Water Lilies – Bitch Flicks

Top 10 ‘Bitch Flicks’ Articles Written in 2017

Here are our top 10 most popular articles written in 2017.

10) Queen of Katwe Is a Gorgeous Inspiring Look at a Young Black Life Fully Realized by Candice Frederick

“Yes, it’s wholesome and finishes on a heartwarming high like many other cherished Disney stories. But at its core lies a story of redemption, cultural pride, feminism, and economics — elements of a young life contending with extraordinary challenges. […]

“Queen of Katwe is a mesmerizing story of a life fully realized, a life that’s often overlooked and not given a chance. Its young cast, led by Nalwanga’s nuanced performance, help illuminate layers of humanity resting deep in the ‘slums’ of Uganda, exhibiting talent well beyond their years. Meanwhile, Oyelowo and Nyong’o’s performances temper the film with heart-wrenching emotion. And Mira Nair’s touching portrait of Katwe’s inspiring young queen with a dream is one to remember.”

9) Céline Sciamma’s Films (Girlhood, Tomboy, and Water Lilies) Capture the Complexities of Adolescence by Charline Jao

“French director and screenwriter Céline Sciamma of Water Lilies, Tomboy, and Girlhood has gained critical acclaim for her portrayals of adolescence and coming-of-age, particularly on themes of gender and sexuality. Sciamma’s movies are intimate character studies, punctuated with dancing, tiny details embedded in body language, and a serious respect for younger viewers. For all the cringe-worthy or mediocre child acting that permeates film, Sciamma has a remarkable ability to draw out nuanced and organic performances in her works, oftentimes from non-actors.

“[…] The adolescent or teenager sits on the threshold of adulthood by sitting between child and adult, figuring out their rites of passage and space within society. This undefined, yet crucial space is an uncomfortable one and Sciamma’s films excel because they embrace the chaotic ambiguity of youthful liminality.”

8) Hush: A Resourceful Heroine with Disabilities for the Horror Genre by Cassandra A. Clarke

“What’s brilliant about Hush, written by Mike Flanagan and Kate Siegel (who stars as the lead), is it pushes the envelope of the survivor’s tale further through its main character, Madison ‘Maddie’ Young: a woman who is deaf, mute, and lives alone in a rural area. In addition to featuring a female protagonist with disabilities, Hush crafts a home-invasion story that isn’t about her ‘problems’ or obstacles or the attacker at all, but rather it focuses on the tactful solutions she chooses along the way.

“…Its depiction of Maddie as a full, engaging character who fends for herself and thrives alone is an asset to adding more characters with disabilities in films, especially horror, as not victims but stars.”

7) Gilmore Girls: Rory Gilmore Is an Entitled Millennial by Scarlett Harris

“That’s because she’s never had to hustle; everything has been handed to her. She only watched her mother struggle to raise her on her own, and even then it’s established that Lorelai went to great pains not to expose Rory to her struggles. […]

“To be fair, Rory is largely a product of her upbringing. Until the events of Gilmore Girls as we know it — Lorelai’s reconciliation with her rich parents so Rory can go to an expensive private school and then Yale — Rory was raised by an independent, struggling, small-town single mom. Whatever life lessons she learned there were swiftly erased by the ensuing plot developments: her rich grandparents and then her rich father paying for her education and European holidays, her rent-free accommodations, and breaks in school and work to ‘find herself’ similarly bankrolled by Richard (Edward Herrmann), Emily (Kelly Bishop), and Logan (Matt Czuchry). […]

“Despite her flaws, I relate to Rory because she displays all my — and my generation’s — worst characteristics.”

6) The Love That’s Really Real: American Psycho as Romantic Comedy by Caroline Madden

“A 2006 YouTube video created a parody trailer envisioning American Psycho (2000) as romantic comedy. While the stark juxtapositions between the classic boy-meets-girl formula and a horrifying portrait of a serial murder are amusing, the sentiments between them are not so far-fetched. Although primarily a horror film, American Psycho has a satiric backbone that appropriates codes from the romantic comedy genre to expose the absurdities of our gender ideals. Director and co-writer Mary Harron’s lens skewers the qualities we find appealing in romantic comedies as terrifying.

“Patrick Bateman (Christian Bale) is a concoction of the romantic comedy and drama archetype of ‘the bad boy.'”

