Hedda

Director Nia DaCosta

actress Tessa Thompson

DaCosta and Thompson on the set

DaCosta and her lead cast

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

HEDDA          B                                                                                                                       USA  (107 mi)  2025  ‘Scope  d: Nia DaCosta

A little chaos is good for the gathering.                                                                                       —film tagline

A queer re-imagining of Henrik Ibsen’s 1890 play Hedda Gabler, which deals with the suffocating circumstances that women faced at the time, a woman trapped within a loveless marriage whose scheming has disastrous consequences, delving into the 19th century limitations, the search for meaning, and the destructive nature of boredom and unfulfilled desires.  One of the fathers of modern theater alongside Anton Chekhov and August Strindberg, introducing theatrical realism, Ibsen was profoundly influenced by Freudian psychology, delving into the exploration of human motivations and desires, creating complex, character-driven dramas that outside of Shakespeare make him the second-most frequently performed playwright in the world.  Confounding audiences for well over 100 years with the inscrutability of the character, wanting to be in control of her own destiny, but access is denied at every turn, posing the question, what is freedom, where there’s no real consensus whether she’s a liberated force or a monster.  In recent years, Hedda Gabler has been one of Ibsen’s most frequently produced plays, a deliciously showy role played by a variety of actresses that include Ingrid Bergman in a 1962 British television production, Maggie Smith in London in 1970 (directed by Ingmar Bergman), Claire Bloom in New York in 1971, Glenda Jackson winning an Oscar nomination in Trevor Nunn’s HEDDA (1975), Annette Bening in Los Angeles in 1999, Cate Blanchett in a widely acclaimed 2004 Sydney Theatre Company production, Isabelle Huppert in Paris in 2005, and earlier this year Katie Holmes at The Old Globe in San Diego.  Similar to the caged-bird feeling of Nora in A Doll’s House, this play also deals with a woman trapped by the conventions of marriage, as social constraints prevented women from having the right to make their own choices in life, as that was the exclusive right and privilege of the husband, leaving her having to awkwardly and sometime humiliatingly accept the consequences.  Described by the director as Ibsen’s “complicated women who make choices you don’t agree with,” the play was considered shocking and immoral when it premiered, a daring exploration of power, desire, and a woman’s refusal to be confined, as Hedda defied 19th century gender roles and societal expectations for women, so adding a queer and black element for the character may seem equally as subversive and provocative today.  In a desperate attempt to control her own destiny, Hedda becomes a master manipulator, which is her tragic flaw, much like Shakespeare’s Iago in Othello, discovering the capacity to get what she wants by manipulating others, like a puppetmaster controlling the strings, able to elicit change through illicit means, literally for her own amusement, where a daring lack of subtlety becomes her strong suit.  Rather than confine the setting to a single parlor like the stage play, the film expands the action to a massively sprawling country estate, complete with a lake and labyrinthian garden hedge to heighten the feeling of claustrophobia, where the costume and production design is stellar.  Told in five chapters, while the play has four acts, the film is set in the lush decadence of 1950’s England at the massive, recently purchased home of this newly married couple, Hedda (the unbelievably charismatic Tessa Thompson) and George Tesman (Tom Bateman), which they obviously cannot afford, as it’s well beyond their means, but George is an academic classics scholar with an all but certain university professorship awaiting him, yet he doesn’t exactly send his closeted queer wife’s heart aflutter, as he’s a white, mild-mannered, scholarly, and somewhat dull husband, revealing Hedda’s dissatisfaction with her life, including her disdain for George’s scholarly pursuits and the societal expectations placed upon her.  Thinking a safe, conventional marriage will bring her closer to privilege and respectability, it comes at the expense of her true feelings.  But the heavily mortgaged house that leaves them drowning in debt is for Hedda in an attempt to win her favor, giving her something that he thinks she wants, coming from an aristocratic background, where it’s more of a status symbol, even though they haven’t yet reached any degree of affluence, revealing the conflict between romantic ideals and bourgeois reality.  In the 1950’s, it was exclusively queer men who were routinely rounded up and arrested in England, as being gay was considered a crime until 1967, yet women were completely bypassed and ignored, as if they were invisible, where their sexual preferences simply didn’t exist.

