Introduction Popular film is replete with men combatting violence
Popular film is replete with men combatting violence. Take the (2008) film Taken
for example. In this tale of male rage and revenge, the all-too-common retired special ops
character, Bryan Mills (Liam Neeson), makes use of his years of combat and intelligence
training to travel across the globe and rescue his innocent teen daughter, who is abducted
by an unknown, French-Albanian squad of men and subsequently sold into sex
trafficking. At the film’s turning point, Bryan kills the seemingly affluent man who
recently bought Kim, preventing him from pursuing his final act of sexual violence. After
a prolonged estrangement, Bryan’s presentation of bravery and ‘heroism’ brings father
and daughter closer and ultimately makes up for his absence throughout her life. While
Taken (2008) focuses on an individual combatting unspeakable harms to save a loved one
from male violence, it “valorizes white masculine protection and feminine purity” (C.
Kelly 2014:405). Further, the male savior is often seen as the hero, while the victim in
need of a savior is most commonly a woman. In doing so, the film ignores the
experiences of victims of male violence and the experiences of women more generally.
Women in film seek out vengeance as well. Quentin Tarantino’s Kill Bill (2004),
David Fincher’s Girl with the Dragon Tattoo (2011), Meir Zarchi’s I Spit on Your Grave
(1978) and Abel Ferrara’s Ms 45 (1981) are stories of women who, after suffering
horrifically at the hands of men, seek autonomy and agency.
Recent films have begun to challenge both the Liam Neeson-esque genre of
maledominated revenge thrillers as well as the female out for blood rape-revenge
narratives by portraying women who, when in the face of victimization, look for some
sort of closure – a cousin to justice. In their seeking out of such closure, the women in
these contemporary films focus on agency and re-situating themselves into a society
where justice is under attack. While some of these women still technically seek
vengeance or some sort of retributive justice after experiencing an act of violence, they
are often focused more on reclaiming agency and autonomy than enacting further
personal violence.
These new films stand to illuminate current, possibly visionary, notions of agency
and gender in atmospheres of violence. This thesis examines four films: Precious (2009),
Room (2015), Three Billboards Outside Ebbing, Missouri (2017), and Promising Young
Woman (2020) to discern how recent American-made feature films convey women
resisting violence.
Filmic Violence
Violence pervades popular film and has for decades. When entranced by the
pleasures of filmic narratives, it becomes easy to forget that each narrative of violence
could have potentially been represented differently, and thus every chosen narrative of
violence represented in film “has been awarded the significance of actuality” (Young
2009:8). Films shape how we define violence, organize our thinking about violent
actions, identify victims and perpetrators of violence, and infer how violence is (or ought
to be) resisted (Rafter and Brown 2011).
While films are often used to “reflect society’s lifestyles and values,” surprisingly
few American films, “within their propensity for violence” accurately and deliberately
depict resistance to violence (Berets 1996:176). The term resistance is often associated
with ‘nonviolent action’ (Moran 2011:15). However, there exists a pervasive paradox in
contemporary film where violence or wrongdoing is often met with violent, rather than
nonviolent, resistance. The essential facet of this filmic paradox is normative, depicting
violence or wrongdoing as harmful, while depicting violence in response to wrongdoing
as justified. Perpetrator violence often requires a violent response from a victimized
character – usually the protagonist or main character. This responsive violence is separate
from perpetrator violence and is characterized as ‘retribution,’ ‘punishment,’ ‘justice,’
‘heroism,’ and so on (M. Connell 2018). Nevertheless, this paradox of violence as
legitimate(d) responses to violence does not parallel reality, especially in terms of
women’s resistance.
Take Tarantino’s Kill Bill (2003–2004) franchise, for example. In this hyperviolent
film franchise, after being shot in the head and left for dead by her ex-partner and his
team of assassins, Beatrix – the female protagonist – regains her strength and goes on a
manhunt for her assailants. Her wrath and plan of vengeance extend throughout the
entirety of both films as Beatrix individually hunts down and kills each of her assailants.
The violent actions taken by Beatrix against her assailants are justifiable – that is, in the
context of the film – and function to allow her to reclaim agency after the violence that
she endures. While entertaining, these “commodified images of women in film” as
violence combatants bare little relation to reality (Mulvey 2004:1291).
Realities of Violence and Resistance
Kumar and Yelne (2003) critically consider the various types of strategies of
negotiation women use in real time in the face of violence. They note, “like any
oppressed category, women maneuver and negotiate with the given (patriarchal) structure
in their everyday life and offer resistance in many ways and degrees at the individual and
collective levels” (91). While resistance strategies used by women in the face of violence
may differentiate to various degrees, Kumar and Yelne (2003) specifically outline three
strategies most viable for women in everyday life. These strategies are as follows: ‘covert
resistance,’ ‘overt resistance,’ and resistance as a “by-product of women’s participation in
the economic program” (92). However, for the purposes of my thesis, I will focus only on
women’s covert and overt resistance to violence.
Covert resistance is defined as “noncompliance to patriarchal authority in
everyday life” (Kumar and Yelne 2003:92). In this sense women navigate the social world
as ‘conscious agents’ and resist violence covertly through their own means. Those means
may range from withholding sex from a male partner, using femininity or sexuality to
control men, or even secretly making plans to leave a violent partner or situation to
escape further abuse.
Overt resistance, on the other hand, as described by Kumar and Yelne (2003) is
direct or organized confrontation. They state that overt confrontation “can produce ripple
effect, both by demonstrating to women (who may not have yet made the leap) what is
necessary and possible and by bringing undiscussed issues into the arena of public
consciousness and debate” (Kumar and Yelne 2003:92). Overt resistance might look like
a group of women organizing to confront a shared issue; however, in other cases it might
look like an individual woman discursively
1
confronting men and/or patriarchal power
structures at large.
Both covert and overt strategies of resistance focus on those most directly
impacted by violence and emphasize meaningful accountability (Todic, Christensen,
McMahon 2021:3). Here, gender – particularly features of femininity and masculinity – is
crucial in understanding the causes of and responses to violence.
Contrasts in Gendered Responses to Violence
The ways in which women might ‘make things right’ after a violent event can be
contrasted against the ways in which men might respond in similar circumstances.
Further, how a man or woman might respond to violence can be dependent upon their
gender performativity.
Socialized gender norms play a substantial role in creating and perpetuating
violence. To understand how various forms of violence are enacted and/or resisted, then
we must understand how “social actors construct notions of femininities and
masculinities” (Salazar, Goicolea, and Öhman 2016:315). Some scholars in biological
and social sciences have attempted to theorize masculinity and femininity as inherent,
1
By discursive confrontation, I mean verbal confrontation through discourse rather than
physical harm.
biological constructions that are natural extensions of the sexed body (Kimmel 2011). For
others, masculinity and femininity are purely social constructs – edifices solely dependent
on their social and environmental surroundings (Moynihan 1998; Kimmel 2011). Notions
of ideal masculinity and femininity then are sewn into the fabric of society, where they
inform and are informed by the institutions that uphold them.
Rafter and Brown (2011) draw attention to James Messerschmidt’s (1993) study
of hegemonic or dominant masculinity where he found that men are constantly forced to
accomplish masculinity according to the dominant social script – “this script endorses the
performance of traditional masculine values such as labor, subordination of women, and
hypersexuality” (157). Thus, violence, oftentimes becomes a resource for men to
demonstrate their masculinity and define themselves as ‘real’ men. However, while
violence can also be used by women as ‘resource for expression,’ it often has ‘destructive
effects’ on their lives, thus further subjugating them rather than liberating them (Rafter
and Brown 2011:157). One could infer then that because the use of violence by a woman
to resist violence is more likely to subjugate them rather than free them, they may be less
likely to respond in such a way. Thus, responding instead with non-violent resistance
strategies such as undoing gender and discursive confrontation.
While scholarly study of the topic of women and violence in contemporary
American film is still somewhat limited, its prevalence in contemporary film is striking.
This thesis uses narrative thematic analysis (Reissman 2008) to explore how four
exemplary films: Precious (2009), Room (2015), Three Billboards Outside Ebbing,
Missouri (2017), and Promising Young Woman (2020), portray female protagonists
making sense of and resisting violence. The purpose of this thesis is to illuminate how
popular American film depict women in the face of violence, specifically how resistance
and gender are enacted.
Organization of the Thesis
This thesis is organized as follows.
I dedicate the next chapter, (Chapter 2) to my theoretical framing of the thesis.
There I conceptualize the terms gender and violence and consider the theorizations of
their complex relationship. This literature helps to convey that by examining each female
protagonist's gender performativity, we can see both the role of individual agency in
behavior and the social conditions that restrict their agency in the production of or
resistance to violence.
Chapter 3 provides a detailed breakdown of my thesis methodology and methods.
This section of the thesis: (1) outlines the sampling strategies via which I arrived at a
purposive sample of contemporary, American made, feature films in the crime genre; and
(2) discusses how the films were analyzed. I used thematic narrative analysis, a form of
narrative analysis that analyzes themes across the entirety of various narratives or texts,
to gather and interpret my data.
Chapters 4 and 5 analyze the four purposively chosen films for this study. In
Chapter 4, I analyze Precious (2009) and Room (2015) in a side-by-side comparison and
thereafter, in Chapter 5, I analyze Three Billboards Outside Ebbing, Missouri (2017) and
Promising Young Woman (2020) in the same fashion. In doing so, these analyses outline
the ways in which each female protagonist actively resists violence. Finally, in Chapter 6,
I conclude my research summarizing the findings of this thesis.
Chapter 6 asserts that while traditional crime film narratives tend to link
femininity with victimhood and masculinity with power, these four films cast women as
the main protagonists and furthermore characterize them as active and powerful in their
resistance to violence. This chapter ends by expressing the implications for constructions
of women in distress, and thus gender, and for responses to harm-doing.
CHAPTER TWO – GENDERING VIOLENCE
Gender and violence are closely linked. Examining gender and violence in the
present moment means summoning many complex questions. Contemporary research on
gender and violence brings about an assortment of problems across a variety of contexts.
Bahun-Radunovi and Rajan (2008) explain that:
All contemporary approaches to the relationship between gender and violence are
grounded in an awareness that the regulation, surveillance, and assumed
performance of gender is informed by conventional views of “masculinity” and
“femininity” and, further, that those views are premised on historic assumptions
of how the gendered production of “male” and “female” bodies have been
constructed through the phenomenon of violence. This designation of societal
significations to human experiences and activities as “female” and “male” is
associated with various forms of violence that constitute a range of physical,
psychological, representational, discursive, and situational violations of human
and, particularly, women rights (1).
This chapter thus endeavors to better understand the relationship between gender and
violence. The first step is to conceptualize gender because the problem of gender and
violence covers a vast and culturally twisted landscape of psychological, physical,
cultural, and political behaviors and actions that “delimit—particularly—women’s
activity and mobility and threaten their security” (Bahun-Radunovi and Rajan 2008:2).
The second step is to conceptualize violence because any study of violence must
begin with a conceptualization or theorization of the term itself. In doing so, this portion
of the chapter will address the varying definitions of violence and describe how those
definitions have been socially constructed.
I end this chapter by theorizing the gendered dynamics of violence and
explaining how those dynamics define and construct victimization and culpability in
cases of violence against women.
Conceptualizing Gender
Rather than conceptualizing the creation of gender as a process of realization and
awareness of our pre-given selves, gender is treated as an invention – or social
construction – that is (re)produced in the continuous interactions between people
(Richardson and May 1999). Concepts of gender should thus be thought of as socially
constructed. West and Zimmerman’s (1987) article entitled “Doing Gender” reconfigured
the concept of gender – rather than an attribute, they argued that it is a performative
action that one accomplishes throughout day-to-day life (see also Butler 1999). The idea
is that individuals are constantly performing (i.e., doing) gender, noticed or not.
Consistent with social constructionism, this performative view of gender envisions
people’s potential to challenge (deviate from) or maintain (and thus perpetuate) gendered
processes – or learned patterns of gendered behavior (McCann 2018). Gender and
gendered expectations are contextual and change throughout time and across space, thus
allowing numerous meanings of masculinity and femininity to co-exist in any one society
at any point in time. Gender is not constant but rather an “ever-changing fluid assemblage
of meanings and behaviors” (Kimmel 2011:10).
With regard to gender, I will often refer to masculinity and femininity, recognizing
that there are multiple masculinities and femininities. Kimmel (2011) explains that the
mere existence of multiple masculinities and femininities affectedly undermines the belief
that the gender differences we observe and attend to come from to conversely “gendered
people occupying gender-neutral positions” (10). These fluctuating masculinities and
femininities are hierarchically organized and measured against one another, supporting
the argument that domination produces and reinforces differences. The social
construction of difference is not impartial. Further, if men and women continuously see
themselves as ultimately contrasting beings, women will not expect to hold an equivalent
status within social structures, and “therein lies the power of gender” (Risman 2004:432).
Butler (1999) explains that as identities – or subjectivities – become enacted
fantasies, coherence is wished for, desired, and idealized, and this idealization is an effect
of material significance (173). Paramount among the many scripted subjectivities in
circulation are those of masculinity and femininity: ideologies of appropriate social and
spatial gendered roles for men and women. The feminization of household labor, for
example, confines women to a relatively isolated sphere where they are more subject to
the power of their husbands and fathers and less able to form bonds with other women. It
renders women dependent on the men who control family income and property and
vulnerable to male dissipation of income. The feminization of household labor also
instills a potent strain of nurturing that can disadvantage women in the competitive
struggle with men in the broader society. Gender, therefore, as a notion or organization,
communicates an arrangement of society based on perceived distinctions between men
and women (Sayer and Walker 1992:43–4). Consequently, gendered norms construct
‘appropriate’ roles and duties for women and men and distribute resources differentially
based on these divisions.
Neither masculinity nor femininity is monolithic; instead, the meanings of each
are both historically and geographically grounded and intimately connected (K. Anderson
1997). Indeed, quite different models of masculinity have prevailed at different times and
in different locales; in other words, the social construction of masculinity has both
geography and history (Jackson 1991:203). However, as the preceding discussion of
gender and violence revealed, constructs of masculinity and femininity are strongly
associated with hetero-patriarchal assumptions of ‘man’ as provider and protector and
‘woman’ as nurturer and homemaker. Moreover, masculinity and femininity are mutually
dependent: the production and performance of masculinity correlate with ideas about
femininity. Indeed, as Day (2001) explains, many men construct their masculine gender
identities around notions of femininity that highlight the vulnerability and fear of women.
In effect, men’s need to ‘prove’ their own masculinity may be extended by viewing
women as weak, vulnerable, and fearful – traits that are presumed antithetical to those of
a ‘real’ man (110).
Theorizing Femininity
Skeggs (2001) argues that femininity refers to behaviors as well as appearance.
She writes that, “The appearance of femininity, i.e., the labor of looking feminine, can
also be distinguished from the labor of feminine characteristics, such as caring,
supporting, passivity and nonassertiveness, although the two are merged in the term
‘femininity’” (297). The various ways femininity has historically been constructed has led
to complex inquiries about which bodies are deemed feminine and whether femininity
expresses an expectation or a marker.
