Thelma and Louise

(1991)

Directed by

Ridley Scott

Review by Zach Saltz

Thelma and Louise is the mutation of two traditionally male genres of film -- the buddy picture and the western -- to create a memorable portrait of two women that embody the struggle of perhaps every woman to free herself from the intrusive boundaries of the patriarchal society.  The buddy picture derives from the picaresque novel in which a protagonist, often accompanied by his loyal friend or steed, encounters colorful characters and situations that ultimately enhance his perception of the meaning of what it is to truly live.  The western, meanwhile, is uniquely American in its ability to portray rugged, rogue, dark figures as heroes in a wide-open yet unforgiving landscape full of treachery and self-defense through means of violence.

Since Thelma and Louise has elements of both, it obviously cannot solely be classified as one or the other, or perhaps as anything, for that matter.  It is totally and ubiquitously its own story.  Can you think, for example, of another film or book featuring sexy middle-aged outlaws on the lam who, through the course of their abrasions and descent into crime, discover a deeper meaning of themselves and their place in society? (OK, Marsha Kinder did, but we can’t all be Swiss film connoisseurs). 

There are many things that make Thelma and Louise completely unique, but one thing that is not so unique are the two protagonists.  We know women like Thelma and Louise.  We know women who scrape for every extra cent they can find to make a better life for themselves.  We know women who have made mistakes in their lives, whether it be marrying the wrong man (Thelma) or killing someone to prove a point (Louise).  But are these really mistakes?  One could argue that it is the hardships they experience that eventually enable Thelma and Louise to seek out and find their liberation from oppression.  Before she discovers a certain enlightenment through the capricious art of robbing truck stops, for instance, Thelma is a sweet-faced, naïve, vulnerable child for whom Louise must act motherly to keep in line (“Don’t be a child,” she tells her).  She does stupid things.  She is complacent to expose herself to the intricate workings of rapists and con men, and is so timid that she can’t even tell her pig husband off in person, so she writes him a polite note telling him her weekend plans with Louise.  She is the “old” woman.

Louise, on the other hand, is more shrewd, capable, cynical, and rather ingenious.  She is a few crucial years older than Thelma, and, through subtle details, it is revealed that she too once made the same mistake that Thelma made in the honky-tonk (the incident in Texas, presumably a rape).  The incident has left her jaded toward men (reasonably so) and characterized her relationship with her boyfriend, Jimmy, as somewhat doormat, characterized by some nice conversations and good sex, but ultimately meaningless and going nowhere.  She is the “new” woman, independent and employed, but still searching for happiness.

I think the film is less a collision between the “old woman” and the “new” but more about how all women must coexist and work together to transcend the parameters of conventional women’s roles.  The three “bad” men in the movie -- Daryl, the rapist, and the incendiary truck driver -- are defeated at the hands of Thelma and Louise.  This shows that women, when in cohesive arm-in-arm, are capable of overcoming male adversity.  But not all men are evil.  I especially liked how the film showed the housewife-cum-outlaw not running away from men per se, but running away from the conventional model of suburban housewife.  After all, I even found the characters of Jimmy and Harvey Keitel’s Slocumb legitimate in their concern for the well-being of the women (which alleviates any criticism that the film may be altogether man-bashing).

And then there’s the ending.  This is where viewers will certainly differ in their interpretation of events.  On the one hand, Thelma and Louise have indeed escaped a seemingly inescapable situation and what’s even more amazing is that they have done it together.  Their gradual learning and loving through the wavy roads of the great west have superseded their ultimate fate.  But some will not see the message as happy and escapist.  Some, like myself, are unnerved by the notion the film seems to harbor -- that to truly be strong and compassionate, it takes an act of such ferocity and strong will that all others before seem menial.  It feels as if director Ridley Scott and writer Callie Khouri have taken the easy way out; I would have liked to see the women, who have grown so strong through the course of their journey, get out of the car and stand up for their rights rather than giving in to the calamitous circumstances.

But, yes, the ending is wholly symbolic, though admittedly a tad dire.  Running off the cliff in a media circus of cops and guns is certainly better, I guess, than a dead-end husband and menial job.  Or more romantic, at least.  But what is this supposed to say to the oppressed Thelmas and Louises who go to see this film?  The final montage, with the insidious country music, is downright sappy and stupefyingly obvious, arbitrarily reminding the viewer that this is a happy movie.  It undermines the importance of the ending.  I’d like to hope that strong women could express themselves before abruptly jumping off the cliff, like Virginia Wolf or Sylvia Plath.  But maybe that’s too much to ask.  It’s a feat in itself to have a bawdy, fun adventure that shows women as rogue outlaws and heroes rather than men -- a true rarity in cinema today.

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