Orlando (1992): The Fluidity of Gender

Introduction ‘Orlando’ is a 1992 striking period drama fantasy film with a postmodern twist,  starring Tilda Swinton as the time-travelling titular character. Loosely based on Virginia  Woolf’s 1928 novel, ‘Orlando: A Biography’, the film was written and directed by Sally Potter  and received arguably divided critical praise and admiration for its visual treatment of the  novel. Featuring gorgeous visuals, the film, particularly its ‘maze’ scene, served as the  primary inspiration for the 2020 s

pring exhibition of the Costume Institute at the Metropolitan  Museum of Art, which was postponed until October of 2020, and the 2020 Met Gala, which was  cancelled due to COVID. Due to time constraints, in both video length and the time I had to make  this video, this video will mostly concentrate and explore the themes in context to the  film, and not the novel. Although longer, the video also turned out shallower than I  would’ve liked, so apologies in advance. Also, if I talk in absolutes th

is doesn’t mean you  have to take anything said as objective fact. The Division of Orlando/The Structure of Orlando Often described as ‘not your typical costume drama’, the $6 million budget film, and the  novel, distinctly divides Orlando’s journey into two sections: the first of which Orlando  retains his male body, and the second dealing with his awakening in a woman’s body. The  physical transition, or metamorphosis, if you will, leads Orlando to question themes  of their gender, s*xuality a

nd identity. For context, the novel’s subtitle, ‘a  biography’, is particularly revealing, as an indication that Orlando was a fictional  representation of, love-letter and tribute to Woolf’s friend and lover, Vita Sackville-West.  The pair were also members of ‘The Bloomsbury Group’ — or ‘The Bloomsbury Set’. The Bloomsbury  Group was another one of those elite literary circles, much like ‘Stratford-on-Odeon’  or ‘The Inklings’, that came together, according to Penguin, ‘every Thursday for food

and  drinks at Vanessa Bell’s home [which served as a clubhouse] in London’s then-bohemian Bloomsbury.’ As these bohemian writers and artists openly questioned and resisted traditional norms of  gender and s*xuality, it has been presumed that Orlando’s smooth transition from man to woman  reflects the couple’s own understanding of gender and s*xuality. And Orlando reflects this  through their presentation of gender; Orlando’s possession of both the qualities of a man and  woman and having affai

rs with both, ultimately disrupts popular gender stereotypes. Orlando  was also inspired by Woolf’s reverence for and intrigue in Vita’s aristocratic genealogy, and the  subsequent s*xual freedoms it afforded to Vita. Orlando’s physical transition is  therefore the most pivotal event, establishing the film and book’s narrative turning  point. Further, Orlando’s turmoil appears to arise from the challenge in distinguishing their true  authentic ‘self’ from the pressures of societal influence (I’l

l touch more on this later). Aside from this male/female division in Orlando’s structure, the film is segmented  into a sequence of intertitles: ‘1600 DEATH’; ‘1610 LOVE’; ‘1650 POETRY’; ‘1700 POLITICS’;  ‘1850 S*X’ and the undated ‘BIRTH’, set in early 90s London. Consequently, the audience  follows Orlando as he/she traverses through a journey of time. ‘In a sense,’ as per Julianne  Pidduck ‘very little ‘happens’ in the film, as its events can be condensed into  [this] string of intertitles’ o

r a string of single terms. So it isn’t about  what happens, but the ‘meaningfulness [and] richness of [Potter’s] Orlando is conveyed  through a micro-economy of polite silences, gestures and looks. [... And Each ‘movement’ is  distinguished in] its own colourations and mood’; from the iterations of eye colour to the costumes.  Orlando’s centuries-long existence, experiencing various epochs and personas, contributes to  the eventual evolving understanding of ‘Self’. The Oak Tree The film begins

in the Elizabethan era, with Orlando sitting beneath an oak tree  which crowns the hill of his father’s mansion, unable to write poetry. The opening sequence,  curiously like many films I’ve covered, takes place at the same location as the closing  sequence; where this story begins is where this story ends. Though, with one essential difference:  Orlando is now a woman, wife and mother. With the oak tree being both the opening and  closing shot, we have to wonder if this tree has any wider symbo

lic meaning. Indeed, if we  turn to the novel, there is grander significance to be found in the motif of the oak tree, which  appears as both an actual living tree and a poem titled ‘The Oak Tree’ — apparently a ‘veiled  version of Vita’s ‘The Land (1926)’ — which Orlando wrote for centuries in the novel. In the book, the poem is representative of and central to Orlando’s identity as a  poet and later her growth as a writer and person. Throughout Orlando’s long life, he/she  revises and continue

s to re-write ‘The Oak Tree’, which transforms from a ‘gloomy’ poem to one  that is ‘sprightly and satirical’. As such, the poem and Orlando’s own transformation parallel  each other in the book. Although, throughout all these changes, Orlando remains ‘fundamentally the  same,’ — still a poet — positioning ‘The Oak Tree’ as a constant reassuring appearance and presence. One thing that’s interesting to note in the novel, is Woolf’s personification of the oak tree,  describing it in terms of the h

uman body. Using descriptors such as ‘spine’, ‘ribs’ and ‘bones’,  the tree is depicted akin to a human being, which embraces the return of their son or  daughter, Orlando; returning as a ‘confident, self-possessed woman, [having finally fulfilled]  her aspirations’ to the ‘stability, firmness, and assurance that is [offered] by the oak.’ This  echoes what was previously said, the oak tree is Orlando’s sanctuary — his (or hers) safe haven  — weathering the tumult of Orlando’s feelings, protectin

