Female Friendship – Page 3

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

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.

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’

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.

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

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.”

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.

Fearless Friendship! Usagi and Rei

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.

This guest post by Kathryn Diaz appears as part of our theme week on Female Friendship.

For real: shiny makeup senshi or not, the world needs more best friendships like Usagi and Rei’s from Sailor Moon. These two girls could not be more different on the surface, but does that stop Usagi from wanting to save her from sudden danger? You bet your moon tiara not. Even after she accidentally tried to exorcise an evil spirit from her and gave her a harsh brush-off when she tried to offer help, saving Rei is still Usagi’s top priority when she sees her in danger. In fact, it’s Rei’s peril that prompts fraidy-cat Usagi to find her courage and transform into her super-powered self at all. How’s that for serious friendship? But what really puts things over the top is how quickly they fall into sharp banter and jibes.

The Rei that teases Usagi about her crush on Tuxedo Mask, rolls her eyes when she’s goofing off on merry-go-rounds instead of fighting evil, and wrestles on the floor with her for a Sailor V book is a far cry from the testy, aloof shrine maiden she was when they first met, and yet she transitions into this openness very quickly where Usagi is concerned. For Rei, acting out her frustration in honest, albeit childish, ways is a sign of trust and comfortability. There is no other senshi on the team she leaps to go toe-to-toe with. In the second episode after they meet, Rei all but comes to blows with Usagi to get her and a small child away from the Jadeite-trap-of-the-week. Though normally cool and competent, she drags them off in an embarrassing spectacle. But after they’re called out, we see her begrudgingly riding the kiddie train with Usagi as a kind of apology, even though she knows she was right. This is because Rei cares under all her criticism and attitude. Cracking jokes at Usagi’s expense is her way of saying “I love you.” And for her part, Usagi speaks the same language as Rei when the situation calls for it. She spies on Rei’s talks with Mamoru and races to score a date with him before she does. She trips her, she shouts that she’s a meanie whenever they’re in front of their friends, and teases her about her crush on Yuichiro. In short, these two can exercise their anime teen angst on common ground until they’re practically blue in the face.

Nothing says I love you like fighting over who gets to read Sailor V first — Nothing says I love you like fighting over who gets to read *Sailor V* first

This is not to say that Usagi and Rei are simply mutual punching bags for each other. As fellow senshi Makoto points out, “The more you fight, the better friends you are.” And are they ever friends. After taking a step too far in one of their “fights,” Usagi uses her disguise pen to pose as a fortune teller to help Rei get with a boy she likes. The plan falls apart, of course, but the point lies in the extent and sincerity of her effort. In a later episode, Usagi and Rei are trapped in a snow drift. To pass the time, Usagi breaks out a musical locket from the then-missing Tuxedo Mask. But as soon as Rei sits beside her, she puts it away and asks if she hurt Rei’s feelings. She knows she and Rei have been playing tug-of-war with Tuxedo Mask; she knows that when he was taken, and Rei was upset that she didn’t fight for him. Even though their problems have multiplied a good tenfold since then, Usagi is worried that she might have awoken genuinely hurt feelings in Rei. There is a line between these two. They give each other ample permission to communicate in implications, gestures, shouts and screams, but if any of their verbal blows actually bruise, they’ll race to pedal back. In the scene, Rei shrugs off Usagi’s worries. “Why would I think that?” she says. “Honestly, I’ve already given up on Mamoru–I mean–Tuxedo Mask.” Not only does she assure Usagi, but she takes the conflict off the table. She’s sad, of course, but any affection for Tuxedo Mask comes second to Usagi. Further proof: she steps away from communicating via implication and harsh humor to be comforting and frank with Usagi. It isn’t just what she’s doing for Usagi in this moment, it’s how.

Of course, because Usagi and Rei’s friendship thrives less on heart-to-hearts and more on pulling faces and well-meant bickering, Rei follows up this tender moment with snipping, “If you don’t live in happiness with Mamoru, I’ll punish you!” Usagi smiles. She knows exactly what Rei is trying to say.

