Issues around equal gender representation in film are compounded by many female researchers’ accomplishments being erased from history, resulting in very few women being key players in scientific biopics. As a woman studying for a science degree, this absence is as painful as it obvious. So in a bid to restore balance (and an excuse for me to nerd out), here are 5 female scientists that deserve to have their stories told on the silver screen.
Yet in rewatching Jurassic Park, it struck me that not only is Laura Dern’s Dr. Ellie Sattler a portrayal of a female scientist that is largely unseen in film, but she is, on numerous occasions, keenly aware of her gender and how this leads to her treatment.
Audiences have to look to documentaries like Particle Fever, about the discovery of the Higgs boson, to see women scientists in prominent roles on film. The Netflix documentary Mission Blue focuses on one woman scientist, Sylvia Earle, a former chief at the National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration (NOAA) and pioneering oceanographer and marine biologist who is on a quest to save the world’s oceans from dying.
In movies and on television, the absence of Black women as scientists is glaringly obvious…The response on social media to the vocation of Leslie Jones’ character in Ghostbusters offers an opportunity to ponder: When have Black women been cast as scientists in laboratories, creating and inventing significant and outlandish developments, and leading investigations? …Where are the Black women playing scientists in films in the 21st century?
Splice could very well be a cautionary tale for the career woman considering motherhood. From the outset, the film shows Elsa as an ambitious scientist who loves her job – and who loves her life exactly the way it is. … This presents the central conflict of Elsa’s character: her repressed desire to be a mother, and her larger desire to remain in control of her own life, body, and career.
The impact of Dr. Beverly Crusher and Agent Dana Scully cannot be understated, not just on the landscape of female representation on television or the portrayal of women scientists but the way they also drove young women to pursue STEM fields in reality. …They transcend mere descriptors like woman, lover, mother, caregiver, skeptic, scientist — because they’re all that and more.
Contact remains a singularly astute portrayal of a woman combating the oppressive confines of institutional sexism as well as a reminder of how deeply mainstream cinema still needs progressive feminist portrayals that contradict gender clichés. … How refreshing that a woman’s personal arc is considered important enough to be entwined alongside the movie’s core theme of discovering meaning in our seemingly meaningless universe.
While the show as a whole was run-of-the-mill, it quietly had two of the most brilliantly realized female characters in recent cartoon history: Mary and Susan Test. …Mary and Susan Test are ambitious, intelligent, and fully-actualized. Exaggeratedly brilliant scientists, it’s the twin girls who put into motion most events of the series.
Dr. Jones went from being a promising step forward for Bond girls to one of the more maligned female characters of the franchise. … And this is what is the most disappointing thing about Dr. Jones. She’s a tough-talking woman whose best moments in the film come when she grows impatient with Bond’s testosterone-driven idiocy and counters his quips with her own formidable sarcasm, yet in the end, she’s just like any of those earlier Bond girls that Denise Richards dismissed as lacking depth…
Dr. Sattler is awesome. She’s a character who doesn’t fit into any typical Hollywood box: A friendly, stable, super-smart woman who wants to be a mother, has her own nerdy career, and doesn’t think twice about being a badass. … I saw Jurassic Park when I was seven and from then on wanted to be Dr. Ellie Sattler.
While the happily ever after scenario in these 1950s B-movies comes with an expectation that women give up their careers in science to become wives and mothers once the appropriate suitor is identified, it seems there are women in B-movies who do have it all — they maintain the respect afforded to them as scientists and also win romantic partners, without having to sacrifice their professional interests to assume domestic roles instead.
They’re moved to realize that, after everyone talked shit about them for weeks or months on end, someone actually appreciated what they did. It’s a moment of art imitating life that mirrored my experience with Ghostbusters… I also vastly underestimated how powerful it would be, and how great it would feel, to watch an action-comedy with only women in the leading roles.
The X-Files consistently worked against the idea that women could not be capable scientists. In fact, there is evidence to suggest that the character of Dana Scully inspired many young women to pursue education and careers in science and technology – what is now known as “The Scully Effect.”
Female scientists are few and far between in the Marvel world. Of the 65 MCU scientists in a live action movie or television show, 18 are women. And of those 18, 2 are women of color… While those numbers may seem a bit low, MCU’s female scientists statistics are pretty much right on target with the national average. Women are greatly underrepresented in the STEM fields in the U.S.
But the entire gist is still pretty radical: A big-budget film about a woman leading a monumental mission that, if successful, would be the most important discovery of our time. Contact‘s feminism is all the more stunning to watch two decades after its release because of its stingingly accurate portrayal of sexism in science and refusal to appease the hetero-male gaze.
Instead of investigating the science, Scully actually becomes the science. …There seems to be a substantial link between Scully’s gender and the tests and science that is inflicted upon her. Is this her punishment for daring to be a woman in a male-dominated sphere? … There’s also something pretty grim in Scully’s abduction/missing ovum storyline that feels very reminiscent of higher powers meddling and making decisions about women’s reproductive rights.
Dian Fossey, a zoologist, primatologist, and anthropologist, was a controversial figure because she approached her work with primates in their natural habitat in a radical and unconventional way. … Just by doing work that she loved and believed in, Fossey made a statement about women’s value in the world.
It is important to have women represented in fictional media as scientists from across the spectrum of sciences… By making women more visible in science settings on television – in both fictional and factual programming – the inspiring images of science that can and are being produced can be associated with women who are not only represented as smart individuals but as part of a network of diverse and complex professional women.
We are truly in a moment of struggle over whose stories are being told. Do filmmakers believe that women are active protagonists worthy of their own tales, or passive objects to be used to further male narratives? It’s as big and infuriating and important as that — what is the story we want to tell about a woman’s place in the world?
I realized something even worse: Agent Mulder is not a dreamboat. In fact, he’s an asshole. An asshole who spends most of the series mansplaining to Agent Scully. … Twenty years after The X-Files debuted, it’s still rare to see a female character who’s as complicated and resilient as Scully — especially who works in science. … What stands out about The X-Files while watching it now, though, is how consistently Scully stands up for herself.
I am interested in thinking about how women have been represented in recent Hollywood/American science-based fiction cinema and whether we have really moved beyond relying on stereotypes, sex, and spectacle. Female scientists are increasing in frequency in Hollywood, but they are not being given adequate representation – they are often secondary to their male partners.
‘Contact’ remains a singularly astute portrayal of a woman combating the oppressive confines of institutional sexism, as well as a reminder of how deeply mainstream cinema still needs progressive feminist portrayals that contradict gender clichés. … How refreshing that a woman’s personal arc is considered important enough to be entwined alongside the movie’s core theme of discovering meaning in our seemingly meaningless universe.
For half my life I planned to be an astrophysicist.
You can credit the mental implantation of that idea to the 1997 film Contact. I was eight years old, and recognition clicked when I saw Eleanor “Ellie” Arroway. Her love for space exploration coalesced with my own in a way I hadn’t known was possible, and I thought, clear as a pinpoint — I want to be that.
Ultimately, that passion translated into writing stories about science rather than living them myself, so I’m not a successful case study. But Contact remains a singularly astute portrayal of a woman combating the oppressive confines of institutional sexism, as well as a reminder of how deeply mainstream cinema still needs progressive feminist portrayals that contradict gender clichés.
Based on the novel by the late astrophysicist Carl Sagan, Contact follows Dr. Ellie Arroway (Jodie Foster), a leading member of the Search for Extraterrestrial Intelligence (SETI) program, as she strives to prove the existence of alien life. After she discovers a radio signal transmitting from a seemingly uninhabited star system, the governments of the world unite with NASA to decode what the mystery alien message means for the future of humanity.
Contact makes waves just by existing. Although the science fiction genre is peppered with extraordinary portrayals of pioneering women, it’s rare for them to actively serve as the protagonists of any major motion picture, let alone a multi-million dollar sci-fi blockbuster. Instead of maximizing the endless possibilities inherent in the genre to their fullest potential by liberating and diversifying, the majority of women take a narrative backseat to a revolving door series of leading white men. They’re lucky to do something other than fulfill the tired role of token love interest. Dr. Martha Lauzen’s “Celluloid Ceiling” report for 2015 confirms this: women comprised only 22% of movie protagonists in the top 100 highest grossing films of last year.
