When I was a little girl, around the age of three, I held my hand up to my mother’s and said “I don’t match you.” I then did the same thing to my father and said “I don’t match you either.” This is not going to be a piece about a mixed girl “trapped between two worlds” or anything like that. This is a review of the film Passing. However, this film, along with many other moments and elements of my life, made my head swirl around the concept of race, the complexity of it, and my place in it. In addition, it is an incredibly somber vignette about repression, and light skinned privilege.
Passing arrived on Netflix in January of 2021, starring Tessa Thompson and Ruth Negga. The film centers two light-skinned Black women. Irene (Thompson) is a prominent member of Harlem’s Black society, while Clare (Negga) lives a white life, with a rich white husband. The film follows their relationship after reuniting after many years. It was written and directed by Rebecca Hall, a white woman, but adapted from the novella of the same name by Nella Larson, a mixed woman of the 1920’s.
Irene and Clare meet for the first time in a hotel restaurant on a hot day. Irene stops in for a cup of tea and hides her face almost entirely under her hat so no one will be able to see that she is Black. Clare stares at her from the other side of the room, and Irene believes someone has discovered her. Clare approaches, causing Irene to panic, but she then realizes after Clare laughs that they know each other from childhood. In the film it is unclear where they grew up, but in the novel it was the South Side of Chicago. Clare invites Irene to her hotel room and she explains everything. After her father died, she was raised by her aunts who she describes as “very white, very respectable… and very religious.” When she was “eighteen and legal” she was married to her husband and now they have a daughter who “goes as white.” Soon after arriving to the hotel room, Irene meets John who is an outright, unapologetic racist. He HATES Black people, and obviously does not know any. He says that Clare is the same way, she won’t even have a Black maid. When Irene leaves, she has no intention of seeing Clare ever again. Clare, however, sends a letter to Irene expressing a longing to see her again —wishing she could ditch her “pale” life for a more “colorful” one.
The story of Passing has been criticized for being indicative of the “tragic mulatto” trope — a mixed Black and white person, typically a woman, who struggles with Blackness and longs to be white. The early twentieth century version of “caught between two worlds” bullshit, but this story does not completely fit into that narrative. On a shallow level, Clare’s character might fit the trope. However, it’s not quite fair. The oldest portrayals of the “tragic mulatto” are minstrel performances, and the “mulatto” character possesses extremely dramatic movements and expressions, much like being of mixed race has made them crazy. Passing is not that. Clare’s character is dramatic and sometimes over the top, like older portrayals, but she lives in the white world because she was molded and made to do so.
Light-skinned privilege is well portrayed and discussed, aside from its obvious adjacency to the white world. As the film progresses, it becomes clear that Irene is not so different from Clare. Irene is repulsed by Clare’s life and holds many judgements towards her. However, Irene lives a sheltered and privileged life of her own. She is an educated light-skinned Black woman married to a doctor (André Holland). Black male professionals were known to marry lighter skinned women as a status symbol during this time. Irene doesn’t have a job, but is head of the committee for the Negro League which involves throwing parties and schmoozing with white artists who come to “gaze upon the negroes.” She also has a Black maid named Zu, whom she is not very respectful towards. In fact, Clare has a better appreciation and relationship with Zu than Irene does. What’s clear and true is that Irene doesn’t use her light skin to live in the white world like Clare, but it has positioned her well in the hierarchy of the Black world. And then, if she wants to slip into the white world, she can. While there is the age-old argument of “being caught between two worlds” and it being such a struggle, this film emphasizes the benefits of this position that some may forget, or choose to ignore. This is an element of the story that is still relevant.
But that’s not all! In the beginning, it is mentioned that Brian wants to move out of the United States, but it is not explained. Later in the film, he explains that it is for the safety and well-being of his sons. Irene does not understand, as a well respected, upper middle class, northern, light skinned woman. These attributes are what protect her from the realities of everyday violence against Black people who can’t pass. Brian talks about the lynching of John Carter in Little Rock to the boys. He explains in detail what they did to him. Irene does not approve of him talking to their sons about it. Brian argues that it is important for them to know what they are up against in this world. But Irene states that the boys are “safe” and don’t need to know about “all that lynching stuff.” Throughout the film, Irene wants so badly to shelter and “protect” her sons, but just like Brian says, she is doing them a disservice. In addition, she wants to keep her sons from learning about sex, but this seems to have more to do with her own sexual repression. Subconsciously she’s worried that one of her sons might also be queer, and wants to shield him from that.
One thing I appreciate about Passing is the complexity of the characters and the actors who do a phenomenal job portraying their layers. Clare is a woman who lives her life behind a mask. She’s like that meme of the dog in the middle of a fire saying “this is fine.” When she sees Irene in the beginning, she gingerly tells her life story. But it’s extremely sad. Her aunts are only mentioned in one line, but it is clear that her upbringing with them took a toll on her. This is expanded upon a bit more in the book; however, due to Negga’s portrayal, it is still clear how trapped she is. She was married so young to a racist white man and her daughter is a quarter Black but doesn’t know it. Therefore, she will live her life in white ignorant bliss. It’s what Clare wants for her, but she says to Irene that “being a mother is the cruelest thing on earth.” Passing, at first, seems like a choice she made, but it becomes clear that this was never the life she wanted. Clare is not free, but she expresses herself to others freely, and this is how she differs from Irene.
