All About Queer: Exploring LGBTQ+ Themes and Queer Coding in All About Eve
Warning: this post contains spoilers!
The 1950 masterpiece All About Eve, written and directed by Joseph L. Mankiewicz, has captivated audiences for decades. For the average viewer, its scandalous exploration of cutthroat ambition, deceit, and betrayal within the realm of 1937 theater, paired with its iconic scenes and performances, make it nothing short of epic.
However, for the queer-savvy viewer, Eve is much more – a stealth weaving of LGBTQ+ themes, with two queer-coded characters offering added depth. There’s a borderline campiness to the film’s nuanced homophobia, elevating the movie to a whole new level of entertainment. In queer cinema, All About Eve is legendary.
Queer Coding 101
Queer coding is the practice of using subtle cues, mannerisms, or traits to hint at a character’s LGBTQ+ identity or tendencies without explicitly stating it. During the restrictive era of the Hays Code, this technique allowed filmmakers to portray queer characters while circumventing censorship or backlash. Queer coding can be positive, negative, or a mixture of both for the LGTBQ+ community – it all depends on context and intent.
If you’re into it, learn more about queer coding in early Hollywood here.
The subtle yet effective use of queer coding in All About Eve, a film that came out during the height of McCarthyism and the Lavender Scare, is a subliminal warning to most viewers. However, for those who see the clues for what they are, its message is clear: homosexuality is deviant and will lead you down a dark path.
The character of Eve, whether seen as queer or not, represents the societal fear du jour – that our enemies may not always look like enemies. This film comes out during a time when neighbors were spying on one another, looking for the Commies and the Queers. People were being fired and ostracized left and right.
It’s always been interesting why All About Eve has such a queer fanbase; however, when you’re separated from the horrific history, you see things from a different perspective. Eve is simply a fantastic movie. Sure, it’s homophobic, but it’s so close to camp that it’s simply a delight. This film gets me laughing, cawing, and seeing something new each time I watch it. So, to me, it’s no wonder its appeal within the LGBTQ+ community remains large.
So, let’s look at the queerness in All About Eve and start at the beginning.
The Queer is Strong
Out of the gate, All About Eve opens with an unmistakably queer atmosphere. We’re at a theater awards ceremony with Addison DeWitt, played by George Sanders, providing an overly refined and condescending narration to start us off. Addison is the epitome of theatrical flair. This man knows his Broadway onions, has plenty of opinions about everything and everyone, holds onto a firm sense of superiority, and makes it all very apparent. We can’t decide whether we like him or not yet (most probably not), but we quickly find out that he is a theater critic who is, as he puts it, “essential to the theah-tah.”
We also quickly see that he is queer-coded AF.
As he introduces the central characters, Addison’s eloquent voice and impeccable posture stand out. He smokes from an elongated cigarette holder and wears a flower in the buttonhole of his lapel, often clues for dandyism. His movements are graceful and elegant, his demeanor proper as royalty. His cultivated air immediately evokes a sense of queer intrigue.
Upon introducing another character at his table, producer Max Fabian, played by Gregory Ratoff, the stark contrast between the two men couldn’t be more evident. Fabian appears disheveled and disinterested at the table, dozing off during the ceremony. This striking disparity between the crisp polish of Addison and his rough counterpart, Fabian, reinforces the queer coding.
Mankiewicz is trying to get something across about Addison – something different. Something homosexual? Or is it just Broadway pomp and sophistication? Hard to say at this moment, but questions like this will often come up in Eve.
The Impact of Opening Scenes
We must remember that the importance of a film’s opening scene cannot be understated. It sets the mood, the tone, the overall feel of the film. It presents the world to the audience, as well as important characters or themes. Opening scenes also need to hook viewers into the story that’s about to unfold.
In short, a film’s opening sets the audience up for the entire movie. Because of that, All About Eve’s opening effectively sets the tone for the film’s highly nuanced examination of queerness.
The more one becomes aware of this, the more mind-blowing it becomes, as is the case with many queer-coded films. Eve expertly entwines gay and sapphic undertones amidst the more blatant themes of unbridled ambition and strategic manipulation in show business. Set in the world of the theater, already often perceived as eccentric and offbeat, the film provides a fitting backdrop for delving into LGBTQ+ themes.
