death in a family
by
Douglas Messerli
Simon Trevorrow (screenwriter and
director) Mary / 2021 [9 minutes]
The
name Mary has about as much a relationship to this film as the statue of Mother
Mary, which Aaron (Pat Moonie) accidently breaks in his hurried attempt rise
from his bed and get dressed, has to with the problems between him and his
sister Jane (Raelene Isbester).
Two glasses and a wine bottle sit on the
coffee table, and from the evidence of a condom Aaron quickly retrieves from
the bedroom floor as he rushes to met his sister, it’s clear he has spent the
night with someone in his bed. The arrival soon after of a young man, Tom
(Simon Trevorrow), to pick up his forgotten wallet gives further proof that Jane’s
brother has spent the night with one of his old gay mates.
Jane says nothing, but her obvious
irritation about Aaron’s inability to attend to things at hand shows an
impatience that obviously isn’t focused just on the empty boxes and the junk
that remains in their mother’s house.
As they both work to clean out the rooms,
it becomes more and more apparent that there is no love lost between them. And
when she finds a broken statue of Mary tossed in the kitchen garbage can, she
explodes in a kind a fury which might suggest that it was a holy relic which
she had hoped to carry off to her own house.
Aaron is furious not because she has said
anything particularly negative about his having spent the night with Tom, but
that she has said nothing, that all their lives she and his mother have never
once spoken of the numerous boys he has brought home, never even commented that
one might look better than another or asked anything about them. Evidently, the
family’s way of coping with Aaron’s homosexuality has been to keep totally
silent about it, and in that act they have not truly loved or embraced him in
their family love. As Aaron argues in his pique of Jane’s attitude toward him, now
that their mother has died, this may be the very last time that they see one
another.
His plane leaves evening, and she invites
him over to their house at 4:00, but his suggestion is that they simply forget
about it. About to leave, she remains for a moment as if she might respond,
turning toward him as if she is about to speak, but the screen goes black, and
we realize also that there is nothing to be said. After all these years of
silence there are no words that can heal the isolation in which his mother and
sister has placed him. He is a stranger even in the house in which he grew up.
This often happens to gay men even in
well-intentioned and somewhat open-minded heterosexual families. They are not
attacked or even criticized as much as they are ignored—just as their companions
are erased—forced to remain as outsiders even as their families often pretend
to embrace them. If there is no rancor between them there is also no deep love,
none of the family ties which might bind the uncle to his nieces and nephews, his
sister, even a mother. Aaron became an outsider forever the moment he expressed
the fact that he was gay.
Australian director Simon Trevorrow’s
short movie is not a work of anger, but of sorrow, of loss. For long before her
mother died, Jane had also lost her brother.
Los
Angeles, April 29, 2024
Reprinted
from My Queer Cinema blog (April 2024)
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