Thirteen: What's Real About It? 

There were times when I had to remind myself that I was watching a movie—it was that real. —user comments reviewing Thirteen on http://www.imdb.com

Adolescent female sexuality is often used within the discourse of cinematic arts, but rarely is it central to a film’s plot. The subject is, to a certain degree, taboo and is routinely disavowed. At the same time, cinema capitalizes on the display of sexually charged bodies while denying those bodies power. If in fact adolescent girls are given sexual agency, it is typically portrayed as monstrous. Horror films, especially in the slasher genre, habitually rely on this formulation: Teenage girls who are sexually active are targeted and punished by the killer, while the so-called final girl, who is responsible for dispatching the killer, is an asexual virgin.

Catherine Hardwicke’s Thirteen (2003) attempts to take adolescent sexuality as its subject. The film is praised for its realistic representation of female adolescence, yet it still characterizes young female sexuality as no less monstrous than a typical slasher film. Thirteen is the story of Tracy (also known as Trace, played by Evan Rachel Wood), who, in her desire to be accepted, goes to great lengths to impress the “hottest girl in school,” Evie (Nikki Reed). Tracy’s story is based on Reed’s real life experiences. She assisted Hardwicke in writing the script, giving the dialogue its raw and unadulterated character. The script, Reed’s presence on screen, and the composition of the film, itself, are meant to verify the film’s overall authenticity.

Tracy’s mother, Mel (played by Holly Hunter), is doing her best to raise Tracy and her brother. Although their home is set in a seemingly comfortable suburban area of Los Angeles, the family is just barely scraping by. To make a little extra money, over and above the alimony she receives from her former husband, Mel works as a hairdresser, seeing clients in her home. Tracy seems like a simple and sweet girl, but there are hints that she is beginning to change and mature, as when she reads one of her poems to which Mel responds, “That’s deep.” Mel doesn’t have the time or energy to realize that the poem is Tracy’s first cry for help.

During the opening sequence of the film, the camera scurries about, darting in and out of rooms. The pace and the effect of the handheld camera are supposed to match the frantic atmosphere of a single parent home. The real world dialogue and the camerawork are nothing short of a barrage. Hardwicke’s less than subtle message is: “This is real.” And yet, the spectator is still compelled to ask: “What’s real about it?”

What makes it any different from Nicholas Ray’s classic Rebel without a Cause (1955)? This too is a story of misguided youth who just want to be a part of something or want to feel that they have some sense of agency. Like Thirteen, Ray’s film is set in white suburbia, focusing on a family that is less than ideal but is coping the best it can. Is Rebel any less real than Thirteen?

A more contemporary comparison, Larry Clark’s Kids (1995), comes closest to Thirteen in terms of style and content. Clark’s film, ultimately, is more successful though, not only because it doesn’t emphasize cliché cinematography, but also because Kids presents the consequences of alcohol, drugs, and risky sexual behavior, including exposure to sexually transmitted diseases. In Thirteen, aside from the emotional drama, consequences are conspicuously absent (though one might argue that Tracy’s self-destructive behavior, for instance cutting herself, is a consequence of her actions).

Despite these differences, Kids is the perfect complement to Thirteen. In Kids adolescent male sexuality is the primary subject. In Thirteen it is the experience of adolescent girls that are on display. And this probably forces me to review my initial inquiry; it’s not necessarily a matter of being realistic or not, but rather what’s new about it? What’s supposedly new about Thirteen is that it showcases white suburbia as the epicenter of this seemingly new crisis: adolescent female sexuality. Tracy’s rebellion manifests in her sexual expressions, and as the film progresses she becomes increasingly more assertive sexually. Sexuality and sexual agency are not acts of independent will or actual expressions of desire per se, but instead come to signify the depth of her bad behavior. Tracy’s expressions of sexuality, then, are not so much her own genuine desire as they come to represent the severity of her rebellion.

Rebel without a Cause, on the other hand, broaches female sexuality in the opening sequence where we meet the three primary characters: Jim (James Dean), Judy (Natalie Wood) and John (aka Plato played by Sal Mineo). Whereas Jim is in police custody for public drunkenness and Plato for killing puppies, Judy is accused of being a streetwalker, or at least looking like one. Her father refers to her as a “dirty tramp,” and the juvenile police investigator asks, “You weren’t looking for any company, were you?” To which Judy responds, “I don’t even know why I do that.” Implicit in this dialogue, as well as other highly suggestive elements (Judy’s scarlet coat and bright red lipstick), is that Judy, like Tracy in Thirteen, uses sexuality as an act of rebellion. Judy’s rebellion is also a matter of asserting her sexuality. As the police investigator says, “Maybe you think you can get back at your dad that way.”