The relationship between the terms “woman” and “feminine” sometimes suggests
that all people may perform femininity in different ways, thus defining femininity as
descriptive rather than normative function. In other words, these accounts use
“femininity” to describe women, where “woman” is a term used to label adult bodies
designated female (Holland 2004). However, this is not the approach to femininity I wish
to embrace; such perspectives define femininity in problematic ways that prevent the
recognition of, for example, masculine women or other myriad configurations that unbind
gender identity from gender presentation. In other words, we must understand that even
though all women are expected to be feminine, that does not mean that they all conform
to this expectation.
Theorizing Masculinity
Like femininity, masculinity requires an approach that considers masculine
attributes as plural and multiple values that vary and are modifiable according to cultural
and social contexts. Scholars in the fields of sociology, criminology, anthropology, and
gender studies have sought to rationalize how masculinity is constructed by considering
“gender and sexual relations, engagements with social institutions, systemic inequalities,
power and men’s subjectivity” (Waling 2020:111). American studies on masculinity,
however, have remained constant in their focus on hegemonic masculinity to keep the
ongoing debate around white heterosexual power and superiority alive, as Kimmel (2011)
explains. The concept of hegemonic masculinity began with Richard Connell’s (1987)
social theory of gender, which drew from patriarchy and cultural hegemony theories to
provide a structural account of gender and power relations. R. Connell (1987) found that
men either resist or conform to hegemonic masculinity in their own conceptualization and
action of performing and displaying a masculine identity. Such actions then grant them
access to specific and distinct status, power, and prestigious positions within society.
Further, men that successfully conform to hegemonic masculinity hold greater power and
status than those who do not or cannot. Through the maintenance and perpetuation of
privilege and the subordination of feminine and other masculine identities, hegemonic
masculinity prevails.
Conceptualizing Violence
When we refer to violence, it may well be that we take for granted what violence
is, without further consideration of the word. Violence, after all, is a word we toss around
in our lives regularly. If we are asked to define it, perhaps we assume it looks only one
way; however, across disciplines scholars have defined and conceptualized violence in
multiple ways (Harris 1980; Glasser 1999; Walby 2009; and Hamby 2017). Any study of
violence should begin with a definition of the term, mainly when debating the relative
distinctions between the social construction model and the biological model. I have
chosen one definition most prominent in the literature to further conceptualize violence.
Defining Violence
Hamby (2017) defines violence as “a behavior that is intentional, unwanted,
nonessential, and harmful” (167). She argues that the latter is necessary to a definition of
violence for it to be, as she puts it,
…fully capable of accounting for the exclusion of behaviors such as accidents and
self-defense and the inclusion of behaviors such as child abuse, sexual offenses,
and manslaughter (2017:167).
The types of acts that are definitively violent in accordance with Hamby’s (2017)
argument, might consist of acts such as: sexual violence (e.g., stalking, groping, exposing,
child sexual abuse, person directed sexual threats, incest), interpersonal violence (e.g.,
domestic violence, community violence),
2
and state or penal violence (e.g., corporal
punishment, execution, abortion). In all cases, these acts of violence have negative
psychological consequences for the victim, which include but are not limited to
depression, shame, and grief (Cooley 2019:798)
Harris’s (1980) work illustrates that an act of violence ensues when injury or
suffering is imposed on a living being – human or nonhuman – “by an agent who knows
2
Domestic violence occurs within the family unit or with a partner. Community violence
occurs at the community level with acquaintances or strangers (Kilpatrick 2004).
(or reasonably ought to have known) would result in the harm in question” (19). It is
important to note that Hamby’s (2017) definition of violence, similar to that of Harris
(1980), also outlines that ‘negative action,’ or causing harm by failing to act, also
constitute acts of violence. The latter is especially suitable for a discussion of those
incidents which are not straightforward acts of physical violence – such as state or penal
violence. As we interpret these various forms of violence, we must understand how
violence, as a concept, has been socially constructed.
Constructing Violence
Before the early 2000s there had been few theoretical attempts within
criminological scholarship to define and distinguish traditional crimes (e.g., street crime)
and crimes of the powerful (e.g., state crime and corporate crime) and even less attempts
had been made to theorize harm over crime. Lois Presser’s (2013) book, Why We Harm,
however, undertakes an ambitious endeavor to create a unified theory of humaninstigated
harm for various fields of critical criminology including state crime, cultural criminology,
green criminology, and interpersonal violence. Throughout the book,
Presser (2013) compares traditional definitions and understandings of harm and crime.
She claims that traditional concepts of crime centralize the narratives of the criminal or
the state, whereas the concepts of harm (defined as “trouble caused by another”) draws
attention to the subject who endures harm, thereby privileging the perspectives of the
victims over the offender or rather, agent of harm (2). In the first chapter of the book,
“Making Misery,” she explains that throughout the social world, definitions of harm, are
socially constructed, regulated, and perpetuated “in and by institutions and other
hierarchical arrangements” (Presser 2013:15). I propose that violence – a sub-type of
harm – holds the same characteristics to that of harm more broadly, as it has also been
socially constructed, and is therefore regulated by and for the benefit of those who
possess power in hierarchical arrangements.
Violence is often widely acknowledged as an ever-present cultural motif, which
may be viewed simultaneously on multiple social levels. Conceptualizing violence, then,
requires an interrogation of what we perceive or understand as violence and what makes
that understanding possible. As Kilby (2013) explains, the matter in question is how we
frame or more commonly construct violence (265). Walby (2009) makes it clear that “the
deployment and regulation of violence are social processes” (216), and “violence itself
socially patterned, embedded in institutions and regimes of inequalities” (217). Further,
the way in which violence is socially constructed has significant implications on how it is
perceived, “experienced, and more or less ‘tolerated’ or rejected” (Richardson and May
1999:308). Put differently, how society constructs violence shapes how social bodies
perceive it and, in turn, react to it. This portion of the thesis aims to examine the social
construction of violence with the intention to specifically scrutinize how perceptions of
and reactions to violence are gendered processes linked to notions of victimization and
culpability.
According to predominant legal approaches, violence is understood as the result
of activities carried out to harm or injure oneself or others. These harms or injuries are
‘dealt with’ by specifying who is culpable and subsequently punishing them according to
their evaluated extent of premeditation or intent (Felson and Messner 1996; Tedeschi and
Felson 1994). Violence can take various forms, such as gang violence, domestic violence,
violence against children, self-inflicted violence, media violence, penal violence,
corporate violence, and sexual violence. Regardless of the myriad forms of violence,
though, their social definitions ultimately always “revolve around culpability,
victimization, and what is deemed socially appropriate behavior in particular contexts”
(Richardson and May 1999:309). To adequately theorize violence, then we must
understand the significance of the victim/perpetrator binary, whereby specific people or
groups of people individuals are labeled as either victims or perpetrators.
Gendered Dynamics of Violence
I turn now to discourses that engender violence. Hester (1992) proposes that
‘violence work’ is used to sustain, create, and recreate social inequalities. The threat and
the use of violence are often used to control the life of lives of others. Within the context
of gender, then, violence is used as a means of power construction – placing men above
women in this power dynamic (Kaufman 1987). Therefore, violence against women
works as a social tool to control women and simultaneously allow men to exert and
maintain power over other men and women via women’s bodies. As in any social order,
male power prevails through coercion to consent – which includes force or the threat of
force and thus further violence (Hester 1992:1–2). This power of the male over a
woman’s sexual and reproductive rights denies their freedom and thus subjects them to
gender-targeted forms of violence (Campo-Engelstein 2016).
Hollander (2005) states that while violence against women is a prevalent problem,
this does not simply imply that women are or should be "passive in the face of violence"
(780). Every violent act includes women’s resistance because ingrained in the notion of
violence is the indication that it is undesired and nonessential—the woman did not ask for
it or want it. Even when not verbalized, the essence of the word “no” marks a seed of
resistance. Such resistance is most apparent “when physical, such as yelling, kicking, or
running away” (Hollander 2005:780). However, resistance can also be cognitive or
emotional. Cognitive resistance would appear “when women think about alternatives and
strategize how to stay safe” (Hollander 2005:780).
Emotional resistance, on the other hand, occurs “when women protect some core
part of themselves even if they choose to submit to an attack to protect themselves from
other injury” (Hollander 2005:781). Regardless of how unseen this remains by the
observer, in some way, female victims resist being involved in violence. Further, it
becomes problematic to denote women who are victims or survivors of violence as weak
or inactive (Hollander 2005; Papendick and Bohner 2017). Women actively resist
violence, employing whatever resources necessary to prevent it, reduce it when it
happens, and flee from it when given the opportunity. Such actions do not denote
passivity but power and bravery.
Victimization, Culpability, and Appropriate Behavior
Analyses of women’s experiences of violence have revealed the degree to which
the fear or threat of violence is a feature of many women’s daily lives and the detailed
scope of behaviors they must perform to appropriately avoid or respond to acts of
violence (L. Kelly 1988). Because it is generally assumed that women will be less
capable than men to defend themselves in a violent situation (Newburn and Stanko 1994),
women face more risk than men of becoming potential victims of violence. Crime
iconography and culturally constructed gendered stereotypes are prevailing discourses in
filmic depictions of violence and victimization. This interplay between stereotypes and
discourses of violence has been illuminated with explicit reference to both the
victimization and violence of women and in cultural criminology more broadly (Henry
2014; Picart 2007; Rafter and Brown 2011; Young 2009). Such representations frequently
demonstrate Nils Christie’s (1986) ideal victim, a classic theoretical instrument in
victimology (Fredriksson 2021). Christie (1986) illustrates the ideal victim as an
individual or group of people who are seen and labeled as complete and legitimate
victims when subjected to violence. He illustrates the ideal victim as a virgin woman
approached by a strange man on her walk home from a sick relative’s house. This ‘ideal
victim’ tries to fight the stranger off; however, he ultimately overpowers and thereafter
rapes her (Christie 1986). Put differently, Christie (1986) identifies the ideal victim as
innocent and therefore deserving of compassion and support.
Further, understandings of violence are not only constructed based on the social
characteristics of the victim, such as gender or race, but also in terms of ‘behavioral
responsibility for risk’ (L. Kelly 1988). Put differently, there is a greater social
expectation on women to protect themselves from violence since they are often assumed
to be less likely to defend themselves than men, which means women’s lives are
structured around personal safety. However, by contrast, the presence of a strong victim
stereotype defines what precautions women should take to avoid violence. For example,
women should avoid ‘risky’ situations and behaviors, like walking alone at night (Pallak
and Davies 1982) or hitchhiking (Acock and Ireland 1983).
Additionally, women are expected to take on several preventive measures, such as
attempting to run and actively resist the violent actors (Howard 1984). Invariably,
observers often tend to blame victims for not having done enough to prevent an act of
violence (e.g., when women are raped, it is often because they ‘asked for it’ or did not
verbalize the word ‘no’) (Bell, Kuriloff, and Lottes 1994; Estrich 1991; Fitzgerald, Swan,
and Fischer 1995). Further, female victims are not only judged based on their actions but
also on their inactions in not having done enough.
Though sympathy and concern are the “normatively prescribed responses to
victims in our society, we may also derogate victims, holding them at least partly
responsible for having been victimized” (Howard 1984:270). Further, although most ideal
victims are seen as innocent, society still places a greater expectation on women to
safeguard themselves from violence by modifying their behavior in social contexts
associated with the risk of violence. If women ‘fail’ to modify their behavior
appropriately in a potentially violent environment, they are often deemed culpable for
making themselves vulnerable.
Socially constructed gendered differences also structure ideas and, oftentimes,
stereotypes about how female victims should behave after made victim to violence
(Howard 1984). After an act of violence is perpetuated, victims typically experience
some level or form of grief. According to Doka and Martin (2010), there are various ways
in which individuals experience, express, and adapt to grief. They describe the process of
grief or grieving as a natural reaction to loss. They define grief as a “result from tension
created by an individual’s strong desire to (1) maintain his or her assumptive world as it
was before the loss, (2) accommodate to a newly emerging reality resulting from his or
her loss, or (3) incorporate this new reality into an emerging assumptive world” (Doka
and Martin 2010:18). However, while it is understood that individuals react to violence
and thus experience grief differently, society generally assumes that women should react
to victimization – whether it be first or second-hand victimization – with behaviors
deemed appropriate to the status quo. That is, they should display ‘response tendencies’ –
“predispositions that are shaped by cultural influences and personality styles” and
therefore “operate subconsciously, allowing quick and efficient reaction to environmental
challenges, threats, and opportunities” (Doka and Martin 2010:19) – that are considered
normal, and thus non-deviant.
A victim’s conduct after experiencing an act of violence is critical. If believed to
be in violation of gender norm(s) – or socially constructed and shared rules and ideas
about appropriate and inappropriate behavior of women and men in specific social
contexts and environments – after experiencing an act of violence, women are often
deemed deviant by other social actors (Doka and Martin 2010). Oftentimes, women’s
mere resistance to violence, whether it be through verbal or physical contestation, mass
mobilization, or even escapism is seen as a form of non-conformity and is thus defiant to
the status quo. Women’s resistance is often seen as non-compliance because of the
existing multitude of social and gender norms that promote and perpetuate violence
against women.
A Note on Domestic and Sexual Violence Against Women
With discussions about sexual assault and domestic violence continuing to gain
national attention (Berg 2019; Dick 2012; Dick 2015), it is possibly more important to
acknowledge female narratives of violence now than ever before. In American film, we
may classify the primary types of violence as that which takes place in the home, or
between partners or relatives. Examples of violence in domestic settings might also
include that which takes place on the street and other types of violence that arise from
specialized contexts. The latter might include penal violence or violence taking place in
captivity, as well as state violence enacted by state agents.
Stark (2007) focuses on the functions of gender inequality entangled in violence,
dubbing the processes involved in sexual violence, domestic violence, and other types of
violence against women ‘coercive control.’ Questions about what constitutes domestic
and/or sexual violence are straightforward to answer on the one hand yet complicated and
contested on the other. Domestic violence can be defined as any repeated behavior
towards another person in the home that is controlling, coercive, and threatening. (L.
Kelly and Westmarland 2016). Further, domestic violence can be characterized as a
coercive, controlling, or violent act (or pattern of acts) between two or more people in the
same household, whether they be intimate partners or parents and children. Violence in
domestic environments such as the home may consist of physical harm and emotional,
sexual, psychological, or economic abuse (or threats of abuse) that influence another
person’s behaviors. These coercive actions include intimidation, manipulation,
terrorization, blaming, humiliation, and physically harming another (Itzin, Taket, and
Barter-Godfrey 2010).
Draitser (1999) notes a myriad of explanations for why domestic violence might
occur: one might be that a woman is asserting her independence ‘too strongly;’ another
might desire to neutralize the danger a woman could potentially present; a third might be
the exhibition of hyper-masculine behavior; and a fourth could be that violence is
regarded an indicator of love (149). However, regardless of the reasoning behind it,
domestic violence can impact any person of any race, age, gender, sexual orientation,
economic class, immigration status, or religion. It affects people of all socioeconomic
backgrounds and education levels (Sacco 2019).