g his naked soul and allowing  him (or her) to find peace for himself. And due to ‘The Oak Tree’ poem, Orlando  finally gains the recognition he/she desires, and thus decides to lay the poem to  rest under the physical oak tree, as a sort-of gift. The plot of  the novel comes full circle, with the poem meeting its living prototype. This is in contrast to Potter’s ‘Orlando’, where Orlando gives up poetry when she transitions  into a woman. Though, for both the film and novel, trees themselves are

an apt symbol — for Orlando  grapples with immortality by embracing the fluidity of time and identity; trees cannot die,  instead renewing themselves eternally. Hence, trees in general, aside from what the oak  tree can already signify — such as strength, sturdiness and reassurance — can further  connote recurring regeneration and immortality. Aside We then get the first witty ‘aside’; a stylistic device where Orlando  directly addresses the audience through the camera — ten times before his ge

nder transition —  breaking the fourth-wall: ‘That is, I…’ Orlando’s interruption of the voice-over establishes his  authority and expresses his self-awareness, reaching ‘out[side] of the diegetic action to  create a moment of complicity with the audience’. It can suggest Orlando taking ownership of their  own story by breaking the narrative flow. Or a realisation and reminder that we, the audience,  are viewing a film — a construction itself — which invites our own individual interpretation.  S

ubsequently, echoing the overarching theme of which gender and identity are constructed  in Woolf’s novel. The ‘asides’ also create a recognition of pattern, or of familiarity,  as they typically occur at the end of scenes; which lends itself well to one of the film’s more  iconic lines: ‘same person. No difference at all.’ Kate Bellmore also touches on Potter’s inclusion  of the audience, echoing the sentiment that the ‘[‘asides’ establish] a consistent,  loyal relationship with the audience, w

hich Orlando does not have with any  character in the film.’ This personal and intimate connection allows the audience  to feel as though they’re present and a part of Orlando’s journey, as though we ‘know’ him. Bellmore goes further; aside from commenting on the ‘unconventional use of asides’, she  explores the link between scopophilia and cinema, and the film’s camerawork. Scopophilia, simply  put, being the pleasure gained in looking or being looked at. Because of these asides, as spotlighted

  by Bellmore: ‘not only does the audience look at Orlando, [but, more importantly] Orlando looks at  [us (the audience)].’ This brings us back to these ‘asides’ shining light on Orlando’s awareness;  specifically, his awareness of the audience. In terms of the camerawork, instead of excessive  cuts or disruption to vital scenes, Potter uses panning and tracking camera movements to increase  the duration of the shots. Bellmore explains that these camera techniques support the strong bond,  which

has been established by the ‘asides’, further intensifying the audience’s emotional  investment in Orlando. An example of this is later when the female-Orlando drinks tea  with American-adventurer Shelmerdine, played by Billy Zane; as the conversation  gets deeper on ‘the topic of ‘liberty’ and freedom of gender expectations’ traditional  back-and-forth cuts between the couple cease, and Potter employs a single shot that  sways to and fro from the characters. Death Awakening from his accidental

slumber, Orlando rushes to meet Queen Elizabeth I, as she arrives  at his father’s sprawling, stately home via the longboat of a ceremonial flotilla. Portrayed by  Quentin Crisp, Elizabeth’s appearance is fleeting, but nothing short of visually spectacular. According to Sally Potter, ‘[she] had worked out a colour palette for each sequence which  came from Virginia Woolf.’ She explains that, ‘there’s a paragraph in the book talking about  golds and reds of the Elizabethan period’. Hence, rich,

warm tones — fit for a Queen — reign  supreme during the Elizabethan reign. Orlando, a handsome young boy (a trait which his  father intends to capitalise on), is then made to serve as a poet and a page at the Elizabethan  court. During a banquet, given in Elizabeth’s honour, Orlando recites a poem, but compares  the ageing Queen to a dying rose. This offends the monarch, who stops him mid-performance. Though, Orlando’s blunder doesn’t put off the elderly Queen’s affections, who remains taken  w

ith him. After Orlando accompanies the Queen on a garden-walk, Elizabeth fixes a garter to  Orlando’s leg and adopts him as her ‘favourite’. After Elizabeth is undressed by her  ladies-in-waiting, Orlando is summoned to pay a visit to the Queen’s bedchamber. Whilst  Woolf does not explain Orlando’s immortality, the Queen generously bequeaths Orlando a home,  but on one condition: ‘Do not fade; do not wither; do not grow old.’ And so he does not. It is  therefore heavily implied that Elizabeth, o

n her deathbed, confers immortality upon  Orlando, willing away the effects of time. Perhaps there is nothing more terrible to the  dying Queen than the decay of blooming youth. Or maybe ‘The Virgin Queen’ thrusts upon him the  ‘gift’ of immortality to ensure the preservation of her own existence, by living vicariously  through Orlando as a pseudo-heir, or successor; Elizabeth dies, but Orlando lives on. The gender reversals of Orlando and Elizabeth, being played by actors of the opposite gender

,  adds dimension and irony to Potter’s exploration of the fluidity, mutability and constructedness  of gender. The irony is apparent from the opening, where the voice-over expresses that:  ‘there can be no doubt about his s*x’. After her death, Orlando gives us another  ‘aside’, he calls the late-Queen a ‘very interesting person’, which allows Orlando to  undermine the Queen’s authority and control, as it is Orlando that determines our response to  her and, by extension, how we perceive the fil

m. It’s the Jacobean era, King James I has been  installed on the throne and the coffin of Orlando’s father trails behind him, making Orlando  the master of his late-father’s wealthy estate. Love pt. 1 Whilst the encounter with Elizabeth leaves Orlando ageless — thanks  to the mysterious slumbers that befall Orlando and leave his appearance untouched by the passage  of time — Orlando finds longevity and the Queen’s request to be less freeing, and more trapping. As Caroline Bainbridge puts it: ‘O

