We hear the song one more time in a moment that mimics the first, after Tom’s illusion is shattered. Instead of listing what he loves about Summer, Tom lists the things he hates about her, concluding with “It’s Like The Wind,” and yelling, “I hate this song!” The romantic illusions are finally cracked. This isn’t the movie he thought it was.
Tarantino’s vast knowledge of music is clear from the very beginning with Reservoir Dogs. However, it isn’t until the Kill Bill series when his soundtracks begin to drift away from pop and instead embrace more orchestral sounds like that of Ennio Morricone. Viewers need no knowledge of the genre to instantly recognize that spaghetti western feel. It’s that famous mix of Spanish guitar, orchestra, whistles, cracking whips, trumpet, flute and sometimes chorus that recalls images of Clint Eastwood clad in a green poncho and cowboy hat as the iconic Man with No Name.
The music throughout the film deals with the lost and rebellious feelings during coming of age for young women. The movie tells the story of these two individuals and how their lives were affected by fame, but underneath that is the coming of age experience for young girls realizing their power and sexuality within a culture that seeks to suppress them.
As evocative as the scene of the Puma Sisters doing their thing might be, and as culturally-charged a time as the release of Dominion Tank Police might have been, much of the success of this scene is owed to the music. “Hey Boy,” by Riko Ejima, is a haunting song that, while seemingly chaste in that it seems to be singing about dancing, captures something deep, deep in the soul.
Ugly singing; ugly make-up. ‘Les Misérables’ is deservedly known as the film that tried too hard to bum us out, and Anne Hathaway is known as the actress who tries too hard to be liked. But, isn’t it nice, sometimes, when somebody makes an effort?
Mike Nichol’s The Graduate has one of the most popular soundtracks of all-time. The songs reveal the dynamics of a character, theme, and a moment without the use of dialogue or a backstory, but simply through the lyrics of a Simon and Garfunkel song.
Love Jones does more than captures a moment in time in the late 90s. It creates the point when neo-soul established itself as the music of all of us with artistic inclinations, those of us leaving fantasies of teenage love affairs behind for a more realistic image of making a relationship work. And, yes, for some of us it brought about a sexual awakening that helped us accept that sex could exist outside a relationship if it’s truly wanted that way.
Lisa Gerrard of Dead Can Dance, one of the few successful women musicians who made the transition to film composer (she won a Golden Globe for her work on Gladiator), wrote and performed the music for 2002’s Whale Rider–and she didn’t have to date writer-director Niki Caro to do so. Gerrard might seem an unlikely choice: when I briefly worked in a women’s sex shop in the 90s, the store owner told me not to play Dead Can Dance on the sound system because they scared away customers. But Gerrard’s score for Rider does what the best movie music is supposed to do: reinforcing the drama of the film without calling unnecessary attention to itself.
Zeffirelli’s Romeo and Juliet is a tale told by the older generation. Luhrmann’s Romeo + Juliet is one told by “unfaded” youth. When Des’ree was singing “Kissing You” as Romeo and Juliet kiss (and oh, how they kiss), she is singing with deep longing and pain. When Glen Weston sings “What is a Youth?” he sings at Romeo and Juliet, about how youth–and female virginity–fades.
That Thing You Do! with its sly humor, strong performances and ultimately heartwarming romance makes for satisfying viewing. It’s a meditation on the tension between art and commerce that manages to acknowledge what can be good about temporary fame. It’s also a squeaky-clean antidote to sordid, drug-filled “Behind-the Music”-type stories both fictional and real.
My attachment wasn’t about Elle Woods or embracing hallmarks of traditional femininity that get belittled by western mainstream society (that would come later). I was all about lyrics like, “That’s not the way/ Nice girls behave/ Oh yeah I know/ You told me/ It’s not your choice/ I have a voice/ I guess you just don’t hear me.” It spoke to me on a spiritual level.
I’m a lot older now and I still squeal with excitement when Girls Just Want to Have Fun comes on. When it showed up on Netflix my daughter and I watched the movie over a dozen times. We would take “supreme silly” dance breaks whenever the music would play and when the Netflix purge occurred we found a DVD copy (OK we got two in case one got scratched or lost) of our very own on Amazon so that we could continue this tradition at will.
The Lost Boys is a classic 1980s vampire flick directed by Joel Schumacher. It is as famous for its soundtrack as it is for its content. The entire film in fact is exemplified in its main theme–“Cry Little Sister,” by G Tom Mac–from the typical horror themed sections to its classic 80s rock moments down to its choral moments. These sections sum up the film almost perfectly.
Lisa Gerrard of Dead Can Dance, one of the few successful women musicians who made the transition to film composer (she won a Golden Globe for her work on ‘Gladiator’), wrote and performed the music for 2002’s ‘Whale Rider’–and she didn’t have to date writer-director Niki Caro to do so. Gerrard might seem an unlikely choice: when I briefly worked in a women’s sex shop in the 90s, the store owner told me not to play Dead Can Dance on the sound system because they scared away customers. But Gerrard’s score for ‘Rider’ does what the best movie music is supposed to do: reinforcing the drama of the film without calling unnecessary attention to itself.
This post by Ren Jender appears as part of our theme week on Movie Soundtracks.
When I listened to post-punk and New Wave bands as a teenager in the ’80s I never dreamed that members of some of those bands would someday write the scores for successful, mainstream films: Mark Mothersbaugh of Devo composed the music for many movies including Rushmore and The Royal Tenenbaums. Danny Elfman of Oingo Boingo is the composer for Edward Scissorhands, Good Will Hunting and more. These two men followed a path that Randy Newman–who was a great, satiricalsongwriter before he became the composer for films like Toy Story–and Henry Mancini, composer of the score for Breakfast at Tiffany’s and The Pink Panther, tread before them. This pipeline has not, historically, been open to women musicians, even though Kate Bush, for example, was popular at the same time Devo and Oingo Boingo were, and during that time put out music that could already pass for the soundtrack to a movie. Although Karen O of The Yeah, Yeah, Yeahs was nominated for an Oscar this year for her work on the movie Her, she also, at one time, dated the film’s director which shouldn’t be a prerequisite for a woman (or anyone else) getting the job.
Lisa Gerrard of Dead Can Dance, one of the few successful women musicians who made the transition to film composer (she won a Golden Globe for her work on Gladiator), wrote and performed the music for 2002’s Whale Rider–-and she didn’t have to date writer-director Niki Caro to do so. Gerrard might seem an unlikely choice: when I briefly worked in a women’s sex shop in the 90s, the store owner told me not to play Dead Can Dance on the sound system because they scared away customers. But Gerrard’s score for Riderdoes what the best movie music is supposed to do: reinforcing the drama of the film without calling unnecessary attention to itself.
Pai and her grandfather
Whale Rider is an adaptation of the book of the same name by Māori author Witi Ihimaera about an 11-year-old girl (played by Keisha Castle-Hughes with the same confidence and solemnity Quvenzhané Wallis brought to Beasts of The Southern Wild; both girls received well-deserved Oscar nominations) who believes she is destined to become chief of the Māori living in the small community of Whangara, New Zealand, and her conflict with her grandfather, the aging chief, who believes only men can lead.
Pai’s grandfather (Rawiri Paratene) is often cold toward her, seeming to blame her for the death of her twin brother at birth, whom he believed was destined to be the community’s leader. Pai says, “(He) wished in his heart that I’d never been born, but he changed his mind.” In spite of himself, the grandfather sometimes shows great affection for and great pride in his granddaughter, letting her ride with him on his bicycle and telling her the legend about an ancestor (for whom Pai is named) migrating to New Zealand on top of a whale.
