Screen shot from Sean Baker's Starlet, wide shot of a young woman and an old woman sitting on a picnic table

 

EDITOR’S NOTE: In case you didn’t catch the byline, this is a guest post! Please enjoy this piece from a writer whose work I am thrilled to feature (because I love reading her work elsewhere): Veronica Phillips.

 

For Starlet’s twenty-something year old protagonist Jane (Dree Hemingway), conventional understandings of intimacy regarding sex, love, friendship, and connection certainly exist and matter, but they are altered by both her line of work and the general sense of loneliness that comes from the early stages of learning to live as an individual and an adult. Notions of traditional value systems of monogamy, nuclear families, socially-approved-of work, and creating a home are not what currently center Jane’s life (nor does she seem to long for them). Instead, Jane lives in Los Angeles, a city notorious for its almost built-in loneliness, in a shitty apartment with some friends – a young couple named Melissa (Stella Maeve) and Mikey (James Ransome). Jane looks like she’s been pulled directly out of a 2012 American Apparel ad. She’s bleach-blonde, dressed in tiny plain tees and short-shorts, often paired with those thigh high, striped tube socks that were so en vogue in the early 2010s. She spends a lot of her day smoking weed and hanging out, always with her tiny, precious rescue dog, Starlet, in tow. Jane has a mother who she claims is hooked on oxys and presumably lives where Jane used to live, in Jacksonville, Florida; while Jane tries to coax her mother to come visit her, Jane’s mother seems generally disinterested in their relationship.

Perhaps the most distinct contrast in Jane’s life regarding love, sex, and intimacy, however, stems from her line of work. For much of Starlet, we are not told what Jane does for a living, but depending on how versed one may be in the porn industry and the fact that one of its major hubs is in the San Fernando Valley, some may catch on faster than others. About forty-five minutes into the film, Jane arrives at a shoot, and we get a definitive and explicit explanation of her work. She and porn superstar Manuel Ferrera have non-simulated oral and penetrative sex on camera (with Hemingway being body-doubled by adult film actress Zoe Voss for the shots of non-simulated sex, a common Google search regarding the film). 

I preface with this description of Jane’s life and work not because I find Starlet’s presentation of sex work and porn to be its most interesting aspect, nor to critique its representation in the film. There is a sort of matter-of-fact neutrality regarding the porn industry in Starlet, described succinctly in Roger Ebert’s review as a “strictly-for-business,” “mechanical” process. 

Instead, I preface with this description simply because it encapsulates the way that intimacy as we would conventionally conceive of it, especially in forcing strict, morally-coded value systems upon certain kinds of romantic and sexual relationships, is not and cannot be a concern for Jane because of her job in the sex industry. She has friends, she has moments of closeness, but she also admits (in a rather nonchalant, unbothered way), that romance is not as much of an option because of her line of work. She spends a fair amount of time alone, driving around or sleeping in the small, barren room for which she pays $1,200 a month.

For Starlet’s eighty-something year old Sadie (Besedka Johnson), intimacy has been long removed from her life. Her husband, Frank, has been dead for decades, she gave up her driver’s license when she decided she was officially “too old” to have it, and her one recreational activity is Bingo on the weekends. Otherwise, she sits at home, or has a taxi cab drive her to the grocery store or Frank’s headstone. 

Jane and Sadie’s relationship begins over an old, ornate Thermos that Sadie is selling in a yard sale. After buying it, Jane discovers that the Thermos is stuffed with cash, about ten thousand dollars worth. At first she does what I assume many of us would — getting her nails done, buying some new clothes and a special, bedazzled harness for her dog — but her conscience begins to weigh on her quickly. After a failed attempt to return the money, Jane begins orchestrating meet-cutes and run-ins with Sadie in hopes of accumulating enough acts of kindness that she can no longer feel guilty about the matter.

From the moment they meet, the two women are in conflict, bickering over how Jane is going to use the Thermos (she insists it’ll work as a vase, which deeply offends Sadie’s by-the-book mentality). Their basic understandings of relationships clash. Jane fails to respect Sadie’s repeated requests to be left alone, insisting on driving Sadie home from the grocery store and showing up to her weekly Bingo sessions to sit next to her. Sadie is unfairly suspicious of Jane, certain that she is being “scammed” by the younger woman. 

And yet, in spite of this constant bickering, this push-and-pull, once Jane and Sadie have met, they simply cannot seem to detangle from each other’s orbits. As Jane continues to insist on helping, and Sadie consistently, yet begrudgingly, needs help, the early reasons for these acts of kindness become blurred. 

