Needy: You’re killing people?
Jennifer: No. I’m killing boys.
Jennifer’s Body, Karyn Kasuma, 2009
Browsing the movie aisles sometime in the early 2010’s as a young teenager, I remember coming across Jennifer’s Body. I took one look at Megan Fox’s objectified body on the cover art and thought, ‘This film isn’t made for me’. I, like many others at the time, presumed that this film was a softcore-porn cash-grab aimed at teenage boys. I dismissively expected a vapid, vaguely misogynistic slasher storyline, and turned to pick up some other movie instead. Later in my teen years, I caught Jennifer’s Body while channel-flipping late at night and realised just how wrong these preconceptions were.
Nowadays, I consider this film to be one of my favourites from the noughties. It’s like all the best themes from Mean Girls, Tomie and But I’m a Cheerleader were boiled down into one big melting pot, and the result is a cracker of a movie. Ahead of it’s time, Jennifer’s Body lures you in with stereotypical high-school movie tropes, only to surprise the viewer with an exploration of cultural perceptions towards women’s bodies and queer sexuality. Jennifer’s Body was directed by Karyn Kasuma and written by Diablo Cody; truly a film written for women, by women – and as such, it’s a damn shame that the marketing of this movie caused so many girls like me to make the same assumptions. Thankfully, the film has seen a resurgence in popularity online in recent years – particularly amongst groups of queer women in their teens and twenties. And for good reason.
Released in 2009, the film follows the tumultuous relationship of Needy and the titular Jennifer. Needy Lesnicki (Amanda Seyfried) is, for lack of a better term, your typical ‘Plain Jane’, insecure and reliant on her best friend for approval. Also, she’s ‘totally Lesbigay’ for Jennifer, following her every whim and hanging on to every last word. Portrayed by Megan Fox, Jennifer Check is an Alpha Bitch Cheerleader. You know this character already – she’s Regina George, Betty Rizzo and Heather Chandler. Except, after rock-band Low Shoulder performs a botched Satanic ritual on Jennifer, she also eats boys. Through a distinctly female gaze, Kasuma explores the power-play of Jennifer and Needy’s complex relationship, the horror aspects of the film acting to raise the stakes and amplify their feelings to an extreme degree. Through its gory melodrama, Jennifer’s Body makes the choice to center predominantly around the teenage female experience, contrary to what it’s misguided marketing campaign would lead you to believe.
Succubus Sexuality in Jennifer’s Body
One of the ways in which Jennifer’s Body approaches discussions of female sexuality is through the deconstruction of the succubus, a trope which pulls many of its narrative elements from archaic belief in women’s nymphomania. The historical blueprint for Jennifer’s succubus-character is Lilith, of Mesopotamian and Jewish myth. In the Alphabet of Ben Sirach, Lilith was the first wife of Adam, deemed demonic as she believed herself to be his equal. In the text, Lilith will not ‘lie beneath him, but only on top’ – this refusal to submit to patriarchal sexual norms damning her to the dark side. Succubae are typically women and typically hypersexual – though Lilith had the added bonus of being a kidnapper, a child murderer, and a seducer of married men, to boot. In monogamous societies, these stories of demonic, seductive women are often believed to be constructed to prevent married men from cheating, reinforcing religious values against adultery. Unfortunately, they also had the nasty side-effect of strengthening negative perceptions towards female sexuality in popular thought.
We see this mindset too, in Jennifer’s Body. Indie-boy members of the band Low Shoulder remark that Jennifer is ‘exactly what they’re looking for’, wrongly presuming her to be a virgin. Though her virginity is valued in the context of their satanic ritual in the movie, this comment draws attention to the value placed upon a woman’s chastity, even as recently as the late 2000’s. I’d also attest that the ritual adds a second layer of meaning upon this reading, too – the sacrifice of a virgin woman is intricately linked with ideas of ‘purity’ and ‘innocence’ in relation to her chastity throughout history. This trope is rarely applied to men, demonstrating the double standards which exist between the sexes in regards to desire and whether one decides to act upon it. In a film that is so filled with modern colloquialisms (for the late noughties), the use of such an archaic ritual scene creates a sense of dissonance. In the context of sexuality, the use of virgin sacrifice in Jennifer’s Body highlights the fact that these ideas are outdated, stemming from belief systems that were often implemented to suppress women’s access to sexual agency.
