Since its publication in 1890, The Picture of Dorian Gray has been a cornerstone of the queer literature scene; it stands as a haunting allegory for repressed desires, marked by its public scrutiny and use in the gross indecency trial against Oscar Wilde himself.
Naturally, with a reputation like that, the news of the upcoming Netflix adaptation sparked excitement among fans of the novel, a large portion of the target audience being those of the LGBTQ+ community. So, unsurprisingly, the news that the two main characters, Dorian and Basil, also known as the most queer-coded characters in the Victorian literary canon, were to be reworked as brothers did not go down well. Of course, there’s the usual anger that’s sparked when networks decide to make monumental changes to the plot of major literary works. But on top of this, the sudden familial relationship between the two men eliminates entirely the homoerotic undertones that served to immortalise Wilde’s own experience as a gay man, in a time where homosexuality was a punishable crime – one that he was actually punished for.
The adaptation was announced by Deadline on the 22nd of August, who report that the show will be titled “The Grays”, and will be produced by siblings Robbie and Katie Rose Rogers. While I do love an exploration of sibling dynamics, especially by siblings, there is a time and a place, and a long queer-coded relationship is neither the time nor the place. The adaptation of this relationship into one between siblings unequivocally erases the essential queer subtext, undermining both the legacy of the novel and the representation it offers to queer audiences.
“the erasure of this pivotal element of the text diminishes both everything the novel has meant to people”
Although, of course, it can be argued that Dorian and Basil weren’t technically canonically queer in the original text, they have been widely regarded as symbols of repressed queer desire by readers and scholars since publication. And so the erasure of this pivotal element of the text diminishes both everything the novel has meant to people, and everything Oscar Wilde himself sought to achieve by writing these characters. You’re telling me that Basil painted a portrait of Dorian so painstakingly beautiful, revealing his deepest admiration for him, just so that Netflix could make them brothers?
I’ll try not to let my inner English Literature student shine through too drastically, but a queer reading of the novel presents the portrait of Dorian as a representation of the corruption of his soul, reflecting the idea of his hidden desires that he keeps “locked away” (figuratively and literally). It’s incredibly poignant when you consider the way Wilde was forced to live at the time of writing – he was secretly in a relationship with Lord Alfred Douglas, a fellow writer, and was subsequently put on trial when Douglas’s father discovered the nature of their relationship.
“The displacement of this monumental queer discourse in the adaptation calls to question whether society, in a generation that has strived to diversify the media we consume, has really created the space for queer representation that they claim to”
The displacement of this monumental queer discourse in the adaptation calls to question whether society, in a generation that has strived to diversify the media we consume, has really created the space for queer representation that they claim to. Considering the novel as we know it today was in itself censored at the time of publication to cater to Victorian audiences’ conservatism, it’s concerning that an adaptation today, a time when queer narratives are increasingly embraced, would reinforce that same heteronormativity.
I first read this book when I was 15, and as a young queer person and insane book lover, I was immediately drawn to it – a universal experience for many young queer book lovers. 15-year-old me would have been destroyed by this adaptation. Representation was so scarce in the media that I was pouring over Victorian literature with vaguely queer undertones.
“Proper representation is validation”
Representation is nuanced: it’s important for underrepresented groups to feel honoured and valued in the media they consume, without it being exploited as a tool of false diversity. Proper representation is validation – and this is what the new adaptation lacks. Its refusal to acknowledge the deep queer history behind the novel is effectively an invalidation of it.
In general, adaptations of texts as highly regarded as this one are a slippery slope. How far can you depart from the original before it is new material entirely – and is it disrespectful to the original author to put your own spin on their work? It comes with a unique set of difficulties; these texts not only have fan bases but scholars who have dedicated their entire careers to this field or text, and oftentimes the works have deep historical and social contexts in which they are of high significance.
Trying to remain relevant to a modern audience without sacrificing these important elements is undoubtedly a gruelling undertaking, but unfortunately I don’t believe this Netflix show will achieve this balance whatsoever, or even land remotely close. The text itself was ahead of its time – the implication of homosexual desire was so clear it was used against Wilde in his trial, and that remains the context in which The Picture of Dorian Gray is revered by modern audiences. Therefore, to respect this legacy and appeal to a modern audience, honing into this context would be the right move, giving the masses of people who have read and admired this book for its nuanced portrayal of repressed desire and the surrounding shame.
Take Greta Gerwig’s 2019 adaptation of Little Women. Jo March, a character who’s been long regarded as queer-coded in contemporary readings of Louisa May Alcott’s original text, was not explicitly portrayed as queer in Gerwig’s film, but the queer undertones were translated into the film flawlessly, allowing still the representation that many queer women find in the character. While staying true to the original text, Gerwig poignantly portrayed the same repressed queer identities that Oscar Wilde sought to portray in The Picture of Dorian Gray. We’re not asking for much – just enough for the legacy of Wilde’s work to be honoured, even subtly, and certainly not through brothers.