Contact breaks down common cinema barriers by not only featuring a complex, layered female protagonist, but a brilliantly capable, talented female scientist — a concept still lacking adequate female personification and normalization within modern narratives.
As a woman in a male-dominated profession, Ellie Arroway endures a belligerent stream of ingrained sexism. She is overruled, questioned, ignored, and derided by the men surrounding her, particularly by David Drumlin (Tom Skerritt), the Scientific Advisor to the President and quasi-antagonist. He removes the funding from Ellie’s SETI research site in Puerto Rico and threatens to do the same four years later at an observatory in New Mexico because he’s convinced the effort is a waste of resources — NASA’s and Ellie’s. Not only is “looking for E.T.” a laughable venture, he argues Ellie’s squandering her talents in the department and won’t accomplish anything of note with her career. If she’s going to be a scientist, she should at least be the kind he approves of. It’s an example of paternalistic control masquerading as concern that Ellie is quick to challenge.
During a White House press briefing about the contents of the alien message, Ellie is scheduled to speak but government officials pass her over without warning in favor of Drumlin — despite the fact Ellie leads the project responsible for discovering the extraterrestrial communique. He even surpasses her by committee vote (and exploitative manipulation) to become humanity’s ambassador to the alien race, again in spite of Ellie’s enormous qualifications.
There’s also Ellie’s on/off again love interest Palmer Joss (Matthew McConaughey), a religious philosopher who condemns her on national television for her lack of belief in a Christian God. Most damning of all, when Ellie can provide no proof of her successful meeting with the alien race, National Security Advisor Michael Kitz (James Woods) interrogates her to the point of gaslighting. She’s a delusional, hysterical woman; how can they believe a word she says? How can she believe herself?
While the pushback against Ellie’s stalwart belief in extraterrestrial life isn’t necessarily gender specific (think the mockery Fox Mulder faces in The X-Files for a male equivalent), Ellie is still infantilized and dismissed in a frighteningly recognizable way. Drumlin, Kitz, and Joss make decisions “for” her, without her, and against her, even going so far as to steal credit for her work to amplify their professional status. Despite her contributions (she discovers alien life, people), she’s summarily overlooked without question or hesitation. There are no explicit declarations of hatred, belief in female inferiority, or use of gendered slurs — just a reactionary, bone-deep confidence in their own authority as men. It’s a quieter, more insidious form of misogyny permeating all sections of society.
Because of this constant litany of sabotage, Ellie is forced to move through the world by working around the biased structural institutions. The only way Ellie can overcome those limitations, however, is through the aid of men. Reclusive billionaire S. R. Hadden (John Hurt) funds not only Ellie’s research after all other prominent institutions have rejected her, but reveals the existence of a backup spacecraft after the first is destroyed by a suicide bomber. Interestingly, Ellie is both active instigator and passive reactor in these scenarios — Hadden provides financial backing because she implores it from his company, and he’s impressed by her fiery determination. The revelation of the secondary spacecraft, though, as well as a clue that solves the coded alien message, come from Hadden’s goodwill, not an intellectual triumph of Ellie’s. Without Hadden’s money and influence, Ellie would be helpless to progress. One can even argue the suicide bomber (Jake Busey), a disgusting, religious radical responsible for innocent deaths, makes Ellie’s journey in the machine possible by causing Drumlin’s death in the explosion.
It doesn’t matter how unquestionably skilled Ellie is or how vocally she protests — her talents aren’t enough to break past the systematic barriers imposed by powerful men and the society that implicitly favors them. Her avenue for advancement isn’t dismantling the system, but sneaking through the cracks. Aliens exist; equality does not.
“I remember routinely being dismissed, interrupted — I’d say something and people at a meeting would turn to Carl [Sagan] or someone else and say, that was a really great idea you had.”
Although Ellie’s experiences occur within the framework of a semi-fantastical context, the messy convergence of religion, science, and gender serves as a reflection of the oppressive situations real women experience. She is no fainting damsel weakened by conflict, but a symbol of female resistance, her personhood achieved in non-traditional ways that challenge the status quo of masculine privilege and assumed gender divisions. She pursues her chosen scientific track to the disapproval of her colleagues. She raises her voice. She’s compassionate and filled with ideological wanderlust, as well as career-driven, aggressive, and angry. She’s lonely but rejects romance in favor of a one-night stand without considering it a sacrifice to the altar of her career, and when she does choose a relationship, it’s not a corrective act that fulfills her life. She’s an independent, sexual being who fits within the heteronormative standards of female beauty without being sexualized, yet can still wear a “really great dress” to a party. Ellie’s absolute disregard for prescribed stereotypical characteristics coded as “male” and “female” frees her to be a whole, multi-layered character in pursuit of her own kind of individuality.
Ellie even breaks the known limitations of the universe. From a narrative standpoint, she grapples with the biggest philosophical questions plaguing our existence: are we alone? What’s our purpose? Her desperation to make first contact mirrors a psychological need to cure her loneliness, an echo of the themes seen in Close Encounters of the Third Kind, Interstellar, and more. How refreshing that a woman’s personal arc is considered important enough to be entwined alongside the movie’s core theme of discovering meaning in our seemingly meaningless universe.
The fact there are no other on-screen female scientists seems a deliberate choice to further highlight Ellie’s isolation, but it’s still an unfortunate oversight by the writers. (Ellie’s mother in particular is a presence sorely lacking; she’s barely mentioned except to note she passed away during childbirth.) Given that Ellie is only one of two women with an on-screen speaking part, all of her major interactions are with men. If Drumlin and his ilk represent the sexist hegemony, the handful who support her can be classified as male allies. This is especially true of Ellie’s father, who fully encouraged his daughter’s interest in astronomy and helped advance her curiosity, rather than shut it down in its infancy as something inappropriate for a young girl. Ellie and her fellow SETI scientist Kent Clark (William Fichtner), who is blind, share a passion for their study as well being overlooked minorities. By the film’s end, even Palmer Joss overcomes his biases to accept Ellie’s differences and proclaim his belief in her story to the world; he doesn’t speak for her, but uses his influence to support her voice.
It’s worth mentioning the alien emissary that Ellie meets assumes the form of her father in order to “comfort” her. It’s a pretty blatant example of the daddy issues cliché, and compounds the realization that in addition to another species, Ellie spent her entire life searching for a paternalistic replacement (she sleeps with Joss after he unintentionally quotes Ellie’s father, a move that’s way too Oedipal for me). Although the reliance on a lost-father trope in order to give Ellie depth is irritating, it doesn’t undermine her progression or strengths as a character. Her interests weren’t defined by her father, and neither is she diminished or restricted by her grief over his loss. She’s allowed to weep at the sight of “him,” even if the alien’s attitude is infantilizing.
Ultimately, Ellie triumphs over the sociopolitical forces conspiring against her. The secure knowledge of Ellie’s own truth is what matters more than the government’s approval, and thousands of strangers stand in solidarity of belief with her. She achieves her goal of advancing scientific understanding by initiating first contact, as well as finding personal peace, without compromising her autonomy or personality. Radios, telescopes, space, math, physics — these passions were born entirely from herself, and they flourished because of her drive. There’s no question of how or why or she’s an exception. Ellie just is. She’s passionate, level-headed, exacting, devoted, optimistic, courageous, unapologetic, and full of glorious wonder.
That’s what girls need to see: the normalization of women as protagonists, as professionals, as figureheads of heroism. Viable, easily seen examples that women belong in the worlds of science and technology, that the fields aren’t exclusive boys’ clubs. A woman can achieve breakthroughs in math and physics. A woman can raise her voice and fight for her beliefs. A woman can serve as representative for the best of humanity.
More than anything, she can succeed in the face of overwhelming societal pressures trying to undermine her choices — just like social norms dictate what young women can and can’t do. Pink is for girls, blue is for boys; you play with dolls, not trucks. It’s impractical to be a scientist, or an engineer, or a radio astronomer.
