Last up on the virginity trifecta is Lane, Rory’s long-suffering best friend. Lane has perhaps had the most trying romantic history of all the women on
Gilmore Girls;
throughout high school, her Seventh Day Adventist mother restricted her access to everything from music to junk food to boys. Although Lane rebelled whenever and wherever she could, as it turned out her mother did convince her of one thing: that she should wait until she’s safely under the auspice of marriage to have sex, an ideology that spewed out of her like a robotic bolt of lightening when her boyfriend and bandmate Zack made his first overt play for her pants. His moves, adorably enough, consisted of spaghetti dinner with Ragu and Pepsi, eaten on the living room floor. Ever a trooper, Lane started in on the dishes immediately after shooting him down: “You’re not getting any tonight,” she deadpanned. “The least I could do is clean up” (“So . . . Good Talk,” 5-16).
Lane found her own embrace of abstinence more than a little troubling (“Why couldn’t the gluten-free thing stick?” she sighed to Rory. “I could have lived with that” [“So . . . Good Talk”]), but still, she waited, even as her contemporaries fell in and out of love—and jumped in and out beds. But in season six, just when she seemed to have gotten the hang of playing the Donna Martin to Rory’s Kelly Taylor, Lane and Zack got hitched. So while it might not be very punk rock to be too young to drink legally at your own wedding, it’s certainly handy to have the thumbs up from God to get laid.
Except we found that even newly married young women—including those who can legitimately wear a virginal white gown as they walk down the aisle—are not immune to the
Girls
’s first-time curse. Lane returned from her honeymoon in Mexico with both the stomach flu and a shocking conviction that “sex sucks so bad. Sex sucks worse than I thought” (“That’s What You Get, Folks, For Makin’ Whoopee,” 7-2). Granted, the one and only time she and her new husband did the deed they were attempting to recreate that scene in
From Here to Eternity
(bonus points to the tweener viewers who caught that cinematic reference), a feat that could make even the most experienced among us a little uncomfortable. Still, Lane’s newly formed convictions regarding the evils of the flesh rivaled her repressed mother’s: barely in her twenties and she’s at peace with the fact that hers will likely be a sexless marriage. (In fact, Mrs. Kim maintained that she only had sex once, confirming—without irony—that she got “lucky” the first time.) Nothing, it seemed—not even assurances from Rory that sex is great and that she and Zack should try it again—would change Lane’s mind.
And still it gets worse. A quick trip to the doctor confirmed that the “parasite” she brought back from Mexico was not Montezuma’s Revenge but the early stages of pregnancy, knowledge that Lane quickly crystallizes into the following maxim: “I guess the combination of salt water and seaweed and discount Mexican condoms and terrible, terrible sex leads to a baby.” To which Rory replied, in a tone worthy of the best after-school special, “You only did it one time, and wow, a baby” (“That’s What You Get, Folks, For Makin’ Whoopee”). Is there a more effective way to keep teenagers’ legs closed? I didn’t think so.
So here we are, season seven. And yeah, Johnson & Johnson, we get it: having a baby changes
everything.
Few could argue that the reality of single motherhood is as effortless as Lorelai Gilmore makes it appear; many viewers don’t have the resources at their disposable to make ends meet, never mind send their children to private schools and open new businesses. A healthy dose of counter perspective is not only fair, it is—including looking at a couple of those other potential consequences—warranted. But there’s a fine line between telling it like it is and scaring young women away from sex.
It is somewhat ironic that on
Gilmore Girls
—a show whose very existence can be credited to the effects of adolescent hormones on overdrive—the shedding of virginity is equated with loss, and not just of one’s hymen and an at-times cumbersome social label. The consequences of sex for Paris, Rory, and Lane were no doubt presented as comical hyperbole, but they were dire—and robbed each young woman of the thing she cherished the most. The overachieving Paris was denied entry to her first choice college, the first fissures in Rory’s relationship with her mother were formed, and Lane’s carefree rock ’n’ roll days were abruptly ended. Of course, these simplistic cause-and-effect scenarios have little to do with real-life sexuality, but that matters little in the world of teenage dramedy. And while it’s unclear how much of this ideology can be credited to the influence of the Family Friendly Programming Forum, it’s important to remember that Family Friendly doesn’t automatically equal Female Friendly. Not even
Gilmore Girls
is immune to the pressures of a conservative think tank.
