Rabbit Rabbit #3: Bunny, Flung out of Space
Happy December! The cold has officially taken over, which means it’s time for us to have a serious chat about a very important movie.
Welcome to my first winter in New York. This will not be easy for any of us. Fur coats will be worn, a certain tri-colored beret will be donned, and creamed spinach with a poached egg might –but probably not– be eaten. Perhaps the subtle transatlantic accent will come out for an annual spin if you’re lucky. For those of you who don’t know, these are some of the emblems, the shorthand, the lore, if you will, of Carol (2015).
Based on Patricia Highsmith’s 1952 novel The Price of Salt, Carol is a romantic period drama set during the Christmas season of ’52 in New York City that follows the love story between two women, Therese Belivet and Carol Aird. Therese, a young budding photographer, is working the busy holiday season as a salesgirl at Frankenberg’s, a massive department store in midtown, when she meets the gaze of Carol, an older woman on the brink of a divorce from her husband Harge. The two begin seeing one another, eventually taking a road trip to the midwest, during which they fall in love. Obviously, they have to keep the relationship a secret, Carol is also a mother of one, Harge isn’t too thrilled, the courts get involved, everything comes to a boil, etc, etc.
There’s a lot that’s compelling about this story and its ripple effect across pop culture. For one thing, Highsmith’s novel is cited as one of, if not the, first queer novels to have a happy ending, sooo there’s that. There’s the ‘Carol Season’ merchandise sold by @godimsuchadyke on Instagram. There’s my favorite SNL sketch which features Kate McKinnon mimicking Cate Blanchett’s hypnotizingly low vocal register: “Czech? What a coinkydink! ‘Cause I was trying to ‘check’ you out at the checkout counter,” she says to footage of Therese in the actual movie. And of course, there’s Allison Tate’s short film Carol Support Group about a group of Carol-addicted misfits entering a 12-step program.
What I find most compelling about The Price of Salt and Carol is the character of Therese and how her relationship with Carol transforms her own self-image. Described in both the novel and script as “an angel, flung out of space,” a phrase twice uttered by Carol to describe her strange, thoughtful companion, Therese is aloof, intense, and unsure about what her future holds. So, me!
Naturally, it’s hard to separate the mind’s image of Therese from Rooney Mara, who plays her in the movie, with her whirlpool eyes and delicate waifishness. But Therese as a character, that young woman “flung out of space,” serves as a sort of queer template for anyone who has ever been enthralled by another woman. Particularly, a more established woman, which usually means older.
The best chapter of Jill Gutowitz’s book of essays Girls Can Kiss Now is called “Step on Me, Julianne Moore.” In her searing style, Gutowitz takes us on a tour through “lesbian Mommy culture,” a Twitter phenomenon and community which she defines as “a sprawling and ravenous group of women who want Cate Blanchett to step on us,” who were a little too obsessed with their teachers and their friends’ older sisters back in the day. Precisely, “queer women who want their backs absolutely blown out by actresses over forty years old” (149). I didn’t only bring this up because Cate plays Carol. While partially tongue-in-cheek, I think Gutowitz’s assessment gets at something that applies to Therese and why she is so identifiable.
Gutowitz then points out that “there’s this inherently queer element of shame, or worth, or lack thereof” that manifests as a “shadow-self” following anyone who identifies as non-straight. That’s just the way it is. However, as she writes, “when I say I want Gillian Anderson to break my ribs with a splintered baseball bat…I’m taking back that shame, owning it instead of continuing to be controlled by it” (155).
Throughout the movie, Therese becomes increasingly ashamed of her decision to run off with Carol, mostly because of the anguish it causes her lover. Harge sends a private investigator to follow the women on their road trip, and the court threatens to take away Carol’s right to see her toddler Rindy (who so veeery interestingly resembles Therese in appearance, but I digress.) Therese’s emotions come to a head after Carol discovers the P.I. recording their post-coital hotel room conversations:
“I should’ve said no to you, but I never say no. And it’s selfish, because I just take everything, and I don’t know anything, and I don’t know what I want and how could I when all I do is say yes to everything?” Therese blurts out in the car. Here is someone so lost and confused that she truly is flung out of space into the painfully alien world of queer love in 19-freaking-52.
Therese spends more than half the movie shrouded in shame. But she also hides behind it, even relishes in it. It’s easier for her to feel bad/selfish/stupid for loving because it causes so much chaos. It’s like how we often find more pleasure in the yearning and quest for love or success than the actual getting-it part. Which is why Therese is startled into silence when Carol chastens her with, “I took what you gave willingly. It’s not your fault, Therese.” Maybe it would feel better if it was.
The biggest challenge for Therese is stepping away from Carol because it forces her to confront herself. This is where the age difference becomes crucial; Carol simply has had more time to figure out who she is and what she wants. And that is…HOT! Jk but not. It’s a challenge for Therese. In their time apart she gets a job in The New York Times photo room, begins dressing more maturely, and builds her own social circle. Alas, the happy ending is all the sweeter when she returns to Carol on her own terms, reclaiming the shame and pain she once felt was deserved.
Okay last paragraph!!! I find every second of Carol absolutely mesmerizing, from start to finish. There’s not a lagging moment, even after seeing it [REDACTED] times. I derive a sort of comfort out of knowing that some people are too bored to finish Carol– they think it’s too long, or there’s not enough action wink wink (even though there, um, is.) Good! Carol wasn’t made for you! It’s a movie that demands a viewer invested in and empathetic enough to a beautiful, complex love story that doesn’t follow an easily digestible pattern. In 1952 all these women could do was sneak glances at one another every ten days until they found a moment to meet. It’s already INSANE that Carol leaves her gloves on the countertop for Therese to find. Patricia Highsmith, herself a lesbian, was writing from direct experience of coming of age in 1940s New York. Trust me, I’ve read her notebooks and diaries.
Now if only Metrograph would drop the date and ticket link for their annual screening! <3