5) The Revenant Should Be Left in the River to Drown by Celey Schumer

“Don’t believe the hype. You have been conned. The Revenant is a terrible film. […]

“This white-man-against-all-odds tale of revenge has been told so many times, even Michael Bay is probably like, “Eh, can’t we find something more original?” […]

“The second galling part of the film is its abhorrent treatment of Native peoples. It is at best mediocre, at worst condescending, and at all times unremarkable lazy recycled fodder. Almost every time Hugh has an interaction with a Native American person, they meet with disaster. Honestly, Chief Elk Dog (Duane Howard) and his men are the only ones operating with their own agency and justice in their quest to rescue his kidnapped daughter, Powaqa (Melaw Nakehk’o). But we hardly see them and are left to infer all of this information, until of course Hugh the White Man comes to Powaqa’s rescue. […]

“Can we see this whole movie from the Arikara tribe’s perspective? From Powaqa’s perspective? That would be an actual game changer.”

4) The Eyes of My Mother Is a Gorgeous Coming-of-Age Horror You’re Not Likely to Forget by Candice Frederick

“Oh, how I love this age we’re living in in which women characters on the big and small screens are allowed to be inappropriate, messy, b**chy, and sexual. It just further illuminates the myriad complexities women embody, painting a more thorough profile of inclusive feminism. But even while Hollywood has been consistently pushing these boundaries in more recent years, few films have explored morbid sensuality through the gaze of a woman better than writer/director Nicolas Pesce’s The Eyes of My Mother. […]

“…Pesce explores the nature of human instinct and arrested development in a way that is uncomfortable to watch yet immersive just the same.”

3) 20 Years of The Craft: Why We Needed More of Rochelle by Ashlee Blackwell

“I was flustered and empathetic to a character that was virtually invisible to an entire school population outside of her small coven of comrades, unless to be the unchecked target of racist scorn. This made her experience even that more isolating in contrast to her white female counterparts who, if they did get that brief seat at the table, were promptly dismissed for their class, burn scars, and not performing for the teenage ‘good ‘ol boys’ club. The most glaring difference; Rochelle was never going to get that seat. […]

“The movie for many sparked the thirst to explore the deep intersections of the weirdo. Rochelle was the social outcast with the other handful of social outcasts of St. Bernard Academy, sure. But how do we cinematize the Black girl outcast teenager that many of us felt like? That just so happens to be a practicing witch?

“Much of what can be read of Rochelle relies heavily on those of us whom she meant so much to. What kinds of conversations did young Black girls have back in 1996 and are having now about the importance of her presence in a film that at least, didn’t blend her in colorblind rhetoric? How did many of us find camaraderie, empathy, and imagination in Rochelle’s broader, unseen story?”

2) Caitlin Snow: It’s Time to Give The Flash’s Overlooked Heroine Her Due by Lacy Baugher

“Plus, the decision to continually depict Caitlin as afraid of herself and her abilities is unsettling. Women are almost always taught to fear their own power, instead of embracing it or attempting to understand it. It’s sad to see that pattern repeating on a show that has so few leading women in the first place.

“Caitlin’s journey – whether she ultimately keeps her powers or not – should be about figuring where she fits within Team Flash, within her family, and within her own idea of herself. We have seen Caitlin unnerved by the darkness inside her. She has issues with her mother and even occasionally with members of her own team. She’s certainly lost enough to want to burn the world down twice over. But she’s never really gotten the chance to deal with any of those issues on-screen in a significant way. This Killer Frost arc offers a perfect opportunity for her to finally do so. Caitlin’s journey shouldn’t be about whether she might turn into a monster, it should be about her becoming whole.”

1) Too Feminine, Too Pretty, and the Gendered Bias in the Critique of Sofia Coppola’s Films by Claire White

“However, while being one of the most discussed women directors, it is hard to think of a female director who is under as much scrutiny as Sofia Coppola. This is especially true when it comes to her signature pretty and feminine filmic style.

“When it comes to the critique of Sofia Coppola, her filmic style is too often described along the lines of being too pretty, too feminine, or as style over substance. …Male directors, however, who exhibit the same attention to style and aesthetics, are not held to this same ideal. As explored in Rosalind Galt’s book Pretty: Film and the Decorative Image, prettiness in film is not exclusively female or feminine, and is thus unfair to use as a critique against women directors’ films. […]

“There is a double standard in the way prettiness is regarded in cinema. ‘Pretty’ is for female directors, but for male directors, prettiness isn’t ever uttered, and reverence is received in its place.”

