‘A masterclass in lesbian eroticism’: why Bound is my favorite movie | Interesting

MeI don’t really like the so-called “feelgood”. No, you won’t find me fooled by happy endings, nor am I partial to Disney events (in fact, I find all talking animals and poreless kings a little creepy). A raw edge is an emotional conflictbad have been well suited to my tastes: the porno chic slasher Knife+Heart, the brutal murder of In Fabric and the smoky film lover Thesis. Sex is a hit, mostly. For a long time, my favorite movie was Crimes of the Future: a stomach-churning thriller about sexual temptation.

However, there is one film that shows a slightly softer(er) side to my viewing habits, which I often return to for heartache and butterflies being crushed at school. The film is Bound. A 1996 show from the Wachowski sisters, the plot revolves around the anti-semitism of the most famous and classic: plumber Corky, and mafia moll Violet. When their eyes meet on the elevator, this small room is saturated with sexual desire: and other things like that.

Much of what makes this film work is the palpable chemistry between Corky, whose flamboyant masculinity is played by Gina Gershon, and Violet, played with great sexiness by Jennifer Tilly. The whole thing is shot in sapphic-eyed scenes: we get frequent shots of Corky’s hands struggling with pipes, snake holes and intricate, intricate objects.

Say what you will about the actors playing openly gay characters, but this film – which features two strong, female leads – is a triumph of gay sex. The two main actors have a masc / femme dynamic, without the try-and-try of so many movies, to create a relationship that feels amazing (except for the very, very hot).

How do I love you? Let me read the directions. Having just started out as Cristal Connors in the trashy, 1995 Vegas romp Showgirls, it’s amazing to see Gershon make such a dramatic gender switch to play a pin-up a year later. It’s not a stretch to say that Corky has the type of smooth and wavy hair that no doubt served as the blueprint for The L Word’s Shane.

And then, there’s Jennifer Tilly. A clay doll: her sex appeal is depicted above her thigh and her entire chest sighs but, underneath, she has a strong and stony expression. A tough female artist who smokes and manipulates to get what she wants from men, and a woman imprisoned for her beauty, Tilly delivers some of the smartest performances exploring the underworld of sex I’ve ever seen.

Anyway, back to the plot. What follows after the first meeting of our protagonists is oh-so relatable: Corky, fresh out of prison, is very vulnerable to Violet’s charms. In what can only be described as uncontrollable passions, Corky agrees to help him in a crazy cartel to steal $2m from a group and nail his girlfriend. I’m also afraid that I can do whatever Violet asks of me.

But, to be honest, the crime scene wasn’t that difficult for me. What do I care if they remove it or not? If you want, however, there are some tired – almost femmephobic – overnotes, where Corky begins to question whether Violet is who he says he is, or whether he will leave her to find a man the first time he finds one. But even so, they get their own happy ending.

Interestingly, the plot draws parallels between Corky’s and Violet’s self-inflicted prison time: the years they live as gay men secretly in straight relationships with men, in order to survive. At the end of the film, escaping from prison and with a lot of money, both are free: Corky from the criminal justice system, and Violet from the gay prisons.

Although the film came out almost 30 years ago – in my birthday – it remains the most convincing depiction of dyke sexuality I’ve ever seen on screen. Although they had not come out at the time, the Wachowski sisters (both gay) were very brave: they show the cheek, the evil and the joy of sapphic relationships with Bound. I’m from a different generation than the directors, and I should have had the chance to show it to a lot of people, but if it wasn’t for this film made by two women in the 90s, I wouldn’t have a cinematic proof of my sexuality.