Bitch Flicks – Page 97 – The radical notion that women like good movies

‘It Takes Two’ for Friendship

This guest post by Laura Money appears as part of our theme week on Female Friendship.

Have you ever met someone and instantly become BFFs? You know, someone you just click with for no real reason? Someone who is just like a sister to you? Well, in the case of the classic Olsen twins’ movie It Takes Two, characters Alyssa and Amanda do just that–meet each other entirely by accident, instantly become besties, and decide they want to be sisters for realsies. They then spend the rest of the film conspiring to do just that.

It Takes Two was the 1995 revival of The Parent Trap (before Lindsay Lohan got her hands on the dual role), and in a movie where identical looks were heavily involved in the plot line, cashed in on the rising success of the Olsen twins. By 1995, Mary-Kate and Ashley were the hottest double-act in the tween movie market. Part Prince and the Pauper, part Parent Trap, the film focuses on the differences of two girls’ worlds and how they can use their individual personalities to help each other out.

On the surface, it looks like the girls only really become friends because they look alike. When you look closer, you see they have nothing in common – one is rich, one is poor, one has a family, the other doesn’t, one plays the piano and wears dresses, the other plays stickball and wears overalls and tomboy clothing; the differences outnumber the similarities. Of course, when you look even closer you discover that they have the same feelings and of course understand each other on a much deeper level than common interests.

To me, this movie is all about a deep female friendship. Yes, it is a bit narcissistic on the surface – instantly falling in love with someone who looks just like you – but it really captures the essence of friendship, connection, and trust. Alyssa and Amanda realise that they look alike on their first meeting but soon understand that they are also both deeply unsatisfied with particular elements in their lives. (Maybe deeply is a little strong for a family film, but whatever.) Connection is the first ingredient in a great friendship. Many people realise when they leave school that the only thing they had in common with their friends was actually school itself. They were bound by the playground but not necessarily by connections like favourite books, TV shows, or even family life. Alyssa and Amanda are connected in both their feelings of confinement in their lives. They have different oppressions defined by their different classes, but it manifests itself in the same feelings – frustration, lack of control, and fear. (If they continue to grow up in a patriarchal society, they can expect a lot more of those feelings!)

Whilst connection is important in a friendship, it is trust that really defines it and keeps the flame kindled. The girls must have felt a pretty strong connection because they decide to swap lives about five minutes after the “getting to know you” period.

“You, you’re me!”

“No, you’re me!”

Collective “Whoa.” Deep stuff, Olsen twins…

Actually, I do feel that it is trust that firmly cements the girls’ friendship and takes it to another level. It’s interesting to talk about friendship in a movie where the “friends” spend so much time physically apart from each other. The moment of trust occurs when they decide to help each other, which is a pretty big gamble considering how much they could screw up each other’s lives. The swap occurs, hilarity ensues: Alyssa, the prim and proper one, doesn’t know how to play football or eat sloppy joes, Amanda mispronounces Chopin and spits out her escargot. These funny fish out of water tropes are fun and easy and give us insight into their lives. It really is only Alyssa who is gambling, Amanda’s only real problem (for now) is protecting her reputation, but Alyssa enlists Amanda to deter her father’s fiancé and potentially stop her from losing his affections.

After the initial switch, the girls bond over their experiences of living as each other – you know, because two young girls can go missing in the woods for hours on end without anyone worrying. Way to go, negligent summer camp! They hatch a plan to force romance between Amanda’s councilor, Diane, and Alyssa’s dad. Sure, that’s going to work, they don’t even know each other. I actually don’t think it’s too naive a sentiment though, considering that the two girls formed an instant bond. Well, through the course of events and some hilarious double trouble montages, the girls do achieve a spark between the pair.

So, why is their friendship so strong? Am I reading in to this a bit too much? I don’t think I am because it is obvious that the girls get along – they laugh at each other’s jokes, they communicate fairly (one person doesn’t dominate the other, they are on the same intellectual level when devising plans, and they genuinely enjoy each other’s company). Is any of that stuff enough to want to live together as sisters, though? When people fall in love, they (usually) don’t move in with each other or get married instantly (unless they’re in a Disney movie). It’s because the girls have been in each other’s shoes: Amanda feels the distance generated between Alyssa and her father by Clarice, and she feels the contempt from Clarice also. Alyssa feels the frustration Amanda has for being just another number in a system, she feels the lack of family love. Both of the girls’ experiences are sharpened by the contrast to their own lives. Not only does Alyssa feel Amanda’s palpable longing for a family, it is heightened because she knows what a loving family feels like. Amanda feels for Alyssa potentially losing her father’s affection and the feeling is deepened as she has already lost any parental love she may have had at birth.

It is through their unified task (playing matchmaker) and trust in each other that their friendship is truly informed. They rely heavily on each other to not only discover who they are but to actually shape their own destinies. (Once again, I understand this seems a bit overreaching for a kids movie, but the themes are there, I promise!) The girls have developed so much love for each other that they will do anything to be able to stay together. They truly capture the essence of friendship. The movie ends with the ever-predictable race to the aisle to stop the wedding and there’s a further plot twist in which Alyssa gets adopted (as Amanda) but legality aside, the Olsen twins triumph because they have each other.

Laura Money is a theatre and book reviewer from Perth, Australia. She is a Cultural Studies major who loves 90s movies with a passion, especially ones that defined her childhood. Laura has written for the feminist blog The Scarlett Woman and for The Australia Times.

“She’s My Best Friend”: Friendship and the Girls of ‘Teen Wolf’

The girls of Beacon Hills, especially Allison and Lydia, are loyal, dedicated friends. They help each other out and they encourage each other. They stand up for each other. They’re best friends with all the complexities that relationship implies. There are better, or at least more consistent, examples in media to turn to, but the perfect moments of female friendship in ‘Teen Wolf’ mean a lot to me.

This guest post by Andrea Taylor appears as part of our theme week on Female Friendship.

Teen Wolf may not seem the most likely show to find a celebration of female friendship, but one of my favourite pairs of TV best friends resided in Beacon Hills, the fictional town where Teen Wolf is set. This show has many issues, particularly with representation, but the friendship between Lydia (Holland Roden) and Allison (Crystal Reed) kept me hooked, and I was always hanging on for more scenes with these badass BFFs.

Lydia is introduced as the classic “rich bitch” who befriends shy, new girl Allison, seemingly with the ulterior motive that all popular girls have: keeping one’s (potential) enemies closer.

But Allison and Lydia become true best friends through the course of the show. Their friendship develops from something out of necessity to a deep bond; the climax of their friendship is Allison giving her life in the fight to save Lydia from the Nogitsune. Due to the format of Teen Wolf – several main characters and multiple plots – Lydia and Allison didn’t spend as much time onscreen together as I would have liked (OK, I would have watched a spinoff all about Allison and Lydia). But their moments together are some of the best. Their relationship with each other, and the ones with other girls, are just as important as the relationships they have with boys.

Allison and Lydia not long after they first meet. — Allison and Lydia, not long after they first meet.

Allison’s sweetness complements Lydia’s sarcasm; both girls are strong-willed but are still able to be vulnerable. They can’t do it all alone, and that’s OK. (Teamwork and friendship are prominent themes in the show, overall.)

Lydia’s motives for befriending Allison may have been more strategic than altruistic, but if you look beneath the surface she is a character in need of love, support, and friendship, just as Allison needed a friend when she didn’t know anyone. They supported each other from the outset. Allison encouraged Lydia not to act dumb for her boyfriend, Jackson (although Lydia was never that great at acting dumb, anyway), easily seeing through Lydia’s front. There are a lot of moments like this that I love but I’ll highlight just a few.

Allison provides moral support for an anxious Lydia returning to school.

At the beginning of season two, after Lydia has gone missing from hospital, Allison tells Scott (Tyler Posey) and Stiles (Dylan O’Brien) she is going with them to find Lydia for the simple reason that “she is my best friend.” Her delivery puts emphasis on the importance of “best friend” and makes it clear that she isn’t making a request. When Lydia is found and returns to school, Allison is with her for moral support. As they often do, they stand shoulder to shoulder, neither one in front of the other.

Physical signs of affection can be important in television friendships.

In season three, Lydia tries to help Allison find her archery skills again after the consequences of some magic saw three of the main characters losing their defining skills/characteristics. Lydia’s strategies may not help, but the scene is another illustration of her love for her best friend. Later in the season, Allison accompanies Lydia to confront Peter (Ian Bohen). As they leave, they are holding hands. I love little details that show physical affection between friends and the comfort they can offer. It makes a TV friendship seem more real.

Lydia encourages Allison to keep trying when she loses her faith in her archery skills.

Lydia and Allison may bond mostly through supernatural encounters, but they still have time to do “normal” teenager stuff we’d see in other shows: they go shopping, have sleepovers and, yes, talk about boys. It does get old when girls talk about boys, but I feel that talking about romance and sex (if you’re interested in either) with your friends is an important part of being a teenager.

Doing 'regular' teenage things: Lydia helps Allison pick out clothes and paint colours. — Doing “regular” teenage things: Lydia helps Allison pick out clothes and paint colours.

I was disappointed when, in season one, Lydia makes out with Scott, motivated by jealousy over Jackson’s (Colton Haynes) attentions toward Allison. However, I like that it didn’t ruin Allison and Lydia’s friendship. Another show may have Allison forgive only Scott, but Allison forgives both of them. She doesn’t do it straight away, though. Lydia offers to buy Allison a dress by way of apology. Allison says “as far as apologies go this is more than what I was expecting … but not as much as I’m going to ask.” She tells Lydia to go to the formal with Stiles. This jumping-through-hoops kind of apology bothers me yet it is obvious Lydia regrets what she has done. And Allison isn’t really mean-spirited. There is a lot to unpack here – more than I can in this piece – but that it happens early on, and that there is no more tension as a result of boys is, at least, something.

Lydia feels her own betrayal when she realises that Allison, as well as the rest of the gang, have been keeping secrets from her (you know, werewolves and whatnot). These betrayals are just as important as other moments in the development of their friendship. People don’t always have to forgive those who hurt them, but I think it’s important to see flawed characters who make mistakes. It’s also important that characters find the capacity to forgive each other when their friendship is more important than their mistakes, so long as they are acknowledged.

