In a film filled to the brim with unhappiness, addiction, chronic dissatisfaction, and fits of despair, she is the lone vision of loveliness. Where there is pain, she is the cure. Where others have faltered, stumbled, or succumbed to a series of bad choices, she alone has triumphed. She is Flo Harrigan. As played by Shirley Jones, a woman of such singular distinction that she deserves to be dipped in bronze and preserved as a life lesson throughout eternity, she has, against the odds, found the secret of success; the only way to truly make it through life with both sanity and stability intact.
In sum, she has repeatedly told the institution of marriage to go fuck itself. Seeing only failure, compromise, and the elimination of any and all erotic desire, she has instead chosen to roam the earth providing comfort to those hopelessly afflicted. She will, in no uncertain terms, screw her way to a Zen-like fulfillment. Consider it mission accomplished. While you’re figuring out how to pay the mortgage, she’ll be showering away another job well done.
Though her screen time is sadly limited, she makes the most of her precious minutes by providing an unapologetic commentary on the rot that surrounds her. The movie, make no mistake, is declaring, in these first hours of Nixon (no accident his inauguration is heard on the soundtrack), that this bold experiment – where man and woman seek to live as one and chart a course together – has utterly failed, and that to be in the same room for a few hours, let alone over a lifetime, will only lead to recrimination, resentment, and the first plane ride out of town.
Men are eternally looking elsewhere, and women, god love ‘em, are always providing reasons for them to do exactly that. It just can’t work. Never has, never will. Flo, alone among her peers, gets it. She learned such hard truths early on and has never looked back. Sure, she spends half her life on her back, but don’t make her out to be a victim. Her head is held high, and that’s pride, my friends, not shame. She’s perhaps the most encouraging symbol of feminist empowerment in the history of the cinema.
Take this monologue, worthy of applause from anyone who considers themselves enlightened:
“It’s a success story with a bang finish. Lucky my mother hated breast-feeding, or I’d been alcoholic before I could walk. Finally killed her. Every Sunday, drunk or sober, she’d give me the same lecture: ‘Girl, ya’ gotta’ go to college. Because without an education, you either end up a big-mouthed housewife, or a big-assed whore.’ My freshman year, she dropped dead – smack in the middle of praying to win a fortune in the Irish Sweepstakes… I sure didn’t intend to be a big-mouthed housewife, so I went to work. I graduated with a master’s degree – in men.”
One after the other – married, all – without a hint of attachment. Because attachments lead to entrenchment, and no one who needs another can ever truly be free. Affairs in lieu of relationships, with all the associated highs; unending and in one direction. Take the central characters of the movie – Mary (Jean Simmons) and Fred (John Forsythe) – we see them at many stages of their coupling, and only during the unmarried phase do they approach joy. Why? Because dating is the least like marriage. Meals are always out and about, we’re usually dressed up, there’s the anticipation of sex in the air, and each and every encounter is about the thrill of discovery.
Once we know everything about our partner, the only thing we truly realize is that we ended up with the wrong person. Journey versus destination, as if we didn’t know that in advance. Once caught, a person inevitably disappoints. Flo, on the other hand, has found that glorious loophole. Stay on the uptick, and discard at a moment’s notice. What is it she says? “If there’s one thing a man won’t tolerate, it’s a crying mistress. He gets that at home.” There’s every incentive to keep things rolling, and both parties benefit.
Consider this exchange:
- Mary Wilson: What’s the secret formula? Why do you look 28, and I’m afraid to look in the mirror?
- Flo: Power, baby. There’s white power, green power, black power, electric, horse, and man-power! I’ve got staying power. I’ve been massaged, barraged, creamed and reamed with every slop and goo on the market. I’ve tried the Yogi bit. Ying and yang, biff and bang, the works. You name it, I’ve done it. All in the name of youth and beauty. God knows, I’ve even prayed for it. Baby, there’s one big difference between us: *you* got married.
Few have seen it so clearly, and herein lies the key to it all. While marriage will always have the backing of big business and the religious enterprises that are its sinister handmaiden (Flo’s latest paramour has great insight on this matter), it is only through the absolute abandonment of tradition that mankind can truly flourish. No God, no marriage, we just might get shit done. I’d expect single-payer health care within a week. Hand over the reins to Flo, and we’d just about eliminate mental illness in our time. Intoxicants would disappear lest we risk losing this rare, authentic feeling to flights of fantasy.
Sure, it helps that Shirley Jones is a beautiful woman. Few would care if the hag brigade was giving away something no one asked for. But I do believe Flo’s vision could filter down to the less fortunate and spur the same revolution. She has embraced cold, hard realism in the face of sentimentality and emerged with a grin. Find me a marriage that has proceeded thusly. At some point, it ends – either through disgust, boredom, or death. Flo’s way, there’s never an exit ramp. You never have to say goodbye because the farewells are built in. Maybe here, at long last, is a love that can endure. It’s sure as hell the first version worth fighting for.
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