Referring to pictures that are generally low budget and lacking artistic merit, exploitation films often “exploited” a particular niche genre as a means to achieve box office success. Free from the shackles of Hollywood censorship, exploitation filmmakers garnered attention through their campy and sensationalized approach in depicting titillating subject matter. By operating outside the circuit of mainstream Hollywood conventions, exploitation directors were creatively liberated and embraced any controversial or non-normative themes. Two such directors—Ed Wood and Doris Wishman—used the exploitation platform as a means to shed light on the lives of marginalized queer individuals. However, given that exploitations have a reputation for being sleazy and cheap, were queer exploitation films radically bold, or just plain offensive and in poor taste?
Starring Wood himself as cross-dressing Daniel Davis in his debut feature, Glen or Glenda’s (1953) provocative subject matter and bizarrely unrefined filmic techniques launched Woods into iconic cinematic notoriety. An unintentional hybrid of melodrama, comedy, and social documentary—with random hallucinatory dream sequences, out-of-place stock footage and Shakespearean-esque monologues—Glen or Glenda received a dual reception as being either completely amateur or experimentally innovative. There’s no question that the film itself was considered a fiasco by critics and audiences, but in light of the fact that Ed Wood himself was open about his love of dressing in women’s clothing, this film should then be viewed as a candid and humanistic portrayal of an individual who was not ashamed to embrace his self-identity: a revolutionary example of art imitating life. Was the structured mish-mash of Glen or Glenda ironically intentional? Or the product of a cinephile who loved film so much that he couldn’t bear to edit out one piece of footage? Perhaps both. Nevertheless, Glen or Glenda embodies the work of a maverick filmmaker who unapologetically confronted cinematic and societal taboos. By defying conventional standards and generic Hollywood formulas, Glen or Glenda remains one of the most memorable exploitation films to date: a refreshing work of queer art that was progressive in both content and style.
While the focal point of Glen or Glenda is that of transvestitism, Let Me Die A Woman (1978) is an exploitation semi-documentary that centers on issues of trans sexuality. In between interviews with both a sex reassignment surgeon (with footage of an actual reassignment procedure) and various trans-identified individuals are dramatizations that re-enact the interviewees’ experiences. However, while this film seems to be a serious investigative look at the plight of various trans individuals, don’t forget that it is indeed an exploitation film and must be viewed with a grain of salt. Director Doris Wishman—who spent most of her career in adults-only movies—boldly incorporates highly graphic footage, such as a scene where a woman didn’t wait long enough to heal after surgery before taking a man home and consequently her new female anatomy started to bleed. In some ways, Let Me Die A Woman truly seems sympathetic to the hardships of the trans community, but other times relevant issues are replaced by absurd sex scenes and explicit shots filmed in an inept fashion. Not to mention that the medical community has come a long way in the field of sex reassignment since this movie first came out. However, I don’t think it was Wishman’s intention to offend audiences, nor do I believe she set out to create a ‘sleazy’, insensitive or otherwise incompetent film. Rather, it is more productive to objectively consider this movie with regard to the sexual climate of the 1970s. During the decade of the sexual revolution, it seemed that nothing was off limits in terms of sex, yet the trans community was still regarded with ignorance and contempt. It seemed that the only way to mobilize awareness for the misunderstood trans community was to shock audiences by providing a voyeuristic and un-simulated look into the nuances of trans identity (not very different than John Waters’ approach in Pink Flamingos). So while Let Me Die a Woman should be viewed with an open-mind and strong stomach, its social commentary should be appreciated for dismantling trans stigma and facilitating queer dialogue.
Originally shown in grindhouses, exploitation films are a cinematic enigma because their strangely ‘bad’ quality is what makes them aesthetically worthy. In fact, as a self-proclaimed film freak, I try to give poorly received movies the benefit of the doubt by searching for the artistic vision. If a film disturbs me or I somehow feel wronged by it, then I consider the possibility that this was the movie’s intention. If so, then the filmmaker has succeeded in their purpose. After all, the most resonating works of art are those that stir controversy or demand the viewer to FEEL (whether the reaction is favorable or not). In fact, it comforts me that contemporary film critics have started to defend exploitations and legitimize their form; “…exploitation films embrace innovative techniques that call attention to, question, or even challenge their own artifice.” During their inception in the 1930s, exploitation pictures were considered low class, but it was not long before more sophisticated sub-genres emerged as society slowly became more progressive. As the journey toward LGBTQI acceptance continues forward, I’d like to think that Glen or Glenda and Let Me Die a Woman helped pioneer this intellectual trend, in both a cinematic and civil rights context.
