Little Women: The Facelift Feminism Needs
Contains spoilers.
If a portion of your childhood was in the 90s and you identify as in any way “bookish”, it is almost inevitable that Winona Ryder’s Jo March helped to make you who you are today. The 1994 Little Women is the focus of a great deal of love and nostalgia for many women. I can remember frequent viewings with my mum, my little sister, my brother, and me, all wedged into one small sofa. We always cried when Beth died, and my brother always asked us why we were crying over a fictional character. My nostalgia for the film is inextricable from my nostalgia for my own chaotic and loving childhood, which was itself filled with elaborate amateur dramatics and ambitions of novel writing. Could Greta Gerwig’s new adaptation hold a candle to my misty, watercolour memories of Susan Sarandon surrounded by endless quilts? I thought it was highly unlikely to say the least.
Despite my scepticism, I was utterly delighted with Gerwig’s Little Women, although slightly worried that my boyfriend may now think I am bananas because I cried so much. Frankly annoyed by the assumption that The Gentlemen is a film for all people, but that Little Women is a film for women only, I insisted he join me. He enjoyed the film but was a bit worried about the copious crying, and the fact that it was ugly (not just tears, also snot) and started at almost the very beginning of the film. Gerwig’s innovative structure, which began with the later stages of the book (or the Good Wives part) and flashed back to instagram-like scenes of the March women’s childhood, was incredibly effective (and tear-jerking). The structure allowed Jo, Amy, and Meg to look back at their childhood hopes and dreams, and at their illusions. The sisters make different choices, which the rest of the family don’t always understand, yet they accept each other’s different choices. During the course of the film, the three women all struggle with these choices: Meg is frustrated and embarrassed because her choice to marry and have children, coupled with the impossibility of earning her own money, has left her unable to afford things she enjoys; Jo seems to be happily pursuing her dreams but is revealed to be deeply lonely without her family; and Amy – wonderfully depicted by Florence Pugh in the stand-out performance of the film – radiates a controlled anger about her pragmatically chosen fate to marry rich and save the family. The contrast to the fun of their childhood and their idealistic dreams that are depicted in the flashbacks adds poignancy to the different difficulties the women face. Despite their struggles, all three press on, and ultimately, although they have chosen such different courses, their support for one another carries the day, with the final moments of the film depicting the strength and joy of the sisters together. Importantly too, their individual successes are fed back into the community as they all contribute in different ways to Jo’s school. The 1994 story of individualism becomes a story about a community in this new adaptation. This might sound twee, but somehow Gerwig managed to avoid the saccharine. The unique narrative arc of Gerwig’s adaptation made this a story about resilience and community, and that’s a story that is sorely needed by modern day feminism.
When completing a long journey you can’t stop at a service station every time you finish a podcast – you’ve just got to keep driving with your eyes on the road and let the car sound system load whatever it – in its opaque wisdom – thinks should come next. This form of podcast roulette can take you to very interesting places, but it can also be deeply annoying. Shortly after seeing Little Women, a long drive brought me to a trendy podcast about ‘wellbeing’, which advised listeners to cut off any friends that ‘trigger’ them. I kid you not: the guest being interviewed suggested that if a successful friend triggers your anxiety about your career, just cut her out of your life for your own wellbeing. If a thin friend who regularly does her Pilates triggers your insecurity about your own body shape, dump her like nuclear waste. If your best friend is married and pregnant but you’re single, unhappy and jealous, well then ghost her until she and her distended womb disappear from your life! I’m paraphrasing not quoting, but I am not, however, exaggerating. Cutting out your successful friends will just leave you lonelier, more anxious, and more insecure. The Little Women approach to wellbeing is far more pragmatic. When Jo finds that Amy has an opportunity she wanted (going to Europe), or when Jo has decided she is lonely and would like to marry Laurie, only to find that Amy has got in there first, she smiles and congratulates her sister. While Jo undoubtedly went off for a cry in her attic, she continued to be a supportive and loving sister to Amy.
