While it is certainly true that the vast majority of artworks are designed to be enjoyed by a wider audience, even those which tackle more niche subjects, there are some that exist primarily to target one specific group, usually being made by those within that community for their peers. However, this does not disqualify those of us who are outside of that group from being able to experience them ourselves, embracing different perspectives in a way that is respectful and meaningful. A tremendous example of this can be found in the case of Go Fish, a film conceived by Guinevere Turner and directed by her co-writer Rose Troche, in which we are introduced to Max, a young lesbian living in Chicago who feels adrift in a world she no longer understands, attempting to make her way through increasingly hostile surroundings. However, this all changes when she meets Ely, an older woman in whom she takes an immediate interest, which turns out to be mutual, leading to a torrid romance between the two women as they get to know one another and realise that, despite being quite different, they have share certain existential quandaries that make their budding relationship all the more compelling. A landmark entry into the canon of queer cinema, carefully handcrafted by a director whose fervent commitment to bringing a wide range of ideas together ultimately produce some magnificent, engaging results, Go Fish is a masterpiece of independent cinema, coming about at a time when it was undergoing perhaps its most substantial modern shift, being a defining moment in a movement committed to giving a voice to those who were previously almost entirely invisible, and who were now afforded the opportunity to have their voices not only heard, but resonate on a much bigger and more engaging stage than ever before.

Go Fish is not the first film centred around lesbians to achieve some degree of notoriety and success, but it was certainly one that did bring a lot more visibility to this community. Prior to this film, these stories were mainly restricted to very small, underseen independent works, and while this is by no means expansive or the beneficiary of too many more resources than usual (which is actually part its its charm), it did prove to be a major moment in terms of examining the subject matter, which is particularly notable considering nearly everyone involved comes from the community depicted. Previously, lesbian storylines were not particularly common in a lot of films, with these characters usually being used as fodder for thinly-veiled bigotry masquerading as comedy, which is something that the queer community has fought for decades to change, and which was mainly achieved through insisting on having a voice and the space to tell our stories. The themes that define Go Fish are quite clear from the outset – this is a film about a young woman navigating her identity in an increasingly complicated environment. It’s not a coming out story, nor one about the protagonist questioning her sexuality – she’s assured in a way that is rare for films centred on young people navigating their identity. It’s quite refreshing to see a character who is not under extreme emotional distress because she cannot comprehend that she exists outside of the status quo, which is the precise quality that makes Go Fish such an engaging and entertaining work. This isn’t an attempt to show the trials and tribulations of someone unsure of where she belongs, but rather a fervent call-to-arms for anyone who is struggling to navigate their particular circumstances to look out towards their community to find a sense of belonging, highlighting the challenges of stepping outside one’s comfort zone and embracing the mysterious allure of the unknown, which can be a truly liberating experience.

Based on the premise, we may expect Go Fish to be a more traditional romantic comedy, but much like Spike Lee in his seminal classic She’s Gotta Have It (which seems to at least be partially an inspiration on this film, much like many other independent comedies produced at the time), there are unique directorial flourishes that remove the sheen of simplicity and allow it to be unexpectedly challenging and invigorating. The plot structure is certainly quite simple, since it follows Max as she makes her way through her daily routine while falling deeply in love with Ely, their growing romance being the anchor of the film. However, Turner and Troche are vehemently against relying on conventions, especially since there was a perception that queer films need to have a stronger point of view or else they may not be appreciated or even seen, under the belief that audiences were not always receptive to outsiders impinging on their sacred spaces, an outdated view but one that still needs to be acknowledged as a frequent source of conversation. The core of Go Fish is to present the story through a slightly more stream-of-consciousness approach, one in which the romance between the two leads is complemented by a few off-kilter deviations that are still very much in line with the foundational themes but offer further insights. Unfortunately, the queer community was still a long way from benefitting from mindlessly entertaining, simply romantic comedies that don’t require much thought, under the reasoning that the chance to tell such a story was so rare, a film needed to shoehorn as much commentary and detail on the lived experiences of the community into a very small space, hoping to span as much of the queer community in a single work. This film manages it quite well, particularly since it is built less on the plot and more on the atmosphere, relying on the fascinating little interludes that are peppered liberally throughout the film, giving it a unique and compelling energy that is incredibly difficult to resist.

One of the more interesting aspects of this film is the use of a primarily non-professional cast of actors, as well as a slightly more inexperienced crew working behind the camera. Turner had yet to act prior to this film, and Troche herself only had experience in making short films, which meant that the entire production was shrouded in a sense of obscurity that was seen as an impediment for any film at the time (since a film needed to have some element of recognition in terms of either the cast or the people involved in its creaton), but which we now recognise as a major contribution to a movement in which being unknown is actually a merit, since it allows for the act of discovery, which is exactly the result we have gleaned from this film in later years. Unfortunately no one in the film skyrocketed to worldwide fame as a result of their participation here, which we can credit to the small scope of the film, and the feeling that a lot of the actors were not entirely interested in the craft as a whole, but rather lending their time to the film for the sake of telling this story. Nonetheless, the work by the entire cast is fantastic – some of the dialogue may be rather didactic and heavy-handed (we can easily tell this was a debut screenplay), and a lot of the acting is slightly stilted and stiff, but neither of these are egregious shortcomings – there’s actually a lot of charm in the presence of more inexperienced actors, since not only does it convey the sense of authenticity, but adds layers of nuance to the story, since it feels as if Turner and Troche plucked a dozen of their friends and colleagues and gave them the chance to disappear into different roles for a small amount of time, while still telling a story that is very resonant to their community. Turner herself is wonderfully charismatic, her offbeat energy and willingness to take on any challenge being nothing short of admirable, while V.S. Brodie and T. Wendy McMillan are also highlights as her love interest and best friend respectively, making invaluable contributions to this fascinating film.

Over thirty years since its release, Go Fish still remains one of the foundational queer cinematic texts, a film that has only grown in esteem as time has progressed and we have become more familiar with its fascinating ideas and revolutionary approach. Every year, more people encounter this film, and are immediately taken aback by not only its unique structure and innovative approach to telling this story many years before these themes became more mainstream, but also in the sheer heart and soul that defines this film. It moves at a steady pace, oscillating between a free-form romantic comedy and a more engaging, complex examination of sexuality, desire and the human condition, done through the most subtle but meaningful of cues. The film does not shy away from the themes of lust and longing, and the brief interludes where we see the carnal cravings eventually satisfied are elegant and very impactful, removing the usual gaze we often see in films that centre around identity and the process of seeing our innermost desires manifesting in outward expressions of passion. It’s a wonderfully captivating film, and one that never overstays its welcome, running a mere 83 minutes, the perfect length for this kind of small-scale comedy that has big ideas contained in a small but dynamic package. Independent cinema is always interesting to dissect and discuss, and the film carefully pieces together some tremendously compelling ideas that all work to make Go Fish one of the defining works of the queer cinema movement, and one that continues to inspire and enthuse generations of artists who are just as invested in telling their stories and allowing their own unique voices to be heard and embraced.