Nia DaCosta worked with Tessa Thompson before in Little Woods (2018), a small independent gem, a story of women navigating life in poor rural America to confront the opioid crisis and pressing issues in women’s health care, while the actress has gone on to star in several commercial blockbusters, breaking ground as cinema’s first openly LGBTQ+ superhero in the Marvel universe, though she also starred in several smaller independent films, like Eugene Ash’s Sylvie's Love (2020) and Rebecca Hall’s 2021 #8 Film of the Year Passing, which are more searingly realistic, while this is a showcase role with a feverishly exaggerated theatricality to it, presenting a protagonist who defies the traditional heroic mold.  Having worked as a production assistant for Steven Soderbergh, Steve McQueen, and Martin Scorsese, DaCosta studied in London for her master’s degree in drama, which is where the idea of making Hedda biracial originated, as she believes it’s important to see “black women behaving badly” onscreen.  Essentially a British costume drama that was actually filmed at Flintham Hall, all taking place in a single evening leading into the dawn, with a vibrant jazz score composed by Hildur Guðnadóttir that does wonders with the flashy style of the opening credits, with its emphasis on drums and percussion, Hildur Guðnadóttir - Stolen Tale - Prepping the Party | Hedda ... YouTube (2:19), where the first thing we notice is Thompson speaking with a British accent, Hedda (2025) 'Where Should I Start' clip |Tessa Thompson ... YouTube (39 seconds), which is a bit startling at first, but it’s also given a classical Mildred Pierce (1945) structure, one of the first important “women’s pictures,” where the entire film is told in a flashback, yet what it really explores is the idea of a woman’s long sought-after independence.  This does the same through Hedda’s stifled character, a sensual free spirit who yearns for freedom but isn’t given the opportunity, so instead she exudes in her status as a sophisticated party girl, someone who is the life of a party, capricious, elegantly dressed, beautiful, and quick on her feet, where she’s the equal of any man, but they have income opportunities that she doesn’t, which leaves her seething in bitterness and scorn, even contempt, where her changing moods reflect the dizzying thought process that can be overwhelming to viewers, using a chameleon-like ability to adapt to the moment, where she’s every emotional state imaginable.  She grew up as the young and beautiful illegitimate daughter of the important General Gabler, where she was paraded around proudly on horseback, now lovingly preserving his collection of guns in a small box that opens only through a small golden key that she always wears around her neck, having a special fondness for shooting them.  Her yearning for beauty is synonymous with freedom, a concept that is at once existential and aesthetic, as the film concerns itself with female aspiration, yet her character is positively infuriating, completely cut off from a life she values, so instead she toys with the lives of others.  None of her friends thought she’d ever get married, as she flirtatiously broadcasts her role as young and unattached, beholden to no one, free from all societal conventions, thoroughly capable of holding her own with anyone, though now it’s clear she’s using her husband’s position to display unimaginable wealth and prestige, throwing a lavish dinner party for the social elite to help secure his position that will be one for the ages.  While George thinks this is all for him, Hedda has other ideas, as we discover that she’s something of an instigator who loves playing cat and mouse games, as we see her move from ecstatic, to sad, to bored, or in the next moment her inquisitiveness suddenly takes shape, as she plots just exactly what she wants to do, underscored by an inventive musical choice, percussion on wood, Vivace – Wood YouTube (1:53), a clever device that reflects the mechanism of her plotting.  Throwing such a lavish and luxurious party is a bit of a fairy tale, especially when the couple was so devastatingly strapped for cash, as the country was still living under post-war food rations (Rationing in the United Kingdom), which remained in effect until 1954, an element of the story that is completely ignored, though it does represent a time when women were being pushed out of the workforce for returning servicemen, a period obsessed with appearances, which is part of the suffocating reality of the times. 