Sexual violence, while often occurring as a form of ‘domestic violence,’ is a bit
distinct in definition. Sexual violence ensues when one person or group of people forces
or manipulates another person into unwanted sexual activity without their consent
(Hlavka 2014). Reasons for the lack of consent may include fear, the influence of alcohol
or other drugs, illness, age, or disability. Sexual violence can impact people of all races,
ethnicities, genders, sexual orientations, religions, ages, incomes, professions, and
abilities. However, social inequalities can heighten the risks. Sexual abusers can be
relatives, friends, acquaintances, or strangers; however, in most cases, abusers’ assault
someone they know – a friend, classmate, coworker, neighbor, or family member – rather
than a stranger (Hlavka 2014). The rigid social assortment of gender roles is one of the
major catalysts that have led to the perpetuation of sexual violence. Men have
traditionally been assigned the role of protector or savior; women have the role of
needing protection or saving. Further, despite men being predominantly “the rapists, a
woman’s ultimate security lies in being accompanied by men at all times” (Brownmiller
1975:449).
A critical analysis of sexual and domestic violence reveals a culture’s fantasies,
anxieties, fears, and obsessions with power and sexuality. This concurrence of oppression
and fantasy suggests a critical ambivalence about gender inequality in film and, thus,
society. Understanding these distinct definitions of violence and the representation of
women and violence from a gendered perspective is useful for analyzing how women are
shown resisting acts of violence in contemporary crime film.
CHAPTER THREE – MATERIALS AND METHODS
This chapter describes the steps I took to arrive at a sample of contemporary,
American-made, feature films in the crime genre; and outlines my methods for analyzing
the data collected. Here, I also call attention to how and why I employed thematic
narrative analysis, a form of narrative analysis that analyzes themes across the entirety of
various narratives or texts, to gather and interpret my data.
Thematic Narrative Analysis
The purpose of qualitative research is to reveal the underlying meanings of social
phenomena as well as to understand the structuring of social phenomena through the
analysis of language – whether it be spoken, written, or images translated into text.
Thematic analysis interprets language in terms of content, or “‘what is said, written, or
visually shown” (Riessman 2008:53). Thematic narrative analysis is a form of thematic
analysis that focuses specifically on narrative contents, rather than narrative structure. Put
differently, thematic narrative analysis is often employed to identify common themes
across several narrative accounts by focusing on ‘what’ is said rather than attending to
“language form or interaction” (Reissman 2008:59).
Reismann (2008) provides a guidebook on how to assemble and interpret thematic
data among narratives. In this guide, she offers exemplars of how various researchers
associate their methods with their respective research objectives and assumptions. In
particular, she deconstructs each study to convey the unit of narrative analysis, how
narrative is defined, how data is constructed into text, and the degree of attention given to
context of the narrative. Reissman (2008) indicates that although narrative analysis and
grounded theory turn up themes, narrative analysis does not “fracture” data in each case
but instead focuses on theorizing across multiple cases.
Further, thematic narrative analysis was chosen for this study over other methods
of qualitative research such as content analysis because I wanted to focus solely on
themes that arose among the filmic narratives. I was less concerned with turning up the
logics behind why the stories were told in the form in which they were.
Data
Data in this study was collected in the form of filmic narratives in which female
protagonists resist violence. The data collected relied on written and spoken words and
visual representations of female protagonists to discern their life stories and interpret the
meaning of their experiences with and negotiation of violence.
Internal Review Board
Since this study does not require human subjects – rather, only representations of
human subjects – there was no need to create or employ a consent form; however, I was
required to apply for and seek exempt status from the university’s Internal Review Board
(IRB). Exempt research requires completion of an Information Sheet for consent that
includes a draft of all methods of data collection, like, for instance, interview questions
and instruments to be completed. Further, I was required to submit an exempted research
application to the IRB and received approval for exemption before I began collecting
data. The conceptualization of this research began in April of 2020, it was proposed in
October of 2020, and exempt status from the IRB was granted in December of 2020.
Shortly after receiving approval, I began the process of data collection, and thereafter,
data analysis.
Sampling
My sampling method was purposive, meaning that the films in this sample were
not chosen at random, but purposely to produce a sample that could be representative of
the contemporary popular filmic population of women in the face of violence.
Whereas the ultimate sample consisted of four feature films made in the U.S. that
center on a female protagonist responding to violent crime, the ‘net’ was much broader at
first. My initial inquiry was into the ways in which crime and justice were represented. I
did not abandon that curiosity, but it narrowed to an interest in how violence against
women and women’s agency in the face of violence are represented.
I began the data collection effort with the Official Academy Awards Database
(https://www.oscars.org/oscars/awards-databases-0), which is publicly available. I
conducted an “advanced search” of the award category ‘Best Picture,’ and included all
nominees for feature films released between the years 2007–20. This sampling method
resulted in an initial total of 115 feature films; however, not all thematized violence and
not all were American-made features. To ensure a generous purposive sample of
American-made feature films released between 2007–and 2020 that, in some way or
another, construct violence and its relationship to gender would be identified and
included, I filtered out those that did not fit these criteria. This methodology consisted of
three phases (Silva 2019). (See Figure 3.1).
For the first phase, I limited my sample to all American-made feature films that
were released between 2007 and 2020 and had been nominated for an Academy Award
for ‘Best Picture;’ and (2) I wanted to avoid made-for-TV films because they “are shaped
by different considerations of audience, artistic aspiration, duration, and financing than
feature movies” (Rafter 2006:7). The films needed to receive a theatrical release between
the years 2007 and 2020, must have been released in the U.S. by an American production
company, and must have portrayed problems occurring in a U.S. context (Welsh,
Fleming, and Dowler 2011). I chose the year 2007 as my start date to observe how film
narratives of violence and its relationship with gender have been portrayed after the
initiation of the #MeToo Movement that began in 2006, and 2020 as my cutoff date
because I began my research in 2021. I chose American-made films because they are seen
by a relatively wider audience and are generally acclaimed worldwide. However, this
emphasis on American film also builds on a basis to examine women’s responses to male
perpetrated violence on themselves or a loved one in the United States. All the films I am
analyzing are made in the United States, where violence is prevalent, and the criminal
justice system is either unresponsive or fails to serve justice (Reiman and Leighton 2013).
Because films are often a by-product of the culture in which they were constructed, the
actions carried out (or not carried out) by the female protagonists speak to the status of
male perpetrated violence in the U.S. as the film was being created.
As stated before, the initial sampling method resulted in 115 feature films;
however, not all films thematized violence – meaning several of the films failed to
present violence or its consequences as dominant dimensions of the overall narrative. In
that regard, for the second phase, feature films that fit within the initial parameters –
American-made film nominees for ‘Best Picture’ between the years 2007 and 2020 – but
did not allude to violence in any way, were filtered out. I was also keen to filter out (1)
supernatural films, (2) films based on fantasy – such as Mad Max: Fury Road (2015), and
(3) comedy films – because I wanted to understand ‘serious takes’ on violence and
resistance to it. Films that fell within the aforementioned guidelines and included
definitional standards of crime film resulted in a total of 26 films.
For the third stage, I used a more extensive review of the plot summaries of each
of the 26 films to determine their suitability for the study. I did so by reviewing plot
summaries found on Google.com for each of the films and thereafter watched a trailer for
each of the films on YouTube.com. After completing this thorough and painstaking
review, I found that a total of 8 films fit all required sampling parameters and appeared
suitable for the overall study. Those films were: Precious (2009), Twelve Years a Slave
(2013), Room (2015), Three Billboards Outside Ebbing, Missouri (2017),
BlacKkKlansman (2018), Joker (2019), Judas and the Black Messiah (2020), and
Promising Young Woman (2020). After I viewed each individual film in its entirety,
however, I found a distinct running theme between 4 of the 8 films. The theme was that
of women-centered narratives – “narratives in which the audience sees fully developed
female protagonists who carry the plot from beginning to end” (Jeong 2016:743) – and
their fight to resist violence perpetrated by men. I decided then that the purpose of this
thesis would be – instead of interpreting the ways in which violence and resistance were
represented in film, as I mention earlier in this section – to analyze the differentiating
portrayals of gender and gendered violence in contemporary crime film and interpret how
different women respond to violence. The final purposive sample of films (see table 3.1)
consisted of Precious (2009), Room (2015), Three Billboards Outside Ebbing, Missouri
(2017), and Promising Young Woman (2020).
Data Analysis
This thesis identifies, analyzes, and describes the narrative patterns used to
represent gender and gendered responses to violence in feature crime films – released
between 2007 and 2020 – that were produced by an American production company in the
U.S. In doing so, I discern how each film definitively frames and constructs gender and
violence and observe how they might portray, and therefore, shape our thinking
specifically about women and their responses to violence. Of particular interest are
narratorial statements about the events related, as well as any interpretation offered within
the text of the events in fictional film. Though I believe that close reading and a text-
based approach are the most productive ways to begin narrative analysis, I include
theoretically based interpretation where appropriate. Constructions of specific behaviors
and uses of language were also analyzed to determine how American-made feature films
engages or critiques constructions of gender and violence.
The foundational framework of my study leads me to undertake thematic narrative
analysis, which allows me to observe the “kinds of social worlds” that the characters are
“making happen in their talk” (Baker 2002: 793). Thus, in reading these filmic texts
sociologically, I am mainly concerned with what stories are told through the film and less
concerned with how they are told.
One shared feature of these films stands out; each portrays representations of
violence within the context of a narrative. A narrative is a discourse that recounts a series
of experiences across time to make some point (Labov and Waletzky 1967). Reissman
(2008) states:
Narrative is present in myth, legend, fable, tale, novella, epic, history, tragedy,
drama, comedy, mime, painting…stained glass windows, cinema, comics, news
items, and conversation. Moreover, under this almost infinite diversity of forms,
narrative is present in every age, place, and society; it begins with the very history
of mankind...it is simply there, like life itself (4).
Narratives are thus “strategic, functional, and purposeful” (Reissman 2008:8) conditions
of social life and thus “constitutive of reality and not merely its representation” (Presser
2013:29).
Further, I followed a methodical classification procedure of determining and
coding patterns – or themes – among narratives of women resisting violence. Therefore,
narrative themes were not only used to read and analyze the text but also to gather the
data used to interpret the text (Patton 2002; Riessman 2008). The texts were interpreted
by analyzing and identifying patterns – or themes – within and across each text to assess
the nature and scope of representations of gendered harm, suffering, and resistance as the
film portrays them. In doing so, I employed a list of specific questions to help me
navigate through the films. Such a list of questions (see Table 3.2) allowed me to analyze
the films systematically.
By following Riessman’s (2008) approach to thematic narrative analysis, I
explored the explicit thematic content of dialogue and the underlying thematic content of
relationships between female protagonists and other characters in each filmic text. The
contexts of each film narrative were of great importance and thus had to be analyzed
separately and efficiently to draw out variations across each case – to do so, I reviewed
each of the film’s screenplays as I screened each film. I also considered the contexts of
the female protagonist’s character narrative within each given film.
First, I screened each of the four films separately and recorded extensive notes
concerning the initial research questions. As mentioned above, the first viewing
concentrated on coding dominant messages about women’s responses to violence. As I
screened each film, I recorded my notes on each case and then imported them into
ATLAS.ti 22 to code the qualitative data. I coded the narratives according to the most
prevalent themes across each of the three films: statements made by the protagonist about
violence and/or resistance. Next, I discerned whether any of those themes overlapped –
meaning that the same or similar aspects occurred across two or more separate film cases
– and connected them to theoretically derived concepts of violence and gendered
reactions to violence. Different aspects of each case allowed for other controlled
comparisons. Then, I noted what each observed film narrative was about – its pivotal
events or complicating actions (Labov and Waletzky 1967) – and how it was told. Then, I
created a running summary of the context of violence to grasp the story of violence,
including antecedents and responses to violence,
Additionally, I discerned each of the film’s female protagonist’s gender
accomplishments. Put differently, I noted how each protagonist performs gender – or how
they “cast particular pursuits as expressions of masculine and feminine ‘natures’” (West
and Zimmerman 1987:126) – when in the face of violence and victimization throughout
each film narrative. I did this to observe variation in women’s agency across each case. I
then screened each of the four films a second time, with the codes mentioned above in
mind.
I devoted the second screening of each film strictly to transcription. As I
rescreened each film, I transcribed relevant dialogue between the protagonist and other
characters. In this case, relevant dialogue was deemed as being associated with or
concerning speech about violence or resistance. This portion of the research was tedious,
requiring roughly 12 hours of my uninterrupted and undivided attention. Roughly 4 hours
had to be devoted to re-screening each film to allow additional time to pause and
transcribe narratives where necessary. I decided to refer to the film screenplays (which I
obtained via simplyscripts.com – a publicly accessible website) when transcribing
specific narratives because they provide verbatim accounts, which allowed me to record
the narratives as precisely as possible.
While transcribing, I was able to note previously overlooked codes (Aiello 2014).
Finally, I observed the extent to which – or lack thereof – each case might fail to probe
the most extreme, power-driven forms of harm and violence women experience in real
time. After multiple viewings, I determined the dominant cinematic constructions of
gender responses to male violence. I then assessed the coded film constructions to
evaluate how women are represented conceptualizing violence and fashioning responses
to it.
CHAPTER FOUR – ESCAPING VIOLENCE THROUGH ALTERNATIVE
REALITY: PRECIOUS (2009) & ROOM (2015)
In discerning the relationship between women and violence in four contemporary
American feature films released between 2007 and 2020, I have tried to identify main
themes that pertain to the portrayal of female protagonists encountering violence. I
present the four films as pairs. First, I present both Precious (2009) and Room (2015),
then I present Three Billboards Outside Ebbing, Missouri (2017), and Promising Young
Woman (2020) thereafter. My reasoning for this comes from the themes that arose
throughout my data analysis, where I found that both Precious (2009) and Room (2015)
present narratives of female protagonist who transform their realities to cope with
violence, while, Three Billboards Outside Ebbing, Missouri (2017) and Promising Young
Woman (2020) instead present narratives of discursive confrontation when illustrating
female protagonists in the face of violence and victimization.
Violence and Coercive Captivity
Precious (2009) and Room (2015) portray the harsh realities of domestic violence
including coercive isolation or captivity and motherhood for many women. Precious
(2009)
3
takes place in late 1980s Harlem and follows the story of Claireece “Precious”
3
Lee Daniels’ (2009) film, Precious, closely follows the cinematic footsteps of Steven
Spielberg’s (1985) film, The Color Purple, which tells the story of Celie, a 14-year-old
marginalized Black woman who suffers sexual and domestic abuse at the hands of her
stepfather and later her husband. Like Precious, Celie has been conditioned to believe
Jones – an illiterate, overweight, 16-teen-year-old. Precious is pregnant with her second
child and lives at with her abusive and dysfunctional mother, Mary. Shortly into the film,
Precious is encouraged by her principal to attend an alternative school where she hopes to
attain a valuable education and thereafter autonomy from her abusive mother.