The strongest demonstration of Rei’s friendship with Usagi doesn’t come until one of the last episodes of Sailor Moon‘s first season. In a rare moment of thorough planning, Usagi has decided to pretend to have fallen out with the other senshi in the hope that the Dark Kingdom will come after her and take her to Tuxedo Mask. The bad guys take the bait, but rather than whisk her away, they begin to torture her. Unbeknownst to them, the other sailor senshi are lurking nearby, and they want to call the plan off and save their friend. What stops them? Rei. Rei knows what’s at stake and how important it is to Usagi that she have the chance to save the boy she loves. Rei’s bond with Usagi is one such that she can be in as much anguish as the other senshi at watching Usagi in pain, but have enough wherewithal to stay focused on the mission that Usagi has put in place. Of course, when to some of the senshi Rei’s relationship with Usagi looks more like veiled contempt than ill-concealed devotion, questions arise about her true motives. Makoto accuses her of hating Usagi all along. Rei reveals that she’s only lasted this long because she loves Usagi.

Rei's truth is heartbreaking — Rei’s truth is heartbreaking

In the end, Rei breaks the plan without so much as a “never mind” to the other senshi. She doesn’t care that she just insisted otherwise 10 seconds ago and she doesn’t care that the bad guys will know that the jig is up or that Usagi might be mad that she went back on her word. Rei is fearless. She knows that Usagi will accept and forgive her. Because if there’s one thing you can count on from a friend that you can name-call, boy chase, and fight evil with, it’s that you are always accepted and always forgiven. If that’s not true friendship, I don’t know what is.

This look is what it's all about — This look is what it’s all about

Kathryn Diaz is a writer living in Houston, Texas. She is currently pursuing a B.A in English at the University of Houston. You can follow her at The Telescope for more of her work.

What ‘Now and Then’ Taught Me About Friendship

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.

This guest post by Kim Hoffman appears as part of our theme week on Female Friendship.

I was pretty excited about Sara’s 11^thbirthday party. Her mom owned a print shop and I was told we’d be having cake and playing games there; I enjoy the smell of paper so it didn’t seem like an odd place to have a party. After Sara opened presents we were outside at a picnic table lit by a floodlight from the print shop, glittering and bedazzling hats and T-shirts.

Sara’s birthday was in March, and just a few months before, a group of us went to the movies to see a new film called Now and Then. Since then, it was all any of us could talk about. We’d gone back to see it countless times, and one of those times, we were the only ones in the whole theater, a group of four or five of us girls, running around, doing cartwheels and singing and dancing. (I’d be remiss not to mention that I actually still have the original soundtrack, and it’s in my car as we speak.)

What Sara hadn’t told us was that her mom’s print shop was located right next door to a crematorium. It was a small grey building with a giant stone yard, filled with coffins of all sizes. I saw that my finished hat masterpiece was drying next to one that said the same thing as mine, “Teeny,” speckled with orange and yellow flower power decor. A blonde girl walked over with an impressed-looking grin on her face. “Wow, you actually look like Thora Birch,” she said to me. A few other girls formed around us and we all began to gush over our favorite movie of the year. A fancy car drove by at that very moment and we all squealed, pumping each other with a sugar high as if one of the actors from the movie was in our neighborhood, you know—cruising by the print shop and the crematorium on a dark Saturday night.

Now and Then wasn’t just a coming-of-age ‘90s girl movie. It was intersecting itself into my life as an 11-year-old fifth grader; I was same age as the characters in the film. And I felt we were all doing this “growing up” thing together. I cut out any clippings from magazines I could find on the movie, though it wasn’t hard because Devon Sawa, who played wormy Scott Wormer, was a common household name among girls my age. He was a teen heartthrob all over the pages of Tiger Beat and Bop and I instantly obtained both the movie soundtrack and the film score (and amassed a huge pile of pinup photos of Sawa). In 1995, there was a resurgence of the trippy hippie ‘60s style and I was obsessed with rock ‘n roll for the first time. The only thing my bedroom was missing was a lava lamp. You could say I didn’t care all that much about the boys in my class, just what my friends and I would do over the weekend at our upcoming sleepover. I savored this new art of forming real bonds with girlfriends.

Now and Then is a film about four friends: Samantha, Teeny, Roberta, and Chrissy, who are growing up in the Midwest in the ‘70s (though much of the film was shot in Savannah, Georgia). A couple of decades have passed and Chrissy (played by Rita Wilson) is pregnant, living in her parents’ old home, and married to a guy she once thought was a mega dork. Teeny (Melanie Griffith) is a blossoming actress in Hollywood, with, as Roberta puts it, “Long legs, a tiny waist, and large, perky breasts.”