Pai’s grandmother
Although sexism seems entrenched in their traditions (as they are in so many Western ones) the Māori women (played, as all of the nonwhite characters are, by people who are actually Māori) in the film are hardly doormats. When the grandfather is so upset at the loss of his newborn grandson that he barely acknowledges his granddaughter, the grandmother (Vicky Haughton) ignores her husband and coos to the baby girl, “Just say the word and I’ll get a divorce.”
The grandmother’s friends aren’t above teasing and laughing at Pai and are bawdy when they talk to each other. When Pai tells these older women to stop smoking because it will interfere with their reproductive capabilities, the women raise their eyebrows and after she leaves, one retorts, “You’d have to be smoking in a pretty funny place to wreck your childbearing properties.”
Pai is given the chance to stay with her father, a successful artist in Germany, who says of his father (the grandfather) and his hopes that a young male leader will rid the community of the poverty and malaise we see, including casual drug and alcohol abuse, “He’s just looking for something that doesn’t exist anymore.”
Pai agrees to go live with her father, and the shiny, new SUV they ride in as they leave the grandfather’s modest house is a world away from the bicycle the grandfather uses to get around. But when they pass the ocean we hear Gerrard’s distinctive vocals, akin both to whale “singing” and to the traditional Māori chants we hear in the film. Pai, feeling like the whales are calling to her, opts to stay.
Pai passes her grandfather’s test
While her grandfather starts to train the ragtag group of “first-born sons” in the ancient ways. Pai, with encouragement from her grandmother and some coaching from her uncle, masters songs, dances and weapon training–without letting her grandfather know she is doing so–too. The grandfather throws his carved whale tooth pendant into the ocean from his boat and waits for one of the boys who accompany him to bring it back, but he takes to his bed when none of the boys can pass this final “sword in the stone” test. Pai, later on a boat with her uncle, his drinking buddies and girlfriend, dives to the bottom and retrieves both the pendant and a lobster at the same time.
Gerrard’s ethereal vocal style combined with electronic flourishes make for an unusual soundtrack, but one that meshes with the film’s bracing mixture of mysticism and realism set against the strange and beautiful New Zealand landscape with its high grey cliffs and bright green hills (which audiences might recognize from The Lord of the Rings movies) better than a more traditional soundtrack from John Williams (or Randy Newman) would. When Pai pushes her forehead into the skin of a beached whale, then climbs the clusters of barnacles on its side to steer the animal into the water, the sound of the waves melds with the music and we feel like we are taking off with her.
Basically, Brave isn’t really that brave of a film. It’s traipsing through a well-established trope that, though positive, is stagnant. Don’t get me wrong; I love all the prepubescent female power fantasy tales I’ve listed, and I’m grateful that they exist and that I could grow up with many of them. However, we can’t pretend that Brave is pushing any boundaries. It sends the message that little girls can be powerful as long as they remain little girls. The dearth of representations of postpubescent heroines who are not objectified, whose sexuality does not rule their interactions, and who are the heroes of their own stories is appalling.
Written by Amanda Rodriguez as part of our theme week on Child and Teenage Girl Protagonists.
I liked Disney Pixar’s Bravewell enough. It’s pretty enough. It’s a story about a mother and daughter, and there was no romance, both of which are nice; though, as I’ll show, neither are as uncommon as they might initially appear. I didn’t find the feminist qualities of this movie to be particularly impressive. Brave is actually situated within a somewhat prolific trope of female prepubescent power fantasy tales. Within this trope, young girls are allowed and even encouraged to be strong, assertive, creative, and heroes of their own stories. I call them “feminism lite” because these characters are only afforded this power because they are girl children who are unthreatening in their prepubescent, pre-sexualized state.
Let’s consider a few examples.
First, we’ve got Matilda, a film based on the eponymous novel by Roald Dahl. This story is about a genius six-year-old girl who realizes she has telekinetic powers. Matilda is brave and kind to those who deserve it and punishes authority figures who take advantage of their positions of power. This story, similar to Brave, is about the budding (surrogate) mother/daughter relationship between Matilda and her kindergarten teacher, Miss Honey. They find idyllic happiness at the end of the film when they adopt each other to form their own little family.
“I can feel the strongness. I feel like I can move almost anything in the world.” – Matilda
Then there’s Harriet the Spy, based on the book by Louise Fitzhugh, about an inquisitive, imaginative girl who learns the power of her voice and how her words affect others. Another potent mother/daughter bond is featured between Harriet and her nanny, Golly.
“You’re an individual, and that makes people nervous. And it’s gonna keep making people nervous for the rest of your life.” – Golly
We can’t forget Pippi Longstocking, based on the book series by Astrid Lindgren. Pippi is independent and adventurous with a slew of fantastical stories. She also has incredible physical strength, exotic pets, and teaches her friends Tommy and Annika that just because the trio are children, doesn’t mean experiences and desires should be denied them.
“I’m Pippilotta Delicatessa Windowshade Longstocking, daughter of Captain Efraim Longstocking, Pippi for short.” – Pippi
There’s also Whale Rider, based on the book by Witi Ihimaera. Pai is a determined young girl who wants to become the chief of her Māori tribe, but that is forbidden because she’s a girl. With wisdom and vision, Pai strives to unite and lead her people into the future. She is dedicated, stubborn and perseveres, showing she has the uncanny spiritual ability to speak with (and ride) whales.
“My name is Paikea Apirana, and I come from a long line of chiefs…I know that our people will keep going forward, all together, with all of our strength.” – Pai
One of my personal favorites is Pan’s Labyrinth (or El Labertino del Fauno meaning “The Labyrinth of the Faun” in Spanish). Interestingly, Pan’s Labyrinth is the first on our list that wasn’t based on a book, as it was written and directed by Guillermo del Toro. The film takes place in post Civil War Spain with young Ofelia as our heroine. She is forced to live with her fascist captain stepfather who hunts down rebels while her mother languishes in a difficult pregnancy. Totally isolated, Ofelia retreats into a dark fantasy world replete with fairies, fauns, and child-eating monsters. In this world (that may or may not truly exist), she is a long-lost immortal underworld princess trying to make her way home. Throughout the tale, Ofelia forms a strong connection with Merecedes, a kitchen maid who is not only secretly a rebel spy, but is brave and crazy badass. Ofelia is intelligent, defiant, loyal, and ultimately self-sacrificing.
“Hello. I am Princess Moanna, and I am not afraid of you.” – Ofelia
All of these stories validate young female agency because all these girls are prepubescent. They are too young and too physically underdeveloped to be objectified or vilified for their sexuality. There are tales that continue to advocate for the empowerment of their slightly older heroines despite their budding sexuality. These are pseudo coming-of-age films. I say “pseudo” here because the main characters don’t actually become sexual beings.
A great contemporary example of a pseudo coming-of-age tale is the action-thriller Hanna, starring the talented Saoirse Ronan as a 14-year-old CIA experiment with enhanced DNA to make her the optimal weapon. She is trained in arctic isolation and is therefore unsocialized and unschooled in the ways of the world. Most of the film centers around her mission to kill Cate Blanchett’s evil CIA agent character, Marissa. However, there is an interlude when Hanna befriends brash young Sophie who is eager to grow up. The two sneak out and go dancing, and a boy kisses Hanna. Our young heroine is at first intrigued and even enraptured by the experience, but she ends up knocking the boy to the ground and nearly breaking his neck. Later, there is also sexual tension between Hanna and Sophie as the two lie next to each other in a tent, falling asleep, but nothing comes of it. These are examples of Hanna’s awakening sexuality, which the film insinuates may ultimately be terrifying in its power and lack of boundaries. Hanna, though, is still young and chooses her father and his indoctrination over her own self-discovery.