That’s what you get, folks, for makin’ whoopee. I guess no one understands that better than the women of Stars Hollow.
Kristen Kidder
is a writer, cultural scholar, and recovering academic who lives in Brooklyn, New York. In the last seven years, she has only missed one episode of the
Gilmore Girls.
There’s Reality and Then There’s Lorelai: Gilmore Girls and the Real World
Chris McCubbin
Golden Age Gilmore Girls
How Classic Hollywood Comedy Defines the Show
LORELAI: So I’ve decided I’m saving myself for William Holden.
RORY: Wow, it’s nice out here in left field.
LORELAI: Hey, I’m sorry.
Sunset Boulevard
was on last night, and I don’t know . . . I’ve known him for years—
Sabrina, Stalag 17
—and yet last night something snapped. (“A-Tisket, A-Tasket,” 2- 13)
Gilmore Girls
has roots firmly planted in the fast-talking screwball comedies of the 1930s and ’40s, and in this essay Chris McCubbin analyzes in detail just how deep those roots go . . . and what a great Lorelai Katharine Hepburn would have been.
Gilmore Girls,
1952 D. HOWARD HAWKS
STARRING: Katharine Hepburn (LORELAI), Audrey Hepburn (RORY), William Holden (LUKE), Cliff Robertson (CHRISTOPHER)
WITH: Agnes Moorehead (EMILY), Edmond Gwenn (RICHARD), Tab Hunter (DEAN), Harold Peary (TAYLOR), Shirley Booth (BABETTE), Kathleen Freeman (MISS PATTY), Alvy More (KIRK
),
Vivian Vance (SOOKIE), Mary Grace Canfield (PARIS).
This modest but likeable comedy is notable for being the only screen pairing of Katharine and Audrey Hepburn. Playing mother and daughter, the two actresses display a surprising chemistry, assisted by a sparkling script that evokes the verbal acrobatics of
Bringing Up Baby
.
Lorelai Gilmore (K. Hepburn) is a girl from a rich family who eloped as a teenager against her parents’ wishes. Widowed at a young age with a baby daughter, she refused her parents’ help and took a job at an inn to support herself. As the movie opens, young Rory (A. Hepburn) is sixteen, and Lorelai, against her better judgment, reconnects with her aristocratic parents (Gwenn, Moorehead) to secure their help with the girl’s education. Romantic complications arise when Lorelai’s parents try to match her up with Christopher (Robertson), the charming but dissolute younger brother of her deceased husband, forcing Lorelai to face her attraction to the poor-but-honest Luke (Holden). Meanwhile, Rory is discovering her own first love with local boy Dean (Hunter).
The film is enlivened by a fine selection of character actors playing the Gilmores’ quirky neighbors in the bucolic village of Stars Hollow. Holden displays his comedic gifts in a subplot about his ongoing rivalry with overblown town selectman Taylor (Peary).
No, the movie described above never existed (and, in fact, couldn’t possibly have existed—a few ages and career dates are fudged, and the ’50s studio system would have certainly made it impossible for all the actors listed above to have worked together on the same movie). But it seems to me that the first six seasons of
Gilmore Girls
are Amy Sherman-Palladino’s attempt to make this fantasy movie a reality. From top to bottom,
Gilmore Girls
is suffused with a style and sensibility drawn straight from Hollywood comedies of the 1930s, ’40s, and ’50s.
