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SAPPHIC GIRLHOOD ON SCREEN: NEGOTIATING
IRISH LESBIAN IDENTITY IN DATING AMBER (2020)
LA ADOLESCENCIA DE LAS CHICAS SÁFICAS
EN LA PANTALLA: NEGOCIANDO LA IDENTIDAD
LÉSBICA IRLANDESA EN DATING AMBER (2020)
<https://doi.org/10.26754/ojs_misc/mj.202511375>
IRIA SEIJAS-PÉREZ
Universidade de Vigo
iria.seijas@uvigo.gal
<https://orcid.org/0000-0001-7326-198X>
Abstract
While no laws explicitly targeted lesbianism as illegal, Irish lesbians and queer
women at large were active in the battle to decriminalise homosexuality — which
finally occurred in Ireland in 1993. Irish lesbian activism also focused on the
establishment of groups, organisations and helplines for queer women (Crone
1988, 1995; Connolly and O’Toole 2005). Despite such advancements, in the
1990s homophobia continued to negatively impact the lives of the Irish LGBTQ+
community (Moane 1995). It is in this climate of legalised homosexuality but
ingrained homophobia that the film Dating Amber (2020) takes place. In this
coming-of-age film directed by David Freyne, gay teenagers Amber and Eddie
pretend to have a relationship to stop the homophobic harassment from their
classmates, but once they discover the LGBTQ+ community of Dublin they are
driven apart as Amber comes out and Eddie continues to deny his homosexuality.
This article focuses on the character of Amber and how she navigates her lesbian
girlhood in the rural Ireland of the mid-1990s. Particularly, Amber’s oppressive
environment in opposition to the more tolerant city and her friendship with Eddie
will be analysed, bringing the two elements together in an attempt to explore the
development of Amber’s self-perception and her coming out.
Keywords: girlhood, lesbian identity, sexuality, Irish film, Dating Amber.
Resumen
Aunque no había ninguna ley que criminalizase el lesbianismo, las mujeres lesbianas
irlandesas —acompañadas de otras mujeres queer— participaron activamente en
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la batalla para descriminalizar la homosexualidad, lo que finalmente ocurrió en
Irlanda en 1993. Además, el activismo de las mujeres lesbianas también se centró
en la creación de grupos, organizaciones y líneas de apoyo para las mujeres queer
(Crone 1988, 1995; Connolly and O’Toole 2005). A pesar de estos avances, en
la década de los noventa la homofobia seguía impactando negativamente las vidas
de la comunidad LGBTQ+ irlandesa (Moane 1995). La película Dating Amber
(2020), dirigida por David Freyne, transcurre en este clima de homosexualidad
legal pero homofobia arraigada. Los adolescentes Amber y Eddie, lesbiana y
gay respectivamente, deciden fingir tener una relación para escapar del acoso
homofóbico de sus compañeros del instituto, pero una vez que descubren la
comunidad LGBTQ+ de Dublín comienzan a distanciarse, ya que Amber decide
salir del armario mientras que Eddie continúa negando su homosexualidad. Este
artículo se centra en el personaje de Amber y en como navega su adolescencia como
lesbiana en la Irlanda rural de los años noventa. Particularmente, se analizarán el
entorno opresivo de Amber en contraste con la ciudad más tolerante y su amistad
con Eddie, juntando así estos elementos con la intención de explorar el desarrollo
de la percepción que Amber tiene de sí misma y su salida del armario.
Palabras clave: adolescencia, identidad lésbica, sexualidad, cine irlandés, Dating
Amber.
1. Introduction
The Republic of Ireland’s same-sex marriage referendum of 2015 marked a
transitional point in the history of the Irish LGBTQ+ community. It was the first
time that the decision to legalise same-sex marriage was left in the hands of the
popular vote (Macleod 2018: 1), and this event has been argued to “[reverse] a large
part, if not all, of Ireland’s reputation for a Catholic-led conservatism concerning
sexual and gender identities” (Lesnik-Oberstein 2016).1 Páraic Kerrigan and
Anne O’Brien observe that, since the marriage referendum, “Ireland has been
internationally recognized as a significant trail-blazer for gay rights and politics”
(2020: 1063). However, prior to these positive —and undoubtedly necessary—
developments, homosexuality had been historically condemned in Ireland, seen as
a threat to the nation’s standards of purity and morality.
Following the establishment of the Irish Free State in 1922, “sexual behaviour
and its regulation became a national obsession […] in an effort to prove decency,
respectability and capability in governing Ireland as an independent nation”
(Redmond 2015: 73). Homosexuality was seen as a threat to Irishness and
nationalism, endangering the heterosexual family discourse of the state (Conrad
2001: 125). According to Seán Mac Risteaird, since the establishment of an
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independent Ireland, “nationalism and conservative political and religious beliefs
went hand in hand. […] Homosexuality was not seen as a native or normal state of
being or identity. Ireland, as a nation, strived to build a puritanical society, in order
to remain safe from homosexuality” (2020: 64-65). Thus, the priority given to the
creation of a morally superior nation rejected homosexuality, positioning this as
incompatible with Irish identity.