Contact shows women can be protagonists, women can be scientific geniuses, and women can inspire. It compounds the deep-seated necessity for identification through representation, if nothing else than through my own experience as a young girl looking for confirmation that I wasn’t abnormal at the same time I was looking up at the stars.
Kelcie Mattson is a multimedia editor by morning, aspiring critic by afternoon, and tea aficionado 24/7. She’s been a fangirl since birth, thanks to reruns of Star Trek and Buffy. In her spare time she does the blogging thing on feminism, genre films, minority representation, comics, and all things cinephile-y at her website. You can follow her on Twitter at @kelciemattson, where she’s usually overanalyzing HGTV’s camerawork and sharing too many cat pictures.
But the entire gist is still pretty radical: A big-budget film about a woman leading a monumental mission that, if successful, would be the most important discovery of our time. ‘Contact’s feminism is all the more stunning to watch two decades after its release because of its stingingly accurate portrayal of sexism in science and refusal to appease the hetero-male gaze.
The math is unequivocally on the side of the alien enthusiasts. “You know, there are four hundred billion stars out there just in our galaxy alone,” Jodie Foster’s Dr. Ellie Arroway explains to Joss Palmer, played by a luxuriously coifed Matthew McConaughey in the 1997 hit movie Contact. She continues, gazing upward toward an expansive, clear night sky drenched in stars. “If only one out of a million of those had planets, and if just one out of a million of those had life, and if just one out of those had intelligent life, there would be literally millions of civilizations out there.” She’s explaining to him why after years of finding nothing at all she remains committed to searching for definitive proof of extraterrestrial intelligent life. Aliens exist, but they’re not easy to find.
Ellie Arroway is the protagonist of Contact (co-written by Carl Sagan and Ann Druyan), making this film one of very few to have a woman scientist at its center. There are some tells that it was released almost twenty years ago – creepy, obtuse email communication, giant computers, the use of multiple scrunchies – but the entire gist is still pretty radical: A big-budget film about a woman leading a monumental mission that, if successful, would be the most important discovery of our time. Contact’s feminism is all the more stunning to watch two decades after its release because of its stingingly accurate portrayal of sexism in science and refusal to appease the hetero-male gaze.
We are introduced to Arroway as a young girl, hanging with her Dad and paging truckers across the country. She is enthralled with radio signals’ abilities to contact truckers farther and farther away. When we see Arroway as an adult, she wears casual, comfortable clothing. Her hair is almost always pulled back from her face as she listens for any discrepancy in the vastness of space sounds. She is never objectified, nor is a romantic relationship foundational to the plot. Arroway’s romantic dalliance with Palmer flits throughout the film, but their relationship is defined by their philosophical opposition – she is a woman of science and empirical proof, he is a “man of the cloth without the cloth” and eventually a religious advisor to the President. Their conflict frames an essential tension of the movie. When they are together, they are not flirting, fighting, or dry or wet humping. They discuss in depth their personal and professional passions, like real people do as they get to know each other. The single, near-sex scene shapes more of Arroway’s personality. The morning after she sleeps with Palmer, he implores, “How can I contact you?” She says, “Leave your number,” and she skedaddles off to do science. This is the 90s, so he scrawls his number on a sticky note and underlines the words “Please Call.” She never does, because she gets her funding pulled and immediately starts a sojourn to raise money to continue her life’s work.
During her quest to find “little green men,” Arroway deals with ridicule from her male colleagues and supervisors, challenges with funding, and warnings that she is committing career suicide. Her supervisor, an older man and science big-wig, Dr. David Drumlin, scolds her early in the movie, reducing her career to two possibilities, “One… there is intelligent life out there, but you’ll never contact it in your lifetime, and two… There’s nothing out there but noble gases and carbon compounds, and you’re wasting your time. In the meantime, you won’t be published, you won’t be taken seriously and your career will be over before it’s begun!” The same warningswere levied at the woman Arroway’s character is based on, Dr. Jill Tarter, the former long-time director of SETI (Search for Extraterrestrial Intelligence) Institute and all-around mega-inspiring galactic badass.
But, unlike Dr. Tarter (yet), Arroway ultimately finds stunning proof of alien life in a three-dimensional radio signal containing instructions for building some sort of spaceship beamed to Earth from somewhere near the star Vega. After Arroway takes in the realness of her discovery, she alerts her network. Men swarm her lab with interruptions, patronizing warnings, mansplanations, and of course, claims to her discovery. Her foil, Drumlin, who previously revoked her funding and access to satellites, appears almost instantaneously to claim the discovery as his own. At every pivotal moment where a decision, expert, or spokesperson is needed to comment on the findings, Drumlin subtly overpowers Arroway and becomes the face of the discovery. The series of quiet defeats she endures is a crucial representation of how gender discrimination in science careers functions. Today’s stunning lack of women, especially women of color, in leadership positions in science is not the result of a single, shitty, sinister apple. Rather, it’s a series of assumptions, biases, and privileges that results in a system and culture that vaults mostly white men into the most prestigious positions where they enjoy almost total immunity from being held accountable to discriminating against and harassing women. Although bias against women in the sciences is well-documented, the very folks who need to change their behavior to help fix the problem – dudes in science – don’t believe it’s really a thing, even when shown compelling evidence.
This toxic stew of denial and power produces a culture where it is extraordinarily difficult for women to speak out against discrimination or abuse. Perhaps that’s why every time Arroway should rip into Drumlin for being a despicable human, she doesn’t. The closest she comes to confronting him is after it’s been decided that he, not her, will be shoved into the alien orb they built from instructions in the radio signal and blasted off into space as Ambassador of Earthlings to meet whomever sent the invitation. He acknowledges that she must think “this is all really unfair” but explains that the “bottom-line” is that the world doesn’t work that way, to which she politely retorts, “Funny, I’ve always believed that the world is what we make of it.” A deeply unsatisfying moment.
Today, it seems to take a hoard of women publicly calling out problems simultaneously, like sexual harassment (Bill Cosby, Roger Ailes) before anyone begins to acknowledge that the individual in question might be guilty. In January of this year, a tidal wave of stories from women astronomers who have been sexually harassed poured into Twitter with the hashtag #AstroSH. A renowned astronomer at Berkeley left the faculty after being found guilty of sexual harassment over a period of ten years. The university’s Dean of the Law School also resigned under similar circumstances. And like so many other examples across sectors, the administration had intentionally kept the harassment cases secret. The ubiquity of the harassment and discrimination exemplified by the experiences shared online with #AstroSH is made possible by a network of people and institutions which opt to not believe women, ignore them outright, and cover up evidence of wrongdoing by the men in question.
Similarly, Drumlin’s usurpation of Arroway’s discovery isn’t challenged by anyone. In fact, assumptions made by the gaggle of folks responsible for moving the project forward do a lot of this work for him. At the first public press conference about the discovery, we see Drumlin and Arroway standing off to the side of a packed room while then President Bill Clinton tries to keep his cool while explaining the brain-liquefying findings to reporters. Arroway nervously shuffles her notecards for the speech she is about to give. Her face is stressed, expectant. As the press secretary introduces the scientist responsible for the discovery, Arroway walks toward the lectern and passes right in front of Drumlin. He stays put. At the last minute, we hear Drumlin’s name announced, a surprise to both of them, but he doesn’t pass up the opportunity and confidently struts toward the front of the room to declare Arroway’s discovery as his own to the entire world. So, Drumlin’s not on a vicious, power-hungry bender; after mocking and obstructing Arroway’s life-mission, he practically crowd surfs into taking credit for it.
Arroway’s experience with sexism is not buried or subliminal; it is central to the plot. This means that the audience identifies with Arroway as she navigates these challenges and we root for her too. When Drumlin suffers a fatal injury during an explosion that destroys the machine before he or it has a chance to go anywhere, we know Arroway is about to have her day. And she does. She is dropped into the center of another machine where she eventually travels through a series of wormholes to the uber-advanced alien civilization that originally sent the message.
