Content Warning: This article contains a frank discussion of sexual assault.
Every era needs a classic movie detailing the sordid underbelly of the most popular (and powerful) clique in high school. I argue that Jawbreaker is that movie for the ‘90s. But, unfortunately, its debut was not well received. The teen black comedy scores a dismal 14% on Rotten Tomatoes. But a review from Screen Slate’s Cosmo Bjorkenheim suggests Jawbreaker is a “study in the nature of power relations,” evocative of Michel Foucault. Arguably, then, the film’s writer/director Darren Stein deliberately intended to make this kind of commentary on the blend of what Foucault called “locuses of power” (e.g., sex, money, and social mores) specific to Jawbreaker’s depiction of high school. So, not only is Jawbreaker criminally underrated, it sits among the great teen comedies of the past thirty-five years. Dismissing Jawbreaker outright means that we risk ignoring the clear ancestor of movies like Mean Girls and cult classics like Jennifer’s Body. Thus, fans of these movies owe it to themselves to give Jawbreaker another look.
Jawbreaker is a cinematic cocktail of three parts Heathers, one part post-Grunge angst, and a generous dash of Rose McGowan’s icy resting bitch face. What Mean Girls is to the 2000s, Jawbreaker is to the 1990s, particularly in the casting: McGowan is Courtney Shane, the Regina George-esque queen of mean. Julie Benz is Marcie aka Foxy, the airheaded sycophantic analogue of Karen Smith. Rebecca Gaylord is Julie, the mean girl with a conscience–just like Gretchen Wieners. At the beginning of the movie, all three have conspired to kidnap Liz Purr, their clique’s de facto queen. They stuff a large jawbreaker into Liz’s mouth and duct tape it over, tape her wrists and ankles, toss her into the trunk of a car, and drive her to the local diner to gorge on pancakes.
The trouble is, when they get to the diner and open the trunk, Liz has aspirated the jawbreaker and subsequently asphyxiated. Courtney, now the new (but malevolent) ruler of the clique, contrives a plan to cover their tacks by staging a home invasion wherein Liz has ostensibly been gagged and sexually assaulted. But when Fern Mayo, the resident nerdy girl, walks Liz’s homework over to her house and subsequently witnesses the staging, the group (more specifically, Courtney) takes her in, makes her over, gives her a new name (Vylette) and promotes her as one of their own in exchange for her silence. Again, if this plot sounds even vaguely familiar, it is. Jawbreaker owes a debt to Heathers, and Mean Girls owes a debt to both because all essentially operate on the same formula. Jawbreaker’s R rating is partially why it didn’t permeate American culture quite as strongly as Mean Girls; Heathers arguably suffered the same fate simply by virtue of the fact that fewer teens were able to see either when they debuted. However, Jawbreaker’s rating probably allowed it much more flexibility in capturing the sordid actions of its main players–which is why it works so well.
Jawbreaker ultimately distinguishes itself through its specific treatment of high school politics, especially through its wicked screenplay, slick visuals, and lurid narrative. Even the name of the school, Reagan High, evokes a political atmosphere in which, as I mentioned, Foucault’s structures of power apply themselves to angsty, late ‘90s adolescence. The elite clique rules the school essentially because everyone, in a discursive act of submission, thinks it does. This narrative mechanism isn’t unique to Jawbreaker, but what critics fail to understand is that the movie taps into the anxiety of the Y2K era. Yes, the actions of the Jawbreaker clique are certainly extreme. But Y2K, coupled with hyperactive economic expansion, created a constant anticipation that something bad would happen. Of course, in the real world, it eventually did. But that the entire school publically and dramatically mourns Liz Purr’s death means that Reagan High experiences its own distinctive tragedy, the likes of which no one will ever fully recover.
This is why, in large part, I find the criticisms of the script largely unfounded. There are a wealth of delicious quotes from which Mean Girls clearly borrows; a voiceover in Jawbreaker describes Courtney Shayne as “Satan in heels,” whereas Mean Girls’ Janice Ian describes Regina George as where “evil takes human form.” Courtney Shayne has “made” Vylette, and she “can break [her] just as easily,” whereas Regina George has “invented” Cady Heron. Although the latter line from Jawbreaker isn’t quite as clever as its Mean Girls analogue, McGowan’s pitch perfect delivery allows for much more leeway. A few awkward lines here and there shouldn’t detract from Jawbreaker’s overall clever writing.
Jawbreaker is much more intense than Mean Girls. For example, Fern/Vylette’s lurid transformation from hopeless nerd to blond bombshell features fisheye lenses and optical distortion. (I imagine that these scenes visually metaphorize the distorted perception of popular cliques–both internally and externally.) And to be fair, that three young women would think of such a terrible plan (even without the death of one of their “friends”) is probably beyond the sensibilities of most people. But Fern Mayo (as her new alias Vylette) reminds law enforcement: “this is high school, Detective. What is a friend, anyway?” Thus, that a teenage prank would end in a gruesome murder isn’t so unreasonable when thinking about how, in high school, friendship is as disposable as a candy wrapper.
Further, regarding the police, Roger Ebert notes that they seem to be incompetent: “if anyone in the plot had the slightest intelligence, the story would implode.” However, I’m not so sure. Even though dour and impulsive Detective Vera Cruz (played by the criminally underrated Pam Grier) says she wants to solve the case, what’s unspoken is that physical evidence like the semen sample found at the scene (which Courtney procures–more on this in a minute) allows her and her bosses to pursue suspects other than four wealthy and beautiful white girls whose parents likely have many powerful connections. Sure, Cruz’s semi-acceptance of the holes in the girls’ stories seems hinky on the surface. But is it so far-fetched to believe that a police department would take the easy explanation over going to war with several powerful white families? Since tensions between the police and the public were (and still are) constantly high, Stein might reasonably include commentary on this kind of privilege. Yes, Jawbreaker has its flaws. However, like all movies with similar themes, it provides commentary on how powerful cliques of pretty white girls use their influence to manipulate, play, and flout the system.