“Roberta you know how I feel about swearing,” Chrissy says back.

“Chrissy, breast is not a dirty word,” Roberta insists.

Which leads me to Roberta (Rosie O’Donnell), who has become a doctor and according to Chrissy, “Lives in sin with her boyfriend.” But more on that in a moment. Last but never least is Samantha (Demi Moore), a writer, and the narrator of this film; she is sarcastic, jaded, and arguably depressed. She explains that she hasn’t been to the Gaslight Addition in years (the neighborhood where all the girls grew up, which looks like any other midcentury American neighborhood). Now the girls reunite at their familiar stomping grounds for the arrival of Chrissy’s baby—and boy is she ready to pop. Waddling around in the house in a bow-tied muumuu dress, Chrissy opens up her home to her old friends, who awkwardly situate on the plastic-covered couch as if nothing’s changed in 25 years. Roberta is helping Chrissy around the house and offers the girls a beer, Samantha slinks into the backyard in all-black threads perfect for a moody writer, and Teeny inches through the yard in her heels, wearing a pearly white skin-tight skirt and matching jacket. As they play catch-up, they stare up at the treehouse they spent so much of their time as kids saving up money for, and slowly that eternal summer of their youth begins to skim back to the surface…

In our own little ways, my friends and I were making our own pacts for the first time—Sara, me, and our friend Taylor, plus the new girls we’d just met at Sara’s birthday. We would ride our bicycles from Taylor’s to Sara’s house, singing and laughing, stopping downtown at an old diner in the hopes we might see Janeane Garofalo in character as Wiladene, diner waitress by day, clairvoyant mystic by night. You could say I was enamored by this new, untapped part of me that the film was bringing out. I had a mix of confidence and fear—to explore, not just on our bicycles, but also in our minds—through séances and tarot cards, music and making up stories. (We commenced our friendship that night at Sara’s birthday party when we snuck over to that crematorium and had our first-ever séance.) We were in search of Dear Johnny in our own ways. But as our knees bobbed against one another’s and we formed a circle that night, I simply felt that brief but blissful form of excitement you feel when you’re a kid.

Now, the line about Roberta and her boyfriend “living in sin” is somewhat of a discussion among fans of the film, because word has it that from the beginning, Roberta’s character was written to be gay. I. Marlene King, writer, producer and director of Pretty Little Liars, was the writer on Now and Then. In earlier versions of the script, Chrissy says, “Roberta, for example, has chosen to be alternative, but she is still normal. She hasn’t been married four times or gone through a series of monogamous relationships…or wear all black. She’s happy. Aren’t you Roberta?” When the girls flash back to that summer when they were kids, we meet young Roberta (played by Christina Ricci), binding her chest and stumbling over her macho brothers wrestling in the hallway. Her mom died when she was four, and she is deeply bothered by it, refusing to succumb to any bullshit standards set aside for girls and the ways girls are supposed to dress or act.

Instead, Roberta is the girl at the softball game who’s throwing punches at boys or pranking her friends in a not-so-funny incident where she fakes drowning. She’s constantly testing her limits and the trust she so craves with the people in her life. But what she doesn’t yet understanding is that she needs to give others a chance to get through to her, too. Samantha (played by Gaby Hoffmann) is next to kin when it comes to tough-girl stuff because she’s in the midst of her parents’ divorce, and she’s completely in favor of rebelling against her clueless mother—which also means punching out a boy at a softball field if the moment calls for it, especially if she’s standing up for a friend. (I bet Sam is a Libra.) I used to wonder if there wasn’t more to Roberta and Sam’s relationship, especially because I could totally see Rosie O’Donnell and Demi Moore’s grown-up versions getting together and living “alternatively” as Chrissy puts it. Whatever happened in post-production to cause anyone to add in that line about Roberta’s boyfriend is a terrible shame.