These are complex young women; they subvert (some) media stereotypes (but of course are still heterosexual cis-women).

Lydia appears to be the stereotypical rich bitch but she’s better described as a “bratty intellectual girl” who is a lot more complex than she first appears. In an interview, actress Holland Roden said that she asked creator Jeff Davis if Lydia could “the smartest girl in school” because she was frustrated at the overwhelming portrayal of “cool, popular” girls as not being academically intelligent.

Allison is the badass babe who can shoot a bow and arrow, but when she’s introduced she’s shy and uncertain; she’s the typical new girl. Her vulnerability doesn’t disappear, and the balance of this side with her physical prowess serves to create a character with depth.

This trend of subverting stereotypes follows through to many other characters. Kira (Arden Cho), although also a fighter, is not just an Allison clone as seen in her clumsiness and awkwardness. Malia (Shelley Henig), having been in coyote form for many years, is learning to be human. Her lack of instinctive nurturing is a refreshing depiction of a girl who’s not meant to be the bitchy girl everyone loves to hate.

They’re all flawed but none of these things make them horrible people and it’s refreshing to see interesting, imperfect girls. But they are still conventionally attractive, heterosexual cis-women, and Teen Wolf has a long way to go in terms of representation.

It’s important to note that there is little in the way of friendship between the older women of Beacon Hills, whereas the men, at least, have one or two examples, which is disappointing. Going back to the younger girls, there are some nice moments between Lydia and Kira and Kira and Malia in season four but, overall, nothing like what Lydia and Allison had. In a panel at Melbourne’s Creatures of the Night Convention, actress Holland Roden explained that Lydia puts up walls around herself. She’s not an unkind person, but it takes her a while to warm up to new people, and, after Allison’s death, she tends to be distanced from the other characters, especially Malia.

I hope that in future seasons Lydia’s walls are able to come down again as I would love to see Lydia, Kira, and Malia as awesome BFFs giving hell to the baddies of Beacon Hills. I’m sure it’s just what Allison would have wanted.

Andrea Taylor lives in South Australia. She holds a Master of Arts degree in Art History, which is currently gathering dust somewhere in her house. Her passions include all things kitsch, trashy TV, pizza, and she basically just loves movies. She blogs about clothes and stuff on Andi B. Goode and you can follow her on twitter (and most social media) @andibgoode.

You’ll Never Walk Alone: ‘Heavenly Creatures’ and the Power of Teenage Friendship

Peter Jackson shows the girls interacting and playing in these worlds. “The Fourth World” is a beautiful garden. Borvonia is a dark and delightfully wicked world of castle intrigue and courtly love. Seeing the girls in the worlds they’ve created demonstrates the extent of the fantasies and the pleasures their imaginative and playful friendship brings. Pauline and Juliet have an intense friendship; they don’t want anyone to stand in their way of spending time together or stop the joy that it brings for them.

This guest post by Caroline Madden appears as part of our theme week on Female Friendship.

1950s New Zealand was rocked by a sensational crime committed by two teenage girls who were best friends. Represented in Peter Jackson’s Oscar-nominated Heavenly Creatures, the power of female friendship drives of the story. Although the film is not representative of a typical female friendship, it nonetheless portrays the power and wonders of friendship between girls.

Screenwriter Fran Walsh said in an interview, “I’ve had very intense adolescent friendships. They were very positive, affectionate and funny, and I understood to a large degree what was so exciting, so magical about the friendship. And though it ended in a killing, the friendship itself is something people would identify with, particularly women.”

Kate Winslet and Melanie Lynskey play the friends Pauline Parker and Juliet Hulme. When Juliet is the new girl in school, Pauline begins to admire her because she’s so much that she is not–she’s from a well-born family, has freedom, and is rebellious. Her upbringing is complete opposite of Pauline’s humble home, one that is always overcrowded with boarders so her embarrassing working class family can have more money. The two quickly become fast friends. Their interactions in Heavenly Creatures pass the Bechdel test with flying colors. It is one of the few films that both passes this test and lets the audience in on the innermost thoughts of female lead characters.

While there is a scene where Pauline discusses her first sexual experience with a man, the girls want little to do with men, or even care what they think. Their bond and friendship is the sole driving force of their psyche and actions. The only man they really care about is Mario Lanza. They share an affection and obsession for the Italian crooner, fawning over him and erecting a shrine in his honor.

Juliet and Pauline talk about so much more than men. They talk of their past, frustrations with their family, feelings of abandonment, and their hopes and dreams of traveling the world. The girls share everything under the sun–their passions and desires, what excites or frightens them. There’s no room for just talk of men; their conversations encompass so much about life, for female friendship holds so much more than that.

The most important aspect of Juliet and Pauline’s friendship is their imagination and love for creativity. Together, they create an imaginary world, “The Fourth World,” that they can escape to and be happy. The girls also invent imaginary characters with an intricate history of royal lineage, stories of the kingdom of Borvonia. They make plans to create novels of their detailed stories, a soap-opera tale of romantic intrigue. They construct their royal characters out of clay, play-acting their characters.

There is an often-debated issue of whether or not the girls were lesbians, something famously conjured up during the case. With female friendship, girls are allowed to be close, unlike male friendship where men don’t physically show affection (which would be seen as demeaning themselves by displaying femininity). Girls can give each other a kiss or hold hands and usually nothing is thought of it.

Female friendship is often allowed to have more of a physically close expression.

In the film, Pauline and Juliet are shown giving chaste kisses, holding hands, and cuddling. The parents are fine with it at first, but as time goes on they begin worrying that their friendship is becoming– filmed in a mocking close-up of them saying –“unwholesome.”

The film mocking the parental concern can be representative of Jackson’s own views on the girls’ relationship. He has said, “I don’t think their relationship was sexually based. I think there was a lot of exalted play acting and experimentation involved and, to be perfect honest, I don’t think it’s a relevant issue.” Peter Jackson has also been quoted stating that the question of the girls’ sexual orientation is more of a “red herring.”

Certain of his views, Jackson does not choose to draw conclusions about the girls’ friendship; he does not attempt to categorize them or try and discover what they affections for one another really were. The film deliberately attempts to leave the exact nature of their bond, homoerotic or not, open to interpretation. While there is a scene where there are in bed together, naked and kissing, it reads as more affectionate than sexual, overall ambiguous.

Peter Jackson uses the fantastical elements of their imaginative world put the film in a space that is not a realist drama, but more of an objective truth. He also uses his flourishing cinematic embellishment as a way to get inside the heads of young teenage girls, swept away by the magic of youth and allure of close friendship. These girls were all but 16, a time when friendships and events can feel like life or death, or the world ending. He was interviewed saying, “What attracted me to this story was that it was complicated, about two people who are not evil, not psychopaths but totally out of their depth. Their emotions got out of control. They were devoted to each other and felt no one else in the entire world understood them. They felt their world would fall apart if they were separated.”

Heavenly Creatures refuses to connect the girls’ murderous impulses to a deviant sexuality. There is no moment in the film where the friendship turns from innocent to dangerous. In the real-life trial, psychologists and lawyers were trying to prove that the girls were lesbians in order to convict them as “insane,” since homosexuality was considered a mental illness at the time. The headline-grabbing accusations may have truth to them, who is to say? But Jackson makes the right choice (and most likely more truthful choice) for portraying them in the light of a close friendship rather than a crazy-lesbians trope.

Heavenly Creatures may not show a “normal” female friendship, but Jackson does portray, before the madness of the murder descends, young women who have so much more to do than talk about boys. Pauline and Juliet are complex girls with fantasies, dreams, and wild imaginations. Heavenly Creatures shows the joy that the bond of a deep and powerful friendship between young women can bring.

Caroline Madden is a recent graduate with a BFA in Acting from Shenandoah Conservatory. She writes about film at Geek Juice, Screenqueens, and her blog. You can usually find her watching movies or listening to Bruce Springsteen.

Why This Bitch Loves the B—

I avoided ‘Don’t Trust the B— in Apartment 23’ for quite a while; at a cursory Netflix glance it looked like anti-feminist tripe featuring catty women pitted against each other in a false dichotomy of “nice” and “bitch.” Then I watched it.

I could not have been more wrong.

This cross-post by Mychael Blinde previously appeared at her blog Vagina Dentwata and appears as part of our theme week on Female Friendship.

I avoided Don’t Trust the B— in Apartment 23 for quite a while; at a cursory Netflix glance it looked like anti-feminist tripe featuring catty women pitted against each other in a false dichotomy of “nice” and “bitch.” Then I watched it.

I could not have been more wrong.

There are two points I want to make in this piece:

Don’t Trust the B— showcases a twisted yet surprisingly heartwarming female friendship that is fundamentally predicated on respect, and this mutual respect leads to personal growth for both women.
I endorse the use of the bowdlerized “B—” in the show’s title as well as the word “bitch” in the show, and I even think that the use of the word “bitch” in the context of this show has the potential to have a positive impact on women’s lives.

"Oh brave new world!" — “Oh brave new world!”

Viewers are introduced to the series via June, an intelligent and optimistic Midwestern gal who moves to New York for an exciting new position at a big financial firm, only to discover that the firm has imploded and as a result she is left with no job and no apartment. Despite the dire nature of her circumstances, June is determined: she will not give up and go back to Indiana — she will take control of her life and somehow find a way to stick it out in New York. (Tenacious ladies FTW!)

After meeting with a montage of potential (utterly awful) roommates, June meets Chloe, who presents herself as the picture perfect BFF lady roommate. As soon as June signs on and pays first and last months’ rent, Chloe starts walking around naked and barging into the bathroom and being a total asshole all the time.

But June does not capitulate to Chloe’s con artistry; instead, she escalates the altercation: she sells all of Chloe’s furniture. When June stands up to Chloe, their friendship begins to take root.

In an interview with Collider, show creator Nahnatchka Khan explains:

If June was weak, Chloe wouldn’t respect her, and for Chloe, respect is everything. If she doesn’t respect you, forget it. June is strong in a different way than Chloe. She’s strong in a more surprising way. Chloe does things that shock people, but then, June also steps up in a way that feels surprising and unexpected.