Céline Sciamma’s Films (‘Girlhood,’ ‘Tomboy,’ and ‘Water Lilies’) Capture the Complexities of Adolescence

French director and screenwriter Céline Sciamma of ‘Water Lilies,’ ‘Tomboy,’ and ‘Girlhood’ has gained critical acclaim for her portrayals of adolescence and coming-of-age, particularly on themes of gender and sexuality. … This undefined, yet crucial space is an uncomfortable one and Sciamma’s films excel because they embrace the chaotic ambiguity of youthful liminality.

This guest post written by Charline Jao appears as part of our theme week on Women Directors.

French director and screenwriter Céline Sciamma of Water Lilies, Tomboy, and Girlhood has gained critical acclaim for her portrayals of adolescence and coming-of-age, particularly on themes of gender and sexuality. Sciamma’s movies are intimate character studies, punctuated with dancing, tiny details embedded in body language, and a serious respect for younger viewers. For all the cringe-worthy or mediocre child acting that permeates film, Sciamma has a remarkable ability to draw out nuanced and organic performances in her works, oftentimes from non-actors.

I’ve never met a single person who ascribed to the idea that high school is supposed to be the best time of your life, yet the romanticization of youth persists in so much of our media. While childhood is often seen through nostalgia goggles, the reality is that adolescence is a confusing and horrifying time, defined in many western cultures as liminal. Liminality refers to the ambiguous space in between social structures — something Britney Spears famously pinpoints in her 2001 hit “I’m Not a Girl, Net Yet a Woman.” The adolescent or teenager sits on the threshold of adulthood by sitting between child and adult, figuring out their rites of passage and space within society. This undefined, yet crucial space is an uncomfortable one and Sciamma’s films excel because they embrace the chaotic ambiguity of youthful liminality.

In Tomboy, we see a 10-year-old move into a neighborhood and introduce themselves as Mickaël (Zoé Héran) in front of their new friends. This quickly develops into a double life, as we learn their family sees them as their elder daughter Laure — a tomboy with short hair. Through interactions with the neighborhood boys and their girlfriend Lisa (Jeanne Disson), we see how children as young as six already recognize and enforce notions of gender. Girls don’t get to play soccer. Boys are strong defenders. Mickaël at 10 already understands that being a tomboy (garçon manqué in French, which means failed boy) is acceptable, but being a boy without a penis is something shameful and unspeakable. Similarly, the local boys know that when that transgression occurs, they’re within bounds to reject and attack their supposed friend.

Sciamma never shies away from the very real threats young people face. Maybe it’s a kind of discomfort with childhood curiosity of “mature” ideas (with LGBTQ+ themes being unfairly treated as more mature), but Sciamma’s films make one realize how rare this is in much of our mainstream media. Sexuality, violence, and depression are all things we want to separate from children who are pure, uncorrupted, and need to be protected. When film and television do venture into the dark side of growing up, it’s often in the form of a soapy after-school special. This not only feels dishonest, it feels like a disservice.

Children under the age of 18 years old experiment, they deal with depression, and suicide is the third-leading cause of death for that age demographic. My Life as a Zucchini, which Sciamma worked on as screenwriter, is a strong example of a film dealing with difficult issues as the film follows a group of foster children, each of whom has a differently tragic background: abuse, drug use, alcoholism, violence, etc. In Tomboy, when Mickaël’s mother (Sophie Cattani) angrily forces them into a blue dress, we’re meant to understand — in addition to misgendering them — how humiliating that is and acknowledge that childhood problems some might perceive as “bumps in the road” actually have very, very high stakes.

At the same time, the physical and non-physical violence directed towards these characters are not their defining factors. When portraying characters outside the straight, cis, or white archetype, there’s a very real danger of turning people into spectacles or tropes. Poor, marginalized, or under-portrayed individuals turn into tragedy porn meant for rich consumption, or become patronizing PSAs that unintentionally other these characters. There’s a troubling emphasis on the reactions of those around the marginalized, instead of the actual figure. When faced with trials and tribulations, Sciamma’s characters express themselves in all kinds of ways without turning gratuitous or voyeuristic. While Hollywood loves the emotional outburst that builds over several acts, we know everyone deals with grief and frustration differently. Maybe it’s the simple act of regressing and sucking one’s thumb as in Tomboy, the persistent clinking of a plate in Zucchini, or just falling silent. The attention to detail in body language, lingering stares, and looks resist the idea that there is a singular female, LGBTQ, or young rite of passage.