Young Teeny (played by Thora Birch) is the girl who sits on her roof and memorizes lines from old movies playing on the big drive-in screen. Her parents are always hosting lavish parties while she floats about in her room upstairs, obsessing over actresses from the Golden Hollywood heyday. Teeny is down for everything and anything, but we quickly get the sense that it’s all smoke and mirrors and in truth, she’s the least experienced, at least for right now. She stuffs her bra with vanilla pudding-filled balloons to bide her time before she reaches adolescence. (She got the idea from the Wormer boys after they surprise-attack the girls with water balloons.) Sex, dating, and romance—it’s all mysterious and lusty to her and she is rushing to grow up. In one of my favorite scenes in the movie, Teeny is making all the girls take a quiz and she discovers she’s a sexual magnet, “attracting men from all four corners of the world.” The look on her face as she reads her results say it all–she’s googly-eyed over all this possibility.

Sam is nothing like Teeny, but she doesn’t try to act prudish, she just prefers to focus on other things, like books, magic, science, and what really happened to Dear Johnny. She’s the one with the bag of candles and cards who’s happy to tote her wares to the cemetery. Sam has to look out for her little sister, but she also has to contend with her mom’s new dating life. Here, she’s expected to act mature and mind her manners, while she sees her mom dressing differently and gushing over a man who isn’t her father. Her only way to cope is to escape, and her friends support that; in their not-as-R-rated way, they’re basically saying, “Fuck that. We’re your family.” Sam and Teeny make great friends because they’re so out of each other’s way and they so easily understand this place their at in their lives—with Sam’s parents’ divorce and Teeny’s parents being nearly as absent under the same roof.

Roberta and Chrissy have a special bond that’s set to the side too, because they’re so opposite yet they balance each other’s personalities to a tee. Chrissy (played by Ashleigh Aston Moore) feels Roberta is her best friend. I can’t imagine what Chrissy’s mom must think of that—what if Roberta were to track mud into her pristine home? Chrissy’s bedroom is perfectly tidy and manicured pink. She is completely sheltered by her mother’s discussions about sex—and probably still believes a garden hose and a watering can are involved. She’s the last in line when the girls hit the road on their bicycles, and she’s the first one to say, “I’m not doing that,” when she feels uncomfortable or nervous. But a little mild giggling and convincing and the girls have Chrissy believing in herself and feeling connected to them in no time. Despite her doubts that she isn’t as pretty or skinny as the other girls, Chrissy manages to find her place in the group by just being Chrissy. That’s why Roberta makes such a great best friend. For her, friendship and acceptance isn’t about appearances. Chrissy has a heart of gold. A promise is a promise with her.

There is purpose to these friendships in Now and Then like there is purpose to Chrissy’s naivety about sex, Samantha’s imaginative curiosities, Teeny’s desires for passion in romance and career, and Roberta’s capacity for strength and weakness in equal measure. See, it was easy for all of us little girls who loved the film to attach ourselves to a character we related to or liked a lot because we too were on the verge of something—and being on the verge of anything is a beautiful and surreal feeling. When you’re 11, or 12, or 13, you are a part of this magical in-between moment that connects childhood with adolescence, and the friends you have during those few years may be some of the most important friends you will ever have—not because of how long they’ll be in your life, but because they’ll be the first people on board in your life journey who are up for the same adventures you are, and they’ll challenge you somehow—maybe to get in touch with your emotions when you’re embarrassed you cried in front of them, maybe to remind you that you’re all in this together. It’s the age where you’re searching for something, anything, and you’re old enough to find those things with your friends.

It wasn’t that long after Now and Then that I became the class scapegoat—they had decided I was weird. Instead of leaving it at that, they just had to hammer away at my self-esteem for good measure. What happened to riding our bikes, playing in our backyards, jumping into swimming pools and playing slumber party games? Now, friendship was considered by how much you impressed some queen bee, how far you’d go to stake your coolness. An eighth grade girl named Tara once saved me from a bathroom incident where a girl I once thought was my friend was mocking and making fun of me. I thought, “Here’s a true Roberta.”

I treasure the time around 1995 with an appreciation that goes soul deep. Those friends opened my eyes to the kinds of friends I would look for later on in my life, hoping to attract by weeding out the fair-weathered friendships, hardened, jealous-types, and egocentric bullies. Forget the thrill of being popular, well-liked, admired and noticed—those accolades are blips on the maps of our lives. Instead, relish in your weirdness, the glue that makes you who you are, and remember that embracing something weird is not a bad thing, it’s actually a wonderful thing; that’s the lesson I learned as a kid, when we snuck in to see Now and Then for the umpteenth time. 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.

