The Girlfriend Brings TV’s Summer of High-Trash Feminism to a Campy Close

by

Warning: This discussion contains spoilers for the Amazon Prime Video series “The Girlfriend“, which debuted all six episodes on September 10. In addition, we will be discussing previously released series like “The Hunting Wives” and “Sirens”.

In “The Girlfriend”, the truth is fluid, susceptible to distortion due to personal biases, judgments, whims, and preferences. To wealthy gallery owner Laura, portrayed by Robin Wright, her son’s new girlfriend appears as a dishonest opportunist, manipulating academic and professional achievements while provoking Laura by performing intimate acts with Daniel (Laurie Davidson) in broad daylight within Laura’s home. On the other hand, to the ambitious and working-class Cherry (Olivia Cooke), Laura is depicted as an overprotective mother who fails to trust her 27-year-old son’s decision-making abilities and mistreats Cherry as though she were dirt on the soles of Laura’s designer shoes. Somewhere between these two perspectives could lie the truth, and “The Girlfriend” encourages viewers to form their own opinions by dividing each episode into segments exploring Laura’s and Cherry’s individual experiences of shared events. This limited series employs a Rashomon-inspired approach, compelling audiences to frequently switch between sympathizing with either Laura or Cherry, oscillating between thoughts like “This woman seems compassionate” and “This woman is clearly out of her mind”.

The adaptability applies not just to the storyline, but also to the character “The Girlfriend” itself. On one hand, it’s a lively portrayal of a complex drama, filled with sharp insults, underhanded online deception, and conspicuous displays of female attraction. At another level, it delves into the intricate dynamics of feminist disagreements, examining the consequences when older women advise their younger counterparts to seize their futures aggressively, only to become disillusioned when they do so – often leading to the displacement of the older generation.

“The Girlfriend” proves to be more intelligent than one might anticipate, being a fresh addition to this summer’s lineup of high-trash television series featuring white women who manipulate, compete, and engage in sexual encounters as they strive for self-realization. Alongside “The Hunting Wives” and “Sirens”, “The Girlfriend” forms a trilogy showcasing women acting impulsively – not just because they choose to, but also due to the fact that, in our contemporary era marked by late-stage capitalism stagnation and societal deterioration, it might be the only means to progress.

The Girlfriend” is adapted from Michelle Frances’ 2017 novel, but like the earlier production, “The Better Sister,” it takes substantial creative liberties with the thriller genre, altering the plot significantly, including a completely different ending. The narrative opens with a heated argument and a caption, “Five Months Ago,” which transports us to the start of Daniel and Cherry’s relationship.

From the outset, the series presents a tense rivalry between the two women, with Laura reacting negatively when Daniel compares her to Cherry, rather than the other way around, and Cherry overhearing Laura making jesting remarks about her name and profession. Both women are perplexed by each other’s relationship with Daniel, and the episodic format keeps our allegiances wavering between the two characters.

For the initial three episodes, their mutual jibes remain persistent but not yet psychotic – until a rock-climbing expedition goes awry, and Daniel falls from a mountain after Cherry fails to secure his safety rope correctly. Daniel is left comatose and injured in a hospital, with doctors informing Laura and her husband, Howard (Waleed Zuaiter), that their son may not survive. Miraculously, he does, but Laura chooses not to disclose this information to Cherry. Instead, she spreads the false news of Daniel’s death, accuses Cherry of leaving him due to his disability, hacks into Cherry’s Instagram account to post a discriminatory message that costs her her real-estate job, and evicts Cherry from their shared residence with Daniel. Laura destroys Cherry’s life before indulging in brunch with Daniel and having an affair with Howard on the grounds of their luxurious Spanish villa. Laura embodies the sinister manipulations of a baby boomer succubus, rejuvenating herself through the vitality of millennials like Cherry.

In this portrayal, Wright skillfully navigates between the dreamy romanticism of Jenny from Forrest Gump, who exudes bliss whenever with Daniel or her hidden lesbian partner, and the sharp, unyielding character of Claire Underwood. Cooke’s performance as Cherry is exceptional, as she embraces her authentic Manchester accent to give Cherry a sassy, snarky demeanor, and she looks stunning in an assortment of minidresses in shades of oxblood, maroon, and cerise. Wright and Cooke masterfully embody the unpredictable nature of their characters, transitioning seamlessly from tender affection to biting animosity. The audience finds themselves sympathizing with the unconventional choices made by Laura and Cherry as they progress from polite dislike to open hatred. When confronted by Laura’s hostility, Cherry responds impulsively, shattering a glass against her head and accusing Daniel of his mother’s actions. Faced with Cherry’s outburst, Laura seeks solace in speaking to Cherry’s mother, uncovering the truth about Cherry’s turbulent past – she almost killed her father and sabotaged an ex-boyfriend’s wedding by filling his cake with raw pork parts. When Laura discovers that Howard has been silently subsidizing her art gallery for years by pressuring his connections to buy her work, she worries about the potential repercussions of Daniel supporting Cherry. However, in her mind, Laura believes she never asked for help, making her actions more honorable than the seemingly greedy moves of Cherry.