Queer All Around
Once the queerness is recognized, it becomes an integral aspect of the narrative, forever altering the viewer’s perception of the entire film. This highlights the power of interpretation in film analysis and the rich, multi-layered understanding of human behavior in storytelling. The way queerness is interlaced into the narrative of All About Eve includes some of the best use of suggestion and coding to date, as though mainstream Hollywood (and Mankiewicz) had reached a pinnacle and graduated to the boss level.
Centered around the rivalry between aging Broadway star Margo Channing, played by the formidable Bette Davis, and the cunning, aspiring actress Eve Harrington, portrayed by Anne Baxter, the film begins its headfirst navigation into the slippery boundaries of relationships between people and their careers. In doing so, it ventures into the presence and fluidity of queer identity. Because whether we are aware of it or not, queerness is all around us. Just like a person’s thoughts and motivations, queerness can be hidden in full view.
These themes are precisely what makes the film so intriguing to me, aside from the incredible performances and immortalized scenes. There’s just so much.
Eve & Margo, Part I
Two driven, competitive women. Both traits are typically assigned to the masculine variety, but they’re also traits hyper-exaggerated to queer-code lesbians. So now, we begin with Margo Channing as the Queen of Broadway, hopelessly devoted to her craft and career.
Now, I’m not saying the character of Margo is queer-coded, but there are some things that make her a little suspect to the occasional fling. First, she does not want to marry, and what good girl does not want to marry? She blames it on her age, of course, but that doesn’t make sense.
Then, she takes the pretty Eve – a total stranger from the street – under her wing in the flick of a cigarette, all because Eve gushes over her. In fact, the women seem to succumb to Eve’s charms more readily than the men, particularly Bill Sampson, Margo’s boyfriend, played by Gary Merrill. We’ll get into that later.
Eve, Margo, & Birdie
Margo also has a female assistant, Birdie, played by Thelma Ritter, who doesn’t trust Eve from the start. Birdie seems to inherently know all about Eve and what she is up to, as though she’s been around that kind of girl before. Birdie comes off as harsh and unwelcoming toward Eve, perhaps a little queer herself. The women are quickly in a silent competition for Margo’s praise.
As time passes, the jealousy Birdie feels toward Eve is palpable. She feels put out. Without really getting to know Eve, Margo has given the girl an intimate job as her “personal assistant,” and Birdie feels her position as Margo’s confidante has been compromised. Can this be construed as queer? Is Margo unknowingly caught in a lesbian love triangle? I have to laugh at that idea, but it does happen. Poor Margo!
It seems her flirting with queerness has landed her in a bit of a quandary.
At some point, Margo begins to wonder about Eve’s true motivations for loving her so much. Birdie walks into Margo’s room to serve her breakfast, but the air is thick. Right away, they talk about Eve. Margo asks Birdie, “She thinks only of me, doesn’t she?” Birdie responds, “Well, let’s say she thinks only about ya, anyway.”
Eve is obsessed with Margo, but the reason could be up for debate. Some could say she is after Margo’s position and trying to emulate the famed theater actress. Or perhaps it’s not about Margo at all but about being a star. Others could say it sure looks like Eve is in love with Margo. Like many issues in the film, the interpretation could go either way.
But let’s talk about Eve a bit more and then get back to her and Margo.
Eve
When we first meet Eve, she emerges from the alley shadows in a frumpy trenchcoat and hat that look like the belongings of a newspaperman. It makes her different from everyone else, especially for a woman. As demonstrated by Addison DeWitt’s introductory flair, first impressions in narratives are crucial. There are no mistakes.
So, why is Eve dressed like a newsboy?
Is it supposed to suggest she’s a lowly street urchin unable to afford more refined, feminine clothing? Are we meant to sympathize with her? Or is there something more to this outfit? To the discerning eye, perhaps this fashion choice hints at something deeper, something peculiar, something mannish. Dare I say, something queer?
In fact, queerness is so fundamentally worked into the character of Eve that it’s easy to miss for untrained eyes. Eve does not look like the general assumption of what a lesbian would look like. She’s cute, feminine, soft-spoken, and full of gratitude (in public). She’s not this rackety, boisterous, overpowering trope. Yet, the way she often gazes at Margo is undeniably lustful. There’s something strange to it. Mankiewicz positions this lusting as Eve’s soul burning for Margo’s rank as a stage goddess, but it sure looks like she’s yearning for Margo’s love to me.
And what does Birdie say once Margo begins to wonder about Eve? “Well, let’s say she thinks only about ya, anyway.”
Hmm.
