As I scanned through the ALA's top 13 most challenged books (as of 2022), one particular novel caught my attention: Me, Earl, and the Dying Girl by Jesse Andrews. I enjoyed reading about the relationships between Greg, Earl, and Rachel amidst Rachel’s struggle with leukemia. I laughed at the relatability of the social dynamics and needless vulgarity that awaits within high school halls. I finished the novel in a few days, and yet something kept gnawing at me; I could not seem to find a deeper meaning or an argument central to the story. I could not find the why for this novel’s existence. ‘This is YA,’ I thought, ‘the argument should be clear, obvious, even.’ I thought myself literate, perhaps exceptionally so, and so how could I find even just one meager theme so elusive?
Despite its intoxicating glam and pulsating music, the film Bohemian Rhapsody (2018) ignited a sense of uneasiness within me upon its release, as all musical biopics tend to do. At its core, the film is about the outrageous and stunning Freddie Mercury. This only worsened my unease, as I knew the subject as a queer refugee who succumbed to AIDS, who was not alive to advocate for himself during the production of the biopic about his career, and who was notoriously private about his personal life when he was alive. Why anyone would dare to take on the task of converting such a delicate tale to a narrative for the world to witness is beyond me; alas, some film executives must have thought the job worthwhile.
As the final credits rolled on the screen, a bitter taste lingered at the tip of my tongue. It was not the result of mere technical imperfections or Mercury’s eyes being blue as opposed to brown. No, it was something deeper—a top note of exploitation infused with the all too familiar flavor of hom*ophobia. Though the film's explicit details do not read prejudice, Mercury's journey of embracing his identity is not depicted as triumphant and beautiful despite its challenges, but rather his realization about his love of men is the catalyst for Queen’s downfall.
Susan Sontag wrote that "Nothing is more punitive than to give a disease a meaning," yet we all incessantly seek to assign an ulterior significance to illness and disability. This inclination echoes in personal anecdotes, where we offer meaningless comforts like "at least you get to miss work" or "now you get to catch up on your favorite show!" We do this a lot in the stories we tell, too, which can be headier. John Green wrote about how, “...stories have to make sense,” even when nothing about illness actually does. Symbolism is one of the most important devices used in the realm of fiction. For example, take the loss of limbs in the "Star Wars" franchise. What initially appears as a natural consequence of combat gains symbolic depth as patterns emerge across different characters. It is an interesting literary device within the context of the franchise, but in the realm of real-life experiences, such pattern recognition can be treacherous. For instance, consider the notion that the Coronavirus was a divine punishment. During the pandemic, many Christians believed that their unwavering faith or acts of atonement granted them immunity from the disease. Tragically, numerous Christians who actively participated in church activities during the peak of the pandemic were exposed to and ultimately fell victim to the virus. It serves as a reminder that attributing symbolic meanings to diseases can lead to detrimental consequences.
In the narrative of Bohemian Rhapsody, Freddie Mercury undergoes a gradual separation from the heterosexual world. While away recording an album, Paul Prenter seizes the opportunity to try and tempt Mercury away from Austin. Mercury declines, denying his interest in men. Mercury starts touring with Queen, and he begins lusting over the various men he sees, making his interest in men too overwhelming for him to ignore any longer. His decision to come out has significant consequences, leading to the dissolution of his romantic relationship with Mary Austin and causing a rift between him and his band mates. Mercury takes on Paul Prenter as his manager and romantic partner. Prenter plays a role in further isolating Mercury from his true "family," the band, by introducing him to the vibrant yet excessive queer scene, characterized by promiscuous sex, drug use, and extravagant parties. Additionally, Prenter secures a solo contract for Mercury, further distancing him from the band, and blocks all of Mary Austin’s calls to him. Realizing the negative influence of Prenter and his own choices, he terminates his association with Prenter. At the height of his isolation and continuous indulgence, Mercury contracts AIDS, which motivates him to seek reconciliation with his heterosexual bandmates and disengage from the queer scene. The narrative concludes before exploring Mercury's final years and his eventual death from AIDS.
