My Two (Horror) Moms: An Ode to Ripley and Sarah
ā¦modulations on a themeā¦
š£Before you scroll, please be sure to watch the attached video clips, and prepare to WOW to the nth power.
These record-breaking feats of strength and many many more were on display at the Arnold Strongwoman 2022 competition in Columbus, Ohio. The stats across the weekend of March 4ā6 of competition were jaw-droppingā¦and these women are only going to get bigger, stronger, and faster in these events.
Iāve written about my affinity for all things muscle, especially as it relates to queerness, identity, and self-actualization in previous pieces over the years, but I never delved at length into the first pop-cultural juggernauts who displayed physical and mental feats of strength that kept baby Dani glued to their VHS tapes with starry-eyed admiration.
A woman who cuddles cats and protects you with every fiber of her being is honestly relationship goals.
Attraction is a sticky wicket, even moreso for an Ace-spectrum individual, but the energy (and gosh darn it aesthetic notions of beauty) that Ellen Ripley and Sarah Connor radiate make them top tier queer OGs for a reason. If you were alive in the 1980s and 90s they were inescapable icons of horror and science fiction, but they also existed along this grey area wherein lesbian and *gender non-conforming people* would wage lengthy discussions in academic spaces, blogs, chatrooms, and so on about the place and the space these pop-cultural figures were taking up as (potentially) canonical queer women due to or in part of their gender expression and their choice (or lack thereof) of romantic partners.
*As history and time are wont to do, a lot of our language was evolving during this time regarding the never-ending cornucopia of sexual and gender identities.*
The discourse and unpacking of gender and race as it applies to who gets the queer stamp of approval was fascinating to watch play out back then and even now, due in part to the very foundation that white thin queerness is built upon, which teeters upon a masculinity or androgyny that doesnāt challenge many of the societal conventions of attractiveness and desirability. Thus, this retrospective, or dare I say prospectus about the legacy of these two women as cultural staples and our initial baby steps into challenging gendered expectations (and who gets to cross their arms and stare pointedly into the camera as a bada$$ for all of pop-cultural time) hinges on digging through this socio-pop-cultural knapsack. Lest we forget ā that Ripley and Sarah both ā are unconventional anticapitalist (looking at you Skynet and Weyland Industries) working-class heroes who experienced the most harrowing horrors imaginable and now have various mental health issues, post-traumatic stress triggers, and existential crises about the profundity of life at every waking moment.
āI say we take off and nuke the entire site from orbit. Itās the only way to be sure.ā ā Ellen Ripley, Aliens (1986)
Sarah was once a waitress who was being hunted by a doomsday-programmed robotic serial killer (and still was up until Terminator: Dark Fate) whereas, Ripley dealt with the one-two punch of a robot and an inky eldritch abomination from the depths of nightmares unimaginable. Their characters can never catch a break because they reside in pre, mid, and post-apocalyptic timelines (just like us š). Also, as a 30 something individual, it absolutely floored me that Iām the same age as the titular characters when they were dealt the worst hand in horror historyā¦just doom and gloom all in one roomā¦and I not so secretly lived for it. The relatability of their angst, disquiet and brooding anger mixed with melancholia represents the unglamorous downside of the āfinal girlā. We talk about the empowerment and the last-one-standing warrior-ness baked into the genre but not enough about the mental and physical scars to your soul as a human being and it's really tough as a viewer and lover of the medium to just sit with that knowledge of being damaged. Ripley and Sarah are irreparably changed by the terrors theyāve experienced and this reorientation manifested in all of their relationships or lack thereof. Both characters are shown ironically enough in their cinematic sequels to be in psychiatric holding facilities āsuffering from hystericsā because they āknow too muchā (and real talk ā faced indescribable hell and somehow survived).
Speaking of hysteria (and gaslighting), thatās another phenomenon in film as a whole that is still showing up for women and femmes that we have to continuously interrogate. Many cultural critics have teased this frustrating quagmire out, especially because it presents as an acceptable trope and is shrugged off as just the way things are when women are involved. Honestly, I despise this trope, because the way it invalidates trauma is disgusting and the insidious ways it can intersect with race and sexuality are vile. Whew, it sets my teeth on edge, and endeared me to Ripley and Sarahās plight even more. The ways in which they had to compartmentalize so much and just keep existing continues to astound me every single time I revisit their films. Continuing the thread from the top of this piece, their individual feats of physical strength and mental fortitude are worth every single thinkpiece thereās ever been (including this one). Beyond their status as trauma survivor icons, we need to circle back to the queerness of their character(izations).
Sarah Connorās rage and vulnerability is really difficult to watch at times (and I absolutely love it).
The storied history of Ripleyās written casting initially being male makes the deliberate choices by the actor Sigourney Weaver even more eye-opening. There is an air of inimitable confidence that drips from every scene sheās in which makes an analysis of how āfeminine or masculineā she (or perhaps they?) present across the expanse of films. Another undeniable factor is Sigourneyās height playing into the characterās physicality that she really leaned into by filling up the entirety of the screen and those claustrophobically teeny spaceship corridors. A brief aside, you know what, Iām going to personally headcanon Ripley as non-binaryā¦the language escapes me to completely detangle this, but they just feel like family. For my fellow enbys, if youāve seen these films (including the gem that is Alien: Resurrection) and absorbed Ripley ad nauseam as I have, Iām sure you can envision my red-string evidence board. Conversely, Sarah Connor remains an enigma, especially post Terminator 1. Some could posit the energy she exudes is/was butch lesbian orā¦a demisexual bisexual. Sarah, honestly, is a tough nut to crack because her exterior has become so hardened and sheās become so singularly focused on survival that the last thing on her mind seems to be romantic attachments. (Girl, same.)
Wading through the murky complexities of these characters will always be a philosophical delight and makes their import as pop-sci-fi-horror legends in my opine a winding self-reflective and identity formulation experience that Iām constantly revisiting with age. And yet Iā¦oh, shoot! Iāve been waxing poetic about my faves for ages and neglected to mention theyāre both mothers. Now, I donāt necessarily know about the ājoys of motherhoodā but I am an Aunty so I suppose that counts for something, and my overprotective instincts certainly ramped into hyperdrive once those little hands grasped mine. A Terminator or acid-spittinā Xenomorph wouldnāt dare test me if my nephew was in dangerā¦getting thrown out of an airlock into the cold abyss of space would be an enviable mercy, but I digress. In short, the layers and interiority of both characters make me vacillate between Ellen Ripley and Sarah Connor because they both fill the void of cool, collected, heroic, and humble hero Iāve always strived to embody ā even with the doomsday clock ticking overhead ā while looking bloody strong and handsome in the process.
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