let’skeep’going:’the’feminism’of’...
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"Let’s Keep Going": The Feminism of Thelma and Louise Robert William Berg May 1, 2004 Ridley Scott’s controversial 1991 film, Thelma & Louise, is perhaps most famous for igniting a firestorm of debate upon its release, due to its inflammatory narrative of two women who kill a would-‐be rapist, an act that sets into motion a series of events, including the robbery of a convenience store, the holding up at gunpoint of a policeman, and the explosion of an oil tanker, all of which lead up to Thelma and Louise’s inevitable plunge into the Grand Canyon. In the introduction to Should We Go Along For the Ride?: A Critical Symposium on Thelma and Louise, film analysts Toni Kamins and Cynthia Lucia summarize the various attitudes towards the film thusly: “Is Thelma and Louise a male nightmare of emasculating women run amok? Is it a parable of female bonding? Is it women breaking their chains and liberating themselves? It’s all of the above and none of the above.” By this, Kamins and Lucia mean that Thelma and Louise is a film with feminist elements that fails to be a fully feminist film, for a variety of reasons. As it is defined in this essay, a feminist is a female character who does not need a man in order to succeed or function in the world, but can do so on her own.
A superficial survey of some of the more colorful of these two characters’ actions can alone easily lead one to perceive them not only as feminists but outrageously so. When Thelma is being raped by the redneck, Harlan, in the parking lot outside of a bar, Louise aims a gun at him until he releases Thelma but does not fire; she tells him, “In the future, when a woman is crying like that, she’s not having fun.” Only after he displays no remorse for his actions and crudely tells her to “suck [his] cock” doe she blow him away with a bullet to the heart, which is simultaneously a punishment for what he had tried to do to her friend, a means of preventing him from harming another woman in the future, and an act of revenge against all male rapists: we later learn that Louise herself had been sexually assaulted many years ago in Texas. Later, Thelma and Louise symbolically castrate a truck driver who had, throughout the course of their trip, been sending them lewd sexual signals, by luring him off the road and blowing up his phallic-‐shaped truck. Even when they are not explicitly targeting a man for treating them in a sexually degrading manner, they rebel against all forms of patriarchal control, such as when they brandish guns to rob a store or force a policeman into the trunk of his car, actions characteristically reserved for males in the typical action-‐adventure film. Thelma even uses an attractive male drifter, J.D., portrayed by Brad Pitt, the way men usually treat women in such films: as a sexual object, ogling his “cute butt” and later having no-‐strings-‐attached intercourse with him. “You’ve finally been laid right,” Louise cheers. Some critics, such as Sarah Schulman in her article, The Movie Management of Rape, argue that this affair undermines the feminism of the film, because “…[i]n real life, of course, very few battered and assaulted women would leap into a lighthearted, passionate, and sexually awakening one-‐night stand with a man they do not know.” Whether such a scenario is realistic or not, it does not, however, negate the film’s feminism, because the sexual escapade is intended as a counterpoint to the rape scene; now the woman is in control and further, enjoying herself.
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At the same time, however, these women’s rebellion is not allowed to last long; throughout the film, as Kamins and Lucia describe, “…they become increasingly constricted by the more subtle, patriarchal boundaries of language and the law.” They flee the scene of the crime originally because they do not think that the cops will believe that Harlan had been trying to rape Thelma, because she had been drunk and dancing with him all night; they are constrained by this fear of a patriarchal prejudice against women, when ironically they would have been much better off had they never run. The cop on their trail, Hal, is, in fact, very sympathetic to their plight. Later, J.D. robs them of Louise’s life savings (the man has been the one manipulating the woman, after all), and Thelma’s holding up of the store is a desperate attempt to reclaim a portion of the stolen money. As the police continue to close in on them, now not only for questioning in the murder case but for this act of theft (as Louise says, “There is no such thing as justifiable robbery!”), Thelma and Louise’s options for escape become increasingly less feasible. When they lock the policeman in his trunk, for example, it is an impulsive attempt to delay the inevitable, which at the same time makes their own situation much worse, for now another charge has been added to their already long list. By the end, their options are either imprisonment or death, and instead of being caught or shot by the police, they choose to settle the situation on their own terms, by clasping hands and driving their car over the edge of the Grand Canyon. On the one hand, their ultimate fate lies in their own hands, and yet the futility of the situation confirms that they were never truly free in this society and would eventually have to pay for their crimes.