The primary and overwhelming criticism of the movie, however, seems to relate to the treatment (and depiction) of young women. For example, in a sick twist, the audience learns that how Courtney makes the alleged rape in the home invasion plot more plausible: she goes to a bar, picks up a strange man (disgustingly played by McGowan’s then-boyfriend Marilyn Manson) and has sex with him in Liz’s bed in order to provide evidence supporting the assault.
This specific aspect of the plot is probably what turns critics’ stomachs: a young woman implicitly defiles her “friend’s” corpse in order to fake a rape. Admittedly, this does pose a problem regarding the depiction/description of sexual assault. I’ve written before that the trivialization of sexual assault is a problem for many films, and I would be remiss I didn’t acknowledge it here. But the reality is, the plot point of an alleged sexual assault actually fits the movie’s themes. In order to attempt to disprove the rape theory, Julie, in a change of heart, reveals to Detective Cruz Liz was a virgin. And yes, Courtney obviously knows that forcibly removing a young woman’s virginity will remove all suspicion from them and place it onto everyone’s common, elusive enemy: criminals. But in turn, Courtney also knows that, within Western society’s Madonna/whore dichotomy, Liz can also be a sex-starved wild child with a penchant for anonymous hookups. In other words, I read Courtney’s move here as one with a failsafe; Courtney uses her frighteningly astute observations of the world around her to tie up loose ends, exploiting stereotypes to her advantage in the process.
So, the overall complaint boils down to the fact that what the movie clearly does here is play with misogynistic tropes to advance the plot. Indeed, a review from Houston Chronicle’s Jeff Millar questions if the film exemplifies “females practicing misogyny.” However, what critics forget is that one of the easiest ways to unite the public is to use a universal boogeyman against which everyone can unite. Courtney Shayne knows this. She is many things, but her scariest trait is her brilliance. Yes, she problematically throws society’s bugaboo–women–under the bus to evade suspicion. But, isn’t that exactly what a sociopath would do? It’s frustrating that what critics say works so well in movies like Gone Girl doesn’t work in Jawbreaker. Thus, arguably, this detail is ironically among the film’s strongest: a female killer uses a misogynist, double-edged sword to serve her own interests. At the very least, this movie promotes the all-too-neglected idea that women can be just as evil as men. Maybe the more interesting reading concerns the question of why film critics seem to be so uncomfortable with these characters’ unlikeability.
Still, Courtney’s downfall is, perhaps, the thinnest point of the movie. As I mentioned earlier, Julie eventually realizes the true extent of Courtney’s cruelty, has a change of heart, and searches for a way to end Courtney’s reign of terror. Julie (on prom night, no less!) decides to stay home and go through some of Liz’s things that Liz’s mother gave her. She opens a programmable birthday card to reveal a stark, iconic message from none other than Courtney herself: “I killed Liz. I killed the teen dream. Deal with it.” Julie subsequently decides to go to prom after all and enlists her non-clique friends’ help. Right after Courtney is crowned prom queen, the card’s electronics, spliced into the speaker system, broadcast Courtney’s cold-blooded statement to the student body. Her fellow students realize that it’s Courtney speaking and angrily pelt her with corsages, somehow dramatically ruining Courtney’s hair and makeup (and Courtney herself) in the process.
The problem is, earlier in the movie, when we see Courtney fiddling with the card while deciding how to stage Liz’s death, it’s just not clear how she could inadvertently record the message in the first place. It’s obviously meant to be a small, easily discardable detail to set up a plot twist, but it just ends up feeling somewhat…convenient. (Truthfully, I have the most trouble with this specific detail.) That the student body recognizes her voice and becomes angry enough to render her a social pariah certainly borders on plain silly, particularly since the movie spends so much time discussing how untouchable Courtney really is. Then again, if Liz is as beloved as the movie portrays (e.g., there is at least one unnamed student depicted sobbing over her death) it isn’t so implausible to think that a simple, callous statement insulting her honor would be Courtney’s undoing. This, in turn, might help the audience suspend disbelief over Courtney’s mistake with the card. Audiences understand how flippant quips can absolutely ruin lives. In other words, even if the student body doesn’t understand that Courtney actually had a hand in Liz’s death, her explicit hatred of Liz is reason enough to shun her. This movie understands that high schoolers are fickle and highly subject to suggestion and groupthink. Thus, Courtney’s flagrant hubris is her undoing–just like so many other tyrannical despots.
Sadly, perhaps Jawbreaker will never get the credit it deserves. Still, the movie has a solid cult following. But maybe Jawbreaker is better as a hidden gem. Films like this require a nuanced perspective that, for whatever reason, so many people aren’t willing to afford. This is probably because fans of this movie understand that, like the titular candy, this film packs such a punch that it might very well break your jaw.
Jonathan Sanford recently graduated from the University of Texas at Arlington with an M.A. English. He has a Master of Letters from Drew University and a B.A. in Creative Writing from the University of Houston. His work has previously been published with Drunk Monkeys and in the literary journal Jonathan from Sibling Rivalry Press. He lives in Sault Sainte Marie, Michigan with my dogs Lily and Thor.