rlando’s struggle to write poetry at the beginning of the  film suggests that he is unable to articulate his position within the symbolic realm. His actions  and responses are structured by those around him [notably his father and the Queen].’ As such,  Orlando, unable to break out of convention, does what he thinks needs to be done, finding himself  in a lukewarm engagement with a noblewoman by the name of Lady Euphrosyne. As the intertitle would  suggest, this is to be a recipe for disaster. O

rlando and Euphrosyne, his now fiancée, gaze  at a painting of Orlando’s parents, before turning towards the camera. The complexities of  assigning a fixed gender are briefly explored satirically through this shot (more on this  later). As the portrait looms over the pair, we see Orlando standing in front and in the  place of his mother, illustrating either that he steps into a feminine and maternal role or he  doesn’t feel quite at home in his masculinity. Euphrosyne assumes the ‘role’ of his f

ather,  thus visually echoing the gender ambiguity and confusion which is central to the narrative. In this second movement titled ‘Love’, ruled by an all-or-nothing thinking and an apt black-and-white  colour scheme, King James appears to have taken a liking to Orlando; this time he appears  with James’ court as they receive the Russian ambassadorial envoy with pomp and circumstance;  a grand feast in an even grander tent on the ice. Clothing pt. 1 Clothing is another recurrent motif essential

to Potter’s Orlando. It  can be symbolic of the artificiality of gender and comment on gender as a social construction. This  is because clothing in Orlando aids in obscuring the character’s true gender identity. As we’ll see  later, Orlando’s gender identity as both a man and woman is communicated and represented through  their clothing. When Orlando wears male garb, he is perceived as a man, and when they wear a  dress, Orlando is perceived by others as a woman. It is suggested therefore that

it is Orlando’s  clothes, not their body, which ultimately dictates the gender of Orlando; the way we dress can  depict the way we are perceived by others. Other characters also find themselves pigeonholed  into specific gender identities based on their clothes. As England faces the so-called  ‘Great Frost’, which has frozen The Thames, something within the entourage of the Russian  embassy catches the attention of Orlando’s eyes. A figure skates on ice, and it’s elucidated in  the novel that Or

lando is almost certain from their form and clothes that the ‘she’ must be  a man. Obviously, this is no man, and the frame reveals the skater to be a Russian Princess  and the daughter of the Muscovite ambassador. Love pt. 2 During the feast, the princess reveals her ‘pet-name’ to be Sasha,  and the two connect over mutually-spoken French. Despite his betrothal and their difference in  background, Orlando is instantly besotted with the exotic and androgynous free-spirit,  who skates literal cir

cles around him. This captivation doesn’t go unnoticed by both  Euphrosyne and the Court. They try to dissuade him from pursuing the object of his affections,  but Orlando humiliates his fiancée by doing so publicly. Hence, the intertitles act as shorthand  for the significant action of each movement: Queen Elizabeth’s ‘Death’ in the first ‘chapter’  and Orlando’s ‘love’ for Sasha here. Subsequently, Orlando is confronted by Euphrosyne, but shows  little care: ‘It would never have worked.’ Orlan

do then introduces Sasha to his home,  where he intends to live with her. But whilst Orlando is madly in love with her, he is blind  to the superficial attachment and unreciprocated affection from Sasha. Helena Young suggests  that, aside from their ‘romantic inequality’, this could also signify ‘[a] disparity between  their cultural ideologies. Sasha’s declaration that “because when ice breaks, we must go” signals  her desire for liberty and self-government, [which opposes Orlando’s insistence

that] “[because  I can’t bear] this happiness [will] end.”’ So, whilst Sasha’s statement emphasises that she  seizes opportunities for liberty, Orlando implies, in contrast, a resignation to the eventual end  of happiness; because Orlando, unlike Sasha, organises his life around external constraints. The extent of Sasha’s shallow affections are revealed when Orlando catches Sasha in the arms  of a sailor. He grows jealous, confronting her, but is pretty much gaslighted by  Sasha into gaslighting

himself: I suppose when you’re in love, you see only  what you want to see. Orlando instructs her to meet him at midnight at London Bridge. Before executing their plans to elope, Orlando stops to watch a performance of  Shakepeare’s Othello. According to Catherine Craft-Fairchild: ‘Homoerotic threads are picked  up again [in] Potter’s restaging of Desdemona’s death from … Othello, which underscores the  s*xual triangulation previously presented while it emphasises Orlando’s deep jealousy and  p

ossessiveness of Sasha. When the man playing Othello passionately embraces the younger man who  plays Desdemona, the man to man-woman (as in the man on stage that plays a woman) eroticism  echoes the previous woman to woman-man (as in Tilda Swinton’s portrayal of a man) seduction  [of Sasha] in ways that suggest the polymorphous pleasures available to an earlier age.’ Aside from this, the introduction of a theatrical stage, spotlights to us that the  world of Orlando — the film — is literally st

aged. The visuals of the film feel vaguely  familiar, but the artificial staging and design are exaggerated to such extremes that they leave  the film feeling otherworldly, fantastical or of unreality. We can therefore be reminded of themes  concerning ‘constructedness’ and ‘artificiality.’ Orlando waits for Sasha at the bridge, but just  as chance of ‘The Great Frost’ which froze in the Muscovite ship brought them together, chance  of rain breaks up the ice, allowing the ship to sail and, in tu

rn, allows Sasha to abandon him. Sasha’s jilting of Orlando causes another one of his ‘asides’: ‘The treachery of women!’ Which  when compared to his direct addresses as a woman, portray Orlando in ‘a favourable light as  lover, poet and patron’: ‘a man must follow his heart’; ‘Terrific play!’; ‘The  Treachery of Women!’; ‘Ah, poetry!’ There’s also doubling and irony to be seen in  Potter’s Orlando, particularly in this line: ‘The treachery of women!’ which was reflected  in Euphrosyne’s earlier

