The Bearded Girl

At first Cleopatra Nightingale (Anwen O’Driscoll) doesn’t believe it when her sister Josephine (Skylar Radzion) tells her that most men, out there in the world, don’t find women with beards attractive. Both girls have led something of a charmed life, growing up in their remote circus compound, making a living by performing primarily for regulars. When they’re ten, Josephine resents it, jealous because she can’t grow facial hair so it’s her sister who stands to inherit the troupe’s property and leadership role. A decade on, she’s found her peace, but it’s Cleo who is unhappy, exhausted by all of the training she’s been required to do, by all of her mother’s exacting demands – so one day, she shaves her face and heads off to seek her fortune.

Opening the film this way does two things. It normalises the idea of the ‘bearded lady’ (worldwide, one in six women grows some facial hair naturally, though most hide it – and Jessica Paré, as the mother, looks smoking hot with hers). It also creates a sense of dislocation in time and space. Director Jody Wilson holds onto some of this as we go further afield by presenting us with characters who are stuck in their own little time capsules, fond of old fashioned things; as well as a small town landscape which seems unlikely to be keeping up with the latest trends. Some of the sense of magic remains as Cleo encounters a succession of kindly people and invents a fantastic new story for herself – but meanwhile, it emerges that if she’s not around to accept her inheritance when the formal day of the transfer arrives, her family could lose its land, and so a desperate search for her begins.

There are times when every outsider feels curious about, if not actively drawn to, the simplicity of a mainstream life. Neatly positioning the viewer alongside its outsider protagonist, Wilson’s film, which screened as part of Fantasia 2025, plays out like a tour of the cisgender, heterosexual world. Though the whole film has a timeless quality, existing in an era that’s difficult to pin down, there are elements of Fifties and early Sixties styling in the city where Cleo chooses to wander, making it seem pointedly old-fashioned. It’s affectionately treated, with many of its residents warm and wholesome in the manner of supporting characters in early David Lynch films.

Cleo navigates it with naïve confidence, inventing a fabulous new past for herself and drawing others into her fantasy. Before long she has acquired a boyfriend who imagines the two of them caught up in some grand celluloid-inspired romance, and yet she still hides her razors and shaving cream, keeping her secret from him. There’s always a distance about her – something which, of course, fascinates him all the more.

Wilson’s characters are all beautifully drawn. They feel like complete individuals, any one of whom could be at the centre of a film of their own. Their world is simple but sweet, like refined sugar – but Cleo has been raised with more complex tastes. Will her differences be discovered, revealing a different side of it, or will she become disenchanted in a different way, realising its limits? Can love survive this? Should it? Are there other forms of love which might ultimately matter more?

A marvellous piece of storytelling which grips from start to finish, The Bearded Girl also has a post-credits sequence worth waiting for. Featuring five men in a car, observed with minimal camera movement, this may hinge on a crude joke but it’s expertly delivered. It highlights Wilson’s ability to do simple things well, which, for all the glamour we encounter in this film, is really where the magic lies.

Reviewed on: 19 Jul 2025