Show creator/executive producer/writer Nahnatchka Khan (left), executive producer/writer David Hemingson (a little bit less left), and the core cast of Don’t Trust the B– — Show creator/executive producer/writer Nahnatchka Khan (left), executive producer/writer David Hemingson (a little bit less left), and the core cast of *Don’t Trust the B–*

Because of their fundamental respect for each other, over the course of the show’s two seasons these two very different women are each able to learn from the other. June teaches Chloe that girls can play pranks on each other, and Chloe teaches June that “sexy” shouldn’t be narrowly defined by the people featured on the covers of magazines. Chloe teaches June that she can be a “casual sexer,” and June teaches Chloe that it’s OK for her to care about other people.

Chloe and June enjoy brunch and friendship

Dreama Walker’s June is a joy to watch: her strength and determination in the face of adversity, her glass-half-full approach to life, her verve.

She’s an ambitious woman navigating the boys’ club world of finance, and she’s not afraid to walk away from a tremendous career opportunity when she discovers a gross misogynistic ethos pervades the company that hired her. It should be noted that June is no prude: she clearly has sexual desires, and while she’s sometimes hesitant to act on them, she’s never ashamed of them. Only someone with spectacular strength, spirit, and optimism could stand a chance of weathering Hurricane Chloe, and June is ever up for the challenge.

And let’s talk about Krysten Ritter’s Chloe –

I challenge you to name another female character on TV who is such a total sociopathic manipulative narcissistic asshole and yet so incredibly likable. Sure, the anti-hero is all over television, but it’s male characters: Gregory House, Walter White, Don Draper, all the guys in this book so aptly titled: Difficult Men. Chloe is unique, as Buzzfeed points out in the list “9 Reasons to Save Don’t Trust the B— in Apartment 23”:

2. There’s no other character like Chloe on TV.

She’s a treasure. The joy of Chloe is that there’s always a method to her madness. Even when she’s nasty and vindictive, she has a greater plan. Sometimes the end doesn’t justify the means, but she’s doing her best by being the worst.

Deep, deep, deeeep down, Chloe is extremely loyal to those closest to her. Her approach to everyone and everything is typically maniacal and manipulative, which renders her moments of (albeit often twisted) altruism all the more meaningful.

For example, in the pilot episode, Chloe has sex with June’s cheating scumbag boyfriend on June’s birthday cake for no other reason than to prove to June that she needs to DTMFA. “That is the nicest thing anyone has ever done for me,” June says, and she means it.

Khan provides an insight into Chloe’s psyche and why we embrace her often horrific antics:

She does have her own moral code. She’s not just a sociopath. You understand why she does what she does, once she explains it to you. It’s weird, fucked-up logic, obviously, but you’re like, “Oh, okay, all right, I see what she’s going for.”

My favorite example of this occurs in “Sexy People…”, the episode in which Chloe takes over People Magazine to prove a point to June about the mutability and marketability of “sexy” in popular culture:

Chloe: I had them mock this up down at the office. I became the managing editor of People Magazine today.

June: Yeah, right.

Chloe: It’s true. I’ve taken over a bunch of companies before…You just gotta walk in like you own the place, fire the first person to ask you a question, fire the second person to ask you a question, and then gaze out the window and draw a peen on the board. It’s the traditional intimidation-confusion-submission technique.

We root for Chloe in her quest to take over People’s Sexiest Man Alive issue, no matter how atrocious her methods. In fact, even the recipient of Chloe’s worst treatment (Brenda, smackwich) ultimately states that Chloe was the best boss she’s ever had. We, the audience, are asked to love Chloe in all of her bitch glory.

Don’t trust the B— — *Don’t Trust the B—*

This brings me to my essay’s second subject: the word “bitch.”

Just prior to the launch of the series, articles sprang up questioning and condemning ABC’s use of “Bitch” and “B—”:

Michal Lemberger, in “What ‘B—’ leaves out” (Salon), acknowledges that while “bitch” is often used to denigrate women, it can also be used by women to elevate other women:

Any woman who is labeled a bitch is someone who won’t give what’s asked of her. She has broken the social contract that demands women be pliable and accommodating. Which is precisely the opposite of its meaning when used as a compliment. A woman who admiringly calls another woman a bitch is declaring her admiration for someone who won’t conform to those expectations.

Nevertheless, she takes issue with the use of the “B—” in ABC’s show title:

Despite the gains women have made, gender relations in America remain troubled: Widespread wage gaps still exist, as does a paucity of women at the highest levels of power. We’re still arguing about why women get blamed for their own rapes. The list goes on and on. The words we use to refer to women show us how far that process is from being complete.

Megan Kearns, in “Don’t Trust the B— in Apartment 23: The Upcoming TV Show and the B Word” (Bitch Flicks), vehemently takes issue with the title’s use of the B—:

It’s not within a cultural vacuum that this show chose its title. The creators and ABC all know it demeans women. But they obviously don’t give a shit. What’s new?

I respect every woman’s right to object to words that have historically been used to subjugate women. But I also endorse every woman’s right to reclaim this oppressive language, to seize control of a hateful, harmful word and reshape it to facilitate empowerment.

I believe that the use of “bitch,” in the context of Don’t Trust the B—, has the power to create a positive impact on women’s lives. This show, created by a woman, paints a bitch as a fearless woman who knows who she is, what she wants, and how to get it. We root for the bitch!

Andi Zeisler, co-founder and creative/editorial director of Bitch Magazine, writes in “The B-Word? You Betcha.” (Washington Post):

My own definition of the term being what it is, I can confidently say that I want my next president to be a bitch, and that goes for men and women. Outspoken? Check. Commanding? Indeed. Unworried about pleasing everybody? Sure. Won’t bow to pressure to be “nice”? You bet.

Outspoken, commanding, unworried about pleasing everybody, won’t bow to pressure to be “nice” – this sounds like Chloe…and it also sounds like June. In fact, sharing these qualities is what allows this unlikely duo to forge their friendship. Sure, Chloe takes “bitch” to the comic extreme, but hey, that’s the genre.

Don’t Trust the B— in Apartment 23 is by no means an absolute paragon of feminist values. There’s lots of problematic sociocultural stuff to unpack here, like impossible standards of beauty and white central characters orbited by peripheral characters of color. What shouldn’t be considered problematic by feminist communities is the show’s use of the word “bitch.”

America can’t yet handle using all five letters of the word “Bitch” in a network show title, but there is no question as to what B— means. The bowdlerized version allows Khan to use the controversial word, and the way she uses it pushes our culture’s conception of “bitch” toward Zeisler’s definition – a good thing for women and a great thing for June and Chloe!

Mychael Blinde is interested in representations of gender and popular culture and blogs at Vagina Dentwata.

The Queer Female Friendship of ‘Frances Ha’

For ‘Frances Ha’ is not a film where “boy-meets-girl,” and there is definitely no diamond ring. The love story of ‘Frances Ha’ is between the titular character, Frances (Greta Gerwig) and her best friend, Sophie (Mickey Sumner), and it is precisely this friendship between two women which questions, resists, and challenges the definition of love posed by the (primarily) heterosexual and (almost always) heteronormative romcom genre.

This guest post by Sarah Smyth appears as part of our theme week on Female Friendship.

Frances Ha is a love story.

The film opens with a montage of the central couple play-fighting, dancing, reading, cooking, and doing laundry together, which establishes the seemingly blissful and idyllic domestic set-up between the two characters. As the narrative progresses, however, the couple become subject to the usual trials and tribulations of the characters in romantic comedies. Their relationship is complicated by external forces, which becomes intensified by jealousy and miscommunication, before the couple are finally reunited and reconciled.

However, despite the possibility of reducing Frances Ha to a set of generic conventions, to do so is not hugely productive. Firstly, this undermines the charm, intelligence, and self-awareness of the film. Secondly, by only examining Frances Ha in terms of how it upholds generic conventions, we remain unable to see the ways in which the film challenges this very generic set-up. For Frances Ha is not a film where “boy-meets-girl,” and there is definitely no diamond ring. The love story of Frances Ha is between the titular character, Frances (Greta Gerwig) and her best friend, Sophie (Mickey Sumner), and it is precisely this friendship between two women which questions, resists, and challenges the definition of love posed by the (primarily) heterosexual and (almost always) heteronormative romcom genre.

Frances Ha is a love story between two friends, Frances and Sophie.

Discussing the friendship between Frances and Sophie in an interview in Sight and Sound magazine, Greta Gerwig claims:

“We never started out saying we were going to make a love story between these two friends but it just emerged in the writing of the scenes. Then we went back and actually beat it out like a romcom: she has the girl, she loses the girl, she tries to make the girl jealous. It’s like a will-they-won’t-they tension to the story but you’re never quite sure what they will or won’t do.”

Co-writing the film with Noah Baumbach, who also directed Frances Ha and is Gerwig’s real-life partner, Gerwig’s comments make clear the intended underlying “romantic” trajectory and generic mapping of the film.

Although the friendship between Frances and Sophie sits within the structure of a conventional romantic narrative, Frances Ha never presents these two women as having an explicitly homosexual relationship. Frances and Sophie never engage in sexual activities with each other, nor share anything other than an asexual bed. Yet, within the heteronormative romcom genre and, indeed, wider Western society, which rigidly privileges the heterosexual, monogamous, and cis-gendered couple, the friendship between Frances and Sophie is figured as distinctly queer. In one moment, Frances even jokes to Sophie that, “we are like a lesbian couple that doesn’t have sex anymore.”