There are, of course, some significant differences between our imaginary romantic comedy and the TV series. Lorelai becomes a widow, and Christopher becomes Rory’s uncle, because the Hays Production Code (adopted in 1930 and in effect until 1967) would never have allowed an unwed mother to be the heroine of a movie (“The sanctity of the institution of marriage and the home shall be upheld. Pictures shall not infer that low forms of sex relationships are the accepted or common thing”—Hayes Production Code), and even a divorced mother would have been a bit dodgy.
Our movie also has no Lane Kim. With the exception of Charlie Chan (not a beloved character among Asian-Americans), there were pretty much no assimilated Asian-Americans in films during the first half of the twentieth century. In the early ’50s, with institutional racism high and American sensibilities regarding Asians still prickly from WWII and Korea, the idea of a perky, smart, and talented Korean-American teenager would have been simply unthinkable. Instead, Rory’s best friend might have been a swing-loving daughter of a family who fled from, say, France or Spain to escape the spread of fascism. Likewise, there’s no Michel; a character in a ’50s movie could be French, or he could (rarely) be black, but he couldn’t be both.
Some may argue with my choice of the Hepburns (Katharine and Audrey were effectively unrelated, despite a common aristocratic ancestor from the sixteenth century) as the spiritual avatars of Lorelai and Rory (and please do argue . . . that’s the fun of imaginary casting games like this).
It’s easy to defend Alexis Bledel’s Rory as an evocation of Audrey Hepburn in, say,
Sabrina
; although Bledel is a bit more coltish and charmingly awkward than the eternally serene Hepburn, the two share a very similar self-possession and ethereal beauty.
Physically, Lauren Graham doesn’t match up nearly as well with Katharine Hepburn. Graham has a softer and distinctly more feminine presence than the—let’s face it—rather butch Hepburn, and doesn’t really approach Hepburn’s crackling intensity (who does?). Nonetheless, given Lorelai’s fierce independence, her lightning-fast, razor-sharp tongue and wit, and her tendency to veer precipitously between strength and vulnerability, Lorelai is a prototypical Katharine Hepburn character, and it’s hard to imagine that Sherman-Palladino didn’t have Katherine Hepburn as her muse when she created her.
Of course, Amy Sherman-Palladino’s love of movies permeates the Gilmore Girls’ world. As much as they love to riff on music, TV, and kitsch, it’s obvious that movies occupy a special place in Lorelai and Rory’s hearts. Again and again in the show, a big pile of old movies and an amazing volume of junk food is shown as the central bonding ritual in their relationship. It must be said, however, that the “golden age” of Hollywood is not usually the era referenced in the show. The Gilmores’ film consciousness seems to begin about 1960 (
Mary Poppins
, or thereabout) and peak in the mid-’70s (
The Godfather
,
Pippi Longstocking
), then carry on through the ’80s (
Say Anything
) and ’90s (
Thelma & Louise
) up to the present. Of course, it makes sense that the show would most often reference films from its main character’s (and its key target demographic’s) lifetimes. Important exceptions to the above are the films of Audrey Hepburn, particularly the aforementioned
Sabrina
, which have been referenced several times throughout the show’s run.
Let’s look at some of the other ways that
Gilmore Girls
draws its inspiration from the comedy of the Golden Age of Hollywood.
Screwball Comedy
Certainly, the most palpable Hollywood influence on the
Gilmore Girls
is the “screwball” comedies of the ’30s, ’40s, and ’50s. The screwball was a baseball pitch perfected by New York Giants pitcher Carl Hub-bell. Designed to deceive batters, it was a curve ball with an unexpected twist. The screwball comedies were based on inverting social norms. Poor people were smarter and better balanced than the rich, and women, not men, were the ones who drove romantic relationships (yes, these were subversive ideas in the ’30s).
Screwball comedies were a product of the Depression, and most of the pure examples of the form were made in the ’30s, but the ’40s and ’50s saw the continued production of comedies with distinctly screwball characteristics, and the form remains strongly influential on modern films as disparate as
There’s Something About Mary
and the films of Woody Allen.