Tag Archives: Final Girl

Final Girls Books – The Final Chapter

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I feel that in the last few years, the trope of the “Final Girl” has really been having a moment. Of course, the character has been around since at least the mid-70s, and has been very present in horror cinema ever since, but lately, there’ve been a lot of works which really use her name, or which are directly about the idea of the character. Behind the Mask (2006), The Cabin in the Woods (2011), Final Girl (2015), and The Final Girls (2015) all revolve around positioning the main character to explicitly take on the role (even if not all of them use the term). Recent spins on the Slasher formula have played with the role, with Happy Death Day (2017) starting with a ‘mean girl’ caught in a Slasher time loop who must be all of the other victims before she can finally grow as a person to become the final girl, defeat the killer, and leave the loop, and Freaky (2020) doing a body swap with the final girl and the slasher-killer (the original title being “Freaky Friday the 13th), such that her experience of both inhabiting this strong, violent male body and observing the killer in her own is instructive, helping her, once more in her own skin, find the chutzpah to finish him off. Furthermore, “legacy sequels” such as Halloween (2018), Scream (2022), or Texas Chainsaw Massacre (2022) all circle back to their original final girl (though Sydney was never absent from her franchise and Laurie did this before in Halloween: H20), picking up with her many years later to see how the trauma she endured has affected her life, shaped her character, before thrusting her back onto the killing floor.

And this final girl renaissance hasn’t only been on screen. In 2017, Riley Sager published his thriller, Final Girls (which I’ve not yet read), and in 2021, two authors who I have previously written about here (Grady Hendrix and Stephen Graham Jones), both published Final Girl themed books: Hendrix’s The Final Girl Support Group and Graham Jones’s My Heart is a Chainsaw. Both of them are about characters who are not only final girls, but for whom the concept of the “Final Girl” is a significant, psychologically organizing principle, a mirror which they hold themselves up to and in which they find themselves lacking, but it’s a role they are thrust into nevertheless.

I’ve been wanting to write about both and since I’ve been on a final girl kick these last few weeks (see here and here, and also check out my guest spot on a podcast here, discussing the 2015 The Final Girls), I thought this was a good time to reread both novels and share some thoughts on them. I’ll endeavor to avoid spoilers in this discussion, so these might be shorter reviews, but I really recommend both books very highly.

The Final Girl Support Group (2021)

In his very entertaining, thrilling, and sometimes quite touching novel, Hendrix posits a world where the slasher killings of 80s films all actually happened (before then being made into films), and in which the young women who had survived these massacres later came together in group therapy, periodically meeting through the decades, to help one another continue to live, carrying the weight of what had happened to them, of what they’d had to do to survive. The main character, Lynnette Tarkington (based on Linnea Quigley’s character from Silent Night, Deadly Night who gets impaled, topless, on deer antlers), a core member of the group, has always felt distanced. She survived a massacre, but she wasn’t really a “final girl,” so much as a victim left for dead, who didn’t die. She never killed her killer, but she has been shaped by the nightmare that she lived through just as the “actual” final girls in the group have (each of whom is modeled on a classic final girl and generally has a name implying the actress who played her).

Thirty years later, she lives an isolated life, focused solely on survival: her apartment is a fortress, she has trained endlessly in self-defense, she is always armed, and she follows compulsive routines to ensure that no one can ever follow her home to her sanctuary. The only regular contact she has with others is with her plant and the group and so, when it seems that some person or group is targeting final girls, her carefully maintained world starts to collapse. At first, no one believes her as she starts to see the signs of a coordinated attack upon her ranks – all of the members of her group have their psychological quirks and she is no exception, coming off as an over-reacting survivalist-conspiracy theorist, and she is on her own to uncover what is happening and why, and to somehow stop it.

The book is just a treat – a quick, exciting read, full of twists and turns and endless references and Easter eggs to tickle a horror fan (just tracing the names and influences of the different characters is fun), but also, as is generally true for Hendrix, there is real emotional depth. Lynnette is an interesting character to follow – we don’t know (and neither, really, does she) how much her perceptions reflect reality and how much they are the paranoid fantasies of someone who lived through hell and has been forever scarred by the experience. The mystery is engaging, some sequences of threat or violence have an edge of horror, and there’s plenty of comic life to the proceedings, but at the end of the day, the heart of the book is the resilience of this woman who has suffered so much and keeps going, the friendships (however strained) between these women who have shared such terrors, and the way a role, a concept can haunt a person, shape a person, make demands on a person. All the women of the story carry a complex relationship with the idea of being “a final girl,” though we most experience Lynnette’s – and this exploration of the tensions between the ideal and reality, between being a free person with her own agency and being a figure in a set, self-perpetuating narrative, between the isolating impulse to survive and the responsibilities we take on for those we open ourselves to is what it is really about. And it is a rich theme to delve into.