“Kissing requires a total of thirty-four facial muscles.” – Hanna
Not to forget Jim Hanson’s classic Labyrinth starring Jennifer Connelly as Sarah, a teenager who is enthralled by the fantasy of the Labyrinth along with its alluring goblin king, Jereth (aka David Bowie in an impressive Tina Turner mullet wig). Sarah withdraws from her family, yearning for adventure and romance while hating her obligation to babysit her “screaming baby” brother, Toby, so she calls on the goblin king to take the boy away. She then spends the rest of the movie trying to get the toddler back. Jareth attempts to seduce her into forgetting the child and being his goblin queen, which is what Sarah initially wanted, but, in the end, she chooses her family and fantastical goblin friends over love, romance, and her sexuality. At the end of the film when she says to her goblin friends, “I need you; I need you all,” she is affirming that she’s not ready for adulthood and wants to remain a child a bit longer. Her intact innocence is what allows her to be uncomplicatedly triumphant, to assert her equality with and independence from Jareth.
“For my will is as strong as yours, and my kingdom is as great. You have no power over me!” – Sarah
To be empowered, all the aforementioned heroines must remain perpetually young, fixed forever in their prepubescent state within the reels of their films. Once our heroines become sexual teens, their power is overwhelmingly defined by their sexuality, and/or their worth is determined by their body’s objectification. In fact, many of these tales are no longer fantasies, but horror movies (or movies that have horror qualities) that demonize female sexual awakenings. I don’t even want to disgrace the hallowed web pages of Bitch Flicks with an obvious account of the worthless Twilightseries that equates female sexuality with death and advocates teen pregnancy over reproductive rights. However, Bella is a prime example of a young woman whose own self-value is dependent on how the male characters view her. She is the apex of a noxious love triangle, and her desirability defines her, creating the entire basis of the poorly acted, poorly produced saga.
Ginger Snaps clearly fits the mold of the vilification of budding female sexuality. Ginger gets her period for the first time and is therefore attacked by a werewolf. The attack has rape connotations, implying that Ginger wouldn’t have been as enticing to the wolf if she weren’t yet sexual, especially since her mousy sister Brigitte is spared. Ginger goes through a series of changes, becoming sexually aggressive and promiscuous. When she has unprotected sex with a boy, turning him into a werewolf, this further underscores the connection between Ginger’s monstrous lycanthropy and her unchecked sexuality. There’s also a great deal of sexual tension between Ginger and her sister, Brigitte, suggesting that her sexuality is boundless and therefore frightening.
“I get this ache…and I, I thought it was for sex, but it’s to tear everything to fucking pieces.” – Ginger
Lastly, we have the pseudo-feminist film Teethabout a young girl who grows teeth on her vagina (vagina dentata style). Our teenage heroine, Dawn, is in one of those Christian abstinence/purity clubs, and everything is fine until she becomes attracted to and makes out with a boy. The film punishes her for her newfound sexuality and mocks her abstinence vow by having the boy rape her. Dawn’s vagina then bites off his penis. Over the course of the movie, Dawn is essentially sexually assaulted four times. Four times. She is degraded from the beginning of the film to the very end. Her supposedly empowerful teeth-laden vagina is a dubious gift, considering she generally must be raped in order to use it. Instead of focusing on the power of her sexuality and the awesome choice she has of whether or not to wield it, the film victimizes her at every corner, undercutting her potential strength and sexual agency.
“The way [the ring] wraps around your finger, that’s to remind you to keep your gift wrapped until the day you trade it in for that other ring. That gold ring.” – Dawn
Basically, Brave isn’t really that brave of a film. It’s traipsing through a well-established trope that, though positive, is stagnant. Don’t get me wrong; I love all the prepubescent female power fantasy tales I’ve listed, and I’m grateful that they exist and that I could grow up with many of them. However, we can’t pretend that Brave is pushing any boundaries. It sends the message that little girls can be powerful as long as they remain little girls. The dearth of representations of postpubescent heroines who are not objectified, whose sexuality does not rule their interactions, and who are the heroes of their own stories is appalling. There may be exceptions, but my brain has a fairly to moderately comprehensive catalog of films, especially those starring strong female characters. Scanning…scanning…file not found. If I, who actively seek out films that use integrity in their depictions of kickass women, can’t think of many, how is the casual viewer to find them? How is the teenage girl coming into her sexuality while facing negativity and recriminations supposed to see herself portrayed in a light that gives her the opportunity to be nuanced, smart and brave, to be independent or to be a leader?
—————— Amanda Rodriguez is an environmental activist living in Asheville, North Carolina. She holds a BA from Antioch College in Yellow Springs, Ohio and an MFA in fiction writing from Queens University in Charlotte, NC. She writes all about food and drinking games on her blog Booze and Baking. Fun fact: while living in Kyoto, Japan, her house was attacked by monkeys.
These 18 Lionhearted Heroines in literature, television, and film echo Bullet’s spirit in their own unique ways–possessing faith, valuing friendship, and experiencing unrequited love or loving and expecting nothing in return–as portrayed by the “perfectly imperfect” actresses who embody them.
In the spirit of Bullet, the quintessential Lionhearted Girl, these 18 Lionhearted Heroines each embody the same steadfast strength and selflessness that Bullet possessed.
Part 2 in a series about “Lionhearted Heroines” inspired by The Killing’s Bullet; see Part 1 here
These 18 Lionhearted Heroines in literature, television, and film echo Bullet’s spirit in their own unique ways–possessing faith, valuing friendship, and experiencing unrequited love or loving and expecting nothing in return–as portrayed by the “perfectly imperfect” actresses who embody them.
In the spirit of Bullet, the quintessential Lionhearted Girl, these 18 Lionhearted Heroines each embody the same steadfast strength and selflessness that Bullet possessed.
Stephanie from Rust and Bone
Stephanie (Marion Cotillard) from Rust and Bone, directed by Jacques Audiard (2012)
“What am I for you? A friend? A pal? If we continue, we have to do it right.”
As the trailer (included below) suggests, this remarkable French film centers around a vagrant boxer, his young son, and a gorgeous woman who enters their lives under the most unlikely circumstances. The magnificent Marion Cotillard was nominated for an Academy Award for her portrayal of Stephanie, a tough, assertive orca trainer who courageously struggles to rebuild her life after a horrific accident.
Like Bullet, Stephanie’s tough shell cocoons a sensitive soul, one that is gravely tested after her accident. What is so touching about Stephanie–like Bullet–is her spirited strength and resilience in the face of a reality that most people could not survive. Even as she deals with her own daunting demons and defies overwhelming odds, she is selfless in her availability to others–in her willingness to share her heart and spirit with those around her. She forges a beautiful bond with Alain and his son and, like her devotion to the orcas, loves them unconditionally even though Alain rejects, marginalizes, and uses her. When the bond she feels toward Alain matures into romantic love, she fearlessly reveals her feelings honestly, telling him: “If we continue, we have to do this right.” Just as she asserts herself to Alain, she regains her desire to resume orca training–and in a silent scene (below), recites her training routine for the first time on the balcony of her apartment. Here, Marion Cotillard invests Stephanie with the outward demeanor of a woman completely at peace with her fate and effortlessly exudes an inner spiritual strength that is heightened all the more by Katy Perry’s inspired song, “Firework”:
Rust and Bone and Marion Cotillard’s performance as Stephanie take on an added resonance with the release of this year’s incomparable documentary, Blackfish, which chronicles the appalling treatment of orcas and their trainers at SeaWorld:
“I can’t just stand by while others give their lives.”
