There I am, sitting in the cafeteria or some random hallway in my high school. I’d just survived another mind-melting math class and am about to take my first step towards something that we all did in high school: lie. In this particular case, I was lying about my taste in things that I was too self-conscious to admit to, which is perhaps the apex of lying in high school. Joined by my pals, I went on entire diatribes about how little I cared for movies with romance, or anything that was trying to be vulnerable — which we astutely labeled as “that weak shit”. I was, to paraphrase our king Al Pacino, all about the killing and the shooting in action movies, occasionally the odd sports movies, or whatever else I deemed masculine enough.
Could my aversion to these themes have been because my main exposure to romance in the film landscape was through Marvel movies? Perhaps, but I’d wager it was more so because I was sad that girls didn’t like me and hated being reminded of the fact; the last thing I wanted was for my friends to know that I was some hopeless romantic that had secretly been listening to Maroon 5’s “She Will Be Loved” for the past few nights. I couldn’t let them, or anyone else, know that those coming-of-age high school stories were the stories I was growing more and more attached to.
I cherished all the lovey-dovey teenage-angst stuff of the genre, which — thanks to growing older and becoming more self-aware — is now perhaps my favorite type of tale that can be told. Ferris Bueller’s Day Off? Of course. Adventureland? You bet your ass. Three O’Clock High? Criminally underrated. I’m the type of guy that’s more motivated to see Paper Towns than The Town. There’s just something so special about these adolescent tales, which feel like the perfect kind of nostalgia fuel for my now-decrepit old age of 24. The Way, Way Back remains, to this day, the movie that perhaps best illustrates my childhood experience, personality and family issues and all. Heck, even the Brian Michael Bendis run of Ultimate Spider-Man comics — which I read to death growing up and remains one of my favorite stories ever — was essentially a coming-of-age story itself.
But if there’s one fair criticism of the genre, it’s that much of my favorites are centered around young teenage boys. Too often these stories focus on the nerdy sad boy that spends the whole film just wishing for that conventionally beautiful, laid-back, “not like the other girls, because she likes some nerdy things too!” girl to give him a chance. Sure, there was your Easy A between here and there, but the majority of the stories I came across during my late teen years, and even to this day, are about heterosexual boys. While I obviously related to those stories based on my own identity and personality, it’s par for the course for an industry that most often generates stories about female characters being the objects of desire rather than the independent protagonists of their own stories.
After growing accustomed to this, seeing anything to the contrary tends to stand out. Since 2016, I’ve noticed a little bit of a trend; the kind of trend that may not actually be so, but one that I’ll conjure into existence by myself due to my affinity for these movies. For the past few years, we’ve seemingly been blessed with coming-of-age films centered around female characters, and they absolutely rule.
In 2016, The Edge of Seventeen was a delightful romp through the awkward years of being a teenager, featuring the ever-relatable phase of hating your mom, the subtle and important relationship we form with our teachers, and a magical performance from Hailee Steinfeld. Almost as if somebody dared Greta Gerwig to one-up that, 2017 gave us the Best-Picture-nominated Lady Bird. It was a movie that, along with the ingenious Timothee Chalamet character that just nailed pretentious high schoolers, gave a truly heartwarming look into the mother-daughter relationship. It was poignant, devilishly funny (I nearly choked after seeing the opening car scene), and sneakily one of the better-edited movies of that year.
While not as well-refined, 2018 saw the underrated Never Goin’ Back. But maybe its unpolished edges were part of the charm, as what made the film stand out was just how much the film’s two leads (Maia Mitchell and Camila Morrone) were the lower-class, drug-loving partners in crime that were hardly of the antiseptic environment that leading women in these movies tend to inhabit. I genuinely wasn’t used to seeing female characters like these two, and the entire film feels like a counter-culture oddball meant to curse out the idea that women can’t be, for lack of a better term, messy, too.
Then along came 2019, which somehow managed to upend my expectations even further with Booksmart. Just like with Lady Bird, it was yet another directorial debut — this time from Olivia Wilde. My love for Booksmart might best be categorized as a personality trait at this point for just how many times I’ve unironically sung its praises. It’s wonderfully paced, imbued with an understanding of how diverse cliques can actually be, has plenty of directing choices that felt genuinely inspired (the argument scene in the 3rd act comes to mind), and two main characters that dared to ask the question: wait, you can be a brainiac and be cool to hang out with? Masterpiece, I tell you.
Even in the unholy, hopelessly dilapidated, and nuclear waste of a year that was 2020, the trend managed to continue despite it. While not as revered as the previous two films, Unpregnant was perhaps the most unapologetic, centering around a young woman’s eventful road-trip adventure to reach an abortion clinic. Most of the film, aside from the obviously serious issue at its focal point, is a silly, heartfelt trek about reconnecting with old friends and the uncertainty about what we want for our futures. In a year that saw a presidential election and potential supreme court justice seats in question, the film felt like it carried more weight and importance.
There’s still plenty of others that I didn’t mention that could probably fit the mold (e.g. Little Women, or to throw some television in there: Teenage Bounty Hunters), but the point remains the same: the genre that I’ve cherished so deeply — even back when I couldn’t bear to admit it — is progressing, and giving new voices a chance to have their story told. It’s reductive to say that the usual coming-of-age stories are just being gender-swapped — that Booksmart is just Superbad with girls — instead of appreciating a fresh perspective. One of the reasons I like these movies so much is because high school, largely, is a unifying experience. These aren’t war movies or even superhero movies; they reflect a specific point in life that we’ve all been through. That’s why the genre is timeless and oh-so-ripe with possibilities once we start to explore all these different experiences. Perhaps most importantly, they’re centered around evoking nostalgia, which might be the most beautiful feeling the world has to offer for how much variance it can have. There were the fun times, the sad times, the unexplainable times, and the tragic times that could collectively be described as the learning times. We see our younger selves reflected and, hopefully, can see how much we’ve grown and overcome; that is the optimistic meaning and messaging of the genre, even if it is a bit of a trite one. There should be more importance placed on capturing everyone’s nostalgia rather than just one male, heteronormative view.
It’s not being centered around guys, really, that made me appreciate the genre so much to begin with. There are specific things I can’t relate to (abortion) but there is the staple of small things (liking someone! being in conflict with your parents! parties!) that isn’t confined to any one identity. Truth be told: I’m a little satisfyingly bored. I’ve already got my share of male characters that I’ll cherish forever. I’ve got my Peter Parker, my share of nerdy high school boys that never thought they’d get the girl, and many male anime protagonists. I have enough and want to see others, because I know there may arguably be no better feeling than being seen, especially at a young age.
What matters the most for a coming-of-age story is authenticity. It has to feel real, vulnerable, and unique in how it gets to that place. Do you know what helps with authenticity? Casting a wider net. The last time I checked, women went to high school and college and grew up just the same as anyone else during those beautifully dreadful teenage years. It shouldn’t be shocking that any industry, with any medium, has had its shortcomings when it comes to representation (and that’s putting it nicely). While it’s nothing that signifies a momentous, seismic shift is imminent, this recent trend is doing what the genre always should’ve been striving towards. Perhaps, just as the sentiment inherent with the coming-of-age genre, the industry is growing up; if not, then it’s nice to see that there might be a sub-sector that’s at least trying to take baby steps to get there.
