In the canon of great queer British films, there are two in particular that stand out in terms of earlier works – Prick Up Your Ears and My Beautiful Laundrette are two majorly important works, and not only were they released two years apart, they were both helmed by Stephen Frears, who had only recently re-emerged from nearly two decades of doing work on television to once again try his hand at feature filmmaking (especially since his directorial debut was the ill-fated and quite polarizing Gumshoe, a truly bad film) – and while neither are the works that Frears is most fondly remembered for, especially since he has been perpetually working to produce a certain calibre of film that has made him one of the more interesting journeyman directors we have today, but they are some of his most important achievements. My Beautiful Laundrette is perhaps his most poignant film on a conceptual level, with the story (based on a screenplay written by the legendary Hanif Kureishi) being one of immense significance, both for its portrayal of Britain at a very important moment in its history, as well as its exploration of issues surrounding identity, touching on subjects such as race and sexual identity, both subjects that were not very common in British cinema at the time, but were gradually being given more attention as time went on, the growing urge to explore the country’s population with a more progressive lens allowing several more of these stories to be told. Perhaps it hasn’t aged all that well on a purely conceptual level, but My Beautiful Laundrette is an astonishing film, both from the perspective of the era in which it was made, and from a contemporary perspective – while most films produced at this time defaulted to mere implication and allusion, Frears and Kureishi dared to go in their own direction, producing a film of impeccable value and even more powerful complexity, being stark in its social commentary, and truly dedicated to a simple but evocative premise that delivers exactly what it promises, while still having many surprises embedded deep within.

Intersectionality has always been an important aspect of British cinema, and going back to the postwar period, we see the emergence of the movement that has come to be known as kitchen-sink realism, where directors like Karel Reisz and John Schlesinger (and their artistic progeny like Ken Loach and Mike Leigh) worked to tell stories not of the aristocracy or overly wealthy, but rather the ordinary people that keep the country moving, despite rarely, if ever, getting the recognition they deserve. The combination of Frears’ very matter-of-fact, forthright direction and the powerful complexity of Kureishi’s writing immediately made it clear that My Beautiful Laundrette was going to be an immensely valuable film in terms of exploring the daily affairs of the people who normally reside in obscurity, but are repurposed to be the most fascinating, complex individuals from whom our gaze would never dare wander. It is a film that touches on the concept of social division – it orbits around the relationship between a mild-mannered Pakistani and a rough-around-the-edges street punk with whom he had a brief relationship, making their reunion all the more poignant, since there is a deep history that compels them to work together in the refurbishing of an old laundrette, which serves to be a motif for the reconstruction of the spark that had driven them together years before. My Beautiful Laundrette uses the broad tenets of kitchen sink realism (utilizing a more gritty, simple visual and narrative palette), and infuses them with an almost dreamlike quality, as if we are watching the continued efforts of these two young men to rekindle their friendship, all the while working laboriously to ensure that their future is at least momentarily taken care of, yet another use of the titular laundrette as a motif to explore the budding romance between these two young men, who are only kept apart by their personal history and the hesitance they feel towards a country that may have decriminalized their sexuality, but are still profoundly reluctant to embrace those who identity under these supposedly deviant identities.

There are many moments in My Beautiful Laundrette that stand out, but the final shot of the two leads, bare-chested and standing beside a basin, lovingly splashing water at each other as they finally realize they are free to engage in this playfulness that has been simmering within them for years has remained one of the quintessential portrayals of unabashedly proud queerness represented on screen. Whether this film intended to or not, it has become a landmark of queer cinema in a way that very few films from this era ever could hope to have achieved, and it does it not through trying to be the definitive text on the matter, nor through attempting to touch on every issue that affected the gay community at the time, but simply by establishing a clear identity of what it wanted to say, and ensuring that every element of that specific set of ideas was explored with compassion and genuine earnest admiration for the kinds of people being represented by the story. Considering it was written by a queer author, My Beautiful Laundrette does have some degree of gravitas (rather than just appropriating queer identities for the sake of being different), and it makes the film’s exploration of identity all the more powerful and poignant. It navigates the subject of queerness with elegance, never being exploitative but still pushing the boundaries of what could be shown on screen, regardless of the conservative values that it was actively subverting in the process. Queer identities are beautiful, and the film acknowledges this, often drawing our attention to the happiness that these characters feel, celebrating their love for one another in a manner that showcases the natural and logical romance that develops between them. It never offers any explanation for their attraction, and even at its most tense, the film never relies on cliches to get a particular message across – it is honest, forthright and very meaningful, which is exactly what a film like this should aspire to be.

In terms of bringing the story to life, the majority of credit has to go to the two leads. Frears is a very good director, and Kureishi writes a beautiful, honest screenplay – but neither matters unless the actors who are tasked with bringing these performances to life deliver strong performances, which is true of both Gordon Warnecke and Daniel Day-Lewis, both of whom are beyond convincing every moment they appear on screen. Warnecke is an actor whose sensibilities veer much more towards the simple, so it makes sense that he would be the more subdued of the two, which only makes his brief bursts of extreme emotion all the more impactful since they come from a place of profound complexity and authenticity, which is very important to developing the identity of this film, which is a much more simple affair than it would appear on the surface. Conversely, many of the more notable moments are given to Day-Lewis, who turned in the performance that would come to be seen as his breakthrough role. It’s refreshing to see the notoriously dedicated actor deliver a performance that relies less on tics, and more on just capturing the spirit of human emotion that defines the character. Whether or not one subscribes to his tendency towards excessive method acting on which he would start to depend in later years, it’s undeniably that My Beautiful Laundrette contains one of his most wonderfully simple, effective performances, a tender depiction of a street punk that struggles to hide his desires, even though they actively go against the principles of the community with which he has aligned himself. The two leads are absolutely extraordinary, and drive this film together, creating a distinct and beautiful character study about two young men falling in love, and learning the many challenges that tend to accompany such romances, which makes for such a beautiful and poetic depiction of desire in all its forms, and the importance of surrendering to those urges when it is appropriate, since once you lose that spark, you can lead a life filled with regrets – and without the powerful characterization brought to the film by the actors, this sentiment would have most certainly been lost in the process.

My Beautiful Laundrette is an achingly beautiful film with a soulfulness and an enormity of heartful honesty that we simply don’t find very often. Whether this is a result of Frears’ interest in exploring the lives of ordinary people who rarely have their story told in such formats, the immense compassion of Kureishi, who brings his own perspective as both a queer man and son of immigrants who came of age in a very specific era in British history, or the power given by the two leads, who are extraordinary and bring such complexity to their roles, it goes without saying that this film is an absolute triumph. It has some ideas that may have worked better with a more concise, less melodramatic execution, but taken as a product of its time, we do understand specifically why these particular elements were used to buttress the film and its message. It has mercifully not faded into obscurity like many queer-based films from around this era, which we can attribute to the fact that the story is not about hiding or being ashamed of one’s sexuality, but rather growing to be proud of your identity, whether that be in terms of race, gender, sexual identity or national origin. It’s a beautifully empathetic work that balances upbeat humour and sobering drama in a way that is actively meaningful and often quite profound. It’s a challenging film in terms of how it addresses homophobia and racism since these are not casual issues that can just be seamlessly woven into the narrative, so its remarkable ability to still evoke some truly compelling material while still making profoundly important statements relating to identity is all the more reason to celebrate the incredible power and enormous importance of My Beautiful Laundrette, which has earned its place as one of the most important British films of its era and a massively impressive work of socially-conscious storytelling.