Female Friendship Theme Week

Female Friendship: The Roundup

Check out all of the posts for our Female Friendship Theme Week here.

Pretty Little Friendships by Victor Kirksey-Brown

“I’m a Veronica”: Power and Transformation Through Female Friendships in Heathers by Alize Emme

A snappy dark comedy set in a high school bubble, Heathers touches on difficult subjects including murder and suicide, and nonchalantly addresses major social issues like female friendship and power. The friendships we are introduced to steer every aspect of the story as it progresses and bring us into a world where female characters aren’t just cardboard cutouts but multidimensional, seriously flawed, and sinfully interesting young women.

It Takes Two for Friendship by Laura Money

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.

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

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.

You’ll Never Walk Alone: Heavenly Creatures and the Power of Teenage Friendship by Caroline Madden

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.

Why This Bitch Loves the B— by Mychael Blinde

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.

The Queer Female Friendship of Frances Ha by Sarah Smyth

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.

I Married a Monster: Female Friendship in The Other Woman by Chantell Monique

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.

In Spite of Mean Girls: The Radical Vision of Pretty Little Liars by Jessica Freeman-Slade

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.”

Romy and Michele’s High School Reunion: Bosom Buddies Against The World by Emma Kat Richardson

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.

We’re All for One, We’re One for All in A League of Their Own by Rhianna Shaheen

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.

Walking and Talking With Non-Toxic Women Friends by Ren Jender

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.

Practical Magic: Sisters as Friends, Mirrors by Olivia London-Webb

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.

Martyrs: Female Friendships Can Be Bloody Complex by Dierdre Crimmins

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.

St. Trinian’s: Girlish Wiles and Cunning Friendships by Bethany Ainsworth-Cole

Now whilst this seems like an odd collection of friendships, it is an important selection of lessons. It fosters the idea that girls working together will always be better than scheming men, and will always sort things out even if they do need help. Girls are fearless: willing to steal, blow up iron bars, fight back against creeps, and speak out. And most importantly, it’s OK to make mistakes. The girls also enjoy themselves doing it.

Best Frenemies Forever by Emanuela Betti

Can women be friends? Or, most importantly, can two women who share the same man be friends? The depiction of genuinely loving and caring female friends has found its way onto many movies and TV shows, but when it comes to the idea of a more complex situation—the “frenemies”—it’s harder to find characters that do it justice. There is a shallow notion that when two women want the same man, they turn into hair-pulling, catfighting brats.

The First Wives Club and First World “Feminism” by Amanda Lyons

But the focus on “getting everything” was a little hard to stomach from women living in huge condos in the heart of New York with an interior designer on their payroll. Somehow it felt like the message was getting a little lost in the middle of all the high-society hob-nobbing – there was nothing particularly universal about it, and any feminism that was being communicated was certainly of a rarefied kind that most of us wouldn’t be able to access.

Scarlett and Melanie: The Ultimate BFFs by Jennifer Hollie Bowles

Regardless of how psychological or interpretive you want to get with Scarlett and Melanie’s friendship, it serves as an invaluable example for how women can accept, value, and interact with one another.

Seed & Spark: Female Friendship On Screen–Art Imitating Life by Liz Cardenas Franke

But what if I spent my time, instead, helping another female filmmaker make her movie involving female friendship? Wouldn’t that be just as meaningful? And could it perhaps be making an even bigger statement—promoting the “cause,” so to speak?

Homegirls Make Some Noise: Antônia and the Magic of Black Female Friendships by Lisa Bolekaja

Classism, racism, sexism, and colorism are very real in the world of Antônia. But the film shows us a fresh narrative of Black women succeeding despite living in a slum, despite poverty, despite violence and all the ills that pervade real life. For just a moment, I’m able to watch Black women who are free to be themselves. They don’t have to unpack external baggage based on a checklist of intersections involving their skin color, social status, or gender. That is a rare treat. It’s their tight friendship that sustains them. Music is friendship, and friendship is music.

Kamikaze Girls: When a Lolita Meets a Yanki by Jasmine Sanchez

Julia: A Portrait of Heroic Friendship in an Age of Darkness by Rachael Johnson

Although peppered with flashbacks to the women’s childhood and youth, Julia is set during their formative academic and professional years. The film chronicles the women’s personal and political lives in the decade that saw the rise of Fascism. We witness how the fight against those dark forces transforms both friends.

9 to 5: The Necessity of Female Friendships at Work by Deb Rox

Like the three fates, the friends conjure a life-altering force by listening to each other, by laughing, by being friends. The scenes where they envisioned the demise of their “sexist, egotistical, lying, hypocritical bigot” of a boss start to play out for real in madcap, accidental, and intentional ways. As the fabric unrolls, each woman experiences being supported by the other two and feels compelled to help her friends. In their confusions, cover-ups, and retribution schemes, Violet, Doralee, and Judy knit together a solid friendship where each character finds strength and support. And manage to avoid getting caught. It’s the little things.

“I Love You More Than My Luggage”: Female Friendships and Fertility by Joanne Bardsley

The implication of the relative richness of the representations of female friendships at either end of the fertile period is that at these times the female is free to explore relationships which are not sexual but during the fertile period the female’s most important relationships are sexual. This is damaging and dangerous as it is a structural reinforcement of the objectification of women. We only see our friendships represented on screen when we are no longer of use to the patriarchy, when we have either yet to serve our function or have already performed our reproductive duties. It is only in the margins that we are free to pursue our own interests.

Making Sure Female Friendship Films Aren’t Forgotten: Take Care of My Cat by Adam Hartzell

The film is about the evolving friendships of five young South Korean women as they step away from their technical high school into a less certain world. Their degrees of closeness shift as they consider their futures in the face of particular restrictions in work and life opportunities due to gender and class discrimination.

Frances Ha: Chasing Sophie by Rachel Wortherly

In my experience, people who have seen this film often mistake Sophie’s actions as abandoning Frances for her boyfriend, Patch. The fact that it happens differently is a breath of fresh air. Rather, it represents an early point in which audiences experience the divide between Frances and Sophie in physical and emotional aspects. Sophie sees the opportunity to move on and fulfill her dreams, while Frances’ dream is fractured. The story of “us” that precedes this action becomes their separate, respective stories: “the story of Frances” and “the story of Sophie.”

Fearless Friendship! Usagi and Rei by Kathryn Diaz

Growing up isn’t cute. At six or 16 or anywhere in between, figuring out who you are and what your place in the world is isn’t sparkly fun-times. The best you can hope for is to have a real friend to muddle through the worst of it with you, someone who is having just as much of a crazy time as you are, who will run to your defense, give you pep talks when you’re about to face the Dark Kingdom, and shamelessly make fun of you for being such a crybaby after you call her a meanie.

What Now and Then Taught Me About Friendship by Kim Hoffman

Summer has always been a magical time where childhood lingers, and every time I get on a swingset again, or have a hankering for a push pop, or throw on my Now and Then soundtrack, I think of my childhood and feel invigorated with that rush of youth. I think of Taylor and Sara, and a time when we were so eager to make our own adventures. I also think of those four girls from the Gaslight Addition; somehow they affected my life by making me appreciate what it means to be and have a true friend in this wild world.

Reality Bites: A Tale of Two Ladies by Beatrix Coles

While a fun exercise, it’s really just as counter-productive to reduce these two women to their Reality Bites character archetypes as it is pointless. But yet, there is something familiar and soothing in these roles. We want the pretty girl who falls from grace punished, just as we want the girl wearing glasses to have a political point of view and to not be too concerned about whether she has a boyfriend.

Feisty and Heisty: Female Friendship in The First Wives Club by Artemis Linhart

The main characters’ friendship goes way back: a flashback shows the group in college, together with their valedictorian and close friend Cynthia. The four of them vow to be friends forever. This, however, turns out to be easier said than done. After graduation, the four of them lose touch and are only reunited years later, with the occasion being Cynthia’s funeral. After her husband took financial advantage of her and then left her for a younger woman, she commits suicide. At a post-funeral get-together, the three women bond over their own failed marriages and spite for their ex-husbands. Their friendship is rekindled as they decide to settle the score with their exploitative exes.

When Friendships Fray: Me Without You, Not Waving But Drowning, and Brokedown Palace by Elizabeth Kiy

Not all friendships are built to last. Teenage friendships are little romances between two people, tiny beautiful, impossibly fragile things that break apart upon touch or close examination. Just as a true romantic relationship between two unformed people rarely lasts, so often we grow out of our early friendships. Because so much of growing up means developing into a person who can live in the world, films about the ends of friendships can be just as satisfying coming of age stories as the typical narratives of beginnings. Each ending after all, is the beginning of something else.

“We Stick Together”: Rebellion, Solidarity, and Girl Crushes in Foxfire by Jenny Lapekas

In the spirit of Boys on the Side, along with a dose of teen angst, Foxfire is perhaps the most bad ass chick flick ever. Many Angelina Jolie fans are not aware of this 1996 phenomenon, where Angie makes a name for herself as a rebellious free spirit who changes the lives of four young women in New York. Based on the Joyce Carol Oates novel by the same name, ‘Foxfire’ is the epitome of girl power and female friendship, a pleasant departure from the competition and spitefulness often portrayed between women characters on the big screen (see Bride Wars and Just Go with It). However, it does seem that Hollywood is catching on as of late, and producing films that cater to a more progressive viewership (see Bridesmaids and The Other Woman). When I first saw Foxfire around 16 years old, I stole the VHS copy from the video store where I worked at the time.

“We Stick Together”: Rebellion, Female Solidarity, and Girl Crushes in ‘Foxfire’

In the spirit of ‘Boys on the Side,’ along with a dose of teen angst, ‘Foxfire’ is perhaps the most bad ass chick flick ever. Many Angelina Jolie fans are not aware of this 1996 phenomenon, where Angie makes a name for herself as a rebellious free spirit who changes the lives of four young women in New York. Based on the Joyce Carol Oates novel by the same name, ‘Foxfire’ is the epitome of girl power and female friendship, a pleasant departure from the competition and spitefulness often portrayed between women characters on the big screen (see ‘Bride Wars’ and ‘Just Go with It’). However, it does seem that Hollywood is catching on as of late, and producing films that cater to a more progressive viewership (see ‘Bridesmaids’ and ‘The Other Woman’). When I first saw ‘Foxfire’ around 16 years old, I stole the VHS copy from the video store where I worked at the time.

This post by Jenny Lapekas appears as part of our theme week on Female Friendship.

In the spirit of Boys on the Side, along with a dose of teen angst, Foxfire is perhaps the most bad ass chick flick ever. Many Angelina Jolie fans are not aware of this 1996 phenomenon, where Angie makes a name for herself as a rebellious free spirit who changes the lives of four young women in New York. Based on the Joyce Carol Oates novel by the same name, Foxfire is the epitome of girl power and female friendship, a pleasant departure from the competition and spitefulness often portrayed between women characters on the big screen (see Bride Wars and Just Go with It). However, it does seem that Hollywood is catching on as of late, and producing films that cater to a more progressive viewership (see Bridesmaids and The Other Woman). When I first saw Foxfire around 16 years old, I stole the VHS copy from the video store where I worked at the time.

