Director: A. Marek Drążewski
Release Year: 1987
In 1987, when Poland was still under the gray weight of late communism, a short documentary appeared that startled audiences and quietly made history. A. Marek Drążewski’s Transsex was the first Polish film to address the lives of transgender people, though at the time the term most often used was “transsexual.” It was not an obvious project for the Wytwórnia Filmów Dokumentalnych, the state-run studio that produced it, nor was it a topic anyone in the official cultural apparatus was asking for. Drążewski convinced his superiors by presenting it as a study of nature, of forces that cannot be changed, of the fragile and unpredictable ways life takes shape. The studio agreed, but only reluctantly and with minimal funds, perhaps not even realizing what they were approving.
The film itself is unflinching. It begins with a devastating confession: a woman recounts how her own mother once said that if she had known what her child would grow up to be, she would have taken her life at birth. Such moments define the film, which collects stories of people whose very identities were grounds for ridicule, violence, or rejection in Polish society of the time. These voices are not mediated or hidden. Drążewski filmed real people, not actors, who appeared on camera with their faces uncovered, risking exposure in a society that offered little sympathy. Some even felt offended that they had not been included, so strong was the sense of solidarity among those who were otherwise isolated.
One of the film’s most striking characters was a Silesian miner who introduced herself as Joanna. Towering and broad-shouldered, she spoke with a deep voice but radiated a kind of gentleness that contrasted with her physical presence. She described the torment of growing up with an abusive father who destroyed her dresses and punished her for her identity. These personal accounts were woven together with scientific reflection, including interviews with doctors such as Professor Tarkowski, who argued that no one is one hundred percent male or female, that every person carries a blend of characteristics. For Drążewski, this meant the binary system was less natural than it was enforced by society.
The documentary also ventures into provocation. One protagonist, a transgender woman who earned her living as a striptease performer, insisted on showing her profession on screen. Drążewski allowed it, though he resisted her attempts to make the scene more erotic, reminding her that he was making a serious film rather than pornography. Other scenes showed surgical procedures, leaving audiences shocked but silent. These images were not included to sensationalize, but to force the public to confront realities usually hidden from view.
Perhaps the most memorable sequence is the street survey, in which passersby are asked what transsexualism means. Most respond with disgust, confusion, or condemnation. One woman insists she is against gender change because “everyone should be themselves,” a statement at once naïve and unintentionally ironic. Only one man offers something different, asking why society should isolate people for their “deviations” when everyone has some form of deviation of their own. His was the rare voice of tolerance in a chorus of rejection.
When the film was completed, it did not enjoy a straightforward release. State television refused to broadcast it, dismissing the subject as inappropriate. Yet it circulated in cinemas, often screened before feature films, where audiences were drawn by the provocative title and the promise of nudity. Church authorities even read warnings from the pulpit, urging the faithful not to attend, which only made the film more intriguing. Audiences did come, and while some expected titillation, what they found instead was a somber and often painful lesson in human vulnerability. Viewers sat in silence, holding their breath during testimonies, gasping collectively when confronted with surgical images.
The participants themselves stayed in touch with the director and his wife, who often received calls from them when they needed someone to listen. Their lives, according to Drążewski, eventually settled into something more stable, thanks largely to the care of doctors like Stanisław Dulko, who at that time was pioneering respectful treatment of transgender patients. For some, Transsex was a turning point, the first time they were able to share their story with the hope that others might understand.
Looking back, Drążewski has expressed frustration at how Poland has in some respects moved backward. In the 1980s, it was enough to obtain three medical opinions to change one’s legal documents. Today, transgender people must often sue their own parents to proceed, a process he calls a Catholic absurdity. He has not returned to the subject in his filmmaking, preferring to focus on history, but he still sees Transsex as a necessary intervention, a reminder of what was at stake when nobody wanted to acknowledge this community.
The film remains a landmark, not only because it was the first of its kind in Poland, but because it dared to ask whether society was capable of tolerance. That question echoes still. The courage of those who appeared on screen in 1987, exposing themselves in both body and soul, left behind a fragile but undeniable record. Transsex may have drawn audiences with the promise of sex, but what it offered instead was humanity, and humanity, as Drążewski knew, is always more radical than titillation.
Image credits: ninateka.pl
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