Beyond that, Hendrix just makes fun books. Each chapter title is another horror sequel reference. Between each chapter, there is always an interstitial text – some document from the world of the characters – a letter, a newspaper clipping, text from a card left at a memorial for victims of a massacre – it all makes the novel an interesting space to inhabit. Sometimes these documents offer clues to what is actually happening, but often they simply give the world heightened specificity, offering intriguing glimpses into the lived-in space of the various characters. All in all, it is a compulsive, rewarding read, and I will continue to pick up whatever Hendrix puts out.

My Heart is a Chainsaw (2021)

Stephen Graham Jones offers a main character with a very different background, but one whose sense of self is just as tied up in the concept of the “Final Girl.” Jade is a Blackfeet high school senior in Proofrock, a small Idaho town on Indian Lake. Ostracized from her peers, and with a troubled home life, she is an intense, encyclopedic horror fan, particularly into Slashers, in which she finds the comfort of a familiar formula, the mythic resonance of ritual played out again and again, the vicarious power trip of the faceless killer, safe behind a mask, and the inspiration of the willful, transformed, victorious final girl. But for reasons which eventually become clear (which are at the heart of her troubled character), while she dreams of living out the fantasy of the slasher narrative, she never sees herself as a candidate for filling that beloved role.

And so, when she starts to see the signs of a slasher cycle beginning in her small lakeside town, she starts casting about to find one who could, and finds her in Letha Mondragon, a new girl who has joined her graduating class shortly before the end of the year. Letha’s just moved to town as her father is a member of a coterie of wealthy types moving in and developing the former National Park land across the lake, and in Jade’s eyes, she’s perfect: athletic, beautiful, serious, investigative, and most of all, pure – she is everything Jade feels she is not, and so she takes it upon herself to introduce Letha to the ways of the slasher film, hoping to prepare her to rise to the challenge when her time inevitably comes. Of course, everyone thinks she’s crazy.

Thus, Jade is generally on her own, and often in trouble with her parents, her school, her job, and the law as she investigates the series of strange deaths which are plaguing her town, all the while trying to convince Letha of the role she has to play, blind to how she is growing into it herself, incapable of seeing her own strength, her own resolve, convinced that because of who and what she is, because of what she has lived, she could not be more than an observer, an early victim, at best a “Randy” (who in Scream tells the others the ‘rules’ of surviving a horror film). She is a fan – not a hero.

Without going into any details, as this book is full of them, and there are loads of false starts and red herrings along the way before arriving at an incredibly brutal explosion of strange and vengeful violence, I don’t think it’s much of a spoiler to say that in climbing through the blood and gristle of this sometimes gory tale, Jade is thrust into a confrontation with her own story, her own past, her own identity, both changed by the process and becoming more truly herself.

This emotional arc weaves through a sometimes twisty narrative where we are never sure what is really happening. There are so many possible clues, and Jade’s many working theories and assumptions are often mistaken. All of this serves to deliver a fun mystery to unravel, both of who is killing all these people, in these very varied ways, and what Jade’s deal is under her tough horror-kid façade. It pays off both in excitement and mystery, deeply felt rage and vengeance, and ultimately a kind of promise of a life Jade hasn’t known. It’s a ride.

What a Coincidence

The two books share some core structural elements. Both feature a central character who everyone discounts, a Cassandra who alone sees a rising threat, both of whom compare themselves unfavorably with the ideal of the ‘Final Girl,’ and yet are sustained on the concept of the indomitable survivor who, as Graham Jones writes, “is finally turning around to fight, is insisting on her own life, is refusing to die, isn’t going to take even one more moment of abuse.” Both books name each chapter with a reference to some Slasher film. And both include additional texts between the chapters, My Heart is a Chainsaw presenting a series of extra-credit papers that Jade wrote for her very patient history teacher over the years in which she expounds on Slasher film history, tropes, themes, and analysis. On one level, these are often fun love letters to the genre, but Graham Jones also weaves through them significant insights into Jade’s character (one of these becomes a significant plot point when these collected texts are given to Letha, intended as a kind of textbook to prepare her for the coming storm).