Girlhood is another story that could have easily gone terribly awry in the hands of a different director. Along with its critical acclaim, the film has been simultaneously praised for centering Black girls as well as criticized as “a story of black femininity being presented via a white feminist gaze.” The film follows Marieme (Karidja Touré), a Black teenager from a difficult background, as she finds a community among three other girls and discovers a new world of fights, boys, and music. Like Tomboy, we vividly see structural and physical violence: adults tell Marieme she’s a lost cause and she has an abusive family life. However, there’s always an equal amount of joy and camaraderie in in Sciamma’s films, which she often illustrates through dance. One of Girlhood‘s most memorable scenes features the group of girls in a hotel room dancing along to Rihanna’s “Diamonds.” In Tomboy, Lisa dances with Mickaël in her room. In My Life as a Zucchini, the many foster children have a dance party during a vacation in the mountains. There’s plenty more — inside jokes, sports, and snow fights — but these dramatic, musical moments assert that childhood is not all darkness. After all, a movie about children that fixates only on the tragic isn’t only unrealistic, it leaves little room for hope. There’s an element of uncertainty in Girlhood‘s ending, to which Sciamma told Indiewire, “I think I’m making movies that ask questions and that make you care for the character. I think that’s more powerful than actually knowing they’ll be alright.”

Tomboy similarly omits any definitive language regarding Mickaël — they don’t plan to live this double life in advance, it just happens. Their exact gender identity is left somewhat ambiguous because it’s possible Mickaël is still figuring things out, and they might not yet have the vocabulary for words like transgender, genderqueer, non-binary, or misgendering. While narratively it allows for a small twist, it’s notable that the first time we hear our protagonist’s name is when they introduce themselves to Lisa — and the viewer — as Mickaël. At the film’s conclusion, when they call themselves Laure, it’s unclear whether this is an act of defeated conformity or a reconciliation of the double life. Very much in line with Sciamma’s statement on Girlhood, we “can’t leave the film in the room.” Instead, “you have to take it back home with you.”

There’s valid criticism of Tomboy’s refusal to name Mickaël as a trans boy, but there’s also a strength in how the film doesn’t push them to explain or justify themselves. We don’t know where Mickaël — or Laure — will end up and it’s likely they’ll grapple with much more in the future. Tomboy explores gender-policing through child characters and refuses to tie things up neatly at the end because this greater structural violence still exists. That’s not saying that children are ever too young to express their own gender identity, only to acknowledge different types of journeys. There’s a definite anxiety that stems from how much we’ve grown to care about Mickaël, but also a certain kind of reassurance for the viewer in that open-ended finale that says it’s acceptable to be a work in progress.

Diving into the mind of a child isn’t as simple as simplifying the world. It’s no surprise that Sciamma called Pixar’s Inside Out, a complex and thoughtful mapping of a young girl’s brain, one of her favorite films of 2015. When I spoke to Sciamma about her role as screenwriter on the Oscar-nominated animated film My Life as a Zucchini, she explained that thinking like a child is not, “trying to be lighthearted about everything” but to take children seriously as characters.

“We all go through this, and then when we are adults and we are addressing children we do this, like, ‘They were innocent, shiny people,’ whereas we all know how overwhelming, troubling entering the world is and how we went through dark feelings and very strong emotions.”

The popular portrayals of adolescents as happy-go-lucky, helpless, or wise beyond their years is a puzzling pattern considering the fact that we’ve all been children before. Sure, not everyone has the same kind of childhood, but I’d like to think most people recognize that childhood is oftentimes not a squeaky-clean or logical space. Sciamma’s films open up introspection to our own childhoods, illuminating moments that we might have glossed over or sanitized in our memory.

Water Lilies, a queer love story, grapples with young female sexuality, slut-shaming, and tangled affections. Our fifteen-year-old protagonist Marie (Pauline Acquart) develops feelings for the popular Floriane (Adèle Haenel), who goes between desiring an anonymous older man to her boyfriend François to wanting Marie. Marie’s friend Anne (Louise Blachère) longs for François, who’s also inconsistent in his affections. All of their experiences, while gendered, are different and reveal there’s no singular way to explore sexuality. We see this as well in Marieme’s sexual agency in Girlhood, when she makes the decision to sleep with her boyfriend. As the characters change their minds, make mistakes, and enjoy themselves, the narrative never paints anything they do as invalid or abnormal. Unlike stories that demonize, fetishize, or mystify female sexuality, Sciamma allows her characters to just be.

