minister for a year when the conservative government enacts Section 28, a law that prohibited the “promotion of homosexuality” by local authorities. Georgia Oakley’s utterly stunning and nimble character study introduces lesbian PE teacher Jean (a mesmerising Rosy McEwen), in the midst of this insidious context. However, while news broadcasts rumble in the background about the ramifications of the legal clause, Jean is more focused on ensuring her brunet roots are coated with Bowie-like bleach blonde hair dye.

This withdrawn lesbian is living a double life, both pre-Section 28 and as a result of it. She has built a high and sturdy wall between her personal and private existence that is only accentuated by the hostile political climate. Isolating herself at work – sitting alone for lunch and avoiding post-work pub sessions with teaching colleagues – it is only when the school bell rings that she is able to drop her shoulders and make a beeline for the local lesbian bar. Here, she falls into the arms of her cheeky butch girlfriend, Viv (a luminous Kerrie Hayes). The motorbike-riding lesbian with a dimpled smile is an instantly loveable charmer, a character that holds Jean’s hand but doesn’t coddle her through her journey of self-acceptance and battling internalised homophobia.

The concealment of sexuality is attentively observed under Oakley’s intimate lens, a thorough exploration and tight script that is remarkable for a debut feature filmmaker. While the noise of Section 28s introduction is at full volume, rather on the nose at some points with a lost subtlety, the grounded exploration of what it is to exist straddling the queer and the heteronormative world is a gritty reality. This is exemplified with the fact ‘lesbian’ is a word that won’t pass through Jean’s lips. She treats her sexuality as if it is a stone in her shoe, the reminder of its presence comes with an unignorable sharp pain. 

Striding through changing rooms in her billowing Lacoste sweatshirt or wrapped up in a fluffy dressing gown at home on her sofa, Jean swaddles herself in oversized clothing in an attempt to conceal her own body in a layer of fabric protection. But Jean’s militant defences begin to topple. It starts with her window becoming an aperture to entertainment for nosy neighbours and her sister’s unannounced arrivals where Viv is passed off as “a friend.” But the wrecking ball comes in the form of a new student to Jean’s gym class. 15-year-old Lois (Lucy Halliday) arrives, taller than the rest but hiding behind her curly fringe. Teacher’s pet Siobhan (Lydia Page) is particularly miffed by the new arrival toppling her from her position as Jean’s star protege and spiteful class competitiveness propagates as a netball team is assembled. Classroom bickering becomes the least of Jean’s worries when one evening Lois walks into Jean’s local lesbian bar and her severed worlds collide with unfathomable force.

The anxiously thrumming soundtrack captures pure terror as Jean’s own teachings of fight of flight fall by the wayside in this heartstopping moment. In lieu of binary responses she stands frozen, unresponsive as panic sets in. McEwen’s tenure of Jean’s physicality is masterful here. As Oakley pushes closer, tightening Jean’s freedom until it is only her face visible in these alarming moments, McEwen doesn’t reach for dramatics but wades into a bleak, deep loneliness that gradually makes itself known. Victor Seguin’s cinematography enhances this dissassocaition of self, the washed out blues and greys of school corridors enhance Jean’s sharp chisiled features while the lively and colourful underground queer club illuminates the brief joy in her life.

We often picture the idea of a queer revolution as a loudly boisterous, proud and public demonstration. Blue Jean reflects on an individualistic alternative. “Not everything is political,” Jean sighs one evening only to be met with raised eyebrows and a swift rebuttal from Viv: “of course it is.” Internalised homophobia is a tricky puzzle to arrange, Jean’s ingrained self-hatred is deeply rooted and she’s become brittle, ready to inevitably snap under the impending dread of mounting Thatcherism with a cruel act of self-destruction. Blue Jean avoids the trappings of a blanket universality. The specificity of experience and volatility of identity ignites Oakley’s drama ablaze. In drawing attention to the wounds of the past, Blue Jean arrives at one central thesis: how many more stitches need to be undone before Britain arrives at this same place again?

Grade: A

This review is from the 2022 London Film Festival. There is no U.S. distribution at this time.

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Emily Maskell

Emily Maskell is a film critic and culture writer from the UK. She has written for BBC Culture, GQ, W Mag, Teen Vogue, and more. She is the author of Icons of Cinema: Baz Luhrmann. You can follow Emily on Twitter: @EmMaskell

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