In “Compulsory Heterosexuality and Lesbian Existence,” Adrienne Rich writes, “if we consider the possibility…that all women exist on a lesbian continuum, we can see ourselves as moving in and out of this continuum, whether we identify as lesbian or not.” I move away from Rich’s use of the term “lesbian” in favour of the term “queer” as, in this context, the use of “lesbian” reinforces the binary construction of gender and sexuality which, in turn, undermines her proposition of a fluid sexuality. Nevertheless, Rich helpfully dispels the notion of heterosexuality as naturally or essentially given, broadening out the consideration of a fulfilling and satisfying love as going beyond the constraints imposed by rigid heterosexuality. In addition, Rich also demonstrates the way in which Western society’s continual re-iteration of “natural” heterosexuality only serves to reinforce patriarchal interests and perpetuate gender inequality: ‘”The enforcement of heterosexuality for women [is] a means of assuring male right of physical, economic, and emotional access.” In this way, through the centrality of the female friendship to the film’s love story, Frances Ha suggests the possibility of women breaking free from the oppressive constraints of heteronormativity and heterosexuality. By suggesting the possibility of finding love, commitment, satisfaction, and fulfilment from female friendship, Frances Ha not only breaks down a construction of sexuality, love, and relationships which privileges patriarchal power, dominance, and authority. It also proposes a future where there is an alternative, or at least coexistence with, the conventional heteronormative “female” script of marriage, children, and a house in the suburbs.

Frances and Sophie lying in bed together indicates their queer, but not homosexual, relationship.

Frances and Sophie are lying in bed together

However, before we proclaim to have arrived at a feminist utopia, and run off into the sunset with our best female friend, Frances Ha makes plain the difficulties and complications faced by these friendships. The film continually presents a dissonance between the Frances and Sophie’s fantasy of the future and the expectations of conventional heteronormativity. These expectations continually impose themselves on Frances and Sophie’s friendship, threatening to destroy this queer alternative of female fulfilment. Near the beginning of the film, as the two women sit in bed together, Frances asks Sophie to “tell me the story of us,” which, within cinema, is the kind of pillow talk that’s reserved for heterosexual couples. Frances says Sophie will be “this awesomely bitchy publishing mogul,” and Sophie says Frances will be “this famous modern dancer.” They will have lovers, no children, and honorary degrees – “so many honorary degrees.” Their fantasy subverts heteronormativity’s conventional trajectory of a woman’s life, with Frances and Sophie privileging economic independence, career and academic success, sexual satisfaction, and, most importantly, their friendship above husbands and children. However, Sophie is also in a conventional, heterosexual, monogamous relationship with Patch (Patrick Heusinger), which continually attempts to destroy Frances and Sophie’s queer friendship. In one poignant moment, Frances says to Sophie, “it’s just, if something funny happens on the way to the deli, you’ll only tell one person and that’ll be Patch, and I’ll never hear about it.” Frances’ anxieties make clear the realities of the heteronormative construction of relationships, which privileges the monogamous and heterosexual couple, causing Frances and Sophie’s relationship to wither in comparison.

Sophie most explicitly represents the conflict between alternative forms of female fulfilment through queer friendships and heteronormativity’s imposed expectations of success and satisfaction. In the end, she does not follow the fantasy that she shares with Frances. More concerned with the outward appearance of success than her own happiness, she gives up her job in a publishing house and, possibly, her financial independence, to move to Tokyo with Patch. Although she writes a travel blog in which, as Frances says, she “looks so happy,” she later reveals to Frances that she wants to leave Patch and Japan. In this confessional scene, Frances hopes to repair their relationship and renew their fantasy claiming, “maybe we’ll move back to New York at the same time and be like women who rediscover themselves after a divorce… We should get apartments close to each other in Brooklyn.” However, this idyllic moment is temporal, and the fantasy never becomes realised in the film as Sophie leaves the next morning to return to her boyfriend. Despite acknowledging her unhappiness, Sophie ends up marrying Patch at the end of the film. Frances Ha, it seems, is deeply pessimistic towards women finding fulfilment and satisfaction within their female friendships so long as heteronormativity continues as the dominant social order.

Sophie and Patch’s conventional romantic relationship poses a continual challenge to Frances and Sophie’s friendship.

Nevertheless, Frances Ha offers the possibility of women finding happiness and fulfilment both within their own terms and within their female friendships. Frances’ success at the end of the film is not in finding a man and getting married, but in choreographing her own show and finding her own place to live. In addition, the film suggests that the friendship between Frances and Sophie may not only continue to exist but to flourish. During a disastrous dinner party, in a moment of disarming honesty, Frances explains what she wants from a relationship:

“It’s that thing when you’re with someone and you love them and they know it, and they love you and you know it. But it’s a party, and you’re both talking to other people, and you’re laughing and shining, and you look across the room and catch each other’s eyes, but not because you’re possessive or it’s precisely sexual, but because that is your person in this life. And it’s funny and sad, but only because this life will end, and it’s this secret world that exists right there in public, unnoticed, that no one else knows about. It’s sort of like how they say that other dimensions exist all around us, but we don’t have the ability to perceive them. That’s what I want out of a relationship. Or just life, I guess. Love.”

In the final scene between Frances and Sophie, they look over to each other in a crowded room, catch each other’s eye and flash a goofy smile. In that moment, they both exist within their own alternative dimension. In that fleeting and temporal instant, they exist outside of the heteronormative construction of what constitutes a meaningful and satisfying relationship. In that look, they confirm to each other and to the audience that their relationship, so difficult, complex, challenging, powerful, passionate, and meaningful is one of support, fulfilment, and, ultimately love.

Greta Gerwig’s interview appears in the August 2013 issue of Sight and Sound.

Sarah Smyth recently finished a Master’s Degree in Critical Theory with an emphasis on gender and film at the University of Sussex, UK. Her dissertation examined the abject male body in cinema, particularly focusing on the spatiality of the anus (yes, really). She’s based now in London, UK and you can follow her on Twitter at @sarahsmyth91.

I Married a Monster: Female Friendship in ‘The Other Woman’

Instead of hating and seeing each other as competition, the women form a bond, increasing their woman-power. Kate decides that she wants to make Mark pay for his unfaithfulness saying, “I want him to have to start over,” but she’s afraid she doesn’t have the killer instincts to do it. Her new friends step in, telling her that she does and that if they work together, they can get their revenge.

This guest post by Chantell Monique appears as part of our theme week on Female Friendship.

What makes female-centered films compelling is the opportunity they have to challenge stereotypes that normally surround female friendships; instead of showcasing the back-biting, competitive, pseudo-supportive nature of these friendships, they provide an alternative more positive perspective. At first glimpse, The Other Woman (2014) looks like a 2010s version of First Wives Club (1996). While both are centered on female friendships, The Other Woman takes on a somewhat different approach. Instead of being old college friends, the women in The Other Woman are actually The Wife, The Mistress, and The Girlfriend. Even though they’ve been betrayed by the same man, his unfaithfulness allows them to forge friendships that would have otherwise never happened. In addition, through this friendship, the women are given the opportunity to evolve into stronger versions of themselves.

The Other Woman opens on Carly, played by Cameron Diaz, clearly in love with her new beau, Mark King, played by Nikolaj Coster-Waldau. Mark is handsome, sophisticated and sweeping her off her feet with intimate dinners and long conversations in the park.

Carly, a high-powered attorney has “cleared her bench” or in broader terms, stopped seeing other men, in order to focus on her new love interest. It’s clear that this is a big step for her which is made more evident when she decides to introduce Mark to her father Frank, played by Don Johnson. At first Carly is against this but when Mark gives her an “eight-week anniversary” gift, she lets her guard down and agrees to introduce the two.

Meanwhile, unbeknownst to Carly, Mark is leading another life in Connecticut with a beautiful home and wife. Kate King, played by Leslie Mann, is Mark’s innocent and adoring wife; dressed in bright summer dresses and cardigans, Kate has no idea that Mark is unfaithful to her. She signs any paper he puts in front of her, while lamenting that she needs to go to “brain camp” while also making sure he’s well-dressed and is eating healthy.

Doused in all the love of an oblivious wife, Kate reminds Mark that they are scheduled to have dinner with friends on the very evening Carly has invited him to meet her father. Mark tries to wiggle out of his dinner with his wife but when she offers to visit him in the city, he agrees to the dinner and cancels with Carly, telling her that his place in the suburbs has flooded.

Disappointed at being stood up, Carly confesses her frustrations to her father who insists she gets over it and surprise her boyfriend in a sexy plumber outfit. Empowered by this idea, she arrives at Mark’s home, dressed to kill, and knocks on the door. To her surprise, it’s Mark’s wife, Kate, who answers. After an awkward introduction and a series of embarrassing moments, a mortified Carly hobbles back to the city.

The next time we see Carly, she’s expertly dressed, pulled together and livid. Resigned to the notion that all men are cheats, Carly has sucked it up and moved on. That is until Kate shows up at her office demanding asking questions. In the nicest way possible, Kate inquires as to Carly’s relationship with her husband; Carly politely tells Kate to ask Mark. Kate responds, “Clearly he’s lying to me and sleeping with you.” Carly doesn’t respond to this, and Kate promptly has a meltdown. Poor Kate didn’t think she was actually right when she accused her husband of sleeping with Carly.

Feeling somewhat sorry for her and desperate to end the scene she’s causing, Carly agrees to answer any question that Kate has if she promises to stop freaking out. Kate agrees and they go out for drinks. A drunk and depressed Kate laments about the current state of her life saying, “I quit my job to focus on his career. I even put off having kids!” Unmoved by Kate’s emotions, Carly offers her some “tough love” by telling her that “monogamy is unnatural.” Here we get a clear picture of these two women: Carly, the tough as nails, lawyer who cautiously believed in love only to be reminded that it’s nonexistent and Kate, the sniffling, heartbroken wife who up until now, had no idea how harsh real life could be.

Carly puts drunk-Kate in a car and sends her back to the suburbs, as she screams out the window, “This was the best night ever!” Relieved to be rid of her and content that she performed her “good deed” of the year, Carly returns to her normal life.

Shell-shocked and unable to pretend everything is the same, Kate escapes the suburbs again, returning to Carly’s job with her Great Dane, Thunder, in tow. An annoyed Carly hisses, “You think we’re friends…we’re not. I don’t care about you or Mark or your dog!” she shoos Kate on her way only to find her on her doorstep a few hours later. In tears, she tells Carly that she’s the only person in the world who knows what’s going on—that she has no one else. Carly invites her in; the two bond over booze, laughs, and fancy underwear.