Childhood is also often nonsensical or inappropriate, full of jokes that don’t make sense or are vaguely offensive in their misinformation. The dialogue in a Sciamma film acknowledges this and there’s a very natural character-driven humor that comes out of unfiltered speech. Anne in Water Lilies off-handedly mentions that she thinks arranged child-marriages are cool and characters in My Life as a Zucchini talk about sex and their absent parents in ways that aren’t “right” or proper. Allowing characters to be unfiltered opens an unmediated image of youth that feels more authentic and less like a morality tale. Furthermore, it means acknowledging young carelessness without nervously apologizing for it.

Perhaps one of the most compelling elements of Sciamma’s films is that they’re not children’s stories made for adult’s eyes. Rather, they are made to speak to both children and adults. The director never speaks down to her audience. Her most recent screenplay for My Life as a Zucchini exemplifies this through stop-motion, a medium we typically associate with children’s films. In the movie, we’re introduced to all kinds of families — ones torn apart, abandoned, or rejected.

Sciamma told me she made sure “everybody has to relate to the same thing,” meaning it wouldn’t have jokes meant for adults peppered in or bits just for children. If you’re a parent watching My Life as a Zucchini with your kid, the two of you watch the same film and hopefully have a frank and thoughtful conversation afterwards. While Sciamma isn’t the only director creating powerful representation, her movies stand as a powerful testament to what children’s films can do, especially for the underrepresented children confronting gender identity, sexuality, and other issues.

In an 1971 review for Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory, the late critic Roger Ebert identified a lack of serious children’s movies by writing:

“Kids are not stupid. They are among the sharpest, cleverest, most eagle-eyed creatures on God’s Earth, and very little escapes their notice. […] They don’t miss a thing, and they have an instinctive contempt for shoddy and shabby work. I make this observation because nine out of ten children’s movies are stupid, witless, and display contempt for their audiences, and that’s why kids hate them. Is that all parents want from kids’ movies? That they not have anything bad in them? Shouldn’t they have something good in them — some life, imagination, fantasy, inventiveness, something to tickle the imagination? If a movie isn’t going to do your kids any good, why let them watch it? Just to kill a Saturday afternoon? That shows a subtle kind of contempt for a child’s mind, I think.”

Sciamma not only respects the fictional children in her films, she trusts younger viewers to grapple with the heavy topics she’s presenting. Children’s movies shouldn’t be “just” children’s movies — flippant, shallow, or watered down. Not to fall into cliches, but if children are our future, shouldn’t our media respect their intelligence and capacity to learn?

See also at Bitch Flicks:

Movie Makers from the Margin: Céline Sciamma

Girlhood: Observed But Not Seen

Growing Up Queer: Water Lilies and Tomboy

Charline Jao is writer based in New York City who specializes in film and geeky pop culture. You can find her work over at The Mary Sue and on Twitter @charlinejao.

Movie Makers from the Margins: Celine Sciamma

Written by Erin Fenner

French filmmaker, Celine Sciamma, brings you uncomfortably close to the lives of adolescents.

She does this intentionally, but not in a voyeuristic way that so often comes along with any Hollywood film. Instead, her proximity to her characters creates a level of intense intimacy. Even when her characters are dealing with issues like sexuality, her work doesn’t feel sexy, but nerve-wracking, like being a teenager does.

In her first feature-length film, Water Lilies¸ we follow the experiences of three girls who are on a synchronized swimming team together. We see their stories through their eyes only – rarely even glimpsing a character who is older than 18.

The girls are all trying to understand how sex and desire fit into their lives. Marie (Pauline Acquart), who we follow most closely, longs for Floriane (Adele Haenel). Anne (Louise Blachere) longs for Francois (Warren Jacquin). Floriane seems fixated more on the functioning of her own desire and how it can connect her to many people, rather than any one individual.

Louise Blachere, Pauline Acquart and Adele Haenel in Water Lilies

We see them clumsily sort out their first interactions with their own desire and the desire of others. While Floriane flirts with Marie, she is not monogamous in her affection. And this functions as a regular torture for Marie, who spends much of her time helping Floriane meet with boys. Francois walks in on Anne while she is completely naked, and this moment catalyzes Anne’s burgeoning infatuation with Francois.