In this sprawling and superb beloved BBC series, young actress Jessica Brown-Findlay (a former trained ballet dancer who began acting after a career-ending knee injury) shines as the vivaciously independent, strong-minded, and free-spirited Sybil, who fights with fervor for women’s suffrage and offers her services as a nurse when World War I breaks out in England. Her passion for political causes is equaled only by her slow-burning love for Tom Branson, a young Irish chauffeur who introduces her to a more complicated world beyond the gilded gates of her family’s estate. Once she enters this world, she cannot go back to the way things were before, and her strength of character holds firm despite difficult social and familial circumstances.
[youtube_sc url=”https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ltRIQcTMAy8″] Jessica B. Findlay speaks about Sybil
Sybil is a great “soul-sister” to Bullet in her innate desire to help and protect others, despite what it costs her. Sybil’s fate is also akin to the unjust tragedy that befalls Bullet when her powers of protection reach their limit. Like Bullet, Sybil can no longer protect herself–but the legacy of her life is preserved in all she leaves behind.
“When it all goes quiet behind my eyes, I see everything that made me lying around in invisible pieces. When I look too hard, it goes away. And when it all goes quiet, I see they are right here. I see that I’m a little piece in a big, big universe. And that makes things right. When I die, the scientists of the future, they’re gonna find it all…they’re gonna know: Once there was a Hushpuppy, and she lived with her Daddy in the Bathtub.”
During a pivotal scene in Beasts of the Southern Wild, a spiritual journey of survival, Quvenzhane Wallis as Hushpuppy summons her entire miniature being to shout: “I’M THE MAN!” when her father challenges her in a dual-like shouting match. Only six years old at the time of filming, tiny Quvenzhane is much more than her claim to “man-hood”–she is a force of nature who packs a punch that won’t soon be forgotten. She embodies a little firecracker of a girl with a big desire to see and understand the world around her.
Hushpuppy lives a destitute, virtually parentless existence in the Louisiana bayou, a place called “the Bathtub,” with an alcoholic and, at times, abusive father and an assortment of local wild pets. Like Bullet, she is a “street-kid”–inhabiting the “streets” of the bayou and taking shelter in dilapidated shacks–who, despite seemingly hopeless circumstances, embraces the world as a beautiful place and makes a home amongst the animals and plants that afford her shelter and comfort. Even with the threat of a massive storm closing in on them, she never loses sight of the shoreline toward a bright future where people will “find it all” and “know” that she lived there.
Tiffany from Silver Linings Playbook
Tiffany (Jennifer Lawrence) from Silver Linings Playbook, directed by David O. Russell (2012)
“…There will always be a part of me that is dirty and sloppy, but I like that, just like all the other parts of myself. I can forgive. Can you say the same for yourself, Fucker? Can you forgive? Are you capable of that?”
The naturally aloof, mysterious, yet generous Jennifer Lawrence hit it out of the ball-park with her Academy Award-winning turn as Tiffany, a recently widowed young woman on a quest for human connection and belonging. When Tiffany literally “runs into” Pat (Bradley Cooper), a mentally-unstable man obsessed with reclaiming his former marriage, she falls head-over-heals for him instantly and offers to coach him in a new endeavor. Despite her somewhat hard and brash exterior, she thinks about and feels things acutely–and her determination to “read the signs” and bring Pat out of his shell is at once funny, frustrating, and, for her, heartbreaking as her feelings for him deepen.
While neither a street-kid nor a lesbian (well, apart from several trysts with female office co-workers as she recounts in this clip), Tiffany shares Bullet’s scrappy resolve to survive in a world that doesn’t appreciate or accept difference. Also like Bullet, despite her insecurities, she embraces her flaws and stalwartly refuses to apologize for them. She’s not afraid to put herself out there, make a fool of herself, or fail. In this sense, like Bullet, she’s the epitome of courage and heroism.
Jane from Jane Eyre
Jane (Mia Wasikowska) from Jane Eyre, directed by Cary Fukunaga (2011)
“Am I a machine without feelings? Do you think that because I am poor, plain, obscure, and little – that I am soulless and heartless? I have as much soul as you, and full as much heart.”
In this bold new vision of Charlotte Brontë’s timeless classic about an orphan girl starved for love and in search of a family, Mia Wasikowska, who–like Bex–was 18 years old at the time of filming, brings a youthful, intelligent, and heroic sensibility to the role of the plain, saintly Jane Eyre. Opposite Michael Fassbender as Mr. Rochester, Mia naturally holds her own during intensely kinetic moments when this brooding older man made bitter by the misfortunes of life and love, challenges her steadfast moral convictions and sense of self-worth. Having only read the novel for the first time several months prior to the start of shooting, Mia’s love for the character manifests itself in how much she respects the role which shines through her indelible performance.
Jane Eyre is arguably one of the most beautifully conceived characters ever written. What makes her so special and rare is her innate sense of self-worth and self-respect despite a succession of physically and verbally abusive situations in which she is told repeatedly by the people who are supposed to love her the most that she is not worthy or deserving of being loved. It is this inherent bravery and heart that tie her with Bullet in a profound and almost identical manner. She is also a strong soul-sister to Bullet in her long-suffering, seemingly unrequited love for a man who is forbidden to her because of a described “mere conventional impediment.” And, as soon as that love is finally realized in a brief period of pure bliss for Jane, it is just as abruptly and brutally taken away–as it is so cruelly for Bullet when Lyric rejects her. Still, sharing Bullet’s faith, Jane never gives up the hope that she will one day be free to love and be loved as she always dreamed.
Hermione from Harry Potter
Hermione (Emma Watson) from Harry Potter Parts 1-8 (2001-2011)
“Actually, I’m highly logical which allows me to look past extraneous detail and perceive clearly that which others overlook.”
Emma Watson, who won the coveted role of Hermione Granger in J.K. Rowling’s beloved series at the tender age of 9 and continued in the role until the series concluded when she was 19–Bex’s age–is perfect to play Hermione because she is Hermione. She embodies Hermione’s keen intelligence, studious nature, wit, logic, and foresight. She is so naturally Hermione that many Harry Potter fans see her as the wonderful character in real life. Emma’s success in the role also stems from her ease at befriending the boys who are Hermione’s best friends while, in the same breath, holding her own opposite them. Using her signature intelligence and foresight, she is quick to call out her male mates whenever she witnesses them doing, or about to do, something idiotic. This no-nonsense strength in her performance is akin to how Bex portrays the tough, no-nonsense Bullet. Both are unforgettable and able to keep those close to them “under their thumb,” to evocate Bullet’s expression.
However, while Hermione can wittily outsmart her male comrades during critical situations and events, she is unable to outsmart her own heart, which is nearly broken from her painful, seeming unrequited love for Ron. Being the clueless fool he sometimes is, Ron has no notion of Hermione’s affections and insensitively flaunts his relationship with another Hogwarts classmate in front of her until he tires of that relationship and that girl. During a poignant scene in The Half-Blood Prince, Hermione confides her broken heart to Harry who, as her best friend, is a prime witness to her silent suffering over Ron’s obvious lack of interest in her. Hermione’s suffering recalls Bullet’s nearly identical silent suffering over her unrequited love for Lyric, which she, too, confides to her best friend, Kallie.
Amy from Little Dorrit
Amy (Claire Foy) from PBS Masterpiece’s Little Dorrit (2008)
“Near the palace was a cottage in which lived a poor, little, tiny woman–all alone. She realized that for all of her gold and silver and diamonds and rubies, she had nothing so precious to her as that shadow was to that tiny woman.”
