Let's mark Tea and Sympathy (1956) as Exhibit A of Hayes Code squeamishness. Robert Anderson's play wrestled frankly with sexual identity, a verboten subject in '50s America. Vincente Minelli's handsome adaptation flounders about trying to impart a message it can't make plain.Tom Lee (John Kerr) is an outsider at an all-boys prep school. He prefers theater and music to football and skirt-chasing; his classmates mock him as "Sister Boy." His rough housemaster Bill Reynolds (Leif Erickson) and domineering father (Edward Andrews) extend Tom little sympathy. Tom finds a kindred spirit in Laura Reynolds (Deborah Kerr), Laura's wife who resents Bill's bullying machismo. But Laura's efforts to encourage Tom seem only to exacerbate things.
Tea and Sympathy is usually labeled a "gay film" but that's misleading. Not only gays question their masculinity, and being straight doesn't spare "sensitive" guys from bullying. Nonetheless, the play makes homophobia its central issue: Tom's compromising action isn't knitting but swimming naked with an older man; Bill's shown wrestling with his own insecurities, something the film downplays. Ten years after Crossfire, which swapped homophobia for antisemitism, Hollywood still wouldn't tackle gay-bashing.
Censorship aside, Tom conforms to the classic Hollywood deviant. He's subjected to cruel taunts by fellow students; even his friendly roommate (Darryl Hickman) mocks his "funny" walk. When Dad finds he's playing a woman on-stage, he ruthlessly browbeats Tom into quitting. Yet trying to conform makes things worse; he breaks down resigning his part, while dating the local tart (Norma Craine) drives him to despair. In Classic Hollywood, gays are either decadent villains or tortured neurotics. Thus with Tom, whose agonized breakdown evokes pity rather than understanding.
That's what makes Tea and Sympathy frustrating. Like The Children's Hour, it's less pro-tolerance than anti-gossip: Tom's classmates are wrong for accusing him, not for hating gays. In this it's a relic of its time, but undercuts Tom's character development. He reclaims his manhood not by asserting his straightness and flipping off the jocks, but by sleeping with an older woman. The "modern-day" framing device muddies things still further. Why raise this touchy subject if you won't deal with it?
Minelli's high-toned direction contrasts its unpleasant story with immaculate photography and set design. At times Tea resembles Douglas Sirk's melodramas, using unreal beauty to expose middle-class hypocrisy. John Alton's confectionary cinematography reaches its peak in Tom and Laura's final meeting, an idyll given near-religious staging. (Certainly Alton flatters Deborah Kerr as much as Michael Powell ever did.) Dramatic flaws aside, Tea's relentlessly beautiful.
Deborah Kerr provides a sensitive, dignified performance. She conveys repressed anguish and unrealized warmth, making Laura a portrait in repression. John Kerr is unfortunately uneven, effective in emotional moments but less convincing in more banal scenes. Leif Erickson (On the Waterfront) gives Bill enough complexity to avoid being a stereotype; Edward Andrews (Summertime) is the classic disapproving dad. Among Tom's classmates are Darryl Hickman, Dean Jones and Billy Jack himself, Tom Laughlin.
Vito Russo sardonically pegs Tea and Sympathy's moral as "be kind to shy heterosexuals." Given how '50s Hollywood handled racism and juvenile delinquency, it's unsurprising they punted on homosexuality. Tea and Sympathy is a decent melodrama that can't help feeling compromised.