Angelina Jolie’s shaggy hair and tomboy style in the film, along with her portrayal of the rebellious Legs Sadovsky, play with gender expectations, challenging our assumptions pertaining to clothing, gait, etc. Legs’ biker boots and leather jacket highlight the general heteronormative tendency to find discomfort in these roles and depictions. An androgynous drifter, Legs oozes sex appeal and promotes the questioning of authority. She teaches the girls to own their happiness, to correct the injustices they encounter, and to assert themselves to the men who think themselves superior to women. Legs’ appearance in Foxfire is paramount; she’s even mistaken for a boy when she breaks into the local high school. A security guard yells, “Young man, stop when I’m talking to you.” We see this confusion repeat itself when Goldie’s mother tells her daughter, “There’s a girl…or whatever…here to see you.”

How can we resist developing a girl crush on Angie in this role?

The film’s subplot involves a romance of sorts between artist Maddy and Legs, the mysterious stranger, while Maddy feels a large distance growing between her and her boyfriend (a young Peter Facinelli from the Twilight saga). The intensity of the “girl-crush” shared between Maddy and Legs is akin to that of Thelma and Louise; while we come to understand that Legs is gay, Maddy’s platonic love is enough for the troubled runaway. Legs also assures Maddy after sleeping on her floor one rainy night, “Don’t worry, you’re not my type.” Similar to my discussion of the reunion between Miranda and Steve in Sex and the City: the Movie, the two young women coming together on a bridge is heavy with symbolism, especially when Legs climbs to the top and dances while Maddy looks on in horror and professes that she’s afraid of heights: a nice precursor for the unfolding narrative, which centers on Legs guiding the girls and easing their fears, especially those associated with female adolescence and gaining new insight into their surroundings and how they fit into their environment.

This scene may not be aware of itself as being set up as another Romeo and Juliet visual, but we realize perhaps Legs is a better suitor than Maddy’s boyfriend, whose male privilege hinders his understanding of what Maddy needs. — While this scene may not be aware of itself as being set up as a nice Romeo and Juliet visual, we realize perhaps Legs is a better suitor than Maddy’s boyfriend, whose male privilege hinders his understanding of what Maddy needs.

In a somber and almost zen-like scene involving Maddy and Legs, they profess their love for one another outside the abandoned home the gang has claimed as their own. Maddy says, “If I told you I loved you, would you take it the wrong way?” Obviously, while Maddy doesn’t want Legs to think she’s in love with her, she wants to make clear that the two have bonded for life and are now inextricably linked in sisterhood. Maddy indirectly asks if Legs would take her with when she decides to move on, and Legs hints that Maddy may not be prepared for her nomadic lifestyle. The platonic romance shared by both young women culminates in tears and heartache when Legs must inevitably leave.

Almost as if to kiss Legs, Maddy tenderly touches her face atop the gang’s house.

Legs is the glue that binds these young women, and she literally appears from nowhere. Her entrances are consistently memorable: she initially meets Maddy as she’s trespassing on school property, she climbs to Maddy’s window asking for refuge from the rain (another Romeo and Juliet moment), and eventually takes off for nowhere, leaving the girls stupefied and yet more lucid than ever. Legs is something that happens to these girls, a force of nature, a breath of fresh air. When she tells Maddy that she was thrown out of her old school “for thinking for herself,” we can safely assume it was just that–refusing to conform to the standards of others. The unlikely friendship that forms amongst this diverse group of girls clarifies the idea that this gang dynamic has found them, not the other way around; the pressed need for the collective feminine is what brings the girls together, rather than some vendetta against men.

Although Legs tattoos each of the girls in honor of their time together, they know they won't need scars to remember Legs. — Although Legs tattoos each of the girls in honor of their time together, they know they won’t need scars to remember Legs.

Legs sports a tattoo that reads “Audrey”: her mother, who was killed in a drunk driving accident, and we clearly see in the film’s final scenes that Legs suffers from some serious daddy issues, when she angrily announces that “fathers mean nothing.” Delving briefly into Legs’ painful past, we discover that she never knew her father. The quickly maturing Rita explains to Legs, “This isn’t about you.” Each of the girls has their own set of issues within the film: Rita is being sexually molested by her scumbag biology teacher, Mr. Buttinger, Goldie is a drug addict whose father beats her, Violet is dubbed a “slut,” by the school’s stuck-up cheerleaders, and Maddy struggles to balance school, her photography, and her boyfriend, who is dumbfounded by Legs’ influence on his typically well-behaved girlfriend.

After the girls beat up Buttinger, Legs warns him to think before inappropriately touching any more female students.

In an especially significant scene, the football players from school who continually harass the girls attempt to abduct Maddy by forcing her into a van. The confrontations between the groups progressively escalate throughout the movie, and climax after Coach Buttinger is apparently fired for sexually harassing several female students. Legs shows up donning a switchblade and orders the boys to let her friend go. Of course, the pair steal the van and pick up their girlfriends on a high speed cruise to nowhere, which ends in an exciting police chase and Legs losing control and crashing, a metaphor for the gang’s imminent downfall. The threat of sexual assault dissolved by a female ally, followed by police pursuit and a car crash has a lovely Thelma & Louise quality, as well. The motivation here is to avoid being swept up in a misogynistic culture of victim-blaming. What’s interesting about this scene is that another girl from school, who’s in cahoots with these sleazy guys, actually lures Maddy to the waiting group of boys, knowing what’s to come. Meanwhile, Maddy tells Cyndi that she’d escort any girl somewhere who doesn’t feel safe, highlighting the betrayal at work here. Cyndi, the outsider, exploits Maddy’s feminist sensibilities, her unspoken drive for female solidarity and the resistance of male violence to fulfill a violent, misogynist agenda and put Maddy in harm’s way. Later, in the van, Goldie excitedly yells, “Maddy almost got raped, and we just stole this car!” as if this is a source of exhilaration or a mark of resiliency. Perhaps we’d correct her by shifting the blame from the “almost-victim” to her attacker: “Dana and his boys almost raped Maddy.”

Legs says, “Let her out, you stupid fuck.”

Obviously, these are young women just blossoming in their feminist ideals, on the path to realization, and just beginning to question the patriarchal agenda they find themselves a part of in this awkward stage of young adulthood. It’s in this queer in-between state, straddling womanhood and adolescence, that we find Maddy, Legs, Violet, Goldie, and Rita, on the cusp of articulating their justified outrage. We may also question, how does one almost get raped? While the girls of Foxfire are young and somewhat inexperienced, with Legs’ help, they quickly obtain this sort of unpleasant, universal knowledge that males can perpetrate sexual violence in order to “put women in their place.” Dana announces, “You girls are getting a little big for yourselves.” We can’t have that. Women who grow, gain confidence, and challenge sexist and oppressive norms can make waves and upset lots of people. While the girls are initially hesitant in trying to find their way and make sense of their lives, Legs is the powerful catalyst for this transition from the young and feminine to the wise and feminist. While the high school jocks attempt to reclaim the power they feel has been threatened or stolen by this group of girls, Legs continues to challenge gender expectations by utilizing violence as well.

As she hitches a ride, Legs tearfully says, “You’re my heart, Maddy.”

Not only does this film pass the Bechdel Test with flying colors, it almost feels as if it’s a joke when the girls do manage to discuss men–like the topic is not something they take seriously or that boys rest only on the periphery of their lives. While Maddy suffers silently in terms of her artistic prowess and boyfriend drama, Rita–seemingly the prudest and most sheltered of the gang–talks casually about masturbation and penis size. However, it’s important to note that when men do make their way into the conversation, it’s at rare, lighthearted moments when the girls are not guarded or suspicious of the tyrannical and predatory men who seem to surround them. The penis-size discussion between Rita and Violet, we must admit, is also quite self-serving and objectifying. Rather than obsess over their appearances or the approval of boys, the girls’ most ecstatic moment is when Violet receives an anonymous note from a younger girl at school, another student Buttinger was harassing who is thankful for what the gang did. The fact that Violet is so pleased that she could help a friendly stranger who was also a target of the same perverted teacher says a lot about the gang’s goals and identity.

Thanks to Legs, Maddy overcomes her fear of heights.

Maddy and Legs recognize something in one another, and although theirs is not a sexual relationship, it is no doubt intimate and meaningful. With an amazing soundtrack that includes Wild Strawberries, L7 (wanna fling tampons, anyone?), and Luscious Jackson, and boasting a cast that includes Angelina Jolie and Hedy Burress, Foxfire is undeniably feminist in its message and narrative. With the help of Legs, the girls find agency, and with it, each other. Although most of the girls have been failed by men in some way, Legs offers hope in female friendship and lets her sisters know that male-perpetrated violence can be combated with a switchblade and a swift kick to the balls. Legs arrives like a whirlwind in Maddy’s life and leaves her changed forever. The lovely ladies of Foxfire will make you want to form a girl gang, dangle off bridges, and break into your old high school’s art room just to stick it to the man.

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Jenny holds a Master of Arts degree in English, and she is a part-time instructor at a community college in Pennsylvania. Her areas of scholarship include women’s literature, menstrual literacy, and rape-revenge cinema. She lives with two naughty chihuahuas. You can find her on WordPress and Pinterest.

Feisty and Heisty: Female Friendship in ‘The First Wives Club’

This guest post by Artemis Linhart appears as part of our theme week on Female Friendship.

This made-by-men film navigates female friendships through the proverbial battle of the sexes, steering clear of “a feminist manifesto,” unleashing just what it deems feasible. This is the premise, which sounds much worse than it turns out to be.

Three mid-40s women whose husbands have left them for younger women decide it’s time to opt out of misery and take matters into their own hands. Thus forms the First Wives Club. Assembling Goldie Hawn, Bette Midler, and Diane Keaton makes for a true 90s Dream Team of female energy. Who wouldn’t want to be a member of a club like that?

While a desire for revenge starts out to be the foundation of The Club, the driving force behind it soon proves to be the substantial companionship the three of them share.

When it doesn’t all pan out at first, a feud arises that splits the trio up temporarily. They lash out at each other in a way only close friends can and reconcile accordingly. The big fight is overcome and it is emphasized that there are more important things than silly catfights – specifically friendship and, in their case, the pressing issues at hand.

There is a lesson to be learned here – one that transcends the supposed target audience of the middle-aged woman, as well as the decades, and connects with more recent cinematic works focusing on female relationships. In order to end the notorious “Mean Girls” spirit, there needs to be a shift in perspective – starting with an awareness of the significance of establishing and maintaining support among females. By vanquishing the damaging representation of the “Girl vs. Girl” trope, The First Wives Club is a good example of teaching adolescents the values of female solidarity, which, in turn, is an important pillar of everyday feminism.

However, the key demographic of the film is not to be disparaged. Amidst the rather ageist “Girl Power”-craze of the 90s, it focuses on one of the movie industry’s lesser-discussed subjects. This is addressed directly in a self-referencing statement made by Goldie Hawn’s character: “There are only three ages for women in Hollywood: Babe, District Attorney and Driving Miss Daisy.” The film itself makes room for this overlooked, often excluded group of people and places it in a feminist context.

