Before we begin, I would like to start this post off with a trigger warning for depression, self-harm, suicidal ideation, and suicide. Please proceed to read with discretion.
It is typical in writing for Film and TV where a script will have one line of dialogue that sums up the piece's entire theme. Some are at the end of the film, some in the middle. Some are evidently meant to be ham-fisted as the theme, while others are in an entirely different context but once applied to the film as a whole; they have a whole new meaning. I think one of the best examples of one line representing an entire film thematically is the 3rd line, just crossing the 2-minute mark of one of the most tragic coming-of-age tales ever put to screen.
The line?
"Obviously, Doctor, you've never been a 13-year-old girl."
My name is Mitchell Coriell, and I would like to talk about Sofia Coppola's 'The Virgin Suicides'
'The Virgin Suicides' is both written and directed by Sofia Coppola and is an adaptation of a book of the same name by Jefferey Eugenides. Minor side-note, I have not read the book, so I cannot say this for sure, but the gender difference in the book's author and film's writer yields some interesting aspects thematically as I get into the film.
The film follows the demise of the five mysterious Libson sisters. Following the attempted and eventually completed suicide of the youngest, 13-year-old Cecilia, the Libson family falls apart. Each event in the girls' lives causes the parents to get increasingly strict with them until they shut them out from the outside world. After some time, the remaining four Libson girls make a suicide pact, and in one night, all take their own lives in different ways.
Now the Libson girls' demise alone, of course, is a tragic tale, but the writing of the film gives numerous ways for their story to layer itself and give way to oh so much more tragedy. The writing elevates this story into different timeless cautionary tales for women, youth, and adults. The writing of 'The Virgin Suicides' transcends its base-level tragedy to enhance its theme's delivery.
Now you have this basic story of a group of sisters in a suffocating household where they find their only way out is by taking their own lives, which alone is sad, impactful, good story, good work- B+. There’s more that can be done here. The theme can be explored in different avenues to maximize its impact on the audience.
However, the theme transcends primarily through the perspective of the story. A 40-year old man narrates the film. He reminisces, and we see him as a boy in a troupe of neighborhood guys that spent a portion of their childhood idolizing the girls, spending their days trying to figure out the 'mystery' of the Libson girls.
Adding the boys' perspective retelling the girls' story and their distanced view of what really went on in the house illuminates a deeper meaning in the film. Due to gender norms of that time, along with adolescence, a disconnect opens between the boys and the girls. The boys see girls as these creatures shrouded in mystery, and they desperately try to understand them, like any boy in middle school with a crush tries to do.
On top of the parents making their lives a living hell, they are always observed, monitored by these boys. They are never quite seen as other people but instead as ideas, concepts, and conquests.
When the boys wanted to reach out to the girls and figure out more about them -at this point in the story, the Lisbons can't leave their house due to a punishment- they decided to call them and play records. Imagine being the Libson girls, trapped in their home, and when someone finally calls, instead of talking out their feelings or the situation or even to hear another person's voice, instead they play a record. The film uses some good songs and films it to be dreamlike, lush, powerful. Like through these songs, they are making a connection, but are they? Due to the times, I'm sure many of us can relate to being unable to leave the house for an extended period-- imagine if your only way of communication was some neighborhood boys calling you just to play a song. You wouldn't feel heard, you wouldn't have too much of a connection-- cute song sure-- but there's no substance to that. Also, since the film does follow a narrator, we have to presume that is the viewpoint we are in, so we only know what he knows. And more so, we only know what he thinks he knows. These girls and this traumatic event did such a number on this kid that he still thinks about it until he's in his forties. His memories of the situation and one-sided infatuation with them have given him rose-colored glasses on what life was like in the house. He thinks the girls enjoyed this. But, since they are disconnected from them and their experience, there is no way he'll know this for sure. He's thinking his reach for connection-- which is motivated primarily through lust-- is welcomed and appreciated by the girls.