line: ‘The treachery of men!’ Firstly, it’s ironic that when Euphrosyne’s  affections are scorned by Orlando he downplays the scenario: ‘It never would have worked. A man  must follow his heart.’ Yet, resorts to the same reasoning when jilted by Sasha. Euphrosyne’s  slight may also subtly foreshadow Orlando’s transformation into a woman, where this statement  (‘The treachery of men!’) will no longer apply. Poetry Heartbroken from Sasha’s betrayal, Orlando falls into  a deep slumber before awake

ning. It’s 1650, and Orlando has set his sights on poetic  purpose as opposed to love. As such, this period sees a surge of interest from  Orlando in composing sonnets and verses. Orlando invites a greedy poet, Nick Greene,  to his home, hoping to befriend and share his poetry aspirations. As they dine  together, Greene explains that the sacred subject of poetry is ‘dead in England’. However, he implies that he can ‘dedicate himself to fine writing,’ for a generous sum of  £300 a year paid quart

erly. ‘Time is money,’ he tells Orlando, suggesting he will only  validate his poetry on that condition. Orlando agrees to pay the pension, only to have  his poetry mocked and scrutinised by Greene. Played by Heathcote Williams, the essence  of Greene’s role, to reflect a resistance to new literary forms and Woolf’s critique of  literary criticism, are translated from the novel, albeit differently. In the novel, Greene  has harsh criticisms for Orlando’s play, only to insist in a later century t

hat  Orlando’s poem must be published. This is mirrored in Greene’s film portrayal, where  Heathcote Williams shows up as a publisher in the twentieth-century to, again, hypocritically  insist that Orlando’s writing must be published. Politics Having been ridiculed, Orlando takes up an ambassadorial appointment  in Constantinople to the Ottoman Empire. There Orlando meets the Emperor, The Khan, who  asks for the British Empire’s aid in war against enemies as they drink ‘to the manly  virtues: lo

yalty, courage…’ After a friendship blossoms between Orlando and The Khan, Orlando  abandons his European dress for Turkish styles. Later, Orlando is informed by Archduke Harry  that he has been promoted by Queen Anne for ‘ambassadorial services rendered for the  Crown.’ During his celebratory dinner, the Emperor arrives late to tell Orlando  that enemies are now at the city gates. He asks if Orlando will help, honouring  their friendship, which Orlando agrees to. Although, during this sequence,

it’s clear  that Orlando wants no part of the violent war, falling into unconsciousness. So, in many ways, Orlando has none of the ‘manly virtues,’ despite his drinking  with the Khan to ‘loyalty’ and ‘courage’. Hence, the next scene can be interpreted as  Orlando failing the trials of manliness: Orlando does not get the girl, he proves himself  to be a mediocre poet and fails to fight in war. As such, as Sally Potter implies in interviews,  Orlando’s transition into a woman occurs because: ‘[i

n war Orlando faces] the ultimate test every  boy grows up holding somewhere in his psyche, that he may have to go to war, fight, kill or  be killed. This is the moment Orlando realises he cannot, will not, be a man in the sense he  is being asked to,’ (Sally Potter Interview with Manohla Dargis — which also contradicts her  insistence of an ‘essential self’ (seen later)). Metamorphosis Orlando awakes from an inexplicable slumber, taking off his wig and leaving his clothing, only  to find that ‘

he’ has transformed into a ‘she’. This metamorphosis leaves Orlando completely  nude — blissfully laid bare. Young suggests it is in Orlando’s nakedness that ‘we find purity of  access to Orlando’s identity unadulterated by the accessories and objects that may have previously  cloaked the truth,’ especially as the importance of clothing is rather significant to shaping  of identity in the film. Young goes on further to talk about how the scene is absent in the  ‘significant features’ typically f

ound in film, such as ‘furniture, props and costumes.’ And how  the lack of these external elements emphasises the naturality and simplicity of the scene, allowing  Orlando’s identity to shine through without any distractions. Then Orlando splashes water on  herself, reminiscent of a religious baptism, which may symbolise her transformation  and introduction into the feminine world. The novel treats the transformation differently.  In Woolf’s version three ‘muses’, Lady of Purity, Chastity and M

odesty — symbolic of feminine  virtues — appear and dance around the body of Orlando. Comparatively, Potter’s version  is tonally sacred, ritualistic and ethereal; the camera pans slowly over Orlando’s  body, emphasising her beauty, complete with whispering chants and soft  light illuminating dust particles. This eroticisation of Orlando’s body can be perceived  as ‘[transforming] the female body into a fetish.’ Orlando sees her fully female self in the mirror  for the first time. In John Berger

’s ‘Ways of Seeing’, he posits that a mirror functions ‘to  make the woman connive in treating herself as, first and foremost, a sight.’ Mirrors are  typically associated with self-reflection or self-awareness, but Craft-Fairchild asserts  that, in this case, seeing herself in the mirror doesn’t empower Orlando or provide her  with agency. Instead, it is symbolic of her exclusion from societal norms and expectations  surrounding femininity, which often dictate that women are primarily objects of

visual  pleasure rather than active agents in their own lives. Amongst other scholars, Sophie Mayer  has pointed out that Orlando’s pose, ‘appears to refer to the aesthetics and critique the gender  politics of Botticelli’s The Birth of Venus’. ‘Same Person, No Difference at All.’ In another ‘aside’ (those direct addresses to the camera), Orlando declares  that she is the ‘Same person, no difference at all. Just a different s*x.’ In this section  I want to use Catherine Craft-Fairchild’s essay,