Triumphant Triumvirate

As the First Wives Club takes shape, the three women rise to the occasion and take on the challenge full-scale. This allows for the power dynamics of the group to shift and become more balanced. Annie (Diane Keaton) leaves her old pushover-self behind and takes charge. Elise (Goldie Hawn) gets off her high horse and Brenda (Bette Midler) gains more confidence in the face of her ex-husband’s new fiancée (satirized aptly by Sarah Jessica Parker, who rode her broomstick alongside Bette Midler just three years prior in Hocus Pocus, a female friendship tale of the witchy kind).

Owing to their new-and-improved friendship, they each gain strength and build each other up along the way. What follows is a buoyant heist show with slapstick galore – all of this against the backdrop of the good cause, the big picture, the women power. Indeed, they have the full support of one of New York’s society grande dames (Maggie Smith), who, too, was once a first wife (as well as a second, third, and fourth). Unconditional support also comes from Annie’s Daughter and Brenda’s boss, as well as a handful of cameos by the likes of Gloria Steinem and Ivana Trump.

After settling their own issues, they proceed to step it up a notch and help other women in need. As they found the Cynthia Swann Griffin Crisis Center for Women, the trio truly rises to the top – of society, the media, and the moral code – their (granted, naïve) objective being that no woman will have to suffer the same fate as their friend Cynthia.

Based on a novel by Olivia Goldsmith, this film is written, directed and produced by men. Whereas in the movie there are certainly a few problems with the representation of women and their actions, they seem less grave without direct comparison to the book. In view of the film version being constructed as a lighthearted comedy, there are a few content-related details worth mentioning.

The general tone of the much more progressive novel is darker and more serious. Here, the punishment for the ex-husbands is more brutal, while the female characters are portrayed as multi-dimensional – as opposed to their cinematic depiction, which is shrill, occasionally hysterical and lacks depth. Especially the roles of the new girlfriends are particularly cardboard in Hugh Wilson’s version.

In contrast to the film, the story is about more than revenge – it focuses on empowerment and actively addresses the notion that women should not feel afraid to be labelled as having strong opinions and personalities.

As one might expect, the film is considerably more hesitant concerning feminist representations. To sidestep a too “radical” stance that was perhaps misconstrued as “male-bashing,” a “light”-version of Olivia Goldsmith’s original ideas was created – often in questionable ways. The filmmakers’ way of redeeming the image of the “man-hating beasts,” for example, was the decision to reunite Brenda with her ex-husband. This seems like a cowardly quick fix that goes against everything the First Wives Club stands for, especially considering the fact that in the novel Brenda’s new partner is a woman.

And yet, while it may not be as groundbreaking as the book, the movie could be a great deal more disastrous. It is pro-emancipation without too much of an “anti-men” vibe. Interestingly enough, the title of the German version translates to “The Club of the She-Devils” – a crude demonstration of an obnoxiously archaic perspective on the film.

Retaliation in Style and in Rhythm

While the trio’s friendship seems to be based largely on achievement and a distinct goal respectively, there is, nonetheless, a perpetual sense of a true and meaningful connection. Merely by the way they interact with each other, it is palpable that there is still a lasting bond between them. There is, indeed, an air of the blithe BFF sentiment from back in their college days. Correspondingly, both Cynthia and Annie still keep a framed picture of the four of them in their homes.

Another symbolic marker of their friendship is Leslie Gore’s hit song “You Don’t Own Me,” their college-times performance of which they reminisce about and even repeat twice in the film. This song is truly a great pick and shows that the filmmakers were not too afraid to use a clearly feminist song. As a recurring theme, their own rendition of the sixties classic can be seen as a symbol of their lasting friendship as well as their newfound empowerment. It culminates in the very last scene of the movie as they sing and dance off into freedom. The happiest of endings: not primarily a romantic one, it celebrates the courage, independence and companionship of the three women.

Another important factor that comes into play is the way in which the women handle their respective husband’s new relationship status. While they harbor anything but positive feelings for the mistresses they have been left for, instead of blaming the “other woman” for the man cheating – as seems to be common practice among women on and off screen – they focus their anger and revenge on the men. They do this in a dignified manner, true to the tagline of the film: “Don’t get mad. Get everything.”

Artemis Linhart is a freelance writer and film curator with a weakness for escapism.

‘Kamikaze Girls’: When a Lolita Meets a Yanki

This guest post by Jasmine Sanchez appears as part of our theme week on Female Friendship.

There is a common belief that two types of girls exist: tomboys and girly-girls. This is often perpetuated by media. Look at any cartoon since the 1980s and onward. Another belief often perpetuated by the media is that women who fit one of these types aren’t likely to get along with the other. I’m not sure where this idea originated and I’m even less sure how it became so accepted. Either way, it’s just another fallacy that prevents women from being friends with women who don’t fit into their own idea of how women should act. However, one film proves how a friendship can form between two unlikely women.

Kamikaze Girls (originally Shimotsuma Monogatari in Japan) is a story of two teenage girls who each belong to a different Japanese subculture and end up becoming best friends. Momoko Ryugasaki is a Lolita living in a rural part of Japan called Shimotsuma. Despite what one might expect a girl who dresses like a cupcake to act, she is cold, manipulative and completely content with living in own fantasy world. She spends her days bored out of her mind living in her peaceful town, but occasionally makes trips to Tokyo in order to shop for clothing from her favorite brand, Baby The Stars Shine Bright. However, Momoko’s pretty dresses don’t come cheap, so in order to fuel her passion for Lolita fashion, she puts up an ad online selling her father’s old bootleg Versace clothing. This causes her to meet a yanki (Japanese delinquent), Ichigo Shirayuri, or “Ichiko” as she prefers to be called, who is interested in purchasing some knock-off clothing. Once she sells her the fake Versace, Momoko expects their interactions to end there; however, Ichiko decides to befriend her and rope her into her own little adventure.

While their connection doesn’t form immediately, especially in Momoko’s case, the two eventually are able to form a close bond. When they first meet they are both taken aback by one another’s exterior–Momoko is horrified to be dealing with a yanki and Ichiko thinks that Momoko is a little girl. Once she finds out they are the same age Ichiko admits to her folly, “I shouldn’t judge by appearances,” which Momoko counters with, “But appearances says everything.” This sets up their dynamic for the rest of the film as Ichiko is willing to look beyond, while Momoko prefers the superficial. After business is done, Momoko wants absolutely nothing to do with Ichiko as she doesn’t see friendship or any form of human connections of something of value. Not to mention her disgust with Ichiko’s clothing, short temper, and habit of spiting on the floor. This still doesn’t prevent Ichiko from coming over to Momoko’s house uninvited, or joining her for tea at her favorite café. Despite being a tough biker gal, it’s clear that Ichiko has a sense of loyalty and wants to befriend Momoko, because she feels indebted to her after getting great deal on the clothing sold to her. However, a flashback of Ichiko’s past before she was a yanki shows that she was bullied and had no one as a friend. This changed when she met her mentor and gang leader Akemi. Ichiko most likely sees Momoko in a similar predicament and wants to help her out by befriending her. Unfortunately, Momoko is not as receptive to Ichiko’s offers of friendship and inclusion of her biker gang.

*Spoiler Warning*

Although Momoko resists Ichiko’s attempt to convince her to join her on her search for a legendary embroider named Emma, she is literally dragged along anyway. Their “quest” pretty much consists of them walking aimlessly around the city and hijinks ensuing. When they are unable to find Emma, Momoko offers to embroider Ichiko’s coat, which she stays up all night to do. Despite being exhausted, Momoko admits to being filled with happiness when seeing Ichiko’s delight in her stitching, an emotion that surprises her as well.

Their bond with each other is deepened when they start to rely on each other for their emotional struggles. When Ichiko finds out the guy she liked is involved with someone else, more specifically her former gang leader, Akemi, she is understandably brokenhearted by this revelation and calls Momoko and asks her to meet her on a hill. When Ichiko repeats the words of advice Akemi had given her, “Women shouldn’t cry in public,” Momoko turns around and reminds her that they are alone. This allows her to break down and cry. This is Momoko’s way of comforting her, while allowing her to keep her pride. When Momoko is asked by her favorite brand to embroider a dress with her own design, she is intimidated by the prospect and at a loss at what to do. Momoko asks Ichiko to meet with her to talk about it, and although Ichiko is surprised by Momoko needing her, she states she will go anywhere for her. Her words of advice for Momoko are harsh but encouraging as she reminds her of the embroidery she did on her jacket and how it made her feel. Ichiko sees the talent that Momoko possess and wants to help her flourish. Although she is somewhat unsure of herself, after her talk with Ichiko, Momoko is able to find the inspiration to embroider the dress.

Toward the end of the film, Momoko’s friendship is in full force when she drives by motorbike in order to help Ichiko when she finds out she will be beaten by gang members. Everything she does from this point goes against Momoko’s mindset as a Lolita, however she realizes that Ichiko means more to her than being delicate. When Momoko reaches Ichiko and the gang members, she has already been beaten quite a bit. The sight of Ichiko’s blood causes Momoko to unleash her rage and she grabs a bat and starts swinging against as many yankis as she can. After she freaks them out with her sudden attack, she lies and claims to be the daughter of a legendary yanki. This convinces them to let them both go as they ride off on Ichiko’s bike together as they laugh about Momoko’s bluff.

The film relies on an odd-couple dynamic between the two leads, not just in appearance, but also in personality. Both characters are interesting in their own right. Momoko is a misanthropic dreamer, while Ichiko is delinquent with vulnerable side. Through their interactions with one another they are able to uproot a part of each other that they couldn’t see before. However they don’t completely change at the end of the film; Momoko still prefers her life of indulgence as a Lolita and although Ichiko has a brief stint modeling Lolita clothing, she’s still tough as nails and prefers to ride her bike through the countryside. Their choices are treated as positive ones by the film, since they’re both still young and as long as they have each other they will be okay.

Jasmine Sanchez is a university student working on a major in English Literature. She loves comic books, British television, anime/manga, and cult classic films. She one day hopes to travel to Japan. You can find her on Twitter at @takship.

Homegirls Make Some Noise: ‘Antônia’ and the Magic of Black Female Friendships

Classism, racism, sexism, and colorism are very real in the world of ‘Antônia.’ But the film shows us a fresh narrative of Black women succeeding despite living in a slum, despite poverty, despite violence and all the ills that pervade real life. For just a moment, I’m able to watch Black women who are free to be themselves. They don’t have to unpack external baggage based on a checklist of intersections involving their skin color, social status, or gender. That is a rare treat. It’s their tight friendship that sustains them. Music is friendship, and friendship is music.

Antonia One Sheet “Antônia Movie Poster” — *Antônia* Movie Poster

This guest post by Lisa Bolekaja appears as part of our theme week on Female Friendship.