Charles Dickens gave us a precious gift with his lesser known, yet eerily foreseeing novel Little Dorrit, which was adapted into an award-winning 15-part BBC miniseries by Andrew Davies in 2008. The novel, and its sprawling adaptation, tells the story of the incandescent “little” Amy Dorrit, a tiny 18-year-old girl who has come of age devotedly caring for her widowed father, a 20-year inmate at the Marshalsea Prison for Debt. Although nearly 10 years older than Amy when she won the role, Claire Foy’s performance cannot at all be described as “little” by any stretch of the imagination. Instead, she seems to understand and empathize so profoundly with Amy that it is as if she and her character are one in the same. In a press interview during the miniseries release, Claire describes in vivid terms just how highly she regards Amy: “Nobody is or can be as selfless as Amy is at all–people give to charity and people do all these noble things, but they don’t possess the pureness of heart in the doing of these actions that Amy demonstrates in the numerous sacrifices of her everyday life.” Would that Amy could have known Bullet…
Just as Bullet devotes herself to protecting her vulnerable and abused street family, Amy Dorrit sacrifices her entire life for her unjustly imprisoned father and his family. While being hounded by an escaped murderer who threatens to reveal potentially devastating family secrets, she contracts herself as a seamstress to an elderly, wheelchair-confined woman named Mrs. Clenham, through whom she is introduced to Arthur Clenham–the employer’s generous and benevolent son. It is this meeting that opens Amy’s eyes to a world beyond the barred prison gates where she dreams of winning Arthur’s affections. And even though she forms a close friendship with him, all hopes she has for a shared future with him are dashed when she discovers–as Bullet does–that he has feelings for someone else. Indeed, the entire story itself can be seen as a web of unrequited affections: Amy’s unreturned and unappreciated devotion to her abusive father and her unrequited infatuation with Arthur Clenham; Arthur’s spurned love for his mother and for a wealthy village girl who is engaged to a reckless and vain chap; the heartbreaking love and loyalty of Amy’s childhood friend who dreams of marrying her himself. It isn’t until she is forced to leave the confines of the prison where she grew up that she gathers the courage to stand up for her heart and refute the perception that she is simply a “little woman” with no voice of her own.
The character of Amy Dorrit was based upon and inspired by Charles Dickens’s real-life muse Ellen “Nelly” Ternan, an 18-year-old stage actress with whom Dickens fell in love during his later years. Their little-known affair is chronicled in a new Sony Classics feature film entitled The Invisible Woman starring another rising young actress (yet 11 years older than the girl she is portraying), Felicity Jones opposite Ralph Fiennes as Charles Dickens. The film is due to be released in December 2013.
Ashley from Junebug
Ashley (Amy Adams) from Junebug, directed by Phil Morrison (2005)
“God loves you just the way you are, but he loves you too much to let you stay that way.”
In this independent feature depicting a dysfunctional Southern church-going family living in an provincial and isolated Southern church-going community in North Carolina, Amy Adams is a ray of sunshine as Ashley, a seemingly naïve, bright-eyed, bubbly yet sensitive young woman on the verge of motherhood. Like Bex as Bullet, Amy delivers a bravura performance that infiltrates hearts and minds, stealing the limelight from more known and seasoned actors. She was deservedly nominated for an Academy Award, although her incandescent portrayal transcends the simple “Supporting” Actress category. Indeed, from the first scene to the last, she casts a spell that makes us believe Ashley is the central character just as Bex’s onscreen presence as Bullet becomes the heart of The Killing.
The pivotal scene of the film comes when Ashley breaks down in the hospital — and Amy’s powerful gift as an actress is laid bare. In this heart-wrenching moment, she makes a young mother’s grief so naturally palpable and devastating. The inexplicable bond she shares with Alessandro Nivola, who plays her brother-in-law, recalls the cosmic connection Bullet shares with Holder, particularly echoing the moment he comforts her as she accepts that Kallie is most likely dead. Here, too, Ashley–with the help of her friend–must accept news of a devastating death. And, while she is overcome by intense grief and anger, she does not let it take root in her heart–and, like Bullet, ultimately demonstrates unwavering faith, positivity, and unconditional love and selflessness toward others. In a largely cynical world where most would succumb to despair rather than embrace hope, Ashley–like Bullet–demonstrates a rare, precious, and admirable resilience of spirit.
June from Walk the Line
June (Reese Witherspoon) from Walk the Line, directed by James Mangold (2005)
“No, I’m not an angel. I had a friend who needed help. You’re my friend. You’re not nothin’. You’re a good man, and God has given you a second chance to make things right, John. This is your chance, honey.”
Marking a career that has flourished since early childhood, Reese Witherspoon finally garnered a well-deserved Academy Award for her embodiment of June Carter-Cash opposite Joaquin Phoenix in the title role of Johnny Cash. Together, the two create a “ring of fire” as an on-screen couple–so blazing that it often seems as though they were made for each in real life, too. Reese channels June’s well-crafted sense of humor and vivaciousness that masks the disappointment and heartache she feels from being “left like a dutch boy with his finger in the damn” by a chain of unworthy men. She naturally exudes June’s “angelic” generosity of spirit–even during dark moments in her own life–and her no-nonsense strength and resilience, most notably demonstrated in her repeated rejections of Johnny’s disrespectful and self-destructive “stunts.” All this Reese accomplishes while also learning how to sing and play musical instruments to convincingly re-enact the musical performances and shows that June shares with Johnny.
Akin to Bullet, June Carter is a woman “on fire”–admirable for every aspect of herself. She is the very epitome of “a friend”–selfless, loyal, loving, honest, and completely devoted to Johnny’s addiction recovery–freely forgiving the many times he hurts or neglects her in return. Her patience and fortitude is unmatched as she bears the cross of the tumultuous, unsanctioned, yet unbreakable bond she possesses with her tour-mate in a saintly manner.
Giorgia from The Best of Youth
Giorgia (Jasmine Trinca) from The Best of Youth (Italian: La Meglio Gioventu), directed by Marco Tullio Giordana (2005)
In this multi-generational, epic Italian miniseries, Jasmine Trinca–a Natalie Wood-esque Roman actress–delivers a sensitive, stand-out performance as Giorgia, a young girl struggling with mental illness and the neglect that comes from the stigma of her condition, especially in 1960s Italy. Since Giorgia is a girl who cannot speak, or who speaks very little because she lives inside of herself, Jasmine–like Bex==reveals much of the girl’s vulnerable and heartbroken inner life simply through the haunting expressiveness and penetrating beauty of her intelligent, sad eyes – as in this pivotal scene:
Giorgia’s largely tragic journey in this miniseries mirrors the trials Bullet endures in The Killing. Like Bullet, Georgia is an outcast from society, alienated from her family and left to the merciless, unloving environment of a home for wayward and discarded youths. When Matteo, a handsome, young medical student volunteers at the home and is assigned to care for her, she is awakened for a time to the possibility of being loved and accepted by another human being who seeks to understand her. She falls for him, but when circumstances separate them, she sinks into the darkest time in her young life.
Ivy from The Village
Ivy (Bryce Dallas-Howard) from The Village, directed by M. Night Shyamalan (2004)
“Sometimes we don’t do things we want to do so that others will not know we want to do them.”
Bryce Dallas Howard carries a serene beauty and tomboyish self-confidence as Ivy Walker, the blind yet insightful daughter of the town “elder” played by William Hurt in M. Night Shyamalan’s spiritual thriller. Akin to Bex, Bryce makes an indelible mark in her debut role through the power of her onscreen presence and the expressiveness of her unforgettable face. She invests Ivy with a rare appreciation for life, for those who are outcasts within the isolated town that is all she’s ever seen of the world, and for the people she cares for the most. Juxtaposed with her uninhibited serenity, Bryce also manages to emanate Ivy’s overwhelming curiosity to explore the world beyond the confines of the town where she has grown up. She constantly seeks the truth and doesn’t allow her blindness to prevent her from seeking complete illumination. When a senseless crime grips the utopian community and endangers the life of Ivy’s beloved, she embarks on a harrowing journey to conquer “those we don’t speak of” once and for all. In portraying her heroine’s journey, Bryce balances the opposing traits of fear and bravery, revenge and forgiveness, despair and hope–all the while never losing sight of Ivy’s abiding faith, echoing the way Bullet describes her faith to Sarah Linden in The Killing.
