So I’ve been thinking long and hard about that post about war boys and identifying with that feeling of brokenness. I think what I got from it is that I think this is how we all feel about the characters that we identify with, no matter who they are. We feel it on a deep instinctive level. We see these characters up there on the big screen and even though we know they’re not real we can feel how real they are to us in our bones. Our pain and struggles and brokenness sees the same in them and that makes them real. So thank you for making yourself vulnerable, for helping me see what you value in characters that I don’t personally connect with.
For me I see that in The Sisters, they’re all versions of me, and I’ve been open about what it meant to see the scars on Angharad’s face as someone who used to self harm and knows the psychological and physical pain that stems from that.
I see so much brokenness in The Sisters. I see it in their desperate all-or-nothing bid for freedom holed up in the back of an industrial tanker, unable to breathe, mouthfuls of dust, with no protection from the elements other than some flimsy muslin that their captor and rapist makes them wear.
I see it in the scars on Angharad’s face, a way to make herself less beautiful because being the most beautiful makes her the favourite of her rapist. And she also does it to cope, to survive, because she can’t bear the pain of living but she clings to a speck of hope that won’t let her end it all (can we talk about probable suicides among Joe’s “wives” because that is a distinct possibility in my mind). She’s carrying the child of her rapist, how do you even start imagining the psychological burden of that predicament?
I see it in the way Capable is consummately there for her best friend. She has seen her pain, knows and lives it herself and defends and supports her with the fierceness of a lioness. I see it in every moment she refuses to trust Max long after he’s deemed reliable by most of the crew. I see it in her keening and screaming for her best friend who she saw die, who she could not protect in that final moment - in her willingness to risk her life to go back and be there for her in the last moments of her life. I see it in the way she touches so gently because she can see the brokenness in others (because she knows how broken she is herself).
I see it in the way Toast retreats into herself, makes herself action in lieu of emotion because who would want to feel those toxic feelings? I see it the way she cuts off her hair to spite her rapist, to make herself as unattractive as possible because it’s some kind of so-called protection in this world where being a beautiful woman will get you raped and farmed out for breeding like a stud mare, like an object. I see it in her total willingness to embrace every and any means necessary to defend herself so that she doesn’t have to return to that life, not now, not ever. I see it in her spitting on the dead body of her rapist because he deserves it a thousand times over and she knows it.
I see it in The Dag who kicks and bites and swears like a scrappy street fighter because she’ll never go back to him, this rapist who she’s pregnant by. I see it in her recklessness in cursing her captor to his face when she doesn’t yet know if she’ll escape him or not. I see it in the way she questions anyone who kills to get by - that could be her dead at the end of their barrel. I see it in the way she blossoms under wisdom and generosity because she’s never known anything but pain and cruelty from the generation before her.
I see it Cheedo, omg do I see it baby Cheedo. She is so afraid but she’s doing this because she loves these women and trusts them. She maybe knows deep down this life she’s living is fucking her up (she’s a teenager and her captor and possible rapist is an old man) but all she knows is abuse, the so-called safety of the hell she knows compared with the uncertainty of escape and possible death? She is so broken and afraid. I see it in the heartbreaking smear of red lipstick on her lips as she relents and attempts to throw herself on the mercy of her captor after seeing her big sister, her mother figure, die. She is wild with grief and just a baby. I see it in her clambering over moving vehicles to ensure the death of her rapist, because even if she dies now, won’t it have been glorious because she was fighting to free herself, fighting for her life?
I think about how none of them have yet had time to really grieve Angharad’s death: what’s it going to be like in six months time when Capable sees something that she wants to tell her about but remembers she’s dead, or slowly forgetting the sound of her voice? Not even a picture to remember her face as time goes on and the image in her mind becomes less and less reliable.
(None of this is to say that others don’t feel this - or even have to, this is just me rambling about how broken these women are even as they fight back. This is where I see my broken self in them, they’re all me or a me who I was but have now moved beyond - the shock of those memories being jolted from my subconscious still reverberates every time I see their faces.)
#love and hugs for everyone#this movie has ripped the skin off our souls and that can be heavy going#we cling to who we cling to and that’s ok#the wives#the sisters#the five#mad max fury road#suicide tw#self injury tw#self harm tw#rape tw#i am scared to post this tbh because it’s not an invalidation of others’ experiences#and i don’t want it to be seen that way
It’s not an invalidation in ANY WAY. Who we identify with, the characters who resonate with our souls - they are not CHOICES, they are not LOGICAL,they are not SENSIBLE.
THEY ARE SIMPLY OUR REFLECTIONS, AND WE MUST BE TRUTHFUL WITH THEM, WITH THE STORIES,WITH OURSELVES.
And I’m abso-fucking-lutely sure, that this fandom is beyond generous enough to accept this diversity of truth.
(via fuckyeahisawthat)