It was not until 1993 that homosexuality was finally decriminalised after a long and
arduous campaign waged by activists of the Irish LGBTQ+ community and David
Norris, and marriage equality was seen as the “result of an over two-decade-long
battle of activists, politicians and the LGBTQI+ community” (Charczun 2019:
203). Indeed, the fight for equal rights for the queer community in Ireland had
come a long way from its early days in the 1970s, when the Sexual Liberation
Movement was founded. Between the early 1970s and the 1990s, several LGBTQ+
groups emerged, mostly concerned with the decriminalisation of homosexuality,
although others centred on providing safe spaces for the queer community and
reaching those who were isolated from the urban areas where most of the action
was taking place.
This article explores the film Dating Amber (2020) and its depiction of queer
identities in 1990s Ireland, particularly the portrayal of Amber, a lesbian teenager
who lives in a rural area in county Kildare. It will focus on how Amber negotiates
her lesbian identity within her repressive environment. She is portrayed in
contrast to sensitive, cowardly Eddie —her gay classmate with whom she has
a fake relationship —as “more defiant, unabashedly wielding her punk rock
feminism and biting wit against her unbearably heteronormative, rural life”
(Brown 2020). She relies on witty humour and what Eddie labels as a “masculine”
attitude to face her current situation: while she knows she is a lesbian, she denies
it due to the homophobic bullying from her classmates, who often call her slurs
denigrating her sapphic identity; on top of this, she is also coming to terms with
her father’s suicide, an event that complicates her relationship with her mother
as both women silently deal with the loss. Thus, Amber holds on to the idea
that she will soon be able to leave that place where she is suffocating under the
weight of her father’s ghost and the blatant homophobia that she must pretend
does not affect her.
Nevertheless, Amber’s perception of herself and her surroundings shifts as the
story develops, moving from a concealment of her identity to a visible embrace of
her lesbianism. Through her relationship with Trinity student Sarah, and possibly
encouraged by the Dublin queer scene she discovers on her trips to the city with
Eddie, Amber is able to openly reveal herself as a lesbian. Furthermore, perhaps
feeling hopeful about the possibility of a queer future within Ireland, she comes
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out to her mother, which leads to her public outing by the priest. Amber, hence,
continues to confront her village’s homophobic attitudes, though now she is
able to challenge such discrimination through her self-acceptance, the safety of
her home and the comfort of her relationship with Sarah. Before examining the
film, we will discuss lesbian activism in late-twentieth century Ireland as well as
the representation of lesbian identities on the Irish screen to provide context for
the analysis that follows. The main aim of this research is to approach Amber’s
oppressive setting and her friendship with gay classmate Eddie in an attempt to
reveal the development of her self-perception and her coming out as an Irish
lesbian.
2. Lesbian Identity and Activism in Late-Twentieth
Century Ireland
Irish lesbian accounts of liberation differ slightly from those of gay men. No laws
explicitly targeted lesbianism as illegal, for the existence of lesbians was completely
erased. Lesbians were rendered invisible because “women’s sexuality was largely
censored and controlled by a punitive, conservative Catholic morality, which
enforced ignorance and shameful silences on women’s own bodies and sexual
desires” (Carregal 2021: 17). The criminalisation of male homosexuality further
othered and marginalised lesbians, silencing their history and culture (O’Rourke et
al. 2013). Moreover, the lack of legal recognition underscored how the perception
of lesbianism as a taboo topic operated “as an unwritten law, suppressing not only
the practice of lesbian sexuality but the awareness of its very existence” (Crone
1988: 346).
Therefore, the movement for LGBTQ+ rights in Ireland “in terms of public
media visibility, was almost entirely homogenised by gay men” (Kerrigan 2019:
5). According to Allison Macleod, “[l]esbian issues and experiences have been
[…] subordinated within the Irish gay rights movement” (2018: 81). Linda
Connolly and Tina O’Toole have also noted that despite the involvement of
Irish lesbians in numerous campaigns, little information regarding their political
activism is available, which contributes “to the general invisibility of lesbian lives in
contemporary Ireland” (2005: 172). Nonetheless, Irish lesbians and queer women
at large were highly involved in the campaign to decriminalise homosexuality.
Similarly, they were active within the women’s movement and participated in
several social and political movements (Moane 1995: 92). Moreover, they also
worked towards creating spaces for queer women, attaining recognition of
their sexuality and combating the isolation that many of them faced due to the
marginalisation of lesbian identities.
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During the 1970s, different groups that addressed the needs of lesbians were
created, such as Irishwomen United and the first Lesbian Line Collective.
