The Lost Daughter and Representations of Motherhood in Media.

by Chloe Buxton

As a woman you get used to not really seeing yourself portrayed accurately in film. Somehow, men writing stories about women and men directing stories specifically about emotionally complex women rarely feel truthful. The likes of Gone Girl (David Fincher, 2014) and Fatal Attraction (Adrien Lyne, 1987) are fantastic films but their depiction of “crazy” women, capable of extreme violence, fail to truly portray the nuance of the feminine experience. What does it really mean to bury feelings of inadequacy? To struggle with symptoms of mental illness? Or become overwhelmed by responsibility as a mother? Fincher and Lyne cannot answer.

Films such as The Lost Daughter (Maggie Gyllenhaal, 2021) on the other hand, are a new sub genre which explore women’s rage and suffering in a quiet, more understated manner. An important distinction Gyllenhaal makes when speaking to the press, is that the film is not about a crazy woman, it’s about “a sane woman, who makes aberrant, transgressive, unusual choices” - MG.

The Lost Daughter, 2021, Netflix.

The Lost Daughter was originally written as a novel by Elena Ferrante, it was adapted and directed for the screen by Maggie Gyllenhaal. Olivia Coleman plays Leda, a forty something year old comparative literature professor. She’s enjoying a relaxing holiday in Greece when the sight of a struggling young mother (played by Dakota Johnsson) brings back painful memories of her own experiences as a young mum. The story is interjected with Coleman’s flashbacks to a younger version of herself as she struggles to cope with everyday life, juggling raising two daughters, with maintaining a relationship and producing meaningful work as an academic.

An atmosphere of suffocation becomes apparent in the flashbacks. The sound of crying permeates each scene, her sleep deprived features beg to rest and any attempt to work is interrupted by someone demanding her attention. She has no time to relax and soon the weight on her shoulders to maintain a sense of normalcy becomes a responsibility she can hardly bear. Moments of selfishness and unprovoked anger overcome her and a sense of resentment begins to grow towards her husband and children.

I have often felt that both literature and film fail to explore this grey area within female narratives. When reading romance novels, I found female characters to be fully infatuated with their partners. They simply looked deeply into each other's eyes and knew they’d met “the one”. Their love was always uncomplicated, a Hollywood fairytale we all buy into. I often wondered if something was wrong with me when in my own experiences, I had more complex emotions than those I had read about in books. As I got older I began to realise such insecurities were in fact very common - to be expected even. So why do we never seem to explore these issues in film?

I’ve begun to recognise the same tropes in the depiction of motherhood. From Mary Poppins, to Maria von Trapp in the Sound of Music, to Mother Mary herself. The good mother has everything together, never complains, is endlessly patient, selfless, saint like. She is naturally an unattainable goal and Hollywood has done such a good job at creating a binary in the depiction of motherhood. I mean if you’re not a good mother you must be a bad mother, right? Just look at Mila Kunis in “Bad Moms”, the title is giving my point away. As soon as women don’t fit perfectly into what’s expected of them, they are BAD, yes in all caps and in bold.

In Bad Moms (Jon Lucas & Scott Moore, 2016) , which I have actually watched several times as a bit of a guilty pleasure, if you watch for long enough you realise they’re not actually bad mums at all. They’re very loving mothers, who are just doing their best to raise their kids as well as pursue careers and maintain relationships or just look after themselves. Now this is a more realistic representation of motherhood sure, but the label remains, like a stain, BAD mums. Expect to be judged and labelled ladies because you do not meet required expectations.

Bad Moms, 2016, STX Entertainment.

This is where Ferrante enters the conversation. Her writing is often centred around a woman struggling to hold it all together, a woman beginning to unravel in the face of her responsibilities. Her descriptions and streams of inner consciousness are dark and sometimes disturbing, she explores dangerous edges of an idle, dissatisfied mind. Yet at the same time her novels are comforting to women across the world as they’re painfully honest about what it’s really like to juggle with the overwhelming duties that come with being a mother.

After receiving a carefully crafted letter from Gyllenhaal about her intentions regarding adapting the book into a film, Ferrante not only entrusted her with the rights to the novel, but insisted she would only sign the contract if Gyllenhaal directed. This vote of confidence in Gyllenhaal to me stands as a testament to the strength and solidarity of women artists. When women’s voices are silenced or vulnerable, we stand together and give them the space to be heard.

What both Ferrante and Gyllenhaal have a shared passion for, is their desire to unveil the truth behind motherhood. Their unflinchingly honest depictions of domestic life bring both a sense of shock and relief to women across the world. Their characters make unlikeable, unforgivable decisions and they show you that’s okay. Rather than depression, rage or suffering being qualities associated with a “bad” mum, or a “crazy” woman, they are qualities the film suggests even the most sane and intelligent women may experience under difficult circumstances.

The Lost Daughter, 2021, Netflix.

Therefore, with The Lost Daughter I feel Gyllenhaal has paid an incredible tribute to Ferrante’s writing, but she has also bravely dealt with the question: what is it to be both a good and a bad mother? Gyllenhaal and Ferrante don’t pretend that a hot chocolate and a bath will magically fix everything. Their work provides a refreshing interpretation of modern day motherhood and a reality check on outdated stereotypes still preaching about the perfect mother. I for one am excited by the fact cinema is ready to expose hard truths and make space for untold narratives. More than anything, I am excited to see what Gyllenhaal has in store for us next.

by Chloe Buxton, September 2022.