We get another impressive view of this idea when we see Trip Fontaine grown up. He's the only character we visually see after they grew up; he seems not in a great spot. And as he talks about how he treated Lux, he is filled with regret and this desperate desire to feel what he had back then again. But as one may fall into 'awh he wants to be young again' type thinking, we have to remember what Trip did. This guy left Lux on a football field after taking her, we presume, virginity. And in leaving her there, is what begins the lockdown of the Libson's in their house. This guy is not a good person at all. Yet, the film's perspective almost treats him as another victim to the Lisbons' intoxicating aura/presence/spirit-- something. But this is simply a dude that peaked in high school. The last we see of 'older' Trip Fontaine is a nurse telling him he's late for a 'group meeting.' If you look at the production design of where older Trip is, it's evident he is in some sort of hospital/clinic/ward/retreat either for a mental illness or addiction-- the film doesn't specify. Could this be a comment on where high school 'loverboys' end up? Or another hint at how the obsession with the Lisbons ruins a person? Or both, depending on the perspective. The narrator and other neighborhood boys probably think the latter because Trip even describes what he felt for Lux as such a rare form of love that even he was lucky to feel it. In contrast, the audience can view this more realistically.
All these factors considered, what is, on the surface, a tragic retelling of a neighborhood tragedy shrouded in a seductive mystery, is in reality-- a warning to both young men and women on the dangers of growing up. To men it warns, that one must take the time to understand women-- or whomever you have feelings for because if you don't, there is no opening for understanding. The lack of closure will keep your mind buried in the past, thus no maturation and growth in yourself and your interactions with others. But more importantly, it warns women of the dangers in the different treatment of genders in adolescence: being seen as a sexual conquest or an idea/concept instead of as a person, the lack of external resources for connections during a mental health emergency, and the suffocation of suburbia.
Let's look back at that first line I mentioned. It perfectly encapsulates this idea. Cecilia also speaks to the male audience. We have not experienced what they experience. There IS, without a doubt, a disconnect. It's Cecilia's resignation of not being understood and treated like an equal to those around her is what also hangs over the other sisters, slowly bringing them to their demise.
We are taking a step back here. From a film and writing perspective, this is brilliant on behalf of Sofia Coppola. To include this line, in the beginning, begs the audience to rewatch. Upon the first watch, one may first think that Cecilia is an overdramatic little girl. But it's that initial reaction that puts the audience in that POV of both the boys and the neighborhood's adults. We don't get it. We don't connect and understand Cecilia's experience simply because they are not our own (unless we are a 13-year-old girl when watching the film). After fully taking in the movie, we rewatch and hear this line again with the thematic knowledge from the first watch. We're reminded, yes, we don't understand her. Maybe we never will, unwillingly like the boys due to an adolescent veil of mystery or willingly like the adults who disenfranchise the youth's experiences. There lies the real tragedy. The girls live in a world of being perpetually invalidated in their feelings and experiences. Perhaps, in that sentiment, we all are-- a tough pill to swallow, sure but, there still supplies light at the end of the tunnel. There SHOULD be an effort to understand, in the real world, that may be all we have yet, there isn't in the film, and the climax shows us the result of it.
The film opens on a dreamlike vision of Lux imposed with a sunset scene in a field. Lux looks at us, the viewer, and her eye has an animated twinkle. It is the adolescent version of the 'roses' imagery and dream sequences in 'American Beauty.' It reminds the audiences (primarily the male audiences) how we may have viewed a pretty girl during our adolescence. How eye contact alone was this alluring drug we once dreamt about. It primarily places us in the boys' mindset, establishing the girls as something larger than reality can allow. There is another dream sequence later in the film as well. The boys are invited over to the girls' house one night in which they would (at least they were told) break the girls out of the house and run away. The boys imagine them all driving away with the girls. The 'escape' is the boys' imaginations; we don't get to see what the girls really would be dreaming about at the idea of leaving the house. By this point, the sisters' genuine turmoil is so cast aside, we the audience, like the boys, are shocked, scared, and panicked when we realize what really happened that night.