Like Bullet, Ivy–a girl who “longs to do boy things” is left to pick up the pieces after her best friend, a village boy named Lucius Hunt who loves her, is brutally harmed. Before the attack, Lucius is painfully reticent to articulate his true feelings to Ivy–and he won’t even touch her for fear it might reveal his infatuation. She immediately picks up on this, and in her wonderfully bold and straightforward manner, confronts him about his suppressed love. What spurs the confrontation, however, is an event that tests the courage of the heroine and her fellow townspeople, most especially Lucius who, at last, confesses to her that “The only time I feel fear as others do is when I think of you in harm.” At the peak of the danger, when everyone else is hiding safe in basements, Ivy bravely stands at the entrance of the cabin with her hand outstretched, holding onto the faith that Lucius will finally take her hand in his at the perfect moment.
“You asked me to explain myself. I just wonder what needs to be explained? Look into your own heart. I swear to you, mine’s no different. You want a place in the trades and professions where you can earn your own bread? So do I. You want some means of self-expression? Some way of satisfying your own personal ambitions? So do I. You want a voice in the government in which you live? So do I. What is there to explain?”
Hilary Swank is outstanding as Alice Paul, the Pennsylvania-raised, Swarthmore-educated Quaker who leads the movement to secure suffrage for women in the early 1900s. The actress bares all, both physically and emotionally, with a striking authenticity as the bold, brave, selfless, and almost-martyred woman who becomes the willing scapegoat for all of the hatred and abuse thrown at the women during their cause for suffrage. Hilary’s intelligent eyes and eager yet patient smile, as shown in the above photo, are captivating even in the midst of the heroine’s great suffering, mistreatment, and adversity.
Alice, like Bullet, lives up to her name–she is every bit the “Iron-Jawed Angel” the public dubs her to be: a Christ-like figure who possesses an unflinching determination to see her cause through without resorting to violent or illegal, unethical means. She knowingly sacrifices an opportunity for a happy romantic relationship in the service of her cause, and when she is thrown in prison for picketing the office of the president during wartime, she remains undeterred in her conviction that women deserve to be treated equally before the law. She solicits the solidarity of her sisters-in-arms, including a prominent senator’s wife, to embark on a hunger strike, modeled after an old Irish tradition, until restitution is made and her goal is achieved. It is during this hunger strike that the women endure unconstitutional and unthinkable abuse which almost results in her death–along with countless others dedicated to the cause.
Paikea from Whale Rider
Paikea (Keisha Castle-Hughes) from Whale Rider, directed by Niki Caro (2002)
“My name is Paikea Apirana, and I come from a long line of chiefs stretching all the way back to the whale rider. I’m not a prophet, but I know that our people will keep going forward, all together, with all of our strength.”
Keisha Castle-Hughes, 13 years old at the time of filming, is one of the youngest actresses to ever have earned an Academy Award nomination for her breathtaking performance as Paikea, the sensitive yet determined Maori girl who shares a special connection with and understanding of the whales that figure so prominently in the ancient legends of her tribe’s ancestors in New Zealand. Keisha’s soulful eyes and calm, spiritual presence juxtaposed with her portrayal of Paikea’s fiery resolve against seemingly insurmountable family and cultural obstacles make viewers long to adopt this precious child–just as many fans of The Killing dreamed of adopting Bex as a daughter, sister, or best friend. Keisha’s onscreen relationship with the actor who plays her grandfather recalls Bex’s onscreen relationship with Joel Kinnaman in the sense that it is at once loving, intense, tumultuous, and heartbreaking as the two wrestle with each other over their character’s conflicting desires.
Nowhere is the power of this onscreen relationship more palpable than in the film’s most emotional scene where Paikea delivers a heart-wrenching tribute to her absent grandfather who doesn’t approve of girls displaying themselves in public arenas. Stuck in the old ways of his tribe and married to ancient traditions and customs, Paikea’s grandfather deeply resents the fact that the Gods saw fit to give him a female grandchild, while his grandson–Paikea’s twin brother–died shortly after his birth. In her speech dedicated to him, Paikea acknowledges and explains her grandfather’s traditional views and offers her full and free forgiveness to him, even though he she is devastated by the fact that he deliberately and humiliatingly does not show up for her performance. It isn’t until the tribe’s entire future is threatened that the grandfather begins to recognize and accept Paikea’s special gifts. As in Bullet’s case, Paikea is alienated by the one person whom she puts her trust and faith in, and just as soon as that faith has a hope of being recovered, Paikea’s life is endangered in an act of bravery and sacrifice.
Jamie from A Walk to Remember
Jamie (Mandy Moore) from A Walk to Remember, directed by Adam Shankman (2002)
“It’s like the wind…I can’t see it, but I feel it.”
Although not reaching the award-worthy caliber of performance that Bex brings to Bullet, nor the caliber of many of the actresses portraying the other 18 Lionhearted Heroines, singer-actress Mandy Moore is impressively understated, natural, and sensitive as Jamie Sullivan, a high school senior who is, according to Landon Carter (the film’s protagonist), “self-exiled” from the popular crowd and bullied by them. That is, until Landon, played intelligently and memorably by Shane West, recognizes her inner beauty and publicly declares his faith in her. Mandy’s performance is made more impactful through her pairing with West–the two are perfect together and play off one another with ease and genuine affection. Mandy is herself in the role–a caring, giving girl with a big heart and a gentle countenance. She embodies what we all strive to be: selfless, unpretentious, honest, strong, loyal, invested with integrity and that ever-elusive faith that Bex’s Bullet defines for Sarah Linden in The Killing.
Since the film effectively places us – the audience – in the perspective of Landon as he comes to know Jamie, we witness first-hand and intimately how he comes to fall in love with her. By extension, we fall in love with her, too. And we fall in love with Landon who transforms from a bully/tormentor into a troubled young man searching for his own identity and recognizing in her everything he would like to be. Despite his cruelty towards her, Jamie forgives him and willingly offers her friendship which, at first, he takes for granted. When he succumbs to peer pressure and dismisses her in public, she swiftly and courageously puts him in his place saying, “Landon, look, I thought I saw something in you — something good, but I was very wrong.” This instance of tough love which she steadfastly carries through until he admits his failing motivates him to want to “be better” and shows him that, despite her cold words, she “has faith in him [me] too.”
Danielle from Ever After
Danielle (Drew Barrymore) from Ever After, directed by Andy Tennant (1998)
“You have everything, and still the world holds no joy — and yet you insist on making fun of those who would see it for its possibilities.”
Drew Barrymore is a splendid ray of sunshine as Danielle De Barbarac, an intelligent and strong-willed girl in 16th century France whose world is turned upside down after her father dies suddenly of a heart attack when she is eight years old. Forced to relinquish all traces of her aristocratic heritage to an evil stepmother (Angelic Houston) and her two materialistic and envious daughters (although one of the sisters is actually a kind, giving soul) when she is orphaned, Danielle suffers years of hardship and mistreatment with no light at the end of the dark tunnel until she unintentionally meets the Prince of France, Henry, played by Scottish actor Dougray Scott. Despite being American, Drew Barrymore manages to make herself convincing in the role opposite a mostly British cast through her nearly flawless diction and delivery of Danielle’s often stinging, clever lines. As an actress who endured deep family strife in her youth, it is evident in how she captures Danielle’s indomitable spirit that Barrymore innately understands the emotional depths of her character. Her most impressive moments in the portrayal occur when she is depicting Danielle’s tumultuous and heart wrenching interactions with her tormenting stepmother. And then when she transitions to sharing her passionate vision of the world, and her place in it, with the Prince.