What is it in the zeitgeist that led both of these authors, contemporaries in current horror fiction, to engage with these particular themes at exactly this time? Though the stories are quite different, the parallels in what both texts circle around are striking. In both cases, we deal not only with this particular horror film trope, but with what it means to survive a kind of trauma, and how a person can define themselves in terms of, or in opposition to that experience. And both do this in relation to this storytelling device – a character type who has come to particular prominence of late. Is it related to the #metoo moment, assaults on abortion rights in the US and around the world, a growing sense of the way women have continued to be targeted as victims even as society pats itself on the back for being more equitable? Or is it maybe not so gendered – is the ‘girlness’ of the final girl a red herring?

Could it be that we live in an era of constant existential threat? Climate change, pandemics, domestic terrorism, global conflicts, constant mass shootings, police violence and the subsequent civil unrest, intractable political divisions that make it feel like society is on the cusp of absolute collapse…do we feel so under assault that “the one who survives, the one who finds a way to fight back against impossible odds, the one who has suffered like no one else, but nevertheless persists, the one who refuses death” is just more appealing than ever before? I don’t know – we used to live in fear of a nuclear holocaust, hell – there was The Holocaust, and as I understand the statistics, as you go further back in time, humans were more and more likely to die due to violence than they are now. But somehow that feeling of constant threat has just grown. Maybe for that, the media is to blame – or the ugly echo chambers of social media – or maybe it’s just the cumulative fatiguing effect of living with stress.

But maybe it’s all just coincidental – a story and the character at its heart has just grown more popular – we are more aware of it, and thus, we grab hold of it as a useful metaphor – as we have always done, especially with horror.

Anyway, they’re both really good books. I liked them. You should read them.

10 Final Girls Who Don’t Get Enough Credit

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So lately, I’ve been digging into the trope of the Final Girl. One reason for this is that I recently guested on the great podcast, Random Number Generator Horror Podcast No. 9, and the film we discussed was the 2015 eighties-summer-camp-slasher set dramatic comedy, The Final Girls. It was a really fun discussion, and I invite you to give it a listen. As an avid listener of horror-podcasts for years, it was an absolute treat to be on a really good one and I thank Jeffrey and Cecil for the opportunity!

And inspired by the movie under discussion (which I really like, but won’t detail here – check out the podcast for that!), I wanted to throw together a list of ten great final girls. So I started checking out what was already out there, and a quick google search yields loads of lists of the “best Final Girls,” but I noticed that I was seeing the same names over and over on list after list, and for good reason. Ginny from Friday the 13th, Part 2 is great (maybe my favorite), with her empathy, resilience, and no-nonsense demeanor. Nancy from Nightmare on Elm Street is awesome (also maybe my favorite) with her book on booby traps and being so “into survival.” Ripley in Alien (a stretch to call it a slasher exactly, but she is certainly a final girl) is aspirationally tough and sensible (if they’d only listened to her and followed quarantine rules, it wouldn’t have even been a horror movie). And so many, many more.

But I felt I wouldn’t really be contributing much if I just listed famous movies that everyone, whether they watch horror or not, has heard of, if not seen. So I tried to dig a bit deeper to shine a light on final girls who don’t always get so much attention. I can’t guarantee that none of them feature on any other list (the internet is a big place), but these are at least somewhat deeper cuts – also, I can’t promise that all of their movies are exactly “good,” but each does have something to recommend it.

That said, I am no slasher expert. There are so many and I’ve but scratched the surface. Out of more than 200 that came out between 1978, when Halloween’s success kicked off the first cycle (between 1980-1982 alone, there were at least 72) until 1989 (because I have to choose an end-point eventually, and horror took a dip in the early 90s), I’ve seen maybe 30% – the most famous and then the fairly well known, with a small spattering of more obscure titles. So please accept this list with that caveat.

And now, without further ado, here is my list, in order of appearance, of great Final Girls who don’t get enough credit:

Courtney – Final Exam (1981) Cecile Bagdadi

Most of this film seems more like Animal House or Revenge of the Nerds, but with a killer on the loose (whose story we never learn). A bunch of frat guys are trying to ride out the year without doing any work by putting a lot of effort into elaborate pranks to help them cheat (one of which, featuring a fake mass shooting, is quite disturbing through contemporary eyes). In a world of rich, entitled brats who don’t take anything seriously, Courtney stands out as the only person actually studying for her “final exam.” She isn’t a prude (if anything, she’s trying to get a particular boy to notice her) but she has more consequential things on her mind. The boy is nice enough (though his obsession with mass shooters and serial killers seems like a red flag), and it’s a shame when he doesn’t make it as they’ve just had a sweet moment. It all builds to a solid chase where she acquits herself well, but in the final shot of the film she seems so traumatized by the experience. While this is a common image, it is still quite effective here. Courtney grounds the horror of these killings and her own survived ordeal in a way that the other victims in their frivolity could not.

