In one now-iconic sequence, Camille and Petra make love on a frozen lake under a full moon, their bodies reflected in black ice. Later, they tumble into a swimming pool fully clothed, their laughter echoing like a baptism. These are not sex scenes as provocation, but as prayer: ecstatic, tender, and unapologetically beautiful.
Patricia Rozema once said in an interview: “I wanted to make a film where two women fall in love and nothing terrible happens.” Mission accomplished. And in a world still fighting for the right to love freely, that’s not just art. That’s an act of hope. Directed by Patricia Rozema Starring Pascale Bussières, Rachael Crawford, Henry Czerny Available on digital platforms (Criterion Channel, Kanopy, and for digital rental). when night is falling -1995-
For younger viewers discovering it today, what shocks is not the sex—which is remarkably chaste by modern standards—but the joy . There is no homophobic violence, no deathbed goodbye, no obligatory apology. There is only the terrifying, glorious business of two women choosing each other against the weight of a world that says no. In one now-iconic sequence, Camille and Petra make
Petra has lost her luggage and needs dry clothes. Camille, flustered, offers her a sweater. Within hours, Camille is watching Petra’s circus troupe perform—bodies flying through air, fire eating, and raw, unapologetic physicality. The collision between Camille’s theological order and Petra’s carnal chaos is immediate, electric, and terrifying. Patricia Rozema once said in an interview: “I
The film’s climax is not a tragedy, not a sacrifice, not a suicide. It is a choice. Camille strips off her academic robes, abandons a competition speech on “Order and Meaning,” and runs to the circus—literally joining Petra’s troupe. The final image: Camille, suspended on a trapeze, reaching for Petra’s hand. Fall or fly? The film leaves us hanging, smiling, in the purest kind of suspense. In the three decades since When Night Is Falling ’s release, LGBTQ+ cinema has flourished— Carol (2015), Portrait of a Lady on Fire (2019), The Half of It (2020). Yet Rozema’s film remains distinct. It refuses miserabilism. It refuses to explain lesbian desire to a straight audience. It trusts its images, its silences, its bodies.