Having been educated in many predominantly white institutions, DaCosta learned fairly quickly how black women are diminished in the eyes of others, understanding that she needed to be uncompromising in her vision.  The work of the Norwegian playwright Henrik Ibsen has transcended time thanks to his realistic approach to morality.  Of all Ibsen’s works, Hedda Gabler is the most detached, the most objective, a character-study through and through, where one cannot even call it a satire, exploring themes of power, freedom, and the societal constraints on women during the 19th century, illustrating Hedda’s struggle against her oppressive circumstances, where the tension escalates as she faces the repercussions of her actions, leading to a dramatic conclusion that reflects her desperate need for recognition in a world that limits her choices.  A lush portrait of a modern women who is perfectly capable of compartmentalizing her internal thoughts, keeping them both evasive and elusive, belonging only to her and no one else, continually moving from room to room, from one moment to the next, making quick adjustments, finding new angles, new targets, where she’s an absolute delight in being such an unimaginably detestable character, yet she relishes the role, like something out of MEAN GIRLS (2004), continually confounding, sociopathic even, designed to repel audiences, and not easily understood by viewers, wondering why she does the cruel things she does, but it’s all about the power of manipulation.  Her malignant, self-serving egoism rises up uncontrolled, exposing her quick and subtle intellect, where the lavish spectacle is brilliant in coloring and rich in detail, beautifully shot in ‘Scope by Sean Bobbit (Steve McQueen’s cinematographer), as the entire party becomes a series of incidents which can best be described as accidents waiting to happen.  She hasn’t a single intellectual interest or moral limit, instead she languidly cherishes a petty social ambition that she immediately finds obstructed, as that academic position awaiting her husband suddenly finds a rival in successful author Dr. Eileen Lövborg (Nina Hoss, a gender switch from a male character in the play, who curiously played Hedda in a 2013 stage production), an outwardly lesbian former lover of Hedda’s who has just written a book revealing the hidden truths of human sexuality, with the assistance of her current lover Thea (Imogen Poots), that is expected to be revelatory and resurrect her career trajectory, which hit rock bottom during her time with Hedda, as she was an out-of-control alcoholic.  Hoss also displays an enormous range of emotions, from restraint and passion to sheer desperation.  To the complete dismay of her husband, Hedda has invited Eileen to the party, which is sure to prove interesting, just like her arrival, eyes fixated on Hedda across a ballroom, filmed as if both are floating on air, like co-mingling spirits.  The three of them, Thea, Eileen, and Hedda, are like the Three Witches from Macbeth, only queer, each having to fight to be able to decide what kind of life they want to live.  Accordingly, Eileen likes her chances of obtaining that coveted position, as it would give her prominence and stature, as well as economic freedom.  The film centers around Hedda’s desperate attempts to exert control over her destiny and the lives of her husband and his competitive rival, where it may be more about exacting revenge on the circumstances of a life that has made her a prisoner than it is about protecting her husband’s professional prospects.  Hedda can only think of manipulating Eileen, largely for having economic opportunities that are denied to her, so she wants to balance the playing field and take out her competition, using Thea, who she detests, as her foil for manipulating Eileen into doing what she wants her to do, which is create a scandal that will thoroughly diminish her stature.  To that end she devises a rather Machievellian plot to bring about her ultimate downfall, pressuring her, a disgraced yet recovering alcoholic, to get drunk, hoping to loosen her inhibitions and thoroughly embarrass herself in front of her prospective peer group, Hedda (2025) 'I Don't Drink' clip |Tessa Thompson, Imogen ... YouTube (1:42).  DaCosta invents a library scene that is not in the original play where Eileen cavorts with a room full of men, making them drinks and lighting their cigarettes with theatrical flair as she describes her sexual tales, but what was initially academically titillating suddenly takes a dour turn, leaving her defenses exposed, with the men leering at her like a thoroughly depraved whore.