Anne – Graduation Day (1981) Patch MacKenzie

Anne has a different vibe from the very beginning. She’s an active military member, coming home to honor her dead sister at what would have been her high school graduation, only to find everyone else on her late sister’s track team getting murdered. We first meet Anne in a truck where she’s hitched a ride and she capably and aggressively fends off the lecherous approaches of the driver, instantly endearing her to us. She starts as a tougher final girl than many, and that self-confidence is fun, but in the final reel, she still has to go through it, fighting to overcome this particular psycho. I think what prevents her from ranking higher on many lists is the fact that we lose her in the middle stretch of the film when she is one of countless red herrings (everyone in this town owns a grey sweat suit and black leather gloves – what we see the killer wearing). In one scene, she is even made out to seem crazy and threatening to a potential (and eventual) victim, distancing us from her even more. But by the end, when the killer is revealed, it is satisfying to return to this level-headed, tough-minded final girl to take him out. Plus, the film is fun and the rest of the cast is solid.

Pam – The Prowler (1981) Vicky Dawson

Pam is great. It seems like she’s studying journalism – at the top of the movie, she’s just published an article about the killing that happened 35 years ago which is why this college stopped having the annual graduation dance (isn’t that more of a high school thing? Anyway…). Thus, when she has to go back to her room to change and narrowly escapes the returned killer, who is dressed as a masked WWII soldier and carrying a pitchfork for some reason (in an exciting sequence that had me wondering if she was in fact going to survive to be the final girl), she can’t not investigate and see this through to the end. There’s a fantastic moment when her boyfriend, the local deputy left in charge for the weekend, tries to drop her off back at the dance so she can be safe. She is just not having it – the resolve with which she threatens him and then gets back in the car foreshadows the strength of character that will help her turn the killer’s own pitchfork on him before blowing his head clean off. Also, just in a connection to another great final girl, Pam finds herself hiding under a bed with a rat, just like Ginny in Friday the 13th Part 2, but at least this one didn’t pee (they were basically filmed at the same time though, so I think it’s a coincidence). In addition, while some elements really don’t make sense, this is one of the better slashers on this list – it’s tense, the killer’s costume looks cool and scary, some scenes are genuinely exciting, and the gore effects might be the best work that Tom Savini ever produced – really effectively grisly and horrifically realistic.

Constance – Just Before Dawn (1981) Deborah Benson

I’ve written at greater length about this backwoods slasher before. Constance stands out as both exemplifying and subverting the still developing tropes of the final girl. Filmed in the summer of 1980, she really offers a different spin on the role. At the beginning of the film, she seems like a typical final girl – reasonable, capable, the only person appropriately dressed for hiking a difficult trail. But she feels that she’s too mousy, inadequate compared with her friends who are bolder than her, braver. And so, as the film progresses and things get progressively more difficult, so does she, changing her physical appearance in the process. In an inversion of the trope, she becomes more outwardly feminine and sexual, donning shorter shorts, showing more flesh, putting on makeup, letting down her hair. And she is more sexually aggressive with her boyfriend. In a way, it’s like she’s putting on the mask of a different role, one you might expect to get killed much earlier in a film like this. However, wearing her mask, she is freed – she can be the wild, primal figure she needs to be to take down this hulking killer in what might be the most satisfying moment of a final girl killing a slasher on film. You may see many final girls rise in violence to take down the killer, but no one quite does what Constance does – just watch it – I don’t want to spoil the fun. It’s a perfect encapsulation of the “Final Girl’s” will to life, her stubborn, desperate determination not to be erased. And the film itself, while a bit slow in the middle, is a pretty enjoyable watch as well.

Sandy – Humongous (1982) Janet Julian

I can’t really say this is my favorite of the bunch, but Sandy rises to the occasion in the final reel. The film starts strong (though quite disturbingly) and then falls into a long stretch of poorly lit muddling along on an island where some kids have been stranded with a killer. For a while I was wondering who the final girl would be – as it seemed that the one unattached girl with glasses was the first to open a photo album and start piecing together the back story, but she snapped under the pressure of it all and Sandy, evidently the most stable of the bunch, finally figures things out.  When things kick into gear in the last 15-20 minutes, Sandy leads a great chase, seems to rip off (not sure when it was filmed, but it was released more than a year after Friday 2) Ginny’s idea of playing the killer’s mother, races to the boat house where she traps him with fire and blows him up before finally staking him. Still, having learned his sad story, she feels sympathy for this poor, burned, deformed creature (no action or words, but there’s something in her eyes). He may have killed all her friends, but she can still pity him. In this, she balances all of the investigativeness, proactivity, ability to violently do what needs doing, and heart of a classic final girl, even if her movie is…just alright.