Eve & Bill, Part I
Bill Sampson is a Broadway director and the boyfriend of Margo. From the start, Bill is never enthralled with Eve like the rest of the characters (aside from Birdie). He hardly even notices her in the beginning. It’s been my experience that most heterosexual men, regardless of their relationship status, will at least recognize and look at an attractive woman.
Does Bill not notice Eve, a beautiful young lady, because he’s so in love with Margo that he can’t even physically register another woman’s presence? Or is it something else?
Fasten Your Seatbelts
Bill’s homecoming party is a pivotal moment in the film’s narrative. Margo throws the celebration to welcome her boyfriend back from Hollywood. However, before the festivities begin, she is served a hot pang of jealousy as she gets the sense Bill is being stolen away from her by Eve’s trickery.
In an instant, Margo feels the pressures of aging and the threat posed by the younger, ambitious Eve. Of course, the audience knows she is only projecting at this point. We have no reason to suspect any truth to Margo’s assumption. Her emotions get the best of her, and she starts to drown her insecurities in good old-fashioned alcohol.
Then, Addison arrives at the party with a gorgeous lady on his arm, Miss Casswell, played by Marilyn Monroe. Could she be his date? Perhaps. After being introduced to Eve, however, Addison pulls Miss Casswell off to the side and points out another man to her. He then instructs her to “go make him happy.” The woman, presumably a hopeful actress, does so without hesitation.
Why Addison isn’t keeping this girl all to himself is a question many would wonder. After all, he’s a big-shot Broadway critic! Everyone reads his columns! For the average viewer, it may seem he’d rather get to know Eve instead. His shoving the other girl off is just another one of his manipulative tools. Both of those things may be true. However, through a queer lens, this is a huge lavender flag. Addison does want to talk to Eve. And the young lady he arrived with is no doubt a tool for him. But neither of those efforts are to further his love life.
We never get to see what Addison and Eve talk about. The obviously queer-coded Addison and Margo-obsessed Eve go off together, and that’s the end of it. They slink away into the shadows. At this point in the film, Eve is not a famed actress. She’s not even an understudy. Is Addison simply taken by her beauty and charm? Why does he want to talk to her alone so badly? Those two are up to something, but we don’t know what.
It's Going to be a Bumpy Night
Meanwhile, Margo becomes increasingly inebriated and self-pitying, leaving her inhibitions (if she had any) at the bottom of an empty martini glass. The party, meant to celebrate Bill’s return, instead becomes a stage for her unraveling. Her struggle with her insecurities and fears is so great that she’s got the pianist playing the same depressing Franz Liszt number as she mopes beside him, her head hanging, hopeless and beaten.
Margo is having an existential crisis. Can she still be the actress she once was? Now that she’s older and less desirable, can she even go on in the thea-tah? Has she been too busy traipsing around with two potential lesbians, allowing the man of her dreams to be taken from her in her own house?
On the stairway, before retiring for the night, Margo delivers a host of bitter remarks to the entire cast sitting at the bottom of the stairs, hurting Eve’s feelings (in public) and angering Karen, her best friend, played by Celeste Holm. Addison remarks to Margo’s face, “You’re maudlin and full of self-pity. You’re magnificent,” further cementing his loathsome appeal.
Finally, Margo heads up the stairs to bed, and Bill asks if she needs any help. She replies, “Put me to bed? Take my clothes off. Hold my head. Tuck me in, turn out the lights, and tip-toe out. Eve would, wouldn’t you, Eve?” To which Eve responds with a seemingly innocent, “If you’d like.” Margo then retorts, “I wouldn’t like.”
This exchange, loaded with innuendo and overt aggression, enshrines the queer undertones surrounding Eve. Whatever it looks like on the superficial level (namely that Margo is jealous of Eve for A, B, C, etc.), Margo is, in actuality, dismissing Eve’s lesbianism. It’s as though Margo found out Eve was attracted to her and rejects and shames her in front of everyone. There are likely a host of other representations for this interaction, but that’s the only one I will entertain in this post.
Margo leaves, and Eve is seemingly beside herself.
Eve & Bill, Part II
After Eve becomes Margo’s understudy, her true nature begins to emerge. She begins to come on to the men around her. Except she comes on to them with words – there’s never any genuine emotion behind it. She’s calculating, sizing up each person in her life to see what angle she can play with them. As for her advances toward Bill, arguably the most masculine male character in the story, they’re shot down right in her face. When she recoils with phony emotion, Bill tells her not to be upset but to “score it as an incomplete forward pass.”