All of these characters are grasping for power because they want to be in a better place, but suffocating social restrictions prevent that from happening.  Enraged at the box society puts her in, and at herself for being unable to pull her way out, Hedda thrives on impulse control, which gets her into a lot of trouble, always acting on a whim, yet never satisfied with where she finds herself.  The uncomfortable factor recalls Thomas Vinterberg’s THE CELEBRATION (1998), another film depicting an emotional all-consuming party over the course of a weekend.  Throughout the party, Hedda seems to cause mini-scandals by preying on the weakness of others, embellished in a crazy world of hedonism and gossip that borders on the ridiculous at times, Hedda (2025) I'm In Competition With That Woman Clip ... YouTube (56 seconds), while also, at least for brief moments, turning despairingly sexual.  Much like the over-the-top spectacle of the seemingly neverending Hollywood party in Damien Chazelle’s Babylon (2022), or the infamous 45-minute ballroom dance sequence in Luchino Visconti’s THE LEOPARD (1963), part of the visual appeal is creating this gorgeously brash spectacle, accentuated by an impressively grandiose all-glass chandelier in an all-glass interior space, so that when it falls, it makes the most dramatic impact, just part of the house of cards that Hedda constructs that will eventually fall, where the chandelier is the perfect embodiment of that.  What was originally intended to be a gloomily realistic, thought-provoking drama has been converted into a self-conscious piece of Sirkian melodrama.  As Hedda becomes more and more out of control, still hung up on her ex-lover, who may be the one true love of her life, bothered that she’s not more attentive to her coy flirtations, flittering here and there, making dangerous choices, moment to moment, never really thinking about the consequences, she strikes up the band to play, using anachronistic selections, creating this melodramatic emotional hysteria that is like a bubble that needs to burst.  When an important guest discovers his wife secretly having sex with another man in the supposed privacy of the outdoor gardens, all he can think about is exacting revenge, pulling out a gun, causing a commotion, but rather than shoot the man, he shoots upward, causing the chandelier to come crashing to the ground, creating pandemonium and pure panic.  The Chekhovian gun is an interesting device, because as soon as it’s introduced, viewers know nothing good can come out of it, so audiences simply wait for a developing catastrophe to happen, where full-blown tragedies happen fast and furiously at the end, delving into overwrought melodrama, with little context or explanation, relying upon visual elegance and symbolism, which ends up diluting the corrosive power and shock value of the play.  The men in the film are not developed, but feel like shadows of themselves, where their invisibility mirrors how women were viewed when the play was written.  Hedda is one of Ibsen’s most enigmatic and controversial female protagonists, as she embodies a profound conflict between societal expectations and personal desires, exploring her motivations, psychological depth, and the constraints imposed on her by a patriarchal society that limits her freedom and self-expression.  Through her actions and interactions with other characters, Hedda reveals a desperate attempt to assert power and autonomy in a world where she feels trapped by convention and devoid of purpose, challenging traditional gender roles by critiquing the norms of the surrounding world, while also shedding light on broader themes of freedom, manipulation, and existential despair, revealing symptoms of a postmodern anxiety.  Ultimately a complex character who defies easy categorization, exuding despair, a yearning for beauty, and a depth of soul that gives the character complexity and grandeur, Hedda’s tragic fate is a result of her internal conflict and her inability to reconcile her desire for control with the endless limitations imposed on her by society.  Unlike most other nineteenth-century writers, for whom the female characters could never be more than a foil for the male hero’s existential crisis, Ibsen dared to make a woman the bearer of his play’s most fundamental philosophical preoccupations, to turn this specific woman’s crisis into a scorching critique of the stifling repressive conditions of their times.  Like Hamlet, who is deeply challenging to understand, Hedda embodies humanity, tapping into the universality of women and what really constitutes freedom, which is a profoundly feminist move.

Nia DaCosta's Closet Picks  Criterion Closet on YouTube (4:56)

2021 #8 Film of the Year Passing

Writer/director Rebecca Hall

Hall with Tessa Thompson (left) and Ruth Negga

Hall on the set with André Holland

Cinematographer Eduard Grau with the director

(Left to right), Thompson, Negga, and Hall

Thompson, Hall, and Negga

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

PASSING                   B+                                                                                                                 USA  Great Britain  Canada  (98 mi)  2021  d:  Rebecca Hall

We’re all passing for something or other, aren’t we?                                                            —Irene Redfield (Tessa Thompson)

