The Danish Girl

To argue that "The Danish Girl" is too politically correct or overly safe is to miss the point of Tom Hooper's exquisite and transcendent new film -- by far, his most thought-provoking, emotionally absorbing and best film to date.

The creatives, beginning with screenwriter Lucinda Coxon, did not set out to tell a gritty modern day tale of transition. Someone else can make the Laverne Cox saga one day. The genius of what Hooper, Coxon and the rest of the team accomplish is that they use the language of cinema to tell the story of two artists, deeply in love, who find themselves at a crossroads when one of them begins to doubt his/her gender identity at a time when such a thing wasn't even a societal-fringe consideration, let alone in any way acceptable. It was reason for incarceration.

In 1926 in Copenhagen, Denmark, painter Einar Wegener was the first person to undergo gender confirmation surgery and become Lili Elbe. At the time of her realization, Wegener was happily married to Gerda Wegener, also a painter, although a lesser known one. Eddie Redmayne plays Einar/Lili and Alicia Vikander portrays Gerda.

Based on the semi-fictional book by David Ebershoff (published in 2000), as well as "Man Into Woman," a biography that allegedly incorporates segments from Elbe's diary (but is, apparently, sketchy at best), "The Danish Girl" is an admittedly, but factually-based, fictional account of Lili's extraordinary and groundbreaking journey.

The filmmakers have taken dramatic license with the timeframe as well as certain details. Much of Elbe's life remains somewhat of a mystery. But Hooper and Coxon are very much interested in Elbe's fascinating odyssey as well as the intense adoration and respect that the two central figures have for one another.

Gerda: "You think I can't resist you?"
Einar: "Do you want to resist me?"

These lines are spoken at the beginning of the pic, while in the throws of passion. Ironically and tellingly, the gender roles are skewed so that it is Einar who acting flirty and coy while Gerda is more aggressive.

Roughly the first half of the film focuses on the couple's deep bond as well as their respective artistic journeys, Einar being a much more well-known landscape painter while Gerda is still struggling to figure out her style.

"You could be a first class painter if you find the right subject matter," she is told by an important art dealer. And she soon does, when she photographs her husband as a woman. This begins quite by accident when a model stands her up. Einar is apprehensive at first, but soon tantalized, and we slowly see Einar getting comfortable as a woman and witness the emergence of Lili.

The remarkable scenes that show Lili's femininity truly taking shape contain very little dialogue, but through Redmayne's gestures, movements and expressions, as well as the deliberately portrait-like shots, we are allowed a window into her psyche. Einar's shy and tentative qualities merge into a Lili that is a more assured and confident person.

As Lili is allowed to (and in many ways allows herself to) come out (so to speak), Gerda must cope with the fact that the husband she married is no longer whom she assumed he was.

In a key sequence, Gerda coaxes Lili to attend an artist's ball in drag, where Lili meets the dashing Henrik (Ben Whishaw), who immediately senses a kindred spirit ("I prefer the shadows"). He makes the erroneous assumption Lili is gay and kisses her. Lili's confusion is obvious, and manifests itself in a nosebleed. Gerda witnesses the kiss and confronts Einar/Lili, who must then suppress Lili.

As Einar's identity crisis escalates, he tries his best to "fix" himself, even undergoing radiation therapy. "You do realize you husband is insane," a doctor tells Gerda. But try as Einar does, there is no turning back, and Lili must figure out her true self no matter the consequences.

Doctor: "Where does she (Lili) come from?"
Einar: "Inside me."

Sure, some of the dialogue is obvious and (wait for it) on the nose, but the actors have a way of making even the most clich� lines seem fresh.

Coxon's script also tends to dip into the anachronistic but that slightly-modern speak and phraseology, more often than not, adds depth and understanding to a film that relies more on images inspired by certain artistic expressions (austerity and art nouveau) to convey the character's inner worlds, than those wonky words.

The film also relies on the actors to create the realism necessary to accept the deliberately stylized world.

The supporting cast is exceptional from the delightful Amber Heard to sexy Matthias Schoenaerts to the always-mesmerizing Ben Whishaw.

Redmayne, as you would expect from someone who learned to contort his body to play Stephen Hawking (in his Oscar-winning turn in "The Theory of Everything") fully immerses himself into both Einar and Lili. We get sly glimpses of Lili early on, and once she takes over there's a wholeness about Redmayne -- a completeness that permeates the pretty and waifish actor's every move and utterance.

But the true revelation is Vikander. From the very first frame, she commands the screen and shows us an exceptionally intelligent, strong-willed and devoted young woman who refuses to judge the man she loves -- even when that man begins to transition.

As good as Vikander has been in other recent films ("Testament of Youth," "Ex-Machina") she is simply brilliant here, and deserves every accolade coming her way. (And for anyone who cares about category fraud, hers is a leading role).

Danny Cohen's lush cinematography is to be commended, as is Eve Stewart's spectacular production design and Paco Delgado's elegant costumes. Alexandre Desplat's sweeping score perfectly compliments the narrative.

Certain reviewers and bloggers have dubbed the film too sensitive to the subject matter. However, it's just that sensitivity and care that allows audiences with no trans frame of reference to actually experience what it must be like for someone raised one gender to discover they're actually another, to slowly realize that the perpetual feelings of angst, fear, anxiety and alienation have a root cause. And that, in Lili's case, living as Lili makes life finally make sense.

The film has the audacity to take its time while Lily discovers herself, tossing off all aspects of her maleness. And, most impressively, dares to have a sense of humor about its themes and subject something so many "prestige" pictures lack.

Director Hooper's tender touch and his devotion to conveying the story via the passions of the two central figures (and artists know that their identity and their art are usually inexplicably linked) goes beyond simply telling the exceptional tale of an icon who up until now has been lost to history. He manages to do so in a fashion that celebrates their lives through the wonder of the film medium. He's created a visual poem, an understanding of gender via art.

For me, watching "The Danish Girl" was like studying an enigmatic work of art, letting it wash over me until I understood more about the painter, felt an empathy for the subject that I had never felt before and sensed that I was also learning more about myself in the process. That's a rare achievement for a motion picture.