Returning to Jennifer’s Body
By Zianna Ruiha
There’s a fine line between horror and comedy, and an even finer line between fairy tales and horror. For Karyn Kusama—a filmmaker whose work has long existed in these spaces—this grey area is where the horrors of girlhood linger, where “taboos” related to queerness and sexuality are able to be confronted, and where Kusama’s work within the horror genre tackles real-world problems through a feminist lens.
Interestingly enough, even though some of Kusama’s work continues to rely on horror tropes that deflect, distract, and redirect disgust of that which might be considered “taboo,” her films ultimately use the taboo of cannibalism in ways that move past simple representation of female empowerment, reclaimed sexuality, and the horrors of girlhood. Jennifer’s Body—the 2009 cult classic that just passed its 15th anniversary—is no exception. This film, along with Kusama’s more recent Yellowjackets (2021), uses the taboo of cannibalism often, and in ways that illustrate how Jennifer’s monstrosity is not her own but, rather, a violence that belongs to the heteronormative-patriarchal society responsible for her “monstrosity” in the first place.
If you haven’t watched the film by now, then you really should—here, we return to Jennifer’s Body.
Jennifer’s Body is a tale of feminine rage that follows the co-dependent relationship of Jennifer Check (Megan Fox) and Anita “Needy” Lesnicki (Amanda Seyfried). Their relationship often blurs the lines between platonic / romantic, and queerness is baked throughout the film.
Even though the film’s initial marketing strategy and early promotional materials largely omitted the two girls’ intimate relationship—save for one kiss in the trailer that catered to the male gaze—this film, at its core, is about Jennifer and Needy’s connection. Throughout, Needy repeatedly says: “Sandbox love never dies.” It’s an unwavering, innocent declaration—especially keeping in mind that these two characters are teenagers—and, despite the more toxic aspects of their relationship, they find comfort in one other. Arguably the main thread weaving this story together, their connection is evident even before supernatural forces come into play.
Queerness, in general, is introduced early on as well. We might consider Needy’s opening monologue at the start of the film, a flash-forward that places her in a psychiatric institution, where she is receiving letters that tell her “everything will be okay” if she “accepts Jesus Christ.” In the context of the film, these letters seem to be referencing her crime—the murder of Jennifer—but this messaging also parallels what many in the LGBTQIA+ community have heard at some point: that everything will be “okay” if they give up a life of “sin,” if they reject their queer identity and authentic selves.
And so, because Jennifer desires Needy but finds herself trapped within a limiting society, she often takes actions—even after she assumes a more monstrous form—that bring her closer in proximity to her childhood best friend. Notably, the vast majority of Jennifer’s victims are connected to Needy in some way. In a moment of on-screen cannibalism, as Jennifer prepares to render Colin “lasagna with teeth,” she tells him that they “can play mommy and daddy.” Though Colin is confused, it’s a line that evokes Jennifer’s connection to Needy, as well as one that she’ll later say to Needy directly, adding “how we used to.” Jennifer’s final victim is Needy’s boyfriend, Chip, who signifies the role in Needy’s life that Jennifer isn’t able to occupy, but who also provides Jennifer with a closeness to Needy that she hasn't experienced before. It is moments such as these that draw attention to how Kusama employs the taboo of cannibalism throughout Jennifer’s Body, and make clear how the flesh-eating taboo speaks to other “taboos” that might be considered “of the flesh.”
Yellowjackets and Jennifer’s Body arguably share the most connections when considering Kusama’s filmography, albeit with varying degrees of that which is “taboo”—cannibalism and queerness. In both, the concept of hunger is embedded into the cannibalism metaphor, and is a powerful and evocative tool for representing the starvation of women in a patriarchal society. Women hunger, starve their bodies, and—in turn—are starved of expression, security, and their sexualities. In Yellowjackets, cannibalism becomes a form of agency, as well as an expression of survival, spirituality, and queerness. In Jennifer’s Body, Jennifer’s cannibalism empowers her after the trauma of being sacrificed. At the same time, Jennifer’s newfound power is also bound to men—still.
