How Julia Ducournau’s “Titane” Addresses the LGBTQ+ Community

One of the more controversial Palme d’Or winners in recent history, Julia Ducournau’s Titane (2021) is a polarizing film that has been difficult for modern audiences to process. No matter how disparate the divide has become, reviewers have noted that the film seems to have concerns with gender and LGBTQ+ discourse. I will attempt to map the divide and further articulate what I interpreted as the film’s message.

The Narrative

Before we get into the theoretical reeds, a quick narrative recap is necessary. If you have not seen the film, I recommend watching it before continuing, as there are spoilers ahead.

Titane begins with an adolescent Alexia, the seemingly primary character, sitting in the car with her father. Alexia kicks the back of her father’s chair, causing him to look back at her and wreck the car. This results in a titanium plate being implanted in Alexia’s head. After the surgery, Alexia’s libidinal proclivities are revealed: she walks past her parents to the parking lot and embraces their car.

The film then switches to the present, where Alexia now works as a dancer at a car show. After the show, we witness her murder a man who attempts to forcefully kiss her by stabbing him through the ear with her hairpin. She then re-enters the venue and proceeds to have sex with a Cadillac. From there, the film suggests that Alexia is a serial killer responsible for several murders. She is a predator learning how to grasp her domain.

True to her modus operandi, she murders several other individuals, including her parents. This results in her maiming her face and modifying her body so she can pretend to be a missing boy, Adrian. She then befriends Adrian’s grieving father, Vincent, who becomes her only friend as she deals with the complications of an apparently automobile-induced pregnancy.

At the end of the film, Alexia/Adrian dies as Vincent holds up a baby that appears to have a mechanical spine.

A Divided Discourse

The film’s discourse is rather slippery. Looking at a broader sample of writings about the film, some have championed it as a “boundary-pushing, binary-breaking work of queer body horror.” In contrast, others have labeled it transphobic, damaging to the trans movement, and fundamentally lacking  any substantive content.

Letterboxd user David Conner, in one of the most poignant reviews I read of the film to date, takes the apparent divide to task. This inability to pin the film down, Conner argues, is due to its allegorical aims.

For Conner, the film is about an outmoded generation attempting to overcome impermanence by forsaking what it means to be human and finding a way to love an essentially alien generation whose subjectivity is characterized by an entirely incompatible means of apprehending reality.

This analysis implies that the film’s main character is not Alexia/Adrian but Vincent. This understanding is paramount if one wants to grasp the extent of what the film is trying to say about LGBTQ+ rights.

Alexia/Adrian is coded as a queer character. Considering the disparity in reviews, it is clear that her characterization is a significant contributor to the polarization.

Yes, Alexia is coded as queer—but she is also situated in relation to Vincent’s tired, brutal masculinity. Both use phallic objects in attempts to regain control of their lives: Alexia uses a hairpin to stab her victims, while Vincent uses a syringe to inject himself with steroids. Although they use the objects in different ways, the association with dominance by penetration marks them as patriarchal figures.

The film is not about an older generation’s authenticity and willingness to change. Rather, it is about how these two generations share the same death wish. The clincher is that the film suggests the older generation has better self-preservation tactics.

Vincent loves Alexia/Adrian despite knowing she is not his son to absolve his own guilt, just as he seemingly loves the machine child as further penance for his fatherly failures. In both instances, his actions are motivated by perverse self-interest. It is this self-interest that affords his individuative moment.

The implications for the LGBTQ+ community are chilling. In my view, the film suggests that the patriarchal order intentionally placates the emerging generation in order to ensure their own permanence (the infamous picture of former President Trump displaying a Pride flag comes to mind). Examining the broader implications of global oligarchs’ obsession with legacy and longevity, it seems the implications of this critique might be worth paying attention to.