Carly becomes Kate’s go-to-person and while Carly is annoyed by the late night/early morning phone calls, she’s always there for her. For example, when an excited Mark gets back from a business trip, he dotes on Kate with all the love and attention she’s been desperate for. Huddled in a restaurant bathroom, she calls Carly, afraid she’s going to sleep with him. Carly tells her that she’s making a mistake and to leave her out of it. A frustrated Kate hangs up, looks in the mirror, and tells herself to keep it together.

She doesn’t; instead, she and Mark end up making out. Kate tells Mark to hold on as she rushes to the bathroom to get prepared for sex. While waiting, Mark gets a call; he sneaks out of the bedroom, whispering in hushed tones. Meanwhile, Kate comes out and sees him—she realizes he’s still cheating and it must be with Carly.

A hurt and upset Kate confronts Carly who vehemently denies seeing Mark. This is when they realize, he’s cheating on both of them with someone else. After some stealthy maneuvers, they track Mark down and meet his other woman, Amber, played by Kate Upton; devastated that Mark has a wife and a mistress, the bubbly Amber vows never to see Mark again and begs to hang out with Kate and Carly. Carly’s against it but Kate pleads, “Can we keep her?” Instead of hating and seeing each other as competition, the women form a bond, increasing their woman-power. Kate decides that she wants to make Mark pay for his unfaithfulness saying, “I want him to have to start over,” but she’s afraid she doesn’t have the killer instincts to do it. Her new friends step in, telling her that she does and that if they work together, they can get their revenge.

The women set out to destroy Mark with a series of pranks while also trying to figure out how shady his business practices are. The plan moves along smoothly but Kate can’t seem to let go of her perfect life and love for her husband. After spending a weekend away with him, she sleeps with him. She returns to an excited Carly and Amber who have hacked into Mark’s computer and found out incriminating evidence to end his career. Unfortunately, Kate is not on board; she tells them that their plan is more “complicated” than they think. Upon the realization that Kate can’t let go of Mark, Carly lashes out; in order to prove to Kate that he’s still a cheater, she texts him to see if he wants to hang. Kate storms out and Amber follows. Mark immediately returns the text saying, “I’m free on Friday. Let’s do it!”

With the plan on pause, Carly is saddened by the fact that her loyalty seems to come off too harshly. In the meantime, a happy Kate finally realizes Mark is never going to change when he has her blindly sign yet another set of papers. Tired of being treated like she’s stupid or doesn’t matter, she shows up at Carly’s door again but this time to apologize. The two make up; Kate tells Carly that she stole more evidence from Mark’s desk that can solidify their plan to take him down. Unfortunately, Carly is happy for her but tells her that she can’t help—she must move past the whole situation.

But Carly doesn’t keep her word—she shows up in the Bahamas for Kate who is there to foil Mark’s illegal business deal. She even brings Amber along. The crew is back together and has finally figured out how to leave Mark out to dry. Although they succeed in their plan to ruin the man who betrayed them, they ultimately gain friendships and growth that changes their lives. Through this unlikely bond, Carly becomes more supportive and compassionate while Kate realizes she’s smarter and stronger than she thought. Normally when a woman finds out a man is cheating, they go after the woman, creating an enemy, but The Other Woman challenges this notion by showing women an alternative way to view each other. Instead of competing against each other, Carly, Kate and Amber create a nurturing and supportive friendship that allows them to grow into better versions of themselves. It provides viewers with different perspective on female friendships by highlighting their value and importance.

Chantell Monique is a Creative Writing instructor and screenwriter, living in Los Angeles. She holds a MA in English from Indiana University, South Bend. She’s a Black Girl Nerd who’s addicted to Harry Potter, Netflix and anything pertaining to social justice, and female representation in film and television. Twitter @31pottergirl

In Spite of Mean Girls: The Radical Vision of ‘Pretty Little Liars’

In her bestselling collection ‘Bad Feminist,’ Roxane Gay starts the listicle entitled “How to Be Friends with Another Woman” with this as the very first item: “Abandon the cultural myth that all female friendships must be bitchy, toxic, or competitive. This myth is like heels and purses—pretty but designed to SLOW women down.”

This guest post by Jessica Freeman-Slade appears as part of our theme week on Female Friendship.

In her bestselling collection Bad Feminist, Roxane Gay starts the listicle entitled “How to Be Friends with Another Woman” with this as the very first item: “Abandon the cultural myth that all female friendships must be bitchy, toxic, or competitive. This myth is like heels and purses—pretty but designed to SLOW women down.”

Pretty Little Liars, a show on ABC Family that just wrapped its fifth season, looks on the surface to be all about the things that slow female friendships down, especially in high school—the fabulous heels, the purses, the toxicity of secret-keeping and back-stabbing. (For a long time I assumed it was Gossip Girl in suburbia, all about teenagers behaving badly and looking great while doing it.) Yet upon closer inspection, it presents itself as the most radical show about women, and specifically female friendship, on television, a treatise on what might happen when four friends refuse to become mean girls, and choose something to embark on something far more difficult: genuine support of each other. That might explain why the show is the most Tweeted-about series of all time (yes, surpassing Scandal, with 11.7 million Tweets sent during its season 2 finale in 2013), and why it’s proven to be much more than just a pretty teenage drama.

Based upon the YA series by Sara Shepard, PLL takes place in the fictional town of Rosewood, Pennsylvania, where queen bee Alison (Sasha Pieterse) has been missing for almost a year, and her formerly tight clique has broken up as they enter their junior year of high school. Star swimmer Emily (Shay Mitchell), who once nursed a deeply closeted crush on Alison, is just starting to assert her sexuality and independence. Straight-A student Spencer (Troian Bellisario) is tiptoeing around her uber-competitive sister Melissa (Torrey DeVitto). The fashionista Hanna (Ashley Benson) spends most of her time shoplifting and looking the other way while her single mother cleans up her messes. And artistic Aria (Lucy Hale) has just returned from a year abroad with her family, and immediately falls for Ezra (Ian Harding), a cute guy who—tada!—turns out to be her English teacher. These characters seem like archetypes (jock, Type-A, ditz, flower child) with very little beyond typical teenage drama to concern them. But then Alison’s dead body is discovered, and the girls start receiving texts from a mysterious “A” who seems to know all their unflattering secrets, lies, and desires, and worst, the details that could easily nail them for a terrible crime. But rather than turn away from each other, the girls immediately come back together, breaking those archetypes open and forming an alliance to uncover their texting tormentor and bring Alison’s killer to justice. As its millions of rabidly texting fans would attest, Pretty Little Liars has become the rare teen-oriented show that embraces all types of girls, the importance of supporting your friends and how they choose to be happy, and most importantly, how to fight against a bully who keeps you down.

Initially it seems that the villain is the mysterious “A,” whose threats scare the girls into silence or keep them at a distance from what makes them happy. (One of the gentler A threats is in Season 1, when A steals photographs of Emily kissing her new girlfriend and threatens to reveal them to her family.) But the real spectre of terror over the entire series is Alison: the glamorous, manipulative, power-hungry, and freakishly intelligent teenage girl who can bend anybody to her will.

In life, Alison bullied and teased her so-called friends and kept them from showing their own strengths. Hanna in particular withered under her rule, as Alison called her “Hefty Hanna” until she became bulimic. And even after death, the secrets that Alison had kept for the girls serve as A’s material for ripping their lives apart—to reveal Aria’s relationship with Ezra as well as her father’s (Chad Lowe) infidelity, to expose Spencer’s plagiarism of an award-winning essay, and to send Hanna’s mother to jail for stealing money as they’re on the verge of foreclosure. The villainy at the core of PLL is Alison’s undue influence, the one cool girl who rules over other girls and takes away their power.

But instead of becoming more like their tormentor, Pretty Little Liars gives its characters the choice of telling the truth, trusting each other, and taking on the consequences of their mistakes rather than lying their way out of them. Aria confronts her father about the infidelity, and Spencer withdraws her essay from the competition and disappoints her family in the process. Emily comes out of the closet, despite her fears—and her friends are genuinely happy and supportive of her. And to earn back the balance of her mother’s stolen money, on A’s orders Hanna consumes a dozen cupcakes, triggering a flashback to her days of binge eating. Yet when A texts her to do what Alison taught her, to “get rid of it,” Hanna refuses to go down the same old road. Instead of becoming more like Alison, the girls decide to become more like themselves, the selves that they know to be powerful and beautiful, inside and out.

Let’s revisit that #1 rule of female friendship from Roxane Gay—too often we ascribe a kind of inherent toxicity to female friendship, to the way women negotiate power dynamics and competition amongst themselves, as though there was a finite amount of beauty, intelligence, and influence in the room. The perpetuation of “girl-on-girl” crime doesn’t have as much to do with actual criminality or offense (when a cheating boyfriend is caught, why do we blame the other woman?), as it does with the notion that only one girl can win at any given moment. Yet in embracing the differences of the four Liars, the show allows a kind of multiplicity in its portraits of good girls who are not goodie two-shoes, and what winning in a community of women can look like. These girls kick butt together, and they do it with strengths drawn directly from their personalities, without the supernatural powers or exceptionally strong kickboxing or archery skills that we expect from other heroines of pop culture. For Emily, it’s her disarming honesty and candor that allows people to trust and open up to her.

Aria is small but fierce, and her wisdom beyond her years empowers her to make decisions that she can stand by.

Hanna is loyal to the core, and because she herself had been an outsider, she refuses to tolerate deceit from the people around her.

And for Spencer, in a constantly evolving and Emmy-worth performance by Bellisario, it’s her supreme intelligence and drive makes her the perfect troop leader, galvanizing her friends to stop settling for misery and start exposing the threats around them.

To be sure, the show has plenty of faults: the various relationship between teenage girls and some much-older love interests gives me plenty of heebie-jeebies, as do the increasingly improbable plot twists and the immaculate wardrobe, hair, and makeup choices on display at all times. (When, in all that mystery solving and running around in the woods, do they have enough time to pick out such cute outfits?) And, if you agree with A.O. Scott’s recent handwringing over the “death of adulthood” in contemporary media, you might wonder why so much of this positive friendship conversation has to be about teenagers rather than grown women. But these girls are exactly at the age where major decisions about character are made—when you move from childhood into adulthood, you stop absorbing information from your role models and start making your own choices. And the choice—to be a mean girl, and rule over everyone else, or to be a kind girl and to form meaningful relationships—is at the very center of Pretty Little Liars.