She manages to record the entire trip, verbally describing in detail what she sees along the way, like the wormhole transit system, the lights and structures from the alien civilization’s home planet, and the star’s solar system. She even talks with some sort of alien ambassador who takes the form of her Dad – a technology that turns their alien forms into recognizable humans which it says makes it easier for puny humans to understand what’s going on. When she wakes up on Earth, she’s told the machine malfunctioned. She was in the machine for only a few seconds. Instead of basking in triumph, her experience is literally put on trial.
Government officials accuse her of lying, having delusions, and being the victim of a bizarre prank. Arroway insists that her experience was real despite not having external evidence – ultimately forcing herself and the public to take her word for it, or take it on “faith.” But something else is happening too – a demonstration of how patriarchy conditions us to not believe women, even under the most spectacular and compelling of circumstances. This is made clear as we find out moments later that proof of Arroway’s journey existed all along – an otherwise unexplainable 18 hours of time recorded on the equipment she took on the trip – the same amount of time she guessed she was gone. In a hilarious because it might be true kind of way, Contact ends up showing how blasting through wormholes and meeting aliens might actually be more plausible than humans fixing sexism. It also celebrates real women in science today, like Dr. Jill Tarter, whose contributions too often get overlooked and omitted from history and pop culture.
Maria Myotte is a feminist writer, sci-fi and speculative fiction enthusiast, and progressive media strategist. In a parallel reality, she is a badass astrophysicist. Find her on Twitter at @mariamyotte.
These 18 Lionhearted Heroines in literature, television, and film echo Bullet’s spirit in their own unique ways–possessing faith, valuing friendship, and experiencing unrequited love or loving and expecting nothing in return–as portrayed by the “perfectly imperfect” actresses who embody them.
In the spirit of Bullet, the quintessential Lionhearted Girl, these 18 Lionhearted Heroines each embody the same steadfast strength and selflessness that Bullet possessed.
Part 2 in a series about “Lionhearted Heroines” inspired by The Killing’s Bullet; see Part 1 here
These 18 Lionhearted Heroines in literature, television, and film echo Bullet’s spirit in their own unique ways–possessing faith, valuing friendship, and experiencing unrequited love or loving and expecting nothing in return–as portrayed by the “perfectly imperfect” actresses who embody them.
In the spirit of Bullet, the quintessential Lionhearted Girl, these 18 Lionhearted Heroines each embody the same steadfast strength and selflessness that Bullet possessed.
Stephanie from Rust and Bone
Stephanie (Marion Cotillard) from Rust and Bone, directed by Jacques Audiard (2012)
“What am I for you? A friend? A pal? If we continue, we have to do it right.”
As the trailer (included below) suggests, this remarkable French film centers around a vagrant boxer, his young son, and a gorgeous woman who enters their lives under the most unlikely circumstances. The magnificent Marion Cotillard was nominated for an Academy Award for her portrayal of Stephanie, a tough, assertive orca trainer who courageously struggles to rebuild her life after a horrific accident.
Like Bullet, Stephanie’s tough shell cocoons a sensitive soul, one that is gravely tested after her accident. What is so touching about Stephanie–like Bullet–is her spirited strength and resilience in the face of a reality that most people could not survive. Even as she deals with her own daunting demons and defies overwhelming odds, she is selfless in her availability to others–in her willingness to share her heart and spirit with those around her. She forges a beautiful bond with Alain and his son and, like her devotion to the orcas, loves them unconditionally even though Alain rejects, marginalizes, and uses her. When the bond she feels toward Alain matures into romantic love, she fearlessly reveals her feelings honestly, telling him: “If we continue, we have to do this right.” Just as she asserts herself to Alain, she regains her desire to resume orca training–and in a silent scene (below), recites her training routine for the first time on the balcony of her apartment. Here, Marion Cotillard invests Stephanie with the outward demeanor of a woman completely at peace with her fate and effortlessly exudes an inner spiritual strength that is heightened all the more by Katy Perry’s inspired song, “Firework”:
Rust and Bone and Marion Cotillard’s performance as Stephanie take on an added resonance with the release of this year’s incomparable documentary, Blackfish, which chronicles the appalling treatment of orcas and their trainers at SeaWorld:
“I can’t just stand by while others give their lives.”
In this sprawling and superb beloved BBC series, young actress Jessica Brown-Findlay (a former trained ballet dancer who began acting after a career-ending knee injury) shines as the vivaciously independent, strong-minded, and free-spirited Sybil, who fights with fervor for women’s suffrage and offers her services as a nurse when World War I breaks out in England. Her passion for political causes is equaled only by her slow-burning love for Tom Branson, a young Irish chauffeur who introduces her to a more complicated world beyond the gilded gates of her family’s estate. Once she enters this world, she cannot go back to the way things were before, and her strength of character holds firm despite difficult social and familial circumstances.
[youtube_sc url=”https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ltRIQcTMAy8″] Jessica B. Findlay speaks about Sybil
Sybil is a great “soul-sister” to Bullet in her innate desire to help and protect others, despite what it costs her. Sybil’s fate is also akin to the unjust tragedy that befalls Bullet when her powers of protection reach their limit. Like Bullet, Sybil can no longer protect herself–but the legacy of her life is preserved in all she leaves behind.
“When it all goes quiet behind my eyes, I see everything that made me lying around in invisible pieces. When I look too hard, it goes away. And when it all goes quiet, I see they are right here. I see that I’m a little piece in a big, big universe. And that makes things right. When I die, the scientists of the future, they’re gonna find it all…they’re gonna know: Once there was a Hushpuppy, and she lived with her Daddy in the Bathtub.”
During a pivotal scene in Beasts of the Southern Wild, a spiritual journey of survival, Quvenzhane Wallis as Hushpuppy summons her entire miniature being to shout: “I’M THE MAN!” when her father challenges her in a dual-like shouting match. Only six years old at the time of filming, tiny Quvenzhane is much more than her claim to “man-hood”–she is a force of nature who packs a punch that won’t soon be forgotten. She embodies a little firecracker of a girl with a big desire to see and understand the world around her.
Hushpuppy lives a destitute, virtually parentless existence in the Louisiana bayou, a place called “the Bathtub,” with an alcoholic and, at times, abusive father and an assortment of local wild pets. Like Bullet, she is a “street-kid”–inhabiting the “streets” of the bayou and taking shelter in dilapidated shacks–who, despite seemingly hopeless circumstances, embraces the world as a beautiful place and makes a home amongst the animals and plants that afford her shelter and comfort. Even with the threat of a massive storm closing in on them, she never loses sight of the shoreline toward a bright future where people will “find it all” and “know” that she lived there.
Tiffany from Silver Linings Playbook
Tiffany (Jennifer Lawrence) from Silver Linings Playbook, directed by David O. Russell (2012)
“…There will always be a part of me that is dirty and sloppy, but I like that, just like all the other parts of myself. I can forgive. Can you say the same for yourself, Fucker? Can you forgive? Are you capable of that?”
The naturally aloof, mysterious, yet generous Jennifer Lawrence hit it out of the ball-park with her Academy Award-winning turn as Tiffany, a recently widowed young woman on a quest for human connection and belonging. When Tiffany literally “runs into” Pat (Bradley Cooper), a mentally-unstable man obsessed with reclaiming his former marriage, she falls head-over-heals for him instantly and offers to coach him in a new endeavor. Despite her somewhat hard and brash exterior, she thinks about and feels things acutely–and her determination to “read the signs” and bring Pat out of his shell is at once funny, frustrating, and, for her, heartbreaking as her feelings for him deepen.
While neither a street-kid nor a lesbian (well, apart from several trysts with female office co-workers as she recounts in this clip), Tiffany shares Bullet’s scrappy resolve to survive in a world that doesn’t appreciate or accept difference. Also like Bullet, despite her insecurities, she embraces her flaws and stalwartly refuses to apologize for them. She’s not afraid to put herself out there, make a fool of herself, or fail. In this sense, like Bullet, she’s the epitome of courage and heroism.
