'Layla' Review: Embracing Identity, Defying Expectations
Layla (2024) is Amrou Al-Kadhi’s stunning directorial debut, depicting the journey of the non-binary trans ‘Layla’ ( Bilal Hasna), who works as a drag queen, the film follows how complicated relationships can become intertwined within the queer experience. The secrecy and shame around queerness and unconventional expressions in dress are complicated by Layla’s experience as a British-Palestinian navigating queer spaces.
In the film's early scenes, we see Layla enact a drag performance for entertainment at a corporate marketing event for pre-packaged meals. The heteronormative corporate space bears pre-packaged ideals of behaviour, dress, and acceptable conversation that fashions conformity to dullness and erasure of individuality. Placing Layla in the proximity of this perceptibly stale, corporate space functions as a signifier of how queer acceptance ticks a quota, and fulfils company guidelines. However, this limited acceptance does not translate to the individual workers. Uncomfortable body language and laughs from male workers when taking pictures are an unpleasant display of complete disrespect for Layla’s identity and work. This, however, is where Layla meets Max (Louis Greatorex). Max is left awe-inspired by Layla’s rebellious act: they pour the food over themselves and defiantly leave, refusing to perform and conform to the mocking demands of ignorant onlookers.
It is a unique experience being a queer person of colour; situated within a traditional culture as well as the wider space that finds white queerness the most palatable. This film brings to light the difficulties of balancing identities when family and culture are unaccepting of the life you live. When Layla is around family, the colourful, bright light they exude is quelled completely. This lies not only in the stark physical difference as Layla wears plain, culturally masculine clothing but in the dissociative depression this presentation puts them in. Tension palpitates with each reference to their deadname, Latif, by their family and from the constant questions around the job they falsify to maintain distance. This anxiety is artfully imaged into the dance of the whirling dervish. This dizzying, fast-paced dance not only embodies the anxiety felt by this false image they are presenting but simultaneously a beautiful cultural expression they are barred from. Instead of this metamorphosing into cultural disdain, they appreciate the beauty of the traditionally female Palestinian clothing and feel more comfortable partaking in the more fluid, feminine dance.
The transformative but tumultuous relationship between Layla and Max brings a new light to the struggle for identity. Layla becomes increasingly less comfortable with themself when they are with the more outwardly conservative-presenting Max, especially when around his family. Max loves Layla’s drag and eccentric style in queer environments where it can be celebrated, however, there is a shame in introducing Layla to the spaces where Max equally struggles with feeling comfortable in his own identity. Max paints in secret, with a special interest in octopuses as ‘they are free’. Layla adds to this idea about how octopuses morph, and Layla uses this to analogise their non-binary identity, they morph and live in an in-between much like octopuses. The close-up shots of Layla’s body and slight contortions of their muscles, as they move alongside this conversation, add to the intimacy in this mutual exposure of insecurities. When Max tries on Layla’s coat, he physically immerses himself in queer culture. This parallel evokes an image where Layla finds their identity at odds with the heteronormative corporate world, Max finds himself unaccepted in queer spaces. Due to his lack of knowledge and experience, he feels like an ignorant outsider, despite his efforts to explore his queerness. Max bears an underlying envy for Layla’s supportive community, and this shines a light on the complications of struggling to find a space for yourself; you are left in a constant state of hiding your raw, unfiltered self.
Max, however, inadvertently complicates Layla's sense of identity, leading Layla to hesitate in correcting their pronouns when Max unknowingly misgenders them—much to the dismay of their friend Princy (Safiyya Ingar). Additionally, Layla uncomfortably dresses typically masculine around Max’s family. Acceptance isn’t black and white, and the messiness of this experience colours this film. Where Max’s family accepts his heterosexual, cross-cultural relationship, this hinges on uncomfortable politeness and a more palatable image, constructed for their approval. Layla’s captivating performances in drag, eccentric wardrobe, and styling are a shock to the system for those uncomfortable with unabashedly queer and prideful expressions. Layla tries to hide Max from their sister, clinging to an image of straightness out of fear of her disapproval—a disapproval hinted at once when they were children. But, when Layla lets her in, she is more accepting than expected. She craves Layla in her life, in whatever form this comes. This struggle with identity—both internally and with family—unfolds in unique ways for each character in the film. Princy, a queer woman of color, faces her own challenges but has the support of a family who attends her art exhibitions. This closeness is something Layla envies as they are disconnected from their family and caught in an all-consuming, anxiety-ridden double life.
The ending holds a semblance of hope for the experience of love that can be nourishing, without requiring self-sacrifice. Finding love in all aspects of life comes with complications and pain, but there is also joy - in letting people in, in embracing vulnerability, and in the possibility of connection that nurtures. Though their favourite club, Feathers, a home for the queer community is lost, and Layla is without a partner by the end, this is not all sad. There is the hope of Layla reigniting the bond with their sister, the hope of future happiness and acceptance, and the continued support of their chosen family. Though this struggle with identity is never static, constantly morphing like an octopus in each new environment, with this comes hope and understanding.
Layla will be released in UK and Irish cinemas on the 22nd of November 2024.
Edited by Humaira Valera, Co-film & TV editor
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