Lilies Not For Me – first-look review
Will Seefried’s confident debut feature tackles a devastating, overlooked history through queer romance in the 1920s.
The practice of conversion and aversion therapies marks a very dark chapter in the history of Western medicine. Surgical, chemical and electrical experiments being carried out on gay men held in psychiatric institutions with the intention to alter their sexual orientation were commonplace in Britain all the way up to the mid-1970s. Basing his feature debut on the cumulative impact that these traumatic practices had on queer people, Will Seefried adopts a painterly lens in his poignant dramatisation of this historical wound.
Set in 1920s England, the story follows Owen (Fionn O’Shea), a gay novelist who forms an unlikely friendship with Dorothy (Erin Kellyman) a psychiatric nurse who feels closer to a modern-day therapist, providing emotional solace to Owen as he opens up about his relationship with Philip (Robert Aramayo), a medical student who, convinced he has a “cure” for his “forbidden” feelings, talks Owen into a performing a risky, barbaric procedure on his genitals. The arrival of a third man, Charles (Louis Hofmann) complicates things between the two men even further.
The film effectively jumps back and forth between these two timelines, sharply contrasting shadow and light; the hopelessness within the grey and dismal psychiatric facility and the tender intimacy and passion contained within the warmly lit cottage, Owen’s prior residence (James Baldwin’s evocative Giovanni’s Room being a definite source of inspiration here in how the space is conceptualised), providing a tactful balance between pain and joy.
The camera always moves with intention, whether it’s to capture idyllic compositions of the English countryside or tactile close-ups that linger to accompany the often lyrical dialogue – in one scene, Charles is seen devouring an orange which he describes being “like eating the sun”. This trifecta of queer characters also serves to remind audiences that queerness is far from a monolith or a stereotype: Owen believes in his right to live free of shame, Philip adopts a much more cynical approach opting for suppression, and Charles seems content with living his truth in secret.
Another discovery that the filmmaker made while delving into these traumatic histories was in Tommy Dickinson’s book ‘Curing Queers: Mental Patients & Their Nurses’, which details the friendships that blossomed between gay men and their nurses, many of whom recognised the barbarity of these so-called “treatments” and began to fight the system from within. With the stories of Black nurses working in healthcare at the time being largely unknown, these parallel histories become Seefried’s springboard, intersecting in the form of an unlikely bond.
The picture is beautifully acted overall, yet Dorothy feels more like a vehicle for exposition, and Erin Kellyman isn’t afforded as much room as her male co-stars to display her acting chops. Regardless, this is a confident debut, clearly extensively researched, put together with great care and makes for a welcome addition to the canon of queer period dramas.