Room (2015)4 takes place in present day Akron, Ohio and follows the story of Joy
Newsome, better known as ‘Ma,’ throughout the film. Held captive and repeatedly raped
for seven years, Ma decides that she and her now 5-year-old son, Jack, must escape their
again, Celie finds solace in writing letters that disclose her abuse and help her work
through her trauma. She finds and her own identity in a world of patriarchally inscribed
narratives (Hemmati 2021:172). It is not easy for Celie to verbalize her autonomy, but
after she discovers how intentionally cruel and harmful her husband has been to her, she
rebels against his control. We see a remarkably similar narrative in Precious (2009) in
that when Precious, the film’s female protagonist, discovers the extent of her parents and
especially her mother’s intentional abuse and neglect, she is able to achieve a sort of
selfenlightenment. Her new awareness then allows her to leave her violent situation and
start a life of her own with her two children. These films differ not only in terms of
setting, but also in the portrayal of harm doers. The Color Purple (1985) primarily
portrays Black men as abusers while Precious (2009) portrays both a male abuser and a
female abuser. 4 The narrative arc that Room (2015) follows—adolescent abduction,
imprisonment, childbirth, and eventual escape—is familiar enough that it provides the
structure for many texts in a broader discourse of captivity in mediums such as
contemporary literature and film. Several films throughout the past two decades have
presented a similar plotline (Jeffers 2015). However, many of these films tell the true
stories of victims in real-time. Room (2015), on the other hand, is completely fictional,
though one could imagine that screenwriter, Emma Donoghue, may have derived some of
her ideas from the horrifying case of Elisabeth Fritzl, a young Austrian woman held
captive and repeatedly assaulted and impregnated by her father for 24 years. Further, in
terms of contemporary film, I have found it challenging to find another American-made
that she must remain obedient to avoid violence; nor does she appreciate her femininity
or her body. Celie feels victimized and has very low self-esteem. However, like Precious
feature film that depicts such a story of violence against women, Room (2015) resonates
with several memoirs written by victims who lived through similar circumstances in real
time. captor, Old Nick. After successfully gaining autonomy from their captor, Ma
readjusts to reality and Jack experiences the outside world for the first time in his life.
In both films, the more liberated or resistant the female protagonists, Precious and
Ma, become to violence and coercion, the more brutal the violence against them and their
children becomes. Precious and Ma respond to violence in similar ways; both women are
‘social avengers’ (M. Connell 2018) who first resist violence by transforming reality.
However, after gaining autonomy from their abusers, each female protagonist is able to
“act intentionally towards a future goal,” which requires that she has the ability “to
perceive herself as the cause of her actions” (H. Anderson 2002:1), thus reclaiming the
agency
4
– or control – over her own life. This reclamation of agency gives each
protagonist a new sense of hope and encourages them “to make new meaning” of their
lives. (H. Anderson 2002:7).
Neither woman relies on the criminal justice system or the state at large to right
the wrongs done to them after gaining autonomy from their abusers and instead achieves
their own form of personalized justice by reclaiming their agency and caring for their
4
Agency is distinguishable from autonomy as it focuses on the capacity to view oneself
as capable of making choices, whereas autonomy focuses on having the freedom of
choice (H. Anderson 2002:1).
children. Further, while Precious and Ma are quite different in terms of physical
characteristics – as Precious
5
is a Black, overweight, pregnant, 16-year-old and Ma is a
white, slender, 24-year-old – they endure very similar traumatic events and face extreme
mental anguish due to their coercively violent circumstances before gaining autonomy.
In the first half of both films, Precious and Ma experience various instances of
violence in their everyday lives. Precious is currently pregnant with her second child –
both of whom were conceived out of rape by her biological father Carl, who we find out
later, has also infected her and her mother with HIV. Although her father no longer lives
with or has contact with her, Precious still faces physical, verbal, and sexual abuse at the
hands of her horrific mother, Mary. For example, in the first twenty minutes of the film,
we see Mary hit Precious with a thick glass ashtray, call her names such as ‘dummy,’
‘bitch,’ ‘cunt,’ ‘fat,’ ‘whore,’ and more, and thereafter coerces Precious to perform oral
sex on her. Precious also faces stigma and intimidation outside of the home, in her
community due to her illiteracy and physical appearance. Ma, on the other hand, was
abducted by her captor (i.e., Old Nick) when she was only 17 years old and has for the
past seven years, lived locked away in a shed behind his home. Two years into Ma’s
captivity she gave birth to Jack. Ma and her son are forcefully held captive and physically
5
On a cautionary note, that Precious is the only Black female protagonist in my sample,
should not be taken to indicate that her experiences parallel to those of all Black urban
women in the face of violence.
locked away from the world by their abuser. Precious, on the other hand, has the ability to
step foot outside of her home and interact with her community. However, regardless of
Precious’s nominally greater level of ‘freedom,’ she and Ma both live their lives in a
constant state of fear and coercive isolation. Ma fears the routinized rape that she must
endure at the hands of Old Nick and fears what he might do to Jack if she lashes out or
tries to escape. Precious fears the pain that her mother will inflict upon her if she tries in
any way to gain autonomy, however, she also fears a life without her mother due to her
own internalized oppression and feelings of powerlessness, the result of the physical and
emotional trauma she has endured.
The spectator’s understanding of the fear the protagonists experience in these
films are distinct. Because Room is told from Jack’s perspective, Ma is kept inevitably
distant from the spectator, thus generating a more innocuous understanding of the
violence she endures. This move is part of what makes Room unique, as Ma’s actions
both in before and after their escape have little to do with her empowerment and instead
are focused on preserving Jack’s innocence. Because Jack is so naive, he does not entirely
understand violence and thus does not always understand what is to be feared. For
instance, Jack is quite delighted when Old Nick brings him a birthday gift and does not
recognize Ma’s fear of what Old Nick will expect in return for such a gift. Thus, the
violence that Ma faces is inferable from the limited onlooker perspective of Jack.
6
Jack’s
6
Jack’s narrative perspective resonates with contemporary work by feminist scholars
Sorcha Gunne and Zoe Brigley Thompson (2010), who identify an increasing need for
filmic “rape narratives that refuse voyeurism and exploitation” and instead “confront the
uncomfortable and shocking nature of sexual violence in [ways] that are themselves
shocking and uncomfortable and break the mold of the victim/perpetrator binary” (3).
point of view is sometimes naive and guileless, partly because he is unaware that he and
Ma live in confinement. However, the spectator can still recognize the aspects of violence
and confinement, even if Jack is unable.
On the other hand, Precious tells her story of trauma and abuse from her own
perspective – the perspective of the invisible victim. Precious’s first-person narrative is
supported by visual depictions of rape and other physical abuse – making it the only film
in the overall sample that shows the suffering body. Tanner (1994) asserts that first-
person narratives of violence, like that of Precious (2009), “affect spectators who are
otherwise reluctant to engage with depictions of suffering” by forcing them into “a
position of discomforting proximity to the victim’s vulnerable body” (10). Despite the
film’s visual depictions of rape and domestic violence, Precious’s body is never
eroticized. Instead, Precious’s body is shown being raped, beaten, and brutalized which
affectively helps the spectator to identify with the female protagonist rather than the male
abuser. Tanner (1994) explains the usefulness of this identification between spectator and
protagonist, stating:
…representations of violence appropriate the conventions of film, either relying
upon a highly visual mode of narration or undermining the distancing conventions
of reading to direct the reader’s gaze upon a scene in a manner similar to the
enforced perspective of the camera’s frame (12).
Although we never visually experience Ma’s abuse, the viewer nonetheless can identify
with her as well, rather than with her abuser, since the narrative is told from the
perspective of her son.
Transforming Reality
Precious and Ma both resists violence initially through escapism. Precious escapes
through recurring fantasies where she is ‘attractive,’ appreciated, admired, and light/white
to escape from her brutal reality. Through these self-narrated fantasies, we begin to see
Precious’ ideations of beauty and femininity. The film’s opening scenes introduce the
audience to Precious’s fantasy world via her inner monologue, which is often murky due
to her vernacular and literacy level. While navigating down a busy junior high corridor,
Precious states, “I wish I had a light-skinned boyfriend with real nice hair. And I wanna
be on the cover of a magazine.” Soon after, we get a glimpse into the circumstances that
Precious dreams about escaping when we meet her mother, Mary.
Mary’s malice is illustrated alongside Precious’ periodic flashbacks of her father’s sexual
abuse. For instance, in one scene, we see a flashback to Carl sweating over Precious’s
body, whispering, “Daddy loves you,” as he brutally rapes her. Precious feels comfort in
repetitive fantasies filled with flashing lights, admirers, paparazzi, and healthy familial
bonds when in need of reprieve from her harsh reality and emotional trauma. Each of
these montage fantasy sequences plays out on screen every time Precious is being
harmed, criticized, or feeling despondent. Precious feels fear, disgust, and shame about
her abuse in the film’s first half. As a result, she sees herself as an outcast from her peers
and community members and therefore distances herself and further disassociates
7
from
reality.
Throughout her dissociative fantasy sequences, spectators get a glimpse into
Precious’s idealized life – one that is primarily characterized by white femininity and
middle-to-upper-class status. One specific fantasy sequence introduces us to Precious’s
desires to experience advantages of light/white beauty. It plays out on screen after she
ignores a Black male in her community who disrespectfully shouts that he wants “some
of that sweet ass” as she passes him on her walk home from school. When Precious
disregards his remark, she is pushed to the ground by one of the man’s friends. As she lies
on the ground, the aforementioned fantasy sequence plays out on screen. We are
transported to a scene where Precious excitedly dances on a brightly lit stage in front of
an unseen yet adoring audience. While on stage, she is met by the object of her
admiration: a man she mentions earlier in the film, whom she describes as “a lightskinned
boyfriend with real nice hair.” This fantasy sequence is a visual juxtaposition
7
Dissociation is defined by the fifth edition of the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of
Mental Disorders (DSM–5) as “a disruption, interruption, and/or discontinuity of the
normal, subjective integration of behavior, memory, identity, consciousness, emotion,
perception, body representation, and motor control” (American Psychiatric Association
2013: 519). However, “more widely accepted is the idea that dissociative” behaviors “are
expressions of an automatic defense mechanism that serves to mitigate the impact of
highly aversive or traumatic events” (Giesbrecht, Lynn, Lilienfeld, and Merckelbach
2008:617).
against the previous scene that echoes her formidable reality.
This comforting fantasy is brief, and the film quickly returns to Precious’s reality,
where she lies with her face on the sidewalk. Under the veneer of this seemingly innocent
fantasy—whiteness relieves Precious's deviance as an overweight woman of color daring
to embody alluring confidence. Further reinforcing the social value of
lightness/whiteness, including and among people of color (Hunter 2005), it is only
through this fantasy that Precious’s desirable femininity and thus beauty is validated. This
fantasy, therefore, allows her to contest the actions of the Black men who have harassed
and abused her.
One could interpret these fantasies as innocent because Precious is aware that she
is not and cannot become white. However, it remains crucial to examine how whiteness
informs a Black female protagonist’s idealized femininity and further offers redemption
from the violent horrors of her daily life. Culturally reproduced ideas about beauty are
“centered on white women and are therefore a standard of beauty only achievable by and
awardable to them” (Madison 1995:233). Precious’s fantasies are thus characterizable as
‘internalized oppression’ (Goodman 2011), which signals her belief in her own inferiority
and reinforces her intense desire to identify with more privileged bodies, like white
women. Precious’s idealized white femininity can be read, then, as an instrument for her
to look and feel better than her victimized life permits. However, these fantastic
sequences also reveal the ascendancy of the white being
8
in contemporary U.S. popular
culture as they showcase perpetuated definitions of idealized beauty (Rodríguez 2021).
While Ma also uses means of escapism to cope with her trauma and push through
daily violence, she does not do so by constructing and dwelling in her own fantasies, like
Precious. Instead, Ma constructs an alternate reality for the benefit of Jack to keep him
safe from the trauma that she endures daily.
One of the primary responsibilities of motherhood for Ma is keeping Jack safe by
limiting his knowledge of the violence she faces each day and keeping him away from
Old Nick. As mentioned earlier, Old Nick routinely visits Ma in the evenings to rape her.
When this occurs, or essentially any time that Old Nick visits Room, Ma orders Jack to
stay inside the wardrobe – where she fashions a small pallet for him to sleep. Ma does
this to keep Old Nick away from Jack; she does this to protect him. Jack does not
understand this routine and instead dreams up a world of imagination where he has a pet
dog named Lucky. In these scenes, narrated through Jack’s perspective, one can infer that
Ma’s efforts to transform Jack’s reality is merely one of the various steps she must take to
keep him safe.
8
White Being is not white people. It is a template of being in the world and a way of
life/living – a template of goodness, beauty, and the ‘good life’ – that has been
historically grounded in the white conquest and making of Civilization (Rodríguez 2021:
39).
Due to his birth in captivity and Ma’s constructed reality, Jack holds no
conception of the outside world; in fact, he believes that Room simply floats through
Outer Space. Jack feels that his and Ma’s experiences are entirely normative in this
transformed reality of Room.
9
Jack is simply living a fictional, fairytale life, so when Ma
— who has been held captive since her abduction seven years ago — decides (on Jack’s
5th birthday) that he is old enough to learn the truth about the world so that they have
better chances of escaping, he refuses to believe her. Jack’s bewilderment is “a direct
result of Ma’s attempts at raising him with some sense of normalcy” (Jeffers 2015:20).
She constructs Jack’s deficiency of understanding; however, she does not keep her abuse
and their captivity a secret to manipulate Jack but rather to protect him from Old Nick –
the man who has generated her unimaginable pain. Further, Jack has become dependent
upon Ma’s constructed reality for his own happiness, just as Ma has become dependent
on Jack and her responsibilities of motherhood to maintain her well-being.
Although Jack’s perceptions of the world and violence have been distorted by his
lifelong existence in captivity and the fantasies that Ma has introduced him to, his
narrative remains firm in its identification of Ma’s dedicated mothering – dedication that
9
Room is the name that Jack has created for the space in which he and Ma are held
captive. To Jack, everything has a personality and a proper name. Room includes four
walls, a full-sized bed, a wardrobe, a bathtub, a toilet, a sink, a stove, a flickering TV with
minute signal, and a skylight in the ceiling – which marks their only connection to the
outside world. However, in Jack’s mind, the only reality that exists is that which exists in
Room, and everything else (the outside world) is outer space.
she maintains in the face of rape, physical abuse, and coercive captivity. Mothering in the
context of such violence is often associated with “a poor motherhood experience” for
battered women (Hooker, Samaraweera, Agius, and Taft 2015:92). However, for Ma, it is
through motherhood that she regains mental strength.