The story within the film Bohemian Rhapsody raises concerns as it seemingly echoes troubling elements of hom*ophobic rhetoric. The film is presented as a narrative that reads like fiction, with Mercury’s AIDS diagnosis as the climax of the film. To achieve this, the timeline of events is slightly altered for the sake of the film, moving Mercury's AIDS diagnosis to an earlier period (around 1985 as opposed to 1987). By centering the story around Mercury’s AIDS, the film inadvertently implies that his queerness is the reason for his downfall and the band’s by proxy. The portrayal of Mercury’s attraction to men is framed as a conflict between true love and mere lust: on one side stands his wife, Mary Austin, and his band family, who genuinely love and understand him, while on the other, mustachioed men tempt him, pulling him away from those who genuinely care for him. The gay world is depicted as a predatory den of snakes, luring Mercury away from his wife, family, and virtue, and into a life of vice. Due to the reader’s inclination to find symbolic meaning in big events, Mercury's AIDS is easily read as a retribution for his queer lifestyle, a punishment for forsaking the people who love him and succumbing to a life of perceived immorality. These elements resonate with the hom*ophobic AIDS rhetoric prevalent in the 1980s, such as the views expressed by Jerry Falwell Sr., a prominent Baptist preacher: "AIDS is not just God's punishment for hom*osexuals; it is God's punishment for the society that tolerates hom*osexuals," and Rabbi Meir Kahane's statement that "AIDS is nature's retribution for violating the laws of God.” Although no explicit mention of divine intervention is made in the film, the underlying themes suggest a similar sentiment, as Mercury's queerness becomes a significant source of friction within the story. Importantly, this conflict arises not because of oppression or social stigma, but because Mercury's queerness is portrayed as an inherent danger to himself and those around him.
There is perhaps a single plot point that acts as counter to this interpretation of the film, and that is the presence of Jim Hutton. Hutton is perhaps the only hom*osexual in Mercury’s life that is portrayed as a positive influence. Hutton is exceedingly sincere and unafraid to call Mercury out from the moment we first meet him. Uninterested in Mercury’s fame or fortune, he’s interested in Mercury as a human being. He’s not interested in parties or drugs. Hutton is even a large reason for Mercury's decision to turn his life around. Still, the film dodges around the romantic aspects of their relationship in bizarre ways. It is clear that they are implied to be together, either within the time frame of the film or soon after, yet there is nothing explicitly stating the status of their feelings for one another. Perhaps this is for the sake of keeping the timeline intact, but the writers clearly did not seem to have a problem with changing the chronology of events when it came to the presence of AIDS. The film is so terrified to show even an ounce of queer joy that the sole moment that there is a positive relationship between Mercury and his queerness, it is not even allowed to be concretely hom*osexual, only implied.
However, if we disregard all of the film's implications, most of it is technically true. It is undeniable that Mercury's queerness created a distance between himself and his heterosexual bandmates. It is true that as he delved deeper into exploring his identity, his hedonistic lifestyle may have become problematic due to excessive indulgence. The AIDS epidemic devastated the queer community in the 1980s, and it is true that his lifestyle put him at risk for the disease. It is worth noting that his death, along with the deaths of countless others, could have been prevented if governments had shown care towards the gay community and if there had not been such a strong stigma surrounding the disease. While these facts themselves are not inherently hom*ophobic, the way they are converted into the narrative format is troublesome.
Artistic portrayals of illness walk a delicate line, as both the creator and the audience often have a strong desire to assign meaning or purpose to the illness. Similar challenges are faced by the producers of Bohemian Rhapsody and by Greg and Earl in the novel Me, Earl, and the Dying Girl as they grapple with the task of creating a film for their terminally ill friend. They explore various approaches, including a digital "get-well soon" card, a heartfelt testimonial filled with sweet words, a documentary lacking sufficient material, and even a sock puppet show where Rachel triumphs over the big bad “Luke Emia." Despite their efforts, none of these attempts satisfy Greg and Earl because each endeavor to depict Rachel's illness through art is an attempt to impose an undeserved purpose or meaning onto it.
