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.

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.

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.

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.