Valerie, Courtney, & Trish – The Slumber Party Massacre (1982) Robin Stille, Jennifer Meyers, & Michelle Michaels

Is this the first “meta” slasher? I mean, no, but it is so self-aware – written as a parody, but filmed more or less straight, it subverts the tropes that by 1982 had already calcified, delivering in my opinion, a subversive, hilarious, effectively scary, feminist slasher classic. One twist here is that three girls survive by fighting back together: Trish, who had thrown the party to have one last hurrah with her childhood friends before adulthood pulls them apart (sadly none of those friends make it to the end), Valerie, a new girl who, for all of her beauty, brains, and athletic skill, is still an outsider, and Courtney, Valerie’s little sister, a boy-obsessed teen eager for more adult thrills than she is yet allowed. Each of them is granted personality and real feeling. Trish starts the film throwing away childhood toys and looking to the future, a future which, by the end of the day, she will have been thrust into too soon, too harshly. Valerie feels the most like a classic final girl, the responsible one, staying home to look after her sister instead of going to the party (until she has to). Courtney is a firecracker, funny, impulsive, insistent. And all of the other girls (or boys) who are murdered by the nameless killer with an improbably long bit on his cordless drill (what kind of battery does he have?) are also people whom we can like and root for. This is a fun movie, with sly, knowing shots taken at its genre and possibly its audience, but it has emotional weight. By the time the girls finally symbolically castrate and dispatch the killer, they are deeply traumatized by the horrific events – there’s been so much death, so many friends lost, so much horror. They’ve done what they had to do to live, but their lives won’t be the same after this. The degree to which they get to mourn, cry, be broken at the end makes this often funny, light slasher land harder than expected.

Joan – Silent Madness (1984) Belinda Montgomery

Joan is great, a breath of fresh air – something really different – and she’s surely the most highly credentialed final girl on the list. A doctor at a psychiatric hospital which has accidentally released a psycho killer because of a computer error, Joan is surrounded by men who just refuse to do their damn jobs, (other doctors, administrators, the sheriff, even her reporter love interest). Either no one believes her as she investigates this major screw up which is getting kids killed at the college where the psycho was long ago arrested for a massacre, or they are all just covering their butts, hoping that if no one talks about it, no one will notice the pile of dead sorority sisters. Either way, Joan has to take care of everything all on her own, both hunting after the killer, navigating bureaucracy, and avoiding the murderous orderlies from her hospital, hot on her trail to shut her up.  Along the way, she uncovers buried truths, tries (and generally fails) to protect the sorority girls in question, and finally takes out the ‘bad guy,’ only to then discover a deeper cover-up. She is a self-assured, mature adult, bringing the final girl’s typical responsibility, but with full confidence from the beginning. However, while she is a self-assured professional, she is not some kind of fighter, so exploring creepy basements where a killer lurks is still effectively terrifying for her. This was a really fun watch and she rises above the crowd.

Allison – Chopping Mall (1986) Kelli Maroney

This may not be a slasher, but Allison is a great final girl. And though the threat in this case consists of a set of killer robot security guards in a mall, the film follows the classic slasher pattern of a group of kids partying somewhere and getting picked off until only one girl remains (who knows if she’s ‘virginal,’ but she’s the only one who doesn’t have sex that night) – who overcomes adversity and triumphs. Played by Kelli Maroney, a mainstay of 80s B-movies, Allison balances being really sweet with also being a tough cookie who’s a crack shot with a firearm (apparently because her dad is a marine). The set-up is that a group of young people, some of whom work at a mall, stay after hours to party in the furniture store where one of them works (and try out the beds). There are two couples (one of which is married, which is a rarity in this kind of thing) and then Allison has been set up with a nice, dorky boy with whom she actually hits it off (the two of them bond while watching old horror movies while everyone else fools around). They are really cute together and it’s easy to root for them. The film can be silly and fun, and also exciting, but by the end, it of course comes down to Allison and the final killbot. By this point, she’s in full trap-setting, robot-exploding, badass, final girl mode and she even gets to blow up the last bot with an action star quip. Otherwise, the film is just a blast: a great cast (including Barbara Crampton and Dick Miller), a really cool score, and a bunch of killer robots.