In her second film, Tomboy, we meet Laure (Zoe Heran) who expresses hirself as a boy. While the film doesn’t explore whether Laure identifies as a boy, it does sift through the complications that come with assigned gender. It also touches on how we make assumptions about a person’s identity and how antagonistic adults, in particular, can be toward androgyny.

The American approach to stories about youth usually looks as though they’ve been filmed through a gauzy lens. American audiences are bombarded by nostalgia for fat-cheeked childhood. And, lessons of discovery and coming-of-age are typically shown through the perspective of the privileged. Sciamma does fall into the trap of focusing solely on white stories, and while it’s a relief to see stories that aren’t just focused on cis-males, it would be better to explore issues of race as well.

She does try to address these identities as authentically as possible. Sciamma comments on this and says casting is important to her.

“I chose them to be very age appropriate to the story, because I wanted that innocence and fear and inexperience and passion to come through. I didn’t think a 20-year-old playing 15 would give that same performance,” Sciamma said in a 2008 interview with Go Magazine.

And because her actors are the age of the characters, the pathos is stronger and the emotional arc is more realistic. We can connect to the sexual experiences of the girls without sexualizing them.

In the same interview, Sciamma talked about being outed as gay by the American press.

“I am a lesbian director, but I’m also a woman director, and a French director. If you add them all, it’s okay, but separating one out is not honest. In France there is less of a question of whether you are a lesbian or not. It’s other places that it is such a big deal,” she said.

She talked about the issue of being a woman and a director in another interview with Canape in 2008.

“The secrets of the girls I think is the secrets of women in general. That’s why I made the movie, because I think cinema has really been celebrating women but it’s always men doing the talking and it’s always in the man’s point of view. I think the secrets of women is that they have no secrets. They can be cruel. They can be ugly. They can be beautiful. They can be awkward. Cinema is always enhancing the mysteries of women. What I wanted to tell is what is behind the mysteries.”

And in not trying to enhance anything about the experiences of girls and women, Sciamma provides a refreshing narrative about coming of age.

Foreign Film Week: Growing Up Queer: ‘Water Lilies’ (2007) and ‘Tomboy’ (2011)

Written by Max Thornton, this review previously appeared at Bitch Flicks on June 26, 2012.

Céline Sciamma’s films are ever so French. Light on dialogue, they tend to rely on lingering shots of longing glances and exquisite mise-en-scène to reveal character; loosely plotted, they leave the impression less of a story than of a series of vignettes, of tiny moments freighted with great import.

These techniques are uniquely suited to the onscreen portrayal of adolescence. It almost seems churlish to complain that Water Lilies and Tomboy lack full structural coherence, because that’s arguably intentional. Growing up, after all, is not a tightly-plotted three-act hero’s journey with clear turning points, tidy linear progression through the successive stages of personal development, and a satisfying ending. It’s a messy and confusing struggle to find a place in the world, littered with incidents that may or may not ultimately be significant (with no way to tell the difference), and most of the time the morals make no sense.

Sciamma instinctively understands this, and the little stories she tells of growing up queer are given vivid life through her two greatest strengths as a filmmaker: her ability to coax marvelously deep and naturalistic performances out of her young actors, and her eye for a strikingly memorable little scene that perfectly encapsulates a moment of overpowering adolescent emotion – the normally boisterous Anne clutching at a lamppost and weeping in Water Lilies, for example, or Tomboy‘s Laure curling up on the couch, thumb in mouth, suddenly overwhelmed by an earlier humiliation.

Both films are carried on the remarkably expressive faces of their lead actresses. There are no voice-over monologues or expository conversations, but both Water Lilies and Tomboy present the inner life of their protagonists with stunning depth and rawness.

Movie poster for Water Lilies

The protagonist of Water Lilies is Pauline Acquart’s Marie, a quiet fifteen-year-old with a crush on Floriane, star of the local synchronized swimming team. Marie’s best friend Anne, meanwhile, has her eye on Floriane’s boyfriend François. So far, so Gossip Girl, but there is nothing over-dramatic or sensationalistic about the way this love quadrilateral plays out. Although the film’s primary focus is on the blossoming friendship between Marie and Floriane, there is a clear thematic through-line of what it is to grow up female in the patriarchy. Marie, Anne, and Floriane all embody different ways of being young women, and especially young women coming into their sexuality.

