I know this sounds greedy. Maybe it should be enough that two years in a row you’ve given us women driven action films. Rey and Jyn are both great protagonists, too. They’re intelligent, tenacious and talented. And they’re driven by principles instead of romance, just like their predecessor. Because, of course, you also gave us Princess Leia, the template for the smart, strong-willed female action hero who wasn’t just a blow-up doll with a gun. New Star Wars stories like The Force Awakens and Rogue One even have more than one woman with a significant speaking role, which is super (go Mon Mothma)! And beyond that, both of these reboots’ organic racial and ethnic diversity that mostly avoids stereotype is a breath of fresh air. Clearly, you are atoning for the sins of the prequels, and this lifelong fan (who was too distraught by episode 1 to endure 2 and 3) applauds you for it.
But there is one trope that you can’t quite seem to shake. It’s the idea that, at the heart of the story, there is only room for one girl. You’re not the only franchise to be guilty of this. It’s ubiquitous; from Harry Potter to nearly the entire Marvel Universe (some franchises, Divergent for example, have pushed against it. So it is possible to do.) But Star Wars, we hold you to a higher standard. It’s not just that you are the second most successful movie franchise in the world, it’s that you created an irresistible mythology that wormed its way deep into our hearts. And somehow you manage to make each of your millions of fans feel like they’re the only one who really understands you. You also put a white woman and a Black man at the center of one of the highest grossing films of all time. That is legitimately daring and wonderful.
Maybe it will help if I explain to you why having more than one female protagonist per film matters?
Travel with me, if you will, to a small town in Southern Oregon. The year is 1981. I am in first grade, and like a lot of kids, my best friend Courtney and I are really, really into Star Wars. So we were excited to discover that a group of boys had taken over a section of the playground for an elaborate, ongoing game based on the movies.
You already know what happened when Courtney and I asked to join them, right? It’s the same thing that happened on playgrounds around the country. We were told that there was only one girl’s part. But this had never been an issue for us. I quickly offered some of the solutions we’d invented. My favorite idea was that Darth Vader had an evil daughter. This was dismissed without a second thought, as was Leia’s evil twin. (I always wanted to play the baddie) (Also, this was before Return of the Jedi, so I didn’t know that Darth Vader really did have a daughter – and of course it wouldn’t be a new character. Because there is Only One Girl). Honestly, Courtney and I weren’t even all that concerned with being girl characters. We just wanted to play. But the boys wanted to stick to the script.
Somehow, this turned into the two of us agreeing to “audition” the next day at recess. My mother and I woke up early the following morning so that she could transform my usual straight, brown braids into something more intergalactic. I didn’t tell my mom exactly what I was up to because I knew she’d discourage a contest against my best friend. I didn’t like competing with Courtney either. But I became fixated on winning. I wanted the part. Ear-buns were discussed, but at the last minute mom and I decided to go in a different direction. My mother created a beautiful braided, looped style reminiscent of Leia’s Cloud City hair. It was a risk. The donuts still defined the character. But I liked Empire Strikes Back Leia better, and if it came down to who looked the most like Carrie Fisher, there was no contest anyway. Courtney had curly blond-hair and hazel eyes, whereas I was a round-faced, brown-eyed, brunette. Hell, I was even half Jewish. Something not many kids in my little Oregon town could say. And I loved the way I looked that day.
But Courtney went with donuts. Two small blond nubs rested unevenly, and damn it, adorably, on either side of her head. And the boys chose her. To her credit, Courtney made a last valiant plea to include me in the game. In all honesty, it was more than I would have done if I’d won. When the boys offered me a walk-on as a stormtrooper, I stormed off. Tearing bobby pins out of my hair, fighting back tears, I declared that it didn’t matter. I didn’t feel like playing anyway.
That was the only time Courtney played Leia at recess. It turned out not to be very fun. The boys were too literal. So we went back to doing what we always did: using the film as starting place to invent our own characters and narratives. Sometimes we were the daughters of Han and Luke. Sometimes I was Leia and Courtney was Sandy from Grease (that way we could sing and dance AND wield lightsabers).
And now, dear Star Wars, I can see that you’re jumping ahead. You’re thinking, “Yeah, yeah, I get it. Girls need more role models. Better representation. These limited images are damaging to their burgeoning sense of identity.” But that actually isn’t my point.
In fact, whenever I hear cultural panics about how media hurts girls my first thought is that people don’t give girls enough credit. Of course I agree that Disney Princessesification isn’t awesome. And limiting girls’ stories to ones that revolve around romance and relationships, or only letting them run around and fight and solve problems if they have one body type and it’s poured into latex, or demonstrating that girls of color can only be sidekicks, none of this great. But the thing about media representations is that you can’t control reception. This is why it’s such a powerful cultural force. Mainstream media will always try to fix images with a particular set of meanings. This makes audiences more predictable, and thus profitable. And the more money that’s at stake, the more conservative these meanings are apt to be. But, as scholars like Jackie Stacey and bell hooks and many others have noted, when your identity is marginalized or portrayed as a stereotype that doesn’t feel true or is simply not represented, you are forced to develop a critical distance from the image. And this distance has made girls really good at being unruly spectators. In our play, we often change the meanings. Sure, we might play Cinderella, but along the way we might discover that the game is more fun when all the stepsisters are friends. Or we might assign a girl to the Prince’s role.
So yes, my darling Star Wars, you can do better by your girl audiences by showing a few of us working together. But it’s not your girl audiences I’m concerned about. Me and Courtney, for example are still good friends. She works for a production company that makes campy action films, many of which satirize the genre’s tropes (including another beloved franchise: Sharknado). I have a PhD and teach fashion and representation studies. Girls will be fine. We’ll keep challenging stereotypes and finding creative ways out of our typecasting. It’s your boy audiences, especially your white, straight, cis boy audiences that really need these images.
I know that the boys at my elementary school are not a scientific sample, but it makes sense that if you are always placed at the center of the story, you’re more likely to stick to the script. If you’re already the hero, there is very little incentive to get creative or seek out alternative points of view. Adding a strong female protagonist is wonderful, but ultimately doesn’t challenge the action/adventure formula that only lets women appear in, at best, a 1 to 4 ratio. Because the girls are still dependent on masculinity to get things done.
Feminine cooperation, friendship and leadership remain mysteries, invisible onscreen, illegible on the playground. And Star Wars stories remain, to quote the late, deeply mourned Carrie Fisher, “basically boys’ fantasies.”
Help us make more work like this by heading to our Support Us page! Then follow us on Facebook, Twitter, or Instagram. We’re keeping comments on social media to filter spam. We’d love to hear what you thought and what else you’d like to see.