with the title based on this line (‘Same  Person … Just a Different S*x’) to explore Orlando’s change in s*x more deeply. According to Craft-Fairchild ‘Potter insists, repeatedly [in interviews] that her film is about  an “essential self” that transcends gender.’ According to Potter, she believes that ‘Woolf’s  hypothesis [is] that we’re all born simply human beings who are then shaped one way or the other,  masculine or feminine, and that mostly it’s how we’re perceived by others that makes th

e  difference, rather than what we are.’ She insisted further that ‘Orlando is a … look at the  ‘blurring’ of s*xual identity and the nonsense of femininity and masculinity as construction.  It’s about claiming of an essential self. … [An] essential human self [that] transcends gender.’  Potter sums this up again for Sight and Sound, saying: ‘For me… Orlando is not so much about  femininity and difference as about Woolf’s notion of an essential self that lies beyond gender.’ It seems Craft-Fairc

hild takes issue with Potter’s insistence that Woolf’s text and her  film end up ‘blurring’ these lines of gender or s*xual identity; as in gender distinctions,  are completely erased in Woolf’s ‘Orlando’, and therefore, that’s what her film sets  out to do. Craft-Fairchild claims this is ‘premature’ and inaccurate, disagreeing  with Potter’s notion that Woolf ‘reduces the masculine and feminine [to being the same  or ‘meaningless’]’. Her position is that just because Woolf explores identity bey

ond ‘gender,  time, and place’, it doesn’t mean these factors become irrelevant. This is supported by arguments  from Christy Burns and Susan Watkins, contending that Woolf’s text presents an ongoing tension  between personal autonomy and ideological forces, as opposed to illustrating the existence of an  ‘essential self’ standing apart from history. It’s a question of whether an innate human essence  (an ‘essential self’) can transcend historical effects or if an individual's personality  is fu

lly shaped by the world around them. Burns argument is that Woolf’s portrayal of  Orlando’s identity allows for both personal agency and external influences to shape identity within  the context of historical change and s*xuality, which means that whilst Woolf’s text acknowledges  the possibility for individuals to participate in shaping their own identities within society,  it also recognises the influence of historical and societal factors in this process. In  essence, Craft-Fairchild, Burns a

nd Watkins are arguing that Woolf’s exploration of gender  in ‘Orlando’ is much more complex than simply erasing or trivialising gender distinctions. But by representing historical periods accurately in the film — depicting how  gender identity began to develop in the eighteenth century and became more solidified  in the nineteenth century, Potter’s ‘Orlando’ does what it claims to not: ‘Orlando’, the  film, actually reinforces constructions of gender rather than breaking them down. The next sce

ne emphasises Craft-Fairchild’s point. Following Orlando’s transformation we see  her travelling across the desert, atop a camel. The camera zooms out to a high-angle, rendering  Orlando to a small speck on the screen. The high camera angles of female-Orlando, which force us to  literally look down on her, are contrasted against the frequent low-shot angles of male-Orlando. And so, as Craft-Fairchild puts it: ‘This [is a rather obvious] diminishment of the character  who had so fully occupied th

e frame when male, and suggests that Orlando’s recent assertion  that there is ‘no difference at all’ between male and female is untrue. Hence, the s*x change  appears the pivotal point within the film, an explicit construction of gender that  alters completely the treatment of Potter’s protagonist’ — a far cry from Potter’s insistence  that her film blurs the lines of s*xual identity. Though Craft-Fairchild appears to disagree  with Potter’s claims of an ‘essential self’ and contends that gende

r ideology unavoidably  permeates the film by precisely highlighting the historical constructedness of gender, her  essay appears to suggest that she views the film’s engagement with the historical and cultural  construction of gender identity as more useful and compelling than what Potter claims it to be. So to sum up, Potter’s idea of an ‘essential self’ suggests that there is a core identity  within individuals that exists independently of social constructs or external influences. It  implies

people have a fixed and innate sense of self which remains unchanged despite societal  norms or historical contexts. For example, if we take the topic of women’s clothing  choices, an ‘essential self’ might lead someone to think that there are ‘innate’ preferences or  inclinations towards certain types of clothing, regardless of societal expectations or norms;  someone that believes in an ‘essential self’ might argue that a woman ‘naturally’ feels more  comfortable in wearing skirts or dresses

because this an expression of her true essence and  women that prefer wearing trousers (or pants) may somehow be deviating from her ‘true self’  or suppressing her innate femininity. Therefore, critics argue that this idea of an essential  self is potentially reinforcing traditional gender expectations as opposed to allowing the  possibility to challenge or reconfigure them. On the other hand, we have critics like  Craft-Fairchild, who argue that Potter’s film firstly does the opposite by emphas

ising  the constructed nature of gender roles. And by highlighting how these roles are socially  created and influenced by external factors, such as historical changes and societal  norms, Craft-Fairchild implies that there is no singular ‘essential self’ unaffected by these  external forces. In context to clothing choices, she might argue that they are often influenced by  gender norms and expectations, and so associations of certain styles and colours with the masculine  or feminine are social

ly constructed rather than inherent preferences. So for example, this  whole idea of blue for boys and pink for girls. And her argument of pointing out constructions  opens up possibilities for negotiation and allows for the reconfiguration of constructed  gender roles. This emphasis on the constructed nature of gender aligns with contemporary gender  theory, particularly the ideas of Judith Butler, who argues that gender is performative and  constantly ‘constructed’ through social practices. I’

ll touch more on the clothing later, but an  example of this constructedness is that in the Elizabethan era, the male-Orlando  can be seen wearing vibrant yellow tights underneath his hose. In the 20th  century, the era in which the film ends, the tights would be considered a female garment.  And conversely, the 20th century female-Orlando sports trousers, which would have clashed with  the societal norms Orlando has lived through. Another aspect which spotlights the diminishment  of Orlando’s a