Jane from Jane Eyre
Jane (Mia Wasikowska) from Jane Eyre, directed by Cary Fukunaga (2011)
“Am I a machine without feelings? Do you think that because I am poor, plain, obscure, and little – that I am soulless and heartless? I have as much soul as you, and full as much heart.”
In this bold new vision of Charlotte Brontë’s timeless classic about an orphan girl starved for love and in search of a family, Mia Wasikowska, who–like Bex–was 18 years old at the time of filming, brings a youthful, intelligent, and heroic sensibility to the role of the plain, saintly Jane Eyre. Opposite Michael Fassbender as Mr. Rochester, Mia naturally holds her own during intensely kinetic moments when this brooding older man made bitter by the misfortunes of life and love, challenges her steadfast moral convictions and sense of self-worth. Having only read the novel for the first time several months prior to the start of shooting, Mia’s love for the character manifests itself in how much she respects the role which shines through her indelible performance.
Jane Eyre is arguably one of the most beautifully conceived characters ever written. What makes her so special and rare is her innate sense of self-worth and self-respect despite a succession of physically and verbally abusive situations in which she is told repeatedly by the people who are supposed to love her the most that she is not worthy or deserving of being loved. It is this inherent bravery and heart that tie her with Bullet in a profound and almost identical manner. She is also a strong soul-sister to Bullet in her long-suffering, seemingly unrequited love for a man who is forbidden to her because of a described “mere conventional impediment.” And, as soon as that love is finally realized in a brief period of pure bliss for Jane, it is just as abruptly and brutally taken away–as it is so cruelly for Bullet when Lyric rejects her. Still, sharing Bullet’s faith, Jane never gives up the hope that she will one day be free to love and be loved as she always dreamed.
Hermione from Harry Potter
Hermione (Emma Watson) from Harry Potter Parts 1-8 (2001-2011)
“Actually, I’m highly logical which allows me to look past extraneous detail and perceive clearly that which others overlook.”
Emma Watson, who won the coveted role of Hermione Granger in J.K. Rowling’s beloved series at the tender age of 9 and continued in the role until the series concluded when she was 19–Bex’s age–is perfect to play Hermione because she is Hermione. She embodies Hermione’s keen intelligence, studious nature, wit, logic, and foresight. She is so naturally Hermione that many Harry Potter fans see her as the wonderful character in real life. Emma’s success in the role also stems from her ease at befriending the boys who are Hermione’s best friends while, in the same breath, holding her own opposite them. Using her signature intelligence and foresight, she is quick to call out her male mates whenever she witnesses them doing, or about to do, something idiotic. This no-nonsense strength in her performance is akin to how Bex portrays the tough, no-nonsense Bullet. Both are unforgettable and able to keep those close to them “under their thumb,” to evocate Bullet’s expression.
However, while Hermione can wittily outsmart her male comrades during critical situations and events, she is unable to outsmart her own heart, which is nearly broken from her painful, seeming unrequited love for Ron. Being the clueless fool he sometimes is, Ron has no notion of Hermione’s affections and insensitively flaunts his relationship with another Hogwarts classmate in front of her until he tires of that relationship and that girl. During a poignant scene in The Half-Blood Prince, Hermione confides her broken heart to Harry who, as her best friend, is a prime witness to her silent suffering over Ron’s obvious lack of interest in her. Hermione’s suffering recalls Bullet’s nearly identical silent suffering over her unrequited love for Lyric, which she, too, confides to her best friend, Kallie.
Amy from Little Dorrit
Amy (Claire Foy) from PBS Masterpiece’s Little Dorrit (2008)
“Near the palace was a cottage in which lived a poor, little, tiny woman–all alone. She realized that for all of her gold and silver and diamonds and rubies, she had nothing so precious to her as that shadow was to that tiny woman.”
Charles Dickens gave us a precious gift with his lesser known, yet eerily foreseeing novel Little Dorrit, which was adapted into an award-winning 15-part BBC miniseries by Andrew Davies in 2008. The novel, and its sprawling adaptation, tells the story of the incandescent “little” Amy Dorrit, a tiny 18-year-old girl who has come of age devotedly caring for her widowed father, a 20-year inmate at the Marshalsea Prison for Debt. Although nearly 10 years older than Amy when she won the role, Claire Foy’s performance cannot at all be described as “little” by any stretch of the imagination. Instead, she seems to understand and empathize so profoundly with Amy that it is as if she and her character are one in the same. In a press interview during the miniseries release, Claire describes in vivid terms just how highly she regards Amy: “Nobody is or can be as selfless as Amy is at all–people give to charity and people do all these noble things, but they don’t possess the pureness of heart in the doing of these actions that Amy demonstrates in the numerous sacrifices of her everyday life.” Would that Amy could have known Bullet…
Just as Bullet devotes herself to protecting her vulnerable and abused street family, Amy Dorrit sacrifices her entire life for her unjustly imprisoned father and his family. While being hounded by an escaped murderer who threatens to reveal potentially devastating family secrets, she contracts herself as a seamstress to an elderly, wheelchair-confined woman named Mrs. Clenham, through whom she is introduced to Arthur Clenham–the employer’s generous and benevolent son. It is this meeting that opens Amy’s eyes to a world beyond the barred prison gates where she dreams of winning Arthur’s affections. And even though she forms a close friendship with him, all hopes she has for a shared future with him are dashed when she discovers–as Bullet does–that he has feelings for someone else. Indeed, the entire story itself can be seen as a web of unrequited affections: Amy’s unreturned and unappreciated devotion to her abusive father and her unrequited infatuation with Arthur Clenham; Arthur’s spurned love for his mother and for a wealthy village girl who is engaged to a reckless and vain chap; the heartbreaking love and loyalty of Amy’s childhood friend who dreams of marrying her himself. It isn’t until she is forced to leave the confines of the prison where she grew up that she gathers the courage to stand up for her heart and refute the perception that she is simply a “little woman” with no voice of her own.
The character of Amy Dorrit was based upon and inspired by Charles Dickens’s real-life muse Ellen “Nelly” Ternan, an 18-year-old stage actress with whom Dickens fell in love during his later years. Their little-known affair is chronicled in a new Sony Classics feature film entitled The Invisible Woman starring another rising young actress (yet 11 years older than the girl she is portraying), Felicity Jones opposite Ralph Fiennes as Charles Dickens. The film is due to be released in December 2013.
Ashley from Junebug
Ashley (Amy Adams) from Junebug, directed by Phil Morrison (2005)
“God loves you just the way you are, but he loves you too much to let you stay that way.”
In this independent feature depicting a dysfunctional Southern church-going family living in an provincial and isolated Southern church-going community in North Carolina, Amy Adams is a ray of sunshine as Ashley, a seemingly naïve, bright-eyed, bubbly yet sensitive young woman on the verge of motherhood. Like Bex as Bullet, Amy delivers a bravura performance that infiltrates hearts and minds, stealing the limelight from more known and seasoned actors. She was deservedly nominated for an Academy Award, although her incandescent portrayal transcends the simple “Supporting” Actress category. Indeed, from the first scene to the last, she casts a spell that makes us believe Ashley is the central character just as Bex’s onscreen presence as Bullet becomes the heart of The Killing.
The pivotal scene of the film comes when Ashley breaks down in the hospital — and Amy’s powerful gift as an actress is laid bare. In this heart-wrenching moment, she makes a young mother’s grief so naturally palpable and devastating. The inexplicable bond she shares with Alessandro Nivola, who plays her brother-in-law, recalls the cosmic connection Bullet shares with Holder, particularly echoing the moment he comforts her as she accepts that Kallie is most likely dead. Here, too, Ashley–with the help of her friend–must accept news of a devastating death. And, while she is overcome by intense grief and anger, she does not let it take root in her heart–and, like Bullet, ultimately demonstrates unwavering faith, positivity, and unconditional love and selflessness toward others. In a largely cynical world where most would succumb to despair rather than embrace hope, Ashley–like Bullet–demonstrates a rare, precious, and admirable resilience of spirit.
