Final Paper: Girls In Disguise: Feminine & Feminist Perspectives in Sophia Coppola Films (May 4, 2009)

Girls In Disguise
Feminine & Feminist Perspectives In Sofia Coppola Films

A feminist approach to film analysis often considers the historical, political, and social contexts surrounding the production of the said film. However, sometimes, I feel it is critical to examine an artistic creation on its own terms. I feel this is particularly the case when the artist herself is entrenched in an inescapable back-story, alà Sofia Coppola. Older viewers tend to frame the younger Coppola’s films within the context of her father’s work, the prophetic, Francis Ford Coppola. Best known for the Godfather series and Apocalypse Now, his films were often heavily masculine- dark, heavy, and disturbing; the tone set through the visual effects as well as the plot. Comparatively, Sofia Coppola’s films could be easily construed as deeply feminine- pink underwear, macaroons, and puffy clouds. Yet, beneath the artifice of, well, pink, her films are real psychological dramas with less than perky heroines. In fact, through deep analysis of the permeating themes, construed heroines, and purposeful cinematography in Coppola’s major three films: Virgin Suicides, Lost In Translation, and Marie Antoinette, viewers may reassess the feminine label often pinned on the only American woman nominated for an Academy Award for directing.



The opening thirty seconds of Sofia Coppola’s second film, Lost In Translation, are perhaps the film’s most memorable. In soft tones and with muted sound, Coppola’s camera holds a steady zoom on Scarlet Johansson’s rear end, clad in bubblegum pink panties. Undoubtedly, this image engages Coppola’s young male heterosexual viewers. However, I’d argue this shot is also intended to appeal to female audiences. Void of full-out nudity, the shot isn’t sexually explicit; rather, the image is reminiscent of innocence and girlhood. Translucent, the pink underwear appears fragile in an extremely feminine sense. As viewers, we feel we know Johansson’s character, Charlotte, intimately. As the volume increases and the title appears, viewers naturally place Charlotte as the film’s central character.

The color pink continues to cameo throughout the film. In addition to a succession of pink underwear moments (always matched with a grey cardigan sweater, mind you), Charlotte tends gravitate toward other pink details. Bored and alone as her husband travels, Charlotte hangs mobiles spouting pink paper flowers around their hotel room. Calling home from Tokyo, Charlotte attempts to express her isolation. “It’s great,” she says amid tears. Then, “I didn’t feel anything.” When her phone companion hangs up, Charlotte pulls out a tube of pink lipstick and intently applies as she views herself in the mirror. As the pink lipstick sets, viewers are reminded of the opening underwear shot. Again, we perceive a young woman playing “grown-up,” unsure as she examines herself in the glass.

Charlotte’s unnatural bob wig, another pivotal pink moment in the film, is a stroke of artistic (and fashion) genius. Thoroughly enjoying Tokyo’s nightlife, the camera zooms in on Charlotte’s pink wig framed face as she sings, “I’m…I’m going to make a scene…no one else here…no one but me…I’m special, so special.” As she swoons the song in the direction of middle-aged Bob Harris (Bill Murray), the cinematography references both Charlotte’s youthfulness and her uncertainty.

Lost In Translation’s plethora of careful pink detail plays with the concept of femininity and the question of underlying feminism in the film. On one hand, the color pink refers to femininity in the cultural sense. Charlotte’s pink accessories stress innocence, beauty, and self-doubt, qualities that are traditionally perceived as feminine. With this in mind, the question of feminist perspectives within the film becomes more convoluted. What exactly is Coppola trying to say with this pink? Lacking direction and agency, is our heroine really a- gasp- 21st century housewife? Or, is Coppola using this symbolism to make a specific juxtaposition or criticism on outdated viewpoints? Lost In Translation’s overarching theme, displacement, reiterates the possibility of the latter conclusion.

In contrast to the muted tones characterizing Charlotte’s wardrobe and hotel room, Coppola stimulates our senses with wide shots of Tokyo’s chaotic nightlife. As Bob and Charlotte peer out taxis windows, viewers absorb an urban landscape plush with advertisements, neon lights, and heavy traffic (road and air). Void of the traditionally eroticized images of Japan- geishas, umbrellas, and kimonos- Tokyo is personified as the global center of economy and technology. In this environment, Charlotte’s insecurity and lack of ambition could be seen as a result of a changing urban landscape rather than as an anti-feminist sympathy.

Mirroring Tokyo’s restless nightlife, Bob and Charlotte bond over their insomnia. Late one night at the hotel bar, Bob and Charlotte have a brief, but vital exchange:

Bob: What are you doing (here)?
Charlotte: Well, my husband’s here.
Bob: What do you do?
Charlotte: I’m not sure yet. I graduated last year.
Bob: What did you study?
Charlotte: Philosophy…Wish I could sleep.