uthority are the ‘asides’, which aside from this scene (and maybe the  direct addresses during the maze sequence), the female-Orlando’s ‘asides’, are mute looks as  opposed to the male-Orlando’s spoken addresses. Especially as the female-Orlando begins to  understand society’s newfound expectations of her to be ‘obedient’ like a doll or some other object. Although, another interpretation of the decreasing ‘asides’ — which is more aligned with Potter’s  insistence that her film blurs the lines of

s*xual identity — is that Orlando’s ‘asides’ decrease  because his/her story is that of someone finding their ‘true identity’ or, as Potter describes,  ‘an essential self’ — a deeper sense of identity which remains constant, consistent and unchanged  despite changes in circumstances and roles. And as Orlando discovers her ‘core’ identity and becomes  more assured of herself, it is appropriate for some that these ‘asides’ or ‘questioning  looks’ to the audience would decrease. Clothing pt. 2 Thi

s brings us back to the topic of clothing. Lady  Orlando has returned to England, where servants dress the female-Orlando. At this  point, female-Orlando’s garb is much lighter, feminine and pastel than the previous darker  shades for the male-Orlando’s wardrobe. Though the Elizabethan and Jacobean sequences  featured darker colours, it doesn’t necessarily indicate a stark contrast between masculinity and  femininity or strict determination of gender if we take those periods in isolation. The El

izabethan  era is characterised by a somewhat notable acceptance of gender fluidity; it wasn’t until  the Victorian era did a very rigid gender norm become firmly established (as this was beginning  to emerge in the mid-eighteenth century). Whilst differences in male and female dress during  the Elizabethan era existed, they were not as distinct as they would later become, which is  why I mentioned the implications of taking these earlier periods in isolation. As while it may  to some extent exp

ose the differences between masculinity and femininity (i.e. male-Orlando  versus female-Orlando), it is the comparison of earlier periods with the mid-eighteenth century  which informs this idea of light versus dark, revealing a shift in the way that femininity  and masculinity was viewed. Male clothing in the Elizabethan era was ornate, sometimes  even more so than womens, but by the time of George III, male dress became more severe,  with ornamentation largely reserved for women. Thomas Laque

ur discusses the introduction of the  ‘Two-Sex Model’, which was basically how around the middle of the eighteenth century (so the  current period in which we find female-Orlando), there was a shift in thinking about human  s*xuality. The previous held-belief of a ‘one-s*x model’, where the female body was seen as  incomplete or imperfect versions of men actually allowed for more gender fluidity because there  wasn’t a strict binary division between male and female attributes in its single, unif

ied model of  the human body; men and women were not viewed as having entirely separate attributes, but as bodies  along a continuum of metaphysical perfection. Lacquer argued that this shift marked the  invention of s*x as we understand it today. Previously, distinctions between  male and female were less rigid, but with the emergence of the two-s*x model,  there was radical dimorphism which emphasised biological differences. However, Lacquer describes  the two-s*x system as lacking stability (

‘absence of a purportedly stable system of two sexes’)  because, in contrast to the previous model, it represents a significant departure in how  societies conceptualised gender and s*xuality. Subsequently, strict laws attempted to stabilise  gender identities through clothing and appearance. This meant that visible markers, such as  clothing were used to signify both class and gender status. However, these distinctions were  not as clear-cut as they would become in later centuries. But, as the

narrative progresses to  the contemporary 90s London, we are greeted with a resurgence of fluidity in gender boundaries. Therefore, there is a notable shift in the way Orlando is perceived compared to prior periods,  because of this shift in perception. And this is reflected in this scene where female-Orlando is  being dressed. Compared to the previous scene, where the male-Orlando fidgets in agitation,  female-Orlando submits herself to her servants. Orlando is tight-laced, bound and confined 

by a stiff dress. The submission, constraint, restrictiveness and discomfort — further  illustrated by Orlando’s hair piled on her head — emphasises the regulation and  oppression Orlando will be subjected to, despite her assertion that she’s the ‘Same person.  Just a different s*x,’ (bringing us back to Craft-Fairchild’s argument). So whilst Orlando’s  male status did afford him particular freedoms depicted here, we should also to take into account  the historical shifts (from the Elizabethan e

ra to the mid-eighteenth century) in attitudes towards  gender (i.e. Orlando isn’t treated differently just because he’s a woman now, but also because  attitudes towards gender had changed); so, as women’s roles became increasingly confined,  clothing conventions increasingly tightened. Society Orlando trudges through rooms in her ostentatious gown, hindering her movement:  first through a room where furniture is covered in white sheets, and secondly to sit on a couch. The first ivory dress almo

st mirrors the veiled furniture. Daniel Walber aptly expresses that in  this outfit, ‘she floats like a [ghost] … as if, trapped by expectations of femininity, she’s been  made into an object within her own home. Once, she was a red flame on green gardens, black velvet  on snow — a man of contrast. Now, background and character are becoming a material unity.’ The intentional exaggeration and over-elaboration of her two costumes to an absurd extreme,  highlights the historical construction of gen

der and femininity in the eighteenth-century.  And how Orlando is not only trapped in a symbolic prison, but the performativity and pageantry now  associated with being a woman; as the expectations of gender for both men and women are merely  artificial, socially constructed and entirely manmade. The excessiveness of her clothing  also allows her to blend in with characters of gender ambiguity, like Queen Elizabeth, but  stand out against the characters fitting the mould of more traditional gend

er roles. Aside from changes to her clothing, Orlando’s peers transition from influential male  figures, from royalty, military and literature, to women in ‘lowly’ positions, such as  servants, possibly signalling Orlando’s entry into a traditionally feminine space. Orlando enters the literary salon adjusting to the charade of femininity and submitting to the gaze  of men. Walber describes material unity between background and character as ‘even more evident  [in this scene] as the entertaining