Although we know that, unlike Bullet’s story, Danielle’s story will have a “happily ever after” ending since it is the “Cinderella” fairytale, when this ending does finally manifest, it is as sweet and fulfilling as if we didn’t know how it would end at all. This is because, as we did with Bullet through her unjust trials, we come to regard Danielle as if she were our own sister, best friend, or close family member. We witness first-hand how much it costs Danielle to bear the unloving, abusive environment that she is thrust into, and how through it all–just as with Bullet–Danielle retains her innocence, purity of spirit, and her love for and faith in human kind.
Ellie from Contact
Ellie (Jodie Foster) from Contact, directed by Robert Zemekis (1997)
“For as long as I can remember, I’ve been searching for something…some reason why we’re here. What are we doing here? Who are we? If this is a chance to find out even just a little part of that answer, then I think it’s worth a human life. Don’t you?”
In one of the most emotionally brave and nuanced performances of her career, Jodie Foster is transcendent as Ellie Arroway, a driven scientist who, haunted by her father’s sudden death when she was eight, faces an existential crisis that sends her on a spiritual journey beyond the realm of normal human experience. Foster’s complete command of her character’s physicality, voice, countenance, and vast knowledge about the make-up of the universe makes Ellie a formidable force to be reckoned with as she vies with scientific pundits and religious scholars about the potential for other life forms in the solar system. Foster is adept at balancing Ellie’s skepticism about religious notions of the existence of God with her unwavering conviction that life inhabits other planets besides our own. As she tells some school children in a science class: “If it is just us in the universe that would be an awful waste of space.”
What ultimately endears us to Ellie, much like Bullet, is her stubborn insistence to always question and seek answers, despite the staunch discouragement of others and her own self-doubts. Her insatiable quest for enlightenment overcomes her skepticism and, during a near-death experience, she is forced to reckon with her own spirituality and faith. When called before a scientific committee to give her testimony about the enigmatic experience and challenged to admit that “all things being equal, the simplest explanation tends to be the right one,” she is humble and self-effacing in her assertion that “none of us are alone.”
“What do you know of my heart? For weeks, Marianne, I’ve had this pressing on me without being at liberty to speak of it to a single creature. It was forced on me by the very person whose prior claims ruined all my hope. I have endured her exaltations again and again whilst knowing myself to be divided from Edward forever. Believe me, Marianne, had I not been bound to silence, I could have provided proof enough of a broken heart even for you.”
Emma Thompson deservedly received double critical praise for writing this intelligent adaptation of Jane Austen’s classic novel in which she simultaneously portrays the eldest Dashwood sister, Elinor, who endures months of heartache at the loss of her father and her suitor, Edward, with an almost saint-like poise and dignity. Apart from her formidable acting history and training, Thompson’s brilliance in this role stems from her striking ability to balance comedy and tragedy, humor and melancholy, joy and suffering, contentment and grief–just as Bex does so movingly in her role as Bullet in The Killing.
Unlike her overly-zealous sister, Marianne (incandescently portrayed by an 18-year-old Kate Winslet), Elinor does not make a show of her feelings. Instead, she sensibly and selflessly chooses not to burden others with her heartache–just as Bullet endeavors to keep her unrequited love for Lyric and her suffering at the hands of Goldie to herself. Elinor’s contained emotions at times appears cold to those close to her, especially to her sister who criticizes her repeatedly for her seeming emotional indifference. However, as Marianne painfully learns, Elinor’s saintly discretion proves the wiser and more loving countenance, and in good and perfect time, Elinor is finally free to reveal the sentiments she holds so dear to her heart.
Beth from Little Women
Beth (Claire Danes) from Little Women, directed by Gillian Armstrong (1994)
“If God wants me with Him, there is none who will stop Him. I don’t mind. I was never like the rest of you – making plans about the great things I’d do. I never saw myself as anything much. Not a great writer like you. Oh, Jo, I’ve missed you so. Why does everyone want to go away? I love being home. But, I don’t like being left behind. Now I am the one going ahead. I am not afraid. I can be brave like you. But, I know I shall be homesick for you, even in Heaven.”
Then just 14 years old, Claire Danes brought an incomparable spiritual wisdom and tranquil maturity to the sweet, shy, and beloved Beth March, akin to what Bex brings to the beloved Bullet. Like Bex, Danes is natural and unpretentious in her portrayal–rare virtues for two teenage actresses whose remarkable artistic gifts (Danes was also a pianist, Bex is also a poet) transcend their tender years.
Claire Danes’ remarkable acting gifts are on full display in perhaps one of the most moving scenes in all of film history when Beth, weakened by the remnants of scarlet fever which she contracts from visiting a poor family, tragically dies. Knowing that death is upon her, Beth proclaims, “I am not afraid. I can be brave like you. But, I know I shall be homesick for you, even in Heaven.” She is, of course, telling this to her sister, Jo, with whom she was close throughout her brief life. In this intimate moment between them, Beth reveals her abiding faith, much like Bullet does in her intimate moment with Sara Linden in the car. She asserts her faith in God saying, “If God wants me with him, there is none who will stop him,” and her faith in her sister’s bright future, predicting that she will become “a great writer.” Although Beth’s death is difficult and heart-wrenching to watch, there is a certain serenity that accompanies the last moments of her life. Bullet’s violent death–not shown on screen–was certainly without serenity and peace; however, we can imagine that her faith was steadfast until the end.
Natalia Lauren Fiore received a B.A. in Honors English and Creative Writing from Bryn Mawr College and an M.F.A in Creative and Professional Writing from Western Connecticut State University, where she wrote a feature-length screenplay entitled Sonata under the direction of novelist and screenwriter, Don J. Snyder, and playwright, Jack Dennis. Currently, she holds a full-time tenure track teaching post at Hillsborough Community College in Tampa, Florida, where she teaches English and Writing. Her writing interests include film criticism, screenwriting, literary journalism, fiction, the novel, and memoir. Her literature interests include the English novel, American Literature, and Drama – particularly Shakespeare. She blogs at Outside Windows and tweets @NataliaLaurenFi.
I liked Disney Pixar’s Bravewell enough. It’s pretty enough. It’s a story about a mother and daughter, and there was no romance, both of which are nice; though, as I’ll show, neither are as uncommon as they might initially appear. I didn’t find the feminist qualities of this movie to be particularly impressive. Brave is actually situated within a somewhat prolific trope of female prepubescent power fantasy tales. Within this trope, young girls are allowed and even encouraged to be strong, assertive, creative, and heroes of their own stories. I call them “feminism lite” because these characters are only afforded this power because they are girl children who are unthreatening in their prepubescent, pre-sexualized state.
Let’s consider a few examples.
First, we’ve got Matilda, a film based on the eponymous novel by Roald Dahl. This story is about a genius six-year-old girl who realizes she has telekinetic powers. Matilda is brave and kind to those who deserve it and punishes authority figures who take advantage of their positions of power. This story, similar to Brave, is about the budding (surrogate) mother/daughter relationship between Matilda and her kindergarten teacher, Miss Honey. They find idyllic happiness at the end of the film when they adopt each other to form their own little family.
“I can feel the strongness. I feel like I can move almost anything in the world.” – Matilda
Then there’s Harriet the Spy, based on the book by Louise Fitzhugh, about an inquisitive, imaginative girl who learns the power of her voice and how her words affect others. Another potent mother/daughter bond is featured between Harriet and her nanny, Golly.
