In communities where Christianity isn’t just an occasional Sunday church service but an ingrained way of life, shame is often used as a method of coercion. It is wielded in a way to maintain control, chaining its victims to the social norms of what is considered pure and proper. This is especially restrictive for young women, who are expected to behave modestly and remain subservient to their parents and, eventually, their husbands. Any action or mere thought outside these strict bounds is judged as a sin and subsequently condemned. It’s a system of power built on misogyny and manipulation that keeps the status quo by perpetuating itself under the belief that to not follow means forgoing one’s path to Heaven.
This is exemplified in the opening sequence of The Starling Girl where Jem Starling (Eliza Scanlen), a 17-year-old who lives in one of these communities in rural Kentucky, is presented to the pastor’s son (Austin Abrams) for prospective courtship in what could be described as an arranged marriage. Just after this conversation, an older woman chastises Jem for wearing a bra that’s visible underneath her dress. This leaves Jem in tears, mortified by and ashamed of not being “mindful” of God when choosing what to wear. This scene reveals the contradictions in Jem’s community when it comes to young women. Adult responsibilities of marriage and bearing children as well as the home duties of taking care of her younger siblings are thrust upon Jem at a young age without the independence that should come with it. She is also not in charge of her own sexuality with her parents expecting her to live life with childlike innocence while simultaneously demanding adultlike maturity.
Director Laurel Parmet examines the consequences of these inconsistencies, charting the ways in which Jem’s life changes as she struggles to break free of the church’s constraints. She craves to be the center of attention, performing worship dances in front of the congregation. This is when Owen (Lewis Pullman), a youth pastor who has returned from a missionary trip to Puerto Rico, enters the story. Having seen the world beyond his small town, Owen feels out of place in the community. This makes him instantly attractive to Jem, who purposely spends time with him when he is alone. For Jem, part of Owen’s allure comes from the fact that, unlike the rest of the adults, he doesn’t treat her like a child and recognizes her desire to be something more than the confines of what the church deems acceptable. This is where Scanlen and Pullman’s performances shine as their chemistry pushes ordinary activities like a dance lesson or an arcade game to bristle with tension.
As their friendship turns into a romantic and sexual relationship, Owen, who is ten years older than Jem, justifies it as a way to honor God by enjoying His creation. He takes advantage of Jem’s yearning for love, using her as a way to vent his frustration at a community that makes him feel unfulfilled and inadequate. Here, Parmet avoids the black and white, painting the pair’s interactions with nuance and allowing Jem agency when she chooses to actively pursue Owen. For just a moment, they offer each other relief from the restraining quality of their church town before it all begins to unravel.
The following sequence of events occurs quite conventionally with familiar story beats. This is partly down to the underwritten supporting characters, including Jem’s parents, who fall just short of propelling the plot to its dramatic climax. Despite this, The Starling Girl is a confident debut that gives Scanlen the opportunity to excel as yet another captivating young woman. Its sincere portrayal of how women are pressured to be ashamed of their own desires shows how repression is not only present in evangelical communities but all over the world. But as starlings will always find a way to fly free, Jem’s story demonstrates that defiance is an inevitable outcome to these environments.
Photo courtesy of Bleecker Street
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