All for one and one for all.

Kim Hoffman is a writer for AfterEllen.com and Curve Magazine. She currently keeps things weird in Portland, Oregon. Follow her on Twitter: @the_hoff

‘Reality Bites’: A Tale of Two Ladies

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.

This guest post by Beatrix Coles previously appeared at Filmme Fatales and appears as part of our theme week on Female Friendship.

“As a female, how many roles are out there anyway? And for women over 40 who don’t go to the gym, like myself? C’mon”

– Janeane Garofalo (New York Times)

Reality Bites was sleepover fodder when I was a teenager, played on high rotation with Empire Records (“I’m going to Art School…in Boston…so I can be near you”), Clueless (“You see how picky I am about my shoes- and they only go on my feet”) and Dazed and Confused (need I say the thing about the high school girls staying the same age?). Of all of them, it felt the most dangerous and exciting, in hindsight for the simple reason that these characters were older, mired somewhere between The Wonder Years and FRIENDS. They were bravely navigating that bit of life we weren’t sure about. The part that we would go into armed with university degrees and emerge from with mortgages.

Ben Stiller’s directorial debut was penned by debut screenwriter Helen Childress, who is yet to have another film produced. Rumoured to have gone through 70-odd re-writes before hitting the screen, the script was based on the exploits of her college friends–which means that the end credit mish-mash “television pilot” is some kind of simulacra on par with the Disney Castle.

The film follows four recent college graduates living in Houston in the early 90s. The two male characters are fairly aimless and harmless. Ethan Hawke plays Troy, will-they-won’t-they love interest to Lelaina and a philosophy graduate turned inevitably unemployed beardy. He’s in a band though (Hey, That’s My Bike!), and that makes him a prospect (that and the fact he looks a lot like Ethan Hawke). Steve Zahn plays Sammy, the closeted charmer who spends most of the fim grappling not with his sexuality, but with his parent’s likely reaction to finding out their son is gay.

The ladies, thankfully, are a lot more complicated. Would-be filmmaker Lelaina (Winona Ryder) is the outlier of the small group, driven, privileged and beautiful. She’s the leader of this motley pack, a self-starter, destined for great things. She would step away from these great things though to pursue her love of documentary filmmaking. For now, she has a second-hand BMW and a production assistant role on a terrible daytime television show.

Janeane Garofalo’s Vickie is a different kettle of fish. She’s sexually assertive, keeping a list (annotated perhaps?) of her conquests. She’s come out of college claiming to have learnt only her social security number. She works at the Gap where she is responsible “for so many sweaters,” and this is OK by her.

Billed as “a comedy about love in the 90s,” the poster places the love triangle of Leilana, Michael, and Troy front and centre. Michael is played by Ben Stiller, and is a marvellous creation of the early 90s–a “youth” television executive, from whom the doe-eyed Lelaina represents the Manic Pixie Dream Girl of, well, his dreams. There’s a meet cute, when she flings a cigarette (people smoked then) and he’s all affronted in his sport jacket. Her share house and love for bucket-sized sodas quickly see him whisking her away for weekends in hotel suites, and he begins to pitch her documentary as a series (The Real World was first broadcast two years prior in 1992).

It’s so tempting to draw parallels between the characters of Lelaina and Vickie and the future careers of Winona and Janeane. Ryder’s career is going to be forever marked by both her relationship with Johnny Depp (Wino Forever) and her arrest for shoplifting. Johnny Depp may be a little more successful than Troy was ever fated to be, but Troy’s version of fame would probably include the Viper Room and dressing up as Keith Richards.

Post arrest, Winona alternated wearing Marc Jacobs, the brand she attempted to pinch, to her court appearances, and “Free Winona” t-shirts in photoshoots. But despite the spin, it was a Manic Pixie nightmare. Looking back now, Lelaina’s middle finger to her job seems equally problematic. Everyone has a bad first job, a lame boss, demeaning tasks to do in order to get money, to, you know, pay for things.

While Janeane Garofalo has never reached the level of fame or notoriety of Winona, she has had a number of roles in films that will long outlast How to Make an American Quilt (and I’m thinking mainly of Wet Hot American Summer, because cultural importance). She has used her influence to promote her political views, even co-hosting The Majority Report on Air America Radio. She has openly opposed her conservative father, supported and then unsupported Nader, and openly questioned America’s interest in Iraq and the supposed existence of Weapons of Mass Destruction.