Now, I love American football as much as anyone, and I’m well aware that plenty of women share my sentiments. However, especially for the times, that’s a pretty “bro” thing to say to a young woman who just came on to you. It’s as though the deep-rooted masculinity within Bill senses Eve’s hidden mannishness, turning him off. Like he knows on some intuitive level that she’s a waste of time. Besides, he’s got a “real woman” in Margo (more on this later).
Who's That Girl?
At this point in the film, Eve has gotten a primo part in the next big play from playwright Lloyd Richards, portrayed by Hugh Marlow. Lloyd also happens to be married to Karen. There’s a scene with an unknown young woman on a hotel phone urging him to console a distressed Eve at some ungodly hour in the night.
To the scorn of his wife, Lloyd rushes out of bed to do so, and we cut back to the unidentified woman hanging up the phone, looking awfully satisfied. She heads up the stairs, where she joins a smiling Eve, and the two walk off together, arms around one another. Manipulation successful.
But who is this mystery woman, never seen before and never seen again? Why does she share such a close connection with Eve, as if they’ve been co-conspirators the entire film? Why are they in each other’s arms? Subconsciously, this gesture promotes the idea to regular viewers that girls who sneak off with girls are up to no good. For the discerning viewer, however, this could be hinting at a secret affair. In that era, affairs like these happened all the time for LGBTQ+ performers in show business. This would not be a stretch of the imagination in the least.
Stripping Away Sympathy
Throughout the film, Eve grows progressively more and more fake about literally everything. She’s filled to the top with secrets, and they don’t seem to end. It gets to the point where nothing would surprise viewers about Eve and her underhanded motivations. The sound of her voice means lies are afoot. On the surface, of course, she’s a conniving brat. Truly detestable. But there’s a deeper reason for this.
Even scheming bitches have real feelings toward something or someone. Just because a person is horrid doesn’t mean they aren’t genuinely attracted to others or don’t have emotions. But Eve comes off as inhuman, milking everyone around her for as much as she can get. Whatever it takes to get ahead and be a star, that’s the only thing Eve cares about. Any sympathy we might’ve had for her is gone. She’s reduced to a two-dimensional caricature, unable to wrap your mind around.
The reason her character becomes so flat and contemptible is because she’s a queer-coded villain. This film is a perfect example of how queer coding can be used to erase queer humanity. Isn’t it obvious? Those people are too different to be like the rest of us. We should feel no sympathy or compassion for the likes of them.
But there’s more.
Eve & Addison
One of the most fascinating dynamics in All About Eve is the relationship between Eve and the flamboyant theater critic. There are so many random bits of dialogue between these two that scream LGBTQ+ to me, but I don’t have the energy to list them here (already, this post is a novel). All in all, Addison is undeniably queer-coded, and Eve has flashed plenty of sapphic signals herself. Because of that, the way their “mutual understanding” goes down leads to some insanely queer conclusions.
Near the end, Addison shows his cards and reveals to Eve all the lies he’s caught her in. He knows everything she’s been hiding and lying about. He knows all about Eve. Is this the queer spotting the queer? A 1950s display of gaydar? Of course, no one ever says the word queer or lesbian or anything. But the fact that it’s Addison who sees through Eve’s web of deceit says it all.
Through as much emotional eruption as he can muster, the usually cool Addison finally convinces Eve that she “belongs” to him because he knows the truth about her. What’s weird, though, is that he doesn’t try to kiss or embrace her – bizarre for a man so overtaken by his passionate loins. He says all the “correct” things a man would say when he wants a woman after revealing his master plan over her vulnerable, sobbing body, and yet Addison’s behavior doesn’t match up.
They now have an “understanding,” and because of the times, there’s a deal-with-the-devil vibe to it. Eve has sinned and hid her true self from everybody, so now she’s doomed to be on Addison’s team. He’ll keep her dirty secrets for her only if she’s under his complete control.
Yet, for the remainder of the film, there’s no real sense that he tries to control her or cares. It’s as though he’s forgotten their tryst and his power over her entirely. His lack of assertion is incredibly odd after such a big show only scenes before. At the end, Eve doesn’t want to go to her party after the awards ceremony, which Addison reminds her was planned for her and how prudent it would be for her to show up. But she doesn’t want to, and he lets it go. He even holds her award for her.
Then, he shows up at her place later to make sure she has the award when it was clear she didn’t care about it. All that strength he displayed a couple of scenes before has now shifted back to Eve.
What’s up with that? Does it have anything to do with pants?
