Guest Post: I Like The Hat!
Todd Haynes’ ‘Carol’ is so much more than a simple love story
The Yearning Rating: ✰✰✰✰✰
Romance: ✰✰✰✰½
Sex: ✰✰✰✰½
Storytelling: ✰✰✰✰✰
Performance: ✰✰✰✰✰
Yearning: ✰✰✰✰✰
Today’s guest post is written by friend of The Yearning and sapphic ally Andrew Stephenson. Andrew has been begging us to review Carol since The Yearning’s inception…so we finally said, YOU DO IT! Enjoy <3
Written by Andrew Stephenson
Firstly, let me just address the elephant in the room: The Yearning has finally, finally, FINALLY published their review of Carol, a movie that essentially invented the word yearning, and it is being written by a random outsider—and a man no less? You’re angry. I get it, I do! But listen, I have been in the trenches of the ‘get The Yearning to write a Carol review’ war. I’ve sent Meg and Ali those threatening anonymous notes with the letters that LoOk LiKe ThIs demanding that they do a write up. My efforts to stuff the ballot box when they released their Carol vs. Happiest Season poll last Christmas were in vain. Even so, when Ali quite literally slid into my DMs to graciously proposition me with this offer, I was nervous. I don’t think I have written anything outside of an Instagram caption and a couple of profoundly unsexy sexts since my senior year of college. And I, like many of you, care so deeply about this movie that I was afraid I’d be unable to put it into the proper words. Now here I am, just a boy, standing in front of subscribers, asking you to give my Carol review a chance.
I have to admit—when I first watched Carol back in 2015 at the very young age of 21, I thought of it as a beautiful love story for the ages with a happy ending. Which, to be fair, makes sense; the gorgeous visuals, the swooning music, and the breathtaking final shot all contribute to a sense of True Love™️. Plus, in a world where so often queer love stories are defined by death, a movie where one of the two leads isn’t brutally murdered felt like a win. And I still find all of that to be true! However, upon my rewatch this week at the wizened and mature age of 30, I came out of it with a much deeper and more complex take on it, one that elevates it from a simple love story.
I rewatched Carol this past Sunday night after having seen Queer earlier in the day. Carol is the story of Therese, a young salesclerk, who falls for the elegant and enigmatic title character, an older soon-to-be divorcee accustomed to swanky house parties. Queer, another gorgeously made, 1950s period piece, is the story of a lonely older gay man who falls in love with a younger man who is (maybe) coming to terms with his identity. Perhaps this double feature is what led me to a different take on Carol—to view it not simply as a romance, but to see it as a story of identity. Both are explorations of identity and queer isolation, but also the joy and love that come from being seen authentically.
In Queer (spoiler alert), Daniel Craig’s character Lee is almost desperately lonely; he’s a diagnosed junkie going on alcohol-fueled rampages through Mexico City, seeking out any attractive young man who will make eye contact with him. When he lays eyes on Eugene, he is immediately infatuated. What at first feels like a story of a one-sided crush becomes more complicated when it’s revealed that Eugene might have deeper feelings for Lee, but refuses to acknowledge them, and thus his own queer identity. Lee comes out of his failed bid at love devastated, but with a clearer sense of self than he had before and freed of his internal shackles.
I know, I know—this is not a review of Queer!—but stay with me, it all leads back to Carol. When Therese and Carol first meet, locking eyes across the floor of a busy department store, there is an instant connection. Carol, in her elegant fur coat and bold red lip, lays the foundation for her seduction, while Therese, meek in her forced-upon Santa hat, dutifully plays along. Like Lee, Carol is longing—yearning, even—for a connection. And like Lee, she struggles to break with what her identity is versus what it ‘should’ be.
After spending years in an unhappy relationship with her soon to be ex-husband, Carol is sure enough of her identity to look for a sexual relationship with a woman, brazenly inviting the young shopgirl to visit her in the country. She’s desperate to escape the confines of her housewife role, but by recklessly diving into her relationship with Therese, she stands to lose everything else she loves, notably custody of her young daughter. In a way, she is the inverse of Lee—her bid to claim her queer identity will cost her. For her, to love Therese freely is to lose her life and family as she knows it.
However, as I stated: I do think Carol is a love story! And that is because of the other character in the relationship. Unlike Queer’s Eugene, who by the end of the movie seems to run away from his truth, Therese does the opposite. When we meet her, she is a young, timid salesclerk, in a relationship with a guy who probably made her laugh exactly one time at a random party, not knowing what her next steps in life will be (who hasn’t been there?). She talks of vague ambitions of wanting to be a photographer, but doesn’t know what to capture. As her relationship with Carol develops, she begins to understand what she wants (and what she doesn’t).
In this way, Carol can be seen as a coming of age story for Therese. Though she never explicitly ‘comes out,’ her growth develops as her identity comes into focus and she builds a sense of self. Todd Haynes loves a somewhat heavy-handed metaphor—see the butterflies in May December—but that doesn’t make them any less impactful, and Therese’s journey with her photography reflects the growth she has made through her relationship with Carol. With her newfound confidence to see others, her own identity crystallizes into something real and authentic. The roles have reversed—the meek Therese is now the one who knows who she is and what she wants, and it’s Carol who must find resolve. You might even say her growth journey inspires Carol to fight for what she loves without giving up her identity.
Queer and Carol’s love stories start the same way—with the central twosomes spotting each other across a crowded room, instant intrigue developing. In Queer, it ends with Eugene literally disappearing before Lee’s eyes in an empty jungle; Eugene’s sense of identity still being chased. In Carol, however, it ends with the duo again locking eyes across a busy room, but now it’s different. This time they’re equals, two women sure of themselves and their love. It’s happy, yes; but this love was hard-earned.
The best Christmas gift! <3
Andrew!! This is so good! I will have to watch Carol again. Happy you were able to review! :)