Nobody saw it coming. Honestly, in the fall of 1992, if you walked into a theater to see The Crying Game, you probably thought you were getting a standard political thriller about the IRA. Miramax, led by the then-unstoppable Harvey Weinstein, ran one of the most brilliant marketing campaigns in cinema history. They basically begged audiences: "Don't reveal the secret." It worked. People obsessed over it. But looking back now, in an era where we dissect every frame of a trailer before a movie even drops, it’s wild to think a film could keep a secret that huge for that long.
The movie follows Fergus, played by Stephen Rea with a face that looks like a crumpled paper bag. He’s an IRA volunteer who develops an unlikely bond with a British soldier named Jody (Forest Whitaker) whom his cell has kidnapped. When things go sideways—and they go sideways fast—Fergus flees to London, changes his name to Jimmy, and seeks out Dil, the woman Jody couldn’t stop talking about.
What happens next changed movies forever.
The Crying Game and the Twist That Defined an Era
Let’s be real about the "twist." About halfway through the film, Fergus and Dil are in her apartment. They’re getting intimate. Then, the reveal happens: Dil is a trans woman. In 1992, this wasn't just a plot point; it was a cultural earthquake. But what most people get wrong when they talk about The Crying Game today is focusing only on that scene. If that was all the movie had, it would be a gimmick. A relic. Instead, it’s a deeply empathetic character study that asks some pretty uncomfortable questions about identity and what it actually means to be a "good man."
Director Neil Jordan took a massive risk. He was coming off some projects that didn't quite hit the mark, and he struggled to get this one financed because the subject matter was considered "difficult" or "unmarketable." Most studios saw a script about Irish terrorism mixed with gender non-conformity and bolted for the door. It took years to get the $5 million budget together. That’s peanuts even by 90s standards.
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Why the Performance of Jaye Davidson Mattered So Much
You can't talk about this movie without talking about Jaye Davidson. He wasn't an actor. He was a fashion assistant discovered at a wrap party for Edward II. There’s a raw, unpolished quality to his performance as Dil that a trained actor might have overthought. He has this magnetic, guarded energy.
When the Academy Awards rolled around, Davidson got a Best Supporting Actor nomination. It was a huge deal. He famously didn't even want to be famous, which is probably why he basically vanished from Hollywood shortly after starring in Stargate a couple of years later. He didn't like the spotlight. He just wanted to do his thing. That lack of "Hollywood polish" is exactly why Dil feels like a real person rather than a plot device.
Politics, Guilt, and the Nature of the Scorpion
The film uses a specific fable to ground its themes: The Scorpion and the Frog.
Jody tells Fergus the story while he’s being held captive. The scorpion asks the frog for a ride across the river. The frog says, "No, you’ll sting me." The scorpion promises he won't, because then they’d both drown. Halfway across, the scorpion stings the frog. Why? "It’s my nature."
This idea of "nature" haunts the entire runtime of The Crying Game. Fergus is trying to escape his nature as a soldier and a killer. Dil is living her nature in a world that doesn't want to acknowledge it. The IRA members who hunt Fergus down in London are simply acting out their violent nature. It’s a cynical view of humanity, sure, but the movie offers a tiny bit of hope through the idea of sacrifice.
The Marketing Genius of the "Secret"
We have to give credit to the marketing. It was aggressive.
The trailers didn't show the second half of the movie. The posters were vague. Critics were essentially sworn to secrecy. This created a "must-see" FOMO (Fear Of Missing Out) long before that was even an acronym. If you hadn't seen it, you were out of the loop at every dinner party in 1993.
But does it hold up?
Honestly, it’s complicated. Watching it now, some of the language used and Fergus’s initial physical reaction to Dil’s reveal are hard to stomach for modern audiences. It’s a product of its time. However, the film doesn't leave Fergus there. It forces him to grow. He doesn't abandon Dil; he ends up protecting her, even at the cost of his own freedom. That was radical in 1992. Most movies at the time treated queer or trans characters as villains or punchlines. Dil is the heart of the movie. She’s the most consistent, honest person in the story.
Practical Takeaways for Film Buffs and Historians
If you’re revisiting this classic or watching it for the first time, keep a few things in mind to truly appreciate the craft:
- Watch the Color Palette: Notice how the bleak, grey tones of Northern Ireland contrast with the saturated, moody neons of London’s night clubs. It’s a visual representation of Fergus trying to rewrite his soul.
- Listen to the Score: Anne Dudley’s score is haunting, but it’s the title track—specifically the Boy George cover produced by the Pet Shop Boys—that bridges the gap between the film’s tension and its emotional core.
- Analyze the Power Dynamics: Pay attention to who holds the gun in every scene. It shifts constantly. The person with the weapon is rarely the one actually in control of the situation.
- Look for the Mirroring: There are several scenes that mirror each other between the first act (the kidnapping) and the third act (the standoff in London). It shows how Fergus is doomed to repeat his past until he makes a definitive sacrifice.
The Crying Game remains a masterclass in subverting expectations. It took a genre that was usually about bullets and bombs and turned it into a story about the messy, confusing boundaries of human affection. It’s not a perfect film, but it’s an essential one. It proved that you could have a "gimmick" and still have a soul.
To get the most out of your next viewing, try watching it back-to-back with Neil Jordan’s other works, like Mona Lisa or Interview with the Vampire. You’ll see a recurring obsession with outsiders and the secrets we keep just to survive the night.
Look for the original 1992 British theatrical cut if you can find it. Some later edits for international television softened certain political dialogues, but the grit of the original release is where the real power lies. Pay close attention to the final scene in the prison visitor room; it’s one of the most quietly profound endings in 90s cinema, stripping away all the "secrets" to leave only two people who finally, truly see each other.