Heathers (1989)

“Dear Diary, my teen-angst bullshit now has a body count.”

The Story:

Veronica Sawyer (Winona Ryder) belongs to a clique of “Heathers”: there’s Heather Chandler (Kim Walker), Heather Duke (Shannen Doherty) and Heather McNamara (Lisanne Falk). These three holy terrors dominate the school’s social scene with an iron fist; as Veronica watches their reign of terror unfold, she begins to realize she was much happier before she was popular. Coincidentally, a rebellious new student, Jason Dean (Christian Slater), shows up and similarly sees through all of the bullshit and befriends Veronica. The two plot revenge on the Heathers, and while Veronica just wants to pull innocent pranks, J.D. has much more malicious and deadly intentions.

The Review:

An oddly dark and mean-spirited entry in the 80s high school cycle, Heathers is a vindictive black comedy that satirizes the teenage condition. It’s filled to the brim with morbid humor that reveals the absurdity in cliques, trendiness, popularity, and relationships. Imagine the bleakest fantasies to be found in an emo and angst-riddled teenager’s diary, and you’ll understand Heathers. In this case, Veronica is the daydreamer who often imagines her life is a game of croquet with the Heathers, who use her own head as a target. She would much rather be hanging out with her old friends (whom the Heathers deem to be lowly) or the unpopular obese girl that’s often the target of cruel pranks. So why doesn’t she just quit the life of being a Heather?

That might be too easy–perhaps like all teenagers, she wants to prove a point and free the school from their tyranny as well. She and J.D. go at great and deadly lengths to prove that point, and Veronica’s fantasies soon become a twisted nightmare. And this is not just because their first victim dies, but also because her death is fashioned as a suicide, which makes her become a teen martyr and trend-setter even from beyond the grave. Since the most popular girl in school has committed suicide, everyone else is compelled to try it too. Though it’s an outrageous example, this speaks some truth to the herd mentality of school popularity often works. Similar events continue to happen that allows to film to criticize serious issues like homophobia and eating disorders.

I’ve always found it interesting that our heroine herself doesn’t quite escape the film’s satiric gaze. She fashions herself as some sort of messiah, and perhaps she is, but she also has a remarkable knack for playing social games and associating herself with bad people. Sure, she doesn’t like the Heathers, but she’s the one who got herself stuck with them; a similar thing happens when she meets J.D. She might see him as a sort of kindred spirit, but he’s also the rebellious, bad boy outsider that gives her a chance to be a Bonnie to his Clyde. As their relationship progresses, it even becomes abusive, which of course makes us ponder why girls subject themselves to such things. In this case, I suppose it’s because Christian Slater is naturally charismatic, a fast-talking charmer who has all the answers before Veronica can ask the questions. Still, she must find a way to break free from him and live for herself by the end of the film.

In that sense, Heathers is like most coming-of-age films where the protagonist has to “find themselves.” Here, she must learn what it means to be a Veronica—not a Heather. She perhaps takes the most demented journey possible to come to this realization, but it’s still one that rings true because Rider is convincing in both her disenchantment and her honest contempt for the society around her. Our post-Columbine world might make us wonder just how funny Heathers still is; after all, it is a violent, sarcastic portrayal of teenage disillusionment, which we now know is no laughing matter. Then again, it perhaps never should have been one in the first place, and that’s the film’s most damning statement—yes, the teenagers are supremely fucked up, but their parents and adult figures have created a society that “nods its head at any horror the American teenager can think to bring upon itself.” It’s the old cry that adults just don’t understand, but it’s delivered here with a sardonic wit and an avalanche of catchy dialogue that defines a generation and anticipates 90s ennui. Fret not, though—it ultimately isn’t content to be a mere slacker like so many in that decade; instead, it reaffirms that getting off of your ass and doing something is better than following a pack of lemmings who don’t even know they’re headed over a cliff. (Brett G.)

Tale of the Tape:

9 out of a possible 10 inches.

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