10
Holding herself solely responsible
for Jack’s care and well-being, Ma is extremely protective of and invested in his
upbringing. She maintains a calm demeanor when Jack becomes frustrated with her or
complains about, for instance, not having candles on his birthday cake. They play
“thousands” of games and watch TV together when they have a signal; Ma also ensures
that they exercise regularly, maintain their hygiene, and eat and sleep daily. All of this
demonstrates Ma’s strong motherly aspiration to maintain Jack’s happiness, health, and
safety. Room (2015) thus portrays Ma as a sexually abused woman of seven years who,
despite all odds, remains a courageous and positive influence in her child’s life.
From the very start, Room (2015) portrays Ma as a loving mother. Through her
maternal responsibilities, Ma ‘does’ gender and specifically femininity. Ma’s maternal
efforts to maintain Jack’s safety through transformative reality can be supported by
feminist discourses which claim motherhood is a classification awarded to “an
‘experience’ and/or a ‘social institution’ where a set of socially constructed actions and
10
Glimpses into Ma’s life in the initial two years of captivity before Jack’s birth further
illustrate how motherhood has provided her with a sense of hope. For example, Jack
narrates that Ma used to let her teeth rot, but now she and Jack brush their teeth every
day; she used to cry every day, but that ceased when Jack “shot down from heaven,” as he
describes it. These narrative anecdotes convey that it is through motherhood that Ma
regains her mental strength.
relationships involving nurturing and caring for children are evident” (Hooker, Agius, and
Taft 2016:88). Mothers thus perform gender by taking up activities of caregiving and
nurturing. Ma’s maternal work of keeping Jack away from harm, constructs Ma as a sort
of ‘super mom,’ in the eyes of Jack, hiding him from the true horrors that she faces (Choi,
Henshaw, Baker, and Tree 2005:177).
Autonomy and Agency as Resistance
Each of the female protagonists in these two films about violence against women,
Precious (2009) and Room (2015), initially use escapism to endure daily violence.
However, approximately halfway into both films, these women obtain freedom from their
abusers and begin their transformations from timid women living in personally
transfigured realities to autonomous mothers determined to regain their agency. This
transformation for Precious, comes after the birth of her second child, Abdul. Prior to
Abdul’s birth, Precious had already been achieving autonomy from her mother by making
friends with other underprivileged women, learning to read and write, attending the
doctor regularly, and opening up to her social worker about her abuse – all of which she
had never done before attending Each One, Teach One, the alternative school she enrolled
in at the beginning of the film. For the first time in her life, Precious begins to feel love
an acceptance and with that we begin to see a shift in her demeanor.
After Abdul’s birth, Precious must stay at the hospital for several days.
Throughout this time, Precious is continuously visited by her peers and a friendly nurse
(who also fits the description of her object of desire), but not by Mary. Precious also
consistently writes journal entries back and forth with Ms. Rain throughout her hospital
stay, opening up about her abuse and casually making plans to get away from her evil
mother. The challenge of journal writing helps Precious deal with her traumatic past of
enslavement by her father abused her and got her pregnant with two of his children and
by her mother, who besides also sexually abusing her, despises her for stealing her man
and kept her locked in the house, isolated and illiterate. However, despite her chats with
Ms. Rain and the overwhelming support she receives from her peers and the nursing staff
at the hospital, Precious returns home to her mother’s house after she is released from the
hospital. The reason for this is never verbally disclosed, but the viewer could easily infer
that Precious makes this decision out of fear and uncertainty.
11
However, this return home
from her extended absence turns out to be the final catalytic factor that provides
Precious with the strength to escape her mother’s wrath permanently.
Upon Precious’s return home, she cautiously makes her way into the apartment
fearing what is to come next. After a short exchange about Precious’s time in the hospital,
Mary asks to hold Abdul and Precious allows this. As soon as Precious hands
Abdul to Mary and turns her back, Mary drops him onto the couch, throws a glass jar at
11
A (2004) study on fear and the perceptions of alternatives for battered women in
violent homes shows that “more battered women are killed in the process of leaving or
indicating that they will leave than any other time... and leaving does not guarantee safety
for women or children” (Brown 2004:343). With that, it is sensible to interpret Precious’s
choice to stay in her violent situation as a choice made out of fear and uncertainty of
safety.
Precious’s head and then proceeds to attack her screaming, “You fucking bitch…You
done took my man, you had those fucking babies, and you got me put off the welfare for
running your goddamned stupid ass mouth!” Instead of fully escaping into the fantasies
of her mind, though, Precious fights back and eventually pushes Mary down, picks Abdul
up, and makes her way out of the apartment. As Precious feverishly runs down the
staircase with Abdul in her arms, she trips and falls. As she sits up to catch her breath and
check on Abdul, in a final attempt to stop her, Mary throws a television set down several
flights of stairs in the direct path of Precious and Abdul. Luckily, Precious resists the
blow of the television just in time and subsequently flees into the wintery streets,
eventually arriving at Each One, Teach One, the alternative school where she met Ms.
Rain – which, at this point, is the only safe place she has or knows to go for help.
Ms. Rain then takes Precious and Abdul into her home and tirelessly advocates to
get them placed in halfway house. On her first night at their home, Precious is regaled by
stories and happy voices of Ms. Rain and her lovely, warm partner. In this scene, Precious
looks on in wonderment, realizing that for the first time she is surrounded by people who
love her and one another. An influential scene that conveys Ms. Rain’s dedication to
Precious’s humanization appears when Precious breaks down in class after discovering
that her sexually violent father has infected her with HIV. With tears pouring down her
face, she cries:
Precious: Fuck you! You don’t know nothin of what I been through. I ain’t never
had no boyfriend. My daddy said he gon marry me. How he gonna do that? It
would fuckin be illegal!
Ms. Rain: Write.
Precious: I’m tired Ms. Rain.
Ms. Rain: If not for yourself, then for the people who love you.
Precious: Nobody loves me.
Ms. Rain: People do love you Precious.
Precious: Please don’t lie to me Ms. Rain. Love ain’t done nothing for me. Love
beat me, raped me, called me an animal, make me feel worthless. Make me sick.
Ms. Rain: That wasn’t love Precious. Your baby loves you. I love you (Daniels
2009).
The scene mentioned above is incredibly delicate because Ms. Rain is the first and only
individual to tell Precious that she loves her genuinely. After this point in the film, we see
a significant shift in Precious’s behaviors and thoughts. Rather than thinking and feeling
that she is worthless and unloved, Precious feels that she has a purpose in life. Through a
self-awakening prompted by the love and support of Ms. Rain, Precious finally sees
herself as something other than “ugly, black grease” – as she calls herself early on in the
film; she begins to see herself as a mother loved by her teachers, peers, and most
importantly, her children – Abdul and Mongo. As Precious’s abuse subsides and her
literacy improves, she learns to accept love as a form of genuine care rather than
violence, thus allowing her to become more associated with reality rather than fantasy,
which in turn, helps her to gain autonomy. As such, she regains her agency, or perhaps
achieves agency for the first time.
Feeling a sense of empowerment where there was none before, Precious agrees to
have a sit-down meeting with Ms. Weiss (Precious’s new, sympathetic caseworker) and
Mary to discuss her abuse. This scene is one of only a few in the film that Mary
dominates, as she opens up, for the first time, in an emotional narrative of how Precious’s
abuse began. Every other scene throughout the film, up to this point, has shown Mary as
powerful and dominating. However, in this scene, she is weak – not because she is
remorseful, but because she fears a life without Precious. Mary also fears a life without
welfare, which is why she brings Mongo to the meeting. This scene also further depicts
the strength and autonomy that Precious has attained throughout the film. Precious
remains stoic as she watches Mary fall apart, fumbling to fabricate a logical argument for
her and Carl’s sustained violence against her. After Mary fails to persuade either Precious
or Ms. Weiss to sympathize with her behavior, Precious gives a kind farewell to Mrs.
Weiss, picks up Mongo, and says to Mary, “You ain’t gon see me no more.” Then
Precious walks out of the office with Abdul in one arm and Mongo in the other. Despite
Mary’s protests, she continues walking, hopeful for her future as a loving and supportive
mother.
Like Precious, halfway into Room (2015), Ma, too, obtains freedom from her
abuser and begins a significant transformation. Ma’s freedom, however, comes with
publicity, whereas Precious’s is essentially invisible to the broader society. In the
climactic mid-section of the film, Ma creates a decisive escape plan. The plan comes to
her after Old Nick tells her that he has been laid off. Ma knows that Old Nick will not let
them survive if his house gets repossessed, and he certainly will not simply allow them to
go free, so her survival instincts heighten demonstrably. Ma begins to prepare Jack for
what she calls their ‘great escape.’ However, in explaining this plan to Jack, Ma is forced
to introduce him to the reality of the outside world by telling him the truth about her and
her abduction and their existence in Room. Jack is reluctant to believe Ma and combats
her new stories about Room because he knows only the reality that Ma has constructed up
to this point. However, through his love for Ma and her wise urging and manipulation of
Jack, the plan goes forth and, against all odds, succeeds. This section of the film ends
with Ma running out of the shed and into Jack’s arms, declaring that they will never
return to Room. Their release from Room powerfully evokes a release from prison,
mirrored thematically in the intertextual allusions to the story of The Great Escape.
Like carceral citizens
12
released from a penal institution, the two must adjust to
life in the outside world after living in imprisonment for several years. Ma is
unequivocally elated to have escaped from Old Nick, but her transition from elongated
captivity to freedom is also traumatic. She explains to Jack that she is learning how to be
herself again while still trying to be the best mother to him, a boy who has never been
outside. Ma must also adjust to the intense public scrutiny that she faces as a 7-year
victim of abduction, captivity, and rape. Although she is free from her confinement, the
media exploits her enslavement for their own entertainment, just like pornography
generally exploits the bodies of women for the intrigue of the male gaze (Sassatelli 2011).
Local and national media outlets spread Ma’s story of abduction and captivity worldwide,
but her inner turmoil and mental punishment within the domestic remain unknown to the
world. Both the public and private violence she is subjected to in her prison of Room and
domestic dimensions after her escape draw parallels to one another, in which they are
12
Carceral citizenship is a form of citizenship experienced by those with a criminal
record (Miller and Stuart 2017). The term is often used to denote the ostracism faced by
those labeled as ‘criminals’ upon their re-entry into society after being released from
prison as well as their continual stigma from other social activities, roles, goods, and
rights.
both based on the hidden institutionalized discipline against women. Again, her inner
turmoil is
invisible to the public, similar to how sexual abuse and rape faced by women within the
prison industrial complex remains hidden from public eye (Whatley and Hardin 2002).
Upon their return home, after receiving various tests at the hospital, Ma not only
has to gather her own sanity and rebuild trust with the world, but she still must keep Jack
safe – which is challenging because he has never been exposed to the outside world.
Although the two are ‘free,’ Ma does not feel free, and Jack no longer feels secure.
Throughout this portion of the film, we see Ma grow less patient with Jack, more
argumentative with her parents, and even more depressed than she appeared while in
captivity. While freedom was long anticipated by Ma, it is not as thoroughly fulfilling as
she might have hoped. In the film's reality, she is working to readjust to life outside of
captivity. When Ma's lawyer first mentions the tremendous attraction of various
television networks and explains that she should consider writing a book in the future, Ma
becomes contentious. Despite her opposition, the need for financial security outweighs
her hesitations, and she finally agrees to do a sit-down interview with a television host to
talk about her captivity. It is in this interview that all the feelings of hopelessness that
engulf
Ma’s thoughts each day come to a peak.
In the beginning of the interview the hostess of the show appears sincere and
genuinely curious about Ma’s story, addressing her as an “amazing, inspiring,
courageous, and beautiful… beacon of hope.” However, it quickly turns into and
immensely traumatic event for Ma – as it not only forces her to relive the traumatic
experiences through talk but puts her in a vulnerable and judged position. During this
interview, we see how the ideological expectations of femininity construct these
circumstances and the narratives they produce. As the interview goes on, the hostess
begins to make Ma uncomfortable. She begins by inquiring about Jack, asking Ma if he is
“normal, high-functioning, and happy,” and then she specifically asks Ma about Old
Nick:
Hostess: When he’s older will you talk to him about his father?
Ma: Jack’s not his.
Hostess: I beg your pardon, are you –
Ma (overlapping): A father's a man who loves his kid.
Hostess: So true, in a very real sense, but the genetic relationship –
Ma (overlapping): That's not a relationship. Jack's nobody's but mine
(Abrahamson 2015).
With this question and essentially all that follow, we begin to see the constructed persona
of the hostess. She employs a soft-spoken voice when speaking, emphasizing the
inconsistency with which she acts. Thus, the malleability of the hostess’s persona appears
inauthentic. The hostess has already written the script, and it is up to Ma to adhere to it.
However, as the interview goes on, the hostess’s ulterior motive becomes more apparent,
as witnessed in the following interaction:
Hostess: Did it ever occur to you to ask your captor to take Jack away?
Ma: Away?
Hostess: To leave him outside a hospital, say, so he'd be found.
Ma: Why would I -
Hostess (overlapping): So, Jack could be free. The ultimate sacrifice, of course,
but for him to have a normal childhood...
Ma: He had me.
The hostess’s suggestions about fatherhood and about Ma not having done all she
could for her son reflect the social values and beliefs that society holds towards women
and especially female victims. Domestic and sexual violence are topics that we learn or
hear about daily; however, there remains a tremendous social stigma around these issues
that often causes the trauma of victimization to be even worse. We see this stigma
affecting Ma in a crucial way throughout this interview. Not only is she a victim who has
endured copious amounts of violence and trauma at the hands of her captor, but now she
is expected share her child with him, simply because he is Jack’s biological father. Rather
than seeing Ma as an ideal victim, or even a victim more generally, the hostess perceives
her as a woman that failed to modify her behavior accordingly in a potentially violent
situation and thus deems her culpable for her own vulnerability. In posing the questions
mentioned above, the hostess reinforces the patriarchal status quo and labels Ma
essentially as undeserving of sympathy (i.e., a non-deal victim).
Ma is expected to recount her story, regardless of how difficult it may be because
the public demands a narrative. However, it is not Ma’s ‘true story’ specifically that the
media wants, but the story of an inspiring and triumphant mother. Ma is expected to
recapitulate the narratives that make her, in the perspective of the hostess,
“extraordinary.” An uncomfortable voyeurism characterizes these interactions, which is
made visible by Ma’s resistance to the hostess. The blatant fixation that the hostess has on
crafting—and thereby controlling—Ma’s story uncovers the tensions of Ma’s public
scrutiny. Unlike Precious, Ma’s release and subsequent retelling of her time in such a
coercive and violent space does not offer her solace but is rather quite traumatizing.
Contemporary psychologists often refer to this phenomenon as retraumatization.
13
This
interview and tell-all story is traumatic rather than empowering for Ma, because she feels
as if she is being blamed
14
for making bad choices as a mother. Ma concludes this
interview feeling defeated and subsequently tries to commit suicide the following night.
While it is seemingly paradoxical that one should want to die after such an escape, a
significant facet of trauma is that “for those who undergo [it], it is not only the moment of
the event, but of the passing out of it that is traumatic; that survival itself, in other words,
can be a crisis” (Caruth 1995:9).