Later in the film, we see the events of the ritual sacrifice itself. The scene is graphic and harrowing, strongly parallelling a rape scene. During this sequence, Jennifer is tied to a rock whilst the male band members jeer around her, taunting her with the threat of their plans to sacrifice her body for fame and fortune. Nicholai brandishes a knife which is in clear sight throughout the scene, cruelly taunting her prior to the assault. In her highly influential work ‘Men Women and Chainsaws’, Carol Clover identifies the knife as a phallic symbol within the horror film – a stand-in for male sexuality. Through this lens, the way in which Nicholai repeatedly thrusts the knife into Jennifer’s exposed stomach whilst the rest of the band look on in spite of her anguish can easily be read as a gendered violation of her sexualised body. This attack upon Jennifer’s presumed virgin body in the act of murder also exposes contemporary attitudes towards female sexuality at the time: once it is no longer considered chaste, it is no longer useful, and can be disposed as such. This is reflected by the band’s abandonment of her dead body at Devil’s Kettle Falls – once she has been ‘used’ for the ritual and her virgin blood is spent, she is no longer valuable. Therefore, through both the ritual and the discussion of virginity as an ideal so early within the film, Kasuma and Cody draw attention to the ways in which women’s bodies and sexualities are held to archaic historical standards, even within our contemporary era. However, it must also be noted that because Jennifer was not a virgin, her transformation into a powerful demon takes place.
Once the cause for Jennifer’s transformation into a succubus is revealed midway through the movie, Jennifer’s Body essentially follows the structure of a rape-revenge film, and the viewer therefore gains sympathy with Jennifer despite her status as a movie ‘monster’. She doesn’t choose to transform into a succubus, however, in doing so Jennifer regains power over her sexualised body, using it to build strength, influence and retribution in the wake of her assault. As a murderous succubus, her revenge against this violation of her body is not just directed towards the members of Low Shoulder, but the male population of the movie itself. Jennifer’s victims can be considered as those who dare to view her in a sexualised light, boys who reduce her down to nothing but the body she inhabits, and the sexual potential she represents. It’s no coincidence that her initial murders include those who dare to ask her out on a date before her ‘change’. When ‘fed’, Jennifer can’t be hurt nor killed, and thus cannot be victimised for her objectified body in the same way as she was during the ritual. Instead, Jennifer makes the choice to turn this gendered exploitation on its head, using her sexuality to lure in her kills.
Through this representation of Jennifer’s transformation into a succubus, Kasuma and Cody deconstruct both the hypersexualisation of the female body and the societal ideal of women’s chastity, tackling these concepts head on. Unlike mythic representations of the ‘fallen woman’ or the demonically evil succubus archetype, Jennifer’s Body demonstrates the effects of societal pressures on women’s sexuality, taking this into account when considering the actions of the antagonist. In its choice to explore these pressures placed upon women, through both the historical influences of ideas surrounding women’s virginity and the consequences of patriarchal dominance in sexual situations, the film demonstrates a female perspective upon these issues. Though she is written to be a succubus, and therefore a ‘monster’, ultimately, Jennifer is, and was, just a teenage girl, transformed into something ‘evil’ as a direct result of male perceptions of her sexuality. Jennifer’s power comes directly from her objectification as a succubus, allowing women to reclaim agency over tropes that historically hurt them within this film. In a way, she uses the male gaze as a weapon, allowing her to succeed in spite of the patriarchal culture that works against her. Through her transformation, Jennifer’s character ultimately deconstructs ideas of the madonna-whore complex which are so intricately linked with women’s sexuality.