Kit – April Fool’s Day (1986) Amy Steel

This is a really fun, different spin on the whodunit-slasher (though its twist may be the most famous thing about it – if you can go in cold, it’s worth it) – spring break happens to fall on April first and Muffy invites all her friends, about to graduate college and with no idea what to do next, to her island mansion for the week. Being April Fool’s, she’s got a lot of pranks in store, but soon the practical jokes become a series of murders and we’re off to the races. Everyone is so well played that it took me a while to peg who the final girl would be, but it should have been obvious that it would be the one played by Amy Steel. Her Kit is a solid, investigative final girl who solves the mystery of the killings (though still having one big surprise in store), and who also really cares about her friends, even if some of them are kinda jerks. There’s one moment when she could get away, but she has to go back cause she can’t leave Muffy behind (even though it’s been implied that Muffy might be the killer). Amy Steel brings a similarly grounded, clear headed, empathetic quality that she did to Friday part 2 – which helps the terror land, and it gets exciting when she’s put through the paces in the final act.

Stretch – The Texas Chainsaw Massacre 2 (1986) Caroline Williams

This is also not a slasher, but it’s a sequel to one of the most influential proto-slashers, and Stretch undergoes a true final girl experience, just without much of a body count. (Also Clover referenced her when defining the role, so she surely counts). A tough talkin’ Texas rock DJ who is pulled into the Sawyer family’s shenanigans after fielding a call from some kids getting chainsawed on her radio show, Stretch is just cool. She really doesn’t fall into any kind of bookish, innocent little “virgin” role – rather, she is an adult woman who wears short shorts, navigates a world of pushy, aggressive men, brings the rock ‘n roll, and chooses to court danger in order to get the story, to do something important. As a result, she almost literally goes through hell, suffering in a similar fashion as Sally before her, experiencing debilitating terror, seeing a friend’s face skinned off before having it draped on her own and being made to dance in order to pacify a chainsaw wielding man-child before climbing out, grabbing a chainsaw of her own and eviscerating the man who’s chasing her, and subsequently dancing around crazily with her chainsaw in the air, mirroring Leatherface at the end of the first film. The fact that Stretch starts the film so together and tough means that her descent into violent, triumphant madness is all the more intense. It’s a weird movie – funnier than the first, but that comedy brings its own horror. Plus, it features Dennis Hopper, fresh out of rehab, screaming maniacally and running around with a chainsaw in each hand. What’s not to love?

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And so, there we have it, ten final girls that don’t always get mentioned.  As I said at the beginning, I’ve only seen about a third of what’s out there, so I’m sure there are many others worthy of inclusion who I am overlooking, but perhaps that’s fuel for a future list.

And for a fun discussion of a funny film which revolves around the concept of the final girl, check out the podcast here, or wherever you get your podcasts.

A Final Girl Feedback Loop

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So, I sometimes wonder when the term “final girl,” first coined by Carol Clover in 1987 in her essay, “Her Body, Himself: Gender in the Slasher Film,” later collected and expanded on in her influential book, “Men, Women, and Chainsaws,” entered common parlance. The idea was certainly not new when she detailed it, based on her observations of gender-genre tropes in slasher films (primarily of the late 70s and 80s), but rather, she put her finger on something that had arisen naturally out of a confluence of storytelling trends and business assumptions. And it is successful coinage – when someone sees the phrase for the first time, they immediately get to what/whom it refers: the last girl standing in a body count film, who probably didn’t party as hard as all of her friends and is more clear headed and responsible, who we probably haven’t seen have sex, who possibly has been investigating the odd things going on and has thus had to discover the bodies of people she knew, who probably isn’t blonde and might have a gender neutral name such as “Stretch,” “Jess,” “Ripley,” or “Chris,” who has had to run and hide and scream and survive until finally she turns and finds the strength to fight back and kill the killer, though she may end up a broken, traumatized husk by the end of it all – the name carries a lot.

Now, in discussing the trope, I always feel it’s obligatory to point out that Clover had a focus other than just describing a trend in horror, and she certainly wasn’t trying to prescribe how people should be making movies. In short, in my understanding of her text, she questioned why this female character, this recurring role was so foregrounded in a genre conventionally understood to be targeted at young males, a genre often thought to be misogynistic, offering the vicarious thrill of looking through a masculine coded killer’s eyes as he stalks and murders young women (again, this is the common perception, and the data doesn’t support the characterization – men die about as much as women in these flicks). The theory she offered was a case of cross-gender identification, wherein the femaleness of the role allowed it to exhibit traits of vulnerability and fear which would have been uncomfortable for the audience in a male figure, or even rejected and mocked (a supporting example might be Nightmare on Elm Street, Part 2, which features a final boy (Jesse, played by Mark Patton) and which was not well received, Patton being outed and ridiculed for his portrayal). This enables the (male) viewer to masochistically enjoy being terrorized, just as by identifying with the killer, (he) can sadistically enjoy terrorizing. The final girl abstaining from sex meant that the young male audience didn’t have to take the leap of watching their viewpoint character be penetrated before them. Quite the opposite, by the end of the film, she would take the weapon (his symbolic, penetrating phallus) from the killer and be the one doing the penetrating, in her rise to action, to wielding the investigative gaze, to violence, to rage, taking on more and more “male-coded” traits.

