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Oranges Are Not the Only Fruit is
a miniseries written for TV. It first aired on the BBC in
the U.K. in 1990; an edited version occasionally runs on cable
in the U.S. (usually on A&E). Although it's quintessentially
British, it's about as far from Merchant and Ivory as you
can get without leaving the country--it's set in England's
Northwest, where work is life and the dialect is from the
gut rather than through the nose.
This is a stark, face-value world, but the story of Oranges
is as colorful as the sky is gray. The main character, Jess,
embodies many kinds of "otherness": she is a red-headed
orphan surrounded by plain, elderly women; she is a bookish,
inquisitive sort who is kept out of school for as long as
the law will allow; and, later, she is a lesbian whose passions
are interpreted as possession. But she also appreciates her
surroundings and her community, and looks for her place among
the sloping streets and workaday routines.
Jess's mother is very religious--fanatical
is the better word. Her Pentecostal church is everything to
her. She is fond of saying things like "there'll be no
breakfast in hell," and is very strict with Jess. Although
she certainly loves her daughter, it becomes clear as the
story progresses that she adopted Jess not entirely out of
compassion or love, but also in the hopes of finding a way
to manifest her own righteousness in the world. It's a heavy
burden for any child--even a smart, resourceful "nipper"--and Jess's ability to carry the weight is our first sign
that here is a sturdy, singular soul who will not easily be
broken.
The church, and its congregation, offers stories, drama, and
fun, and for a long time Jess is content to spend her days
with her mother and the other women who make up the church
"society." They play in a band and sing songs; they
pass out leaflets; and they scold the fornicators who live
next door. Jess's mother is sometimes distant, and always
stern, but she is also Jess's friend and guide, and Jess takes
the church's teachings to heart. Jess's early glimmers of
curiosity and rebellion are easily reined in with the gospel
and her mother's glare.
Jess eventually becomes a youth pastor. One
of the first "little lambs" she welcomes into the
flock is Melanie, who is also her first friend her own age,
and is later her first lover. Their encounters are sweet and
sincere; theirs is the sort of instinctive, affectionate exploration
that's rarely seen on film. Jess and Melanie simply go where
their hearts and hormones lead them, and almost as a sort
of afterthought, Jess asks, "this can't be unnatural
passions, can it?"
But to Jess's mother, of course, this sort of passion is indeed
unnatural. When she first becomes suspicious, she tosses out
many of Jess's books, letters, and writings, and then brings
the church into the intervention. The resulting trauma, however
horrible, does not discourage Jess: she ultimately becomes
even more headstrong, and continues to love women and to thirst
for knowledge, even when it means leaving her home and accepting
the hardness of her mother's heart.
There are some differences from the novel, of course, but
they are minor, with the possible exception of the trimmed-down
character of Miss Jewsbury. The magical realism and sharp
wit of the book can't be fully captured on film, and the few
attempts to convey Winterson's unique intellectual whimsy
do fall a bit short. But the performances are what the British
refer to as "spot on," with Geraldine McEwan as
Jess's mother and the late Charlotte Coleman (Four Weddings
and A Funeral; Different for Girls) as the older Jess.
And despite the subject matter, the tone of Oranges
is not always somber: it's full of humor and is at times downright
gleeful. Director Beeban Kidron (To Wong Foo) lends
careful craft to Winterson's voice and lets it speak for itself.
The words "gay" and "lesbian"
are never uttered in the film; phrases like "the love
that dare not speak its name" and "loving the wrong
people" are used instead. But Oranges is a study
in contrasts, and the representation of sexuality is no exception.
The characters' words and actions may seem tame or suppressed,
but Jess's sexual identity is strong, and though she wonders
about it for fleeting moments, she is never ashamed of it
and never really questions it. Despite all of her differences,
she becomes a model for those around her, exemplifying integrity,
determination, and--ultimately--simple love.
At times the cruelty and strangeness of the church and Jess's
mother are hard to take, because they are presented matter-of-factly,
like everything else in this working-class environment. And
factual it is: this is based on Winterson's semi-autobiographical
novel, after all (in the book the character's name is Jeanette,
not Jess). But it's not important to know that--even without
the aura of literary success to inform the journey, it's clear
that Jess will triumph and make her own way in the world.
She is both steadied and shaken by her upbringing, and ready
to taste both the mundane and the exotic, from oranges to
pineapples, Lancashire to Oxford, genesis to revelation.
Oranges Are Not the Only Fruit is
rich and layered, but it's also a classic and simple story,
almost Dickensian or like an extended fable. Jess's courage
and heart, however, are as rare as a successful transition
from page to screen. The depiction of sexuality is also (unfortunately)
unusual; to Jess, it is an essential but not overarching facet
of her identity. This film deserves a bigger and broader audience--and Americans who have trouble with the bold Lancashire
accent should do themselves the favor of turning on the captions
and enjoying Winterson's words.
Oranges
are Not the Only Fruit on VHS
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