Caroline Lindy’s Your Monster is an ode to pathetic women everywhere. That is, until it ends with a cliche that even I’ve written.
Your Monster begins with feeble and haunted heroine Laura Franco (impeccably played by Melissa Barrera) being wheelchaired out of the hospital by big-haired and callously cool friend Mazie (boldly and bitingly interpreted by Kaylie Foster). As Laura is released, blood-curdling memories wash over and we discover that her playwright boyfriend Jack (Edmund Donovan) dumped her while she was hospitalized for cancer. Somehow worse than the cancer itself, Jack promises Laura the leading role in his musical which she consistently and dutifully helped him develop. As she returns to a seemingly empty home (her mother is away doing “spa shit”), she is startled by a monster (Tommy Dewey). Nay, the monster. As in, the monster of her life who hid under her bid and in her closet, who attacked those who wronged her, who mysteriously and episodically brought vicious chaos into Laura’s childhood. What ensues is a shockingly romantic relationship.
In my opinion, Dewey brought a bright, exciting freshness to the character. He convincingly oscillates between disdain and adoration, from foe to friend to lover and protector. From wolfing down Laura’s sesame chicken to tenderly reciting Shakespeare, Lindy’s Monster is, behaviorally speaking, acceptable as a romantic male lead. Most importantly, he teaches Laura to embrace her “inner monster”. But as it turns out, he is her inner monster.
Let’s discuss for real now. That Laura’s character suffers from “Supporting Role” syndrome is clear. By this diagnosis, I mean the very thing Kate Winslet’s character suffers from in The Holiday and the same illness to which many wives of successful men and struggling actors fall to—the illness that renders you entirely subservient in the role of your own life, all in the name to support the creation born out of a male’s mind. How do we know Laura suffers from this? Well, for one, she doesn’t choose to confront boyfriend Jack and lambast him for his cruel abandonment nor does she drop the whole thing and upgrade to a better life. In fact, she feebly goes to audition for the role he promised her and absolutely bombs.
I like this premise. Lindy writes a main character that is clearly sick in the head with Supporting Role syndrome, but I think there is some error in the film’s approach. Namely, the end. The end, I believe, upends much of the film’s efforts to establish how fruitful Laura’s relationship with her monster really is. As time progresses, we’re swaddled in the saccharine joy of their blossoming romance–they dance, they box, they have fun sex, they sing together. So, why are we being sold the progress if, in the end, Laura is simply going to go crazy and kill Jack? Spoiler alert. To me, this is a very cheap and easy trick pulled by many a filmmaker (myself included) when it comes to a timid female lead. It must tap into some cultural subconscious belief that the quieter the girl, the more terrifying her rage (Carrie-syndrome anybody?). Let me put it another way: why is it that when a female character accepts her justifiable rage, it can only end in murder? What’s the message there? I’ll tell you this much—the message is old. And it’s time to do something a little more worthwhile.
Otherwise, I must say that Melissa Barrera is a star, and I hope the industry knows what’s right from wrong. But then again, I know which industry I’m talking about.