Now, this reading of the trope is not without critics. Isabel Pinendo, in her “Recreational Terror: Women and the Pleasures of Horror Film Viewing” from 1997, criticized how in reducing femaleness to traits like terror and victimhood, and ascribing traits like aggression and violence exclusively to maleness, this paradigm results in “nothing less than the impossibility of female agency,” herself seeking to discuss what pleasure experience female viewers can find in this material (which can also take on a sadomasochistic flavor – as Clover had theorized for young males), without having to accept the relegation of all power to the boys. Beyond that, it has been pointed out how some of the elements that make up the “final girl” are not so set in stone. There are many examples (going back to Laurie Strode, the ur-final girl) who drink or do drugs. There are many who are at least in long term relationships and even if it’s not explicitly shown, one can assume aren’t ‘virgins.’ There are many who don’t initially have any hint of coded-male qualities, but just happen to be the last one left – are just lucky to have enough plot-armor to survive to the final showdown.

But the trope does exist (if anything, over the years, the more known the trope is in popular culture, the more fully it has come to embody Clover’s description, even when a given film is purportedly ‘subverting’ the concept), and this brings me back to my initial question. When did horror film makers become consciously aware of the role as such? When did they become aware of Clover’s reading? When did descriptive analysis become inadvertent, prescriptive instruction? I wish I had some data here – I can only guess at people’s intentions and influences.

I assume that in the beginning, it was merely a case of financially motivated imitation. Halloween turned an impressive profit (more than 70 million on a budget of about 320 thousand) and everyone wanted to repeat that success (another obligatory note that Halloween wasn’t really the first of the genre, but it’s success did kick off the first big slasher cycle, running until 1982), launching what might be the most formulaic of horror genres – whereas a ‘vampire movie’ features a vampire and a ‘ghost story’ features a ghost, a ‘slasher’ doesn’t even have to include a slasher killer – but it’s got to stick to the formula: a group of (probably young) people, wanting to party and getting killed off one by one until one girl (probably a girl) is the only one left, who then uncovers what has been going on and dispatches the killer.  In the beginning, I think a lot of people were just seeing that something was selling and they repeated it. Of course, there were variations, and from early on, there were attempts to surprise by disrupting the pattern (for example, the feminist satire of Slumber Party Massacre (1982) or the Scary Movie-esque parody of Student Bodies (1981)), but those disruptions also served to make the pattern more clear (by attempting to wrong foot the audience by not perfectly enacting a formula, it makes the audience think all the more about what that formula would have been, what their expectations are).

And audiences came. Not everything made money like Halloween (and it must be said that most were nowhere near as good as Halloween), but they made money. The more the pattern paid off, the more it was reenacted, and the more audiences came to look forward to certain elements. And sooner or later, academics noticed this and wondered what was going on. Why were filmmakers telling this story in this way? Why was it satisfying enough for a paying public that they kept coming back? Some theories were put forth, perhaps making undue assumptions about who the viewers actually were, and ignoring the potential experiences of viewers who were thus unconsidered. But even if incomplete, this scholarly work helped to illuminate the depth of potential meaning of a genre considered no more than trashy exploitation.

At some point, the academic notion of the “final girl” was folded into the creative process. I don’t know if Kevin Willamson read Clover before writing Scream, but it sure feels like he did, and even if he didn’t, by 1996, Clover’s reading of the ‘final girl’ could have just filtered into the zeitgeist enough to influence the text (and practically everything that came after it in the 90s teen slasher cycle and every post-modern, self-aware slasher/slasher parody that came in its wake). With its explicit presentation of “the rules” of surviving a horror movie, Scream seemed to help make the ‘final girl’ a much more known role (including to a general public who weren’t necessarily horror fans, but who saw this hit movie), even if that name was not applied, was still not in regular use (but I’m not sure the term wasn’t used in any of the sequels – Scream characters are so horror-literate that you’d expect it to come up). For one example of use, I know the term surfaced at least briefly in one of the Scary Movie parodies (released between 2000-2006) as Stacie Ponder, a blogger I’ve been reading for the last decade, uses this image for her blog, Final Girl.