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.

Of course, it all goes deeper than this. It’s the fact that the female screenwriter hasn’t made another film. It’s the fact that Winona’s last big role was the fading ballerina in Black Swan. That for a long time she was just Johnny’s ex. It’s that Janeane’s unholy desire to be Black Swan has seen her sidelined and that when she said she found working on Saturday Night Live sexist, that she was probably right. It’s the idea that women aren’t meant to screw up, aren’t meant to deviate and aren’t meant to be honest about their experiences. Again, it seems too tidy. But this reality certainly bites.

Beatrix Coles is a Melbourne-based writer who is passionate about crowdfunding, coffee, and Saturday Night Live and can be found discussing all of these at @beatrixcoles.

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

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.

This guest post by Alize Emme appears as part of our theme week on Female Friendship.

The 1988 film Heathers, starring Winona Ryder as the hyper-aware, reluctantly popular girl trying to maintain her status with a powerful clique of girls all named Heather, is a cult classic. 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.

When we meet Veronica Sawyer (Ryder) she is past the point of enjoying her new popularity and instead is wallowing in painfully self-aware and humorous ramblings in her diary. Her inner monologue serves as an honest look at the cruelty of high school girls, in this case, the clique’s ringleader, Heather Chandler (Kim Walker), with whom she walks a fine frenemy line.

The friendships these characters share are at best a soul-sucking 9-5 job and at worst a dictatorship. For them, being popular is a currency. They use it to inflict pain on unsuspecting peons and to manipulate each other. They are intelligent beyond their years. They relish in the misery of others. They rule the school with an iron fist.

A group of popular mean girls is nothing new, but the one thing Heathers does differently is showcase female power with amazing colors (literally). Specifically, we see female characters displaying traditionally masculine power.

Chandler is a shark. She navigates the power plays of high school like Leonardo DiCaprio’s character in The Wolf of Wall Street (2013) navigates the world of commerce. Perpetually dressed in a crimson shade of red, Chandler makes no apologies for her cutthroat behavior, proudly calling attention to her worshipped status by stating in regard to her peers, “They all want me as a friend or a fuck,” a sentiment relayed by male rap artists J. Cole and Mickey Avalon, and pro wrestler Ric Flair.

The power Chandler displays with Veronica and the other Heathers mirrors that of a macho guy. She tosses around profanity-laced vulgar phrases like an alpha male in a locker room. She’s got the brains and the brawn and the cutthroat mentality of a high-powered man. As other characters rise to power, they adopt the same masculine persona. Women in movies, especially high school movies, are rarely portrayed this way.

After Veronica tosses her cookies at a college party, an embarrassed Chandler vows to make her life hell across their entire Ohio suburb. Fed up with Chandler’s oppressive leadership, Veronica laments to dark and stormy bad-boy new kid Jason “J.D.” Dean (Christian Slater) that she wishes Heather Chandler was dead, rationalizing in a diary entry that it would be a public service to rid the school of such evil.

With slightly less sinister motivation, Veronica and J.D. sneak into the Chandler home and concoct a gag-inducing hangover cure. Veronica balks at J.D.’s suggestion to use liquid drainer but unknowingly serves it to Chandler anyway, killing her instantly. When a stunned Veronica stammers she just murdered her “best friend,” J.D. quips, “and your worst enemy.” Veronica replies, “same difference,” summing up their relationship completely.

Faking Chandler’s suicide comes easy to the morose J.D. and brainy Veronica, who effortlessly forges an eloquent suicide note which skyrockets Chandler’s popularity even higher in death. Veronica’s unsuspecting participation in two additional murders with J.D. drives her to break things off with him and reevaluate her choices.

But it’s the moment Chandler dies that the once-dominating clique experiences a huge power shift. Chandler’s body is in the ground for mere minutes when Heather Duke’s rise to power and eventual takeover of Chandler’s position begins. Duke, played by Shannen Doherty, had been a shy, bookish member of the group, clinging to a copy of Moby Dick in the shadows who in contrast to Chandler’s bright reds, wears green – with envy. She falls to Chandler’s body image pressures and submits herself to be used by Chandler as furniture.

