Netflix has adapted Nella Larsen’s iconic novel Passing for screen. Irene Redfield (played by bisexual icon Tessa Thompson) lives in Harlem with her husband and two sons. Though her family are all visibly Black, Irene ‘passes’ as white now and then “for convenience.” While stopping for tea in a fancy hotel, Irene bumps into an old friend who passes full-time: Clare Kendry (Ruth Negga). Though on the surface she has a perfect life, Irene is dissatisfied. And Clare desperately misses the Black community she was raised in. The two resume a passionate friendship that unbalances both of their worlds.
Passing shocked readers when it was published in 1929. At the height of Jim Crow, its theme of racial ambiguity challenged the logic behind segregation. And now, almost a century later, the story continues to shock modern viewers. John Bellew – Clare’s husband – refers to her constantly as “Nig.” The nickname, an abbreviation of the n-word, began as a joke about how Clare’s features were almost African-American. The audience shares in Irene’s discomfort witnessing his racism – and her knowledge that the joke is on John, who is oblivious to his wife’s Black heritage.
When Passing was announced, the production attracted some criticism on the grounds that a Black story was being told through the eyes of a white director. But Rebecca Hall has a closer relationship to the film’s subject than one might think at first glance. Her mother – opera singer Maria Ewing – is of African-American, Indigenous, Scottish, and Dutch heritage.
Hall’s grandfather was an African-American man who ‘passed’ for white for most of his life. Through her own family history, Hall understands what it means to live in the in-between space of racial ambiguity. In this respect, Passing feels authentic.
But the film’s believability is undermined by the fact that neither of its lead actresses is white-passing. If Passing had been filmed in color, it simply wouldn’t have worked. Thompson and Negga both have brown skin and traditionally Black features. Even with light skin and Clare’s bleach blonde hair, Negga doesn’t look like a white woman. And her ‘passing’ is the dramatic conceit on which the whole story hinges.
That being said, it’s worth watching Passing for the smouldering chemistry Negga shares with Thompson. The instability and obsession that characterize their relationship on the page is every bit as intense on screen.
Passing has captured the lesbian imagination for so long because, like all the most successful modernist stories, it leans into ambiguities. “I am so lonely,” Clare writes to Irene. “So lonely. I cannot help longing to be with you again.” And when Irene does not reply, Clare reveals that she hasn’t felt so desperate since being thrown over by an old lover.
The lingering touch of fingers, the subtle caresses, the intimacy of Irene unbuttoning Clare’s dress, her fascination with Clare’s naked back – in all these moments, director Rebecca Hall brings to life the sapphic subtext that elevated Passing to a modern classic.
The world as seen through Irene’s eyes is striking from start to finish. Shot in black and white with a 4:3 aspect ratio, Passing has a distinctly classic vibe. The 1920s setting is completed with lush costuming and Transatlantic accents; a crowd dancing to the throb of jazz music at Irene’s party while Irene looks on.
Passing never fully leans into the riotousness of jazz-age Harlem, but this is intentional. Irene never dances – she holds herself apart from the Black community’s joy and suffering both, shutting down any discussion of lynchings or “race politics” in her home.
Whereas Clare is frantic to overcome the distance between herself and other Black people, throwing herself into the community with reckless abandon, careful Irene leans towards middle-class respectability. She is more of a spectator than a participant in life – until the film’s stunning conclusion.
Passing is now streaming on Netflix