Most importantly, the stakes for these friendships are truly, massively high. These girls are literally saving each other FROM DEATH—breaking each other out of cages, chasing down bad guys, and fighting back against people who would like to silence them. While the plotting of the show may be highly tongue-in-cheek in treating death-defying an extracurricular activity, you have to admire how high the stakes have been placed. Without having each other’s backs, without their friendships, these girls would be dead—friendship is not only a positive choice, it is a lifesaving choice. And that is a pretty darn heroic proposition, especially for teenage girls.

Jessica Freeman-Slade is a cookbook editor at Random House, and has written reviews for The Rumpus, The Millions, The TK Review, The Los Angeles Review of Books, and Specter Magazine, among others. She lives in Morningside Heights, NY.

‘Romy and Michele’s High School Reunion’: Bosom Buddies Against The World

While there’s quite a bit that’s frivolous about Romy and Michele – the film’s tagline is “The Blonde Leading the Blonde” – there is also, much more importantly, the heartwarming love story at the film’s creamy center. But this love has nothing to do with the complications and disappointments that romantic relationships can bring; rather, it’s what the Greeks called agape, or a deeply spiritual, passionate love between intimate friends.

This guest post by Emma Kat Richardson appears as part of our theme week on Female Friendship.

“God, sometimes I wish I were a lesbian.”

“You wanna try having sex sometime, just to see if we are?”

Romy pauses to consider, then scoffs dismissively. “Yeah right Michele, just the thought of having sex with another woman creeps me out.” Then, an afterthought. “…but if we’re not married by the time we’re 30, ask me again.”

Romy and Michele’s High School Reunion was released theatrically in 1997. Presumably at the time, the titular characters – beloved besties, roomies, and even, rather shockingly, bunkies in twin beds – were around 27 or 28 years old. Which would, in 2014, make them both either 44 or 45. Have they done it yet? By this time, I’m even hoping for a marriage license.

Any ‘90s girl worth her weight in Polly Pockets is bound to be intimately familiar with this movie. My first encounter with the duo happened at a sleepover, in middle school. One trip to the video store and credit card swipe from a friend’s “cool mom” later (you know, the kind not deterred by a pesky R rating), and I was suddenly plunged neck deep into the world of gaudy pink boas and four letter words. Admittedly, much of the humor was over my young, inexperienced head – there’s a recurring joke about a male character schlepping around a giant notebook to conceal his erection whenever Michele is around, which I assumed was just a zing at a nerds and their wacky obsession with doing homework. But there was much to love in the brassy confidence, bold aesthetic choices, and chirpy self-empowerment in the two heroines, and it’s this aspect of RMHSR that makes it one of the most important female-driven comedies.

As high school compadres living together in a sizable beachfront Los Angeles apartment (paid for, somehow, by Romy’s cashier salary alone), Romy and Michele are played with aplomb by Mira Sorvino and Lisa Kudrow, respectively. Through a chance encounter with a former classmate from Tuscon (Heather Mooney – a breakout role for the indomitable Janeane Garofalo) the pair finds out that their 10-year high school reunion is coming up, providing the perfect opportunity to stun adolescent tormenters with their adult impressiveness.

There’s just one problem: their lives aren’t terribly impressive. In fact, on paper, they’re kind of losers. Quite literally, on paper – filling out a pre-reunion questionnaire reveals some startling facts to the blissfully ignorant pair: both are in their late 20s, still single, and stuck in menial jobs. Or no job at all, in Michele’s case. Worse still, a clique of popular mean girls from their teen years, the A Group, is bound to show up at the reunion, along with Romy’s senior year crush, a good-looking meathead who agrees to dance with her at the prom, and then disappears with his wicked girlfriend, the alpha of the A Group. Naturally, there’s a bit of pressure to get appearances here just right. What’s the point of going if you’re not going to impress people, Romy moans.

The answer to this sticky situation, it turns out, is to fight sticky with sticky notes. Why not say they invented Post-Its? Roll into town with a “flip phone” in hand (oh, the ‘90s!), conservatively attired in homemade business suits….Everybody’s bound to believe this incredible fib, right? Wrong. This being a warm and friendly comedy, the nature consequence of grandiose foolery is the spectacular flameout.

"As usual, we’re the only ones who don’t look like we’re going to a hoedown." — “As usual, we’re the only ones who don’t look like we’re going to a hoedown.”

While there’s quite a bit that’s frivolous about Romy and Michele – the film’s tagline is “The Blonde Leading the Blonde” – there is also, much more importantly, the heartwarming love story at the film’s creamy center. But this love has nothing to do with the complications and disappointments that romantic relationships can bring; rather, it’s what the Greeks called agape, or a deeply spiritual, passionate love between intimate friends. Romy White and Michele Weinberger are heterosexual, and to some degree obsessed with their appearances. Who could forget the sensational mid-movie argument scene; yelling “I’M THE MARY, YOU’RE THE RHODA!” at a friend is still a thing to this day. And yet, it’s the friendship between Michele and Romy that transcends the bounds of what a typical female interaction on screen ought to be, by conventional standards.

Together, the two women draw strength from each other: they face down the members of the A Group in the film’s climactic scene, and in the process expose the cruel, manipulative version of “friendship” that so often plays out in movies. In confronting Christie Masters, a prototype of Mean Girls’ Regina George, Romy and Michele gain a sense of self-actualization by exposing her for the insecure, jealous, hateful person always found at the rotted core of an aggressive, abusive bully. Less-than-princely men are, too, an obstacle of no legitimate threat to the relationship maintained by the duo. As Romy tries and fails to secure reunion-ready boyfriends for them in some of the film’s establishing scenes, she repeatedly strikes out, or finds excuses not to follow through on leads. (“Would you excuse me?” she tells a man at a club, “I cut my foot before and my shoe is filling up with blood.”) One has to wonder if the women might not be intentionally single – after all, aren’t they really the loves of each other’s lives? Their sense of inter-personal connectivity is so ingrained that even a dance with a lover is impossible without the other. “May I have this dance?” Sandy Frink, the aforementioned notebook carrier, gingerly asks the grown up Michele at the reunion. “Only if Romy can dance with us,” is the answer, and it’s hard to imagine such a request being met with any other outcome.

Amid so much calculated superficiality among female friendships portrayed on screen, now, even more than 10 years later, it’s still wonderfully refreshing to watch a movie with such a strong girl-powered relationship at its central focus. Romy and Michele are themselves far from perfect, but that’s the whole point: perfection can never be a substitute for true happiness, itself a thing derived from real love in its most unadulterated sense. The lessons of Romy and Michele’s High School Reunion are pure and positive: the love between friends is a potent force against the evils of the world, and remaining faithful to one’s self is the derivative of uncomplicated happiness. Take a lesson, here, and whether you think you’re the Mary or the Rhoda, always do your best to have a Romy and Michele day.

Emma Kat Richardson is a Detroit-reared freelance writer living in Austin, Texas. Her work has appeared in Bitch, Laugh Spin Magazine, 944, Alternative Press, Real Detroit Weekly, and on Bust.com. Tweet her: @emmakat, and read her: emmakatrichardson.com.

We’re All for One, We’re One for All in ‘A League of Their Own’

At the end, many of the league’s players reunite to be inducted into the National Baseball Hall of Fame. Old friendships rekindle and emotions soar. After following these women through what must have been the best time they ever had in their youth it is refreshing to see authentic portrayals of them as older women. It feels like their lives are unfolding before my eyes.

This guest post by Rhianna Shaheen appears as part of our theme week on Female Friendship.

I’ve seen quite a few female friendships on screen that I’ve liked, but I never get tired of A League of Their Own (1992). As an alumna of a women’s college, this film especially hits home, making me nostalgic for my Bryn Mawr days. Each time I watch it I become homesick for that place and that community where we were all young pioneers in our own way. I often project myself onto older Dottie, imagining myself old and grey at my class reunion in a similar fashion to the film’s ending sequence. Instant tears!

While narratives about groups or duos of female friends are common to the “chick flick” genre, large and diverse casts of women seem to be a rarity in film and TV unless it’s high school rivalries or incarcerated women. Not only does this provide us with a limited scope of representation but it also perpetuates harmful stereotypes that affect young women as well as a society that equates women’s leadership to being “bossy” or “pushy.”

The media’s portrayal of women and female friendships is too often characterized by catfights and “bitchiness” toward each other in the competition for a man. These harmful images of girls and women have become so pervasive to our culture that large communities of women are often viewed as detrimental to progress or success. Male friendships and communities are encouraged at a young age through sports teams and Boy Scouts, while communities of women are stigmatized by the patriarchy as “bitchy,” “too emotional,” or “too much drama.”

I myself was under a similar delusion before I applied to three of the Seven Sisters Colleges. Most people who tried to dissuade me either pointed to the lack of male students as being a deficit to my happiness or some other gross sexist, homophobic stereotype. A League of Their Own celebrates so much of what makes largely female communities special and the bond between the individuals so powerful.

A story told about the founding of women’s professional baseball could have taken many directions. I am thankful that it did not fall into any of those ugly stereotypes in order to propel the narrative. The women in this film have relationships with each other that are put first over any relationships they may or may not have with men. As a result, we have a film that provides us with three-dimensional portraits of women and the intricacies of their friendships during a time of transition in the 1940s.

Dottie takes charge when Coach Dugan proves useless

When the Rockford Peaches first come together for their first ever game as a team they look to their manager and former baseball star Jimmy Dugan (Tom Hanks). To their surprise he treats the whole thing as a joke citing, “I don’t have ballplayers, I’ve got girls. Girls are what you sleep with after the game, not, not what you coach during the game.” He comes into the locker room drunk and completely useless. Without a lineup for the game, Dottie Hinson (Geena Davis) steps up and quickly assumes the role of coach for a good majority of the film. Despite a drunken manager and the sexist heckles from the empty stadium, these women pull together a lineup and easily win their first game.