June from Walk the Line
June (Reese Witherspoon) from Walk the Line, directed by James Mangold (2005)
“No, I’m not an angel. I had a friend who needed help. You’re my friend. You’re not nothin’. You’re a good man, and God has given you a second chance to make things right, John. This is your chance, honey.”
Marking a career that has flourished since early childhood, Reese Witherspoon finally garnered a well-deserved Academy Award for her embodiment of June Carter-Cash opposite Joaquin Phoenix in the title role of Johnny Cash. Together, the two create a “ring of fire” as an on-screen couple–so blazing that it often seems as though they were made for each in real life, too. Reese channels June’s well-crafted sense of humor and vivaciousness that masks the disappointment and heartache she feels from being “left like a dutch boy with his finger in the damn” by a chain of unworthy men. She naturally exudes June’s “angelic” generosity of spirit–even during dark moments in her own life–and her no-nonsense strength and resilience, most notably demonstrated in her repeated rejections of Johnny’s disrespectful and self-destructive “stunts.” All this Reese accomplishes while also learning how to sing and play musical instruments to convincingly re-enact the musical performances and shows that June shares with Johnny.
Akin to Bullet, June Carter is a woman “on fire”–admirable for every aspect of herself. She is the very epitome of “a friend”–selfless, loyal, loving, honest, and completely devoted to Johnny’s addiction recovery–freely forgiving the many times he hurts or neglects her in return. Her patience and fortitude is unmatched as she bears the cross of the tumultuous, unsanctioned, yet unbreakable bond she possesses with her tour-mate in a saintly manner.
Giorgia from The Best of Youth
Giorgia (Jasmine Trinca) from The Best of Youth (Italian: La Meglio Gioventu), directed by Marco Tullio Giordana (2005)
In this multi-generational, epic Italian miniseries, Jasmine Trinca–a Natalie Wood-esque Roman actress–delivers a sensitive, stand-out performance as Giorgia, a young girl struggling with mental illness and the neglect that comes from the stigma of her condition, especially in 1960s Italy. Since Giorgia is a girl who cannot speak, or who speaks very little because she lives inside of herself, Jasmine–like Bex==reveals much of the girl’s vulnerable and heartbroken inner life simply through the haunting expressiveness and penetrating beauty of her intelligent, sad eyes – as in this pivotal scene:
Giorgia’s largely tragic journey in this miniseries mirrors the trials Bullet endures in The Killing. Like Bullet, Georgia is an outcast from society, alienated from her family and left to the merciless, unloving environment of a home for wayward and discarded youths. When Matteo, a handsome, young medical student volunteers at the home and is assigned to care for her, she is awakened for a time to the possibility of being loved and accepted by another human being who seeks to understand her. She falls for him, but when circumstances separate them, she sinks into the darkest time in her young life.
Ivy from The Village
Ivy (Bryce Dallas-Howard) from The Village, directed by M. Night Shyamalan (2004)
“Sometimes we don’t do things we want to do so that others will not know we want to do them.”
Bryce Dallas Howard carries a serene beauty and tomboyish self-confidence as Ivy Walker, the blind yet insightful daughter of the town “elder” played by William Hurt in M. Night Shyamalan’s spiritual thriller. Akin to Bex, Bryce makes an indelible mark in her debut role through the power of her onscreen presence and the expressiveness of her unforgettable face. She invests Ivy with a rare appreciation for life, for those who are outcasts within the isolated town that is all she’s ever seen of the world, and for the people she cares for the most. Juxtaposed with her uninhibited serenity, Bryce also manages to emanate Ivy’s overwhelming curiosity to explore the world beyond the confines of the town where she has grown up. She constantly seeks the truth and doesn’t allow her blindness to prevent her from seeking complete illumination. When a senseless crime grips the utopian community and endangers the life of Ivy’s beloved, she embarks on a harrowing journey to conquer “those we don’t speak of” once and for all. In portraying her heroine’s journey, Bryce balances the opposing traits of fear and bravery, revenge and forgiveness, despair and hope–all the while never losing sight of Ivy’s abiding faith, echoing the way Bullet describes her faith to Sarah Linden in The Killing.
Like Bullet, Ivy–a girl who “longs to do boy things” is left to pick up the pieces after her best friend, a village boy named Lucius Hunt who loves her, is brutally harmed. Before the attack, Lucius is painfully reticent to articulate his true feelings to Ivy–and he won’t even touch her for fear it might reveal his infatuation. She immediately picks up on this, and in her wonderfully bold and straightforward manner, confronts him about his suppressed love. What spurs the confrontation, however, is an event that tests the courage of the heroine and her fellow townspeople, most especially Lucius who, at last, confesses to her that “The only time I feel fear as others do is when I think of you in harm.” At the peak of the danger, when everyone else is hiding safe in basements, Ivy bravely stands at the entrance of the cabin with her hand outstretched, holding onto the faith that Lucius will finally take her hand in his at the perfect moment.
“You asked me to explain myself. I just wonder what needs to be explained? Look into your own heart. I swear to you, mine’s no different. You want a place in the trades and professions where you can earn your own bread? So do I. You want some means of self-expression? Some way of satisfying your own personal ambitions? So do I. You want a voice in the government in which you live? So do I. What is there to explain?”
Hilary Swank is outstanding as Alice Paul, the Pennsylvania-raised, Swarthmore-educated Quaker who leads the movement to secure suffrage for women in the early 1900s. The actress bares all, both physically and emotionally, with a striking authenticity as the bold, brave, selfless, and almost-martyred woman who becomes the willing scapegoat for all of the hatred and abuse thrown at the women during their cause for suffrage. Hilary’s intelligent eyes and eager yet patient smile, as shown in the above photo, are captivating even in the midst of the heroine’s great suffering, mistreatment, and adversity.
Alice, like Bullet, lives up to her name–she is every bit the “Iron-Jawed Angel” the public dubs her to be: a Christ-like figure who possesses an unflinching determination to see her cause through without resorting to violent or illegal, unethical means. She knowingly sacrifices an opportunity for a happy romantic relationship in the service of her cause, and when she is thrown in prison for picketing the office of the president during wartime, she remains undeterred in her conviction that women deserve to be treated equally before the law. She solicits the solidarity of her sisters-in-arms, including a prominent senator’s wife, to embark on a hunger strike, modeled after an old Irish tradition, until restitution is made and her goal is achieved. It is during this hunger strike that the women endure unconstitutional and unthinkable abuse which almost results in her death–along with countless others dedicated to the cause.
Paikea from Whale Rider
Paikea (Keisha Castle-Hughes) from Whale Rider, directed by Niki Caro (2002)
“My name is Paikea Apirana, and I come from a long line of chiefs stretching all the way back to the whale rider. I’m not a prophet, but I know that our people will keep going forward, all together, with all of our strength.”
Keisha Castle-Hughes, 13 years old at the time of filming, is one of the youngest actresses to ever have earned an Academy Award nomination for her breathtaking performance as Paikea, the sensitive yet determined Maori girl who shares a special connection with and understanding of the whales that figure so prominently in the ancient legends of her tribe’s ancestors in New Zealand. Keisha’s soulful eyes and calm, spiritual presence juxtaposed with her portrayal of Paikea’s fiery resolve against seemingly insurmountable family and cultural obstacles make viewers long to adopt this precious child–just as many fans of The Killing dreamed of adopting Bex as a daughter, sister, or best friend. Keisha’s onscreen relationship with the actor who plays her grandfather recalls Bex’s onscreen relationship with Joel Kinnaman in the sense that it is at once loving, intense, tumultuous, and heartbreaking as the two wrestle with each other over their character’s conflicting desires.