Rebecca Hall’s screenwriting and directorial debut adapts Nella Larsen’s 1929 novella of the same name, the first black woman to be awarded the Guggenheim Fellowship and a cornerstone work of Harlem Renaissance literature, also a central figure in American modernism, set during Prohibition just before the Depression, offering a despairing depiction in the lives of middle class black women.  Hall’s first draft took ten days, but she spent the next ten years mulling over the screenplay, eventually settling upon an intense character study of two light-skinned biracial women, Tessa Thompson as Irene Redfield and Ruth Negga as Clare Kendry, filled with meaningful and subtle glances, where the authenticity of the exceptional performances is the highlight of the film, as their lives couldn’t have taken more differing paths, yet they converge in what appears to be an exploration of transgressions.  Irene has married a prominent black doctor, Brian (André Holland), with two sons, living a successful middle class life in a Harlem townhouse, while Clare has decided to “pass” as white in order to elevate her social standing, marrying a white husband, John Bellew (Alexander Skarsgård), whose pet name for her is “nig,” as her skin tone appears to be darker than it initially appeared to be.  Meeting by chance at the Drayton Hotel, an upscale white establishment serving cool refreshing drinks such as iced tea, which is like gaining access to another world, one of white luxuries and indulgence, that she visits in a desperate search for relief from the insufferable heat of New York City (that is actually the Drake Hotel in Chicago), two childhood friends reconcile over their differing paths, with Irene meeting her husband John, a virulent racist who mistakenly believes both women are white, voicing his intense hatred for the black race, leaving Irene a bit disgusted at Clare’s self-inflicted predicament.  For the more carefully guarded Irene, whose life of “idealized domesticity” revolves around Harlem parties and a proper social circle, passing is an occasional indulgence, something she does on occasion for the sake of convenience, gaining entrance to restaurants, or theater tickets, allowing her to expand her social realms, while for Clare, passing is a means of survival, orphaned early on, coming from a home with white relatives who disdained her race, she wanted something more, something others had and she didn’t, so she grabbed the opportunity, making a permanent break, resorting to being reckless, flirtatious, and bold, living in a loveless marriage with a banker to gain access to a more affluent lifestyle.  This story has been told before, introduced earlier in films like PINKY (1949), LOST BOUNDARIES (1949), and IMITATION OF LIFE (1934, 1959), where the majority of blacks cannot pass for white.  Since passing was a crime in most states, secrecy was paramount to its success, so Hollywood typically toned down the sexual and political content in order to placate white audiences.  The moral of these Hollywood films seems to be to stay in your place, as passing narratives worked to maintain the status quo, playing into a Hollywood system that continued to cast whites in black roles from the silent era until well into the 60’s, allowing them to perpetuate the same racial stereotypes until a newly developed social consciousness raised questions not only about blacks, but Indians and Hispanics as well.  This project has personal ramifications for Hall, who discovered her own African-American roots in a 2018 Deadline interview, Rebecca Hall Tessa Thompson Ruth Negga - Deadline, “I came across the novel at a time when I was trying to reckon creatively with some of my personal family history, and the mystery surrounding my biracial grandfather on my American mother’s side.  In part, making this film is an exploration of that history, to which I’ve never really had access.”  Hall’s mother is opera star Maria Ewing, and her father, who died at an early age, was a light-skinned black man passing for white, with both identifying as white during their lifetimes.  Nella Larsen’s literature allowed Hall to explore deceptive avenues that light-skinned blacks utilized to gain entrance into white society, something rarely, if ever, mentioned in family histories, often discovered years afterwards, purely by accident.  Thompson appeared in a recent 50’s old-fashioned Hollywood romance movie set in Harlem, Sylvie's Love (2020), while Ruth Negga appeared in Loving (2016), a true-life historical drama that set the legal precedent liberating interracial marriage, which remained illegal in all the former states of the Confederacy 100 years after slavery was abolished.  What’s immediately apparent is the lyrical and often sensuous black and white cinematography from Eduard Grau, relying upon close-ups for intimacy and poetic introspection, with gorgeous jazz piano interludes heard between scenes, The Homeless Wanderer by Emahoy Tsegué-Maryam Guèbrou, The Homeless Wanderer YouTube (7:07), heard earlier in Gabe Klinger’s Porto (2016), an impressionistic piano piece that composer Devonté Hynes incorporates into the score, becoming familiar with Irene’s tree-lined neighborhood, with much of the film taking place in her multi-storied brownstone home, where rain out the window overlooking a collection of trees is among the more uniquely gorgeous images captured, like an impressionistic still painting, with tears of rain running down the window pane, creating a washed-out reflective image that remains permanently out-of-focus.

