Recently, I was watching Edward Scissorhands, that collection of offhand archetypes. The tormented exile, the rebel genius, the lonely artist, the martyr outcast. And, I began thinking, as I often do. This thought began with a question: where’s my Edward Scissorhands? Boys have Edward. I certainly don’t have the Kim character. So where is my point of reference, where is the inspiration and safe place to remind a little girl lost or excluded that she is worthwhile?
In fact, the only example I can think of where a girl is wrongly exiled is the YA novel Speak. And in that case, the happy ending was not a function of the strong protagonist rejecting a corrupt and corrupting society, but of her reentry into a redeemed society. Even in something like Mean Girls, where the exile was not entirely or ultimately falsely imposed, acceptance by society is crucial to the girls’ salvation. One exception could be Heathers, which does treat female ostracism, and in which the solution is indeed the rejection (erm, destruction) of the unjust society. However, it is the rebellious male loner who is the agent of this rejection, and the female protagonist is, for the majority of the film, simply a witness to his mad and isolated genius. In any case, the TRUE female outcasts (Martha Dumptruck and Betty Finn) have no redeeming qualities (other than being vaguely unflaggingly “nice”) and find no redemption.
My brain leapt tangentially, as it usually does, and I found myself comparing and contrasting Edward Scissorhands to two other films: Carrie and The Crow. It is only just at this moment, a morning later, that I realise why: two visual associations: a gloomy doomy mad-prophetess religious woman in a darkened home brought me to one, and an aesthetic of protogoth fright wigs and painted faces to the other. Or it could simply be that both Edward Scissorhands and The Crow are both absolutely lovely little fairytales. This is not dismissive—fairytales are the most powerful narrative form of which I know (and I’ve got an 80-page thesis to prove it!). In any case, these became my leaping-off points: protagonists ripped from peer or support, tormented by a society that responds with fear and violence when confronted with the uncanny.
Male protagonists, whether alienated or alienating, are righteous in these example. Are pure, and noble, and the company they keep is unworthy of them. Flight is their only hope and salvation. Like Stephen Daedalus, they must loose the binds that tie them to others—and to human society—in order to gain this measure of salvation, truth, justice, call it what you will.
Carrie is malevolent. In fact, and this is sort of the point, the takeaway seems to be that when society brands a girl unwholesome, society is always right.
And now I am absolutely craving a viewing of Now, Voyager.