Duke celebrates Chandler’s demise with a huge smile and a bucket of chicken wings, exclaiming, “fuck it,” when Veronica and Heather McNamara (Lisanne Falk) call attention to her sudden hunger. Duke is now hungry for power. When J.D. dangles Chandler’s coveted red scrunchie before her, Duke wastes no time seizing Chandler’s vacated position, promising she can handle the pressure of being a leader.

As Duke’s power grows, pops of red appear in her wardrobe. A red belt here, red shoes there. Until finally, after getting the whole school to sign her prom singer petition, she reclines, covered head to toe in red, with her back arched and feet up, basking in the afternoon sunlight before exclaiming to a perplexed Veronica: “People love me.” Veronica is quick to call Duke out on her sudden transformation and Duke, now embracing her power, demands, “Why are you pulling my dick?” fully adopting that masculine bravado we saw from Chandler. Duke harshly informs Veronica that anyone would want to be popular, no matter the cost.

McNamara, the final Heather, sees her power shift travel in the opposite direction. McNamara’s friendship with Chandler was rooted in control. Chandler’s death relinquishes the hold she had over McNamara but leaves her little ground to stand on. Gone are McNamara’s bright and sunny yellow outfits, replaced with heavy blacks and gray, accessorized only with a single yellow belt or yellow socks. Her turmoil culminates with a failed, but real, suicide attempt. In the film’s rare display of genuine friendship, it is Veronica who saves McNamara from death. It’s a sweet exchange as Veronica offers her shoulder for McNamara to lean on with understanding and solidarity.

The power Chandler and Duke portray is not something to aspire to, Veronica’s inner dialog provides that moral compass, but it is groundbreaking to see female power portrayed in a completely different and masculine light on film.

The girls don’t talk about clothes or boys; McNamara introduces J.D. in a derogatory fashion: “God Veronica, drool much?” making it un-cool that she has a crush. Their resistance to fall to on-screen female friend stereotypes is admirable. At the very least, Heathers succeeds in this area. Whereas other teen high school movies like Clueless (1995) end with finding a boyfriend and the bulk of Mean Girls (2004) conveys one female character taking down another, Heathers ends with Veronica finding and harnessing her power.

Veronica’s transformation springs from her friendship with Chandler. The transition from friend to foe sets off the chain of events for the rest of the film and sparks Veronica’s own journey to owning her power. Veronica is at first reluctantly popular, therefore reluctantly powerful. But her hatred for Chandler leads to her irreversible acts with J.D. and she starts to see herself and her actions with horror.

Veronica continuously returns to the idea that Betty Finn (Renée Esteves) was a true friend who she foolishly ditched for Chandler. But when she invites Betty over to play croquet, a game she played with the Heathers, instead of playing nice, Veronica doesn’t hesitate to be mean for mean’s sake and take the same knockout power shot Chandler did previously. Even Veronica succumbs briefly to power at the cost of her friend. In one of J.D.’s final lines to Veronica he tells her: “You got power, power I didn’t think you had,” a shaky admission to the once reluctant character now able to stand her ground.

Veronica realizes that she can’t allow herself to be used as a pawn in other people’s games, albeit Chandler’s, Duke’s, or J.D.’s. She’s aware that her actions are “teen-angst bullshit.” She takes matters into her own hands and not only does Veronica stop J.D. from blowing up the school, she asserts herself as the “new sheriff in town,” symbolically ripping the red scrunchie from Duke’s head and donning it herself as she struts down the hallway. With her new can’t-mess-with-me power, she vows to do right as the new school leader and offers an olive branch to a previously bullied student, officially clearing the slate for change.

Veronica’s realization that seeking out genuine friendships is more important than popularity is the real takeaway from Heathers. The importance of having female friends that build each other up instead of tear each other down is paramount. We as women should strive to buck the status quo of mainstream movie frienemy friendships and seek out ones that are rooted in respect and support. But as a whole, the message of the film is clear: Don’t be a Heather; find a Betty Finn.

Alize Emme is a writer/director living in Los Angeles. She holds a B.A. in Film & Television from NYU and tweets at @alizeemme.

‘It Takes Two’ for Friendship

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You, you’re me!”

“No, you’re me!”

Collective “Whoa.” Deep stuff, Olsen twins…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Physical signs of affection can be important in television friendships.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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