Sexual minorities on screen: Who are these films for?

Pitiable minorities: Representation for whom?

In Japan, there is a general tendency to avoid reading political intent in films, as well as other artistic works. Still, whether the audience welcomes it or not, films cannot be discussed apart from it, as representation inevitably involves political issues.

For example, Hirokazu Koreeda’s Monster (2023) has recently sparked debate over its depiction of sexual minorities. Rather than consuming these works through fleeting emotions such as, “I was moved” or “How pitiful,” or rejecting them altogether as prejudice, constructive discussions are needed to identify the problems and to explore what forms of representation may be possible.

With growing public interest in sexual minorities, more films now feature them as central characters. However, it is not sufficient to simply have them appear in a story. Considering the interpretive scope and the richness inherent in an artwork, the key question is: what is depicted, and in what way?

One example is Eiji Uchida’s Midnight Swan (2020), which depicts a transgender woman working at a Shinjuku nightclub. While the film was both commercially successful and highly praised, its depiction of the subject drew criticism. Among the criticisms were the casting of Tsuyoshi Kusanagi, who is presumably a cisgender man, as a transgender woman and the story’s deeply tragic development.

In recent years, debate has mounted in Hollywood over the principle that transgender characters should be played by transgender actors. For example, The Danish Girl (2015) faced backlash over the casting of cisgender actor Eddie Redmayne as a transgender woman.

Casting is not the only issue. Some argue that the tragic ending of Midnight Swan reinforces the stereotype of the pitiable transgender, which the majority conveniently embraces. Of course, not every film needs a happy ending, but it is important to recognize that many works featuring sexual minorities have historically ended in sadness.

Naturally, viewers are free to find Midnight Swan and Monster beautiful or moving. The real question is: who are the films made for, in the structure of the film industry?

In reality, the dominant audience is non-LGBTQ, the majority. A continued stream of films with tragic endings that frame minorities as pitiable beings leads to stereotyped portrayals and ultimately undermines diversity of expression.

“Okama” character representation in post-war Japanese film

What matters the most is whether diversity of expression is adequately safeguarded in films. In my view, movies about sexual minorities do not have to be tragic, nor must they always end happily. Without a social environment that supports diverse expression, questions of what and to what extent can be depicted cannot even arise.

Of course, these issues are not a simple matter of choosing between A and B. The important thing is that portrayals do not fall into fixed patterns. The problem lies in rigid patterns of depiction, such as consistently casting non-transgender actors for transgender roles and always ending the story tragically. In this situation, it becomes necessary to examine the social structures that determine what can be represented.

When exploring these issues, the New Queer Cinema movement, which emerged in the United States in the early 1990s, can serve as a helpful reference. Films such as Todd Haynes’s Poison (1991) and Gus Van Sant’s My Own Private Idaho (1991), challenged Hollywood’s traditional heterosexual narrative structures by directly depicting minority experiences. More than simply being moving stories, these films were highly political, as they embodied protests against social structures.

On the other hand, in Japanese film history, portrayals of queer men and transgender women have frequently taken the form of the so-called “okama” character since the end of World War II. For example, in early postwar movies, male prostitutes often appeared as supporting characters, portrayed through effeminate speech and gestures. This representation seems to reflect the way such men were depicted in weekly magazines and other media.

Of course, many films in the early post-war period also portrayed female sex workers called pan-pan girls. However, while they were placed at the center and treated sympathetically, male sex workers appeared mainly for laughs.

While these portrayals reflect mockery of gay men and prejudice against transgender women, the variety of their representations indicates that the “okama” figures gained a certain degree of popularity. This suggests that the majority consumed the experiences of sexual minorities in post-war Japan as a source of laughter.

Breaking away from socially imposed norms

In my opinion, the “okama” character in Japanese media seems to have survived into the present, sometimes in new forms and other times hardly changed at all.

Examples include effeminate TV personalities known as “onee,” and a drag-queen-like character who fights using Okama Kenpo in manga, One Piece. These characters are often mistaken for real-life sexual identities, which may serve to reproduce the “okama” stereotype.

In contemporary films and TV dramas, portrayals of LGBTQ characters often appear as continuations of the post-war “okama” characters. For example, in works depicting the daily lives of gay couples, an implicit framework often appears: one partner is portrayed as masculine, the other as feminine. The feminine role is marked through body language and emotional cues that emphasize an active pursuit of physical intimacy, while the masculine role is shown resisting it. This seems connected to how the “okama” figure was portrayed in the past.

In any case, it seems that media creators are still searching for the most effective ways to portray sexual minorities. To expand the possibilities for future expression, it is essential to understand its historical context and analyze how they have been connected to social norms.

Looking at how films, TV shows, and manga portray sexual minorities might help us slowly detach from the idea of “normal” that society enforces. A careful analysis of representation history is essential to reexamine the norms – men should be in this way; women should be like this; sexual minorities should be marginalized – that a society imposes to us.

Art and pop culture are not only mirrors of reality, but also serve as questions posed to the future. I hope, through my research on films, I can contribute to the development of a society that embraces diverse ways of life.

* The information contained herein is current as of April 2025.
* The contents of articles on Meiji.net are based on the personal ideas and opinions of the author and do not indicate the official opinion of Meiji University.
* I work to achieve SDGs related to the educational and research themes that I am currently engaged in.

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