Additionally, a hotline was established to support lesbians in rural areas, advertised
as Tel-a-Friend or simply TAF in order to avoid the explicit use of “gay” and
“lesbian” (Crone 1988, 1995; Connolly and O’Toole 2005). This decade also
saw the celebration of the first Women’s Conference on Lesbianism in Dublin,
which had a positive impact and boosted lesbian pride (Crone 1995; Connolly and
O’Toole 2005).
Throughout the following decade, the 1980s, lesbian activism continued to see
the creation of various lesbian communities, groups and organisations, mostly
based in urban areas (Connolly and O’Toole 2005: 184), although this was not
limited to Dublin. The Quay Co-Op was founded in Cork in 1982, leading to
the emergence of the Cork Lesbian Collective a year later, and the first Cork
Women’s Fun Weekend took place in 1984 (McDonagh 2017: 72). In addition
to these organisations, social events for gays and lesbians were also being
held in different areas throughout the country, such as Galway and Tipperary
(McDonagh 2017).
The 1990s were highly marked by the decriminalisation of homosexuality, but
the lesbian community also saw the establishment of several cultural, political
and social organisations (Crone 1995: 68). Lesbians Organising Together, or
LOT, was established in 1991, including First Out groups and Lesbian Line
collectives among other organisations (68). Furthermore, during this decade
organisations such as Lesbians in Cork, Lesbian Education Awareness and
LOT worked to continue the efforts of their predecessors, increasing resources,
building community and providing services (Connolly and O’Toole 2005: 192).
Unfortunately, homophobia was still prevalent at the time. Ger Moane contends,
“Even in the relatively liberated 1990s, homophobia still imposes tremendous
burdens on lesbians and gay men in Ireland. […] Positive attitudes in the media
and among legislators do not easily erase homophobia, and it remains deeply
embedded in Irish culture and psychology” (1995: 87). She remarks that calls to
helplines and discussions in coming-out groups continued to demonstrate that
feelings of fear, ignorance, self-hatred and shame prevailed, and stories of queer
youth who committed suicide or were forced to leave their homes circulated
around LGBTQ+ networks (87).
Nevertheless, despite the constant presence of homophobia, the advancements that
were made in the three decades between the 1970s and 1990s were remarkably
significant. In the mid-1990s, lesbian author Mary Dorcey, who had been actively
involved in the fight against homophobia, spoke of the resistance from the Irish
queer community against religious and state oppression:
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Lifelong brainwashing from the cradle to the grave to remain faithful to
heterosexuality is still not sufficient to keep everyone suppressed. The entire force
of Church and State, the entire weight of international culture, is not enough
to suppress the strength of nature. The instinct to joy and love and intimacy is
irrepressible. Centuries of repression have not worked and can’t work. (In O’Carroll
and Collins 1995: 28)
Queer Irish individuals have persisted in the face of oppression. Despite the
constant messages about the dangers and sinful nature of homosexuality, and
despite the attempts from church and state authorities to suppress any identity
that would deviate from heterosexuality, the LGBTQ+ community in Ireland
continued to make a space for itself within Irish society. The film Dating Amber
explores the adversities of being gay in 1990s Ireland, and this article aims to
reinforce Dorcey’s statement of queer resistance through Amber’s embrace of her
lesbian identity against the persistent discrimination from classmates, neighbours
and society at large.
3. Lesbians on the Irish Screen
The Irish film industry is characterised by a “lack of queer visual fare” (Kerrigan
and O’Brien 2020: 1064), and within this shortage, queer women are even more
absent on the screen. This “can be [...] linked to the general invisibility of lesbianism
within Irish public and cultural discourses” (Macleod 2018: 5) mentioned above.
In her review of Irish queer cinema, Macleod notices that queer women appear only
in five of the different feature films that she examines: Goldfish Memory (2002), A
Date for Mad Mary (2016), Snakes and Ladders (1996), Crush Proof (1998) and
Cowboys & Angels (2003) (2018: 5). These films also share the characteristic of
being urban narratives, which Macleod argues “suggest[s] that the emergence of
a new urban sensibility in Irish cinema has not only been accompanied by more
overt representations of queer sexuality on-screen but has also been integral to
the cinematic representation of queer women” (80). Unfortunately, out of those
five films, only Goldfish Memory and A Date for Mad Mary “offer these female
characters any strong narrative agency”, while the others either relegate sapphic
women to the background or disavow their sexuality (5).
Goldfish Memory stands out as it “features openly lesbian characters and explicit
sexual encounters between women, as well as a lesbian social space” (78).
Nonetheless, lesbian desire is portrayed as humorous rather than revolutionary, as
it is framed from a male heterosexual perspective (78). The butch-femme dynamics
that appear in the film serve to constrain lesbian desire within gender binarism,
as masculine women appear as the subject which desires and feminine women
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as the object that is desired (Holohan 2009: 142-143). Similarly, while Goldfish
Memory does portray lesbian desire within a public setting, perhaps in an attempt
to transgress patriarchal norms that limit female sexuality to private life —if not
directly to the closet— this challenge is often quickly discredited (143). Therefore,
despite its depiction of out lesbian women and the focus on their relationships, the
film ultimately fails at subverting heteronormative narratives.
