Céline Sciamma’s
latest film, introduced at the Cannes Film Festival 2014 during the Directors’
Fortnight, has become a worldwide sensation. After travelling the festival
circuit (Toronto IFF 2014, Sundance FF 2015), it was finally released in UK
cinemas in May 2015. Its contemporaneous release with Boyhood (Richard Linklater, 2014) has had an ambiguous effect
regarding its critical reception, as it has tempted most critics to somehow
compare the two. Sue Harris in her review noted the differences between the two,
describing it as “much more defiant and unsettling than Richard Linklater’s
subtle meditation on middle class American suburban boyhood”[1].
Mark Kermode has gone further in finding visual and thematic kinship between Girlhood and the British films Kidulthood (Menhaj Huda, 2006) and its
sequel Adulthood (Noel Clarke, 2008)[2].
And of course, its generic predecessor, La
Haine (Mathieu Kassovitz, 1995), has been frequently conjured up in
discussing the film’s contribution to the French cycle of realist banlieue
cinema. However, it seems more tempting to consider this film alongside Andrea
Arnold’s 2009 film Fish Tank, for its
focus on the underrepresented and marginal social group of working class
adolescent women. The portrayal of the stifling environment these young women
are growing up in, and the difficulties they have to face in order to fulfill
their desire to transcend these barriers that time and again are raised in
front of them in their journey towards adulthood, is the strongest point of
comparison, which are lacking in the rest of the films other critics have referred
to. Both girls, Mia and Marieme, are strong and solitary[3]
in their struggle to adapt and survive in a world that is fundamentally hostile
to them.
And yet, the comparison to Boyhood may seem inevitable due to the
choice of the English title Girlhood.
The film’s original title Bande de Filles
would be more accurately translated as Girl Gang. In her review, Harris comments:
“[t]his cookie-cutter title, while great for distribution, does a great
disservice to [the] film”. Initially this may seem like a just comment, but one
could argue that this choice is actually a stronger statement, challenging
mainstream assumptions concerning the semantic category that the word girlhood
triggers. It is too often that we get this type of over-generalised title – and
Boyhood is a case in point – to refer
to an unmarked minority in society,
i.e. white and middle class. Films like The
Women (Diane English, 2008) and the Sex
and the City franchise come to mind as examples of a multitude of screen
products that unashamedly adopt these overarching titles to portray a very
specific type of glamorized, Western, white, upper class femininity. And
although the issues presented in them point to the wider social structure and
the problems it presents [some] women with, one can only celebrate the
ramifications of a different use of such an all-encompassing term. Therefore it
can be argued that what sets this film apart from the films mentioned by other
critics, is its feminist attitude in challenging pre-existing assumptions
concerning young women of the social periphery.
A lot can be said about this film and the
complex account it presents audiences with, concerning the inextricable link
between gender, sexuality, race and social class in the constant negotiation
for individual identity. The present review focuses on the manifestation of
feminist authorship in terms of the representation of the empowering
possibilities, as well as the vulnerability, of homosocial female bonding within
a strongly patriarchal society. I will specifically address the main character’s
need to belong and be accepted by society, which is the central factor
impacting all her actions up until the very end, where the film insinuates that
she is resolved to venture out on her own. The individual’s need for society
has been observed as far back as Aristotle’s time, as well as women’s inferior
position caused by legal subordination and poor education. Sciamma, through the depiction of Marieme’s struggle
with the social role she is expected to perform as a black woman of the
banlieue, produces a passionate social critique, which beautifully completes
her trilogy of non-conformist coming-of-age femininity.
The film starts with the scene of a group
of girls playing American football. The powerful physicality and the vociferous
celebration of homosocial female bonding comes in stark contrast with the
behavior of these young women outside the pitch, where they have to keep quiet
and bow their heads in front of men. From the very first moments the film makes
a statement concerning women’s strength as a collective and their vulnerability
as individual entities within a patriarchal society. Marieme, facing hostility
on all fronts (state represented by the school counsellor, family, and the
hyper-masculine world of the banlieue), finds solace, even if temporary, in
these all-female groups (e.g. her sisters and the girl gang she joins). And yet
these relationships are constantly threatened by male intervention and are only
‘allowed’ as long as they reinforce the status quo. For instance, Marieme’s relationship
with her younger sister, Bébé,
reflects the solidarity as well as the delicacy and vulnerability of their bond. During a tender scene where they are alone in their room Marieme playfully
teases Bébé
about her budding breasts. They are laughing and shouting, but they immediately
fall silent when they hear their older brother, Djibril, come out of his room.
They wait until he leaves the flat to resume their chat, at which point they
are both serious and Marieme asks her sister whether Djibril has noticed the
change. She advises her to wear baggy T-shirts in order not to draw attention
to the fact that she is growing up, which creates the impression that becoming
a woman for them is dangerous, as it seems to accompany further restrictions
and cruelty. They both seem terrified of Djibril and Marieme is systematically
bullied and beaten by him.