Mae (Madonna) gives Shirley (Ann Cusack) reading lessons

As these women spend more time together they learn to grow as ballplayers and sisters. Many of my favorite scenes are the brief vignettes that occur throughout the film that give us a deeper glimpse into their lives and character. Early in the film, Dottie and her younger sister Kit (Lori Petty) stand up for Marla Hooch (Megan Cavanagh) when talent scout Ernie Capadino (Jon Lovitz) rejects her as possible player due to her plain looks. Both sisters refuse to go with him unless he accepts Marla, who is as good of a player as any of them. On the bus, Mae teaches her teammate Shirley how to read by having her sound out the words from a smutty novel. When asked about her choice of literature Mae responses: “What difference does it make? She’s reading, okay? That’s the important thing.” In the same sequence, Doris (Rosie O’Donnell) opens up about her abusive boyfriend back home to the other women. She discusses the importance of this league and the support of her teammates in shaping her own self-esteem: “I mean, look. There’s a lot of us. I think we’re all all right.” While these players may clash at times there is none of the cattiness or “girl hate” concocted by the patriarchy.

The Peaches garner more publicity to save the league

The next problem becomes the fact that the women’s league isn’t bringing enough fans into the stadium or profit to the owners of the league. When there’s talk of closing them down these women band together and “give them everything [they’ve] got” to save the league. A photo of Dottie doing the splits while catching a ball behind home plate hits the cover of Life magazine and the crowds soon follow. Even “All the Way” Mae brainstorms ways to help their publicity drive: “What if at a key moment in the game my, my uniform bursts open and, uh, oops…my bosoms come flying out? That, that might draw a crowd, right?” While the league’s owner, Mr. Harvey (Garry Marshall), is not convinced of its worth until after Kit has been traded off to another team, there’s no doubt that the camaraderie between these women singlehandedly kept morale high and saved major league baseball through World War II.

No matter what team they’re on... — No matter what team they’re on…

...the bond between sisters cannot be broken — …the bond between sisters cannot be broken

While A League of Their Own serves mostly as a “memory movie” in which Dottie relives the memory of something she thought “was never really important to [her],” the most satisfying part of the film has to be the fast-forward to the reunion. At the end, many of the league’s players reunite to be inducted into the National Baseball Hall of Fame. Old friendships rekindle and emotions soar. After following these women through what must have been the best time they ever had in their youth it is refreshing to see authentic portrayals of them as older women. It feels like their lives are unfolding before my eyes. As pioneers for women in sports, they become immortalized into history through an exhibit dedicated to them. However, it’s only when they sing their Victory Song that the unending power of their sisterly bond truly can be understood:

We are the members of the All-American League.

We come from cities near and far.

We’ve got Canadians, Irishmen and Swedes,

We’re all for one, we’re one for all.

We’re All-Americans!

While ALOTO is sometimes called the “ultimate chick flick of sports” I would challenge that notion.

1. That label is problematic in the larger scheme of film culture. “Chick flick” often suggests a plotline that centers on love and romance, which, excuse me, is extremely nebulous and could be any film. The way it is thrown around in “filmspeak” often implies frivolity and artlessness, making it taboo for film lovers to love or engage with these films. Even worse, is it argues that men and women are inherently different even though there is no equivalent for films geared toward male audiences, ostracizing the experiences of women or female lead stories.

ALOTO is rather a deconstruction of that very term, because it does not present the story of the first All-American Girls Professional Baseball League as the “male version” of x,y, or z movie but instead presents a true female experience in a little-known chapter of American sports history that all audiences can appreciate and find relatable.

2. A League of Their Own is an excellent film, with great direction by Penny Marshall, remarkable acting, and superb writing – it gave us some of the most memorable lines in film history. (“There’s no crying in baseball!”) My question is: how was this film not considered for ANY Academy Awards in 1993? The truth is that films about female friendships are still not taken seriously and condemned to the seemingly second-rate status of “chick flick.” Meanwhile, dude-friend movies (Good Will Hunting, The Shawshank Redemption, The Lord of the Rings) or dude-baseball movies (Field of Dreams, Moneyball) flourish and are considered universally hilarious (Dumb and Dumber, Anchorman, The Hangover) or Oscar-worthy.

While I could ruminate on this until my hair falls out, the truth is my energy would be better spent on the many stories still waiting to be told. I can only hope that A League of Their Own inspires others to believe as I do that the female bond is a powerful narrative arc worthy of being explored outside its current limited representation.

Rhianna Shaheen is a student filmmaker and artist with hopes of writing more in the future. She recently graduated from Bryn Mawr College with a BA in Fine Arts and Minor in Film Studies and Art History. She currently spends most of her time on an epic quest for a fulltime job. Check her out on twitter!

‘Walking and Talking’ With Non-Toxic Women Friends

A short clip at the beginning of writer-director Nicole Holofcener’s first film, 1996’s ‘Walking and Talking,’ lets us know that Amelia (Catherine Keener) and Laura (Anne Heche) have been friends since adolescence. Both are in their 30s and living in New York City–Laura with her boyfriend Frank, and Amelia alone in the sort of sunlit airy apartment someone with her job, even in a pre-gentrified New York (which, like many films from then and now is also mysteriously bereft of people of color), would never be able to afford.

This post by Ren Jender appears as part of our theme week on Female Friendship.

The pathetic lack of movies that pass the Bechdel test highlights another deficit in films: the screenwriter often forgets to give the women characters close women friends. An alien from another planet trying to figure out human behavior would get the impression from most movies (and a lot of TV) that women barely spend any time with other women. The alien would never guess that that the person an unpartnered woman (or one with a partner) is likely to confide in, to call in times of crisis or to just relax with, is not her guy “friend” (the one she might end up having sex with) but another woman, perhaps someone who she has been close to for years.

A short clip at the beginning of writer-director Nicole Holofcener’s first film, 1996’s Walking and Talking, lets us know that Amelia (Catherine Keener) and Laura (Anne Heche) have been friends since adolescence. Both are in their 30s and living in New York City–Laura with her boyfriend Frank, and Amelia alone in the sort of sunlit airy apartment someone with her job, even in a pre-gentrified New York (which, like many films from then and now is also mysteriously bereft of people of color), would never be able to afford.

Catherine Keener (in one of her first prominent film roles) and Anne Heche (before she dated Ellen DeGeneres) both look beautiful in most of the scenes without looking fussed over. Heche wears overalls and at one point wears a t-shirt with a hole in it to bed (much more likely sleepwear than the lingerie we see movie and TV women in long-term relationships wearing) while Keener, who has a job at the classified section of a newspaper (which, along with the landline phones–and long-distance bills–places this film firmly in the ’90s) wears–gasp–the same outfit more than once to her workplace.

The two women are allowed to be flawed in ways that women and girls in films rarely are. Laura is a therapist (she’s still in school but is close enough to getting her degree that she sees clients) and we can see that she’s neither great nor terrible at her job: she forgets one of her clients has a child–even though she had previously advised him to build a closer relationship with his son. During a session with another client, while he describes an angst-ridden sexual encounter, she becomes distracted as she fantasizes about fucking him.

Amelia has a penchant for saying the wrong thing: when she first sees Laura’s engagement ring she says it looks “fake,” but rushes to apologize and make amends when she realizes her mistake. She’s also surprisingly game and sweet with her ex-boyfriend’s father, who suffers from Alzheimer’s. When he repeats the same idea twice, she answers both times, “That sounds great,” with equal, unforced enthusiasm. Keener has worked with Holofcener in each of the director’s films but Amelia is both much funnier and kinder than the characters Keener played in Lovely and Amazing and Holofcener’s most recent release, the overrated Enough Said.

The women’s complexity also colors their relationships with men. We see Laura at turns deeply in love and irritated with the man who becomes her fiancé, Frank (Todd Field, who is better known now as a writer-director: his films include In The Bedroom and Little Children). Walking does a good job of showing how, especially in long-term relationships, those two emotions can be close to the surface at the same time.

Amelia is single and we see her mixed feelings about her best friend’s upcoming marriage from the beginning. I could have done without the heavy-handed symbolism of the 14-year-old cat, Big Jeans, the two women apparently shared when they were roommates–before Laura moved in with Frank–who is stricken with cancer (and given little chance of recovery). Still the film’s sharp wit saves even these scenes as when, just after they get the diagnosis Laura gently tells Amelia “I think you should put her down.” When Amelia motions to let the cat out of her arms, Laura says, “No, I mean…”

walking-and-talkingcat — The two friends are so close they even share a cat

Laura and Amelia are allowed to behave imperfectly the way male characters are allowed to be in many films, but women hardly ever are: Laura accepts the invitation from a waiter who has a crush on her to see him in a play and hangs out as his “date” afterward. Amelia has sex with the video clerk who has a crush on her (Kevin Corrigan, who was also excellent in a similar role in Slums of Beverly Hills ) even though she describes him as “the ugly guy” to Frank and Laura.

More importantly, Holofcener doesn’t let the characters wander too far from their core as decent human beings (something at which she has been less successful in her other films). When a screenwriter concedes a woman has woman friends, the “friends'” sole purpose can sometimes be to betray the friendship, so I was pleasantly surprised that when Amelia drops by to see Laura (when she’s out with the actor/waiter) and finds Frank alone (and ends up sharing hits off a bowl with him), they didn’t have sex, even though in everyday life most people are able to be friends with their friends’ partners–without ever fucking them.

The film captures the shifting dynamic of a single person’s interaction with a couple, sometimes finding a surprising affinity with a friend’s partner, sometimes the third wheel. And sometimes forming a united front with her friend, as when Frank, during a road trip, asks, “Do we have to listen to this vagina music all the way?” Both women simultaneously tell him, “Yes.”

We also see Laura cuts her “date” short, and Amelia decides she actually likes “the ugly guy”–and no longer thinks he’s ugly. We hear, at one point, in the background, Liz Phair (during her Exile in Guyville era): a good musical equivalent for the ups-and-downs of these women’s messy, romantic lives.