A Date for Mad Mary, which is the most recent film with sapphic characters in
Macleod’s study, appears to show “a more fluid representation of queer female
identity” (Macleod 2018: 90). The plot revolves around Mary, a queer woman
whose experiences take centre stage. As Mary explores her sexuality, the film avoids
restraining her to the sexual binary and relegating queer female desire to the
subplot as Mary’s sexual discovery is linked to other aspects of her life and is thus
embedded within the general narrative (88). In doing so, the film “provid[es] a
more fluid conception of how different facets of identity and personal relationships
inform one another” (88). Macleod suggests that A Date for Mad Mary, as a
post-Celtic Tiger picture, might be a metaphor for how contemporary Ireland is
attempting to break away from established preconceptions about the meaning of
Irishness (90). Nonetheless, though this film seems to offer a portrayal of female
queerness outside common stereotypes, I argue that it does not contribute to the
specific visibilisation of lesbians on screen due to the ambiguity that characterises
the sexuality of the queer female characters.
I find it significant that all the films with queer women characters that Macleod
includes in her study take place in an urban setting. This lack of sapphic representation
within rural areas further enhances the dichotomies of the ‘liberating’ city and the
‘repressive’ countryside. While it might be true that bigger cities and urban areas
offer certain possibilities to explore sexual identity that might not be available in
more conservative places, the experiences of LGBTQ+ rural communities deserve
recognition and should be represented in the wider media outlets, including films.
Similarly, none of these films focuses on adolescent sapphic girls, even though
it is frequently during the teenage years that sexuality is explored. This scarcity
of sapphic girlhood narratives in Irish cinema could result from preconceived
notions of youth as innocent —even asexual— in an attempt to preserve such
ideas of purity. However, this only contributes to further erase non-normative, and
specifically lesbian, girlhoods as their lack of representation renders them invisible.
Hence, the film Dating Amber (2020) seems to fill this gap of rural narratives
of lesbian girlhood. Directed by David Freyne and produced by Screen Ireland,
it takes place in a climate of post-decriminalisation yet ingrained homophobia,
and stands out thanks to its focus on a gay boy and a lesbian girl who navigate
their sexualities in their conservative village — narratives previously unaddressed
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in Irish cinema. Initially, it had been entitled ‘Beards’, deriving from the term
‘beard’, which commonly refers to the fake partner of a queer person who wants
to hide their queer identity by pretending to be in a heterosexual relationship —
which is precisely what happens in this comedy-drama. The film is set in 1995
on the Curragh Camp, a military complex in county Kildare, at the time of the
divorce referendum, which conveys the image of a Catholic Ireland dominated by
a religious morality and the repression of sexuality. Teenagers Eddie Cotter and
Amber Keenan are struggling with their gay and lesbian identities in a repressive
environment during their final year of secondary school. Eddie is in denial of his
homosexuality and pretends to be interested in girls to fit in with the boys at school,
even though they are constantly harassing him. At home, he chooses to ignore his
parents’ fighting, reassuring himself that they are fine, and attempts to live up to
his often-absent father’s expectations to join the army, although that is not what he
wants to do. Amber, while more confident about her sexuality, still hides that she
is a lesbian from her immediate community to protect herself from ostracisation.
As she is still dealing with her father’s suicide, she dreams of moving to London,
where she will open “an anarchist bookshop but with franchise potential” (Freyne
2020: min. 23) and will be able to be herself openly in the more liberating lesbian
punk scene that she believes awaits her in the city. In the meantime, she helps her
mother in the caravan park she runs, secretly renting out the caravans to teenagers
seeking a private place to have sex, saving the money she charges them so that she
can travel to London when school is over.
Both victims of their classmates’ insults and mockery, generally connected to their
sexuality though neither of them has yet come out, Amber and Eddie begin a fake
relationship in an attempt to quiet the rumours about their queerness. As they
continue to fake-date, their friendship evolves from a shared understanding of
their common struggle and they confess to each other their hopes and fears as gay
teenagers in rural Ireland. It is on their trips to Dublin that they experience queer
culture and community for the first time, which will impact both adolescents albeit
in different ways —“[a]s Amber becomes more comfortable with her queerness,
[and] the taciturn Eddie retreats inwards” (Hans 2020)— and will bring trouble
to their dating arrangement as well as their friendship.
Dating Amber has been described as “a one-size-fits-all coming-out narrative [...]
handled with a lightness of touch” (Hans 2020) and “a well-meaning film that
seeks to portray gay identity without problematising it unduly” (Bradshaw 2020).