So, where does feminism come in? Unfortunately, this brittle rejection of difficulty that is all too common in wellbeing advice has also become something of a cultural trend elsewhere and some feminists are falling into a similar trap. Instead of supporting different approaches, or overlooking differences like the March sisters, social media is riven with denunciations. Women are behaving less like Jo and Amy, and more like Goneril and Regan – the famous Shakespearean sisters who can’t work together and end up confirming all the misogynist stereotypes on offer, before ultimately destroying one another. Surely feminism is, at bottom, about equality and mutual support? When someone voices a view with which a group does not agree that person is now ‘no-platformed’ or becomes the victim of name-calling. While the anger may be justified and the outrage understandable, this method will never win anyone over. Solutions must be reached with compromise and open-minded discussion. Explain yourself, like Amy explained her economic choices to Laurie. Sometimes you’ve got to spell it out.
While the tea and chats approach is a no-brainer with the little things – why should we be getting acrimonious with one another about armpit hair and makeup? The question becomes murkier when bigotry comes into play, and compromise cannot be an option in the same way. It is in these cases that a brittle attitude is most dangerous, as it plays into the hands of those who would depict feminists as snowflakes, or hysterical Goneril and Regan types, thereby obscuring the important causes they hope to represent. The way to combat bigotry is resilient and pragmatic communication. If someone makes an ill-informed and offensive comment, don’t just fling out an insult and block them on social media. The likely outcome of this is that they will feel hurt, react with similar anger, and cling more strongly to their views. Another likely outcome is that – if you choose to insult them with the obscure vocabulary of your own social media echo chamber – they are unlikely to know what your insult even means, and so continue to hold their views. If instead the comment was followed by a reasonable discussion, there is at least a chance that the person in question will change their mind.
The brittleness I’m worrying about is by no means peculiar to feminists – it could be argued that it is endemic in today’s politics – but it’s an issue that has particular dangers for women. Throughout history, outspoken women have been depicted as unstable, dangerous, and unable to cooperate with one another in order to undermine their power. Goneril and Regan are my Shakespeare example, but for real life examples think of Hillary Clinton, and perhaps even Meghan Markle. Greta Gerwig’s Little Women could be the facelift feminism needs because it shows women succeeding and thereby helping their community through pragmatism, collaboration, and resilience. I call it a facelift, because I’m not suggesting a change in core beliefs, just a readjustment of PR. Sisters working together isn’t twee; it’s the route to a successful community. Resilience isn’t old fashioned; it’s the only way forward. I think this Little Women was a much-needed adaptation which will speak to a whole generation about how to be sisters.
If a portion of your childhood was in the 90s and you identify as in any way “bookish”, it is almost inevitable that Winona Ryder’s Jo March helped to make you who you are today. The 1994 Little Women is the focus of a great deal of love and nostalgia for many women. I can remember frequent viewings with my mum, my little sister, my brother, and me, all wedged into one small sofa. We always cried when Beth died, and my brother always asked us why we were crying over a fictional character. My nostalgia for the film is inextricable from my nostalgia for my own chaotic and loving childhood, which was itself filled with elaborate amateur dramatics and ambitions of novel writing. Could Greta Gerwig’s new adaptation hold a candle to my misty, watercolour memories of Susan Sarandon surrounded by endless quilts? I thought it was highly unlikely to say the least.
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| Performing in a very serious home theatre production with my brother (far left) and sister (centre). |
Despite my scepticism, I was utterly delighted with Gerwig’s Little Women, although slightly worried that my boyfriend may now think I am bananas because I cried so much. Frankly annoyed by the assumption that The Gentlemen is a film for all people, but that Little Women is a film for women only, I insisted he join me. He enjoyed the film but was a bit worried about the copious crying, and the fact that it was ugly (not just tears, also snot) and started at almost the very beginning of the film. Gerwig’s innovative structure, which began with the later stages of the book (or the Good Wives part) and flashed back to instagram-like scenes of the March women’s childhood, was incredibly effective (and tear-jerking). The structure allowed Jo, Amy, and Meg to look back at their childhood hopes and dreams, and at their illusions. The sisters make different choices, which the rest of the family don’t always understand, yet they accept each other’s different choices. During the course of the film, the three women all struggle with these choices: Meg is frustrated and embarrassed because her choice to marry and have children, coupled with the impossibility of earning her own money, has left her unable to afford things she enjoys; Jo seems to be happily pursuing her dreams but is revealed to be deeply lonely without her family; and Amy – wonderfully depicted by Florence Pugh in the stand-out performance of the film – radiates a controlled anger about her pragmatically chosen fate to marry rich and save the family. The contrast to the fun of their childhood and their idealistic dreams that are depicted in the flashbacks adds poignancy to the different difficulties the women face. Despite their struggles, all three press on, and ultimately, although they have chosen such different courses, their support for one another carries the day, with the final moments of the film depicting the strength and joy of the sisters together. Importantly too, their individual successes are fed back into the community as they all contribute in different ways to Jo’s school. The 1994 story of individualism becomes a story about a community in this new adaptation. This might sound twee, but somehow Gerwig managed to avoid the saccharine. The unique narrative arc of Gerwig’s adaptation made this a story about resilience and community, and that’s a story that is sorely needed by modern day feminism.