It should also be mentioned that, as a rape-revenge film, Jennifer’s Body doesn’t let Low Shoulder get away with their actions unchecked. Thanks to a demonic bite from Jennifer in the film’s final battle, Needy retains the ability to levitate. This allows her to seek revenge upon the band members by escaping the psychiatric facility she is placed in following the murder of Jennifer – we’re treated to a montage of their bloodied hotel room during the end credits. Reading the film in this way, it comes as no surprise, then, that much of the resurgence of this film’s popularity came to light in around 2018, coinciding with the #MeToo movement.
(As a side-note, I do often wonder about the teenage boys and men drawn into this film by the marketing campaign – drawn in by promises of shots that appeal to the male-gaze, expecting Jennifer’s Body to be a typical, sex-centered narrative focussed solely on the objectification of Megan Fox, only to be devoured by its subversive story in the same way as the boys in the film.)
‘I go both ways’: Sapphic themes in Jennifer’s Body
Furthering the film’s exploration of feminine sexuality in the late 2000s, the relationship between Needy and Jennifer delves into themes of queerness and desire. As mentioned before, Needy’s infatuation with Jennifer goes beyond that of a normal friendship – to any queer woman that’s fallen in love with a friend, her pining is obvious. In the opening scene, the camera focuses on Jennifer’s face as Needy looks on with a loving gaze, enthralled by her movements. Needy addresses the audience directly, stating that ‘Sandbox love never dies’ – though she doesn’t really need to tell us that, because this is so clearly demonstrated from what we see on screen. Needy’s feelings are tentatively reciprocated by Jennifer, but only when this is convenient for her.
Unsurprisingly, considering my above analyses of Jennifer’s assault, sexual situations between men and women are portrayed as violent, or at least uncomfortable in Jennifer’s Body. As a succubus, Jennifer uses sex to entice and kill her male victims, creating a link between violence and heterosexuality throughout the film. I’m reminded particularly of the scene where Needy loses her virginity to her boyfriend Chip. What should be a romantic, intimate moment within a relationship is instead invaded with shots of Jennifer on the hunt, seducing, trapping and aggressively murdering her male victim. Through some supernatural link, Needy seems to sense this danger, and is hounded by visions of blood seeping through the ceiling, accompanied by a demonic apparition of Jennifer in the corner of the room. The ambience is dark and blue, implying danger and fear throughout the entirety of the scene. Throughout this sequence, Chip also mistakes Needy’s cries of fear for pleasure – this further reinforces the link between violence and heterosexual relations throughout the movie. Even between romantic lovers, miscommunication and hurt invade intercourse, implying an inherent sense of discomfort. Thus, sex between men and women is inextricably linked with pain in Jennifer’s Body.
Contrast this scene with the intimacy of Jennifer and Needy’s kiss, where the lighting is soft and shots linger on the closeness of their lips and bodies. There is a sense of comfort and familiarity compared to the aggression and violence shown during scenes of heterosexual intercourse or seduction. The camera is pulled up close to their bodies, focused on soft, caring touches, a harsh contrast with the way in which male-female sex is used for leverage, power and control within this movie. Though one could argue that this scene could be viewed through the lens of the male gaze, I suggest that these shots are used to further emphasise the divide in representation between male/female and female/female relationships in Jennifer’s Body. Whereas during instances in which these women engage in sexual acts with men shots appear far away and almost clinical, the closeness of the camera to their bodies within this scene heightens the sense of romance and desire, further emphasising the distinct differences between straight and queer relationships within the movie.
In Jennifer’s Body, a queer reading of this film and its handling of heterosexual versus homosexual relationships could imply a critique of compulsory heterosexuality, the idea that straightness is both assumed and enforced by patriarchal/heteronormative society. This is an experience which is particularly common amongst women-loving-women – perhaps as a result of the negative connotations that are associated with female sexuality within society. As sex and active desire is culturally considered to be reserved for the male counterpart of the relationship, women are expected to take the passive role within a relationship, and thus, feelings of sexual attraction between two women becomes far more difficult to approach. Needy’s hopeless pining for Jennifer throughout the movie is particularly evocative of this experience – though she clearly loves her in a way that is beyond friendship, she remains inclined to pursue a sexual relationship with her boyfriend Chip, as this is the societal norm. Needy’s vehement denial of her feelings towards Jennifer whenever this is brought up also provides further evidence for such a reading.