Supposedly, what’s new in Thirteen is that it’s about a beautiful blond haired, blue eyed girl from suburbia; she is by American standards the quintessence of normal. Situating Tracy as normal, and by extension all that is good and wholesome, the film, then, portrays the world that Tracy comes in contact with as abnormal, bad, and unwholesome. The characters cast to play this unsavory crew are, by and large, African American. So what’s really new here? Is it that the symbol of delinquency in American media is the African American male? Is this some sort of confirmation that black men and their sexual prowess are seducing white women? What century is it?

African American males in Thirteen are props in the narrative. They are not active characters. They rarely speak, and they never determine the direction of the plot. They are there to satisfy the desires of the female characters, pawns to be used by Tracy and Evie in their game of popularity. Tracy’s rebellion is achieved in part through the African American male characters. Some might point to the fact, right or wrong, that a certain cachet is attached to the Black male in our culture as the desirable bad boy, and this might be in tune with the so-called realistic nature of the film. Considered altogether, however, the racial politics of the film are duplicitous, propped up by a compilation of various racial stereotypes. If we go back to review the formerly wholesome Tracy and who she socializes with, the racial schematic becomes all that more questionable. Before she starts to rebel, one of her friends is Yumi (Tessa Ludwick) an Asian American girl. In speech and dress Yumi is extremely modest, her attire almost boyish in nature. The adolescent Asian girl often symbolizes in American culture obedience, mild mannered respectfulness, studiousness, and above all sexual innocence. Tracy’s transformation is marked not just in her behavior and attitude but in the complexion of her friends.

Ultimately Thirteen is a conservative film that reinforces many existing racial stereotypes and reaffirms the conservative platform of traditional family values. Tracy rapidly spins out of control, so the film suggests, because there is no strong paternal authority. While Tracy’s mother is not blamed for Tracy’s descent into self-destructive habits and moral decay, the film does, nevertheless, leave the spectator with the distinct impression that a single mother is incapable of raising healthy children. No paternal figure has stepped in to lay down the law, and it is unclear if any will. The film reaffirms the beliefs held by conservative factions that minorities, lower income households, and absent fathers are the cause of moral disintegration. These degenerative forces threaten to swallow up even the purest of our culture: blond haired, blue eyed, sweet, and innocent girls.

Yet, Thirteen might have staying power because the film is sexy. This is the key to what really makes the film new and real. Here are beautiful young bodies set in erotic environments. When Evie and Tracy mount their respective dates, it’s not a far cry from the titillating foreplay found in pornographic films. The sexual advances made by these adolescent girls is fearless, because they are either unaware of the possible consequences of their actions, or they don’t care and will do anything to be accepted. What makes this film real is our own sensual satisfaction, and this is why Thirteen will probably have a fairly long run. When we witness Tracy and Evie passionately kiss, or when we see Tracy, hair up with wisps hanging to the side of her face walking the streets of Los Angeles with a supermodel pout, we don’t necessarily see a confused 13-year-old kid, but a sexual object. Although there might be no apparent consequences for Tracy (or Evie), we are faced with our own voyeuristic guilty pleasure.

American culture expects that young white girls behave themselves and remain innocent, and at the same time our culture celebrates young female sexuality. Innocent girls are supposedly boring, and as a consequence they are undesirable. Happiness, the desire to be wanted or liked, to be beautiful, is inextricably linked to sexuality and sexual expression. The celebration of sexually charged imagery, and the consumerism associated with it, sends a clear message: sexiness is good, modesty is not. This is the paradox of American culture. Thirteen forces us to confront our own inconsistency, our revulsion and fascination with adolescent female sexuality. Thirteen helps us to see not so much adolescent confusion, but adult confusion. Perhaps what makes Thirteen both real and new is that it asks us to examine our own values in the face of sexualized youth who will do anything—beg, cheat, and steal—to be the “hottest girl in school.”

Aaron Kerner is an assistant professor in the cinema department at San Francisco State University. He welcomes your comments: amkerner@sfsu.edu