When completing a long journey you can’t stop at a service station every time you finish a podcast – you’ve just got to keep driving with your eyes on the road and let the car sound system load whatever it – in its opaque wisdom – thinks should come next. This form of podcast roulette can take you to very interesting places, but it can also be deeply annoying. Shortly after seeing Little Women, a long drive brought me to a trendy podcast about ‘wellbeing’, which advised listeners to cut off any friends that ‘trigger’ them. I kid you not: the guest being interviewed suggested that if a successful friend triggers your anxiety about your career, just cut her out of your life for your own wellbeing. If a thin friend who regularly does her Pilates triggers your insecurity about your own body shape, dump her like nuclear waste. If your best friend is married and pregnant but you’re single, unhappy and jealous, well then ghost her until she and her distended womb disappear from your life! I’m paraphrasing not quoting, but I am not, however, exaggerating. Cutting out your successful friends will just leave you lonelier, more anxious, and more insecure. The Little Women approach to wellbeing is far more pragmatic. When Jo finds that Amy has an opportunity she wanted (going to Europe), or when Jo has decided she is lonely and would like to marry Laurie, only to find that Amy has got in there first, she smiles and congratulates her sister. While Jo undoubtedly went off for a cry in her attic, she continued to be a supportive and loving sister to Amy.
So, where does feminism come in? Unfortunately, this brittle rejection of difficulty that is all too common in wellbeing advice has also become something of a cultural trend elsewhere and some feminists are falling into a similar trap. Instead of supporting different approaches, or overlooking differences like the March sisters, social media is riven with denunciations. Women are behaving less like Jo and Amy, and more like Goneril and Regan – the famous Shakespearean sisters who can’t work together and end up confirming all the misogynist stereotypes on offer, before ultimately destroying one another. Surely feminism is, at bottom, about equality and mutual support? When someone voices a view with which a group does not agree that person is now ‘no-platformed’ or becomes the victim of name-calling. While the anger may be justified and the outrage understandable, this method will never win anyone over. Solutions must be reached with compromise and open-minded discussion. Explain yourself, like Amy explained her economic choices to Laurie. Sometimes you’ve got to spell it out.
While the tea and chats approach is a no-brainer with the little things – why should we be getting acrimonious with one another about armpit hair and makeup? The question becomes murkier when bigotry comes into play, and compromise cannot be an option in the same way. It is in these cases that a brittle attitude is most dangerous, as it plays into the hands of those who would depict feminists as snowflakes, or hysterical Goneril and Regan types, thereby obscuring the important causes they hope to represent. The way to combat bigotry is resilient and pragmatic communication. If someone makes an ill-informed and offensive comment, don’t just fling out an insult and block them on social media. The likely outcome of this is that they will feel hurt, react with similar anger, and cling more strongly to their views. Another likely outcome is that – if you choose to insult them with the obscure vocabulary of your own social media echo chamber – they are unlikely to know what your insult even means, and so continue to hold their views. If instead the comment was followed by a reasonable discussion, there is at least a chance that the person in question will change their mind.
The brittleness I’m worrying about is by no means peculiar to feminists – it could be argued that it is endemic in today’s politics – but it’s an issue that has particular dangers for women. Throughout history, outspoken women have been depicted as unstable, dangerous, and unable to cooperate with one another in order to undermine their power. Goneril and Regan are my Shakespeare example, but for real life examples think of Hillary Clinton, and perhaps even Meghan Markle. Greta Gerwig’s Little Women could be the facelift feminism needs because it shows women succeeding and thereby helping their community through pragmatism, collaboration, and resilience. I call it a facelift, because I’m not suggesting a change in core beliefs, just a readjustment of PR. Sisters working together isn’t twee; it’s the route to a successful community. Resilience isn’t old fashioned; it’s the only way forward. I think this Little Women was a much-needed adaptation which will speak to a whole generation about how to be sisters.
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| My sister's wedding. |
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