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Introduction
The mermaid (Ann Blyth) excitedly showcases her underwater abode in an impressive swimming sequence
There’s no simple nor singular way to define surrealism in any discipline: it remains elusive whether it takes the shape of still art, prose, film and beyond. As an active lens, it mimics a funhouse, hyperbolizing irony and truth for effect to yield a vision that is grotesquely compelling. It relies on exaggeration and provocation, often courting the supernatural to creatively enhance its intended message.
Surrealism, then, encourages us to inhabit and utilize ambiguity to selectively siphon an abstract truth with tangible ties to reality. It eschews categorization, borrowing escapist properties belonging to the fantasy genre in order to further exaggerate and confound pre-existing aggrandizement of accessible truisms. Fantasy in its most unadulterated form denies the necessary flexibility that panders to concreteness. Instead it prioritizes detachment above all, as its primary aim is to transport the viewer into the unknown. It’s a straight appeal to the imagination, serving to engage and distract. Subtle cajolery is largely absent, and even if a latent message is present, it never takes precedent to these aforementioned attributes. Yet, surrealism is not exclusive to the fantasy umbrella, and instead functions as an ancillary bridge that tethers it to reality.
Like its very definition suggests, surrealism is both nebulous and direct in its approach. Evasive but not impalpable, a continual charade to confound and titillate in its unconventional presentation of fact and fiction. It’s a visual allegory brought to life, simultaneously educational and aesthetically inclined by unique design. It’s evolution from still image to moving picture birthed an instrumental shift in cinematic history, invoking the idea that stories transposed for the screen didn’t necessarily adhere to linear and straightforward narratives.
True to form, surrealism exists without definitive restraints and boundaries. Restricting it would be a transgression of cardinal magnitude that conflates the variables surrounding its very existence: for what is surrealism but not the perpetuation of mythos? It can take the form of complete absurdism engineered to be purposefully bereft of meaning or have more concrete grounding in the physical world. It can simultaneously be a conduit used to promote nihilistic nonsensicality and intentional sublimation through metaphor. Many had their first dalliance with the genre in 1929, when famed surrealists Dali and Bunuel teamed up together to make UN CHIEN ANDALOU. Its graphic visuals, lack of continuity, and appeal to extremes left viewers flummoxed and horrified, but unequivocally fascinated. It would not enjoy a proper renaissance until decades later in the 1960s, when Bunuel embarked on his solo directorial ventures following his residency in Mexico.
This iconic still from UN CHIEN ANDALOU has been immortalized beyond the realm of cinema to become an instantly recognizable cultural monument.
Bunuel’s specific usage of surrealism touts but one of many facets of its versatile form, offering a peek at the genre’s capabilities. Surrealism is amorphous and elusive, webs of woven abstraction in which true intent (or lack thereof) camouflages imperceptibly. Thus, it emerged as one of the few viable mediums through which aberrant stories could sublimate metaphorically yet remain intact. This kind of protection was crucial for vulnerable populations that were actively persecuted by the implementation of the Hays Code, and in particular the formidable queer underground upon which the entire industry was built.
It’s a grand shame knowing that some of the most creative thematic transference was born under such strenuous tensions that quite literally dictated life and death. The sheer complexity present in these rouses are marvels that grow only more potent upon prolonged observation. Though horrific, these adverse conditions yielded the fertile soil in which such artistry necessitated in order to grow and flourish. The refutal of existence and representation will always inevitably beget the amplified voices of those subjected to silence.
