We should probably have an all-day discussion about whether or not this is feminism.
So let’s address the plaid-skirted elephant in the room: a majority of this movie is beyond terrible.
I’m willing to concede that some of that reading comes from this film being a product so bound to its moment in time. In the dwindling age of Austin Powers and the Charlie’s Angels reboot, D.E.B.S. may have rocked enough familar allusions and pop cultural cache to have succeeded as a saccharine-but-innocuous spy spoof. And while the movie was a box office flop and proved lukewarm with critics, those who liked it DID praise what they saw as a spunky, modern spy satire with confectiony servings of girl power. (Tangent: Peter Travers Rolling Stone review was misogynist garbage “You might think there's no downside to a movie that peeks up the skirts of babes in micro-minis, but writer-director Angela Robinson's dimwitted satire is libido-killing proof to the contrary.” SORRY THOSE FETISHLY-DRESSED TEENAGE GIRLS DIDN’T DO ENOUGH TO YOUR PENIS FOR YOU TO ENJOY THIS ONE, PETER
But even if I blame my anachronistic eyes on “not really getting” the tone or pastiche of the movie, it’s hard to account for or forgive the undeveloped narrative, the abandonment of character development, and the film’s badgering unfunniness. After the first 5 minutes, other than the occasional conspicuous prop gun sitting in a D.E.B.S. hands, there’s nothing narratively or stylistically grounding us in the spy genre, or in much of a motivated plot at all. The film’s 2.5 action scenes are dead on arrival. And while volume is ample, humor is nowhere to be found, with the rare exception of Janet (Jill Ritchie), whose spastic and airheaded one-liners provide any of the few problematic chuckles to be found in this script.
As a whole, it views like a malnourished Disney XD script, except its characters are immensely more sexualized. The whole turnt up Catholic school girl aesthetic of the film holds a reductive male gaze. But given Angela Robinson’s biography and stated intentions, as well as who would constitute the narrow audience for the film, let’s assume she was cleverly commenting on the objectifying gaze behind such sexy spy films rather than caving into genre tropes. Because she does, in fact, succeed in crafting a very thoughtful queer narrative that disarms the male-pandered templates of both contemporary and vintage spy films, reclaiming them for female desire; as such, it’s wholly possible she went even farther in satirizing these misogynist templates than I’m giving her credit for.
In truth, the movie is worthy of your attention because it’s simultaneously a technical disaster and a lowercase m queer masterpiece. Allow me to justify the latter:
Robinson’s “high concept” film doesn’t succeed as a movie but it soars as a rich, powerfully-executed metaphor and subversive reclamation. Jordana Brewster (sensual, vulnerable, and very alluring in this movie) is a super villain widely regarded as the most ruthless and dangerous person on the planet but who—get this—is actually, mostly just misunderstood. Sara Foster (who literally could have just been an upside down mop the whole time and I wouldn’t have known the difference) is the golden student spy whose record-setting perfect score on her standardized spy test has signaled to everyone she will be the premiere spy of her generation. She’s basically treated like Harry Potter during the first half of the movie, which is an apt metaphor because she’s a talentless, aimless whiner coasting by on the brilliance and prowess of her best friend (#HPShade #HeadsWillRowl).
Foster and her people-pleasing can-do-ness are, amusingly enough, enrolled in a gender studies class on villains. Her seeminly 3 page thesis argues the bland, thin premise that Brewster-- a villain so merciless that reportedly no one who has ever met her has lived to tell about it-- has such deep-seated abandonment and daddy issues that she's incapable of love and of being loved. When a surveillance assignment gone awry brings Brewster and Foster face-to-face (Foster unbeknowingly crashes a blind date Brewster is reluctantly on with a female Russian assasin), Brewster reveals that she's not incapable of love at all-- she's just a lesbian who has found the dating scene unforgiving, and she's developed a lot of social anxiety. The subtext I choose to read is that social anxiety comes from being queer in a homophobic world, but Robinson never really drives this point home. Brewster might just have run of the mill anxiety like the rest of us.
Antics, seduction, and some lightly vollied plot points ensue, and Brewster, head over heels into Moppy Foster, succeeds in winning Foster's heart; this isn't an easy romance for Foster as she's a) never swung that way and b) Brewster is a super villain and on paper her sworn enemy. But their romance is pixie stick sweet, unapologetically sexy, and very moving, given the whole unlikeliness of it all. Robinson gives us two young women who are cast in roles that people define them by, but they don't identify with themselves. Foster has never felt like a super spy and never really wanted to be one, but she has gone along with the path the world has enthusiastically laid out for her. Brewster's motives in becoming a villain are less evident, but she makes it clear it matters little to her, that she'd give it up in a second for Foster, that she just wants them to be 2 people in love rather than 2 people who can't be together because of who society says they are. I'm assuming you see the metaphor here? How queer people receive messages from birth about who they are supposed to be and who they're allowed to love, and one of the most empowering and beautiful moment's in a queer person's life is to reject the labels, the social pressures, the self-doubt, the sea of no's, and to just be yourself and get the V or D you've been longing for. Brewster's confidence, beauty, and charm in particular make this transformation and this romance a joy to watch. Because of her, and the romance Robinson has crafted, this often shitty movies becomes one where you find yourself saying "Awwww!" on the regular and wishing that 12-year-old closeted you had thought to see this movie.
So it's a genuinely romantic and endearing teen lesbian romance movie at a time where those artifacts are rare, especially in American cinema, especially with recognizable performers attached. And while it fails miserably-- in my opinion-- as a spy movie or spy spoof, it does recontextualize queer romance and lesbian sexuality within the spy aesthetic to helps us know the queer experience more, better. And if the women in the film seem individually subject to the male gaze, the romance and sex in the film is captured with a queer female one. Brewster and Foster's intimate moments are not explotive and not for straight men-- they're genuinely celebratory of the female body, alluring for women, and actually about these two characters and their feelings for one another. That's a major win in any movie.
And one final, concluding tangent:
The film is indebted to Legally Blonde, down to the point that Holland Taylor more or less plays identical roles in both movies. While D.E.B.S. maybe deviates from that world for it's more compelling lesbian romance plot, with its larger concept and minor characters, it attempts to Elle Woods everything. In the vein of other millenial teen girl-power products, these girls are purported to be kickass heroines who still love makeup, clothes, and boys. But while Elle could simultaneously be into fashion and torts, could be underestimated because of her more "superficial" interests, and could ultimately use her love of fashion and fabulous hair as an asset as a lawyer, these rules don't seem to apply to the D.E.B.S. Their interest in "superficial" things is simply treated as superficial. It regularly interferes with their missions and their success in the field, making them sloppy spies. And while it's refreshing, perhaps, that no one ever undestimates them, as a consequence, we never get a chance to see them prove themselves or shine in anyway. Ultimately, the supporting D.E.B.S. display an obsession with being ornamental, and Robinson gives them little opportuntiy to be anything else. It's a real misfire for what could have contributed to these questions of third wave feminism that were exploding all over culture at the time-- for women who desire to, how can they hold on to devalued gender stereotypes and still assert their value, power, and individuality? Need there be a disconnet between women who choose stereotypical signifiers of femininty and those who reject them if they're both fighting for a woman's right to be herself and do what she wants?
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