Antônia is a Brazilian film from 2006 that I watch at least once a year. Its fictional female characters are ones that I consider my cinema family, ladies who I like to visit with for a spell and reminisce about rap music and female MCs. It’s an uncomplicated story, and perhaps even a little melodramatic. However it boasts one of cinema’s rare contemporary explorations of Black female friendship while navigating the hyper-masculine world of hip-hop. The simple slice-of-life storytelling using real-life female MCs resonates with authentic sisterhood.

Antônia chronicles the rise and fall (and rise again) of four young women from Sao Paulo who sing backup for a male rap group called “Power.” Scratching out a basic living in the Brasilandia favela are Preta, a single mom who recently left her cheating husband; Mayah, a songwriter into fashion as much as her lyrical prowess; Lena, a hardcore lyricist who juggles her music career with her insecure boyfriend; and Barbarah, a martial arts expert who lives with her closeted gay brother.

These four women, friends from childhood, named their group after their respective grandfathers who coincidentally all had the name “Antonio.” What makes them all so special to me is the fact that all four women have an exuberant agency and a nuanced security in their Blackness, which is refreshing to see onscreen. From their hair, clothing, skin color, to the way they walk and rap, there is a sense that they have never doubted that they were fly and worthy of respect. This confidence they display doesn’t come from the stereotypical and clichéd tropes of the sassy Black woman, or the Black chick with neck swiveling finger-pointing “attitude,” or the hyper-sexualized Black female dimepiece. Even the tiresome “strong” Black woman trope is absent in this film. These women are vulnerable, assertive, flawed, supportive of one another, and critical of one another. This confidence comes from their collective need to persevere in the face of undeniable hardships.

Walking above favela “Barbarah (Leilah Moreno), Lena (Cindy Mendes), Mayah (Quelynah), and Preta (Negra Li) — Walking above favela: Barbarah (Leilah Moreno), Lena (Cindy Mendes), Mayah (Quelynah), and Preta (Negra Li)

Although the film is only 90 minutes long–time for only light character sketches at best–the subtext I read is a world of complexity and pride beneath each woman. At one point, while waiting for a train after a late night performance, they sing a cappella about their love for the curl in their hair and being “Criollo” (Creole in the sense of being Black Brazillians who, like Black Americans and others outside of the African Diaspora, exist because of blendings of African, Native, and European blood). Mayah even raps this in one of her rhymes, which reinforces the notion of self, a self rooted in the pride and knowledge of Black cultural history. I’ve never really seen that in a contemporary film before.

While most American films featuring Black female friendships deal with misogyny, rape, drug use, damsels in distress, broken families, crime, poverty, and the often contrived horrors of being…gasp… single—flicks like Sparkle, Dreamgirls, Set it Off, Waiting to Exhale, The Color Purple, Daughters of the Dust, et al (notice that I had to reach way back for titles) — Antônia stands out as the one rare film where the Black women are the captains of their own ships, beholden to no one but themselves. Men support them, but don’t run them. They are sexual beings without being overwhelmingly sexual. (Mayah loves high heels and mini-skirts when she performs, but her attitude shows us it’s just for her pleasure and not for the male gaze.) Having a young child doesn’t deter Preta from performing; she brings her young daughter Emília to rehearsals where the women help care for her there and also outside of performing. Men don’t save them physically; they can handle male bullies with one kick from Barbarah’s Capoiera skills. Most importantly, they don’t wait for someone to discover them. Early on Mayah convinces the male rap group Power that the group Antônia has a hot song that they should consider opening their next show with. The guys agree and back them up. The women even tell the rap fans directly that they are feminist because they spit it in their lyrics to predominately male audiences. The real beauty is that their feminism is centered in a deeply Black female narrative vein. Alice Walker calls this being “womanist.” And the audience will deal.

Antônia surpasses the well-known Bechdel test and what I call the People of Color Agency Test: 1.) More than one Black person or PoC, 2.) Who speak to each other, 3.) About anything other than saving/serving White characters. That is the greatest joy I get from this film–watching beautiful, talented, and engaging Black women live their lives and cultivate their friendship without the heavy burden of structural racism brow-beating them All-The-Damn-Time.

The favela in the film is evidence of historical shenanigans. The scene of the women singing “Killing Me Softly” at a private and very White birthday party (because it’s less threatening musically) speaks volumes visually, especially when we know the group’s core audience is very Black and very rooted in the public streets. Classism, racism, sexism, and colorism are very real in the world of Antônia. But the film shows us a fresh narrative of Black women succeeding despite living in a slum, despite poverty, despite violence and all the ills that pervade real life. For just a moment, I’m able to watch Black women who are free to be themselves. They don’t have to unpack external baggage based on a checklist of intersections involving their skin color, social status, or gender. That is a rare treat. It’s their tight friendship that sustains them. Music is friendship, and friendship is music.

When an up-and-coming promoter and new manager of the group tries to shape Preta’s image into a solo career, one pleasing to a cross-over audience, Preta lets it be known that toning down her Blackness is not what she’s about. Singing mainstream pop hits is not her goal. Rap is. Without her sister-friends and their powerful energy, performing means nothing.

Mom and Daughter “Emília (Nathalye Cris) and Preta (Negra Li)" — Mom and daughter: Emília (Nathalye Cris) and Preta (Negra Li)

The only negative criticism I have of the film is that I wish the music, the literal sounds backing the lyrics of the female MCs, was just as good as the tracks the men had. Scenes in a local hip-hop club bristle with a restless kinetic energy when male performers inhabit the stage, but for some reason, the backing track for the ladies’ signature song is softened to a listless and defanged pop sound. This music doesn’t match the fierce content of the lyrics. The writer/director Tata Amaral ran an open casting call for local female rap talent, and the casting of real-life MCs makes a huge impact on the performances. The actors, Negra Li (Preta), Cindy Mendes (Lena), Leilah Moreno (Barbarah), and Quelynah (Mayah) hustled for this dream in their real lives. They know how to spit fire on a mic. They wrote their own verses performed in the film and those verses deserved beats that slayed.

Ultimately it was friendship that brought Antônia together as children. Nurturing that friendship is the only thing that stabilizes their chaotic lives while hustling for the showbiz dream. The simple narrative and the real-life raw talent of the women playing Preta, Mayah, Lena, and Barbarah makes Antônia a rich film that broadens the role of Black female friendships in cinema. It’s the friendship that makes me watch this film so often. And as corny as it sounds, I also get a happy ending. Perhaps if there were more films showing Black female friendships being nuanced, vulnerable, and just plain regular (no Super-Duper Negroes, no Magical Saviors, no There-Can-Only-Be-Exceptional-Black-Folks), I probably wouldn’t have to watch it so much. Antônia will always be in my regular film viewing rotation. I wish I had friends like these young women. The Sistren are here. Don’t sleep on ‘em.

Lisa Bolekaja co-hosts a screenwriting podcast called “Hilliard Guess’ Screenwriters Rant Room” and her work has appeared in “Long Hidden: Speculative Fiction from the Margins of History” (Crossed Genres Publishing), “The WisCon Chronicles: Volume 8” (Aqueduct Press), and in the upcoming Upper Rubber Boot Books anthology, “How to Live on Other Planets: A Handbook for Aspiring Aliens.” She can be found on Twitter @LisaBolekaja

‘Julia’: A Portrait of Heroic Friendship in an Age of Darkness

Although peppered with flashbacks to the women’s childhood and youth, ‘Julia’ is set during their formative academic and professional years. The film chronicles the women’s personal and political lives in the decade that saw the rise of Fascism. We witness how the fight against those dark forces transforms both friends.

Written by Rachael Johnson as part of our theme week on Female Friendship.

Directed by Fred Zinnemann, Julia (1977) is an exceptionally beautiful portrait of female friendship and heroism. Primarily set in the thirties, it tells the story of two interesting, gifted women, the playwright, Lillian Hellman (Jane Fonda) and anti-Nazi activist Julia (Vanessa Redgrave).

Before I look more closely at Julia, I need to briefly address the controversy surrounding its narrative source. The film’s Oscar-winning screenplay (written by Alvin Sargent) is based on Lillian Hellman’s memoir Pentimento: A Book of Portraits, specifically her account of her friendship with a childhood friend and anti-Fascist activist called Julia. The story, unfortunately, turned out to be a fabrication. The lie, of course, cheats the reader, and violates historical truth. The question remains, however, whether Julia is partly true or a blend of real historical figures. My focus, here, of course, is on the film. We can choose to write off the cinematic adaptation as fraudulent or appreciate it as a work of fiction. Julia is a fascinating, involving study of courage and its depiction of friendship persuasive and affecting. The caliber of the acting can also not be disputed. Redgrave and Fonda both give riveting, career-defining performances.

Lillian becomes a playwright, battles all the frustrations the profession of writing entails, and eventually achieves success and celebrity. She lives with her lover, and fellow writer, Dashiell Hammett (Jason Robards), in a beach house facing the Atlantic. An even more adventurous soul, Julia goes abroad to study medicine at Oxford and Vienna, before becoming a committed anti-Fascist activist. Although both friends are ultimately characterized as strong women with strong ideals, Julia is portrayed, from the start, as the more courageous, self-assured, and politically engaged woman. Lillian is more insecure, and human, while Julia is both resolute and ethereal. Although a fellow left-winger, Lillian is not immune to the finer things of life. Regarding class identity, Julia’s mindset is more remarkable. A child of extreme wealth, she utterly rejects the lifestyle and values of her privileged caste.

The flashbacks to the friends’ youth are haunting and illuminating. Even as an adolescent, Julia (Lisa Pelikan) is enraged by economic inequality and social injustice. We see her express her impatience at her friend’s conventional need to hear of her family’s trips to Europe. The young Lillian (Susan Jones) is dazzled by Julia’s affluent, cosmopolitan background and lacks her friend’s political consciousness. Lillian, in fact, worships her friend. Julia recognizes that veneration sometimes characterizes female adolescent friendship, and the actresses who play the teenage friends credibly capture that particular dynamic. Such friendships can, of course, become abusive but this is not the case with Julia and Lillian. Although the young Julia plays the dominant role, and has a patrician, prefect-like manner, she is, nevertheless, a warm, just, soul. Julia enlightens, and inspires Lillian. Crucially, she is Lillian’s heroic example.

The deep affection Lillian has for Julia endures and Fonda conveys her love with a remarkable candor. The scenes between the adult childhood friends are, in fact, extremely moving and beautifully played. The playwright, it must be noted, is written as a considerably complex woman. She is sensitive, vulnerable, moral and humane, as well as idealistic and spirited. Fonda’s compassionate, intense portrayal captures both her insecurities and charisma. The scenes between Lillian and “Dash” are also vividly, and tenderly performed. Robards plays Dash as a crabby, no-nonsense yet supportive mentor-lover and both actors are magnetic in their moments together. Whether the portraits of both writers are authentic characterizations is another matter but that applies to all autobiographical and literary depictions of real people, of course.