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Queerness and Surrealism
We are fortunate to live in an age and climate that is both tolerant and diverse, where the advent of modern technology has been instrumental for cinematic accessibility. New content populates by the second, arriving in explosive flashes in the ever-growing expanse of film. The continual stream of fresh perspectives has been invaluable to the boom in visibility afforded to LBGTQ-centric production, but also has inadvertently eclipsed essential touchstones in queer canon that don’t reckon overtly with sexuality. As a result, widespread conception and consumption of queer cinema embodies the proverbial iceberg, with the visible tip composed of newer and/or excessively flamboyant works. This is in no way a call to dilute the importance of these films that act as visual genre primers for queer cinema — rather, the platform must widen to accommodate older queer-coded films that are responsible for contemporary flourish. These films boast both individual and collective merit, systems within systems accompanied by indispensable historical connotation. Familiarization with the plight of queer visibility in film is necessary In order to harbor a comprehensive understanding of the genre itself. One of my primary goals as a writer and theorist is to help facilitate this process by illuminating films that are routinely overlooked in terms of queerness to help raise awareness and rectify the slow eroding erasure that plagues it.
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The Maturation of Cinema
The conclusion of the second world war in 1945 changed the course of cinema as we knew it worldwide. America reveled in domestic bonanza and economic boom — a stark contrast to the death and destruction that enveloped Europe and Japan. Giants fell in calamitous ruin, leaving vulnerable populations bereft of resources and guidance. The one commonality that remained was found in the universal maturation of film, undoubtedly in part a consequence of resulting tumult from years of warfare. Suddenly, its potential wasn’t limited exclusively to escapism or propaganda. By the 1940s, cinema had shed its skin of novelty in favor of art and purpose — and this is most evident in its emergence as a critical vessel through which to construe and achieve catharsis. This shift helped to engender some of the pioneering cinematic movements that would go on to define the 50s and 60s, inciting a cultural renaissance that was globalization at its most primitive and rudimentary form. From Italy emerged Neo-realism, the antithesis to Hollywood escapism. Evolution was transpiring in real-time, ushering in a quiet but formidable revolution amongst marginalized populations.
The cinematic landscape of post-war America was fueled primarily by two themes: the revival of zealous patriotism and the nuclear fallout surrounding shifting gender dynamics. The war had placed the United States in an unprecedented and peculiar position: with the exception of Pearl Harbor, American soil was left unscathed. Abrupt pilgrimages of drafted men left employers in precarious peril, prompting an uprising of women to step up and take their place. A strange limbo emerged where women could be unapologetically autonomous, protected by a fortified normalcy born of relative distance and security. Alas, this progressive approach was a timebomb from the start: no matter how accomplished or powerful these liberated women felt, they were continually reminded that such luxuries had an unspecified date of expiry. When that day came, they’d be expected to revert back to domestic appeasement as if nothing had ever changed. Though some resisted, most acquiesced without a word of protest. Returning soldiers once again resumed their duties as an authoritative provider, and years of estrangement brought with it a return to traditionalism. Marriage and motherhood once again became the only viable options for young women, with a heightened focus toward further feminization in an effort to embody idealism in its purest form.
ROSIE THE RIVETER, the unsung hero of the homefront
Thematically, American cinema followed suit: the post-war movie climate was a direct response to all the dissonant change. Topics focused on fractured families and broken men, noirs developed a grittier underbelly, and the genre of psychological grotesque was exploding onto the scene. The exoticism that had come to define the studio films of the 1930s was entirely absent: instead, American patriotism took priority in theme and setting. There was an underlying realism to many of these pictures, but it paled gravely in comparison to other contemporary cinematic ventures. That is to say that even artifice had its place in what Americans defined as “authentic.” An increasingly hostile intolerance for deviation swept the country, inducing fear-mongered conformity to convey explicit allegiance to democracy to combat the widespread, rising fear of communism. The war was enough of a distraction to inadvertently grant leniency to code enforcement, but Cold War paranoia and hypervigilance precipitated its stalwart return. Any broaching of terms had the potential to elicit a consequence that hinged on life or death. Though multifactored in conception, the domestic revolution that enveloped post War America was universally government by the fear of fear itself.