Jack finds Ma laying on the bathroom floor and begins to scream. Ma’s mother
rushes her to the hospital and luckily Ma survives. The remainder of the film, up until its
final moments, Ma remains off screen and Jack’s narrative takes center. While Ma
remains at the hospital after her attempted suicide Jack remains at home with his
13
A traumatic event is an experience that causes severe physical and psychological stress
responses. Examples of traumatic events may include “loss, violence, physical and
psychological abuse, serious physical injuries, exposure to war, exposure to natural
disasters, and torture” (Duckworth and Follette 2011:2). Further, retraumatization can be
defined as “traumatic stress reactions, responses, and symptoms that occur consequent to
multiple exposures to traumatic events that are physical, psychological, or both in nature”
(Duckworth and Follette 2011:2).
14
Whether intended or not, the hostess’ examinations of Ma’s behavior “can be equated
with assigning the victim with responsibility for the trauma, something that can
exacerbate the trauma of the event by magnifying stigma and shame” (Duckworth and
Follette 2011:10).
grandmother (Ma’s mother – Nancy) and her partner, Leo. It is in this time with Nancy
and Leo that we see Jack flourish; however, in the beginning he is very upset with Ma for
leaving him behind. Later, though, he decides to cut off his hair – which he refers to as
his ‘strong’ – for the first time in his life and send it to Ma in this hospital to give her
strength. Once Ma receives Jack’s ‘strong’ she calls and thanks him graciously, pleading
with him to forgive her, and promising that she will never leave him again. It is clear to
the spectator now, that Ma sees her value to Jack as a mother and again realizes that she
must remain alive for Jack’s sake and remembers also that Jack is her reason to live. It is
in this moment that Ma truly regains her agency.
In the final scene of the film, which is one of the most powerful, Ma returns home
from the hospital and Jack asks her if they can return to Room to say goodbye. Despite
feeling nervous, Ma agrees to return to Room accompanied by a police officer. Upon their
arrival to the garden shed where they once spent their every waking moment, Ma watches
Jack walk around Room and as she stands in the open doorway looking in on the now
empty, yet seemingly smaller space – Room’s contents had been cleared for evidence, yet
it still appeared smaller to Jack. He says to Ma that “it can’t really be Room if Door’s
open.” She asks if he would like her to close the door and Jack shakes his head.
In this moment Jack’s farewell to Room signifies not only his, but also Ma’s ultimate
letting go of the transformed reality that existed in Room, as Ma finally achieves a true
sense of autonomy and thus liberation from her captor.
CHAPTER FIVE – FIGHTING VIOLENCE WITH DISCURSIVE
CONFRONTATION: THREE BILLBOARDS OUTSIDE EBBING, MISSOURI
(2017) & PROMISING YOUNG WOMAN (2020)
Three Billboards Outside Ebbing, Missouri (2017) and Promising Young Woman
(2020) work well together in a side-by-side presentation because they both portray
themes of sexual violence, grief, self-sustaining rage, retribution, and discursive
confrontation. The female protagonists in these two films, Mildred and Cassie, are unlike
those previously discussed in that they are not the ‘direct’ victim of the primary act of
violence that constitutes the film’s narrative arc. Put differently, Mildred and Cassie,
unlike Ma and Precious, experience violence second-hand. They are aggrieved by the
rape and murder of their loved ones. In both films, their extreme grief quickly turns into
rage, which prompts both Mildred and Cassie to take on the role of female avengers of
both individual male and state violence against women. In further variation from the
previously discussed female protagonists who resist violence through a transformation of
reality, Mildred and Cassie discursively confront the institutionalized systems of male
power that have kept their loved ones’ assailants free from punishment for so long. Their
main actions are speech actions.
While both female protagonists have similar experiences with second-hand
violence, and the grief that follows, they are quite visually distinct from one another.
Mildred’s character does not comply with social standards of gender or beauty, not in an
act of defiance per say, as I will argue that her portrayal is one that both suits the
narrative, and simultaneously breaks gender norms. Cassie, on the other hand, is
extremely feminine often seen wearing various shades of pink with consistently
manicured nails and styled hair. These differences in the physical appearance of Mildred
and Cassie are important to note because they impact the ways in which each woman is
able to effectively resist violence through discursive confrontation.
From Grief to Rage
The construction(s) of resistance in these two films display how victims, violence,
and culpability are shaped within them. In these films, resistance is more of a continual
process rather than a single act. Although both Mildred and Cassie wish to avenge a loved
one lost to male violence, their discursive confrontations are distinct in variation.
Several months after the brutal rape and murder of her daughter, Angela16 – who
is only shown in a flashback cameo in one scene of the film – Mildred is enraged that the
16 The characters of both Angela – Mildred’s daughter who was raped and murdered –
and Nina – Cassie’s childhood best friend who was gang-raped and subsequently
committed suicide – actively subscribe to the ‘woman in the refrigerator’ trope (Griffin
2015), meaning that their character exists as victims of brutalization merely to motivate
the protagonist’s actions. Griffin (2015) notes that “the verb ‘to fridge’ refers to the
concept of killing off a female character solely for the purpose of giving the story’s main
male hero a reason to angst” (126). The trope was first played out in Ron Marz’s (1994)
volume 3, issue 54 of the comic book Green Lantern. This issue featured a story in which
Kyle Rayner, the title hero, finds that his girlfriend has been killed by Major Force (plot
villain) and subsequently stuffed into a refrigerator, thus providing the title hero with
motive to exact vengeance upon the villain (Bricken 2008). As the trope gained
prominence, it shifted from referring to strictly superheroines who were either
disempowered, brutalized, raped, or dismembered and placed in the refrigerator to more
broadly referring to any character who is killed, raped, incapacitated, or disempowered
for the sole purpose of motivating another character’s action. While this trope has
historically generated heated discussions around sexism in the comic-book and film
industries, by writing the protagonist as a woman and by not visually conveying Angela
or Nina’s brutal rape or death scene, some of the gendered implications of this trope are
case remains unsolved. In response to the state and its agents’ failure to obtain justice for
her daughter, Mildred purchases space on three dilapidated billboards on the edge of
town. On these, she posts a message in six-foot black lettering – reading: “Raped while
dying,” “And still no arrests?” “How come, Chief Willoughby?” – reprimanding local
law enforcement, specifically Police Chief Willoughby, for lack of initiative and ongoing
failure to catch her daughter’s assailants. This confrontational act then sets a series of
dramatic events in motion, as Mildred’s rage becomes a resource for expression – one
that sufficiently allows her to discursively confront sexual and institutional violence.
Though not the direct victim of the violence perpetrated upon her daughter,
Mildred is a victim – in the sense that she has endured the indirect violence that led to her
daughter’s death. However, while not willingly accepting the label as victim, Mildred has
also been on the receiving end of male violence. In a handful of scenes in the film it is
either visually or verbally confirmed that Mildred’s ex-husband, an ex-cop, named
Charlie (John Hawkes), was abusive. However, Mildred directly and openly challenges
the label of ‘victim’ by defying the image of an ideal victim17. Rather than acting as a
passive or disempowered victim, Mildred actively resists and openly combats the
violence associated with her daughter’s death.
An article titled “The ‘Ideal Victim’ of International Criminal Law,” written by
Schwöbel-Patel (2018), “situates the construction of victimhood within a context of
diminished in Three Billboards Outside Ebbing, Missouri (2017) and Promising Young
Woman (2020). In doing so, these films avoid voyeuristic titillation of rape victims. 17
An ‘ideal victim’ as defined by Nils (1986) is “a person or category of individuals,
who, when hit by crime, most readily are given the complete and legitimate status of
being a victim” (18).
competition in the global justice sector,” where “…strong and resilient victims of
conflict,” like Mildred – someone who denies this label wholeheartedly – “tend to be
marginalized…” (703–704). As a result of this widespread marginalization and
stigmatization as victim, inflected by other identities, non-ideal victims like Mildred, and
the other female protagonists in the films under study, face significant barriers to
accessing justice. The variety of sources that create and recreate stigma around
victimhood include: the media, the criminal justice system, the healthcare system,
religious institutions, the wider public, and victims themselves (Bowen, Hodsdon,
Swindells, and Blake 2021). However, of these culprits of victimhood stigma creation,
the criminal justice system is arguably one of the most significant, which is borne out in
these two films insofar as agents of criminal justice fail to take address or take seriously
the issue of violence against women (Henry 2014).
Mildred and Cassie do not trust the criminal justice system and, thus, feel they
must take matters into their own hands. Mildred does so by near-literally painting the
town red with rage and discursive confrontation. First with three rage-fueled billboards
and shortly after by drawing actual blood from the local dentist with a medical drill after
he reprimands her for her behavior (i.e., her choice to publicly broadcast the police
station’s lack of effort in her daughter’s case). She explains on the local news network
that the local police force “is too busy goin’ round torturing black folks to be bothered
doing anything about solving actual crime.” With this remark she is referring to Officer
Jason Dixon, who is known locally for his brutality against a young Black teen in town.
Later, Mildred draws the figurative equivalent of blood from the local clergyman when he
pays her a house visit in hopes of bestowing some moral guidance, away from her bold
communications, and instead receives Mildred’s brutal narrative discourse on the
Catholic Church’s sins:
Father Montgomery: I know it’s been hard for you, Mildred, this past year. We
all do. The whole town does. And whatever it is you need; we’ll be there for you.
Always. But the town also knows what kind of a man William Willoughby is. And
the town is dead set against these billboards of yours. Mildred: Took a poll, did
you, Father?
Father Montgomery: If you hadn’t stopped coming to church, Mildred, you’d be
aware of the depth of people’s feelings. I had a dozen people come up to me on
Sunday. So, yes, I took a poll. Everybody is on your side about Angela. No-one’s
on your side about this.
Mildred: You know what I was thinking about, earlier today? I was thinking ‘bout
those street gangs they got in Los Angeles, the Crips, and the Bloods? I was
thinking about that buncha new laws they came up with, in the 80’s I think it was,
to combat those street gangs, those Crips and those Bloods. And, if I remember
rightly, the gist of what those new laws said was, if you join one of these gangs,
and you’re running with ‘em, and down the block from you one night,
unbeknownst to you, your fellow Crips, or your fellow Bloods, shoot up a place,
or stab a guy, well, even though you didn’t know nothing about it, even though you
may’ve just been standing on a street corner minding your own business, those
new laws said you are still culpable. You are still culpable, by the very act of
joining those Crips, or those Bloods, in the first place. Which got me thinking,
Father, that whole type of situation is kind of similar to you Church boys, ain’t it?
You’ve got your colors, you’ve got your clubhouse, you’re, for want of a better
word, a gang. And if you’re upstairs smoking a pipe and reading a bible while one
of your fellow gang members is downstairs fucking an altar boy then, Father, just
like the Crips, and just like the Bloods, you’re culpable. Cos you joined the gang,
man. And I don’t care if you never did shit or never saw shit or never heard shit.
You joined the gang. You’re culpable. And when a person is culpable to altar-boy-
fucking, or any-kind-of-boy-fucking, I know you guys didn’t really narrow it down,
then they kind of forfeit the right to come into my house and say a word about me,
or my life, or my daughter, or my billboards. So, why don’t you just finish your tea
there, Father, and get the fuck out of my kitchen. (McDonagh 2017).
From this excerpt it is clear that social actors – in this case, the clergy, the police,
and a local dentist, all of whom are male – expect women to grieve in specific, passive
ways that reinforce the status quo. Social actors and institutions such as the church, law
enforcement, and the greater community construct ideas about how women and victims in
general should react to violence and injustice. Father Montgomery uses these socially
constructed ideas about acceptable and unacceptable actions of victims to confront
Mildred behavior. While it is unclear what cultural standards Mildred abided by prior to
Angela’s death, we can see in this excerpt that she uses techniques of neutralization –
“justifications for deviant action that mitigate the apparent immorality of the action or the
doer of the action” (Presser 2004:88) – as she states that a tolerance of violence is
violence itself, and thus justifies her behavior.
Like Mildred, Cassie also feels that to tolerate violence is to be complicit, and
thus similarly undertakes an active and creative quest for vengeance. Rather than
inflicting physical pain on the individuals that had a hand in Nina’s
15
brutal rape and
subsequent suicide or escaping into a fantasy that allows her to escape this brutal reality,
Cassie confronts Nina’s assailants and the institutionalized system of male power that has
kept them free from harm. As the film slowly progresses, and the plot unfolds, we learn
15
Nina is Cassie’s childhood best friend who was brutally raped by a male classmate
while drunk and unconscious and after being stigmatized and criminalized for reporting
the heinous and violent crime against her, it is inferred that she subsequently committed
suicide.
more about Cassie’s motives. She was previously a medical school student, but she
dropped out after Nina was gang-raped by classmates at a party. Nina’s mental health
deteriorated as her authority figures and peers blamed her and failed to seek justice for
her harm, ultimately leading to her implied death by suicide. Several years later, Cassie
remains consumed with grief and remorse, with only the hope of avenging Nina’s death
to maintain her sanity. A tremendous and recurring theme throughout the film is the
delusion of men. Most of them express some variation on the phrase “I am a nice guy”
when trying to justify their misogynistic behavior.
Rather than overtly harming the aggressive men and their objects like female
protagonists in the typical rape-revenge film (Tanner 1994), Cassie instead has a hobby,
or rather strategic routine, that allows her to overpower and subjugate harmful men for
their violent actions. Cassie goes to bars late at night, pretending to be extremely drunk,
hoping that some ‘nice guy’ will try and help get her sluggish body home. When men
take her back to their homes—under the pretense of helping her—she asks to go back to
her house, rejects their advances, and then when they persist and try to assault her, she
snaps out of her pretend drunken stupor and verbally confronts the men about their
behavior. Afterward, she goes home, tallies each conquest in a hidden diary she keeps
under her childhood bed, and the following day begins the process anew. Her strange,
stalled existence and brazen behavior stem from the loss of her best friend, Nina. She
only confronts them verbally and then leaves feeling empowered, not only for herself but
also for Nina – even though, like Mildred with Angela, Cassie has no real idea what Nina
might have wanted.
The Non-Conforming Feminist and the Feminine Avenger
Following mainstream American culture, mainstream American films typically
assign attributes including “emotional expression, purity, style, virtue, and motherhood”
to women in film, portraying them as lacking conventional masculine traits such as
cleverness, strength, and resilience, thus constructing a dependency on men (Wellman,
Meitl, and Kinkade 2021:661). However, Mildred’s character constructs a challenging yet
charismatic image of a non-conforming yet powerful adult woman – a kind rarely seen in
Hollywood films. Frequently, empowered female protagonists in popular film are either
seen as problematic and in need of correction (Sutherland 2013) or as oversexualized
objects (Itzin, Taket, and Barter-Godfrey 2010:102). McDonagh (2017) avoids the trend
of over-sexualization by characterizing Mildred as a fierce, nonconforming woman –
meaning that while she is visibly a woman who openly identifies as a woman and a
mother, she is not the conforming hetero, American woman. Mildred’s character is
characterizable as in introverted outcast, often seen in a Rosie the Riveter
16
inspired set of
16
Rosie the Riveter is a symbolic cultural icon portraying the women who worked in
factories and shipyards throughout WWII. These women sometimes accepted entirely
new positions, replacing the male workers who had joined or were drafted into the
military. Like the Uncle Sam posters that have been circulated throughout history to
recruit men to enlist in the military, the Rosie the Riveter posters were circulated
throughout WWII, to help recruit women into the workforce. In the poster, Rosie appears
wearing a red and white polka dot bandana and a blue-collar uniform with the sleeves
rolled up – similar to the way we see Mildred dressed throughout the entire film.
overalls and a bandana. The status of mother seems to be the only feminine attribute that
she claims. Yet, while not feminine, that doesn’t necessarily denote that she is masculine,
per se, but rather more aggressive and careless as a result of the violence she has endured.