Julia is the most extraordinary character in the film, however. The viewer sees her, of course, to a considerable extent, through Lillian’s eyes. Preserved by memory and distance, she remains an exotic, daring figure from childhood. Julia may have a certain mythic aspect but she grows up to be a devoted, dynamic political activist and her activism is very real and very dangerous work. Julia provides us with a powerful, multi-layered portrait of female activism. Her characterization does not exhibit the customary misogynist Hollywood stereotyping of female activists as sexless, humorless and nutty. She is sexual, sane, and cerebral. She is, however, a unique human being. Most men and women of privilege crave more wealth, and there is something heroic about Julia’s decision to betray her cosseted class. Julia, indeed, is that rarest of American films, a Hollywood film with a Socialist heroine. Redgrave equally gives her character a steely yet otherworldly power and grace. It is an exquisite performance.

There is another outstanding female performance in Julia. A young Meryl Streep gives one of the greatest scene-stealing cameos in Hollywood history as Anne-Marie, a socialite friend of both Julia and Lillian. It was, in fact, Streep’s very first film performance and her ability to fully inhabit roles is already on display. Her character typifies the kind of woman Julia in particular could have become, a spectacularly self-regarding, superficially charismatic woman of privilege.

Our friends choose a tougher track. When their lives intersect as adults, Julia asks Lillian to perform a courageous act. It will test Lillian but it should also be seen, in a way, as a gift. Lillian is given an opportunity to demonstrate courage and shape history. It is also an act that binds the women together.

Julia is a film laced with tenderness and sadness. Ultimately, it is a tale of both heroism and tragedy. Although it cannot be categorized as obscure, Julia has been somewhat forgotten. This is not that surprising, of course. Most film critics are men, and Julia is a story about women that foregrounds and honors female friendship. Although shot in a conventionally romantic, almost cozy fashion, Julia is unusual in many ways. It is an American film for adults about the loving friendship of two accomplished women with romantic and professional lives. What’s more, it’s a movie about female activism and heroism. It needs to be fully restored to our cinematic memory.

‘9 to 5’: The Necessity of Female Friendships at Work

This guest post by Deb Rox appears as part of our theme week on Female Friendship.

Forget “leaning in.” To thrive in a corporate environment you need work BFFs who will do three things for you: mentor you up the ladder, make sure you are included in an lunch order if someone is arranging delivery, and help you blackmail your boss should it come to that.

Work friendships between women are sacred. Office friends serve as your career siblings. They are essential playmates who share the chores of daily living, and more importantly, bear witness to the same dysfunctions and deadlines. Good work friends will evolve lines of gossip (institutional and interpersonal, both matter) and ways to process everything from office memos to the bizarre co-workers who are not your friends. All of this is amped up in bad and equitable work situations where women need friends to help bust ass and glass ceilings, and to simply survive.

Movies take on the theme of office friendships, but great representations of women friend are few and far between. Wall Street and tech movies are boytown. Office Space is the go-to classic for illuminating oppressive corporate cubicle life, but it doesn’t come close to passing the Bechdel Test. I love Jennifer Aniston as much as the next flair-hater, but she’s in Office Space as a complicated love interest and to represent service work, the “feminine” version of tech work in this film’s universe. She is there to be dated and to be saved. She is not there to make friends – nor does she have any.

Other movies offer working girls friends but only as side plots (Melanie Griffin had Joan Cusack in Working Girl) or they only offer frenemies (think of poor Anne Hathaway in The Devil Wears Prada and how she had to settle for glimpses of kinship, and at the end of the movie at that. )

In fact, Anne’s Andy needed a girl gang in the magazine office more than she needed a couture hook-up. What she needed – and what I needed again and again in various horrible job situations – was the ultimate project team as realized in the 1980 triumph 9 to 5. She needed Doralee (Dolly Parton), Violet (Lily Tomlin) and Judy (Jane Fonda,)

Incredibly radical for its time, 9 to 5 has become the standard by which all of workplace friendships on and off screen are measured. These women are gold. GOLD. Would you help me steal a body from the morgue? Would you hogtie our boss to keep him from calling the cops on me? Would you help me enact the progressive, women-centered policies I dream of bringing to our workplace? If your answer is “no,” don’t bother asking me to help you proofread your latest pivot table. What I need is real women friendships at work. Friends like Violet, Judy and Doralee.

The friendships in 9 to 5 are like what would happen if Lucy and Ethel paused halfway on the road to becoming Thelma & Louise. The holy trinity are really more akin to wartime combat buddies than to anything else. At the start of the film the women are fairly wary of each other, battle broken as they are from their individual struggles. Doralee, Violet, and Judy probably wouldn’t be friends in if they weren’t thrown together into the battle of Frank Hart Jr.’s (Dabney Coleman) corrosive workplace.

The sad thing about the first act, which is brilliantly exacted, is that they see each other through the lens of the decidedly exploitive, sexist office environment – and they don’t like what they see. Of course they don’t. In that nasty patriarchal universe defined by Hart they are reductive stereotypes: the slut, the shrew, the out-of-place housewife. They fall prey to gossip and suspect the very-Dolly Doralee of sleeping with the boss (ew, that mustache). Violet, a newly divorced and rather meek character at first, is viewed as a drain on mega-competent Judy. Judy is bitter (rightfully so) about the way she’s been passed over repeatedly in the sexist environment.

The brilliance of 9 to 5 is how the story inverts all of that. It upturns Hart’s universe and it also reverses how the characters see themselves and each other. In doing so it makes an environment of female friendship possible and necessary, and it is absolutely gleeful to to see those barriers dissolve as the women start to bond and start to see themselves as on the same team. It’s genius, really, the way it shows that stereotypes are limiting, destructive and wholly created by sick systems. In 9 to 5, sexist systems are personified by Hart, who was, as Doralee put it, “evil to the core.”

The turning point of the movie, and of their friendship, takes place in Doralee’s house. They end up pissed off on behalf of the mistreatment sleazy Frank Hart imposes. They each take a few hits of some primo ‘80s Maui Wowie and take turns narrating revenge fantasies. These scenes are fabulous, with Hart shown hunted and trapped on a toilet in the women’s bathroom and hog-tied and roasted on a spit. Doralee, giving him a taste of his harassment, calls him “my boy from 9 to 5.” Animated blue birds of happiness help Judy poison Hart in her gruesomely delicious fairy tale, and happiness befalls the kingdom when the king falls through the window to the sidewalk below.

The misandric revenge factor is fun, but the serious power in 9 to 5 happens when the friends begin making changes in the office. Judy, bolstered by her fabulous management team, is a better leader than Hart could ever be, and together they bring in every progressive workplace program imaginable in 1980. These legit moves are more rewarding than any of the hog-tying scenes because women do dream of these changes, we do work together to make them happen, and we want equity more than we want punishment. Well, reducing Hart to watching daytime television for company was pretty rewarding, too.

[youtube_sc url=”https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LwDMFOLIHxU”]

9 to 5 knew we want good workplaces and good friends who are invested in our success just as we are invested in theirs. Wrapped in with all of the fantasy, in 9 to 5, female friendships were elevated as leverage against systemic organizational sexism, and as a positive factor for both individual empowerment and sustainable leadership. Almost every single scene supported this thesis except for those defining Hart’s character and a very few others that contextualized the character’s home lives. Mostly, though, this movie belonged to the bond forged by Doralee, Judy and Violet during their beautiful mutiny.

Watching the movie, you want these women as your friends. You want to get Violet stoned, you want to cheer as Doralee flawlessly twirls a lasso with her red-clawed, manicured hands, and you want to stay up all night writing new human resource policies for the corporation of your dreams with Judy. After watching 9 to 5 you’ll want to trade in your car for a bigger vehicle, one with a bench seat in the front big enough for all of your work BFFs and with a trunk big enough to conceal and carry your boss if happens to be a “sexist egotistical lying hypocritical bigot.” Should it ever come to that.

Deb Rox serves as Entertainment Editor of BlogHer where she writes about media, pop culture, and current events. She will vote for any political candidate who promises to unite the continent into one time zone for easier live-tweeting purposes. Follow her on her blog Deb on the Rocks and at @debontherocks on Twitter.

“I Love You More Than My Luggage”: Female Friendships and Fertility

This guest post by Joanne Bardsley appears as part of our theme week on Female Friendship.

Female friendships in film are marginal affairs in almost every sense. Hollywood blockbusters rarely pass the Bechdel test. Films that explore female friendships are generally made by smaller production companies and destined for independent cinemas; they exist on the margins of the entertainment industry.

The marginalised place of female friendships in film extends to the timing of the friendship. Many films that genuinely explore the complexity of female friendship, which allow it to move beyond stereotypical female behaviour, site these relationships on the “margins” of life, on the periods either side of fertility.

In Steel Magnolias (dir. Ross, 1989), for example, Ouiser (Shirley MacLaine) and Clairee (Olympia Dukakis) squabble, criticise, tease, and trick one another. In the final scenes of the film, Clairee offers Ouiser as a punching bag to M’Lynn (Sally Field). Ouiser is offended, but eventually signals her forgiveness of Clairee by pushing her off a bench. This relationship may have its caring, mutually supportive aspects, but it admits the possibility of violence and aggression. There are other, more conventional, even stereotypical, female friendships in the film where the relationship is based on mutual support, emotional intimacy and empathy. What marks this relationship out is that both parties are well beyond their fertile years.

The complex and shifting nature of mature friendships is also seen in The Divine Secrets of the Ya-Ya Sisterhood (dir. Khouri, 2002). Again, these are friendships that have lasted decades. The Ya-Yas keep each other’s secrets and support each other as is common in the representations of younger female relationships, but they also threaten and swear at each other. The swearing and threats indicate the durability of the relationships between the women. They are able to test the friendship because they trust to its ability to survive. Again, the representation moves beyond the stereotypical traits of female friendship, and again, the friends are post-menopausal.

On the other side of the fertile period, The Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants (dir. Kwapis, 2005) explores a friendship that has developed through the years of childhood and is about to be tested as the friends move into adulthood. The friendship here begins before birth (their mothers all attend the same prenatal classes). The film’s catchphrase–“Together apart”–acknowledges that adulthood will probably separate the friends physically and mentally. The film attempts to promise that the friendship will be strong enough to survive these separations, yet offers little explanation of how that will happen. They are now fertile, so the main focus of their lives must shift. They must find suitable mates, bear and raise children; they must perform the primary functions of the female.

For some females, these primary functions are denied and they must exist in the margins for their whole lives. Ladies in Lavender (dir. Dance, 2004) invites us to pity these women. The elderly sisters Janet and Ursula (Maggie Smith and Judi Dench) live a peaceful life together until their relationship is disrupted by Ursula’s sexual longing for a young violinist (Daniel Bruhl) they rescue from the sea. Ursula’s desires are shown as futile and inappropriate until she speaks about the lack of men in her life. All the men with whom she could have had a relationship have been killed in the First World War. At this point our feelings change from disgust to pity. We become willing to sympathise with her passion for the young man; after all, her only meaningful relationship is a friendship with her sister. At the end of the film she chooses to leave the young musician with his new friends in the city and returns to her provincial, marginalised existence, relying on her friendship with her sister for her primary emotional bond.

