In the fable-like The Virgin Suicides<\/em>, Dunst plays Lux, the oldest (and most coveted by the local boys) of five teenaged sisters in an extremely socially conservative Christian family of a wealthy Detroit suburb in the 1970s, with the siblings eventually befalling the fate in the film\u2019s title as spearheaded by the vaguely Joan of Arc-coded Lux. She is the most adventurous of the bunch, striking up a forbidden-fruit relationship with the slick, popular jock Trip (Josh Hartnett) who sees her as his ultimate prize (a \u201cstone fox,\u201d he calls Lux) but later abandons her on the high school football field and never contacts her again after they consummate their successful escapade (his \u201cplayground love,\u201d croons Thomas Mars). Scorned by both Trip and her parents, who lock up the girls after the indiscretion, Lux turns to using her heteronormative desirability to indulge fully in hedonistic pleasures, having late-night sexual encounters with various young men. Taking her own life can be seen as her final sin, the crowning nail in her literal coffin.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Bring It On <\/em>brings something completely different: Dunst is the deeply na\u00efve and privileged but well-intentioned cheerleader heroine Torrance (Tor), as cheery as she is lead-y, anointed as team captain by the pushy former squad head, Big Red. Reed\u2019s flick opens with an intentionally tacky and satirically reductive cheer routine by the Toros, which ends with Tor\u2019s shirt falling clean off in front of her audience before she wakes up from what is revealed to be a dream, brilliantly setting the tongue-in-cheek tone for the rest of the San Diego-set story. Through our protagonist\u2019s ignorant complicity in (cultural) appropriation and even a white savior attempt to finance the majority Black women cheerleading team, we \u201clearn what\u2019s right\u201d amidst a false meritocracy and everyone\u2019s happy by the end. Maybe teen girls can have a little cluelessness and lack of sociopolitical consciousness, as a treat\u2014we all have to start somewhere without the risk of being crucified immediately.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Of course, let us not lie to ourselves by claiming that either of these stories are widely relatable teen experiences across socioeconomic background and heritage in the United States; they are cinematic characters, after all. But the emotive experiences of these two films can fling us to opposing ends and pull us out of our one-tracked minds by the ponytails like a predatory school bully encouraged by the systems in which both characters (and we) live\u2014or better yet, by the awkward kid in the corner that ends up opening our eyes to new horizons. Empathizing with Lux makes enjoying Dunst\u2019s Torrance feel valid and vice versa: frankly, the former would kill to have an ounce of autonomy Tor is afforded and makes use of in her life. She would likely also be impressed by the Californian cheerleader\u2019s belief that she\u2019s got it all figured out. Conversely, if Tor\u2019s appreciation for Eliza Dushku\u2019s smart-aleck \u201cbad girl\u201d Missy (who had sapphics falling to their knees around the world) is any indicator, she would be in awe of the agency and awareness of the Midwestern teen, even if she would likely also be aghast at, but perhaps a bit jealous of, Lux\u2019s social norm-breaking behavior.<\/p>\n\n\n\n It would be remiss not to mention the films\u2019 perfectly constructed era soundtracks, which arguably tie not merely each film, but also each protagonist, together. The Virgin Suicides <\/em>features an original score by seminal French electronic space-pop band Air and is soundtracked by \u201870s classics like Electric Light Orchestra\u2019s \u201cStrange Magic,\u201d Styx\u2019s \u201cCome Sail Away,\u201d Gilbert O\u2019Sullivan\u2019s \u201cAlone Again (Naturally),\u201d and 10cc\u2019s \u201cI\u2019m Not in Love\u201d\u2014which, even just by their titles, essentially narrate Lux\u2019s girlhood rise and fall. Bring It On<\/em> is filled with \u201890s pop and hip-hop bops by Aqua and 2 Unlimited, conveying the film\u2019s fluffy unseriousness made off-kilter by genuinely weighty themes. This is coupled with sorority-feminism women\u2019s empowerment anthems like Atomic Kitten\u2019s \u201cSee Ya\u201d and Blaque\u2019s \u201cAs If,\u201d and several head-over-heels-for-you earworms like B*Witched\u2019s cover of \u201cMickey\u201d, which more or less summarize the two sides of Tor. <\/p>\n\n\n\n Notably, both protagonists are depicted in pseudo-dream states at some point in their respective films, showing they maybe aren\u2019t so different after all, shaped and projected upon by the social systems to which they\u2019re subjected. Lux emerges with a sparkle and in hazy clouds as a neighborhood boy fantasy and Tor begins by performing directly for the male gaze in the boisterous and delightfully nuance-free opening sequence\u2014two heteropatriarchal portraits of femininity ruptured by the former\u2019s suicide and the latter\u2019s awakening from her dream.<\/p>\n\n\n\n We can say that Dunst has range and call it a day; she’s proven it time and time again now with Lars von Trier\u2019s Melancholia<\/em>, Sam Raimi\u2019s Spider-Man <\/em>trilogy, Sofia Coppola\u2019s Marie Antoinette, <\/em>the FX series Fargo<\/em>, and Jane Campion\u2019s The Power of the Dog<\/em>, to name a few. But in our haste to give our Letterboxd star ratings and perform for our own chronically online audiences, let us also not forget Lux without Torrance and Torrance without Lux. We must be there for both, in film and in real life.<\/p>\n\n\n\n![\"\"](\"https:\/\/crookedmarquee.com\/stage8\/wp-content\/uploads\/2025\/01\/bringit1-1024x576.jpg\")
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