BABIES AREN’T ZEN

Because I have a girl crush on Diablo Cody (the badass’s Miranda July), because it was heralded in the feminist blogosphere, and because the trailer made it look like tasty tasty cinematic junk food, I watched Jennifer’s Body last night, along with about four other people in the theater.

Other than being dragged to The Ring and its sequel in college, I hate and avoid horror movies (Saw 6? REALLY, people?). But this one promised to be Different and Empowered Or Something. It was definitely…something.

Jennifer becomes possessed by a demon after a Satanic ritual that’s seemingly a thinly veiled metaphor for gang rape. She goes on to eat people (er, “Not people; BOYS”), much to the dismay of her childhood best friend and polar opposite, “Needy,” the gorgeous but plain-Janeified Amanda Seyfried.

I can’t say I loved the movie, but it had some nice touches (Adam Brody as the guyliner-wearing band villain, Nicolai; Amy Sedaris as Needy’s “Ford Tough” protective mom). And its theme of female empowerment was impossible to miss (well, impossible if you’re straining to find it in every scene to distract you from squirting blood and bile). After being brutally victimized by a group of guys, Jennifer goes on to seduce and prey on numerous others. But is the victim becoming the perpetrator really that empowering?

Usually I’m of the mind that no, violence isn’t a solution to violence, but Jennifer’s Body used it to skewer female gender norms. Society says you’re a Bad Girl and a Slut if you flaunt your body [too much] and overtly use your sexuality to get what you want. We’re supposed to be sexual, but also doe-eyed and submissive. Watching Jennifer do whatever the hell she wanted, including (SPOILER ALERT) coming on to Needy, I couldn’t help but feel empowered. Sure, she had the excuse of being demon-possessed, but a female character acting with that kind of agency and disregard for societal approval is all too rare in film, especially horror.

I’m left puzzling over the Needy/Jennifer dichotomy, though. Are they supposed to be different sides of any woman, split by necessity into two different bodies? Our culture lets you be a smart girl, but you have to be bookish, wear glasses, and have sweet vanilla sex with your boyfriend? Is pulling strange boys into the woods for impulsive one-time encounters (after which you may or may not eat them) incompatible with friendship, cultural acceptance, and survival? Maybe sweetness, intelligence, and sexual abandon were just too much to squeeze into Jennifer’s body.