An Expression of Gender in ‘The Danish Girl’

The Danish Girl, Tom Hooper’s measured cinematic expression of David Ebershoff’s novel of the
same name, which in turn is a fictionalised telling of the lives of Danish painters Lili Elbe (formerly
Einar Wegener) and Gerda Wegener, is a study in dysfunction, love, and in its most vulnerable
moments, identity—Identity of self and meaning, and reconciliation to a personal narrative.
Starring Eddie Redmayne and Alicia Vikander in the lead roles, The Danish Girl is Lili Elbe’s story of
self-discovery, as she makes the transition from Einar to Lili, set against the backdrop of a failing
relationship and inter-personal strife.
As film so usually facilitates the bringing together of multiple ideas and themes, Hooper presents the
audience with a marriage of various perspectives, oftentimes immersing them in the characters’ field
of vision. Early in the film, Einar’s fascination is described by his longing gaze. He caresses the gown
he’s modelling with a gently curious touch; his eyes betray desire and enjoyment at once. The first of
Einar’s hitherto undisclosed stirrings burst with almost orgasmic intensity.
As Einar continues to model in beautiful dresses and finely-drawn eye liner, his fascination for the
feminine becomes even more evident, gradually morphing into something deeper. Soon enough,
he’s admiring women, taking mental notes on how their hands move—he’s learning how to be a
woman. These seemingly trifling montages emphasise not just curiousness but affirm Lili’s sense of
command. As Einar, she struggles to fit in her skin, but as Lili, she comes into her own.
Dressed as Lili, Einar finds himself the object of the male gaze, and seems almost confused and
bashful. He is excited and terrified. Both Einar and Lili are in conflict, and when Einar kisses a male
character, it signifies Lili reaching over and dealing Einar a body blow.

Einar conforms to a stereotype: he’s a loving husband and a dependable partner. We infer that he’s
cerebral and capable. He is an artist. He is a man of his times. Lili, on the other hand, is tentative,
frivolous, and light-minded. None of this is more evident than in the scene where Einar dressed as
Lili meets a childhood friend, Hans, for the first time in years. Lili’s behaviour borders on callous, but
this is Lili expressing herself with bold authority, this is Lili lashing out at functionalist convention.
Gerda functions in the role of doting wife and painter; she enables her husband’s fantasy of cross-
dressing, she is angry and emotional when she comes across Einar kissing another man, and is
distraught at the dissolution of her marriage. She is jealous and she seeks comfort in someone else.
She is torn between loving Einar/ Lili and looking after her own wants.
Lili dons a gender role which I’d call fluidic: there’s no definite norm which Lili ascribes to. Her
journey of discovery is deeply personal and in being so, it takes Lili away from society’s
interpretation of gender performance; from minor shifts such as imitating a striptease artist from
across the separating glass to seismic moments such as wanting to undergo a potentially life-
threatening operation, Lili defines her own role.

Take the scene in the brothel. It is significant because it posits a case where Lili sheds Einar and
creates a space wherein she is herself. By letting go of Einar, Lili disrupts his role as a male spectator
and transforms the space into one of timid reverence as he imitates the graceful movements of the
strumpet. Lili eventually deconstructs Einar’s form with malleable ease. As Einar comes to terms
with his sexuality, Gerda lays emphasis on her own. She is a woman with needs. As she recognises
that she’s losing her husband, she turns to Hans for comfort. Her conflict, unlike Lili’s, is
necessitated.
In a film bristling with drama and emotion, both Eddie Redmayne and Alicia Vikander express their
characters through grounded realism. Lili is vulnerable and so is Gerda. And it is this expression of
vulnerability which marks each of their closures.