However, it is not impossible to create meaningful art about illness. In fact, the controversies surrounding Bohemian Rhapsody could have been completely avoided. The main issue with the film is simply its failure to tell the complete story. There are many instances in which the film fails in this regard. The movie overlooks the fact that Brian May and Roger Taylor also engaged in indulgent partying similar to Mercury. It is reasonable to assume that they, too, possessed sizable egos comparable to Mercury. On the other hand, the film completely disregards any positive influence that Mercury may have found within the queer community, opting instead to portray them as a hedonistic group of individuals, with Jim Hutton as the lone exception to this. Paul Prenter is the queer predator, meant to snatch Mercury up and take him away to the treacherous gay world that taints Mercury’s good nature. The film ignores the fact that Freddie Mercury would not have been the remarkable person or artist he was without embracing his fabulous gay identity. Queen would not have achieved their iconic status without Mercury's queerness and his experiences within the gay bars of the 70s and 80s. His distinctive outfits as a Castro clone, leather man, and more would not have existed without the influence of hom*oerotic art by the likes of Tom of Finland or the exaggerated masculinity represented by the Village People. Tracks like "Another One Bites the Dust" and others with a disco thump owe part of their existence to Mercury's fascination with LGBT-populated discos. The band of all men is even named "Queen" for goodness' sake! The film is so scared to say anything positive about the queer community that any instance of a positive gay experience in Mercury’s life must remain implied, qualified, or omitted altogether.
Even Mercury’s goal to live life for the sake of pleasure had its admirable points. In his final years, Mercury was determined to experience as much joy, write as much music, and perform as much as possible. He continued to live a gay and glamorous lifestyle, albeit with a bit more restraint, and it was all with the goal of having and spreading as much fun as he could before his death. The band grew closer than ever, with all four band mates sharing equal writing credits for the first time in notable Queen history. In the story of Freddie Mercury that includes these final years that the film left out, his story becomes an ode to embracing joy and creativity until one's final breath, despite the challenges that may arise. Mercury's life and artwork were a celebration of self-expression, a flamboyant dance of glamor and pleasure, captured by the epitaph "lover of life—singer of songs". For a film about one of the most outrageously hom*osexual and joyous figures in rock music, it is terrified of queer joy.
Virginia Woolf wrote in On Being Ill, that “Considering how common illness is,… as we are so frequently forced to think of it, it becomes strange indeed that illness has not taken its place with love, battle, and jealousy among the prime themes of literature. Novels, one would have thought, would have been devoted to influenza; epic poems to typhoid; odes to pneumonia, lyrics to toothache. But no.” In the essay, Woolf concludes that the reason for this absence of art about illness is a “poverty of the language” that makes it impossible to truly empathize with the pain of others; I would argue that another reason is that illness is impossible to make sense of, and stories have to make sense.
The novel Me, Earl, and the Dying Girl questions the desire to assign meaning or purpose to illness through film. The characters in the novel attempt different approaches to depict Rachel's illness, but they realize that each attempt falls short because it is an imposition rather than a genuine representation. The producers of Bohemian Rhapsody fell to the same fate, but with a worse output. Bohemian Rhapsody seeks to be art about AIDS, but fails to tell the complete story, overlooking the positive influences of the queer community, diminishing the importance of Mercury's queerness in his artistry, and refusing to acknowledge the hom*ophobia of the time period. By doing this, the film inadvertently perpetuates harmful narratives about queer people and AIDS, turning Mercury’s life into a cautionary tale. Which, ironically, is something that the film has Mercury explicitly say is something he does not want to become. Through the dilemma presented in a YA novel and examining the issues found in a rock ‘n roll biopic, we can see that it is essential to approach the representation of illness in art with care so as to avoid engendering an illness with a meaning or purpose that it does not deserve.
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