I mentioned it at the top of this post, but I will repeat it as I go further and talk about some specific scenes. Please do not read ahead if you are triggered by suicide and suicidal ideation. If that is not a safe topic for you to hear or think about in any context, fictional or real, please do not continue.
We're going to talk about how the film handles the suicides of the girls—starting with Cecilia. Her suicide attempt is one of the first images in the movie, an introduction to the subject matter, and a hint that the film treats its subject matter bluntly. Then as she recovers, and at the advice of the doctor [played by Danny Devito-- just want to make sure that's known], Mr. & Mrs. Lisbon host a party with the boys of the neighborhood. The party is an attempt for Cecilia to socialize and connect with people in the community. As the sisters get ready, they cover Cecilia's wrist bandages with bracelets taped in place. It may be a reach, but it could be a commentary on society's dependence on materials goods to cover up and distract from severe mental issues. As the party progresses, we see none of the boys interacting with Cecilia until a boy, Joe, who has a mental disability, comes and says hello to Cecilia. She gives the first genuine smile of the entire opening sequence to him as she says hi back. The boys in the party shortly ruin this little moment because they discreetly make fun of Joe. It is done in the way many people do at that age, where they subject intense attention to the unique characteristics that the person has due to their disability and cover their amusement with praise and shallow forms of approval, thinking the person won't notice. Potentially, Joe doesn't notice, but Cecilia does. She recognizes the boys' shallow nature and proceeds to go to her room, ripping off the tape on her bracelets, letting the real issues, the bandages, more in the forefront. We don't see Cecilia again until the family, and party guests go outside to see her after she jumped out the second-story window towards a pointed fence-post. As the family reacts to the tragic situation, the boys just walk away. One may interpret that due to the trauma of the situation, none of the boys know what to do or don't see it in their place to involve themselves in the position since, in a morbid sense, it is a family matter. But, it seems that none of the boys think to provide any immediate comfort to the family or even attempt to call an ambulance. The sprinklers turn on as the boys leave the family alone, once again balancing the morbid blend of tragedy and Americana.
The second suicide scene, the one in which the remaining four sisters take their lives, is done by focusing on the boys. After the music phone calls, the girls leave notes for the boys to come over at midnight in an attempt to escape the house. From here, the boys go to the Lisbon house, and Lux greets them at the back door. The boys are unaware, but the other girls are currently committing suicide. Lux, in her final moments, gives into the tragic idealized perception the boys have of her. She plays along to their fantasy of escaping the house and openly flirts with all of the boys. As the boys enter the house, we cut to the dream sequence of them all driving away. They all go into the basement after hearing a noise. As they enter, one of the boys talks about how he wishes he could "feel [the girls] up just once," again cementing the boys' intentions and emotional disconnect from the girls. At that exact moment when the boy finishes his line, the camera reveals, and the boys see one of the girls hanging from the ceiling, dead. They say very little, run away from the house, tripping over the body of another girl on the way out. We never see any of their whole bodies or faces. Once deceased, they lose any bit of identity, just arms, and legs. The movie doesn't show us anything else to further disconnect the emotional impact of their demise. It is merely how the boys saw it, jarring and traumatic only due to seeing a dead body. We don't even see which girl was which because to the boys, they are interchangeable, even in death. We see police going through the house the next morning-- so one can assume none of the boys called the cops either. They instead waited for Mr. & Mrs. Lisbon to wake up and find the girls. This scene, all in all, is quick. Perhaps due to the title, we as audiences expected this moment to occur soon since we know the film is almost over, but it doesn't treat these characters' death with any gravitas or cinematic pizzazz. It merely happens, and the next day arrives. Only then, when the narrator explains the night's timeline, do we learn which girl was which.