company, people and décor merge in a flowery mess of  pastels. Many shots of the female-Orlando are ‘full-figure establishing shots and medium shots’  compared to numerous close-ups of male-Orlando which ‘dominate the frame.’ The primary mode  of shooting the male-Orlando, the close-ups, emphasise the importance of his ‘words and  thoughts’, whilst diminishing the significance of his clothing. The opposite is true of Orlando  now, trapped in femininity, her self-expression is not the focus, but

her looks and body are. Orlando sits opposite the male poets, like Alexander Pope and Jonathan Swift,  to challenge their patronising remarks on women. Orlando is immobilised on her seat.  Compared to scenes of the male-Orlando which are characterised by action and movement — such  as running to meet the Queen or skating on ice with Sasha — the pacing of female-Orlando are  much more static and inactive; Orlando sits and loiters instead. It isn’t until later in the  twentieth century, where Orla

ndo is seen running from World Wars and riding on motorcycles, in line  with what was previously said about the fluidity of gender in relation to historical contexts. The men begin defining what constitutes ‘proper’ feminine behaviour. As Orlando has lived as both  man and now woman, she is able to recognise their male chauvinism, hypocrisy and misogyny; what it  means to be a woman is all the things Orlando is not expected to be or to do as a man. This barely  has any effect and the continued i

nsults on her intelligence are enough to make her leave.  The Archduke Harry, also present at the salon, pursues Orlando, when lawyers intrude to tell  the Lady that they have come to seize her estate, because her femininity amounts to being legally  dead. Harry, who has always seemed besotted with Orlando, takes the opportunity now that  Orlando has no right to own her own property. Maze Archduke Harry proposes to the female-Orlando, and when she  refuses to accept, Harry tells her: ‘I am Engla

nd, and you are mine.’ And when she asks him: ‘On  what grounds?’ He tells her: ‘That I adore you.’ These words feel familiar, because they’ve  been said before — by Orlando. Satirically, Orlando’s previous claim that Sasha was  his because he adores her is now echoed by Archduke Harry. And so, ‘the absurdity of  masculine claims on the feminine is doubly exposed.’ Orlando’s previous words for Sasha: ‘The  treachery of women!’ is now applicable to herself. When Orlando holds firm on her refusal,

  Harry asks her, ‘Who else will have you?’ on account of her ‘ambiguous s*xuality’,  threatening that she ‘will die a spinster’. To escape these prophecies and, perhaps,  liberate herself from the confines of traditional femininity, Orlando panics and angrily  spits out: ‘Spinster!’ ‘Alone!’ before jilting Harry and disappearing into the hedge maze. Time bends in the labyrinthine shrubbery, transitioning seamlessly from the powdery pastels  of the 18th century to the darker purples, browns, nav

y, greens and blacks of the industrial  Victorian Era. Thus, at its most basic role, the maze acts as a narrative device which  drives forward the timeline. However, on a metaphorical level, the course of the  winding maze — with its dead ends which can reflect societal barriers and expectations of  gender — may mark the beginning of Orlando’s quest to shape her own gender identity by resisting  the aspects of femininity that confine her to a fate she desperately rejects: gender roles  and norms

may feel convoluted and restrictive, especially for those who do not conform to  traditional binary categories. Consequently, Orlando can be perceived as symbolically breaking  free from constraints as she transcends the maze. Orlando’s venture into the narrow maze can further  be interpreted as a visual representation of her ‘state of mind’ or the sense of turmoil and  confusion caused by the change in s*x and the ramifications this has had on her life  and sense of ‘Self’, or her self-discove

ry and navigation of the complexities of  this newfound existence (as a woman). Aside from a rejection of her constructed  identity, Caroline Bainbridge touches on the maze’s function ‘as one of the most obvious  and most important articulations of space-time, [or spatio-temporality], in the [film].’ The maze  sequence may visually connect gender issues with the constructions of space-time by creating a  sense of temporal and spatial disorientation. For example, as mentioned previously, time see

ms  to warp and bend as Orlando traverses the maze, emphasising the subjective nature of the temporal  experience. In the maze, the passage of time feels erratic and unpredictable; there are  moments where Orlando appears to move quickly, but at others where time stretches endlessly.  Similarly, the maze’s high edges and twisting pathways restricts space and obscures sightlines,  which can make it challenging for Orlando to discern where they are going. This confusion  from the maze’s contortion

blurs the distinctions between the areas of the maze, emphasising how  Orlando feels trapped in the role of ‘woman’. Throughout her book, ‘A Female Cinematics,’  Bainbridge’s insights are informed by the work of French philosopher, Luce Irigaray, who  claims that men and women experience space and time differently due to their different roles  and experiences in society and history. Irigaray contends that men are seen as already formed or  established (in a state of being), while women are perc

eived as still developing or evolving (in  a state of becoming), partly because men have been historically separated from the nurturing  role of the mother, while women have been traditionally associated with this nurturing role. To elaborate, because men have typically held and occupied positions of power and authority in  society and women relegated to subordinate roles as caretakers and nurturers, according to  Irigaray, women are therefore viewed in a ‘state of becoming’, constantly evolving

and defined by  their roles in relation to others rather than as independent entities with their own identities  and experiences. This means that because women are often seen as in a ‘supporting role’ to  men, rather than individuals in their own right, this can affect their sense of identity  and lead to a struggle in finding their own sense of ‘Self’ and subjectivity because  their experiences of time and space are not recognised or valued in the same way as men’s. This is felt in Orlando’s e