Andrew Scahill contends that the majority of images of youth in cinema have
been created by adults, who often “represent an idea of youth — a memory, a
trauma, a wish” (2019: 114, emphasis in original). There is, indeed, a biographical
component to Dating Amber. In an interview, director David Freyne explains:
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“When you grow up gay you are used to seeing yourself in tragic work. Being
beaten up. Dying of Aids. Those films are important and relevant. But if that’s
the only way you see yourself om [sic] screen it’s really depressing” (in Clarke
2020). While Freyne chose to set the story in the mid-1990s, he acknowledges
that “[t]here are some people —generally older, straight people— who say: ‘Sure,
it’s fine now!’ [...] There is a misconception about how easy it is now” (in Clarke
2020). Therefore, while the film takes place in 1995 and reflects the homophobic
climate of Ireland’s recent past, the struggles confronted by Amber and Eddie in
connection to their sexuality are still faced by many queer teens in modern-day
Ireland — which makes the film timely as well as significant in its approach to
queer girlhood and boyhood.
4. Lesbian Girlhood in 1990s Ireland
4.1. “Fucking lezzer”
In Ireland, homosexuality “occupied an uncomfortable place” (Conrad 2001:
124), and, hence, so did lesbian girlhood. The first scene in the film where
viewers meet Amber depicts her at school, sitting by herself on a bench and
reading a newspaper with the headline “Drugs in Ireland”. When Kevin, another
student, shouts a joke to insult her, Amber cleverly turns the joke around on
him and, feeling embarrassed, Kevin cannot think of a better comeback than
“fucking lezzer” (Freyne 2020: min. 2). John E. Petrovic and Rebecca M.
Ballard point to the heterosexism that pervades institutions such as schools at
large, “a form of oppression that both assumes and presumes the superiority of
heterosexuality, suggesting that heterosexuality is required while (and by) casting
nonheterosexuality as abnormal, deviant, or immoral” (2005: 195). Insults related
to sexuality are not rare at school, as only a few seconds after his interaction with
Amber, Kevin asks Eddie if he is a “faggot” because he has not “had the shift
yet” (Freyne 2020: mins. 2-3). This brief introductory scene does not only reveal
the heteronormative politics at work within Amber and Eddie’s school, but also
identifies the societal perception of homosexuality as shameful and unacceptable,
this prevalence of heteronormativity that characterises the school system not only
in Ireland but in general.
Throughout the film, insults that attack sexual identity such as “fucking lesbian”
(Freyne 2020: min. 7), “benders” (min. 11) or “dyke” (min. 68) continue to be
reproduced, exposing how homophobia is ingrained within the Irish psyche. This
is further reinforced by the school’s sex education — if a video of a nun advocating
for sexual abstinence until marriage can be referred to as sex education. In a video
entitled “A Guide to Love-Making”, the nun uses hand gestures to condemn
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homosexuality, exposing this as wrong, while heterosexual intercourse is right (mins.
16-17). The legalisation of homosexuality in Ireland did “not mean that it was not
(as in fact, it still is) frowned upon by Irish society, especially by rural communities
of Ireland where Catholicism has historically been more powerful than in Ireland’s
urban areas” (Charczun 2019: 129). Thus, Amber is constantly faced with the
notion that being a lesbian is sinful and deserves denigration, a Catholic belief that
is upheld by her school and enforced by her classmates’ discourse.
It is not surprising that in such an environment Amber struggles to express her
identity freely and even denies that she is gay to her classmates (Freyne 2020: min.
7). Aware that Eddie is also not interested in the opposite sex, she decides to ask
him to go on a date with her. When Eddie attempts to —very awkwardly— kiss
her, she asks him “aren’t you tired of being called a faggot?” and proposes that they
fake a relationship: “We pretend to go out just to get everyone to leave us alone.
Just-just until school is over and we can get out of this dump” (mins. 14-15).
While Amber does deny to other students that she is a lesbian, this conversation
with Eddie reveals that her denial does not stem from a lack of self-acceptance but
is rather an attempt at self-preservation. Petrovic and Ballard discuss that different
studies point to the construction of heterosexual identities as a “coping strategy”
by LGBTQ+ students to fit in at school (2005: 196). Through the staging of a
heterosexual relationship, Amber aims to avoid harassment from other students
until she can leave her small village and finally come out as a lesbian.