The chain of deceit, manipulation, and condemnation culminates in the final episode, where it’s revealed that Laura has covertly recorded Cherry’s mother detailing her violent history and intends to play it for Daniel. However, Cherry surprises them both at their family home, triggering a fight reminiscent of the series premiere. In the scuffle, Laura’s phone slides beneath furniture, and when Daniel rushes to protect his fiancée, he tragically drowns his mother in their pool. Shocked by their actions, Cherry and Daniel are nonetheless tainted with a sense of satisfaction. The final moments show them married, pregnant, and forming a family with Howard, creating an image seemingly drawn from Laura’s darkest fears. But the nightmare isn’t over yet – when Daniel discovers his mother’s phone, he recharges it and unwillingly listens to her warning about Cherry: “When she sets her mind on something, don’t dare interfere or face God’s wrath… Don’t be deceived by the good times. Eventually, she’ll demand something from you that you can’t afford to give. And then, well… She’ll find a way to discard you.

It’s quite entertaining when “Sweet But Psycho” by Ava Max plays during the end credits, since if anyone fits the description of being “poison but tasty,” it’s Cherry. However, in the end, the series The Girlfriend sides with Laura: She was right to attempt to safeguard Daniel from this opportunist, no matter the cost, and she paid a heavy price for her maternal integrity. The storyline differs significantly from the novel’s ending, where Cherry attempts to push Laura down a hole and falls to her death instead after Daniel saves his mother; Laura survives, and she must live with the knowledge that “She could have saved Cherry. Maybe. She’d reached out. Made contact. But not to guide her towards safety. No, to nudge her towards the abyss below.” Nevertheless, both the series and book imply that Laura was justified in defending Daniel from this sexually aggressive, professionally assertive young woman who should have known her limits and stayed within them.

The female protagonist delights in the grime, finding dark humor in Cherry playfully throwing Laura’s cat out a window, the uncomfortable moment of Laura interrupting her son’s shared intimate act with Cherry, the thrill of Chery exchanging intense gazes with Laura during a passionate scene with Daniel, and the bitter animosity with which both women attempt to overpower each other. Beneath this layer of explicit genre elements, there lies a genuine exploration of the complexities surrounding the representation of female identity, particularly youth, in society. In this regard, “The Girlfriend” aligns itself with works such as “Sirens” and “The Hunting Wives,” offering insights into how marriage, even for those who have ascended to wealth and luxury, continues to implicitly view women as possessions – an attitude that also fosters generational rivalry.

Similar to the series “The Girlfriend”, “Sirens” features an actress who has been renowned since the 1990s, portraying a high-society woman concealing a complicated past and a rising star from “House of the Dragon”, playing a younger character ascending the social ladder and inching closer to a secret that her elder may not wish to relinquish. In this instance, it’s Julianne Moore as Michaela “Kiki” Kell, a former lawyer who forsook her profession following marriage to billionaire Peter (played by Kevin Bacon). Peter had an affair with Kiki and frequently travels for work, leaving her to manage their seaside estate and bird sanctuary alongside personal assistant Simone (Milly Alcock). Michaela presents herself as a sinister blend of mother, mentor, and closest confidante to Simone, and the two share similar appearances, conversations, and behaviors; when they stretch before a run with their limbs intertwined, it’s challenging to discern who is who. For Michaela, Simone’s imitation serves as confirmation that she has been living such an alluring and glamorous life that a younger woman wouldn’t be able to resist emulating her. However, when Simone makes the decision to seize Kiki’s lifestyle for herself by initiating an affair with Peter, Michaela’s tranquil demeanor crumbles.

In my own words as an admirer, I might rephrase the passage like this:

Michaela feels a double-edged anger towards Simone, much like Laura bristled at Cherry taking her place next to Daniel. The first source of her anger is Simone’s betrayal in accepting Peter’s advances, which mirrors how Michaela once treated Peter’s first wife with disdain.