Jo Bardsley is a behaviour specialist in an inner city London school. She has a BA in English and a Masters in Education.

Making Sure Female Friendship Films Aren’t Forgotten: ‘Take Care of My Cat’

This guest post by Adam Hartzell appears as part of our theme week on Female Friendship.

Before I knew about the Bechdel Test, I knew about Take Care of My Cat, the 2001 debut film by South Korean director Jeong Jae-eun that is a required text for those interested in New Korean Cinema.[i] Among the many admirable and compelling aspects of the film, I found it most compelling that it had almost nothing to do with boys.[ii] As film scholar Chi-Yun Shin put it, “These women are defined not by men but by themselves and with each other.”

Tae-hee, played by the incredible Bae Doo-na of The Host and Cloud Atlas, continues to work at her family’s sauna and is the hub of the friendship network. She does her best to keep everyone together. Hye-joo (Lee Yo-won) is the social climber, but she is not played for cliché. Her character–at risk of caricature–is provided more depth than is usual for someone of her type. Hye-joo’s closest friend in high school was Ji-young (Ok Ji-young). But Ji-young’s economic situation, living alone with her frail grandparents in a much poorer part of Incheon, results in limited employment options. She doesn’t have the money to keep up with Hye-joo’s status-seeking desires. She wants to go to art school, but her family lacks the funds to enable this pursuit. Then there are the Chinese-Korean identical twins, Bi-ryu and Ohn-jo (played respectively by the Lee sisters, Eun-shil and Eun-ju). Their characters are less developed than the others, but their presence serves as acknowledgement of South Korea’s own specific multicultural make-up, something rarely acknowledged in the film industry at this time. Another character of interest here is the poet with cerebral palsy [iii] who dictates his poetry to Tae-hee. All these characters are, in their own ways, outsiders in relation to the growing South Korean economy only recently recovering from the IMF crisis.

Along with these characters, there is the cat that is passed between them. A stray that was found by Ji-young, it is given as a present to Hye-joo. When she returns this gift, it signifies rejection of their high school friendship that may no longer hold in their adult lives. The cat finds its way into the hands of all the women and represents an attempt to communicate what is unspoken between them. Jeong has said regarding her intent with the cat, “I had hoped for the girls to be like cats – flexible, independent, complex, to have the tendency to leave if they are not happy with their owner.”

In addition, mobile phones play a vibrant part in the communication, miscommunication, and refusal to communicate between the young women. Jeong displays the text on screen alongside the characters in an early creative effort to represent texting on film, of which South Korean cinema was an early pioneer. Finally, the gorgeous soundtrack works off the bleeps and tones of cellphones in its dreamy underscoring of this liminal period in the lives of these young women.

With the exception of the twins, each woman confronts discrimination directly. Ji-young does not have family or other connections necessary for the referrals required for certain jobs. Expectations are made by a male co-worker that Hye-joo should have laser vision corrective surgery. Tae-hee must deal with her father’s continued preference to her younger brother, leading to a confrontation with her father in a restaurant that includes a Korean literary reference. [iv] Explaining how Ji-young and Tae-hee fully resolve these forms of structural discrimination would result in my having to reveal plot points that I don’t want to reveal here. Let me just say that Tae-hee finds a connection with the temporary migrants in South Korea, Filipinos and Burmese, adding yet another layer to the feelings of isolation and exclusion these young women feel in the country of their birth.

Director Jeong Jae-eun has given us a wonderful exploration of female friendship through young women, whose position in their society is not stable. Allegiances shift as class rears a greater presence in their adult lives. As all great direction and scripts do, Jeong mostly shows rather than tells how these women connect and how they fail to connect. Early on in the historical prevalence of mobile technologies, Jeong demonstrates the myth in the promotional hype that such tools will keep us closer. She shows how they also keep us apart in how the tools are used and how class barriers limit access to such tools. Although it didn’t do spectacularly at the box office, Take Care of My Cat so touched its intended audience that it inspired an uprising of support to bring it back to theatres after being pulled sooner than fans wanted.

When New Korean Cinema emerged on the international film scene, part of what made it unique as a national film movement was the significant presence of not one, but three women directors. Along with Jeong, there was Lim Soon-rye and Byun Young-joo. Lim’s first two films were, interestingly, about male friendship (Three Friends and Waikiki Brothers). Lim would go on to direct a 2008 film partially about female friendship, a film based on a real-life South Korean women’s Olympic team handball squad called Forever the Moment. I think I can go on record and say it’s the greatest team handball film ever made. [v] Sports films in South Korea do not tend to do well, so it is a tremendous achievement that Lim garnered box office success for that film. Byun is most famous for her trilogy of documentaries on “Comfort Women,” which involve her friendship with women survivors and their own friendships with each other. Although Ardor and Flying Boys are less appreciated works, I am actually a fan of those feature films by Byun. Her most recent film, Helpless, actually garnered a best director from the industry. Back to Jeong–she moved on from Take Care of My Cat to a film partially about male friendship (The Aggressives). That film did not perform well at the box office and we had to wait seven years before Jeong took the director helm again, this time with critically well-received documentaries about architecture.

The reason I mention this women triumvirate of New Korean Cinema, besides pointing out how they all have directed films focusing on female friendship, is that in spite of their solid work and that of the women directors who joined them later, such as Park Chan-ok, Bang Eun-jin, and Gina Kim, I find myself discouraged that Jeong and other quality films by women directors, such as Kim’s excellent Invisible Light from 2003, often don’t make it on lists of significant films of the New Korean Cinema movement. Such lists are often dominated by the opposite of friendship, the male violence of films like Old Boy and I Saw The Devil.

Case in point: recently Indiewire, which on all other levels is a strong advocate of women’s films and focuses considerable coverage to pointing out gender discrimination in the U.S. film industry, posted a “primer” this summer on what they mislabeled as the “Korean New Wave.” (See the first endnote.) In that primer they completely dismiss the impact of women directors in South Korea. In their parenthetical excuse, they say they were only looking at films with “a measure of international distribution.” This is disingenuous since Take Care of My Cat received considerable international distribution for the time and Hong Sangsoo’s 2013 film Nobody’s Daughter Haewon, which made their list, has received almost next to nothing. [vi]

This erasure of women directors partly happens because we privilege the stories told by male directors, particularly those that are violent or action-oriented as Indiewire’s list of “essential” films demonstrates. Films about women’s lives where relationships are given precedence don’t fall into the male fight club preferences of many casual references to the South Korean film industry. Take Care of My Cat is a canonical text of New Korean Cinema. To leave it off your list is like leaving off Bong Joon-ho’s 2003 masterpiece Memories of Murder. Films about female friendship, the hard work of caring for others while negotiating room for independence, is just as much art, is just as engaging as, if not more than, watching a bunch of guys beat the crap out of each other. Ignoring films by the women of New Korean Cinema is part of a longer tradition of dismissing the women’s labor that makes art and entertainment possible. Take Care of My Cat’s erasure reminds us that we need to take care of our films and make sure that the exceptional works by these women aren’t forgotten or underappreciated. Such systematic forgetting makes it harder for the South Korean women working in the industry now and in the future to bring us their stories.

[i] Some writers have confused the “New Korean Cinema” and “Korean New Wave” film movements. For an example of this confusion, see Indiewire’s “10 Essential Films of the Korean New Wave” (June 26, 2014, credited to ‘The Playlist Staff’) where none of the films listed are part of the Korean New Wave but are actually part of New Korean Cinema. In the scholarly literature “Korean New Wave” denotes certain films made in the 1980s to the mid-90s that first started to address the cultural suppression and censorship at that time in South Korea’s history and were closely connected to the democracy movement. “New Korean Cinema” began in the late 1990s when censorship laws loosened and higher production quality became available. Then another confusing moniker entered the picture, “Hallyu,” which refers to the global pop culture phenomenon of South Korea films, television dramas, and pop music. The launching of the film segment of “Hallyu” began with Shiri (1999) by Kang Je-gyu. Mistakes in naming the wrong movement are primarily due to the names not being distinct enough. The fact that they both have “New” in them doesn’t help. Add to this that Hallyu means “wave” and you can see why Indiewire and others might mix up the movements and their origins. There are several books one can read to clarify this confusion, see for example Chi-Yun Shin and Julian Stringer’s New Korean Cinema (University of Edinburgh Press, 2005), Darcy Paquet’s New Korean Cinema: Breaking the Wave (Wallflower Press, 2010) and Directory of World Cinema: South Korea (ed. Colette Balmain, Intellect Ltd., 2013).

[ii] There is a young man who conveys romantic interest toward one of our characters, Hye-joo. Hye-joo brushes him off. But her romantic refusal is not “punished” or seen as her core flaw. Her friends are more upset with her general rudeness to him rather than any gender expectation that she should find the right man quickly or else she’ll regret it.

[iii] This character is played by an actor of similar embodiment, which is still rare casting for any national film industry.

[iv] The literary reference is to a novella by Cho Se-hui, the title of which goes by a few translation variations but I will use this one – A Little Ball Launched by a Dwarf. It’s a bit of a plot spoiler to mention the actual dialogue so I won’t here.

[v] If anyone knows of another team handball film, I seriously would love to know since sports films are one of my other film interests.

[vi] I am assuming by “international distribution” the authors mean what most folks intend by that phrase, distribution outside of film festivals.

Adam Hartzell has been a contributing writer to Koreanfilm.org since 2000. He has written for various websites (Fandor, sf360, VCinemaShow), the quarterly Kyoto Journal, and has a chapter in The Cinema of Japan and Korea (Wallflower Press) along with contributions in Directory of World Cinema: South Korea (Intellect Ltd). He writes often about the films of Hong Sangsoo such as for a retrospective of his work held in San Francisco and a paper delivered at the Society for Cinema and Media Studies conference in Seattle in 2014.

When Friendships Fray: ‘Me Without You,’ ‘Not Waving But Drowning,’ and ‘Brokedown Palace’

Not all friendships are built to last. Teenage friendships are little romances between two people–tiny beautiful, impossibly fragile things that break apart upon touch or close examination. Just as a true romantic relationship between two unformed people rarely lasts, so often we grow out of our early friendships. Because so much of growing up means developing into a person who can live in the world, films about the ends of friendships can be just as satisfying coming of age stories as the typical narratives of beginnings. Each ending after all, is the beginning of something else.

This post by Elizabeth Kiy appears as part of our theme week on Female Friendship.

Not all friendships are built to last.

Teenage friendships are little romances between two people–tiny beautiful, impossibly fragile things that break apart upon touch or close examination. Just as a true romantic relationship between two unformed people rarely lasts, so often we grow out of our early friendships.

These friendships are among the most intense in your life and that intensity often burns out too fast. It can feel giddy and feverish just like a teenage romance, where you can’t bear to be apart, talk all night on the phone, keep boxes of sentimental objects and stay up all night together. But you don’t know then who you really are and this relationship, that you eat and sleep and breathe, can either end up a warm memory or, in many cases, the last barrier to true adulthood.