Occasionally, a picture clever enough in design would surface through the cracks of what was an unusually effective and airtight system by couching subversion in lunacy. Such is the explanation behind Irving Pichel’s piquant and peculiar MR. PEABODY AND THE MERMAID, a surrealistic venture incongruous to other contemporary releases in 1948. Even though thematic variance was present, the bulk of these features enjoyed a shared similitude in their embracement of all things Americana: I REMEMBER MAMA revolves around an accent donning Irene Dunne as a hardworking immigrant who toils to provide her children the American Dream; MR. BLANDINGS BUILDS HIS DREAM HOUSE reteams Cary Grant and Myrna Loy in an effort to romanticize domestic bliss, and HOMECOMING reckons with societal adjustment and navigating a post-war world, with Clark Gable having to traverse a romantic minefield equally perilous as the ones that populated the front. PEABODY, however, overtly rejected all these themes in its story alone: while the eponymous protagonist (William Powell) and his wife are indeed Americans, the bulk of the film is set in the Caribbean Islands. Mr. Peabody is married, yes, but his union is not a happy one, and he continually eschews reconciliation in pursuit of his own desires, rejecting tradition to equate it with dissatisfaction. Of course, the cinch itself also lies in its premise: after all, who would think to derive meaning from a film about a middle aged man and a mermaid? It was too absurd a scenario to warrant any critical excavation. Thus, it quietly splashed onto the scene with little fanfare, only to fade from public memory and into relative obscurity. But hidden beneath its flippant charm rests an intricate array of hidden connotations with a depth on par with those cavernous chambers that inhabit the ocean floor, invoking awe from its perpetual imperceptibility: for MR. PEABODY is a pivotal example of how a story is often a placeholder for a far riskier and subversive one. When representation is out of reach, one will stop at nothing to make sure their voice is heard — which more often than not involves subterfuge and deception.
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To a carefully trained eye, MR. PEABODY is flush with those deliberately subtle indicators that affirm its duality. It’s philosophical intentions are ostensible from its cover art alone: a clearly middle-aged Powell is pictured smooching a nubile mermaid (Ann Blyth) in alarming incongruity. What, exactly, would beg this particular fascination? Because of its widely accessible thematic overtones, it’s easy to broadly deduce its insinuations: any adult individual is familiar with the building erosion wrought by age, particularly in its robust ties to desirability and sexuality. It’s an age old implacable conundrum that plagues us all in due time, especially in middle age. There’s a disconnect between the one shared vitality of body and mind that emerges with age: the body simply isn’t built to stay as nimble and sprite as it’s spiritual counterpart. The onset of age begins so infinitesimally that the growing distance between the body and mind remains undetected — that is, until it no longer can. The realization is sudden, an upsetting reminder of dwindling mortality that serves as fuel to propel its victim into a revelatory expedition of sorts.
Our protagonist, the titular Mr. Peabody, is such a man. The movie pulls no punches in attempting to veil his despondency, introducing him as a man forced to reckon with his impending fiftieth birthday. The event, of course, is framed as an open invitation to lament all the rising disappointments in his life so far. His marriage has dwindled down to a cool and cordial formality, leaving Peabody aloof and isolated. The two agree to vacation together in hopes of reconciling their distance by kindling their love anew. While this ultimately changes nothing between themselves, it becomes a temporal journey of enlightenment for Mr. Peabody in terms of further discerning his own identity. What emerges is an ethereal liberation of character and conscience that teases the luxury of an unattainable freedom. The escapist narrative is further enhanced (and thus, further coded) by its inherent and aforementioned sense of surrealism — so much so that the entirety of its realm is only accessible to Mr. Peabody and the viewer. His mermaid maiden is fantasy incarnate, slippery and transient so she’s always just out of reach. None of his peers are ever able to catch even the slightest glimpse of her (though they hardly attempt to do so). She exists on strict terms, demonstrating a forceful will of her own that is often at odds with her pursuer’s. These aspects are explicitly provided by the director, and while pertinent in their own right they are more importantly microcosmic synecdoches of a larger, more specific subtext: namely one that provides an abstract yet illustrious reading exploring the queer experience. Her character — odd, aberrant, yet willful and just — is largely responsible for housing and construing this subtext. She metaphysically parallels the film by introducing us to a hitherto concealed world, but with queerness in lieu of an underwater fortress.