The second reason for Michaela’s fury stems from the belief that Simone is undermining feminist ideals by settling at a young age for a role as a plus-one to a wealthy man who treats relationships as transactions. This wasn’t an issue when Simone was working for Michaela, helping her scent designer underwear with lavender mist and flirting with Peter (remember the high-trash days?).

However, Simone climbing up the Kell-family hierarchy – effectively replacing Michaela – serves as a bitter reminder that Michaela isn’t truly Peter’s wife. She is his employee, providing a public image of benevolent philanthropy that covers up his questionable actions as a billionaire. As Michaela puts it, “We all work for him.”

In Kiki’s philosophy about letting go of what doesn’t serve you, there was an assumption that she wouldn’t one day be the one let go – from her relationship and from her job. This unexpected turn of events has left a profound impact on Michaela.

Initially, “The Hunting Wives” might not appear to follow the trope of a woman replacing another woman, as its core relationship is between Sophie (Brittany Snow), a liberal, uptight woman, and Margo (Malin Åkerman), a nominally Republican, self-assured woman who embarks on an affair with Sophie. Their encounters are filled with sexual tension, from skeet shooting to driving lessons, even involving a game of spin-the-bottle with high school boys that neither should be associating with. The scene of Margo and Sophie sharing a cigarette in bed, under a headboard reminiscent of Georgia O’Keefe’s vivid floral vaginal art, is particularly explicit; it’s almost as intriguing as the show’s dramatic cliffhanger conclusion.

Beyond the sensual exchanges between Margo and Sophie, “The Hunting Wives” also presents a wealthy matriarch resisting her son’s new love interest, and most notably, portrays marriage as a business transaction with an impenetrable glass ceiling, even for a woman who ascended through backstabbing. Margo’s past is that of a homewrecker; she was a sex worker invited into the bed of wealthy oil tycoon Jed Banks (Dermot Mulroney) and his wife Sienna (Lauren Bowles) for a threesome. It didn’t take long for Margo to replace Sienna, marry Jed, and become the queen of the manor; it also didn’t take long for them to establish an open marriage, allowing each partner to have extramarital affairs. However, this open marriage is about control: Jed funds Margo’s lifestyle but demands her compliance with his wishes, whether that’s his decision to run for governor or his requirement that she not be involved with other women.

In contrast, Sophie poses a threat to Margo’s marriage not by trying to seduce Jed but by encouraging Margo to embrace her true self. Unfortunately, Margo cannot afford to do so, as Jed reminds her of the luxurious life he has provided for her: “Look around at everything I’ve given you. You’re here to make my life better.

Discussing marriage as an outdated system where male supremacy is entrenched and rigid gender roles are defined isn’t a novel concept. Similarly, the idea of women competing for resources and power has been around for a while; even the femme fatales in classic Hollywood noir films were all about this, dating back to “All About Eve”. However, shows like “The Girlfriend”, “Sirens”, and “The Hunting Wives” bring something unique to the table. In an era where many TV productions mimic Western aesthetics or chase intellectual properties, these series seem increasingly scarce. They refuse the excessive content of our previous decade’s streaming services and move swiftly through their narratives, emulating the fast-paced rhythm and dynamic structure of soap operas. At the same time, they delve into contemporary fears about regressing feminist progress and uncertainty about modern womanhood. The blend of whimsical wish fulfillment for characters like Cherry and Simone with the uneasy themes of Laura and Michaela creates conflicts that are not only entertaining but also spark questions about money, identity, and age. These series invite us to ponder these issues alongside their dramatic storylines.

In simpler, more conversational terms: These shows – “The Girlfriend”, “Sirens”, and the yet-to-be-renewed “The Hunting Wives” – all share a common theme. They explore the struggles women face in trying to climb the ladder of success, often caught between competing with other women and being valued by the men they’re associated with. The message is clear: while material gain may be attainable, there’s often a moral price to pay for stepping on others. Characters like Laura and Michaela serve as cautionary tales, their warnings falling on deaf ears, much like the ancient prophet Cassandra. In each series, the women’s journeys culminate in a conclusive manner, highlighting the cost of ambition in a world where a woman’s worth is still too often determined by her male connections and the relentless competition among women for power. Phrases like Cherry’s boss promoting Pandora due to her mother’s wealth underscore this point. In “The Girlfriend”, “Sirens”, and “The Hunting Wives”, that time of struggle, competition, and potential triumph is evident today.

Read More

2025-09-11 01:59