Though close friendships often form between larger groups, the view of teenage friendships we most often see on film is this singular sort of passionate fire. These films succeed on the strong performances of two leads, as character studies of two highly developed characters. Other people are interesting, but they never seem quite as important.

What is some interesting in these films is how they explore this one difficult question: If you’ve aways been one of two, how do you become one, a singular person without missing something? Because so much of growing up means developing into a person who can live in the world, films about the ends of friendships can be just as satisfying coming of age stories as the typical narratives of beginnings. Each ending after all, is the beginning of something else.

It can be difficult to tell what these kinds of films are saying about friendships. Are they simply too pure, to beautiful to exist in the real world? Are they things that hold us back, trap us in fantasy worlds so vivid they make real life seem like a dream (see: Heavenly Creatures)?

What about toxic friendships (see: Albatross, Ginger and Rosa) ? Teenagers are so much more vulnerable to these sorts of things because perfect symbiotic connections seem so desirable.

Holly follows along through Marina’s experimentation

In Me Without You, a British film spanning the 1970s and 80s, Holly (Michelle Williams) and Marina (Anna Friel) initially have little in common, but develop a close, almost symbiotic, connection, due to proximity. They’re neighbors and they’re the same age. As they grow up, they follow each other into the same music and subcultures, Marina most often dragging Holly along, and it’s unclear whether they would have liked the same things if they weren’t so closely tied together. Later, when their friendship has broken down, they continue to be tied together, now by their daughters’ friendship.

For most of her life, Holly has lived in Marina’s shadow. Marina is exuberant and witty, outgoing and almost glitters in her everyday wear, more like costumes, pirates and ballerinas, then everyday outfits, she’s impossible to lose in a crowd. Meanwhile, Holly is softer and too often scared. She lives in Marina’s shadow not only because she feels most conformable there, but because Marina demands it. Marina’s brightness fascinates Holly, who casually accepts her cruelty, too nice and too needy to do anything that could hurt her. As Holly begins to come into her own and get noticed for her intelligence and beauty, Marina sees it first and does everything she can to sabotage her.

Mousy Holly feels overshadowed by her friend Marina

The betrayal is a little cliche. Marina sleeps with Holly’s boyfriends and subtly chips away at her self-confidence to keep Holly as her mousy, lesser friend. Throughout the decades, Holly falls in and out of her attraction to Marina’s brother Nat, and it appears that he is her soulmate. Eventually they get together, but not without the cost of Holly and Marina’s friendship.

For Holly, growing up comes to mean realizing that indulging Marina and following her demands isn’t making her happy. As the title says, Holly needs to figure out who she is without Marina and learn to be this person. The friendship ends as she realizes the Marina needs her more than she needs Marina, it’s just holding her back from growth.

Though the viewer is meant to identify with Holly, writer-director Sandra Goldbacher succeeds in giving just enough insight into Marina to understand her rationale. She is not cruel for the state of it, but is hopelessly insecure and jealous of light she sees in Holly. She tries so hard to be exciting and cultivate an alluring persona, but Holly doesn’t even have to try to be interesting. Moreover, as Holly is developed as such a sweet and intelligent, it’s hard to completely fault her judgement. At different points her in life, Marina was the friend she needed. And she loves her, she can’t be all bad.

Alice and Darlene enjoy vacationing together before college

Likewise, Alice (Claire Danes) in Brokedown Palace is the wild, even fearless friend who tries to convince quiet Darlene (Kate Beckinsale) to live a little. You’ve either been this girl or you know her, either way, you’re a little frightened (and thrilled) by her influence. Alice convinces Darlene to take chances she otherwise would have avoided, usually things Darlene had secretly wanted to do anyway. Alice convinces her to go to Thailand, to sneak into the pool at a fancy hotel and hang out with some skeevy seeming guys they meet. This ends up getting the girls sent to a Thai prison for smuggling heroin they (allegedly) had no idea was in their bags.

Suffering through prison together, the girls’ friendship becomes strained

It’s any traveller’s biggest fear and the girls, fresh out of high school, not at all streetwise and sure being American grants them certain privileges, make all the worst possible decision at every juncture, but really the horror of their imprisonment is overshadowed by the horror of betrayal. Alice and Darlene find themselves in (an often pretty racist portrayal of) Thailand where everyone is poking at them and yelling in languages they can’t understand with no one to turn to except each other. But as time passes and it becomes clearer and clearer that this is not just a misunderstanding, they lose their faith in each other. Darlene’s parents have always hated Alice and tell her she deserves to be in prison for being a bad influence on their daughter. Darlene even begins to agree, believing Alice forced her to do things against her will. In the end, Alice pays the price for being the wild friend, accepting for responsibility for the crime, and sacrifices her life for Darlene’s freedom by offering to serve both their prison terms.

Due to the film’s ambiguity, its ultimately unclear whose fearlessness was their downfall. Was Alice telling the truth when she accepts full responsibility or had Darlene attempted to strike at independence and excitement on her own?

The friendship between Sara and Adele feels familiar and realistic

Devyn Waitt’s ethereal indie, Not Waving But Drowning, begins with Adele (Vanessa Ray) and Sara (Megan Guinan) literally breaking apart. High school is over and Adele is leaving their tiny Florida town for New York City, where she imagines bigger and better things await. Sara, the more level-headed of the duo, is staying behind and continuing to live a teenage life, she sleeps in her parents’ house and rides to and from her volunteer job with her father.

Yet through their separate journeys, the girls attempt to maintain the symbiosis that had kept them afloat so far. On their own, they have a host of adventures, both good and bad, that become increasingly difficult to share with each other. For Adele, life in New York is not as glamorous as she imagines, she moves into a messy apartment with four guys she barely knows and gets a job cleaning office buildings. Things seem to improve when she becomes friends with a girl who lives across the street, who seems to have the glamorous life she’d dreamt of.

Meanwhile, Sara teaches art classes at a senior’s centre and finds it difficult to get the residents interested. She is drawn to Sylvia (Lynn Cohen), a rebellious elderly woman who smokes pot in her room and leads trends at the centre.

Not Waving But Drowning cribs from two very different coming of age templates: an older person-young person intergenerational friendship and a silent reaction and recovery from trauma narrative.

Sara indulges her rebellious side by spending time with Sylvia

Separated, they try to be figure out what kind of people to be without each other. For Sarah, this means attempting to replace her more daring friend with this woman who reminds her of Adele. Sylvia even becomes a role model to her, as she is fascinated by a photograph of young Sylvia in New York at her age. Later, when she visits Adele, she attempts to recreate the picture.

Adele’s road is harder. Her new friend Kim (Isabelle McNally) abandons her when she is raped on a rooftop and she spends a long time struggling with the event. She has a hard time connecting to the world she so recently lived in, the world of her friendship with Sarah, riding in cars and singing, trading inside jokes and leaning on each other. In picking Kim, she had attempted to chose a friend completely different from Sarah, someone more like the person she wanted to be herself. As Kim disappoints her, her own view of herself and what she can be is shattered.

Adele struggles to create an identity of her own

The friendship between the girls is strained, but it is not irrevocably damaged. By the end, they’ve had lives apart and have secrets they keep from each other, something they never had before, but they still feel comfortable sleeping in the same bed like children. Sara plans to move to New York, but will this fix things? Can they ever be as close as they once were?

The true test of a friendship isn’t whether is lasts, but who it lets you be. These teenage friendships encouraged a symbiosis that made it impossible for the girls to live alone and that was why they faltered. We need more films that explore the toxic aspects of friendships, particularly teenage friendships, to help us learn to recognize them.

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Elizabeth Kiy is a Canadian writer and freelance journalist living in Toronto, Ontario. is a Canadian writer and freelance journalist living in Toronto, Ontario.

Pretty Little Friendships

This guest post by Victor Kirksey-Brown appears as part of our theme week on Female Friendship.

I don’t know where to start, because I don’t totally understand Pretty Little Liars. This show blows my mind in both good ways and horrible ways. And the show isn’t over, so I can’t say for sure how the themes and lessons will ultimately play out.

The show, based on a book series of the same name, centers around four girls: Emily, Spencer, Hanna, and Aria. After the disappearance and assumed death of their friend and ring leader Alison DiLaurentis they have a falling out, but are reunited a year later when they start receiving threats from an anonymous someone who goes by “A.”

And then shit goes crazy. “A” has done so much shit to these teenage girls and I don’t understand any of it, but I digress.

When the show starts out, they’re all estranged and I wouldn’t really classify them as friends. Aria is just moving back to Rosewood (the fictional town where the show takes place) after a year of traveling in Europe with her family, Spencer is heavily focused on school and extracurriculars, Emily is dealing with figuring out her sexual identity as well as maintaining her top ranking on the swim team, and in the absence of Alison, Hanna is the new “Queen Bee” of Rosewood High.

So they’re all in different places, but are forced to rely on each other and come back together because of “A” and her?…his?..their? goons. “A” is constantly pitting the four girls against each other, trying to use their secrets and desires to exploit them and break them apart. “A” exploits Emily, promising her secret of being a lesbian will remain so if she does what “A” wants. “A” does the same to Aria with her relationship with her teacher Ezra (by the way my feelings on their relationship are pretty well summed up by Gaayathri Nair here.) “A” also does this to Hanna when her mom is stealing money from her work, and multiple times with Spencer because of her family’s many secrets. However, “A” always either then forces them to divulge their secrets or, more often, the girls find that they must trust in each other to make any progress.

Eventually the girls learn that keeping secrets from each other is counterproductive, especially when people are crashing cars into your house, blowing up houses, hitting you with cars, filling your mom’s car with bees, basically TRYING TO KILL YOU 24/7. Albeit it took until season 5 for that to really sink in.

No matter what happens, they’re forced to fully trust each other. When other relationships come in between the core four–like when Spencer’s boyfriend Toby was working with “A” because “A” had information on his mother’s death that he badly wanted and Spencer found out but kept it secret–the group is mad when they find out, but ultimately understanding and compassionate. They accept Spencer back and eventually Toby, because they’ve all been in the same place. They’ve all been pressured by “A” to do things they regret and instead of pushing each other away, they try and understand and stay together.

Because EVERYONE is a suspect, the suspects are often each other’s loved ones and this causes tension with the group. But again, because it happens to all of them, they all give each other the opportunity to prove their loved one isn’t really involved (though they usually are). And if it is discovered said person is involved, everyone in the group knows that they owe it to each other to allow the group to pursue said loved one to find answers.

Also, they never really fight over boys. (And on a side note it’s actually kind of amazing how long lasting the relationships in this show are given it’s a teen drama, even if they are highly problematic.) Whenever a boy or love interest comes between them it’s because one of them is hiding something from the rest of them to protect the love interest. They don’t get into “cat-fights” with each other over guys, they don’t gossip behind each other’s backs, they don’t get jealous of one another, they do sometimes judge each other, but eventually realize that they all have faults and again they need to trust each other. When they fight with each other it’s because they’re genuinely concerned for each other, like when Spencer gets addicted to Adderall or this season when Hanna has a drinking problem, or it’s because someone has been hiding crucial information from the others, information that could mean life or death.

