By Rachel
*CONTAINS SPOILERS*
What do
Louise Banks of Arrival and Ellen
Ripley of Alien have in common? Extraterrestrial
buddies, a troubled relationship with the military, and a tendency to defy
authority.
What they
don’t have in common, though, is infinitely more interesting.
After
recently experiencing the grand, sweeping frames of Denis Villeneuve ‘s Arrival within a week of watching one of
my all-time favourite science fiction works, Ridley Scott’s Alien, it sprung to mind that female
leads of this genre used to come by once in a blue moon. Over the past few
decades, though, female protagonists of science fiction have significantly increased
in number.
Sarah
Connor of the Terminator series,
Eleanor Arroway of Contact, Evey
Hammond of V for Vendetta, Katniss
Everdeen of The Hunger Games, Furiosa
of Mad Max: Fury Road, and Rey of Star Wars: The Force Awakens are
arguably all iconic characters of the science fiction genre. Katniss in
particular has played a large role in popularising female protagonists in a
franchise that appeals to both teenage girls and boys.
In many
ways, though, Scott’s film was revolutionary. It was still the 1970s, and here
was a woman, out-surviving the men on a spaceship where at any turn H.R. Giger’s
alien could tear her apart. Sigourney Weaver’s character is the first to see
through the corrupt behaviour of the traitor Ash and the last left to initiate
the self-destruction of the Nostromo. She
is a badass kinda woman.
Sigourney
Weaver as Ellen Ripley in the Alien franchise [source]
It should be said, though,
that I’m a little biased. Ripley is one of my favourite characters in film, primarily
because she doesn't take any prisoners when it comes to leadership and doing
what needs to be done. As much as she’s smart
and rational, she doesn’t hide her emotions and isn’t afraid of showing her true colours. She is courageous and
intelligent, while still retaining her sense of independence as the only female
character capable of making cut-throat decisions on a mission where men blindly
follow orders. She represents neither the
archetype of the masculine woman out to prove herself in a man's world, nor the studious career woman hell bent
on professional success with no interest
in a family. She is something else altogether.
As we discover in Aliens, Ripley had
a family, back on Earth, and she shows
great compassion to Newt, the young girl found orphaned after aliens take over her human colony. At the same time,
though, Ripley decries the stereotypical
feminine aesthetic of 'the only woman on
the spaceship', as many would remember from the somewhat dated episodes of Star Trek and Lost in Space. She is
muscular and agile, but this does not
make her manly – she is simply a strong human being.
Of course,
Scott’s work is not without its problems. Ripley is at times sexualised
throughout the franchise – who can forget the nail-biting final scene of Alien where she single-handedly fights
off the stowaway alien in her singlet and underwear? However, as much as science fiction has vastly changed
over the years – and Arrival is indeed a positive example of these changes - Ripley
will always represent an early step
forward to more diverse characterisations in the genre.
‘This little girl survived longer than that with
no weapons and no training’: Newt and Ripley in Aliens. [source]
Based on a
short story by Ted Chiang, ‘Story of your Life’, Arrival reflects similar themes of female empowerment and
independence, but in rather different ways. Naturally, they are different films
with very different characters. But in terms of feminist themes, there are some
interesting discrepancies in comparison to Alien.
Amy Adams takes
the role of Louise Banks – a solitary academic in the world of linguistics who
is chosen to aid the American military in their communications with an alien
species. Banks is an intellectual, but her abrupt mannerisms and perceivably
lonely existence portray her as fundamentally unhappy. We are led to believe
that her unhappiness is due to her daughter’s recent death from cancer –
although the viewer learns otherwise in later scenes of the film. Banks is
admirable because she values intellectualism – especially its role in bringing
humans together to form more powerful, peaceful communities. Her rational,
intelligent decisions are in stark contrast to the meatheaded-ness of the
military (a stereotype that grew slightly tiresome in this film). Banks proves
to herself and the people around her that through knowledge, hard work and
patience comes successful communication and, eventually, a sense of
meaning.
However, as
refreshing as it is to still see such a strong female lead in science fiction,
the characterisation of Banks is somewhat problematic. From the first scene to
the moving final moments, Banks’ value as a human being seems to originate from
her role as a mother.
Despite
her knowledge as a linguist and her no-holds-barred approach to her work, the
writers make sure that we don’t forget what has really given her life meaning –
a child. As viewers will discover, the back-story of Banks’ family life is an
essential plot device, so it could hardly be removed. But it still begs the
question of why a successful, smart woman needs
a child to make her life worth living.
Amy Adams
as Louise Banks in Arrival. [source]
As much as
I enjoyed the film, I couldn’t help but think that the story would be a little different with a male lead. That
is not to take away from Banks’ story – she is a successful, driven and
intelligent woman, and, incidentally, a mother. But imagine a man in the same
position as Banks. It is much more difficult (although perhaps not impossible)
to imagine a male linguist on a path to rescue humanity, pining for the happy
memories of time spent with his now-dead daughter. Was he a good father? Did he
make the right decisions? How does this affect his work on a high-profile,
once-in-a-lifetime case to help ‘save the world’? It is not an impossibility,
but perhaps an unlikelihood. As we see in Interstellar,
Joseph Cooper is kept going by the love for his daughter back on Earth. The
difference in Arrival is that all of
Banks’ narration centres around the life of her daughter, despite her own vital
role in aiding humankind. Alternatively, Cooper’s mission is informed by the
love for his daughter, but his character is not defined by it (especially when
he leaves his aging daughter behind to, again, ‘save humanity’).
Following
the revelation that her non-existent child is not yet dead (but will live and
die in the future), the only tangible reason we’re given for Banks’ sad, lonely
sequences at the beginning of the film is the fact that she’s single – albeit residing
in a fabulous lakeside house with a high-paying university professorship to
boot. But still, single.
Additionally,
Banks’ decision to bring a daughter into the world with the full knowledge of
what will happen to her is depicted as heroic and admirable. The audience is meant
to respect her decision to continue on the path to motherhood despite the
knowledge that her daughter will die young from a horrible disease. But what if
Banks had decided otherwise? What if she had instead avoided pregnancy to save
a child from horrific pain and suffering? Would she still be an admirable
woman, or is this something only a pragmatic male would do? I would not blame
her for either decision, but the alternative does make me wonder.
Don’t get
me wrong, I loved the majesty of Arrival;
how it challenged my perception of language and the human idea of time and reality.
Aliens, a female lead, and an excellent plot twist – what’s a sci-fi fangal not
to love? It was a good film, and the
recent Oscar nominations it’s been granted are well-deserved. I cannot wait to
watch it again.
And I’m
also not in the market for films in which all female characters are decidedly
admirable, or representative of my own idea of feminism – I want them to be
conflicted, mean, tough and foolhardy, without being perceived as ‘insane
bitches’ – and in many ways, the increasing amount of women in science fiction
will hopefully allow for a more diverse range of characterisations to take
hold. It’s just a shame that Banks – an intelligent, strong and ethical woman –
was primarily defined by her motherhood,
and not instead by her Ripley-esque rationale and independence.