Mildred shifts between two modes of being: (1) a mother who has finally had
enough and (2) a hardcore avenger who is willing to break any law in the pursuit to locate
and punish her daughter’s assailants. Perhaps due to over-exposure to male perpetrated
violence throughout her life course, Mildred has grown resilient to her own suffering at
the hands of men and thus empowers herself by further straying from conformity and, in
turn, overtly responding to male violence with discursive confrontation. As Mildred’s
exhusband Charlie tells her, after a rage-filled toxically masculine altercation in one scene
of the film, “All this anger, man, it only begets greater anger.” However, Mildred remains
unsympathetic and disdainful of his and many others’ objections to her lifestyle and
actions. She finds that discursively confronting those responsible for Angela’s case and
death helps her to restore both her and her deceased daughter’s agency, thus allowing
Mildred to see her non-conforming actions as justifiable – even if violent and ‘illegal.’
In specifically focusing on how Mildred engages in gender performance – or the
‘doing’ of gender – we can better understand both the role of individual agency (or
choices) in behavior and the social (or structural) restrictions that confine her agency in
the production of violence (Miller 2008). Further, in Mildred’s case, rage and violence act
as a “powerful resource for expression,” as it liberates her from “constricting cultural
stereotypes,” even if it ultimately destroys her life (Rafter and Brown 2011:157).
Cassie, while just as underlyingly fierce as Mildred, often takes on the role of
damsel in distress
17
when she lures men in because she, unlike the fierce Mildred, is
presented as an embodiment of “seemingly idealized femininity,” conforming to a
gendered display of the “white, middle-class, heterosexual, and cosmopolitan” American
woman (Marso 2016:879). Cassie is almost always shown sporting various shades of
pink, with manicured nails, styled hair, and a face painted with beautiful portions of
makeup. In a metaphorical sense, the damsel in distress can manifest cultural anxieties
regarding gender, sexuality, and nationality. As such, the violation of the damsel
“becomes symbolic of violating heteronormative values” and the laws of the patriarchal
status quo (Fredricksson 2021:61). Further, the way in which Cassie uses her femininity
as a weapon (i.e., playing the, albeit drunk, damsel in distress) to set traps, catch, and
subsequently confront rapists offers a critical illustration of this often-conservative trope.
Fredriksson (2021) states that “in popular culture, the ideal victim often surfaces
as the damsel in distress – however, it also surfaces more implicitly: through its absence,
and in resistance to such portrayals of victims” (60). While Cassie adheres to the
gendered status quo regarding self-presentation, her behaviors are often seen as
unconventional. Cassie’s parents (Jennifer Coolidge and Clancy Brown), her boss – Gail
17
The ideal victim relies on the concurrent construction of “equally ideal villains and
rescuers” (Fredriksson 2021:59). The damsel in distress is similar in that it is also
constructed in submission to, and need of rescue by, patriarchal traditions and forces
(Wester 2012). The damsel in distress and the ideal victim are often portrayed as “fair
(and often fair-skinned),” helpless women attacked by threatening, domineering, and
often unknown men and in need of rescue by brave men (Fredriksson 2021:59).
(Laverne Cox), and even Nina’s mother (Molly Shannon), all express concern for
Cassie’s choices and well-being. Her parents, whom she still lives with, express concern
over many of Cassie’s behaviors. They protest the fact that she still lives with them at age
30, nor do they agree with her choice to drop out of medical school, to stay out all hours
of the night, and to work at a coffee shop when she could go back to school.
Similarly, Gail, Cassie’s boss at the coffeeshop, has some of the same concerns for
Cassie’s ‘unconventional’ life choices and even tries to persuade her to apply for a job
with more mobility. Nevertheless, Cassie maintains that she is happy with her life.
However, none of the people who express concern for Cassie’s lifestyle have any
knowledge about her vengeful yet liberating agenda to achieve retribution in Nina’s
name. Cassie, like Mildred, has become consumed with grief. Instead of reacting to that
grief in a socially acceptable fashion (i.e., appearing or acting as passive a victim), she
becomes a vigilante. Cassie begins to target not only men who attempt to take advantage
of inebriated women but also those directly responsible for Nina’s fate.
However, Cassie’s revenge, like Mildred’s differs from essentially most traditional
cinematic rape-revenge narratives such as Ms. 45, M.F.A, Thelma & Louise, I Spit on
Your Grave, and Girl with the Dragon Tattoo because she does not punish through means
of physical harm or overt violence, but instead with an elaborate scheme of discursive
confrontation through blackmail and deceit – which she feels is more damaging. Cassie is
calm, collected, and comes off as entirely unsuspicious – which renders her even more
dangerous. Cassie holds the power to frighten. The film does not shy away from this fact
or from the fact that some of the decisions she makes are not nice or good. Cassie is
angry, but she is very particular about her acts of vengeance. Rather than continuing to
seek personal revenge against men, Cassie begins to tackle the institutionalized system of
male power that helped aid in Nina’s subjugation and death. Through her revenge against
those responsible, she can reclaim agency for herself and
Nina.
Retribution
The central themes of Three Billboards Outside Ebbing, Missouri (2017) and
Promising Young Woman (2020) – misperception, loss of loved ones, grief, vengeance –
exhibit a clash of cultural values between a small, closed community and the broader
society (Sellin 1938). These films suggest that sex crimes against women are taken less
seriously than other violent crimes. In Three Billboards Outside Ebbing, Missouri (2017),
the latter statement plays out through the community’s ubiquitous approval of the police
chief who failed at his job over a recently bereaved mother whose daughter was brutally
raped and murdered. This fact suggests that the citizens of Ebbing are less offended by
the slaughter of a young woman than they are by the slander of a police chief. This lack
of public outrage or pressure on local police to find the assailant(s) lends support to a
society that accepts crimes against women and crimes against the
Black community as typical facts of life rather than grisly crimes of overt violence.
Throughout the film, Mildred responds creatively and forcefully to violent events,
first with the billboards, then by drilling a hole in a dentist’s thumb. Later, Mildred blows
up the police station and injures Officer Jason Dixon in the process. After that, she allows
a friend to lie to the police about the bombing to establish her alibi and thereafter
humiliates him when he expresses his romantic interest in her. At the end of the film, it
even appears she may well be on her way to kill a man who may or may not be guilty of a
rape having nothing to do with her daughter. However, while all of these actions are
characterizable as deviant, having Mildred’s character set up as the sympathetic victim at
the beginning of the film allows spectators to remain complicit in her criminal activity
and psychologically damaging behavior. All of which leads up to the sublime final line of
the film where Mildred teams up with the now redeemed Jason Dixon to go after a
monstrous man who ‘could’ have played a role in the rape and murder of an unnamed
woman:
Mildred: Dixon?
Dixon: Yep?
Mildred: You sure about this?
Dixon: About killing this guy? Not really. You?
Mildred: Not really. (McDonagh 2017).
This exchange is ambiguous in the sense that the conflict of the film (finding Angela’s
assailant(s)) is still unresolved as the two most disagreeable people in town are following
through with their plan to engage in yet another perversion of justice by taking the law
into their hands. However, this is not what the final line is about. The final line is directed
toward the spectator who must decide whether to lend support to those acting outside the
boundaries of the law (i.e., Mildred or even Dixon) or instead, to lend support to a
southern American society where laws sometimes operate at the expense of justice.
Justice in this film can thus be seen as Dixon’s righteous development, whose
redemption is sealed in the end of the film, when he and Mildred form an alliance. In this
moment, Dixon’s character of a homophobic and racist cop thus transforms into that of a
valorous hero. However, such a moral journey is only budding and is not completely
developed. Dixon’s reprieve has a final goal, tracking down and potentially even killing
another presumed criminal—a righteous redemption that would constitute the final stage
of a moral passage. Mildred, on the other hand, does not receive such moral redemption,
yet she ostensibly helps to capture the spectator’s sympathy with her excessive and
impetuous devotion to her cause and the natural forces that generate her femininity.
On the other hand, while in the beginning of Promising Young Woman (2020)21
Cassie seeks vengeance for Nina by discursively confronting ‘could be’ rapists that she
meets at bars, after running into an old classmate from med school – Ryan Cooper – her
methodical approach drastically shifts. Her new course of action is to take down every
person who played a role in Nina’s rape and subsequent suicide. Cassie begins with
Madison McPhee, an old classmate of her and Nina. In this scene we see Cassie sitting at
a posh restaurant pouring ginger ale into a champagne glass while she waits on Madison
to arrive. Cassie pre-orders a glass of champagne for Madison before she arrives in hopes
to get Madison drunk and confront her. Upon her arrival, Madison assumes that Cassie is
also drinking champagne and perceives the meeting as quite casual. Sweet on the surface
21 Promising Young Woman (2020) turns vengeance into a style and trauma into
discussion. The film’s female protagonist, Cassie, a medical school dropout still living
with her concerned parents, is a daily barista and a nightly huntress. Her prey has two
legs, but a hollow mind: men who equate a woman’s inebriation with consent. This debut
feature by director Emerald Fennell, in some ways, resonates with that of David Slade’s
film Hard Candy (2005) portraying a young woman verbally confronting and enacting
some sort of punishment on unsuspecting and potentially violent men. While the female
protagonist in Hard Candy (2005), Hayley, is a minor who seeks out violent revenge that
leads to murder and Cassie an adult who seeks out retributive justice at the expense of her
own life, both films actively portray women making sense of justice in a society where it
is intensely under attack. With that, one could also compare Promising Young Woman
(2020) to cult classics like I Spit on Your Grave (1978) and Ms. 45 (1985). However, a
primary and crucial difference between Fennell’s films and the others I have mentioned is
that Cassie, does not seek vengeance and retribution through means of physical violence,
but rather focuses on making things right by forcing the state to take Nina’s and now her
own death seriously. Further, Promising Young Woman (2020) in contention with the
aforementioned films, contests the typical rape-revenge filmic narrative that portrays
women who make things right with hard-core, responsive violence and instead offers a
narrative of a calm and calculated woman willing to risk it all for an ounce of ‘justice.’
but nasty at heart, Madison trades ‘compliments’ with Cassie. As Madison gets more and
more inebriated, Cassie brings up her reason for dropping out (i.e., Nina’s rape):
Cassie: If a friend ... told you that they thought something bad had happened to
them the night before...What would you say?
Madison: If you sleep around and then say something bad happened – it’s crying
wolf...If you get that drunk thing happen... Don’t get blackout hammered every
night and then expect people to be on your side when you have sex with someone
you didn’t want to!
Cassie: That’s a shame ... For your sake. I really was hoping you’d feel differently
by now. (Fennel 2020).
As Cassie stands to leave the incapacitated Madison, she hands is to Tony – an unknown
character who seemingly works for Cassie that had been sitting at the restaurant’s bar
throughout her meeting with Madison – a room key and an envelope and tells her where
to take Madison. At this point, the spectator is unaware of Cassie’s intentions, but it can
be inferred that she has hired this man, Tony, to take the inebriated Madison to a hotel
room. The reasoning for this remains unknown for some while, however, in this moment
it is not far-fetched to assume that Cassie has set Madison up to be assaulted, like Nina
had been. As Madison calls her repeatedly the following day, leaving several voicemails
stating that she “woke up in a hotel room and thinks something might have happened.”
Cassie marks the name Madison out of her notebook and moves on to Walker.
Elizabeth Walker – is the collegiate Dean at Forrest University, where Nina and
Cassie previously attended medical school. Cassie arranges a meeting with Dean Walker
under the guise of hoping to ‘continue her degree.’ Dean Walker is a seemingly kind,
clever, and reasonable person who appears well-dressed and has a patient warmth like a
psychiatrist. However, when she enquires about Cassie’s desire to return to the program,
she is astonished by Cassie’s response. When Cassie explains that her reason for
returning stemmed from the reason she left – Nina’s rape – Dean Walker claims that she
doesn’t remember the incident even though she was the administrator who received a
report. Dean Walker explains:
Dean Walker: I understand it must be very hard. But if Nina was drinking, if she
couldn’t remember fully, it’s terribly complicated.
Cassie: So, she shouldn’t have been drunk?
Dean Walker: I don’t mean that. I just mean that it isn’t always a good idea to go
back to a dorm room full of boys after a party. It gives them the wrong idea...We
do advise against it. We try to warn girls to be more careful. To teach them about
self- respect.
Cassie: So, it was her fault? For not respecting herself? Sorry! I don’t mean to
sound critical, Dean Walker. I just want to be clear. Dean Walker: None of us
wants to admit when we’ve made ourselves vulnerable.
And sometimes these kinds of mistakes are very damaging. It’s much more
common than you’d know. Cassie: I know how common it is.
Dean Walker: Of course, it’s...regrettable…What would you have me do? Ruin a
young man’s life every time an accusation is made? Have them expelled? That
wouldn’t be fair. Accusations like this, they ruin lives. Cassie: So, you’re happy to
take the boy’s word for it?
Dean Walker: I have to give them the benefit of the doubt, yes…I wish I could do
more. Is your friend, ok?
Cassie: No. She’s not. But Al Monroe is, you’ll be glad to know he’s doing really
well. He’s getting married.
After this exchange, as she did with Madison, Cassie leaves Dean Walker in a perplexing
circumstance. Cassie convinces Dean Walker that before their meeting she picked up
Dean Walker’s daughter, took her to the dorm where Nina was raped, and left her with the
boys that live in that dorm now. However, we find out later that in neither situation did
Cassie physically harm Madison, Dean Walker, or Dean Walker’s innocent teen daughter.
Cassie leaves this meeting feeling enraged, gets into an altercation with some
random passerby on the street who called her an unsavory word, and then returns home to
find that she had forgotten a date with Ryan – the old classmate whose reunion sparked
her transition in vengeance methods. She lies to Ryan to refrain from having to continue
through with the date by explaining that she worked late and asks for a rain check. Ryan
agrees and leaves. Cassie then immediately retreats back to her old methods, dresses in a
sequin dress, does her makeup, and goes on the hunt for another rapist. However, this
time while out – pretending to be drunk – she runs into Ryan who is disgusted with her
behavior and the fact that she blew him off but ended up at a nightclub anyway. This
encounter with Ryan causes Cassie to reflect on her behavior. However, in a final attempt
to move forward Cassie goes to speak with Jordan Green, another name on her list – Al
Monroe’s lawyer. She has to meet him at his home because the receptionist at his home
says he is out of the office indefinitely. Unlike Madison and Dean Walker, Jordan
remembers Nina’s case specifically because it haunts him. He feels remorse over his role
in Nina’s fate (i.e., harassing her to drop the case against his client so that he and others at
his firm would receive bonuses). He tells Cassie that he can’t sleep at night and would do
anything to take back his actions. While still holding feelings of scorn, Cassie forgives
Jordan and decides to apologize to Ryan.
