Francis Lee’s feature debut, God’s Own Country, is a moving coming-of-age story and a swoon-worthy romance about small gestures that signal major changes. This review of God’s Own Country is an excerpt from our ebook God’s Own Country: A Special Issue, which is available for purchase here.
Francis Lee’s feature debut, God’s Own Country, is a film about small gestures that signal major changes. The few times Johnny Saxby (Josh O’Connor) smiles, it feels like a gift. A softly whispered “faggot”, a surprising term of endearment, is what indicates that Johnny’s combative relationship with hunky Romanian farmhand Gheorghe (Alec Secareanu) is shifting to something more romantic. Yet even after they have sex, casually chatting while nude, Johnny can’t look Gheorghe in the eye. For this pair, comfort with each other means being able to share a quiet meal together. So when Gheorghe seasons Johnny’s pasta, it’s a swoon-worthy gesture of affection.
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When the film begins, Johnny doesn’t have much to smile about. He lives in Yorkshire, with his ailing father (Ian Hart) and stalwart grandmother (Gemma Jones), on his family’s struggling farm, where he has been forced to become chief caretaker. While his friends have left town for their “posh colleges” or jobs, nothing much has changed for Johnny except the weight on his shoulders. His father still barks orders at him as if he’s a teenager doing chores instead of the one responsible for the family’s income. His Nan still cares for him as a child: feeding him, ironing his clothes, and chastising him for immature behaviour.
Johnny has built up a lot of anger and resentment, which comes out in passive-aggressive remarks and grudging asides. Yet he knows there’s no one to really rebel against: his father is too sick to work, and if he didn’t love his family so much, he could have left the farm. So his rebellion turns inwards, becoming self-destruction. Pleasure seems almost alien to him. He spends his nights at the pub getting blackout drunk. He has anonymous, rough sex, for the physical release rather than enjoyment. He can’t even be bothered to protect his hands from his hard labour on the farm. He’s perpetually hunched over with his hood up, as much as protection from the harsh weather as other people. He eats mechanically for fuel. He barely speaks, and when he does, it’s rough and practical. The only time he allows himself to show real tenderness is with the livestock.
Lee shoots the majority of the film from Johnny’s perspective, creating empathy for a boy stuck in a hard life that he didn’t choose. Lee emphasizes the harsh routine of farm life in the editing and sound design, cutting quickly between quiet, domestic scenes and the loud noises of hard labour: after Johnny drinks his morning milk, we cut abruptly to him riding his quad bike on the farm, the loud mechanical noise creating a jarring din. Working alone in a small, sheltered town is lonely — lonelier, we sense, for a gay man, who has fewer options available for a partner, even though he’s accepted by and out to everyone in his community.
To read the rest of the review of God’s Own Country, purchase a copy of the ebook God’s Own Country: A Special Issue here.
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Things start to change when Gheorghe arrives. Where Johnny is fast and rough, Gheorghe is slow and calm. Gheorghe works hard, but is unhurried. He takes time to season his food, saving his dessert to enjoy over an entire day. Gheorghe’s professional expertise is in tenderly caring for the animals: he can revive a stillborn lamb or comfort stock being tagged. He takes care of himself in his work, but he also, eventually, cares for Johnny.
Lee develops the eroticism in their relationship by allowing us to notice Johnny noticing Gheorghe. When the two take a short trip onto the moor for a few days, sharing a sheltered hut pushes things forward. We watch as Gheorghe undresses to wash himself, before seeing Johnny, back turned, aware of what Gheorghe is doing without quite looking. When Gheorghe enters their shelter at night, Lee lands on a closeup of Johnny’s hand clenching hay in his fist — with desire and anticipation. And when Gheorghe undresses for bed, Lee holds on a closeup of Johnny, with the sound of Johnny’s quickened breath and Gheorghe unfastening his belt. It’s all in the small details.
Because the pair are fairly inarticulate, their strongest expressions of emotion are physical. Gheorghe teaches Johnny a physical vocabulary of intimacy — both sexual and platonic. The more their connection grows, the less explicit the sex becomes, the more tender displays of affection dominate. Johnny and Gheorghe’s first encounter puts a stop to Johnny’s usual routine of spit and fuck, in favour of something hotter and more giving — but it’s as fumbling and full of mud as their relationship is uncertain. In their second sex scene, Gheorghe repeatedly slows Johnny down; pulling Johnny’s hand away from its attempt to go straight for the genitals, he asks instead to be touched and caressed. When Gheorghe slowly and calmly removes his shirt, Johnny takes his cue and does likewise at ten times the speed. It’s all new and foreign to Johnny, and we watch as he discovers there’s joy and pleasure to be had in exploring each other’s bodies, in kissing.
It takes time for Johnny to fully let Gheorghe in, which Lee conveys by using two-shots sparingly. When they go for an afternoon swim, Johnny grins at Gheorghe in closeup, before Lee swivels the camera to capture both in frame. When they take a bath together, we see Johnny first, Gheorghe’s voice intrudes, and then they share a two-shot. The closer they get, the more Johnny takes on Gheorghe’s positive characteristics, moving more slowly, taking better care of himself, standing up straighter — feeling less like he needs to apologize for taking up time and space.
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Farming isn’t just the background for their romance but a language for it. Tending to the lambs together is part of the seduction. Before they get physical, they work separately, dividing the work but not interacting. Johnny watches Gheorghe’s warmth toward the animals with awe: this kind of care is foreign to him, intriguing and sexy. It’s the first time Johnny smiles on the farm. As they grow closer, they become a team, working hand in hand, sharing the frame, with the give and take of the work turning sometimes into outright play. We know they’ve hit the height of their intimacy when Johnny doesn’t just bark practical commands but replies softly and tenderly, “I’ll wait for you”.
This review was originally published on August 9, 2017.
Get the eBook our Special Issue on God’s Own Country here >>
God’s Own Country is one of many great queer films released in 2017, from Call Me by Your Name and Thelma (both of which we dedicated a Special Issue to) to Beach Rats and BPM. It’s also one of several impressive directorial debuts from last year, among the ranks of The Levelling, Raw, Ava, Sami Blood, and Summer 1993.
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