Tag: Mermaids

June Roberts’ screenplay of 1990’s Mermaids is adapted from Patty Dann’s novel and happens to be one of my all time favorite films.

As infectious retro soundtrack flares and mod dresses make scenes pop, I connect in certain respects to each Flax woman–Cher’s big-haired, mother hen, Mrs. Rachel Flax and her two daughters–Winona Ryder’s quirky, awkward, Charlotte and Christina Ricci’s sweet, future Olympic swimmer, Kate.

The film opens with the Flax women trio on eighteenth move–this time to Massachusetts. These habitual migrations stem from either Rachel’s failed relationships or embarrassment of becoming small town gossip fodder such as the case when Charlotte’s teacher believes her to have a mental disorder. Charlotte and Kate are primarily raised by flamboyant Rachel still living promiscuously and with shocking hoopla surrounding actress Kate Winslet’s third pregnancy; it’s imperative to note that Charlotte and Kate also have different fathers–one a product from teenage love and other from an affair with an athlete. In the sixties, this would be much more ostracized condemnation than now because middle class Mrs. Flax isn’t married and wealthy Mrs. Winslet is.

Rachel doesn’t cook and doesn’t like sitting around a table having traditional meal conversation, but she does enter countless relationships with various men including married ones.

While buying school staples, Rachel takes her daughters to a shoe store where she catches eye of charming Lou, the owner. He is attentive to Rachel’s whims, but she despises his “interference” in her daughter’s lives which possibly stems from desires to usually cut men off after having physical fill of them. In overprotective stance, especially of little Kate, Mama Bear Rachel obviously doesn’t want the female trio to include a missing male figure that isn’t one hundred percent reliable.

“I have never wanted to hit a woman the way I want to hit you right now,” Lou spits to Rachel.

Although he doesn’t throw a fist, this is such an ugly blow and he loses appeal quickly. It’s no excuse to do or say the words. Having moved from one disappointment to another still searching for that perfect, unmarred place to call home, Rachel has a justified reasoning for not wanting to surge Kate’s hopes of a father figure.

Rachel stays with Lou and allows further access. He influences more intimate times together and Rachel continues creating strange hors douerves as meals–her specialty being odd looking marshmallow kabobs.

Now my deepest connection is centered primarily in Charlotte, Rachel’s older daughter.

A naïve devotee to religion and born Jewish, Charlotte prays in Christian earnest, stares in awe at nuns while curiously wondering about their undergarments, and silently condemns her mother’s behavior–finding her wild ways altogether blasphemous. The most hysterical narration races inside Charlotte’s precociously engaged head as her large black brown eyes express desires for uncontrollable rationality that weave from the very person she is so dead set against becoming. Joe, a handsome convent caretaker and bus driver, ten years older, incites passions that ignite from the very moment she first sees him, but still, she clings desperately to God Almighty and hopes relentless pining suffices.

However, after witnessing her mother planting a New Year’s kiss on her beloved Joe, Charlotte feels threatened and insecure. Prior to losing virginity to him, it is quite apparent that she poufs up her hair, puts on tawdry makeup, dons her mother’s oversized black polka dotted pink dress, and downs alcohol, believing that embodying her sinful role model is the only way Joe would have her. It’s saddening because he didn’t explain why he kissed her mother and drove off in a big, macho huff as though Charlotte offended him, planting sordid competition to arise inside her.

Now Joe doesn’t seem to be this great, charming fiction that overly sentimental Charlotte dreamily continues telling herself and the audience. So often lust is confused for love, especially in youth, and Charlotte is clearly not thinking with the best intentions. In moments spent with him, this hormonal seventeen-year-old girl constantly wants kisses and to be tossed onto the ground to make a “Joe Jr.” Their connection is no deeper than a shallow appeal to his physical appearance and being cloistered in the place she yearned to be–alongside nuns.

“Why are you so set on repeating my mistakes?” Mrs. Flax asks.

Yes. Charlotte spends time in saintly shrines whispering pious pleas or fasting from her sinful inhibitions, but nothing changes the fact that she is her mother’s daughter and that she cannot reject blood filtering through veins. In the end, at high school, she’s less shy, growing popular with boys, and dressing differently while wearing her hair poufy.

It’s not just religious fervor or deepening fascination with a handsome bus driver bridging forth my strong connection to Charlotte’s character–though it’s a peculiar similarity. Her curiosity and ignorance struck a beautiful cord threading invisibly and Ryder’s gifted portrayal draws immediate replay. When Charlotte is distraught from kiss “pregnancy,” she drives off towards Connecticut and immerses herself with a television looking family in this minute mid-teenager life crisis. Her longing to know absentee father opened up my Pandora’s box of living with a single mother and rendered frustrations of not having that stout manly figure in my world. As she fibs to this family about him, anyone could see that she wishes that her stories were true, even those rapt listeners knowing them to be incredibly farfetched.

Kate, the last and littlest Flax is no ordinary girl.

She doesn’t play with Barbie dolls or dream of being a princess in a big castle waiting for a man to sweep her off dainty feet. Since age five, she has trained vigorously at swimming and is constantly trying to break the world record for holding breath under water inside the bathtub. This winner is the little force that unites the strained Rachel and Charlotte–delightfully enough Charlotte used to pretend that Kate was her baby. Despite horrendous climax in which Charlotte places a drunken Kate in treacherous peril–a nearly fatal drowning incident, she is bravely back in championship form and holds no traumatic scar save for a little loss of hearing.

Parenting, however, is still Rachel’s struggle, but she grows maturely as does Charlotte.

“You two didn’t come with an instruction manual!” Rachel cries, confused by Charlotte’s ever growing silent treatment. “Just tell me and I’ll try my best.”

And she does.

She may make mistakes, but Rachel tries and wants to do right by her daughters.

Mermaids ends on a feel-good note. Three smiling, happily connected women dance and set the table to “If You Wanna Be Happy.” Times have certainly changed, and strained relationships have finally mended towards the exciting promise of something better–a start of stronger female foundation.