Briefly, I wonder: does the taboo of cannibalism overshadow the homoerotic friendship that exists between Jennifer and Needy? Is cannibalism’s constant deployment in the film a “distracting” metaphor, especially given the sexual violence which Jennifer’s sacrifice symbolizes? Does Jennifer get revenge by consuming the bodies of men? Or does the continued focus on bodies (after Jennifer is sacrificed, after we see Jennifer consume others) continue to relegate Jennifer to the confinements of her own body, too? To the body of the men she must consume in order to continue functioning? Perhaps, in this way, the film is about the inescapability of one’s body (as it exists, as it is defined by others, as it attempts to survive, as it is harshly criticised when doing the very thing it must do in order to survive, under patriarchy)? Perhaps, then, Jennifer’s Body is Kusama’s way of nodding toward this real-world horror? It might even be said that Jennifer’s Body is one way that Kusama attempts to give us, the viewer, a real good look at our own.
Perhaps, in this way, the film is about the inescapability of one’s body […] It might even be said that Jennifer’s Body is one way that Kusama attempts to give us, the viewer, a real good look at our own.
Jennifer is unapologetic about her sexuality before and after her transformation—an attitude that becomes subversive, in contrast to the horror genre’s typical idealization of abstinence, purity, and “good”-ness. When she becomes a succubus, however, she notably gains power not from her body (as a sexual object for males to direct their gaze at) but, rather, from the literal, physical, representative bodies of the men in the film.
At the same time, Jennifer’s newfound power introduces chaos into her relationship with Needy. Though viewers witness Needy’s yearning for Jennifer in early scenes, everything becomes too much when Jennifer reveals her new man-eating self. And, because Jennifer’s cannibalism is inescapable, because this consumption becomes an intrinsic part of herself—and also becomes the one thing that appears to keep her alive and functioning normally—it becomes impossible for Needy to separate Jennifer’s violent consumption on-screen from any potential queer relationship that might exist between Jennifer and herself.
In this way, Jennifer’s Body mirrors Carmilla—arguably the first western casualty of a homoerotic female friendship—in which Laura is attracted to the alluring vampire Carmilla, whose vampirism has been said to represent the character’s queerness. Ultimately, Laura becomes disgusted and repelled by Carmilla’s declarations of love; Laura’s internalised homophobia, too, mirrors the dynamic between Needy and Jennifer—and also nods toward the “horror” that Needy exhibits, the horror that seems to be almost compulsory, that is directed toward queer, monstrous women in a heteronormative society.
In the end, the film is called Jennifer’s Body for a reason. Jennifer has been sexualised her whole life to the point of it becoming a personality trait. Notably, Jennifer is also portrayed by Megan Fox (who has unfortunately been heavily sexualized from a young age as well). And yet, even though Jennifer’s Body was falsely marketed to capitalize off Fox’s sex appeal—a move that unsurprisingly didn’t land, given the film’s depiction of the cannibalization of men (for once)—it feels impossible to watch the film without a feminist and queer lens. An allegory for sexual and gendered violence, in part, Jennifer’s character transcends the “perfect victim” trope, Needy’s character becomes much more than a wailing “damsel in distress,” and Jennifer’s body becomes much more than a body we see on-screen. Rather, Jennifer’s Body becomes representative of very real bodies, those of women and queer individuals, who live under the patriarchy and who have been “consumed” under oppressive systems like capitalism—much like how Jennifer consumes, well, literally whoever she wants?
Jennifer’s Body becomes representative of very real bodies, those of women and queer individuals, who live under the patriarchy and who have been “consumed” […] much like how Jennifer consumes, well, literally whoever she wants?
Since the film’s original release, Jennifer’s Body has been re-evaluated as a feminist cult-classic—and its “younger sister,” Yellowjackets, has fared better in terms of reception and praise—but the question remains: are we ever going to move past, especially in the horror genre, what is effectively heavy subtext for women viewers, but smoke and mirrors for male audiences who already have a buffet of media options? Do narratives featuring queer relationships and sexually liberated antiheroes still need to be fed to us through distracting metaphors? Does that make it easier for audiences and studios to digest? Or are we ready to be confronted?
Zianna Ruiha (Ngāti Toa) (she/her) is a queer, disabled and indigenous creative and procrastinator from Aotearoa. She has writing, past and upcoming, that can be found in Awa Wahine, Knee Brace Press, Overcom Mag, Salient Magazine, and Querencia Press.