Rozema also breaks the fourth wall with playful intertitles (“Meanwhile, back in the land of the living”) and inserts shots of a young girl reading a fairy tale—reminding us that this is, at heart, a fable. A lesbian fable with a happy ending. In 1995, that was radical. Camille teaches the myth of Icarus—and warns against flying too close to the sun. Yet Petra is a sun. The film’s quiet genius is its refusal to demonize Camille’s faith. Instead, Rozema asks: What if the divine is found in the flesh? In one stunning monologue, Camille confesses to a priest not sin, but love. The priest, horrified, offers scripture. Camille offers nothing. She simply leaves.
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.
What follows is not a coming-out story. Camille knows what she feels. The drama is not discovery but surrender —to desire, to the body, and to the terrifying freedom of falling in love. Rozema, who wrote, directed, and edited the film, had already announced herself as a singular voice with I’ve Heard the Mermaids Singing (1987). With When Night Is Falling , she pushes further into the dreamlike. The film is drenched in metaphor: water as rebirth, fire as passion, ice as repression. Cinematographer Douglas Koch bathes the screen in deep blues and warm ambers, turning Toronto into a city of perpetual twilight—a liminal space where rules loosen. when night is falling -1995-
If you haven’t seen it, you’re not alone. Despite winning the Teddy Award for best queer feature at the Berlin International Film Festival, When Night Is Falling was overshadowed by bigger-budget contemporaries. But for those who found it—on a late-night VHS rental, a university film studies course, or a quiet streaming discovery—it has never let go. The film follows Camille Baker (Pascale Bussières), a quietly repressed professor of mythology at a Christian college in Toronto. She lives a scripted life: a handsome, devoted boyfriend (Henry Czerny), a choir directorship, and an apartment full of beige. Then, in a laundromat on a cold night, she meets Petra (Rachael Crawford), a bold, sharp-tongued circus performer with a mane of dark curls and a panther’s grace.
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). Rozema also breaks the fourth wall with playful
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.
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. Camille teaches the myth of Icarus—and warns against
Thirty years later, Patricia Rozema’s sensual, lyrical romance remains a defiantly beautiful outlier—a lesbian love story unafraid of magic, myth, or happy endings.
In the mid-1990s, queer cinema was finding its mainstream footing, but often through grit and tragedy. The Boys in the Band (1970) had given way to Philadelphia (1993), a noble but devastating AIDS drama. Go Fish (1994) offered tender realism on a shoestring. Then, in 1995, Canadian filmmaker Patricia Rozema released When Night Is Falling —a film so lush, so unabashedly romantic, and so visually audacious that it felt like it had arrived from another dimension entirely.
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.