Sofia Coppola – ‘The Virgin Suicides’
Born the daughter of Francis Ford Coppola, the young Sofia Coppola was famously ridiculed by the media when she starred in The Godfather Part III, with critics suggesting that a career in Hollywood was not suited to her. However, with the release of her debut directorial feature The Virgin Suicides, Coppola proved to be much better equipped behind the camera.
Adapted from the novel of the same name by Jeffrey Eugenides, as recommended to Coppola by Sonic Youth’s Thurston Moore, The Virgin Suicides is one of the most tragic depictions of youth ever put to film. The movie follows the five Lisbon sisters – Cecilia, Lux, Mary, Bonnie and Therese – as they navigate girlhood under the rule of their authoritative parents.
Coppola opens the movie with images of an idealistic, suburban neighbourhood where sunlight filters through the trees, bright green lawns are freshly watered, and children play in their yards. This is sharply contrasted with a shot of Cecilia, the youngest sister, lying lifeless in red bath water, evoking John Everett Millais’ painting Ophelia. At the hospital, a doctor quizzes her about why she attempted to take her life. She replies simply: “Obviously, doctor, you’ve never been a 13-year-old-girl”. The film’s opening sequence establishes the dark underbelly of American society – a cinematic theme that is far from new, yet one that Coppola explores with originality and vitality.
The romantic pastel colour palette, taking cues from Peter Weir’s similarly tragic Picnic at Hanging Rock, emphasises the deeply feminine experience that Coppola sets out to convey. Whereas Eugenides’ masterpiece purposefully depicts the girls as archetypes and objects of male lust and obsession, Coppola allows the audience to harness a greater understanding of the Lisbon sisters as individuals. An adaptation of the novel could easily misinterpret Eugendine’s depiction of the male gaze and, subsequently, replicate it on screen. However, Coppola gives the Lisbons a rare glimpse of autonomy, framing them through a neutral, feminine viewpoint. They are depicted as multitudinous beings – at once rebellious, conscientious, loving, dramatic, childish, and thoughtful.
Coppola understands her female characters in a way that few directors do. The Virgin Suicides presents a vulnerable and relatable depiction of teenage girlhood that many viewers will find solace and understanding in. The unspoken modes of communication and action that exist between women as a way to survive male-dominated spheres are depicted carefully by Coppola. The girls are shown lounging in silence, emphasising how they don’t need speech to convey their inner turmoil to each other. When Trip Fontaine, the school heartthrob, attempts to win over Lux, the girls collectively ignore him on purpose, demonstrating an in-built understanding of each other’s needs.
With that, she explores the weight of the male gaze through the neighbourhood boys’ unrelenting obsession. They are preoccupied with the girls without bothering to know them as people, as girls. During an early scene, one of the boys searches through the sisters’ bathroom cabinets, discovering boxes of tampons. His invasion of a private sphere signifies the lengths the boys go to in order to get closer to their objects of desire, who exist as nothing more to them than symbols of mystery and sexuality.
When Lux begins to act out, taking older men onto the roof of the Lisbon house for mindless sex, the boys are depicted as the ultimate voyeurs. They watch with a telescope, fascinated by Lux’s behaviour as if she’s a character in a trashy soap opera. The boys ogle at the girls as they embark on their downfalls, spiralling towards their eventual premature deaths. Instead of noticing their deterioration and cries for help, the boys only recognise their beauty, becoming enthralled by the girls’ mysteriousness, even though they are simply existing – and suffering. When the film reaches its inevitable climax, as teased by the title, the boys still fail to find humanity in the girls. They cannot rest, even in death, their corpses signifying relics of blossoming sexuality and potential to the boys.
Coppola’s film is an exercise in understanding the effects of patriarchy and traditionalism, which leave irreversible damage on a perfect-looking suburban family. The director exposes society’s prolonged preoccupation with the preservation of girlhood innocence, which falls into direct conflict with male fetishisation and the sexualisation of young girls and women. Coppola places the two extremes at odds with each other, and only tragedy rears its head. The Virgin Suicides is a gorgeous, albeit devastating, depiction of female coming-of-age, or, rather, the failure to come of age. Through unashamed ultra-feminine imagery and honest studies of female teenage characters, Coppola crafts a film that is utterly enduring, paving the way for a subgenre of cinema that truly takes young girls seriously and understands their struggles.
