Thelma & Louise
“I don't ever remember feeling this awake.”
—from “Thelma & Louise”
Like
“Heavenly Creatures,” “Thelma & Louise” is a love story.
Falling into the “buddy love,” and “fugitive/chicks on
the lam” sub-genre. It’s also a dual-protagonist narrative—with
two characters almost functioning as one. This movie was a key
reference point for Permanent Obscurity—but from
a distance. In the past, I’ve seen it many times, so I was afraid
of imitating it. Finally, halfway through the novel, I sat down
to watch it again, realizing how much I absorbed from it: in
particular how each woman drives the other emotionally. For
me, it’s a pleasure to watch the interplay between two characters
so in sync. The exchanges, I noticed, also provide a kind of
propulsive energy to the narrative, the dialogue mounting and
carrying you along.
The
volatility of the characters is engaging, too. And I love
how they share the power dynamics of the relationship, with
Louise, seeming to be in charge, then suddenly Thelma taking
command. In other words, it’s more or less an even power exchange,
with both characters able to express doubt and fear openly (unlike
traditional male characters), yet still move ahead.
Thelma (Gena Davis), in particular, interests me, because of
the shapelessness of her character, appearing helpless in some
scenes, then totally in control in others (like when she robs
a convenience store or disarms a cop at gunpoint [one of
my favorite scenes]). It made me realize that female characters
are actually allowed a much wider scope of behavior, a much
greater quirkiness, compared to traditional male characters,
who are usually straight-jacketed, emotionally and psychologically.
Female characters, like Thelma and Louise, can be heroic and
non-heroic, brave or chickenshit—at the same time. Male protagonists,
on the other hand, are usually portrayed in two notes: as
either heroic or non-heroic, alpha-dog or wimp.
Female
characters are also more susceptible to physical harm, lending them more
sympathy, I think. With the threat of rape ever present, you
just worry about them more.
I stole heavily from T&L,
come to think of it. Making sure my female
characters (especially my lead, Dolores), were volatile and
emotional.
Like
the characters of “Thelma & Louise,” I wanted protagonists
who could cry and take action at the same time—express
doubt and self-pity, before fighting back.
(As the film goes on, the femmes become more androgynous)
And
since I wasn’t writing a “mainstream” book, certainly not
a standard chicklit novel, I made sure to use real street
language (like that of Black
Urban Lit), with the girls cursing a blue streak—talking
mad shit. I must mention that Dolores is a Loisaida
Nuyorican
and has no problem referring to her friend Serena as “bitch.”
Writing an urban story, the girls have to speak as
young urban women do, which at times isn’t
pretty.
In
closing, I’ll mention that “Thelma & Louise” borrows a bit
from exploitation cinema and road movies of the ‘70s, like “Vanishing
Point,” even concluding on a ballsy downbeat note (which I admire).
Road movies of the ‘70s always end violently. I made sure to
add some road action—some hearty violence—at the end of my narrative,
as well.
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Dolores & Serena:
“They were young and immoral!...”
What about sexploitation?