Nowhere is the power of this onscreen relationship more palpable than in the film’s most emotional scene where Paikea delivers a heart-wrenching tribute to her absent grandfather who doesn’t approve of girls displaying themselves in public arenas. Stuck in the old ways of his tribe and married to ancient traditions and customs, Paikea’s grandfather deeply resents the fact that the Gods saw fit to give him a female grandchild, while his grandson–Paikea’s twin brother–died shortly after his birth. In her speech dedicated to him, Paikea acknowledges and explains her grandfather’s traditional views and offers her full and free forgiveness to him, even though he she is devastated by the fact that he deliberately and humiliatingly does not show up for her performance. It isn’t until the tribe’s entire future is threatened that the grandfather begins to recognize and accept Paikea’s special gifts. As in Bullet’s case, Paikea is alienated by the one person whom she puts her trust and faith in, and just as soon as that faith has a hope of being recovered, Paikea’s life is endangered in an act of bravery and sacrifice.
Jamie from A Walk to Remember
Jamie (Mandy Moore) from A Walk to Remember, directed by Adam Shankman (2002)
“It’s like the wind…I can’t see it, but I feel it.”
Although not reaching the award-worthy caliber of performance that Bex brings to Bullet, nor the caliber of many of the actresses portraying the other 18 Lionhearted Heroines, singer-actress Mandy Moore is impressively understated, natural, and sensitive as Jamie Sullivan, a high school senior who is, according to Landon Carter (the film’s protagonist), “self-exiled” from the popular crowd and bullied by them. That is, until Landon, played intelligently and memorably by Shane West, recognizes her inner beauty and publicly declares his faith in her. Mandy’s performance is made more impactful through her pairing with West–the two are perfect together and play off one another with ease and genuine affection. Mandy is herself in the role–a caring, giving girl with a big heart and a gentle countenance. She embodies what we all strive to be: selfless, unpretentious, honest, strong, loyal, invested with integrity and that ever-elusive faith that Bex’s Bullet defines for Sarah Linden in The Killing.
Since the film effectively places us – the audience – in the perspective of Landon as he comes to know Jamie, we witness first-hand and intimately how he comes to fall in love with her. By extension, we fall in love with her, too. And we fall in love with Landon who transforms from a bully/tormentor into a troubled young man searching for his own identity and recognizing in her everything he would like to be. Despite his cruelty towards her, Jamie forgives him and willingly offers her friendship which, at first, he takes for granted. When he succumbs to peer pressure and dismisses her in public, she swiftly and courageously puts him in his place saying, “Landon, look, I thought I saw something in you — something good, but I was very wrong.” This instance of tough love which she steadfastly carries through until he admits his failing motivates him to want to “be better” and shows him that, despite her cold words, she “has faith in him [me] too.”
Danielle from Ever After
Danielle (Drew Barrymore) from Ever After, directed by Andy Tennant (1998)
“You have everything, and still the world holds no joy — and yet you insist on making fun of those who would see it for its possibilities.”
Drew Barrymore is a splendid ray of sunshine as Danielle De Barbarac, an intelligent and strong-willed girl in 16th century France whose world is turned upside down after her father dies suddenly of a heart attack when she is eight years old. Forced to relinquish all traces of her aristocratic heritage to an evil stepmother (Angelic Houston) and her two materialistic and envious daughters (although one of the sisters is actually a kind, giving soul) when she is orphaned, Danielle suffers years of hardship and mistreatment with no light at the end of the dark tunnel until she unintentionally meets the Prince of France, Henry, played by Scottish actor Dougray Scott. Despite being American, Drew Barrymore manages to make herself convincing in the role opposite a mostly British cast through her nearly flawless diction and delivery of Danielle’s often stinging, clever lines. As an actress who endured deep family strife in her youth, it is evident in how she captures Danielle’s indomitable spirit that Barrymore innately understands the emotional depths of her character. Her most impressive moments in the portrayal occur when she is depicting Danielle’s tumultuous and heart wrenching interactions with her tormenting stepmother. And then when she transitions to sharing her passionate vision of the world, and her place in it, with the Prince.
Although we know that, unlike Bullet’s story, Danielle’s story will have a “happily ever after” ending since it is the “Cinderella” fairytale, when this ending does finally manifest, it is as sweet and fulfilling as if we didn’t know how it would end at all. This is because, as we did with Bullet through her unjust trials, we come to regard Danielle as if she were our own sister, best friend, or close family member. We witness first-hand how much it costs Danielle to bear the unloving, abusive environment that she is thrust into, and how through it all–just as with Bullet–Danielle retains her innocence, purity of spirit, and her love for and faith in human kind.
Ellie from Contact
Ellie (Jodie Foster) from Contact, directed by Robert Zemekis (1997)
“For as long as I can remember, I’ve been searching for something…some reason why we’re here. What are we doing here? Who are we? If this is a chance to find out even just a little part of that answer, then I think it’s worth a human life. Don’t you?”
In one of the most emotionally brave and nuanced performances of her career, Jodie Foster is transcendent as Ellie Arroway, a driven scientist who, haunted by her father’s sudden death when she was eight, faces an existential crisis that sends her on a spiritual journey beyond the realm of normal human experience. Foster’s complete command of her character’s physicality, voice, countenance, and vast knowledge about the make-up of the universe makes Ellie a formidable force to be reckoned with as she vies with scientific pundits and religious scholars about the potential for other life forms in the solar system. Foster is adept at balancing Ellie’s skepticism about religious notions of the existence of God with her unwavering conviction that life inhabits other planets besides our own. As she tells some school children in a science class: “If it is just us in the universe that would be an awful waste of space.”
What ultimately endears us to Ellie, much like Bullet, is her stubborn insistence to always question and seek answers, despite the staunch discouragement of others and her own self-doubts. Her insatiable quest for enlightenment overcomes her skepticism and, during a near-death experience, she is forced to reckon with her own spirituality and faith. When called before a scientific committee to give her testimony about the enigmatic experience and challenged to admit that “all things being equal, the simplest explanation tends to be the right one,” she is humble and self-effacing in her assertion that “none of us are alone.”
“What do you know of my heart? For weeks, Marianne, I’ve had this pressing on me without being at liberty to speak of it to a single creature. It was forced on me by the very person whose prior claims ruined all my hope. I have endured her exaltations again and again whilst knowing myself to be divided from Edward forever. Believe me, Marianne, had I not been bound to silence, I could have provided proof enough of a broken heart even for you.”
Emma Thompson deservedly received double critical praise for writing this intelligent adaptation of Jane Austen’s classic novel in which she simultaneously portrays the eldest Dashwood sister, Elinor, who endures months of heartache at the loss of her father and her suitor, Edward, with an almost saint-like poise and dignity. Apart from her formidable acting history and training, Thompson’s brilliance in this role stems from her striking ability to balance comedy and tragedy, humor and melancholy, joy and suffering, contentment and grief–just as Bex does so movingly in her role as Bullet in The Killing.
Unlike her overly-zealous sister, Marianne (incandescently portrayed by an 18-year-old Kate Winslet), Elinor does not make a show of her feelings. Instead, she sensibly and selflessly chooses not to burden others with her heartache–just as Bullet endeavors to keep her unrequited love for Lyric and her suffering at the hands of Goldie to herself. Elinor’s contained emotions at times appears cold to those close to her, especially to her sister who criticizes her repeatedly for her seeming emotional indifference. However, as Marianne painfully learns, Elinor’s saintly discretion proves the wiser and more loving countenance, and in good and perfect time, Elinor is finally free to reveal the sentiments she holds so dear to her heart.
Beth from Little Women
Beth (Claire Danes) from Little Women, directed by Gillian Armstrong (1994)
“If God wants me with Him, there is none who will stop Him. I don’t mind. I was never like the rest of you – making plans about the great things I’d do. I never saw myself as anything much. Not a great writer like you. Oh, Jo, I’ve missed you so. Why does everyone want to go away? I love being home. But, I don’t like being left behind. Now I am the one going ahead. I am not afraid. I can be brave like you. But, I know I shall be homesick for you, even in Heaven.”
Then just 14 years old, Claire Danes brought an incomparable spiritual wisdom and tranquil maturity to the sweet, shy, and beloved Beth March, akin to what Bex brings to the beloved Bullet. Like Bex, Danes is natural and unpretentious in her portrayal–rare virtues for two teenage actresses whose remarkable artistic gifts (Danes was also a pianist, Bex is also a poet) transcend their tender years.