Nella Larsen, along with Jessie Forset, Jean Toomer, Langston Hughes, and a host of others were writers that examined the different and sometimes complex relationship of passing to black identity, which underwent a refashioning during the Harlem Renaissance.  At least initially, Irene ignores Clare’s repeated requests to meet, where the experience with her husband really left her cold, not really wanting to have anything to do with that, but when Clare arrives at her door unexpectedly, things change, as her friendship is welcomed, but she’s worried that she’s putting herself in danger with such a volatile husband, who might kill her if he found out, raising other perplexing questions such as the cost of personal isolation, paranoia, guilt, self-hate, and the fear of being outed, but Clare puts her mind at ease, thinking she will never be discovered, and that her deceptive practices aren’t on her husband’s radar, as she only intends to visit when he’s out of town on business.  Very quickly, however, she goes from being out of sight to part of the mix, with a “wild desire” to rediscover her real self, chipping away at her carefully-constructed façade, where even her accent grows more relaxed, making more frequent trips to Harlem, showing up for social events where she flirts her way into popularity, but the relationship remains a bit suspect, as Irene’s worries are justified, but Clare never seems worried, instead throwing herself into the next event, becoming more than a little comfortable to be back in the swing of things around black people, something she dreadfully missed in the white world, where there is a loss of self, loss of family, and loss of community, rediscovering who she really is, holding nothing back, regaining a natural feeling among her own, no longer having to pretend.  In contrast to that uninhibited display, Irene has a growing sense of dread, with thoughts that one wrong move might unravel her carefully planned life forever.  The intersection of the two extremes, an extrovert and an introvert, combine to create a single black identity, which appears to be filled with multiple, overlapping identities, some truer or more authentic than others, but continually evolving, seemingly in its antagonistic historical relationship with a modern America that is entrenched in racism, where passing is a strong indictment of American life, an example of the desperate measures people are driven to take in order to survive.  Irene has a black maid, Zulena (Ashley Ware-Jenkins), allowing her more free time to pursue her social interests, yet there’s an air of tension between them that goes unspoken, with Brian often coming to her defense, realizing the maid has her own independent life as well.  But Clare gets caught up in organizing social events, which often includes inviting prominent white people, where party sequences are frequent, drawing the illustrious presence of famed novelist Hugh Wentworth (Bill Camp), as one joyful aspect of the Harlem Renaissance was that it drew whites as well into a mixed throng of jazz music and bootleg liquor, where everyone seemed to overlook their differences for the sake of a good time.  Nella Larsen dedicated her book to Carl Van Vechten, represented by the Wentworth character, who despite having married two women was known for having sexual relations with men.  Many of the central figures of the Harlem Renaissance were gay, though usually closeted, as Harlem had a flourishing gay club scene with drag balls and drag kings, as evidenced by cross-dressing blues performer Gladys Bentley (The Great Blues Singer Gladys Bentley Broke All the Rules), where there is a discussion about female stars Josephine Baker and Ethel Waters, both of whom dabbled on the gay side, hinting this might be a glacially paced and overly restrained black lesbian period piece.  This closeted sexuality leads Irene to tell Hugh, “We’re all passing for something or other, aren’t we?”  The film mirrors the book and seems particularly interested in the interiority of the characters, often shown in lingering close-ups, as Clare grows increasingly comfortable returning to the richness of the Harlem social setting, which Irene can’t help noticing, yet also realizes that Brian, who initially detested her, has grown unusually fond of her as well, creating a ménage à trois of repressed desires, where his mood of irritability only seems to surface during her absence.  This note of jealousy couldn’t be more understated, yet feels alarming, especially coming from Irene, who feels comfortable in her skin, remaining true to herself, sticking up for her beliefs that Brian is introducing adult subject matter to their children too early, scolding him for emphasizing newspaper stories on recent lynchings, as she wants her children to be happy, not looking over their shoulder at a real world suddenly creeping into their lives.  Her position is typically sneered at by her male husband, who believes children need to be prepared for the world they live in, the sooner the better, as they’ll pick up on these things at school anyway, so why not hear it from their own parents in the safety of their home.  Regardless of who’s right or wrong, the manner in which her position is dismissed is typical male dominance, no matter the era, where the sting of the rebuff is never comfortable, but only festers over time, especially with the underlying fears of jealousy that magnify her growing unease.  

