Last week, the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences announced its nominations for the 2016 Academy Awards, acknowledging the achievements of various individuals who stood out in the film industry in 2015.
Among the list of nominated luminous stars and celebrities is Paco Delgado, costume designer of “The Danish Girl.”
As the man responsible for the film’s gowns of draped jewel tones and wondrous textiles, Delgado clearly deserves recognition. But his work has an edge that could push him further than any competitor.
While each nominee could prove its value with a slew of genius designs and renderings, Delgado’s hand in “The Danish Girl” proves to be a landmark step in the evolving relationship between Hollywood and its clothes.
In the long history that film and fashion have shared, costuming is normally used to simply support a film’s character or imagery. Breaking through these norms, Delgado’s work not only creates dynamic personalities and visual aesthetics, but also successfully conveys the film’s political message of supporting the transgender community.
“The Danish Girl” chronicles the lives of painters Lili Elbe and Gerda Wegener as Elbe becomes the first known recipient of sex reassignment surgery, transitioning from a male’s biological anatomy to that of a woman.
As the characters sort through their changing relationship and battle the societal reprehension of the 1920s, they grace the screen in a myriad of silks and silhouettes.
Throughout the different stages of Elbe’s story, Delgado uses fashion to reflect Elbe’s struggles between masculine and feminine sensations. By emulating this range, the costuming becomes a manifestation of the gender spectrum and the fluidity it bears.
In the biological sense, Delgado plays with gender’s physicalities. Of course certain anatomy is associated with certain genders, but Delgado shows that the flesh doesn’t always have the last say.
A masculine Adam’s apple is covered with a silk scarf. A set of broad shoulders is softened with a fringed shawl. The rough and rugged becomes smooth and sophisticated, until biology is all but unapparent.
In contrast, anatomy can be emphasized, exposing features that before went unnoticed or neglected. A polished belt displays a slender waist. Fresh stockings show off delicate ankles.
Finding this gender spectrum could have seemed forced or contrived, but Delgado’s magic appears so effortless it goes without question.
As for textiles, the costuming’s fabrics also have much to say on gender and Elbe’s transformation.
While living under a forced masculinity, Elbe wears starched collars that button up to the chin and rigid, pressed suits that look more like a straightjacket. Her appearance as a man is obviously strained at this point, represented by the starkness of her clothes.
But as Elbe becomes more comfortable in her identity as a transgender woman, the fabrics shift. With the relaxed acceptance she obtains, she now wears simple nightgowns of satin, loose skirts of velvet and sables of fur draped across her shoulders.
The film’s discussion of gender issues becomes a tactile force seen in wardrobe. What once bore the obstinate steel of masculinity becomes mollified with the touch of a feminine tenderness.
The work of Delgado may be awarded by an Oscar come February, but of more importance, it will be immortalized as a significant point of solidarity with the transgender community.
bsaggese@indiana.edu