She apologizes and the two begin anew, and after a while it seems that Cassie is
finally beginning to let go of the trauma of Nina’s fate. The change in Cassie’s feelings is
signified by her change in appearance as she now appears more modestly, wearing longer
skirts and sweaters over her sleeveless tops. However, after a while Madison McPhee
reaches back out to Cassie and shares with her a video that had been circulated around
their cohort after Nina’s rape. The video, which is never shown on screen, shows Al
Monroe raping Nina while several others stand by and watch, and moments into the
video, we hear Ryan’s drunken voice. Cassie’s expression changes as she listens to
Ryan’s automated voice cheer Al as he rapes Nina’s passed out body. This revelation
marks the climax of the film, as Cassie resumes her path of personalized retributive
justice.
Cassie goes to the hospital where Ryan works and immediately confronts him, she
forces him to watch the video and then threatens to send it to everyone in his address
book unless he gives her the address to Al Monroe’s bachelor party. Ryan, feeling he has
no choice, provides the address to Cassie and she leaves him alone. Cassie, feeling
liberated after taking care of another threatening participant in Nina’s unfortunate fate,
transforms into the most iconic and recognizable figure from this film—a disaffected
stripper in a sexy nurse costume, complete with thigh-high white leather boots, and a pink
and blue wig. As she exists her car, she ritualistically applies ruby red lipstick and then
heads into the bachelor party.
The groomsmen all assume that Cassie is a stripper, which is exactly how she
appears in that moment. Although none of them know who might have called a stripper,
they do not oppose her presence and thus welcome her in with open arms. After pouring
shots of liquor in all their mouths, she takes Al upstairs by himself, ties him to the bed,
and proceeds to confront him about Nina’s rape. Just like Ryan, Al makes the claim that
“we were just kids,” which infuriates Cassie. Cassie opens her nurse’s bag to reveal
medical instruments. Al says, “You’re out of your fucking mind.” Cassie shows him half
of a BFF necklace that says ‘Nina’ and prepares to use a scalpel on him while doing a
long monologue about how special Nina was – until him. Similar to how Lisbeth Slander
carves the word ‘rapist’ into her abuser’s chest in Girl with the Dragon Tattoo, Cassie
plans to carve Nina’s name into his chest – this is the first time that we see Cassie take a
step toward violence rather than discursive confrontation. However, before Cassie can
act, Al breaks free from one handcuff and begins to strangle her. As he strangles Cassie, a
distressed Al states, “You asked for this... this is your fault” – another sure instance of
victim blaming. Cassie fights until she can’t anymore, and Al continues choking her and
then begins to smother her with a pillow until she goes limp. Unable to watch the
violence he is exhibiting over Cassie, Al places a pillow over her head and begins
smothering her while he sobs, until her body eventually goes limp. Cassie is dead, which
is almost unbelievable at first, thinking that the female protagonists, such a strong and
fierce, yet feminine woman could be killed in such a pointless act of selfishness.
However, the film goes on.
The next morning, Al and one of his friends (Joe) burn Cassie’s body, swear her
death to secrecy, and go on as planned with Al’s wedding. The finale montage of the film
then plays out first showing Ryan in his office speaking with police officers about
Cassie’s whereabouts – he lies and says that she is out of town. The camera then flashes
to the scene of Al’s wedding reception where Ryan and Joe speak about women – in this
scene we can see that Ryan is physically uncomfortable and worried about what Cassie
might do. Joe, on the other hand – even though he just witnessed a dead body of a woman
and helped his friend hide and burn the body – appears happy and care-free. As Joe parts
and walks away, Ryan receives a ‘scheduled text’ from Cassie. Just as Ryan goes to open
the text, the camera flashes back to Jordan Green, Al’s old attorney who showed
tremendous remorse for the role he played in Nina’s fate, as he opens a package mailed to
his home by Cassie. In the package he finds the phone that holds the video of Nina’s rape
and a letter reading: “Dear Jordan, on July 23, I will be going to Alexander Monroe’s
bachelor party – cabin 57, Vernington Woods. In the event of my disappearance, please
deliver this letter and package to the police.” He frowns as he reads, becoming
increasingly troubled as he picks up his phone, and dials.
The camera then makes its way back to Ryan who is now reading the scheduled
text from Cassie: “You didn’t think this was the end did you?” As Ryan looks up from his
phone, he begins to hear police sirens making their way down the drive. At the same time,
Al – who has just been married to a beautiful bride – and Joe, his accomplice also notices
the police sirens and begin to panic. Ryan looks back at his phone as another scheduled
message from Cassie appears: “It is now. Enjoy the wedding!” Ryan looks up to see
police apprehending Al as the final text from Cassie appears: “Love, Cassie & Nina ;).”
In the end, Nina’s assailant is caught and is seemingly on his way to be punished, not
only for the rape of Nina, but the murder of Cassie as well. Similar to Three
Billboards Outside Ebbing, Missouri’s (2017) Jason Dixon – a once harsh and possibly
violent state agent – Jordan Green is redeemed by cooperating with the female
protagonist to carry out her final act of retribution as resistance.
CHAPTER SIX – CONCLUSIONS AND RECOMMENDATIONS
My overarching purpose was to discern narrative representations of victimization
and gender positions, and what agents do with these. Toward that end, my thesis focused
on four US-based films to observe variation in the female protagonists’ agency in the face
of victimization: Precious (2009), Room (2015), Three Billboards Outside Ebbing,
Missouri (2017), and Promising Young Woman (2020).
The negotiation of violence against women and other feminized subjects is
usually the province of men or the masculine state and tends to be retributive, and
flagrantly violent. Similarly, traditional crime film narratives have also predominantly
been the province of men and tend to link femininity with victimhood. In contrast, these
four films cast women as the main protagonists and furthermore characterize them as
active and powerful in their efforts to negotiate violence and make justice meaningful in
the context of gender performativity. Their activity and indeed their power take on
dimensions, actively undoing gender norms, transforming realities, and restoring agency.
Undoing Gender
By focusing on how these female protagonists engaged in gender performance –
or the ‘doing’ of gender, I was able to better understand both the role of individual agency
(or choices) in behavior and the social (or structural) restrictions that confine a woman’s
agency in the face of violence. That said, I found that discursive confrontation, like
violence, may be a powerful resource “for expression, liberating women from
constricting cultural stereotypes,” even if it ultimately destroys their lives (Rafter and
Brown 2011:157). For example, in both Three Billboards Outside Ebbing, Missouri
(2017) and Promising Young Woman (2020) the female protagonists, who are not direct
victims of the violent act that features in each of the films’ narrative arcs, discursively
confront not only the perpetrators of violence, but also those who ignore such violence or
treat it as insignificant. Both women find comfort in these confrontations, not only for
themselves but also for the loved ones they lost to violence, and neither of these women
care if this discursive confrontation destroys their lives or leads to their own demise.
The women in these two films are not ‘ideal victims’ because they do not conform
to the status quo, meaning they do not act as passive and pure in the face of violence, and
are thus deemed undeserving of sympathy. They see themselves instead as survivors of
violence. By viewing themselves as survivors of violence rather than victims, these
women feel more empowered in their discursive confrontations and less fearful of further
violence. However, although both women identify as and act like survivors rather than
victims and both actively confront violence producers and violence ignorers, they
perform gender quite differently.
Mildred, the fierce, non-feminine, non-conforming, unsympathetic woman is less
concerned with the ways in which she is viewed by the community – a small town who
contests her discursive events, engendering resentment, and the pursuit of retribution. She
is unstoppable, yet also bitter, enraged, unyielding, and most of all obsessed. Mildred is
persistent in her discursive attacks on the police as well as all others who she sees as
culpable for violence. Like most Western film heroes, Mildred dominates the screen with
her jaw clenched, her voice sharp, and her eyes piercing. Her rage knows no bounds.
Mildred cannot be cajoled or calmed and has renounced all the civility and friendliness
she may have displayed prior to Angela’s rape and murder. Like Cassie, Mildred also
condemns herself along with the people she accuses.
Cassie, while more accountably ‘feminine’ than Mildred, is just as angry;
however, Cassie appears much more calm, collected, and strategic in her resistance than
Mildred. Like Mildred with her ferocity, Cassie’s femininity is used as weapon in her
confrontations. Although Mildred uses her non-conforming and aggressive behavior to
ward off further violence and combat existing violence, Cassie uses her femininity to do
the same by drawing in unsuspecting, yet violent men and confronting them for their
violent actions and behaviors. Cassie’s femininity can be weaponized because unlike
Mildred, whose fierceness can be spotted from a mile away, Cassie appears more
victimizable and thus less of a threat to violent men and women. Therefore, at the end of
the film, Cassie is able to confront Al Monroe, Nina’s rapist, without any question of her
presence at his bachelor party. Her sexualized body in these scenes of empowered
discursive confrontation help to elucidate a powerful dimension of femininity that
popular films often miss – one where womanhood and feminine attributes are strengths
rather than weaknesses.
Contemporary American films that feature violence, and specifically women who
resist violence, are often contradictory in terms of gender definitions. Put differently,
when these films present women, their resistance is seen as problematic – something to
be explained, overcome, or destroyed. A female protagonist’s powerful and active
resistance is not seen as “a solution, as it is for men in film, but rather a flaw that must be
rectified” (Sutherland 2013:149). This inconsistency reveals itself in terms of filmic form
and content. For example, filmmakers rarely choose to depict resistant or violent woman
as completely masculine. In this way, they refer to masculine traditions without
unequivocally adopting them. These female protagonists are ‘undoing gender’ by acting
in social interactions in ways that ‘reduce’ rather than ‘reproduce’ gender difference.
(Deutsch 2007:122).
From Victim to Active Agent
In paying close attention to how female protagonists in these films respond to
violence, I found that although they all seek to regain some form of “interpersonal
harmony” (Sullivan and Tifft 2005:4), this does not mean that, in effect, they take on a
restorative approach to justice – one where the primary focus is on “the reparation of
harm, rather than punishing the offender” (McGlynn, Westmerland, and Godden
2012:217). Instead, these women take up individualized efforts to make justice
meaningful in their situation.
Mildred and Cassie are social avengers who reclaim their agency by seeking
punishment for their loved one’s assailants. After suffering from the loss of her daughter
and the failure of the state to enact justice, Mildred, a middle-aged Missourian mother,
openly and recklessly confront those she deems responsible for her daughter’s fate. After
losing her friend to rape and subsequent suicide, Cassie, a calculated, 30-year-old medical
school dropout, finds empowerment through challenging institutionalized systems of
male power by discursively confronting male rapists and all the actors who keep them out
of harm’s way. Further, although Three Billboards Outside Ebbing, Missouri (2017) and
Promising Young Woman (2020) cast active and powerful women as protagonists, they re-
emphasize the carceral sphere and point toward contested territory by presenting
narratives of retribution and vengeance that work in collaboration with the state. While
each of the female protagonists in the sample wishes to right the wrongs done to them by
holding those responsible for their harm accountable, Precious and Ma do not actively
pursue retributive or confrontational means to reclaim their agency in the face of
violence. Instead, these two women find it easier to reconstruct their realities to avoid
further trauma and reclaim their agency by gaining autonomy from their abusers and
becoming active nurturers and caregivers to their children.
In the case of Precious (2009) and Room (2015), the female protagonists, direct
victims of sexual and domestic violence, first respond with apparent compliance. Though
seeming to relent, however, each woman constructs an alternative reality in which love
exists, and abuse does not. In Precious (2009), the transformed reality is a means of
disassociating from abuse. In contrast, the transformed reality in Room (2015) has created
some amount of safety from further abuse. While both women first escape violence
through a transformation of reality, once freed from their abusers, each woman avoids
further violence by asserting their autonomy and thereafter achieving agency.
While seemingly compliant, though in opposition, to the violence they endure,
these women find solace in restructuring their violent existence into a fantastical reality
where themselves and their children are loved and out of harm’s way. However, after
being given hope through the support of a person or persons who love and support them,
feeling more empowered than ever before, these women can speak out about their abuse
and overcome their previously violent existence. In doing so, these women reclaim their
agency, making life for the first time in a long time peaceful and worth living.
Additional Remarks
My analysis of these four films has shown that the female protagonists are trying
to maneuver in a context of justice in a state that does nothing for victims. Each of these
women take individualized efforts to make justice meaningful in a context where justice
is intensively under attack. These films thus offer localized reactions to much larger
changes that are happening several times on several levels. In a sense, these are four case
studies of how women who resist violence in some form, make efforts to essentially
resituate themselves within their particular contexts in a manner necessary for them to not
remain victims forever.
The insights I have offered in this thesis can apply to other contemporary films
because the social aspect of violence against women in film—the idea that the
reclamation of agency can bring a certain amount of personalized justice—is a crucial
element of this filmic cycle. These insights also illuminate narratives about violence in
the real world: violence can take various shapes and can arise from numerous avenues
ranging from strangers to peers and even parents or guardians. The different responses
that the female protagonists in the films took show that there is no correct way for a
victim to feel after experiencing violence. None of the female protagonists heavily rely
on the police after enduring violence echoes the lived experiences of many female
victims of violence off-screen; the fact that they cannot trust the police leads them to take
their own personal actions and resistance. I have also shown differentiating kinds of
female protagonists within these filmic narratives of violence. In these films, women’s
agency is foreground conveying variation in women’s agency in the face of victimization.
These contemporary narratives encompass diverse elements and are spread across many
genres, making these crime films a universal phenomenon worthy of analysis due to the
persistence of violence, rape culture, and the historical changes to social and legal
consequences for violence against women.
Limitations and Implications for Future Research
These four films convey the idea that women, regardless of the situation of
violence, must be active and strategic in their resistance. However, there are a variety of
things that could be examined here. I focused on the depiction of female agency in the
face of violence and victimization. However, I am aware I could have focused on
identifying aspects and notions of specific forms of justice. This idea brings into question
that if an individual is not part of a larger collective in a social justice-oriented landscape,
how does that individual enact justice; are they achieving anti-carceral means, or are they
re-enforcing the carceral sphere?
I plan to incorporate such aspects of justice into future research. Such research
could potentially investigate and convey how some contemporary films, while casting
light on female victims of violence, still often reinforce the power of the carceral sphere.
This phenomenon occurs because these films depict women who, while non-conforming
in some sense, actively fortify the state-sanctioned systems of oppression that have
helped sustain their subdual for so long by enacting retributive justice. While the
protagonists’ resistance may be empowering and may ‘feel good,’ it can also reproduce
harm and violence.