“You’re an individual, and that makes people nervous. And it’s gonna keep making people nervous for the rest of your life.” – Golly
We can’t forget Pippi Longstocking, based on the book series by Astrid Lindgren. Pippi is independent and adventurous with a slew of fantastical stories. She also has incredible physical strength, exotic pets, and teaches her friends Tommy and Annika that just because the trio are children, doesn’t mean experiences and desires should be denied them.
“I’m Pippilotta Delicatessa Windowshade Longstocking, daughter of Captain Efraim Longstocking, Pippi for short.” – Pippi
There’s also Whale Rider based on the book by Witi Ihimaera. Pai is a determined young girl who wants to become the chief of her Māori tribe, but that is forbidden because she’s a girl. With wisdom and vision, Pai strives to unite and lead her people into the future. She is dedicated, stubborn and perseveres, showing she has the uncanny spiritual ability to speak with (and ride) whales.
“My name is Paikea Apirana, and I come from a long line of chiefs…I know that our people will keep going forward, all together, with all of our strength.” – Pai
One of my personal favorites is Pan’s Labyrinth (or El Labertino del Fauno meaning “The Labyrinth of the Faun” in Spanish). Interestingly, Pan’s Labyrinth is the first on our list that wasn’t based on a book, as it was written and directed by Guillermo del Toro. The film takes place in post Civil War Spain with young Ofelia as our heroine. She is forced to live with her fascist captain stepfather who hunts down rebels while her mother languishes in a difficult pregnancy. Totally isolated, Ofelia retreats into a dark fantasy world replete with fairies, fauns, and child-eating monsters. In this world (that may or may not truly exist), she is a long-lost immortal underworld princess trying to make her way home. Throughout the tale, Ofelia forms a strong connection with Merecedes, a kitchen maid who is not only secretly a rebel spy, but is brave and crazy badass. Ofelia is intelligent, defiant, loyal, and ultimately self-sacrificing.
“Hello. I am Princess Moanna, and I am not afraid of you.” – Ofelia
All of these stories validate young female agency because all these girls are prepubescent. They are too young and too physically underdeveloped to be objectified or vilified for their sexuality. There are tales that continue to advocate for the empowerment of their slightly older heroines despite their budding sexuality. These are pseudo coming-of-age films. I say “pseudo” here because the main characters don’t actually become sexual beings.
A great contemporary example of a pseudo coming-of-age tale is the action-thriller Hanna, starring the talented Saoirse Ronan as a 14-year-old CIA experiment with enhanced DNA to make her the optimal weapon. She is trained in arctic isolation and is therefore unsocialized and unschooled in the ways of the world. Most of the film centers around her mission to kill Cate Blanchett’s evil CIA agent character, Marissa. However, there is an interlude when Hanna befriends brash young Sophie who is eager to grow up. The two sneak out and go dancing, and a boy kisses Hanna. Our young heroine is at first intrigued and even enraptured by the experience, but she ends up knocking the boy to the ground and nearly breaking his neck. Later, there is also sexual tension between Hanna and Sophie as the two lie next to each other in a tent, falling asleep, but nothing comes of it. These are examples of Hanna’s awakening sexuality, which the film insinuates may ultimately be terrifying in its power and lack of boundaries. Hanna, though, is still young and chooses her father and his indoctrination over her own self-discovery.
“Kissing requires a total of thirty-four facial muscles.” – Hanna
Not to forget Jim Hanson’s classic Labyrinth starring Jennifer Connelly as Sarah, a teenager who is enthralled by the fantasy of the Labyrinth along with its alluring goblin king, Jereth (aka David Bowie in an impressive Tina Turner mullet wig). Sarah withdraws from her family, yearning for adventure and romance while hating her obligation to babysit her “screaming baby” brother, Toby, so she calls on the goblin king to take the boy away. She then spends the rest of the movie trying to get the toddler back. Jareth attempts to seduce her into forgetting the child and being his goblin queen, which is what Sarah initially wanted, but, in the end, she chooses her family and fantastical goblin friends over love, romance, and her sexuality. When she says to her goblin friends, “I need you; I need you all,” she is affirming that she’s not ready for adulthood and wants to remain a child a bit longer. Her intact innocence is what allows her to be uncomplicatedly triumphant, to assert her equality with and independence from Jareth.
“For my will is as strong as yours, and my kingdom is as great. You have no power over me!” – Sarah
To be empowered, all the aforementioned heroines must remain perpetually young, fixed forever in their prepubescent state within the reels of their films. Once our heroines become sexual teens, their power is overwhelmingly defined by their sexuality, and/or their worth is determined by their body’s objectification. In fact, many of these tales are no longer fantasies, but horror movies (or movies that have horror qualities) that demonize female sexual awakenings.
I don’t even want to disgrace the hallowed web pages of Bitch Flicks with an obvious account of the worthless Twilightseries that equates female sexuality with death and advocates teen pregnancy over reproductive rights. However, Bella is a prime example of a young woman whose own self-value is dependent on how the male characters view her. She is the apex of a noxious love triangle, and her desirability defines her, creating the entire basis of the poorly acted, poorly produced saga.
Ginger Snaps clearly fits the mold of the vilification of budding female sexuality. Ginger gets her period for the first time and is therefore attacked by a werewolf. The attack has rape connotations, implying that Ginger wouldn’t have been as enticing to the wolf if she weren’t yet sexual, especially since her mousy sister Brigitte is spared. Ginger goes through a series of changes, becoming sexually aggressive and promiscuous. When she has unprotected sex with a boy, turning him into a werewolf, this further underscores the connection between Ginger’s monstrous lycanthropy and her unchecked sexuality. There’s also a great deal of sexual tension between Ginger and her sister, Brigitte, suggesting that her sexuality is boundless and therefore frightening.
“I get this ache…and I, I thought it was for sex, but it’s to tear everything to fucking pieces.” – Ginger
Lastly, we have the pseudo-feminist film Teethabout a young girl who grows teeth on her vagina (vagina dentata style). Our teenage heroine, Dawn, is in one of those Christian abstinence/purity clubs, and everything is fine until she becomes attracted to and makes out with a boy. The film punishes her for her newfound sexuality and mocks her abstinence vow by having the boy rape her. Dawn’s vagina then bites off his penis. Over the course of the movie, Dawn is essentially sexually assaulted four times. Four times. She is degraded from the beginning of the film to the very end. Her supposedly empowerful teeth-laden vagina is a dubious gift, considering she generally must be raped in order to use it. Instead of focusing on the power of her sexuality and the awesome choice she has of whether or not to wield it, the film victimizes her at every corner, undercutting her potential strength and sexual agency.
“The way [the ring] wraps around your finger, that’s to remind you to keep your gift wrapped until the day you trade it in for that other ring. That gold ring.” – Dawn
Basically, Brave isn’t really that brave of a film. It’s traipsing through a well-established trope that, though positive, is stagnant. Don’t get me wrong; I love all the prepubescent female power fantasy tales I’ve listed, and I’m grateful that they exist and that I could grow up with many of them. However, we can’t pretend that Brave is pushing any boundaries. It sends the message that little girls can be powerful as long as they remain little girls. The dearth of representations of postpubescent heroines who are not objectified, whose sexuality does not rule their interactions, and who are the heroes of their own stories is appalling. There may be exceptions, but my brain has a fairly to moderately comprehensive catalog of films, especially those starring strong female characters. Scanning…scanning…file not found. If I, who actively seek out films that use integrity in their depictions of kickass women, can’t think of many, how is the casual viewer to find them? How is the teenage girl coming into her sexuality while facing negativity and recriminations supposed to see herself portrayed in a light that gives her the opportunity to be nuanced, to be smart and brave, to be independent or to be a leader?