 

Screen shot from Sean Baker's Starlet, medium shot of an old woman and a young woman doing a craft together

 

In fact, soon after meeting, Jane and Sadie begin hanging out just because they want to. Jane wants to see Sadie, waking up at 7:30 AM for breakfast with her, rushing to get out of her make-up from a shoot to pick Sadie up from the grocery store, aggressively defending Sadie against some insurance providers. And Sadie, at first blunt and seemingly disinterested in Jane’s attentions, begins telling Jane about her past, buying Starlet treats at the store, and asking Jane about her love life. Gradually, the two stop resisting the strangeness of the situation, and start genuinely loving each other. Their relationship blossoms during little dates to the dog park, on drives to errands, on a trip to the place where Sadie’s husband proposed to her. Jane and Sadie, in their private worlds where love and intimacy work differently than the average person, develop, in an unexpected and delightful sense, into each other’s soulmates. 

Jane provides Sadie with someone to connect with without having to change who she is, while Jane, on the other hand, is provided a relationship outside of her somewhat tumultuous living situation and the transactional nature of her work. And while we never know for certain if Sadie knows what Jane does, one gets the sense that she wouldn’t really care. It doesn’t affect the basic tenets of their relationship – that of simple, authentic time together. 

Perhaps the most endearing part of Jane and Sadie’s relationship, however, is that they remain unchanged by each other. They are soulmates because of their differences, because of their endless bickering, because of the way they do not feel pushed to share every aspect of their personal lives with one another. The two never stop having little arguments. Sadie doesn’t stop being crotchety, and Jane doesn’t stop being young and idealistic. Their gestures of love are a heartwarming part of their growing affections for one another, but their soulmate-ness comes from their willingness to just let the other be. Neither one makes drastic changes to herself to become more palatable to the other. The bickering and the messiness and the difference is welcome, and it’s what makes their connection so strong. 

Their various reciprocal loving gestures eventually culminate with Jane spending the remainder of Sadie’s found money on a luxury trip to Paris for the two of them, hoping to fulfill one of Sadie’s lifelong dreams. Right before they leave, Melanie — stung by the fact that she was denied the acts of care that Jane is showering on some presumably random old woman — drives to Sadie’s house to tell her the truth: that Jane has been spending time with Sadie out of guilt for stealing the money.

But Sadie is unbothered by this revelation. In fact, this attempt at destroying Sadie and Jane’s love is what brings their soulmate-ness to its most tangible, solidified form. In the final moments of the film, Sadie asks Jane to stop at the cemetery on the way to the airport to drop flowers off for her husband, Frank. This is one of their regular errands, but this time, Sadie asks for Jane to go up to Frank’s headstone instead of her. 

In the warm, golden Los Angeles sunshine, Jane stares down at not one, but two headstones; Sadie did not just lose a husband, but lost a teenage daughter. Jane looks up, overcome, and locks eyes with Sadie studying her from the car. They gaze at each other in silence, like lovers finally seeing each other, or like daughter seeing full, complicated mother. And yet, they are  like neither of these things, because Jane and Sadie’s love holds a magic that goes beyond the romantic and the maternal. It’s something beyond blood or want, it just is. In Sadie’s vulnerability, in her revealing of this loss, she gives Jane everything – forgiveness, full and total acceptance, and a revelation of an indescribably painful loss. She trusts Jane with all of this. The money could not be more irrelevant to her. Jane is well worth losing that ten thousand dollars, just like giving that money back to Sadie in the form of a dream trip is well worth it to Jane. 

Jane walks back to the car and looks outward at the world, her life shifted. She opens the door to get in, and Starlet ends. Jane and Sadie understand intimacy differently than the average person — but I think we all do. What’s an average person’s version of intimacy? Is there such a thing? Starlet invites us to open ourselves up to the opportunity of true love taking on forms beyond the limited ways we are asked to picture love and life and connection. 

We don’t see Jane and Sadie pull off into the sunset. We don’t hear what is said or isn’t said after this revelation. We don’t need to see those things. We know that Jane and Sadie are meant to be together, we know that they will see and hear each other in a way that no one one else sees or hears. They will continue being exactly what they are, and being loved unconditionally by each other for it.

 

Screen shot from Starlet, medium shot through a car window of a young woman, a dog in beret, and an old woman

 

VERONICA PHILLIPS is a film and television writer located in Los Angeles, California. She writes freelance as well as being a regular contributor to Film Daze and her own personal newsletter “but how can i make this about me?” She’s extremely susceptible to crying at, fixating upon, and tweeting about movies ad nauseum. 


screenshot from Cats (2019)

 

EDITOR’S NOTE: In case you didn’t catch the byline, this is the very first guest post published on Delayed Responses! Please enjoy this piece from the biggest Cats enthusiast I know, Gina Elbert.

 

Move over, Die Hard: there’s a new controversial Christmas movie in town. That’s right, I bring to you: Cats (2019).