xperiences, where societal expectations and treatment changes  based on his/her gender presentation. As a man, Orlando enjoys certain privileges and freedoms  denied to women of the same time period, reflecting Irigaray’s ideas that men and  women experience space and time differently due to assigned roles and societal expectations. This emergence into the 19th century sees Orlando wigless and swapping out the wide panniers and  Rococo finery for a more modest Victorian bustle. S*x As she takes

flight from the maze, we are ushered into the Victorian era, an age  of innovation, which saw England transform from an agricultural country to an industrial  one. Billy Zane’s character, Shelmerdine, an American-adventurer, is thrown from his  horse. Their encounter parodies Jane Eyre, with Shelmerdine needing help from Orlando. According to Mayer: ‘Smoke and mirrors are, wittily, central to the abrupt shifts of  time that take place in the novel and film: for example, … the smoke of a steam en

gine  [is] heralded as “The Future!” by Shelmerdine.’ Afterwards, Lady Orlando invites the injured  Shelmerdine to her home to nurse him. As she tends to him, their conversation becomes more  ‘serious’, with their dialogue highlighting the fluidity of gender and societal expectations. Firstly, Orlando reflects on the idea of risking one’s life for a cause, suggesting that  gender might influence such decisions: ‘If I were a man, I might choose not to risk my  life for an uncertain cause…’ In say

ing this, Orlando implies that this act could be  perceived as a masculine trait. However, her speculation introduces doubt about whether  gender should dictate such actions. Because by suggesting that gender might influence one’s  decision to risk their life, Orlando challenges the traditional notion that masculinity is  inherently linked to courage and self-sacrifice. Shelmerdine responds by suggesting that being  a ‘real man’ involves certain expectations of behaviour and courage: ‘You might

choose  not to be a ‘real man’ at all.” This further complicates and challenges the  traditional notions of masculinity. As, instead of simply affirming that risking  your life is an inherently masculine trait, he suggests that being a “real man” involves  conforming to certain expectations and behaviours. This implies that masculinity  is not just about inherent qualities, but more so about fulfilling societal roles and norms. On the other hand, Shelmerdine muses on the idea of sacrificing your

life for family as  a woman’s role: ‘Say if I was a woman, I may choose not to sacrifice my life [for a  family].’ Orlando then counters by questioning the concept of being ‘a real woman,’ which challenges  traditional notions of femininity. Their exchange exposes that their inner feelings and choices may  not align with external appearances or societal norms. By acknowledging and questioning  these conventions, the pair assert their agency over their identities, subverting  the fixed definitio

ns imposed by society. The next morning, after the pair sleep  together, Orlando is pronounced ‘female’ by the British Crown and is informed that she  will lose rights to her property unless she gives birth to a son. This reflects real-life  obstacles of Sackville-West, who was faced with challenges inheriting her family’s estate due  to laws favouring male lineage over female. Subsequently, Shelmerdine tries to convince  Orlando to move to the U.S. Whilst Orlando never fully satisfies the male

virtues as  a man, the female-Orlando never fulfils the feminine virtues either: Lady Orlando meets her  soulmate, but forgoes marriage. By refusing to move to the land of liberty and freedom, Orlando  lets Shelmerdine go. Just as frost and rain led to and ended Orlando’s encounter with Sasha, the  change in wind leads to Shelmerdine’s departure. Birth We are finally ushered into the final intertitle, birth, which marks the most radical  change from the novel: instead of ending in 1928, the film

ends in contemporary twentieth-century  London; where an editor at a publishing house (portrayed by the same actor who plays Nick  Greene) praises Orlando’s autobiography. In the subsequent scene, she revs up a motorcycle,  accompanied by a child — a daughter, not a son. Together they visit the Great House as tourists. Once more beneath the oak tree, the film concludes with a close-up of Orlando’s serene face. Her  daughter runs around the field with a camcorder. Instead of feeling the movement

of time,  Female-Orlando sees it instead. As a result, film-Orlando becomes both an observer and the  observed (mirroring the camera’s gaze). This duality is poignantly portrayed in the film’s  finale, as Orlando’s daughter assumes the role of spectator, capturing her mother’s  essence through the lens of a video camera. Something else to note is that Potter also uses  the ‘camera’ to extend the postmodern nature of Woolf’s text — meaning her film doesn’t just  capture the essence of Woolf’s wo

rk, but also expands on it by incorporating modern filmmaking  techniques and sensibilities. We see that Potter’s film maintains its own artistic integrity separate  from Woolf’s text at the end, in which Orlando’s child holds a video camera instead of a pen;  instead of a literary figure, the child-artist is depicted as a filmmaker. Through this  choice, Potter provides meta-commentary on her own film and the film-making process  as a whole. The shaky and amateurish footage captured from the ch

ild’s perspective reveals  the deliberate artistry and constructed nature of Potter’s polished cinematic creation. Orlando sheds a tear which causes her daughter to ask ‘Why are you sad?’ Orlando tells  her, ‘I’m not’. The importance of visuals are reinforced by Orlando’s last line. She tells  her daughter, ‘Look. Look up there,’ pointing to the recurring appearance of Jimmy Sommerville.  This time he appears as a golden angel, singing: ‘At last I’m free neither woman nor man…’ giving  us clues

to Orlando’s current state of mind. And so, ‘what sounded like a recipe for  art-house obscurity yielded box office gold’ (Mark Smith). When asked what she wanted  the audience to feel when they’ve reached the film’s ending, Sally Potter told Walter  Donohue: ‘I hope… [they feel a sense] of hope and empowerment about being alive and the  possibility of change — which comes through the word of the song and the expression on Orlando’s  face. I want people to feel humanly recognised, that their inn

er landscape of hope  and desire and longing has found some kind of expression on screen. A gut  feeling of release and relief and hope.’