The Danish Girl, directed by Tom Hooper, is one of the most extraordinary films of the 2010s not only because it recounts the true story of Lili Elbe, one of the first people in the world to undergo gender confirmation surgery, but also because it is a breathtaking elegy about love, sacrifice, and the heart-wrenching compassion of a woman named Gerda Wegener.

The film opens with a young artist couple, Einar and Gerda Wegener, living in Copenhagen during the 1920s. They are passionately in love, immersed in art and in every fleeting moment of daily life. While Einar is already acclaimed for his delicate and introspective landscape paintings, Gerda—his diligent and passionate wife—is still struggling to find her place in the art world. They are true soulmates: both supportive and competitive, constantly inspiring one another.

But one seemingly innocuous moment, when Gerda asks her husband to stand in for a model so she can finish a painting, opens a door that can never be closed. When Einar puts on a feminine dress, something deep and authentic awakens within him. From that moment on, a new identity—Lili Elbe—emerges and begins to reshape both their lives.

It’s not parents, friends, or society but Gerda, the wife, who first opens her arms to accept Lili. As Einar gradually disappears into Lili, Gerda does not react with anger, blame, or rejection. She is heartbroken, yet she continues to walk alongside the person she once loved so deeply. Gerda’s love transcends that of a wife for her husband, it becomes the love of a human being for the soul residing within a body undergoing transformation. She doesn’t try to stop Einar from becoming Lili. On the contrary, she puts all her strength and heart into helping Lili complete that journey even though the more she helps, the more she loses the one she loves.

Audiences witness Einar’s painful struggle with gender identity, but they also see Gerda’s efforts to endure profound loneliness: the loneliness of a woman watching her husband slip away, not out of betrayal, but because he can no longer live a lie. Gerda stands in the middle: on one side, memories of a husband who once adored her; on the other, a present where that person is becoming someone else. She loves Einar, but learns to love Lili as a friend, a soulmate, and perhaps, as a mother grieving quietly. The height of her sorrow is captured in a moment of vulnerability, when Gerda whispers, “I just want my husband back.” That line hits the hearts of sensitive viewers as it is the quiet sob of a woman realizing the one she loved is gone forever. Yet even then, she falls silent and moves forward, as if blaming herself for wishing for something she knows is impossible.

Gerda’s sacrifice is a rare kind of love. She not only mourns the loss of her husband, but also faces an unnamed sadness: the loneliness of loving someone through profound transformation, all while being strong enough to help that person become who they truly are. If Einar is brave for embracing his true self as Lili, then Gerda is equally brave for learning to love and support the person she cherished through profound change, even when it meant letting go of the life they once shared.

One might say: without Gerda, there would be no Lili Elbe, no Danish Girl, and no film infused with such lyrical beauty. It is Gerda’s boundless love, compassion, and steadfastness that anchor the entire story, allowing the film to reach an emotional depth rarely found in cinema. Alicia Vikander, the Swedish actress who portrays Gerda, acts not only with sorrowful eyes, but also conveys the full complexity, pain, and nobility of a woman losing her husband. At times, she is moved seeing Einar transform—not out of denial, but regret. She sometimes smiles through tears, as if simultaneously accepting and holding on to the past. When she embraces Lili in pain, her gaze is no longer that of a wife: it is the gaze of someone who has transcended all bounds of attachment to love someone for who they truly are.

What makes The Danish Girl especially powerful is that its story does not remain confined to the screen. It resonates in real life, where people still face the challenges of gender transition in everyday life. The story of a Vietnamese woman married to an American man who later transitioned into a woman is a real-life parallel. Despite hardships, she chose to stand by and protect her spouse from societal prejudice. Like Gerda, she did not see gender identity as a barrier to love, but rather as something sacred to be respected.

Cinema can create beautiful characters, but The Danish Girl goes beyond beauty. It stirs profound questions about the nature of love: Does loving someone mean accepting them even when they change completely? Can one love a soul, regardless of its form? In Gerda’s case, the answer is yes. Her love for Lili is no longer physical, no longer driven by passion or desire but it is the love of one soul for another. It is love in its purest form—beyond gender, form, and time.
When Lili dies after her final surgery, it is Gerda who brings her ashes to the wind as a tender farewell full of humanity. Einar may have been unfortunate to be born into the wrong body, but he was fortunate to have someone like Gerda, someone who loved him through every change, who transformed love into a noble act that asked for nothing in return.

The Danish Girl is a heartbreaking, breathtaking love ballad not just because it tells a moving true story, but because it reminds viewers of a love not easily named: a love that transcends gender, form, and even time itself. The film not only enriches cinema but also deepens the concept of acceptance and humanity in an era when people are increasingly seeking their true selves. And it is Gerda – the woman who stepped out of the canvas to become flesh and blood, vivid and human – who leaves us in awe and reverence.