Additionally, in her plan to fake-date, Amber not only seeks protection but also
a sense of shared understanding, of kinship, that Eddie initially fails to provide in
his own denial of his homosexuality. At first, Eddie continues to pretend that he is
not gay and rejects Amber’s idea. According to Whitney Monaghan, the “inability
or unwillingness to accept one’s identity is a standard feature of the coming out
narrative” (2010: 61). This is the case for Eddie, whose narrative will appear in
contrast to Amber’s capacity to accept herself as a lesbian. He struggles to admit
that he is gay, is unable to say it out loud, yet he agrees with Amber’s plan to be
her “pretend boyfriend” —though he prefers the term “pretend real boyfriend”—
until school is over (Freyne 2020: min. 18). However, while Amber can easily
declare that she is gay and so is he, Eddie continues to insist that “it doesn’t matter
because […] it doesn’t matter what [they] are but [they] don’t have to be”, which
Amber resignedly acknowledges because she is aware that Eddie will not go along
with her idea otherwise (mins. 18-19). This is a remarkable difference between
Amber’s and Eddie’s perception of themselves, which will later become a conflict
in their relationship. Nonetheless, Amber continues to embrace her lesbianism in
her private moments with Eddie and does see their friendship as a safe space where
she can be herself openly.
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4.2. “This place will kill you”
Her fake relationship gives Amber a break from the continuous ridicule of her
classmates at the same time as it allows her to find a confidante to share her dreams
about going to London, where she hopes a more accepting society awaits her.
Amber’s desire to go abroad was common among Irish lesbians at the time, who
“at some point in their lives, have felt the need to emigrate, mainly to the UK,
on the grounds of their sexualities” (Charczun 2019: 155). Amber relies on her
side hustle renting out caravans to “horny teens” to save money so that she can
leave: “The minute school is over, I am out of here. This place will kill you”
(Freyne 2020: mins. 22-23). Two dichotomies are at play here: that of Ireland vs.
abroad and that of rural vs. urban. It is not uncommon for Irish films to convey
the message “that gay identities can only be confronted when relocated from the
‘native soil’” (Barton 2004: 125). Homosexuality has been characterised as being
“outside the nation, as a foreign threat or colonial pollutant” which is “subject to
State monitoring and regulation” (Macleod 2018: 15). Amber believes that she
can only be openly gay if she is in a big city and if she leaves Ireland, positioning
lesbian girlhood and growing up in Ireland as incompatible. In this sense, Macleod
observes that “the construction of queer subjectivity is frequently embedded
within a story of rural to urban migration which maps the psychological journey
of ‘coming out’ onto a physical journey to the city” (92). Amber initially believes
that this journey is her only possibility to fully come out. Nonetheless, in the
meantime, she manages to subvert Catholic expectations in her secret arrangement
with Eddie — at school and at home, she is a heterosexual teenage girl dating a
heterosexual teenage boy, while in private the intricacies of being Irish and gay are
exposed through Amber’s and Eddie’s attempts at easing each other’s adversities.
Amber and Eddie might not adhere to their society’s beliefs, yet they have
not been able to escape the stereotypical perceptions that have been culturally
attributed to gay men and lesbian women. Macleod argues that while “queerness
functions as a disruptive signifier of fluidity and excess in Irish cinema to challenge
rigid identity categories and normative structures, such disruptive potential is
often diffused through the queer subject’s containment within sexual stereotypes,
mainstream conventions and narrative function” (2018: 20). To some extent,
Dating Amber reproduces stereotypes that are often linked with homosexuality.
In her conversations with Eddie, Amber subscribes to those clichés that are used
to describe gay men, such as that they have an interest in fashion and a good
fashion sense or that they are feminine in their mannerisms. When Eddie pretends
that he does not like Mr Sweeney but his clothes, Amber is quick to explain why
that comment further proves that he is gay: “One, only a gay guy would say that,
and two, he dresses like shit, which you would know because gays have a great
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sense of fashion” (Freyne 2020: mins. 14-15). Similarly, Eddie tells Amber that
she should “act a little less […] mannishly” and “walk more feminine”, a critique
Amber turns around on Eddie claiming that he is the feminine one, which worries
him as he wants to hide his homosexuality (mins. 21-22). Moreover, Amber does
subject herself to such stereotypes in certain moments. Eddie invites her over to
his house for dinner, and asks Amber to “wear something girly” — to which she
replies: “I will if you won’t” (min. 23). In spite of berating Eddie for calling
her masculine, she does wear a pastel-coloured dress and a flower pinned to her
hair to Eddie’s house, possibly trying to appear more heterosexual and therefore
reinforcing stereotypes that lesbians are “mannish” and not “girly”.
However, whether it is the film or the characters that surrender to stereotypes is
unclear. On the one hand, the scenes that make reference to Eddie’s sense of fashion
and feminine mannerisms and to Amber’s masculine attitudes are reproduced for
comedic effect. This could suggest that the film is relying on these stereotypes to
appeal to a wider audience that is more accustomed to the representation of gay
and lesbian characters as comic relief. On the other hand, the compliance of the
characters with stereotypical notions about their sexuality could be an attempt to
reflect the influence of heteronormativity upon queer subjects. Amber assumes that
Eddie should be into fashion because he is gay, and Eddie understands that Amber
should wear dresses if she wants to appear heterosexual. These notions do not
simply convey stereotypical characterisations of male and female homosexuality,
but are also subjected to heterosexual norms of masculine and feminine traits. In
this sense, at the same time as she questions normativity through her lesbianism,
Amber also reduces her sexual identity to heteronormative patterns.