When it was released the film was a cornucopia of great, new talent: besides Holofcener herself (who has never made another film nearly this good), Heche, Keener and Field, Liev Shreiber (in one of his first film performances to receive any notice) plays Amelia’s ex-boyfriend, Andrew, and manages to make the character’s sad-sack neurosis charming. The film shows that all of these actors have a great gift for comedy–and makes me wish more movie comedies were worthy of them.

Although the women have tense moments and sometimes argue, they, like Frank and Laura, always eventually make up–and nothing they say or do to one another is bad enough that their friendship seems toxic, also a welcome surprise. Walking and Talking makes clear how important their relationship is to both women, even as they enter different stages of their lives. At the end when, just before Laura walks down the aisle, Amelia, wearing a pretty dress, hands her a shot of whiskey, we know these women–and their friendship–will be just fine.

[youtube_sc url=”http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=veN5fuM-AwI”]

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Ren Jender is a queer writer-performer/producer putting a film together. Her writing. besides appearing every week on Bitch Flicks, has also been published in The Toast, RH Reality Check, xoJane and the Feminist Wire. You can follow her on Twitter @renjender.

‘Practical Magic’: Sisters as Friends, Mirrors

This guest post by Olivia London-Webb appears as part of our theme week on Female Friendship.

Long before the “groundbreaking” Frozen, where sisters save each other, and after the classic Thelma and Louise, where saving your sister means driving off a cliff to your death, somewhere in the middle we have the fairytale that is Practical Magic.

Oh how I wish I were a witch. And really, who doesn’t? A proper broom-riding, black hat wearing, potion making, spell casting, bad-ass witch. Not surprising that Practical Magic is one of my go-to movies. It just makes me feel better. It is one of those movies that I can watch again and again and it stands the test of time. Just the look of this movie is enchanting enough–house on the water, that kitchen, with the garden and the conservatory–swoon. For me, the house and grounds becomes its own character. The house brings us into the world of this family and all of its mess. Then we get to look around inside, watching the story unfold and straining to see around corners and down hallways to all of the witchy interior design details. Hanging herbs are drying everywhere, there is fruit in bowls, bell jars, and candles–and no television or computers. Undoubtedly there is a lingering smell of brownies in the air. That house is my happy place. One of the best things about this house, as with any, are the people in it. Their world is all about family. This is a love story to be sure, but one about sisters.

We begin our story with the not uncommon theme of slut-shaming. The puritanical townspeople of old were tired of a woman having any type of sexuality and tried to hang her. She magically made the hanging rope snap and was instead banished to a remote area. She then proceeded to build her own lighthouse, cultivate the land, and give birth on her own. She sounds like a bad-ass to me. However, she was pissed. Her man never showed and she cast a spell to never fall in love again, and the spell turned into a curse. Don’t we all have an aunt like that? So now we have a family of bad-ass women. Only sisters. Two a generation. Clearly the curse destroys male chromosomes. Yes there are men who help move the plot along, but they are not the real story here.

This is a movie about women. Strong women. Sisters. Two sisters who would go through hell for each other, raised by two sisters who already have. I love that the sisters could not be more different. The sisters seems to have one “slutty” one, and one “smart.” There is also the–ever present in “chick movies”–Maiden, Mother, and Crone archetype. Either you are a slut, a mother, or an old aunt. These older aunts follow suit: Aunt Frances (Stockard Channing) is “slutty,” and Aunt Jet (Dianne Wiest) is “smart.” Then we have the heroines of our story: Gillian (Nicole Kidman) is “slutty,” and Sally (Sandra Bullock) is “smart.” There is no shortage of stereotypical pandering. The trouble-causing red-head who is sleeping around gets into trouble with the wrong man. Slut-shaming again. The redemption is, however, that the savior is her sister. The smart brunette. Ahhh.

Like all sisters should, if the phone rings in the middle of the night, and you need to get on a plane, you do. You know that there is drama, and then there is real need. So she scoops her sister up and off they go. This is where things get interesting. The boyfriend, Jimmy (Goran Visnjic), doesn’t agree with them leaving and abducts them both. One of my favorite parts is the eye communication that happens between Sally and Gilly in the rearview mirror of the car. We have all done that–caught our sister’s eye so that we can say something, but not out loud. I love that they translated that so well in this scene. Once you get this skill down, you can communicate whole thoughts and emotions, with only an eyebrow raised correctly. Only sisters can do this.

Next is something that we have all thought about for our sisters. We have all wanted to, at one time or another, kill that asshole boyfriend/husband bury him in the backyard and then have margaritas. Sure the first time you kill him, you feel a bit bad and bring him back. Then, wait…he is STILL evil and awful, so you need to kill him again. Then you get to make out with a beautiful cop who says it wasn’t your fault and can prove it with jewelry. Done and done.

This is why I love this movie. I have two real sisters in my life. One born and one chosen. I have strong powerful women everywhere I look–my friends, my mother, my sister-in-law, and my mother-in-law. I would go through hell for them. They would go through hell for me. What we are more than anything else are each other’s mirrors. We need to say and believe more of the good things about each other. I expect my sisters to tell me if that weird black hair is sprouting on my chin again. I will tell you if that man is an asshole and you deserve better. I know that no matter the distance or time you will be there. I will too. I know that if I pick up the phone in the middle of the night, my sisters would be there. I can feel it when you are crying in an airport because of a broken heart. You can tell when I am hiding the truth, even from myself. Our sisters make us better. My dream is to be those old ladies in a house together, cackling late into the night about the adventures that they have had, and the adventures on the way. Even in a fairytale like this, we see that we are all important, and that thankfully, there is a little witch in all of us.

Olivia London-Webb writes for herself as therapy. When not writing she likes to cook, drink, stare at art, and chase her children.

‘Martyrs’: Female Friendships Can Be Bloody Complex

Often in feminist criticism female friendships are discussed as a great barometer for the authenticity of the female characters. Strong bonds and healthy interactions serve the dual purpose of highlighting positive female roles and for showing the many dimensions of women as whole persons. I propose that in order to continue the push to show women as well-developed characters we also need representations of flawed female friendships.

This guest post by Deirdre Crimmins appears as part of our theme week on Female Friendship.

Examining the female friendship featured prominently in 2008’s French horror film Martyrs can bring about different conclusions depending on the perspective of the inquest. On one hand, the relationship is the heart of the film and was the force that pulled two young girls through their childhoods at an orphanage. On the other hand, each woman clearly has a different sense of what the basis of their bond is and their friendship is what ultimately leads to their demise. Rather than acting as opposing appreciations of the female friendship in the film, the varied consequences of this friendship function as a testament to the varied consequences of real world friendships.

Martyrs is one of the new wave of French horror films referred to as New French Extremity. These films often feature women as the central characters – Inside and High Tension are two notable examples – though they are ultimately united by their extreme violence. Martyrs is no exception and is quite brutal in its unflinching assaults and deaths.

The story begins briefly in the aforementioned orphanage. Young Anna and Lucie are bunkmates who are both spooked by the dark. Though flashback we see a small glimpse of what horrors Lucie had to endure before the orphanage. Given her state of arrival, it makes sense that she is completely aloof, and that Anna codependently tries to bond with her.

The bulk of the film takes place in present day. Without giving too much away, it is safe to say that Lucie is still haunted by her early life and has not given up her quest to find the couple that tortured her as a small child. She does all that she can to hunt these monsters down, and is unable to function due to this burden of craving vengeance. Anna has been by her side all this time, and sees herself as Lucie’s caretaker. Anna cleans up Lucie’s messes (which can be impressively bloody) and tries to get Lucie to let go of her demons.

When we catch up with the pair, Lucie has just located what she believes is the house of her captors. Given her unstable nature along with the horrors that she believes these people have done to her, the massacre that follows is not surprising. This does not make the assaults any easier to watch, but to see what pain Lucie is in is helps the audience have a bit of compassion for her. With Lucie’s job done, she awaits her cathartic release.

This relief does not come. Anna’s arrival to the house serves as a cool-headed contrast to Lucie’s paranoia. Lucie is self-mutilating, hallucinates, and refutes all of Anna’s attempts to calm her.

Here is where we get to clearly see the dynamics of Lucie and Anna’s friendship. Lucie is not well. She needs someone to watch after her, but is such a danger to herself and others that the task of keeping her intact mentally and physically is impossible. Anna tries as hard as she can to keep Lucie moving towards healing but falls into the Florence Nightingale Effect: Anna is in love with Lucie. Lucie can barely see past the end of her own nose she is so consumed with rage, and Anna cannot see past her romantic feelings for Lucie.

It is this lack of symmetry in their relationship that causes so many issues. Anna must know on some level that she is not trained to help Lucie get better. She is not a nurse or a psychologist, and given Lucie’s far-along psychosis a warm bedside manner is not going to have a significant impact. This nurturing is squarely attributed to Anna’s attraction to Lucie and not to a motherly nature or platonic love. As Anna is trying to comfort Lucie after a fit, Anna takes the opportunity to try to kiss her. A kiss would not benefit Lucie at this moment and is a selfish move by Anna. It exposes her denial of Lucie’s demented state.

Lucie conversely sees Anna as an assistant. She calls her to drive to and from her massacres. Lucie has Anna clean up blood and pushes her to affirm her paranoid notions even when Anna resists placating her.

This is not to say that their relationship is completely negative. Each woman gets a bit of something that they need from the other. More importantly, however, is the fact that they are the only constant family that the other has ever known. From the orphanage to today neither has had another friend or family. The shared history has made then dependent on one another and they would both be completely alone without each other.

Women have complex relationships that develop and change over time. At the very center of Martyrs we have a sordid and multifaceted female friendship that is equally functional and dysfunctional. The filmmakers have gone out of their way to craft a representation of a friendship that cannot be quickly summarized. While these women are both horribly flawed, their corresponding flawed relationship reflects the complexity that women everywhere experience with their own friends. Though I do hope your own friendships have a lower body count.

Deirdre Crimmins is a staff writer for AllThingsHorror.com and wrote her Master’s thesis on George Romeo. She lives in Boston with her husband and two black cats.