This sisterly alliance within the domestic space
mirrors the supportive bonds that are created amongst the members of the girl
gang within the wider social structure of the banlieue. Marieme becomes
acquainted with the girls – Lady, Fily and Adiatou – after she quits school,
because she is not allowed to progress to general high school. Once stripped of
this opportunity, and as a direct consequence of the state’s inability to
support people from less privileged backgrounds, she joins the girl gang. Despite
her initial reluctance she gets into a lifestyle of petty crime and violence
(shoplifting, gang fights, etc.). However, the film does not adopt a judgmental
attitude towards these gangs, showing that this disruptive behaviour is a
result of their effort to create a little space within their restricting environment
where they can forget their problems and enjoy each other’s company. When the
girls are alone they can experience a sense of freedom, but they have to create
alternate tough-girl personas (Sophie/Lady, Marieme/Vic) for their public
encounters with other gangs. They have to constantly prove themselves to the
boy gangs by literally fighting for social status against other girl gangs. Quite
tellingly the only time Djibril acknowledges Marieme is after he finds out she
has beaten another gang’s leader in a street fight.
Therefore it seems that male power is predicated
on dissolving the supportive bonds between women, and Marieme once again hits a
brick wall in her desire to develop as a person and transcend the boundaries
that restrict her. After she has achieved Alpha female status in the group, Marieme
sees her sister with her friends, bullying a younger girl and stealing her
purse. She immediately heads to that direction, grabs her sister and commands
her to go home. When Bébé talks back she does not hesitate to slap her
hard in the face, at which point Bébé tells her that she is just like Djibril. Their
solidarity comes near breaking point and it is a moment of realization for
Marieme, who leaves the group and goes home with her sister. Not long after,
once her secret relationship with Ismael is revealed, Djibril is once again
violent and beats Marieme. This leads to her decision to leave the
neighbourhood and she cuts off her ties with her sister and her friends. She
meets Abou, who employs her as a drug trafficker, and although the girls try to
dissuade her from leaving, Marieme sees no alternative and makes one more
attempt to gain some kind of independence. Her visual transformation – dressing
in high heels, a red mini dress and a blonde wig while at work and changing
into loose trousers and baggy T-shirts after the deliveries – marks her effort
to be perceived as one of the boys thus discouraging sexual attention from the
men in her environment. However, Abou tries to force himself on her during a
party, which results in her running away once again. It seems therefore that
for a young woman in her position relationships with men (familial, romantic or
professional) seem to only bring her trouble one way or another. Ismael is the
only one who seems to genuinely love her and he offers to marry her in an
effort to repair her reputation within their social circle. However, Marieme realises
that by accepting his proposal she will have to settle for the life of a housewife
and she expresses her desire for more than this life can offer. The film ends
with Marieme alone crying, finding herself at an impasse and not wanting to
return home. As the camera moves forward, she is left out of the frame her
crying still audible. At the last minute, the sobbing stops, Marieme, looking
strong and determined, moves in the centre of the frame from the right side and
walks out of the frame on the left side. The open ending leaves a glimmer of
hope that Marieme will keep on struggling for the improvement of her situation
and the fulfillment of her innermost desire to find a viable place within
society.
In her final installment to her
coming-of-age trilogy, Sciamma delivers a beautifully crafted yet disturbing
picture of the difficult transitions a woman has to face growing up in the
Parisian banlieue. Even if Marieme is solid and solitary, the same cannot be
said for the director, who is part of an increasing number of women directors
who can rightfully claim the status of a feminist auteur within global art
cinema. Without being patronizing she makes a film “with” black women instead
of “about” them, as she herself has commented[4].
Sad and touching but not “misery-mongering”, as another critic has commented[5],
it can serve as a strong social critique demonstrating the need for feminism in
creating a fairer society not only to the usual middle-class art cinema
audiences but to young black female audiences as well[6].
A celebration of female strength and resilience in the face of adversity, which
crosses geographic boundaries, and provides a relatable experience for women
who are facing similar restrictions the world over.
1 “Film of the Week: Girlhood,” Sue Harris, last updated May 11,
2015, accessed June 9, 2015, http://www.bfi.org.uk/news-opinion/sight-sound-magazine/reviews-recommendations/film-week-girlhood
[2] “Girlhood review – electrifying portrait of a French girl in the
hood,” Mark Kermode, last modified May 10, 2015, accessed June 9, 2015, http://www.theguardian.com/film/2015/may/10/girlhood-gritty-teen-life-review-mark-kermode
[3] This phrase, “solide et solitaire”, is used by Abou, Marieme’s drug
trafficking boss, when he meets her after she runs away from home.
[4] “The stars of Girlhood: ‘Our poster is all over Paris, with four
black faces on it…’,” Jonathan Romney, last modified April 26, 2015, accessed
June 9, 2015, http://www.theguardian.com/film/2015/apr/26/girlhood-film-karidja-toure-assa-sylla-celine-sciamma
[5] “Girlhood,” Sheila O’Malley, last modified January 30, 2015, accessed
June 9, 2015, http://www.rogerebert.com/reviews/girlhood-2015
[6] This intention was achieved by a series of screenings in multiplex
cinemas outside the Périférique to target specifically young black women.