Although this conversation could’ve occurred decades earlier before the women’s rights revolution, the landscape windows overlooking the modern city remind viewers of significant social and cultural changes. Charlotte’s situation is different; her sense of isolation can be afforded to cultural displacement rather than lack of options. Or perhaps, in this rapidly developing world, her insecurity is founded upon too many options. Whatever the case might be, however, Charlotte’s femininity cannot be held responsible for her depressed and aimless nature.

Just as Lost In Translation capitalizes on cinematic reflection and segmented conversation rather than plot and resolution, the question of feminist perspectives in the film is indirectly suggested, but never answered. The film forces its viewers to consider their role in the changing global world. What does femininity look like in this new environment? As travelers know, sometimes the best time to reflect on your own goals and dreams is when you are far away from home. Can we blame Charlotte for reacting to her situation with self-doubt? Must a “feminist” film centralize on a determined, ambitious female character? Can a feminist film have an anti-heroine?

In Sofia Coppola’s first full-length film, The Virgin Suicides, a quartet of neighborhood teenage boys speculate over the mysterious suicides of five sisters. By choosing to male narrators, Coppola seems to expose the male gaze by mimicking it. The teenage boys’ fascination with the sisters is so extreme at times that it nearly reaches hyperbole. Like the prominence of pink detail in Lost In Translation, the boys’ daydreams in The Virgin Suicides are seen through an amber haze of unicorns, wild flowers, and prairie dresses. We see close-ups of Lux (Kirsten Dunst), the most swoon-worthy of the sisters, blowing seductive kisses, hula dancing, and winking into the camera. Although these images appear to be pulled from the teenage boys’ imaginations, the pink haze montages seem to poke fun at the perhaps undeserved aura of mystery that the young sisters project. In this way, Coppola isn’t so much recreating the male gaze as critically examining it.



As the neighborhood boys collect souvenirs from the sisters’ lives, one of the boys comments, “We knew that the girls were really women in disguise. That they understood love and even death. It was our job to create all the noise that seemed to fascinate them.” Here, the boys worship the sisters’ ability to transcend their typical suburban, adolescent lives. The boys credit the sisters for their deeper sense of philosophical understanding and maturity than even the boys themselves possess. As both an act of voyeurism and profound admiration or respect, the male gaze manages to contradict itself as it tells the story of the five sisters.

The Virgin Suicides could also be considered a commentary on sexual repression, or the “imprisonment of being a girl” as the neighborhood boys suggest as they read Cecilia Lisbon’s diary. After her first suicide attempt, Cecilia herself says to her doctor, “Obviously, doctor, you’ve never been a thirteen year-old girl.” The parents turn to powerful men in their community to make diagnosis. Interestingly, the family psychologist suggests allowing time for the sisters to interact with boys in social situations beyond the classroom. Brimming over with the sisters’ newfound sexuality, the Lisbon household appears to be one part brothel, one part chapel. Surrounded by wall crucifixes and Virgin Mary statues, the sisters reach out for whatever male flesh comes their way. When boys are finally allowed into the Lisbon home, the sisters delight in seducing their male visitors.



Like Lost In Translation, feminist implications are subtle and often contradictory in The Virgin Suicides. Although the sisters can't tell their own story, they possess agency to make seductive and powerful decisions. Further, while the male gaze eroticizes the sisters at times, it is also so extreme that viewers understand the degree of sarcasm involved in its betrayal. In this way, Coppola seems to suggest both the power and the constraint of being female.

Speaking of power and constraint, or restraint, Coppola's most recent film, Marie Antoinette (also starring Kirsten Dunst), depicts the life of France's famed queen. Like Charlotte in Lost In Translation, Marie Antoinette finds herself thoroughly displaced among the French court. Although she's certainly a feminine creature from the start of the film, we see her transform as she's given more power to assert herself. However, this agency comes at a cost, Antoinette must marry and conceive a child with Prince Louie. As she fulfills this duty, Antoinette greedily takes what's her right- fashion's latest dresses and shoes and as many pastel (PINK!) macaroons as one can possibly devour.



Amidst all the royal hubbub, viewers spy Marie Antoinette in her quiet and more reflective moments. Like Lost In Translation, these moments occur during long journeys. We see Marie Antoinette's face peering at once gloomily and curiously out the carriage window at the lovely grounds of Versailles. In this way, the audience is led to quietly reconsider Marie Antoinette's position. True, she was known for her pocketbook and frivolity, but her wealth and power came with baggage. True to her form, Sofia Coppola tells both sides of the story with a keen eye for cinematography and without moral judgment.

Analyzing Coppola’s three major films, we find that her perspectives on femininity and feminism are far from superficial or single-faceted. Rather, we discover that her heroines are complex people with some degree of agency, but are often heavily influenced by their surrounding environments and social contexts. However, regardless of their age or station in life, Coppola’s heroines tend to be deep thinkers who reflect on their situations. Moments lost in thought or reconsidering are characteristic of Coppola’s films, and perhaps crucial to the feminist cause as it moves forward in American film-making. Personally, I believe the understated feminism and the overstated femininity in Coppola's films provide for an interesting juxtaposition of what the modern female might be all about. Women can love pink and be taken seriously.