The Queer Finale
The film famously ends with Eve entering her hotel room to find a fan of hers stowed away there – a pretty young thing who seems to worship her. At first, Eve is rightfully shaken and suspicious. But then she starts to relax as the two awkwardly get to know one another.
Exhausted from being so fake during the awards ceremony, Eve slumps onto the couch and lights a cigarette. It’s a behavior she never does until that moment, suggesting she has yet another hidden lifestyle and is somehow comfy enough to reveal it in front of this unknown girl.
Many people say her transition into Margo is complete when she lights the cigarette, and that may be true. But, as the two ladies chat, Eve starts to look rather seductive as she speaks, her dress falling down one shoulder. Or is it just exhaustion?
Out of nowhere, she asks the young fan how she got to the hotel. The fangirl answers while making Eve a drink. Eve asks how long it took to get here. Fangirl responds about an hour. Then Eve says, “It’s after one now. You won’t get home till all hours,” with a sly smile and the slightest raising of an eyebrow. Her eyes are glazed over. To this, the fangirl turns with an equally suggestive smile and says, “Oh, I don’t care if I never go home.”
The fangirl must be awfully exhausted, too.
In fact, these women are so tired that they seem to be coming on to one another.
Eve & Margo, Part II
Before I sign off, I’d like to mention a couple of things about how the characters of Eve and Margo are used to uphold heteronormative marriage. Margo, initially a brash and headstrong diva, is dismissive of marriage at first, even going so far as to mockingly refer to her married friend Karen as a “happy housewife.” Similarly, Eve also exhibits relentless ambition to the point of only caring about the love from applause. Both women reach the pinnacle of success in the theater.
Despite these parallels, however, their paths diverge as the narrative unfolds. Margo, choosing marriage, experiences newfound joy and stability, embracing the very institution she once scoffed at. In contrast, Eve finds herself on a seemingly lonely, self-destructive path. Her queer-coded conniving leads to exhaustion, distress, and being under somebody else’s thumb (though, not really). Now knowing she’s going to become a wife, Margo feels the truest bliss she has ever experienced, far surpassing any accomplishment in the real world.
Earlier in the story, Margo even says that one is only a woman if she turns around in bed and sees a man beside her.
The film, thus, implies that while both women’s paths were driven by ambition and talent, it is the ultimate choice of the institution of marriage (at that time, only available to a man and a woman) that ensures happiness and strength. Deviation from this norm only leads to ruin and despair. The “happy housewife” reigns supreme, while those who seek to disrupt the heteronormative order find themselves in the grips of a downward spiral.
Queerness is Everywhere
If we disregard the blatant homophobia and sexism, All About Eve does accomplish something refreshing. With the character of Eve, in particular, the narrative masterfully handles themes of queer identity through its use of subtlety. Such a delicate approach serves as a reminder that queerness in art, much like in real life, often occupies blurred lines and is not always overt or in-your-face. Queerness is everywhere, whether we see it or not.
Because of the Hays Code, the film does not scream its queerness, but it doesn’t rely on tired tropes and assumptive mannerisms either. Instead, Mankiewicz whispers it to us through subtle cues and behaviors, inadvertently illustrating the understated reality of many queer lives. Though the character of Addison distinctly carries traits of the dandy, Eve’s queerness shows that LGBTQ+ identity does not always involve the typical preconceptions of the time.
At least, at first, her character doesn’t.
All About Eve & Queer History
The McCarthy Era and the Lavender Scare likely played significant roles in burying any obvious coding for the character of Eve. No doubt, the point needed to get across: appearances aren’t always what they seem. The fact that Eve was coded as lesbian and turned out to be a ruthlessly ambitious villain is certainly underwhelming, but at least things started out somewhat regular. Her cues are so quiet, though once identified, they cannot be unseen – they seep into every interaction, every gaze, and every unspoken sentiment, adding layers of complexity to an already compelling narrative.
In a way, the film implies that the story of queerness is intrinsically linked to the broader human story. In fact, the more I think about it, nearly all queer coding does this. As we continue to analyze and appreciate films of this era, many nearing a century old since their release, the fact that queer coding even exists is a testament to the enduring nature of queerness in cinematic storytelling. Queerness in film during the Hays Code mirrored one thing about queerness in society: its complex, sometimes inconspicuous, yet ever-present role in the narrative arc of human history.
Queerness is and always has been everywhere, and I can’t wait for the days when it’s odd to think people once didn’t understand or accept that.