The Women of Christopher Nolan

Ever since his feature film debut in 1998, Christopher Nolan – in spite of numerous critical and commercial successes – has often been scrutinised for his treatment of female characters. Across a 27 year career, not a single film in Nolan’s filmography features a female protagonist, with women often relegated to secondary or supporting roles. But is this broad criticism of Nolan’s work fair?

It is difficult to escape the impression that Nolan repeatedly fixes his female characters within positions of stereotypically feminine vulnerability

A common argument against Nolan’s treatment of women in his films is the frequency with which they are deceased; if we count his Dark Knight trilogy as a singular narrative, six out of 10 of Nolan’s storylines are explicitly built around the death of a female love interest, with Interstellar’s Coop also lacking a partner, despite caring for two children. Nolan’s first feature – Following – ends with the demise of its primary female character with the film’s protagonist framed for her murder. In this instance, Nolan also refuses to dwell upon the character’s death; she is – to all intents and purposes – discarded with ambivalence. The credit that the character receives – simply ‘the Blonde’ – is also indicative of Nolan’s treatment of the character.

Thus, while his male characters suffer as a result of their losses, it is difficult to escape the impression that Nolan repeatedly fixes his female characters within positions of stereotypically feminine vulnerability. A different yet equally troubling iteration of this motif across Nolan’s films is present in 2010’s Inception, as protagonist Cobb is haunted by his late wife Mal. Like the Blonde of Following, Mal should be a sympathetic character. However, as much of Inception takes place within manifestations of the mind, Cobb’s trauma surrounding Mal’s death is realised in physically destructive instances to the point where she virtually becomes the villain of Inception’s narrative. The frequency with which Nolan’s female characters are killed off is varyingly problematic.

The recurring motif of marital loss across Nolan’s films has – despite its more troubling iterations – been handled with sensitivity and emotional focus by Nolan

However, this motif has also been treated by Nolan with great sensitivity. For example, Nolan’s sophomore effort – the groundbreaking Memento – is entirely constructed around Leonard Shelby’s trauma following the death of his wife; in fact, this trauma is built into the film’s structure, as Memento is told in reverse, to cinematically create a fragmented mind. In contrast with Inception – where its female character is villainised through the male protagonist’s trauma – Memento only uses flashbacks to sympathetically convey the identity of Shelby’s wife, thus creating a quieter, more respectful sense of grief. While the death of Rachel Dawes in 2008’s The Dark Knight is depicted with blockbuster intent, it is also done so with deeply emotional gravitas through Nolan’s direction and a thoroughly sympathetic performance from Maggie Gyllenhaal, thus ensuring that this particular demise is hardly throwaway. Therefore, the recurring motif of marital loss across Nolan’s films has – despite its more troubling iterations – been handled with sensitivity and emotional focus by Nolan.

Nevertheless, beyond the numerous deaths of female characters in Nolan’s films, there remains a troubling repetition of merely underdeveloped and underused female characters. For example, while one could attribute this to its historical setting, virtually no women of significance even feature in 2017’s Dunkirk. The Dark Knight Rises is also perhaps the most condemning treatment of women in all of Nolan’s filmography; Anne Hathaway’s Selina Kyle, for example, is frequently clad in a tight catsuit. Furthermore, perhaps the most underdeveloped character in Nolan’s filmography is Marion Cottilard’s Talia al Ghul, revealed as a last-minute twist villain in Rises and a nigh objective example of Nolan’s questionable treatment of his female characters. In fairness, al Ghul’s villainy diminishes the overtly masculine physicality of Tom Hardy’s Bane, yet one can only view Nolan’s efforts in doing so with limited grace.

Perhaps Nolan’s greatest female-led effort is Interstellar, primarily through Jessica Chastain as Murph

Nevertheless, to criticise all of Nolan’s female characters would be entirely short-sighted. In 2002’s Insomnia, detective Ellie Burr subverts Nolanian expectations in being the only major member of a primarily male-led cast to survive the film. However, beyond her own longevity, Ellie is a strong, capable character that diverts significantly from the ephemeral entities of Following and Memento. Similarly, in Nolan’s most recent feature film, Kitty Oppenheimer is a figure of authority against her husband’s fragility; in Oppenheimer’s climatic trial sequences, Oppenheimer crumbles before the interrogation of Roger Robb whereas Kitty cleanly proves the idiocy of her interrogator. However, perhaps Nolan’s greatest female-led effort is Interstellar, primarily through Jessica Chastain as Murph. Interstellar recounts humanity’s efforts to discover a new home among the stars in the wake of climatic destruction on Earth; while Matthew McConaughey’s Coop is responsible for leading said mission, it is Murph’s action back home that ultimately liberates humanity. Therefore, to argue Nolan is entirely incapable of writing female characters who are to be celebrated is clearly false.

In conclusion, Christopher Nolan has a mixed track record with his female characters. I am entirely willing to concede that there is an evident trend of deceased and often throwaway female partners across Nolan’s work; while this does speak to Nolan’s own concerns – particularly when considering his wife Emma Thomas has worked alongside Nolan on each and every one of his feature films – the frequency of this motif and its handling is to be scrutinised. Some instances of female characterisation and development in Nolan’s films – such as in The Dark Knight Rises – also deserve criticism. However, total derision of Nolan’s female characters is ultimately undeserved; he has proven himself – through films such as Insomnia and Interstellar – more than capable of writing characters worthy of celebration. However, while it would be fascinating to see Nolan explore the avenue of creating a film with a female protagonist, with The Odyssey – an adaptation of Homer’s classical tale of male determination and resilience – heading our way next year, such a prospect may only be fanciful.