Not your first guess? Well, that might be a mistake. Tom Hooper’s seminal film Cats was released on December 20, 2019, on the same day as The Rise of Skywalker, which some might argue was a worse movie.* Opening against  the ninth and final Star Wars film was a choice, and announcing a near-immediate re-release on opening day was also a choice. But perhaps the greatest choice of all lay in the marketing of this movie as a Christmas film. 

For those uninitiated into the cult of Cats, it’s a live-action film adaptation of the eponymous 1981 Andrew Lloyd Webber musical, which itself is based on a collection of poems by T.S. Eliot. It follows a group of strays called Jellicle cats who compete in front of an ancient, God-like cat named Old Deuteronomy (in the film version, played by Judi Dench) for rebirth via a trip to the Heaviside Layer. The cats include such notable names as Bustopher Jones (James Corden), Jennyanydots (Rebel Wilson), the outcast Grizabella (Jennifer Hudson), and the highlight of my life, Skimbleshanks (Steven McRae). Each one sings a song about themselves to prove their worth – though in the stage musical, it’s usually another cat singing about them – while the villainous Macavity (Idris Elba) lurks in the background and tries to give the show any further inkling of plot.** To be transparent, it’s not a film that mentions Christmas even once. So why are we here at all?

The trailers for the film featured the taglines, “This Christmas, many will compete; only one can win,” and “You’re invited to the most joyful event of the holiday season.” They’ve each got very different vibes, neither of which I can say is entirely justified, and they’re both in the same trailer. Discussion of the first tagline in a Discord server with some friends led to a vehement argument on the definition of “compete,” while the second is true, but not in a way that the filmmakers intended. Well, alright, I can only guess as to what Tom Hooper was thinking, but I derived my joy more from the inexplicable absurdity of the film’s execution and my personal cinematic experience than from the conceit itself (other than the songs of Skimbleshanks and Mr. Mistoffelees, which are true bops). 

There is one intriguing tagline, though, that didn’t make it to the trailers. One March night in Scotland, two of my friends walked into Tesco and were thrilled to come across a bottle of Cats-branded champagne from Piper Heidsieck. Yes, the very same Piper Heidsieck parodied as Pi-purr Heidsieck in the background of “Jellicle Songs for Jellicle Cats.” It was a decent bottle of champagne, but its appearance in a grocery store three whole months after the film’s release says quite a lot about the film’s mainstream popularity, or lack thereof. The box bore the words, “This Christmas, you will believe.”

My friend joked it was a threat. I have only questions: believe in what? Why Christmas? Why this very generic holiday film tagline? Is Cats actually supposed to be a Christmas movie?

To answer this question, we must first take a look at Christmas movies generally. I’m no expert, but I’ve seen my fair share, from classics like It’s a Wonderful Life to Netflix originals like the Princess Switch and Christmas Prince trilogies. Dolly Parton’s Christmas on the Square was almost the topic of this essay; it continues to perplex me. An inexhaustive list of common tropes in movies like these would contain: a romantic storyline, manifestations of magic, at least one musical scene or montage, themes of all kinds of love and family, and someone refusing to believe in the power of Christmas just to be proven wrong. Santa is pretty important, but at the very least we expect a wise, magical elderly person to point the way to good choices. Christian (but not necessarily exclusively so) morality is a strong throughline and a falling-down-the-chimney gag would not go amiss. 

Let’s break these down one by one. Most of the film is sung, so the musical element is a no-brainer. The cats do flirt and nuzzle quite a lot, though there is never any kissing despite some moments where you really think it’s going to happen. Hooper even heterosex-ified Mister Mistofelees, a character often considered gay by Cats musical fans, so that he could pair with Victoria, the white cat who is new to the community and who operates as an audience stand-in. There is a certain romance to Victoria discovering and falling in love with the community of Jellicle Cats, which she sings about in “Beautiful Ghosts.”

The Jellicle Cats are a family, and family is key to Christmas movies. This particular group has all of the wacky uncles, troublemaking cousins, and boomer grandparents you could want. At its head is Old Deuteronomy, who acts as a spiritual father (in the original musical, Old Deuteronomy is male) and therefore wise elder to the rest of the cats. The family defines itself in its exclusion of Macavity, his crony Bombalurina, and Grizabella. Grizabella’s story in particular is interesting because of her deep remorse for having once helped Macavity and her eventual redemption and re-acceptance into the family thanks to Victoria’s encouragement. The Jellicle Cats learn compassion because of her and compassion is a key Chirstian moral. 