Part of the understated context is Irene’s relationship with Clare, initially viewed as a cautionary red flag, a danger zone fraught with ghastly outcomes that could at any minute go haywire, so she was to be avoided at all costs.  But as she re-entered the Harlem lifestyle, their friendship grew closer, with Clare attributing her newfound freedom exclusively to Claire, routinely deferring to her, realizing what a good thing she has by knowing her.  Irene wants to feel the same way, but treads more carefully, realizing Claire has an exhibitionist flair for being the center of attention and grabbing the limelight, for being that popular girl everyone talks about, who brazenly drinks and dances and seemingly doesn’t have a care in the world, valuing freedom and happiness over safety (like Icarus flying too closely to the sun), with Irene reduced to a more passive role of watching and observing.  As she curiously eyes that backless dress Claire’s wearing, she seethes with a smoldering interiority, mesmerized by her blatantly open sexuality on display, a fascination that borders on obsession, becoming a bundle of nerves, remaining on solid footing by being well respected and dignified, known for her impeccable manners and social grace, dedicated to family and home, yet underneath that good breeding lie fleeting feelings of jealousy that make her question her own marriage and this controversial friendship as well.  But it also raises the age-old question about skin color, where at least to whites, lighter skin shades are viewed as safely acceptable, yet darker skin tones produce more hostile feelings of angry denouncement.  Even within the black community, these same arguments raise contentious viewpoints, with darker-skinned blacks remaining skeptical about lighter skin tones gaining access and success within the white establishments, access they are routinely denied simply by the darker color of their skin.  Little progress has been made over the years, as whites continually promote lighter shades as the standard for beauty, which subconsciously makes its way through the black community as well, creating a social rift of jealousy and also fierce independence, as those who defy this social standard are defiantly on their own, setting their own trends, yet only few are successful, while the large population overall continues to believe lighter is better, as evidenced by the huge commercial success of artists like Whitney Houston, Mariah Carey, or Beyoncé, for instance, while Nina Simone fumes in her indignant black fury at being excluded.  One thing that’s clear is that darker women have never been able to pass as white, and may sneer at those who do.  On the other hand, Irene views her darker-skinned maid Zulena quite differently, yet her home is a picture of cleanliness and décor, where Zulena is obviously quite good at what she does, and is quite successful, taking care of a beautiful home filled with beautiful things.  This color angle is a major subtext to the film, as is an unspoken homoerotic element, more hinted at than revealed, though Irene often speaks of Clare’s beauty, which elevates her fear that Clare may steal her husband, yet her efforts to repress this underlying attraction ultimately drives the story, where Claire may actually become a projection of Irene’s repressed desires.  The unexamined question is what view the darker-skinned Brian holds of the lighter-skinned Clare.  Is he really enamored?  Or is it all in Irene’s head?  These questions are never really answered, but instead swirl around in the nuanced, atmospheric social settings where the two continually interact, yet the film does focus primarily on Irene’s experiences, with Clare presenting a distinctive moral challenge.  One astonishing voice of blackness is felt by a continuing sound of a neighboring saxophone player, played by an uncredited Shaun Hudson, where jazz notes linger in the air like afternoon heat, offering relief and solace to those fortunate enough to hear, yet some can be heard telling the player to pipe down as the evening lingers, yet the sound couldn’t be more sensually affirmative.  Devonté Hynes wrote the music for Gia Coppola’s Palo Alto (2013), yet it also sizzles here, offering a more electrifying presence throughout the film.  Certainly a foreshadowing moment has Irene walking down the street with her friend Felisse (Antoinette Crowe-Legacy), who is clearly darker-skinned, yet they run into Clare’s husband John, who immediately recognizes Irene, and calls her name, but she astutely avoids him without acknowledging his presence and keeps walking.  This singularly charged moment lingers in an otherwise subtle and carefully calculated film, the very picture of restraint, with malicious overtones that remain out of sight, only to resurface in what appears to be a New Year’s party, with a layer of snow already on the ground, when John angrily crashes the party, yelling and screaming as he pushes his way inside looking for his wife, creating instant turmoil as havoc ensues, remaining ambiguous as to what exactly happens, yet a tragedy occurs, a particularly harrowing moment that has been the subject of discussion for years, leaving unanswered questions that linger in the background, haunting viewers long afterwards, a metaphor for the price that can be paid for passing.  The novel was originally published with two different endings in two separate printings, with the original ending including a white policeman’s decree of “death by misadventure,” which by itself is an extraordinary choice of words, while another ends on the phrase, “Then everything was dark.”  There is no indication which version Nella Larsen preferred, having written both, adding to the critical debate of what constitutes the truth.