Thelma & Louise

“I don't ever remember feeling this awake.”
—from “Thelma & Louise”

Like “Heavenly Creatures,” “Thelma & Louise” is a love story. Falling into the “buddy love,” and “fugitive/chicks on the lam” sub-genre. It’s also a dual-protagonist narrative—with two characters almost functioning as one. This movie was a key reference point for Permanent Obscurity—but from a distance. In the past, I’ve seen it many times, so I was afraid of imitating it. Finally, halfway through the novel, I sat down to watch it again, realizing how much I absorbed from it: in particular how each woman drives the other emotionally. For me, it’s a pleasure to watch the interplay between two characters so in sync. The exchanges, I noticed, also provide a kind of propulsive energy to the narrative, the dialogue mounting and carrying you along.

The volatility of the characters is engaging, too. And I love how they share the power dynamics of the relationship, with Louise, seeming to be in charge, then suddenly Thelma taking command. In other words, it’s more or less an even power exchange, with both characters able to express doubt and fear openly (unlike traditional male characters), yet still move ahead. Thelma (Gena Davis), in particular, interests me, because of the shapelessness of her character, appearing helpless in some scenes, then totally in control in others (like when she robs a convenience store or disarms a cop at gunpoint [one of my favorite scenes]). It made me realize that female characters are actually allowed a much wider scope of behavior, a much greater quirkiness, compared to traditional male characters, who are usually straight-jacketed, emotionally and psychologically. Female characters, like Thelma and Louise, can be heroic and non-heroic, brave or chickenshit—at the same time. Male protagonists, on the other hand, are usually portrayed in two notes: as either heroic or non-heroic, alpha-dog or wimp.

Female characters are also more susceptible to physical harm, lending them more sympathy, I think. With the threat of rape ever present, you just worry about them more.

I stole heavily from T&L, come to think of it. Making sure my female characters (especially my lead, Dolores), were volatile and emotional.

Like the characters of “Thelma & Louise,” I wanted protagonists who could cry and take action at the same time—express doubt and self-pity, before fighting back.


(As the film goes on, the femmes become more androgynous)

And since I wasn’t writing a “mainstream” book, certainly not a standard chicklit novel, I made sure to use real street language (like that of Black Urban Lit), with the girls cursing a blue streak—talking mad shit. I must mention that Dolores is a Loisaida Nuyorican and has no problem referring to her friend Serena as “bitch.” Writing an urban story, the girls have to speak as young urban women do, which at times isn’t pretty.

In closing, I’ll mention that “Thelma & Louise” borrows a bit from exploitation cinema and road movies of the ‘70s, like “Vanishing Point,” even concluding on a ballsy downbeat note (which I admire). Road movies of the ‘70s always end violently. I made sure to add some road action—some hearty violence—at the end of my narrative, as well.