4.3. “You can come out too”
The first time Amber goes to Dublin with Eddie, they see a pride flag hanging
outside a venue, and hesitantly go inside. Eddie is quickly mesmerised by a drag
queen performing on stage, yet Amber stays alone at the back, suddenly shy at
this unapologetic display of LGBTQ+ community. When Sarah introduces herself,
Amber does not say her name, instead replying, “I’m not a lesbian” (Freyne
2020: min. 36). It appears that, because she has never before been in a public
space where being queer is not condemned, she does not feel comfortable. In
Ireland, Macleod argues, “[t]he homosexual subject [...] has occupied a key role
within Irish discourses in both historical and contemporary contexts, operating
simultaneously as evidence of colonial perversion, a marker of national treason
and a symbol of modernisation” (2018: 9). While in this new urban setting
homosexuality is linked with “modernisation”, Amber has grown up to see it as
“perversion” and as “treason” to the national ideal. Within such a conservative
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perspective, she has been able to negotiate her lesbian identity, playing the part of
a heterosexual teenage girl and only allowing herself to admit her homosexuality in
solitude or in the presence of Eddie; thus the idea of being perceived as a lesbian by
a stranger scares her, likely an automatic response resulting from the suppression of
her feelings that she has experienced in her more conservative surroundings where
the LGBTQ+ community is lacking and looked down on.
Nevertheless, she convinces Eddie to attend a party Sarah has invited her to under the
idea that “wasn’t it cool being totally anonymous?” (Freyne 2020: min. 43). Despite
her initial reaction to hide her homosexuality, Amber perceives Dublin as a place
of anonymity where she can be herself without having to confront the harassment
from her classmates and the rejection from her village. Her prior visit to Dublin has
revealed to Amber that there exists an Irish LGBTQ+ community, which —for the
first time— allows her to consider that being Irish and a lesbian is possible. Unlike
at school, where sapphic girlhoods are not recognised, lesbians are generally “more
comfortable exploring their sexual identity in places that are frequently outside the
school setting” (Petrovic and Ballard 2005: 206). Hence, Dublin is portrayed as
a place where Amber can explore her sapphic identity as there is a space there for
lesbian girlhood that she cannot find in her conservative school and village.
On her second visit to the city, while Amber is still unable to articulate the word
“lesbian” in front of Sarah, she does tell her she does not like boys: “I need to
make a confession. I don’t actually have a boyfriend. Not really. The whole penis
thing kind of makes me vom” (Freyne 2020: min. 48). The girls quickly begin a
relationship, providing for Amber a new safe space that allows her to grow more
comfortable as a lesbian and to renounce the idea of having to go abroad to be
herself, encouraging her to end her fake relationship with Eddie (mins. 63-64) and
to come out to her mother, who without saying anything holds her daughter’s hand
as a sign of affection (mins. 65-66). In this sense, it can be observed how the film
is marked by the shift in queer cinema “from the representation of homosexuality
itself as a problem for queer characters to overcome, towards coming out and
self-acceptance as the crucial issue for queer characters” (Monaghan 2010: 58).
Amber’s experiences are not determined by a need to suppress her lesbianism, but
rather by her journey towards a coming out that liberates her from the oppressive
systems that surround her.
After her coming out, Amber must confront the blatant homophobia of her
village, unable to hide anymore under the pretence that she is not gay. Queer
narratives tend “to represent rural space as inherently oppressive and characterised
by traditional gender roles and compulsory heterosexuality” (Macleod 2018: 92),
which is depicted in Dating Amber. Her mother, though trying to show support
towards Amber, shares the news with the priest — likely seeking understanding
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or advice, shocked at the kind of news that Irish Catholic parents could not fully
comprehend due to their own religiously oppressive upbringing. Now Amber is
ostracised by students and neighbours at large, the latter blessing themselves as
they see her pass (Freyne 2020: min. 78). On top of this, Eddie blames Amber for
ruining their “relationship” and instead of supporting her after she is outed, he calls
her “dyke” (min. 68), succumbing to the homophobic discourse that surrounds
him and that he feels unable to escape without the protection of his relationship
with Amber. Amber can no longer deny that she is a lesbian —nor does she want
to— and Eddie still wants to rely on their lie to protect himself, demonstrating
how the two adolescents have grown apart. She tries to convince him that he “can
come out too” because “it’s not about other people, […] it’s about [him]”, yet
Eddie insists that he is “happy” and that “join[ing] the regiment and stay[ing]
[there] and be[ing] miserable” is “better than being a faggot” (min. 71). It is here
that Amber’s process of self-acceptance becomes the clearest. While Eddie insists
that they should be together and that he would rather join the army and pretend
he is not gay, Amber has been able to challenge the heteronormative expectations
of her rural Catholic and military setting, choosing to openly embrace her lesbian
identity and to interrogate the established moral values.