Voiceover narration, in most cases, is frowned upon within screenwriting. It is seen as cheap and a lazy way to give the audience information that should be told through visuals. While this is true, as I said, it is only valid in most cases. As with all things, there is an exception. An example of this exception is in 'The Virgin Suicides.' The use of narrative cements us in the boys' perspective. We take his experience, his views, his perspective as the reality of the film. And that is precisely what Sofia Copolla wants us to believe initially. Because without the narration, the entire purpose and real message of the film would be remiss. The unreliable narrator better helps the audience understand the film's true tragedy-- a lack of understanding between all parties in the movie. This brings me to the next theme that Copolla tackles. First, we covered a gender divide, but this film, in a brief scene towards the end, also makes a massive statement on the generational divide.
After the suicide scene, the film's denouement is as the neighborhood has an end-of-the-summer party. The night lingers, and one drunk parent flaunts around the back patio, jumps in the pool, and says, "No, no, no, you don't understand me. I'm a teenager. I have problems" in what can only be understood, as a mocking tone. This mockery of mental illness is another crux of the film's themes, another bit of resignation on behalf of Copolla's message to audiences. And further, this, I believe, has a considerable impact on the boy characters, almost as much as the suicides themselves.
The turmoil of the Lisbon sisters is met with apathy, misunderstanding, and blatant disregard. Few of the adults take them seriously. While they were alive, they were regularly met with people who did not take them seriously, the doctor in the beginning, for example. Then the boys who idolized them. And after their deaths, they have become but a punchline to a cruel joke from drunken lips. The boys watch the adult make this joke at the girls' suffering's suspense. It does three things and perhaps does them simultaneously. One, it isolates the boys, who saw their suicides take place. Their severe trauma of undergoing that experience is met with disregard. Similar to how the girl's experiences were met with distanced murmurs of pity and nothing else. Equally, it shows them how they, perhaps, were the only ones who 'understood' the girls, or more appropriately, the only ones that tried to connect with them. This builds camaraderie among the boys and their idolization, potentially fueling their lifelong obsession with the girls. And it distinguishes the generational divide between the kids and adults. The kids' view of the world is still adolescent-- so much left to explore, but to adults, the very thing they cared so deeply for, the Lisbon girls, is just something worthy of mockery. And lastly, it gives them the route of adulthood, the route to eventual apathy. They are being shown and taught that the proper way to deal with this tragedy is to disregard it with indifference. Not concern themselves too much about it-- not look deeper. Which only builds more walls that separate them from truly understanding the Lisbon girls as people, not trophies or life moments.
As the boys observed the women and Lux's promiscuous actions on her roof-- no one had done anything to help the family. The film has shots of town gossip throughout the movie of everyone talking about the girls, but no one ever does anything in the realm of assistance. That has plenty to say on the generational divide and the value placed on the trust in authority figures. What I mean is, the film takes the hard stance that none of the adults in the street can intervene because they shouldn't get in the middle of the Lisbons' parenting styles. Equally, it connects the two generations as distant and useless to the girls' plight, just in two different ways. Bottom line-- no one ever helps.
This brings me back to what I mentioned earlier with the book version of the film being written by a man and the film directed by a woman. Now from admittedly minimal research, it seems the film is very loyal to the source material. Interestingly, I wouldn't be surprised if the book still stays on the first layer of the story-- the mysterious, nostalgic, mesmerizing allure of the girls that the boys were under as the only motive for the drive to the story. I would guess the film can offer a bit more of an idea into the story's true tragic nature.
Sofia Copolla beautifully understood the deep meaning in the film beyond the Lisbon girls' already tragic story. She saw through and found the proper way to tell this story through the story's perspective. Despite the boys' telling us the story of the Lisbon girls, the story is still primarily about the boys and the impact they took from the girls. The character arc is still in the boy's hands. Despite that the arc seemingly goes further and further down into obsession and idolization-- it all is integral to the message Copolla wanted to tell. Coppola warned audiences with one of the most tragic cautionary tales imaginable to deliver her theme about the futility of empathy. It all sends us back to the opening line, summing up the film's theme in one tragic line. Clearly, we've never been a 13-year-old girl. Or more-so, we've never been the Lisbons.
Do you agree? Did I miss some details? Let me know your thoughts! Thanks for reading.