QUICK AND DIRTY: LIVE FROM TALLINN

Somewhere in Israel, Orthodox Jews carry on with their life is normal. The highly insular and closely-knit group barely communicates with outsiders. They operate inside an invisible bubble of strict and old-fashioned customs and traditions. Lazer (Uri Blufarb) and his wife Bati (Nur Fibak) live a functional life with their two small children. Their sex routine is not satisfactory. Bati remains dressed as a guilt-ridden Lazer hesitantly penetrates her. A close-up shot reveals her blank face and his tormented eyes. At first, this disconnection is not a major issue. After all, this is a community that barely talks about sex.

The orthodox intimacy norms are very strict. Not even married women are allowed to touch their spouses for several days, after they had their period. They must wait until they have cleansed themselves in a Mikveh ritual (which consists of bathing in “natural” water, ie. water collected from rainfall or the nearby spring). Sex rules too are very prescriptive: the copulation must occur in the pitch dark, or by candlelight. Natural light (“the Divine Light”) is not allowed to creep in. The clothes and the setting must be “modest”.

One day, Bati receives pictures in the post of Lazer and a young man exchanging a firm gaze inside the car. He insists that the image was photoshopped, but the romantic expression on his face suggests otherwise. He eventually confesses to his wife that he has been grappling with same-sex attraction since he was a teenager, while also insisting that he loves her. She asks him whether he is attracted to her, and he promptly replies: “I’m attracted to your soul”. This is just the first of the many heartbreaking scenes that dot this 110-minute movie about desire, oppression and liberation.

Bati’s frustration grows as she learns about a friend’s husband with the diametrically opposite problem. The “poor” man ejaculates at the mere sight of her nudity. Nevertheless, Bati decides to support Lazer. They are both convinced that the local rabbis can offer some effective gay cure. Bati learns some useful “seduction tricks” from her friends, resulting in some painfully awkward interactions with her husband (she dons a pink wig and tries to lap dance). Meanwhile, Lazer becomes a victim of shocking and perverse homophobic violence. The frustration and the helplessness in the eyes of both characters is genuinely palpable and moving, with both Blufarb and Fibak delivering very strong and honest performances.

Parallel to this, the couple must also grapple with some towering debts, and fend off the violent and unscrupulous money collectors who threaten to disclose Lazer’s sexuality to the entire community. Unsurprisingly, the conversion therapy does not work, instead sending Lazer closer to the edge of the abysm. The couple are trapped: outing is unthinkable, and divorce is a tragedy. Not even suicide is an option: that too is a sin.

Because most marriages are arranged, the “blame” for homosexuality can be discussed and negotiated between the families of the two people. Does the “fault” with Lazer’s sexuality lie with his parents, and did they actively attempt to conceal this prior to the arrangement? Or should Bati’s family bear brunt of this momentous “shame”? These awkward questions can only arise in an environment where love is entirely transactional.

Homosexual attraction isn’t the only topic of Pink Lady. Female desire is also a central pillar. Bati wants to see the dull flame of desire in her husband’s eyes. This unrequited love story explores the subtleness and also the strength of the gaze. The human touch too is very significant, in particular its relation to detachment. The absence of skin-to-skin contact represents the dearth of intimacy, and emotional disconnection. Bati wants Lazer to look, to touch and to lust for her in the same way that he does with his male lover. This is a woman openly and rightly demanding her right to sexual pleasure. Something she has been denied her entire life. Yet she’s neither bitter nor angry. She feels compassion and solidarity for the tormented Lazer.

In many ways, Pink Lady does for the Judaism what The Blue Caftan (Maryam Touzani) did two years for the Muslim world. Both films feature a tormented gay married man, tied to by shackles of religious doctrine, and with a kind and supportive wife. And both movies excels in humanity, with a surprising – in some ways liberating – resolution.

Because this is a state-funded Israeli movie, it is necessary to acknowledge pinkwashing ambitions. No movie is made inside a vacuum, and while the director himself may not have political affiliations, the fact that he accepted government money is very relevant. My thinking is neither frivolous nor isolated. Virtually the entire European film industry – from production, through to festivals and distributors, all the way to exhibitors – refuses to work with artists who are funded by Russia and/or Israel (depending on their geopolitical associations). It is essential to note that Israel routinely weaponises the LGBTQ+ agenda in order to portray itself as more progressive, democratic and palatable than its Arab enemies, and there s no doubt that Pink Lady can be used for such nefarious purposes.

Geopolitical connotations aside, Pink Lady remains a very solid, humanistic and universal piece of filmmaking. The pain that Lazer and Bati have to endure is relatable to anyone who had to reconcile their sexual desire with societal norms. Just like The Blue Caftan, Nir Bergman’s latest creation is a movie that should resonate with Israelis, Arabs, Jews, Muslims, men, women, gays and straights alike. I hope many people get to see it.

Pink Lady just premiered in the Official Competition of the 28th Tallinn Black Nights Film Festival.