 

 

Finally, the movie involves magic, not just in its conceit but also in Macavity’s use of it for disappearing his competitors. It’s the sort of powdery, sparkly cloud that appears in many a holiday movie. Macavity could even be our Scrooge/Grinch-like character, if you squint hard enough. The mystical London of this universe, with its nebulous time period, bafflingly cat-themed but human-sized businesses, and abandoned buildings built on prime real estate echoes the perfect little Christmas villages of Hallmark movies in its festive implausibility. 

The biggest giveaway for a Christmas movie is that it actually mentions Christmas, which I will admit Cats doesn’t do. But it does involve questions of faith and spiritual ascendance in its fashioning of the story around the trip to the Heaviside Layer, a real layer in the atmosphere that I generally assume to be a stand-in for Heaven (but who can tell, with T.S. Eliot?). No, Heaven doesn’t generally involve rebirth as far as I know, but it’s still an interesting element. We have only to look at the Star Wars Holiday Special to see that popular media invents secular, Christmas-inspired holidays all the time. The ball and subsequent ascension in Cats definitely comes under the heading of holiday for their participants. Just because there is no clear name for the day doesn’t mean it doesn’t exist.

Cats joins the ranks of many past holiday movies that aren’t strictly about the holidays. Mary Poppins is often played on TV in the UK during the holiday season, but it’s not a Christmas movie either. The library where I work lists The Sound of Music as a film perfect for the season, too. Actually, a lot of movie musicals are released during the Christmas season. They’re not explicitly festive, but they are marketed similarly to the way in which Cats was. I imagine this is because families need something to do while the kids are on vacation, so why not take them to an all-ages movie that everyone can enjoy? This works with some musical films released during the Christmas season, like Mary Poppins Returns and Into the Woods; less so with titles like Les Misérables (also a Tom Hooper production!), West Side Story, and of course Cats

 

 

Cats is a very sensual, often confusing movie. A kid might miss a lot of the innuendo, sure, but it’s not overall something that anyone would immediately peg as a family film even without that. Almost every professional review of the movie found it erotic, perhaps disturbingly so, and it’s hard to deny that Old Deuteronomy spreading her legs for Gus the Theater Cat in delight over his performance or the cats’ tails going suddenly rigid while dancing at the ball sets off horny alarm bells.*** The IMDb parents’ guide for the film lists “moderate” sex (though the real meat of that page is where “James Corden” is listed under “Frightening & Intense Scenes”). Speaking of James Corden: he appears in many children’s films, which often have star-studded casts, but there’s little in this movie that actually calls to kids. The colors are fairly muted, all of the characters are adults (besides Jennyanydot’s mice), there isn’t much action outside the dancing and the one fight scene on the barge, and there isn’t a clear plot arc to follow. Kids are often into very surprising things, but that doesn’t necessarily mean that the movie’s marketing made sense either. 

Cats was released exactly two years ago to this day, just before Christmas, and in combination with its vaguely Christmas-like story and its marketing, I do question how much of its Christmassy-nature was manufactured paratextually. I probably wouldn’t be asking these questions at all if the movie came out in, say, October. However, the two times I saw the film in theaters – on opening night, then about a week after the re-release – were some of the best times I’ve ever spent at a cinema. The pure shock of the cat in the sky in the opening shot, the exhilaration of “Skimbleshanks,” the communal joy of singing along to “Mister Mistoffelees,” and the horror of Judy Dench breaking the fourth wall in “The Ad-dressing of Cats” were such wonderful, unadulterated emotions. I attended both showings with friends as enthusiastic as I was in the tiny, mostly-empty theater in my hometown that has sadly closed down permanently due to the pandemic.**** I can only imagine the other movie-goers, like the mom and her son who asked if we minded if they ate Chinese food behind us, were bewildered by how much fun we had. To me, that’s what a Christmas movie is all about – the kind of love and longing that it can stir up inside of you. Those are feelings worth celebrating, especially now. I could what-if myself into oblivion about the filmmakers’ choices, but I will never escape the fact that, in this timeline, Cats is a Christmas movie.

 

GINA ELBERT is a writer and children’s librarian in Westchester County, NY. A friend of Leah’s from Pratt, Gina loves to do crosswords, journal, and fawn over cats (the animals and the film) in her free time.


*My friend and I saw Cats on the night of the 19th in an early showing and saw Rise of Skywalker the next afternoon. We’re both fans of Star Wars, yet had infinitely more fun at Cats. That’s a discussion for another day.

**Okay, that’s a bit harsh – you don’t always need plot to tell a good story! And I would argue that the stage show version of Cats works without one. The movie occupies a liminal space between plot and no plot because of its attempt at creating a mainstream narrative structure, which makes things… interesting. 

***That said, the dancing in the film is very good from a technical standpoint, at least to my eyes.

****Since publishing, there’s been some good news! The theater looks like it will be revived after all.