The mermaid gazes upon Mr. Peabody (William Powell) for the very first time.
Her introduction itself is blunt commentary on how queerness is defined through dehumanization. Keeping in tune with the film’s subversive framework, she is initially introduced by a haunting operatic hymn. Faithful to legend, it lures a fascinated Peabody to her acquaintance. The shock of discovering that mermaids exist, however, is swiftly displaced by his discovery that she cannot speak. Her lack of a voice denies her the autonomy necessary to exercise and defend her identity — an impeccable example of how abstract and metaphor coalesce to symbolize and stand in for the subliminal queerness underneath. She is never given a name of her own and is only ever referred to as “the Mermaid” — even by the equally ostracized Peabody, offering a cursory glimpse at the presence and potency of anti-queer internalization. Though their otherness draws them together, its complexity also generates dissonant friction within their relationship. When the scale tips out of balance, burdened by excess societal judgement and perception, their shared stability is threatened by Peabody’s rapidly destabilizing sense of ego and self.
The guests are responsible for these conditions, dogpiling on Peabody in sadistic derision. The film’s unrelenting ambiguity braces this all the more, as it’s never quite made clear whether or not the guests were reacting out of honest incredulity or calculated pretense — for it’s statistically likely that at least one of them would have seen the Mermaid, given the longevity of their stay. Their ridiculing disregard toward Peabody’s desperate vulnerability is by proxy a direct refutal of her identity and existence. Nobody is even remotely sympathetic: even those who allow him the opportunity to explain are quick to truncate him in amusement. Other aspects play to a more ambiguous reading on queer expression. The Mermaid physiologically lacks a reproductive anatomy, making sex entirely implausible. Such an observation could be interpreted as a wholesome and tender gaze toward queerness with friendly and familiar intent – after all, even sex between man and woman was forbade under the Code, which consequently ruled that promiscuity was either indicative of forbidden deviation — or in other words, that it was as contemptible as criminal behavior. Alternatively, however, the specific focus on womanhood could potentially pander to detrimental examinations of gender and identity.
One of many intimate rendezvous between Peabody and the mermaid
Gender arises as a recurring and important theme throughout, inhabiting a significant portion of the film’s dialogue. Time after time, the mermaid’s gender is called into question or invalidated: when Peabody attempts to explain her existence to his dubious wife, she dismisses the both of them by alluding to her as a “fish.” Not only is this directly detrimental to the mermaid, but it also kindles an exaggerated rampage of rumors that malign her husband as being mentally unstable. Even when presented with irrefutable proof of the mermaid’s existence (and more importantly, that she is not just a ‘fish’), his wife remains obstinate in continuing to deny her womanhood and humanity. She refuses to come to terms with the fact that such an aberration can and does exist, voluntarily encouraging erasure by citing moral ground. All of this is deliberately reminiscent of Hollywood’s quest to vanquish visible queerness: the “others,” whether they be a mermaid or a gay man, stood no chance against the systems of power and prejudice in place. Disobedience meant harsh lashings, or even worse, death.
And death, in fact, plays a small yet meaty role in the film’s doomed finale. Abandoned without warning by his wife (who falsely believes him to be having an affair with another woman) and double-crossed by his sole friend, Peabody is left with nothing but wide expanse and his aquatic lover. Together they abscond to evade museum officials hellbent on exploiting her for profit, taking fearful refuge in an abandoned rocky cove. A climactic chase leads to near ruin, and Peabody risks tempestuous waters in order to protect the mermaid but can do little more than flounder helplessly. As he lay drowning, she reciprocates his sacrifice and brings him ashore to safety. When he wakes, she is gone — presumably dead, yet the story’s structure leaves it ambiguous and open to interpretation. Everything comes full circle as we conclude exactly where we began: in the office of a psychiatrist, who is presumably sentencing Peabody to involuntary confinement — or in other terms, unjust punishment.
