Maybe it’s the allure of a dreamy, early-aughts Tumblr aesthetic coupled with a darkly humorous look at girlhood angst. Could it be the conservative, retro-coquette fashions? An attraction to the charm and melodrama central to “coming of age”? Perhaps it’s the cleverness, the lyric exploration of a contradicting culture that simultaneously devalues and destroys young women while glorifying their innocence, coveting their bodies, and sanctifying their untimely deaths. Whatever the catalyst for cult success, the undeniable reality is that The Virgin Suicides is still inextricably linked to the cultural zeitgeist over two decades after its 2000 theatrical release. The Lisbon sisters have staying power.
The Virgin Suicides is for the malaise-ridden, whimsical, sad girls. “Girl” is a loose term, of course, meaning those who identify with our intrinsic beauty and torture, in all of its complexities and alchemy. The groveling, unnamed narrator (Giovanni Ribisi), who represents the collective “we” of onlooking boys, men, and audience more generally, delivers a summary: “We felt the imprisonment of being a girl. The way it made your mind active and dreamy and how you ended up knowing what colors went together… We knew that they knew everything about us and that we couldn’t fathom them at all.” The film is for the girlies who felt so profoundly, with such intensity, that their environment couldn’t hold them—the ones who appreciate the musical stylings of Kate Bush, Joni Mitchell, or Lana Del Rey. These are the girls who saw Ghost World, Girl, Interrupted, Picnic at Hanging Rock, Heavenly Creatures, or Twin Peaks and experienced a substantial psychiatric awakening. The Virgin Suicides is for fans of Ophelia, go figure.
The film begins in suburban Michigan in the ’70s as a 13-year-old Cecilia Lisbon has attempted suicide. She survives, but not for long. Her sisters, in ascending order, are Lux (14), Bonnie (15), Mary (16), and Therese (17). Mrs. Lisbon (powerhouse Kathleen Turner, post Serial Mom) is an overbearing religious zealot of the Christian variety. She doesn’t allow the girls to have parties or go out, period, but in cars, more specifically, because “there are so many accidents nowadays.” Mr. Lisbon (James Woods, ahead of his own post-Rudy “Christian zealot” era) is a math teacher at the girls’ local high school. He’s emotionally vapid and/or avoidant, but not sinister in the dynamics we witness. Together, the pair seems well-meaning, but excessively protective and undoubtedly stifling. The movie hints at some mistreatment, though if growing up in an abusive home teaches you anything, it’s that you can never be sure what transpires behind closed doors.
After the horny, cigarette-smoking Lux (Kirsten Dunst) misses curfew due to banging heartthrob and horrible person Trip Fontane (Josh Hartnett in the wiggiest wig I’ve ever seen) on the football field, all proverbial hell breaks loose and the girls are on full lockdown. All of the sisters will be dead by the end credits. As the title would suggest, the film culminates in what the narrator describes as a “suicide free-for-all.” The subject matter is as heavy as it is cheeky and satirical—gallows humor. While all the girls are objectified and sexualized to some extent, as one of the film’s central themes is the limitations and power of voyeurism, Sofia Coppola manages to prevent the work from veering lewd, which is incredibly refreshing. The violence and horror implicit in the death of these young women are also handled delicately and innocuously, though hauntingly.
Written and directed by Coppola in her first foray into full-length filmmaking, The Virgin Suicides reveals an impressive confidence and sophistication of execution from the young talent. Coppola adapted the screenplay from the debut novel by Jeffrey Eugenides of the same title, which was published in 1993, and crafted a nearly flawless flick, an impressive achievement for a 29-year-old budding director. Eugenides would go on to say that the idea for The Virgin Suicides came from a babysitter who mentioned in passing that she and her sisters had all attempted suicide. Reflecting on her first film with The Guardian in 2018, Coppola said, “I don’t know if I would have a film career if it wasn’t for that book… It was scary directing a film, but I was so connected with the material I felt like I had no choice.”
Coppola’s visual and tonal auteur style was distinct at its conception, something that even the nepotism of a Hollywood dynasty couldn’t overshadow. The Virgin Suicides premiered at the 1999 Cannes Film Festival, where it was well received and gained Coppola some traction. It was released commercially in the United States in April 2000, but it didn’t achieve major financial success. Since then, the film has endured in the hearts and minds of those seeking atmospheric art with themes of isolation and ambiguity. It’s for those who enjoy the distinctly melancholic, fanciful sensation of being suspended in amber and want to feel rather than simply see their movies. Coppola has since directed a handful of other films, most notably Lost in Translation, for which she won the Academy Award for Best Original Screenplay in 2004. Between you and me, I think The Virgin Suicides is better.
Girls are simultaneously hypervisible and hushed. It’s a generative, underexamined entry point that Coppola rightly identified early on in her career and has been dissecting ever since.
Kirsten Dunst is a notable standout as the distinctly paramour-focused Lux. Dunst worked with Coppola again just a handful of years later, in 2006, on one of my favorite films of all time, the visual confection Marie Antoinette, which also did not do well in theaters. The pair would work together again on the 2017 Southern Gothic and equally vibey film The Beguiled. Dunst has also made some incredible career choices for the girls, including Drop Dead Gorgeous, Bring It On, Melancholia, Mona Lisa Smile, Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind, and Dick—truly a legend. Importantly, Dunst has also repeatedly discussed her propensity for working with female directors. She starred in The Power of the Dog, which won Jane Campion the Best Director Oscar in 2022, making her the third woman to win the honor in the Academy Awards’ 95-year history after achieving the second-ever nomination in the category for a woman in 1993 with The Piano.
Coppola’s films are most interested in the dynamic emotional experiences, escapades, and exploits of women and girls alongside the futility of boys and men. At a very young age, girls are confronted with both the power and fear associated with femininity, evident in the pervading axiom often verbalized when having a child: having a girl will be difficult. We must be “protected.” Girls are simultaneously hypervisible and hushed. It’s a generative, underexamined entry point—due to the industry’s direct and indirect exclusionary practices—that Coppola rightly identified early on in her career and has been dissecting ever since.
The Virgin Suicides is a practically perfect ars poetica of white, upper-middle class girlhood as told from the perspective of various young boys. It illustrates how many of us, including the audience, aren’t really interested in what the Lisbon sisters have to say; we’re interested in what they can mean for us. Whether it’s the nosy neighbors telephoning each other to speculate on the family’s fallout, news stations commenting on the pervasive suicidal ideation of young people, or a group of boys watching Lux have sex on her roof through a telescope, the spectators are most interested in the lore, not the ladies or their pain. “These girls make me crazy. If I could just feel one of ’em up just once,” says a boy unknowingly standing in front of one of the sisters’ hanging bodies.
The shenanigans of the Lisbon girls are accompanied by their high sensitivity, heightened visibility after Cecilia’s suicide, and prolonged isolation. It's the same equation that impacted Britney Spears, Amy Winehouse, Whitney Houston, and countless others thrust into the spotlight, driving them to act in ways that some would label erratic or elusive. Then the onlookers feast on the fodder of their respective descents.
Ultimately, The Virgin Suicides is a languid, visually striking slice-of-life film about the perils of seeing and not hearing. It’s crafted with such care, attention, and humor that it’s irresistible to return to, despite the hell it also illustrates. FL