For an example of the conspicuous lack of the term, I recently saw an interview with prolific horror B-movie actress Linnea Quigley from 1999 where she described her professional trajectory moving from being the victim who takes her top off (much of her career) to being the girl who lives to the end. Nowhere in the discussion is the term “final girl” used (and, as mentioned above, it is such a clear term, that once people know it, they tend to use it – it really cuts to the chase).

Or, for a later example, the 2006 film, Behind the Mask: The Rise of Leslie Vernon, a mockumentary following a slasher in training, is utterly focused on the concept of the final girl, with the killer so certain of her mythic importance to him, knowing they are two sides of the same coin, and manipulating conditions to draw her out, calling on her to become herself so that he can become himself. But he never says “final girl.” In the film, she is always the “survivor girl.” Now was this a conscious decision to avoid an already popularized term, or had it somehow not yet achieved cultural saturation?

The Cabin in the Woods (released in 2011, but filmed in 2009, for the sake of tracking chronology) also leans hard into the concept of certain essential roles (the whore, the fool, the athlete, the scholar, for example) who all must be sacrificed before finally “the virgin” is all that remains. In this case, the people running the show manipulate the players to take on these roles even if they would otherwise be against type, but the ritual of playing out this formula in this way, with the virgin as the only one to see the end, must be faithfully enacted. But still no “final girl,” per se.

However, at some point something changed: in recent years, there have been many fictional works which revolve around both the role and the term (many of which I hope to write about in the coming weeks): Grady Hendrix’s the Final Girls’ Support Group, Stephen Graham Jones’s My Heart is a Chainsaw, and from 2015 alone, two films: The Final Girl and The Final Girls. All of these, and many others, focus on the significance of the role – how inspiring and important it can be for some people, how one can live in constant comparison with its ideal. Even if Clover was more interested in why men would identify with this female character, the resilient, heroic final girl has become aspirational for generations.

For my part, I find a couple of things both effective and interesting. On one basic level, something that works for me is that vulnerability, but I wonder if it’s an issue of what (male) audiences (myself included) will watch and respond to, or if it’s an issue of how writers, directors, and producers expect they will react. I cannot honestly imagine that were I to find myself in some terrible, dangerous situation, I would be John McClaning it barefoot through the air ducts, taking out a building full of terrorists. I would probably be cowering terrified in a corner someplace. It is much easier to identify (outside of hero-wish fulfillment, and don’t get me wrong, Die Hard is a blast!) with a “normal” person who is duly scared of scary things, but through whom we get to vicariously rise to the challenge of facing that fear and vanquishing that horror, even if we have to run around screaming a lot first, even if we drop our knife when we shouldn’t and don’t check to make sure he’s really, really dead before we start running away – it’s easy to yell at the screen and claim that we wouldn’t make such mistakes, but I bet most of us would. When we go on this journey with this fragile, very human character, the heroic thrill of overcoming the threat is all the more exciting.

On another level, I find it fascinating how the trope has been so culturally reproduced as to become truly mythic. The first slasher cycle is largely characterized by non-magical assailants – just a crazy guy with a knife, or a pitchfork, or a drill, or a, you get the picture… (later, especially in the second half of the 80s, following the success of Freddy Krueger, and trying to do something new, there were many more supernatural killers). But somehow, the repetition of this simple structure – kids, party, killer, girl-who-lives – has resulted in a significant archetypal figure, one who resonates in people’s imagination – this is perhaps how myths get born.

She was born out of the lust of storytelling and business. She was named by academia, and once identified, the art form in which she lived came to better know itself, becoming more reflexive. She has subverted gendered expectations and she has been used to reify puritanical norms. She has grown into a full-out action hero and she has been fleshed out as a person, allowed to grieve and to grow. At the end of the day, it doesn’t really matter why a group of film makers first settled on a pattern – now she exists and carries (sometimes contradictory) meaning. She is an inspiring feminist icon. She is a harmful reduction of femaleness – not even female, so much as a man in narrative drag. She is a calculated attempt to sell women’s empowerment to make a buck. She is a re-gendered ‘everyman’ with whom all can identify, with whom all can vicariously journey through hell and return, tempered by the experience.

All of this is to say that as I just spent a couple weeks focused on one sub-genre (the Lesbian Vampire movie), I’m about to spend a bit of time with Slashers and the Final Girl. Check in weekly for more.