Claire Danes’ remarkable acting gifts are on full display in perhaps one of the most moving scenes in all of film history when Beth, weakened by the remnants of scarlet fever which she contracts from visiting a poor family, tragically dies. Knowing that death is upon her, Beth proclaims, “I am not afraid. I can be brave like you. But, I know I shall be homesick for you, even in Heaven.” She is, of course, telling this to her sister, Jo, with whom she was close throughout her brief life. In this intimate moment between them, Beth reveals her abiding faith, much like Bullet does in her intimate moment with Sara Linden in the car. She asserts her faith in God saying, “If God wants me with him, there is none who will stop him,” and her faith in her sister’s bright future, predicting that she will become “a great writer.” Although Beth’s death is difficult and heart-wrenching to watch, there is a certain serenity that accompanies the last moments of her life. Bullet’s violent death–not shown on screen–was certainly without serenity and peace; however, we can imagine that her faith was steadfast until the end.
Natalia Lauren Fiore received a B.A. in Honors English and Creative Writing from Bryn Mawr College and an M.F.A in Creative and Professional Writing from Western Connecticut State University, where she wrote a feature-length screenplay entitled Sonata under the direction of novelist and screenwriter, Don J. Snyder, and playwright, Jack Dennis. Currently, she holds a full-time tenure track teaching post at Hillsborough Community College in Tampa, Florida, where she teaches English and Writing. Her writing interests include film criticism, screenwriting, literary journalism, fiction, the novel, and memoir. Her literature interests include the English novel, American Literature, and Drama – particularly Shakespeare. She blogs at Outside Windows and tweets @NataliaLaurenFi.
As a film-lover, revisiting old movies and watching obscure films from the 80’s is something that I spend far too much time doing. However, it’s usually worthwhile for the unfamiliar and familiar stories I get to connect with. So this week I decided to highlight two older films, one that you’ve probably seen but probably deserves to be re-watched and one that you’ve probably never heard of before.
Earth Girls Are Easy
Geena Davis and Jeff Goldblum in Earth Girls Are Easy
Earth Girls Are Easy is a very, very little known musical comedy film from 1988 starring Jeff Goldblum, Geena Davis and (at the time) two unknown comedians named Jim Carrey and Damon Wayans. Despite the absurdly sexist-sounding title and the campy nature of the film, I sort of love it, and it has a surprisingly smart, satirical message.
“Earth Girls Are Easy” is actually a song written by Julie Brown, the singer, comedian, writer and actress who became famous for her satire in mocking “valley girls” and the superficial character of Los Angeles. After the song was released, Brown actually wrote a screenplay based off the song for a film of the same name and Julien Temple was hired to direct it (be warned, the song itself is pretty out there).
The plot however, is pretty straightforward (click here to watch the trailer): Valerie (Geena Davis) catches her fiancé cheating on her and kicks him out and only a day later, three furry aliens, Mac (Jeff Goldblum), Zeeblo (Damon Wayans) and Wiploc (Jim Carrey), crash land in her pool. The aliens get a makeover and Mac and Geena fall in love, high-jinks and a few musical numbers ensue, and Valerie cuts her ex-boyfriend out of her life and goes for the good guy, Mac.
Everyone in the film is ridiculous, with over-blown stereotypes representing both men and women. For the most part, the film is just what it appears to be, lighthearted camp; however, there are some moments of more subtle commentary, particularly in the two musical numbers. Both of the film’s songs mock superficial standards of beauty as well as the mentality surrounding much of the beauty industry with lyrics such as, “You’re cute and fresh and wholesome/but science has a cure/the natural look is nowhere” from the song “Brand New Girl.”
Video of “Brand New Girl”
Other songs are critical of reductive behavior, such as the infantalization of women with one of my favorite lines in the whole movie, “I talk like a baby/ And I never pay for drinks” in “I Am A Blond.” The glorification of women who act like children has long been problematic, and I appreciate Brown’s awareness of it and her parody of its consistent presence. And while much of the plot centers around the sexual objectification of women (the reason the aliens crash land in Valerie’s pool is because they spotted her sunbathing from space) it’s done in an over-the-top, satirical fashion with a lot of tongue-in-cheek breast-jiggling and intentional flashing of Davis’s thigh.
Video of “I Am A Blond”
While the blatant satire can seem reductive in its own sense, showing pretty much all of Southern California as uninformed slackers and self-absorbed beach bunnies, it is an accessible and very mainstream sort of commentary. Much of Brown’s songs are reminiscent of the hilarious Pink song, “Stupid Girls,” which portrays a lot of the same problems with the media that is currently aimed at women.
In the end, the parody of sci-fi genres, romance movies and much of Western society, was an added bonus to a movie that’s just the best kind of goofy, ridiculous, 80’s entertainment.
Contact
Jodie Foster and Matthew McConaughey in Contact
This 1997 film directed by Robert Zemecki’s does have its moments of self-righteous preaching about the nature of truth and life; however, it’s far more cerebral consideration of alien visitors makes this 90’s film definitely worth revisiting.
In case you don’t remember the plot, here’s a little review: Ellie (Jodie Foster) is a young, brilliant SETI (Search for Extraterrestrial Intelligence) astronomer who listens for extraterrestrial life in New Mexico and, of course, finds it one day. Subsequently, plans for a transportation device are discovered encoded into the radio transmission sent by the aliens, and this unleashes a storm of media, government fear, distrust and discussions about god. Ellie wants nothing more than to be the person strapped into the transporter, but she has to battle bureaucracy and sexism to get there. Despite how it sounds, one of the things that I love about this movie is that aliens actually play a very small role in the film; mostly this film is about humanity in times of crisis.
One of the reasons that I think this movie is great for feminists, though, is that Jodie Foster is intelligent and driven. The focus of the movie is not on how she looks (ninety percent of the movie has her in jeans and a t-shirt with a messy ponytail) but rather on her intense search for truth and scientific discovery. Her excitement for her career and the passion with which she pursues it is admirable, as is her bravery. In fact, Ellie’s character explicitly points out that it is not faith that drives her to attempt the transportation machine of the aliens but rather a sense of adventure (a characteristic we should be actively cultivating in young women today). While there is a side-plot of a relationship with Matthew McConaughey, it’s never the core of the film; the crux of the movie is the point where she encounters and believes in something greater than herself.
Jodie Foster as Dr. Ellie Arraway in Contact
The film also passes the Bechdel Test in that two women, with names, talk to each other about something other than a man for more than thirty seconds. While the majority of the characters are still male, which is understandable in some facets since most of politics and science are still dominated by men, the main staffer at the White House is a woman, and she too plays a strong role in the development of the plot.
For me, the greatest point of this movie is how it shows a female protagonist dedicated to scientific discovery and the fulfillment of her dreams. Often when women are portrayed as ambitious and career-oriented, they are simultaneously shown as cold, evil, and downright heartless (think Meryl Streep in The Devil Wears Prada). In Contact, however, Foster is genuine and polite to the people around her, much like successful women really are.
In fact, in preparation for the film, Jodie Foster met with Dr. Jill Tartar, one of the senior SETI scientists, to discuss her life in the sciences, sexism and what SETI researchers really do. One of the best aspects of this movie is the portrayal of sexism in Ellie’s career without ever really addressing it, just showing how commonplace it is and how gracious she is in dealing with it (again, a far cry from the usual ice-queen portrayal of a successful woman).
The movie also offers a discussion of science versus religion and whether the two can coexist, or how much their goals might even have in common; I think it’s a great addition to the film, in that it is a constant ongoing discussion in our society and would surely be discussed in the event of aliens. Though even without the aliens, the parallels to our own current national debates on same-sex marriage, revolving between the door of religion and science, is provocative. In this way, unlike so many science-fiction films, there is a strong sense of cultural context and philosophical consideration, which pulls the film away from action-based plot lines and into a far more relevant space in drama.
———-
Rachel Redfern has an MA in English literature, where she conducted research on modern American literature and film and its intersection; however, she spends most of her time watching HBO shows, traveling, and blogging and reading about feminism.