Furthermore, Amber’s coming out and her decision to remain in Ireland challenge
frequent portrayals of sapphic sexuality “as ‘just a phase’ of unruly adolescent
development” (Monaghan 2016: 4). Amber’s sapphic sexuality does not conclude
as she finishes secondary school, but is rather reaffirmed as the narrative develops.
In this sense, Dating Amber supports Monaghan’s assertion that “recent cinematic
representations demonstrate the potential for nuanced relationships between
queerness and girlhood to be articulated through screen media” (2019: 109).
Amber has been able to negotiate her lesbian and Irish identities, no longer
needing to run away. In doing so, Amber “challenge[s] linear models of girlhood
development and emphasizes the queerness of queer girlhood” (99). Additionally,
her decision to remain in Ireland, where she now feels she has a supportive network
through her girlfriend, her mother and the Irish queer community at large, conveys
a defiance towards Ireland’s standards of sexual purity and breaks away from the
trend that LGBTQ+ Irish people had to emigrate. Thus, as the film concludes,
Amber’s lesbian girlhood has been recognised and reaffirmed, claiming a space for
it within the Irish setting and challenging homophobic national discourses.
5. Conclusion
Dating Amber provides insight into the development of Irish lesbian girlhood
within the conservative framework of 1990s Ireland, a time when discrimination
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against the LGBTQ+ community was rife. Nevertheless, while Dating Amber
looks at the late twentieth century, Anna Charczun sustains that “the stigma and
the feeling of being the society’s outcast still pervades in many lesbians” (2019:
139), enhancing the relevance and timely production of the film.
The film approaches and reflects on what were —and still are to some extent—
common experiences for Irish lesbians, such as the desire to move abroad,
homophobic harassment at school and the denial of one’s homosexuality in an
attempt at self-protection. Discourses on the incompatibility of Irishness and
lesbianism are brought to the forefront through the suffocatingly repressive setting
where Amber must negotiate her identity. In contrast to her village, Amber finds
a safe space in her friendship with Eddie and in the Dublin LGBTQ+ community.
Her fake-relationship-turned-into-friendship with Eddie is Amber’s first experience
of queer kinship, paramount in the lives of queer people where community usually
offers the acceptance that cannot be found within heteronormative institutions
such as family, school or religion. It is, indeed, community which acts as a catalyst in
Amber’s realisation that she can be both a lesbian and Irish, resulting in her coming
out and her decision to stay in Ireland and be herself openly. Her discovery of the
Irish LGBTQ+ community in Dublin shows Amber that her sapphic girlhood can
be recognised within Irish borders. In coming out to her mother, breaking off her
fake relationship with Eddie in order to have a real relationship with another girl,
and deciding to stay in Ireland instead of leaving, Amber challenges the established
heteronormative expectations of Catholic Ireland. In doing so, Amber exemplifies
the resistance from the Irish queer community that drove Irish lesbians in the late
twentieth century to mobilise in order to make themselves visible and claim a space
for themselves within Ireland.
Dating Amber broadens the scope of queer Irish cinema through its approach to
the previously unexplored reality of lesbian girlhood, a gap that this article has
attempted to address through its examination of the film and the development of
Amber’s character. The film also provides an alternative representation of sapphic
women, as Amber’s sexuality is not depicted as unambiguous and she does not
ultimately succumb to heterosexuality, claiming a space for lesbianism within the
Irish screen. Furthermore, Dating Amber contributes to what Rachel Lewis refers
to as “the crucial —but still vastly under-theorized— question of what it means to
think lesbian representation globally and transnationally” (2012: 287). It offers a
distinctive approach to the perception of lesbianism in Ireland and, in turn, shows
how “same-sex female desire can be configured into mainstream texts to create
new narrative, aesthetic, and political possibilities” (Pick 2004: 107). In short,
Amber’s acceptance of herself as an Irish lesbian against a homophobic backdrop
interrogates conventional discourses that aim to separate Irishness and lesbianism,
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and in doing so she refutes the incompatibility of both identities and creates a
space for Irish lesbian girlhood(s) to exist within Irish culture and imagery.
Acknowledgements
This publication is part of the research project “Communitas/Immunitas:
Relational Ontologies in Atlantic Anglophone Cultures of the 21st Century”, grant
PID2022-136904NB-I00 funded by MCIN/AEI/10.13039/501100011033
and by “ERDF A way of making Europe”.
Notes
1. While the success of the referendum was certainly a great achievement, the
priority given to marriage recognition in lieu of other more pressing matters and its message of
assimilation were also criticised (see, for instance, Mulhall 2015; Silvera 2015).
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Received: 19/12/2024
Accepted: 30/05/2025
Accepted: 11/07/2025
This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0 International License.