Anne, though less conventionally feminine than the other girls, is confidently heterosexual and determined to sleep with the boy she finds attractive. Marie is so eager to spend time with Floriane that she agrees to help her sneak out to meet François, and her yearnings for the lithe bodies slipping through the water are beautifully conveyed through moments such as the shot of Marie shifting, flustered, as Floriane unselfconsciously changes into a swimsuit right in front of her. Floriane herself, despite the reputation she cultivates (perhaps recognizing that denial would be futile – once branded a “slut,” a teenage girl is hopelessly trapped in a no-win morass of contradictory social pressures), eventually confesses to Marie that she has never actually had sex, and in fact is afraid to do so.

“If you don’t want to do it, don’t.”

“I have to.”

“Where did you read that?”

“All over my face, apparently. If he finds out I’m not a real slut, it’s over.”

Floriane recounts several instances of sexual harassment from men; when Marie has no similar stories to share, Floriane tells her, “You’re lucky… very lucky.” And perhaps to some extent she is. Perhaps, as Anne and Marie float fully-clothed in the pool at the end of the movie, while Floriane dances alone for the boys she’s not certain she even wants to be with, they are considering their good fortune: they, at least, are strong enough to defy the patriarchal dictates around female sexual behavior, to name and claim their desires (or lack thereof), to make mistakes and learn from them without being defined by them. Growing up female in this world is hard, but they know they will make it.

Movie poster Tomboy

Tomboy tells a very different story of growing up queer. Zoé Héran turns in a truly remarkable performance as androgynous ten-year-old Laure, who, on moving to a new neighborhood, is asked by the friendly Lisa, “T’es nouveau?” – “Are you new?” – in a way that genders Laure male. In that moment, Laure becomes Mikael, a boy who spends a happy summer among his new friends and his puppy-love girlfriend Lisa. For the duration of the summer, Laure is confined to home and family (well-meaning dad, heavily pregnant mom, hyper-femme little sister Jeanne), and Mikael is the face presented to the world.

Any ten-year-old lives in the present, and Mikael meets each challenge as it arises – sneaking away deep into the woods when the other boys casually take a pee break; snipping a girl’s swimsuit into a boy’s, and constructing a Play-Doh packer to fill it; swearing Jeanne to secrecy when Lisa unwittingly tells her about Mikael – even as it becomes increasingly clear to the viewer that eventually Laure’s parents must find out about Mikael. As loving as they are, they still exert some gender-policing of their oldest child: Mom’s delight at hearing that Laure has made a female friend (“You’re always hanging out with the boys”) might have been tempered if she’d remembered that “copine” can also mean girlfriend!

The relationships between the various children are superbly observed, and constitute reason enough to see Tomboy in themselves. The energetic activities of childish horseplay that give Mikael such joy in himself and in his body – dancing enthusiastically with Lisa, playing soccer shirtless, wrestling in swimsuits on the dock – are balanced by the many lovely domestic scenes demonstrating the closeness of Laure’s relationship with Jeanne. This is honestly one of the most moving and genuine cinematic portrayals of a sibling relationship in years, and after her initial shock Jeanne takes to the idea of Mikael like a duck to water, boasting to another child about her awesome big brother, and telling her parents that her favorite of Laure’s new friends is Mikael.

The parents themselves, unfortunately, are much less accepting of Mikael. The film’s ending is ambiguous, allowing for multiple readings of the exact nature of Laure’s queerness; indeed, the film has been criticized as “an appropriation of trans narratives by a cis filmmaker toward her own purposes”; but to me the ending is terribly unhappy. With deep breaths and with profound conflict on Héran’s preternaturally expressive face, the character is forced to claim “Laure,” the name and gender assigned at birth and not the ones of choice. The cissupremacy has won this round.

Though Tomboy is the better film, the two movies make excellent companion pieces. Between them they depict a range of queerness and explore a variety of strategies for growing up queer (and/or female) in a hostile world. And yet they offer no easy solutions, no cheap moralizing, no promise that it gets better. These films, and the characters they portray, simply are. And, in the end, isn’t that the one universal truth of queer people? There is no ur-narrative of queerness. There is no right or wrong way to be queer. We simply are.

———-
Max Thornton is a Bitch Flicks writer, blogs at Gay Christian Geek, tumbles as trans substantial, and is slowly learning to twitter at @RainicornMax.

LGBTQI Week: Growing Up Queer: ‘Water Lilies’ (2007) and ‘Tomboy’ (2011)

This is a guest review by Max Thornton.