Further, if either of the characters is a true feminist, it is Louise. Despite the fact that she arguably does require her boyfriend’s help, in order to wire her life savings to her, this money with which she plans to start her new life is her own, and she rejects his offer to renew their relationship, despite the fact that she still cares for him. As Schulman describes her, Louise is “authentic. She has boundaries…[and] is allowed depth and self-‐knowledge. Louise does what she wants. Louise smokes. She knows what good sex is. She is able to talk to her boyfriend as an intelligent equal,” and most importantly, is the one of them whose action was truly a direct response of outrage against male supremacy: the murder of Harlan. Thelma, on the other hand, is somewhat of a ditz, who had played the submissive wife to her domineering husband for years, who flirts with two shady men at different points in the narrative, who bears little to no emotional scarring after the near rape, and who leaves the envelope of Louise’s money alone in the hotel room with a man who had earlier admitted to being a convicted thief. Whereas Louise is consistently portrayed as a smart, strong female character fully capable of taking care of herself, Thelma relies on Louise for direction for most of the film, and when she does finally take control of the situation herself, such as in the store robbery, makes matters worse for both of them.
Whether or not they are both feminists in the fullest sense of the term, however, the film succeeds in establishing its central theme of sisterhood in rebellion. Pat Dowell asserts in The Impotence of Women that although the film sticks “to the rules…[it still succeeds in] expressing something female and subversive…Thelma and Louise, with all its flaws, is bracing if only because its success puts sisterhood back on Hollywood’s agenda.” One could argue that Thelma and Louise’s rebellion is ultimately unsuccessful and that they never
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really had a chance, but one could not argue that there is not something intrinsically thrilling and empowering about watching these women in action, unapologetically breaking the rules and refusing to be caught or compromise themselves by making a deal with the police. As Thelma tells Louise late in the film, if they had gone to the police from the start, “we’d still have our lives ruined…At least now I’m having some fun.” And even up to the film’s denouement, this rebellious spirit never dies. As they share a provocative kiss on the lips before their final blaze of glory, these two characters shine as feminists in spirit, if not always in execution or in resolution; either way, their strong, unconditional friendship sets the tone of the piece and is what leaves the most lasting impression on the viewer.
When Dowell describes Thelma and Louise as sticking to the rules, she is referring to the tenets of the genre to which the film belongs, the “Outlaw Road Movie/Buddy Film,” which is classically dominated by men. The word “genre” is used to describe a set of films that have a common topic, theme, and structure; no matter to what degree some specific details of a film’s particular plot may deviate, the basic setup and resolution of the particular genre’s elements remain intact. Genre films are thus profitable as a sort of comfort food to the viewer, as he or she knows what conventions to expect, before the film even begins, despite minor variances. In this instance, the departure from the norm is that the protagonists are women. Besides that distinction, Thelma and Louise proceeds along the same course as all other “Outlaw Road Movie/Buddy” films: a crime on the part of the main characters sets them off on a spree across America, typically in dusty, desert settings, with the police hot on their trail the entire time. Bank or store robberies are required, as are one-‐night-‐stands with scantily clad members of the opposite sex and a final tumultuous stand off against the police that invariably ends with the criminals’ deaths, for they would rather die than be taken alive by the law. On the one hand, the co-‐option of a male genre, particularly such a violent and testosterone-‐driven one, by female characters is inherently subversive: now women can shoot guns, steal money, and raise hell, just like men. The fact that this is essentially the first time they have ever been able to do so in a mainstream Hollywood film adds a level of emotional depth to the proceedings that would have otherwise not been there; for men in these films, such actions are out of force of habit, whereas these women are being given a taste of freedom and willful abandon they have heretofore been unable to experience, and the fact that the story is set into motion by a rape raises the personal stakes of the situation even further. On that front alone, the gender twist adds something substantial to the film. On the other hand, however, the genre constraints severely limit the characters’ horizons: no matter what strides they make in gender equality, they are doomed to repeat the same fate that befalls all outlaws in such films. For Thelma and Louise to be considered truly revolutionary, the characters should have been allowed to escape to Mexico at the end, rather than falling into such plot-‐driven traps as accidentally losing their money and revealing their destination to the feds, because as it stands, one could argue that the creators of the film are implying that, after having their fun, the two should be punished for their actions. In that sense, therefore, the genre construct certainly does somewhat hinder the feminist message of the film yet not defeat it. As expressed numerous times throughout this essay, Thelma and Louise’s actions, including their suicide, are consistently depicted as being not only bold but also paradoxically life affirming; they are clearly intended to be feminist role models who would compromise for
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no man. Even during the last moments of the film, the characters leave the world with a smile on their faces: the audience is not meant to feel saddened but uplifted. In fact, in an alternate ending of the film that Ridley Scott included as an extra feature on the recent “special edition” DVD, we see the car fall into the abyss…and then continue to drive off into the sunset. Although he eliminated those last moments of film because he believed them to be overly literal, the message is clear: Thelma and Louise’s spirit will live on. Note that the finished film does not end with a shot of the car smashed and set aflame at the bottom of the canyon, nor on the other characters’ mournful reactions to the “tragedy,” but rather on a freeze-‐frame of the car, now forever suspended in mid-‐air, still rising in a triumphant arc, symbolizing flight and freedom. And who knows? Maybe the car never does fall, after all.
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