Ultimately, this teaches the audience what every drama, especially teen drama, I think deep down wants to teach but never fully does: that you have to be vulnerable with your friends, and lying, even when you’re doing it because you think you’re helping, only ends up hurting in the long run. It also teaches that you shouldn’t let boys or gossip come between you and your friends, and if it does, communicate with them and confront it. This is something that is normal in teen dramas, but on Pretty Little Liars the importance of trusting and relying on each other is emphasized because they’re dealing with HEAVY shit. People are constantly harassing them and trying to kill them. The girls don’t have time to dwell on petty things, they’re always trying to figure out who’s trying to hurt them and why. In fact, the times they do dwell on petty things it’s pretty distracting, I have to remind myself that these are high school girls and they have a right to concern themselves with things the average high school girl thinks about.

Another thing is they never slut shame each other, a common thing that will come between female friends in teen dramas. When the group finds out about Aria dating their English teacher Ezra, they’re concerned because of the age difference, but they never attack Aria. They’re eventually very supportive of Aria and Ezra’s relationship. I personally hate Ezra with a deep passion to the point where I yell “Fuck you” whenever he’s on screen, but think it’s amazing that Emily, Hanna, and Spencer are so understanding about it all. And when Emily comes out to them all, again, they’re all very supportive and none of them treat her any differently than they had before.

I mean, even when Alison DiLaurentis is found to be alive and has had a hand in putting them through all the shit they go through, they try to help her and protect her, and they have no reason to even like her. Throughout the show we’re shown flashbacks of their interactions with Alison and they are all of her being horrible and manipulative. But they see that Alison has been through a lot and is maybe in the same boat as they are, so they take her back in. They’re not completely trusting of her, but the point is they give her a chance.

This show is constantly breaking my mind because I have no idea why anything that is happening is happening and it’s all horrible, and there are a lot of problematic relationships and situations, but also there are a lot of progressive things. All of them equally rely on each other and get themselves out of trouble, they’re usually the ones who have to protect their boyfriends and family members, and they aren’t afraid to confront their enemies. Their parents are pretty open minded; Emily’s mother was unsupportive at first about Emily coming out, but then became very loving and understanding. Even Aria’s parents became understanding of her relationship with Ezra to the point of him being invited to family functions. And as I’ve shown you, the girls’ friendship is very progressive.

I don’t know if the writers portray this type of friendship and steer away from many of the harmful female friend tropes on purpose, or if it’s just because there’s no way to fit them in with all the other crazy shit that’s going on, but the strong and positive friendship these girls share is one of the reasons I enjoy Pretty Little Liars. Now, I’m not saying that there aren’t a slew of negative things about the show, or that I even know what my feelings for this show are, it’s constantly doing really progressive things for teen dramas while also doing regressive things, like having every person of color (aside from Emily) ending up being villainous and killed or just killed. I’m just saying that I love teen dramas and I think it’s awesome to see a female led teen drama with strong friendships.

Oh, and another way this show fosters friendships is that you should not watch it alone; you definitely need watching buddies. I don’t know how teenagers can watch this show. I’m 22 and I can’t even fathom it half the time, but I definitely wouldn’t make it through without my friends Laura and Elisha. So if you plan on checking it out, find someone who’ll plunge into the deep end with you.

Victor Kirksey-Brown lives in Minneapolis, Minn.

‘Frances Ha’: Chasing Sophie

This guest post by Rachel Wortherley appears as part of our theme week on Female Friendship.

At first glance, director Noah Baumbach’s seventh film, Frances Ha, also co-written by its star, Greta Gerwig (Frances), can be summed up as the following: 20-something Frances Halladay aimlessly struggles to survive in the harsh climate of New York City, while trying to become a professional dancer and mature into adulthood. While this is the case, the most important aspect is the relationship between Frances and her best friend Sophie (Mickey Sumner). In the scope of cinematic female friendships, Frances Ha explores it as a beautiful story of love, loss, and courage.

The film begins with a dizzying montage of Frances and Sophie engaging in behaviors that range from adolescent to intimate. They blissfully play fight, giggle uncontrollably, and have cozy bedroom confessions. They are the epitome of inseparable. At one point, Frances muses, “Tell me the story of us.” Sophie in a nurturing, maternal tone recites their future as a bedtime story. They achieve all their dreams: Sophie successfully becomes a publishing mogul, and Frances a famous modern dance artist. Their lives will be filled with European excursions and honorary degrees–so many honorary degrees.

So far, we are witnessing the familiar trope of sisterhood, support, and unwavering affection that is inherent in similarly themed films such as Steel Magnolias, The Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants, or Waiting to Exhale. These women are in love with each another and their friendships can weather the toughest hurdles. However, the quality that separates Frances Ha from the latter two is that men are a backdrop to the friendship, goals, and ambitions of Frances and Sophie. The “story of us” does not include husbands and babies. When men are spoken about, it is usually brief and fleeting. Frances nonchalantly recounts that she and her boyfriend, Dan, have broken up. He wants to move in together, while Frances’ loyalty is to her lease and partnership with Sophie. Frances is not heartbroken. She is not sobbing on the window sill as a soulful R&B song swells in the background. While they love men, men do not dominate their dynamic and neither female is defined by them. At this point, they are one another’s significant other.

This hazy love story takes a turn when Sophie abruptly moves in with another girlfriend in the trendy and more expensive neighborhood of Tribeca. In my experience, people who have seen this film often mistake Sophie’s actions as abandoning Frances for her boyfriend, Patch. The fact that it happens differently is a breath of fresh air. Rather, it represents an early point in which audiences experience the divide between Frances and Sophie in physical and emotional aspects. Sophie sees the opportunity to move on and fulfill her dreams, while Frances’ dream is fractured. The story of “us” that precedes this action becomes their separate, respective stories: “the story of Frances” and “the story of Sophie.”

A friendship that was once whimsical and carefree gives way to passive aggressiveness and tension. Upon Sophie’s move, an irate Frances blasts her over the phone for coveting a tea kettle they bought when moving in together. Yet, at no point does it become Mean Girls. It is absent of “burn books,” idle gossip, or derision. Here begins the angst, confusion, and fear that is familiar when the one constant in our lives changes. Frances is left alone to figure life out by herself. There is no one present to reprimand her for picking at her acne, share a cigarette, or laugh with hysterically as she urinates off a subway platform. Thus begins Frances’ search for companionship.

One of the greatest qualities about this film is that Baumbach and Gerwig, whether consciously or unconsciously, adhere to the “Bechdel test.” While Frances interacts with men, the most dominant male/female scenes being with her newfound roommates Lev (Adam Driver) and Benji (Michael Zegen), it is quite platonic–almost innocent and childlike. When they speak it usually involves her job, Sophie, or her feelings of not being “grown up.” They in turn appreciate her quirkiness and good humor. At this point, we cut to Frances’ sleep being disrupted by Lev and Benji who engage her in a tickle fight. Laughter resounds and all is well again in her world. In typical comedies, when most writers place a female character in this situation, the easy route is to pair Frances with one of the men (likely Benji who makes his attraction for Frances obvious by the film’s end). But this is a different kind of “romantic comedy.” It is a platonic love story between two friends.

Rather, Lev and Benji fill the void of loneliness that pervades sans Sophie. This pattern continues when Frances, unable to afford rent at the guys’ Chinatown apartment, temporarily moves in with Rachel (Grace Gummer), her superior in the dance company. With her, Frances attempts to vainly re-enact the play fights, as Rachel screams “stop” and “ahoy sexy” inside jokes. At this stage Frances is coping with the emptiness of losing someone she dubs “the same person” as well as a professional impasse. Sophie works in publishing and has a significant other. In terms of the “story of us,” these successes, or failures, are not occurring as they imagined, or simultaneously. Their story continues to slip out of their grasp.

It should be noted that Frances Ha accurately depicts patterns in female friendships. Usually in films, women engage in a huge blowout that eventually resolves itself at the end of the film. The heroines usually return to a childhood memory or place from the past that reunites them. Or, in comedies, their resolution comes by way of a ridiculously, over-the-top physical fight. But as previously stated, Frances and Sophie are passive aggressive. Prior to Frances and Sophie’s public bathroom blow-out, a scene in which Frances exclaims, “Don’t treat me like a three-hour brunch friend,” there are quiet moments that led up to this. Sophie makes biting comments to Frances that Frances is still messy. Sophie also makes it clear that Patch is a presence who equally, if not more, knows her on an intimate level.

After their dispute, they don’t speak for a while until Sophie calls Frances to invite her to a party. She and Patch are moving to Japan. While they apologize for their behavior toward each other, Sophie for her passiveness and Frances for her aggression, they’re still unable to tell each other their innermost truths. Frances does not divulge that she did not make it into the company’s Christmas show, while Sophie does not share her apprehensions about getting serious with Patch. This can be interpreted as prideful, or a way to save face, but it is instead a serene moment in which they resolve their issue rather than dwell on the past.

Yet, the most pivotal scenes appear toward the end. At a low point, Frances has now returned to her and Sophie’s alma mater as a residential assistant to make more money, while a newly engaged Sophie and Patch appear at the college’s gala. Upon Sophie and Patch’s brief falling out, Sophie and Frances are reunited. An inebriated Sophie expresses her doubts and fears of growing up while Frances confesses that she loves Patch if Sophie does. They revert to the image in the beginning of the film: cozy twin bed confessions, copious I love yous, and talk of moving back in together. Frances also complies with Sophie’s pet peeve of no socks in bed. All is right again. That is, until sober Sophie leaves Frances in the morning to mend her relationship with Patch. Frances is abandoned yet again, only this time, a barefoot Frances attempts to chase after her to no avail. Looking down at her bare feet on the pavement, Frances realizes she has to stop chasing the past.

Frances and Sophie’s “one night stand” allows them to create their separate moments of courage. Frances finds alternative methods of achieving her success, lives in an apartment by herself, and eventually choreographs her own dance troupe. She learns to be alone, rather than lonely. Sophie, who appeared as the independent one in their friendship, is now co-dependent in her marriage to Patch. She is committing herself to a long-term relationship that is more complicated than moving in with another friend. They’re both comfortable living in their own skin. Yet, they experience a moment Frances describes earlier in the film:

“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 – but not because you’re possessive, or it’s precisely sexual…but because…that is your person in this life.”

Like Frances and Sophie, our first loves are our best friends. They’re an extension of us so much so, that a proverbial break-up is inherently heartbreaking. It forces us into becoming independent, partake in self-discovery, and recognize that life will take us in different directions. Frances and Sophie’s relationship is fresh because while they are now living separate lives, they still maintain love and respect for each other. The friendship becomes about the present, rather than the past or future. Ultimately their courage lies in knowing that while their roads may diverge, their bond remains as strong as looking across the room and glowing in each other’s happiness.

Rachel Wortherley is a recent graduate of Iona College in New Rochelle, New York. Her downtime consists of devouring copious amounts of literature, television shows, and films. She hopes to gain a doctorate in English literature and become a professional screenwriter.