This is also demonstrated in scenes where Jennifer and Needy engage in sexual acts with men, where the motivation behind this is out of either necessity or expectation. For Jennifer, if she doesn’t seduce and kill her male victims, she’ll lose all her power, becoming weakened and vulnerable – men are simply easy targets, because heterosexuality is assumed. For Needy, it’s what girlfriends and boyfriends ‘do’, a compulsory hurdle that must be jumped within their relationship in order to progress to the ‘next level’ of romance. Contrast this with the kiss shared between Needy and Jennifer, a scene portrayed to be natural and comfortable, done in private because they want to, rather than because they feel in any way obliged to. Throughout the film, as Jennifer gains a more ‘masculine’, dominant aspect to her sexuality in her demonic transformation, these walls of heteronormativity begin to slowly break down within their relationship and their desire for one another becomes easier to act upon, culminating in the kiss scene.
If anything, I’d argue that a reading of Needy and Jennifer’s relationship as objectifying/appealing to the male gaze is heavily influenced through the mishandled marketing campaign – as we have seen, this film continually subverts viewer expectation and defies societal perceptions towards women’s bodies. In portraying genuine romance between two women – especially romance addled with the pressures of compulsory heterosexuality – Kasuma and Cody almost construct a queer, female gaze throughout Jennifer’s Body, displaying the experiences of those who feel trapped by the societal constraints projected upon them and are unable to pursue their true desires outside of closed doors. Although the relationship goes no further than the kiss scene, I’d suggest that this, too, says a lot about compulsory heterosexuality in film. Even as recently as the late noughties, portraying romantic homosexual relationships in mainstream cinema was often censored, influenced by Hollywood’s Hays Code and its rules against the portrayal of ‘immoral sexual relationships’. Though these guidelines have long been abandoned, their impact on modern filmmaking is often evident. Therefore, in a meta sense, Jennifer and Needy’s relationship is also constrained by assumed heterosexuality from the making of Jennifer’s Body as a film.
Despite this, Karyn Kasuma and Diablo Cody still manage to approach issues of women’s sexuality with tact and nuance, using the typical ‘high school movie’ format to subvert viewer expectations and confront social norms surrounding women’s sexuality. Typical tropes such as the ‘damsel in distress’ are subverted, instead presenting us with a powerful female villain who is both in control of her sexuality and is able to use this as a weapon against those who would attempt to objectify her. In using the Succubus trope, Jennifer’s Body looks to the past to tackle our modern preconceptions towards women’s bodies and feelings, whilst simultaneously attacking the high regard in which women’s virginity is held as a result of archaic belief systems. As a succubus, Jennifer reclaims power through the use of her objectified body in order to gain power and control, turning both social norms and the trope itself on its head. The film then further expands upon this to explore themes of queerness and desire, and the ways in which societal expectations of heterosexuality affect those who fall outside of the ‘norm’.
I think that, if Jennifer’s Body had been distributed in the last few years by a trendy, progressive company such as A24, this movie would have gained the recognition it deserved at release. Because of the marketing campaign, many people (including myself) presumed it to be ‘just another teen movie’, a slasher flick which would conform to the patriarchal gender norms of any other horror film made at the time. Instead, Jennifer’s Body represents an exploration of these exact same tropes from a female-centric lens, providing critique, subversion and comedy. Thankfully, it’s resurgence in popularity during the last few years has more than asserted its position as a queer cult film, allowing its themes to be appreciated by the intended audience.
References:
Clover, Carol J., “Men, Women and Chainsaws: Gender in the Modern Horror Film”, 1992, Princeton University Press.
Rich, Adrienne, “Compulsory Heterosexuality and Lesbian Existence”, 1980, Signs, Vol. 5, No. 4, Women: Sex and Sexuality, The University of Chicago Press.
Morbid Instinct 