The mermaid rescues a drowning Peabody with a mystical kiss
Contrast this with the ocean inhabited by the mermaid. There rests a piquant duality to the sea in its very existence, for it liminally embodies the definitions of different spaces contemporaneously. It’s a prison of sorts, as the mermaid does not have the means to live ashore — but it is also a world unto itself as well as a frontier free of convention. It’s fluid in both an abstract and literal sense, yet even that in and of itself is not enough to provide a universally viable climate in which both Peabody and the mermaid could live harmoniously. In spite of this, its depth is pervasively contagious, once again conflating the literal and metaphorical in its symbolism. A place of mystery, but also beauty; a home to outcasts, but tolerant of refugees; scary to many, but welcoming to others. It’s only solidarity belongs to the film’s artistic unity in presenting and employing subversion as a means of fortifying its impact.
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Broader Strokes
Accompanying the subversive framework of MR. PEABODY is a continual series of conflicts that, thematically speaking, revolve in tandem to explore “us vs them” in a variety of different situations throughout. Dissonance is integral to its overall composition and helps to further bulwark its specific importance in direct regard to its queer dialogue. Both Peabody and his wife are continually reminded of their American (to be even more specific: Bostonian) roots by the island’s predominantly British population. Though inarguably belonging to the minority, Peabody doesn’t refrain from doing his part to criticize the Brits, even facetiously referring to them as “red coats” to his friend at one point. Is this rivalry born of envy — can it even be classified as such when the dynamics of power are so unbalanced? A similar trend emerges in the unraveling of a romantic subplot concerning Peabody’s wife, who harbors intense resentment for a local singer whom she believes to be having an affair with her husband. Her ground is intangible, fixed entirely upon emotional grounds — much like Powell’s is in his struggle against age and mortality.
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Concluding Reflections
Though in and of itself surrealism flaunts the abstract prowess capable of human imagination, it just as often impedes its general accessibility. While some may argue that such a phenomenon is not only a.) inevitable but b.) a core facet of its elusive appeal, they often fail to recognize the concomitant implications that reverberate like a chain of falling dominoes. Its propensity to lend itself favorably to open interpretation is the very thing that could contribute to an insurrection of self sabotage. In surrealism, things are seldom ruled to be concrete in meaning – and while this can be exploited for good, it additionally holds the power to erase and undermine subversive readings. Somebody could just as easily dispute every aforementioned argument in this paper in a credible fashion for citing the very same principle. Ambiguity, then, exists as a powerful weapon that can be wielded by all sides: but its silver lining is its rejection of absolution.
What a catch — the “fish” in question is anything but!
MR. PEABODY AND THE MERMAID is simultaneously archaic, of its time, and contemporary largely on account of its surrealist framework. It feels flagrantly anachronistic on two separate planes: for in an era defined by deafening nationalism, it’s indulgent and lush setting is better suited to the exotic opulence of the 1930s; yet, the bizarreness of its story and its use of abstraction registers as far ahead of its time. Humanoid yet distinctly inhuman creatures (like the Mermaid) had only ever before found representation in the horror genre. PEABODY is far from such a film. Blyth is still treated despicably through the indirect actions of the other guests, but she is shown to be beautiful, strong-willed, and courageous as well. It’s a notable step forward in terms of representation, regardless of intent. Its creative flair is especially foreign, particularly given the global shift toward realism that birthed a number of monumental movements in film. In a time where collective attention was scattered by interruption and distraction, PEABODY dared to embrace and radicalize flamboyance on screen.
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