Irene lives the sterile housewife life, so clearly she is repressed. However, since she lives her life as a Black woman, she does not live in fear of being found out. Irene is also gay. She is cold, but as she and Clare develop a relationship, she becomes warmer as she falls in love with Clare. She does not have a sexual relationship with her husband, Brian. He tries, but she does not reciprocate. In the book, however, it is hinted that Brian also may be queer. This is not indicated in the film. Instead, there is a strange love triangle where Irene believes Brian has a thing for Clare which makes Irene jealous because she also has feelings for her. Irene also wishes that she got along with Brian as easily as Clare. The novella Passing is known for its queer subtexts, but this was not explored as extensively in the film, aside from longing looks from Irene which was dissapointing. How did a movie in 2021 end up being less gay than a book written in 1929?
As much as Irene loves and longs for Clare, she is envious of her free spirit. Irene eventually does not want Clare around because she has become very popular in their circle of friends, and because of Clare’s relationship with Brian. Even Irene’s sons begin to prefer Clare. If I were Irene, I would be irritated too. This bitch gets to escape her depressing life by living freely in Irene’s world. Instead of infiltrating someone else’s life, Irene seems to escape by taking a drug of some sort. There are a couple of scenes of Irene sleeping or being in a hazy, deluded state. One of her sons asks “are you going to sleep again, Ma?” It is not entirely clear what she is doing. Maybe Hall didn’t want to make Irene out to be the pill popping housewife. There is no shot or scene of her taking pills or even drinking, but it is quite clear that miss girl is on something as she becomes obsolete in her own life.
Irene’s attempts in protection always prove to be detrimental. This was something that stood out to me a great deal in the film because it displayed how dangerous repression can be. Clare’s death is another example of Irene’s repression taking the form of attempted protection (I know this sounds weird and complicated, but hear me out.) Clare dies because her husband John lunges at her in fury, and Irene pushes her back. There’s a scene about ten minutes prior where Irene tightly clutches a teapot at the party she and Brian are hosting for Hugh, a white man and well-known author in Irene’s social circle. Clare is there, though she’s not supposed to be. Irene is anxious and out of it. Clare is the center of attention as always, and Irene, while noticing this, suddenly drops the teapot. Hugh comes from behind her and apologizes because he thinks he bumped her, but she claims it was her fault and says “that pot was the ugliest thing that your ancestors, the charming confederates, ever owned. I’ve forgotten how many thousands of years ago it was that Brian’s great-great-great-great uncle owned it…what I’m coming to is the fact that I never figured out how to get rid of it until just this minute. Inspiration! I had only to break it and I was free of it forever.” This scene foreshadowed Irene pushing Clare out of the window. Irene made Clare become, in the literal sense, the tragic mulatto.
Now that I have discussed the characters, their racial identities, and psyches at length; cinematically, I enjoyed the implementation of black and white in Passing. Which to me, was representative of the dichotomy between the Black and white world. Even the movie poster image of Irene and Clare back to back with Irene in front of a black background and Clare a white one showcases this and further emphasizes how light Clare’s complexion is in comparison to everyone else’s. The theme of repression also sticks out more because neither Irene nor Clare have a lot of color or joy in their lives. The changing of the seasons is a tactic used to indicate the passage of time throughout the film. Sometimes this can be a lazy method, but here it worked. We start in summer and end in winter. Irene and Clare meet on an extremely hot day, and Clare dies in the snow. The last shot of the film lingers in my head. From a bird’s eye view, we see partygoers talking to the police and Clare’s body in the snow. It slowly zooms out, the image becomes more and more blurry not only because of the distance, but also because of the snowfall, and it all fades away to whiteness, much like Clare, then to black.
This film was difficult to analyze. Even though the novel was written by a Black woman, the fact that the film was written and directed by a white woman made my head swirl a bit. There are elements, such as queerness and Irene’s possible drug addiction, that I wish were explored and explained a bit more. This story at its core is one that still holds a great deal of relevance. There were times I would go back to watch certain scenes and subsequently would uncover something new about what any character was thinking or feeling. None of the characters are likable, but they are sympathetic. This is a film that will leave you with many reflections, and perhaps a few grievances.
Maya Hood-Wilson (she/her) is a not-so-proud Brooklyn transplant originally from Baltimore City. She has a BA from Sarah Lawrence College where she studied film and women's history. When she's not dissociating on her bicycle, she is watching Real Housewives of Atlanta or agonizing over unfinished screenplays. You can follow her on Instagram if you want: @mayahoodwilson.