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1991 was a great year for films with fully realized females in the lead roles, equally empowered and neurotic messes. They were recognizable as real people, maybe not people we knew in our real lives, but people that felt plausible, layered, and contradictory. Silence of the Lambs, Beauty and the Beast, The Prince of Tides, Fried Green Tomatoes, Ramblin’ Rose -- all of them feature deeply complicated, complete female characters in major roles. It felt like a possible turning point in which films proved that the entire industry didn’t need to cater to the male audience so consistently for big dollars.
Perhaps no film sent that shockwave as deeply as Thelma & Louise did, a pop-culture feminist manifesto in which two women rebel against society and revel in the deep bonds of sisterhood. It’s a heady mixture of road movie, buddy picture, and outlaws-on-the-run. Yet the script, direction, and lead performances find the balance between these three genres, weaving them together effortlessly, and popping out a pop masterpiece out of the other side.
The story concerns two best friends, the sweeter Thelma (Geena Davis) and the more world-weary Louise (Susan Sarandon), getting together for a weekend getaway. Of course, something goes horribly wrong to send them on their inevitable raging wake of pent-up feminine aggression. A would be rapist gets killed in self-defense, knowing that no one would believe their story, they go on the run.
Along the way they grow not only as people, gaining even more agency and rebellious spirit, but seem to speak against the very structure of society. These two women are mad as hell and aren’t going to take it anymore. Not only is the rapist taken down, but so is a trucker who makes unwanted sexual advances at them. They don’t kill him, but they destroy his truck. They rage against the paternal cop hot on their trail, a would-be savior that they dismantle at every turn with his unintended condescension towards them. These two don’t need anyone to save them, they’ll save themselves and each other.
That final scene is the existential battle cry. This is their decision, and they’ve decided that no one else is going to be making any decisions for them. It’s a bleak unhappy ending on one hand, but an ambiguous victory on the other. I can only imagine the deep catharsis that must have been felt by female movie-goers during the time this came out. As a feminist I encourage them to rage, to fight back, to discover themselves and make an uncompromising final choice with their lives. It’s one hell of a sucker-punch. Pity it didn’t start a wave of female-centric variations of genres until much, much later.
