I Want To Be The Strong, Vulnerable Lead

On a Saturday afternoon in late July, the sun in the Catskills pierces through the bountiful clouds that determinedly hang overhead. They are crafted from humid air, the baking of Challah, and dust from costume sheds at the world-renowned theatre camp Stagedoor Manor. A sunbeam bounces off an electrical wire and lights my path as I saunter to The Playhouse  – a performance space at “The Manor” that was home to a production of Rock Of Ages I was participating in that summer. I came to perform and shine, but I couldn’t have predicted what I’d be portraying on stage.

As I carry my LaDucas to the dress call of our first show, I reflect on the moment I saw the cast list. Line after line, my finger pushed down the page until I traced my name next to the role of Hilda Klinneman. Excited to have a named, and not a numbered character, I almost didn’t notice the name listed under it – Franz Klinemann. With years of being casted as the lover or wife, my heart sank with the thought, “Oh great, I have a husband.” After frantically thumbing through the script looking for a dreaded stage-kiss, I realized he wasn’t my husband. He was my son, and he had my last name. My disbelief continued to grow as I read; my character was a powerful villain who wants to tear down a strip club to build a Foot Locker, has a son, and doesn’t have a love interest. Hilda was a unicorn of a character for any 18-year-old woman to be playing. 

My body finally met the entrance doors of The Playhouse, and I darted towards my costume rack. I reached for my maroon pantsuit and felt the cornmeal-like fabric scrape against my forearm. It was the best feeling ever, knowing my character got to wear pants and, more importantly, have pockets! I suited up, set my props, and strutted on downstage to cause some chaos. Prior to this, my inner unapologetic boss has hardly seen the light of day – much less under a spotlight. My character empowered me. Like my male-costars, I was able to drive scenes, demand respect, take what I wanted, and nobody could stop me. I began to think a woman having this much power was too good to be true – and I was right. The second week of rehearsals is when I learned that “Heinz” Klinneman originated the role on Broadway and not Hilda. Due to the theatre camp’s lack of male representation, they changed the gender of the role for me to play. I was portraying a character written for a man. 

Brit Marling, an American actress, screenwriter, and woman, has also portrayed roles with a man in mind. However, her experiences in these roles have not been as pleasant. In her essay, “I Don’t Want To Be The Strong Female Lead,” Marling challenges and criticizes the representation of a “strong female lead” in movies and television and how its undeniable tie to the patriarchy undermines its true purpose, showing audiences that women are capable of making impactful decisions without the influence of men. The concept of female strength is a curious one. For “strong female leads” to be seen as strong by audiences, Marling claims they must possess “traditionally masculine qualities; physical powers, linear ambition, focused rationality” (6). By that logic, Marling could say Hilda is a problematic portrayal of a “strong female lead” because some of the traits that define her strength and authority are rooted in masculinity rather than femininity. I disagree. As the portrayer, I brought a feminine energy on stage that coexisted with my masculine energy. Instead of instilling fear, I depicted unwavering confidence. With a plastered smile and the occasional squawking, I tore down a strip club while passing the Bechdel Test. Women playing originally male roles or roles with masculine traits have the potential to expand an audience’s view of female strength and characteristics. For example; a strong female character can have “focused rationality” (6) while being “empathetic” (6). With that said, Marling and I would agree that “strong female leads” portraying vulnerability while still appearing strong is a complex task. 

Towards the end of Act 2 in Rock Of Ages, Hilda has a meltdown about being alone after pushing her son away. I hysterically scream, cry, and roll around on the floor with a bottle of whiskey in my hand. After I get that out of my system, I admit my wrongdoings and decide not to build a footlocker. In the script, this scene is called “Moment Of Weakness”. Due to Hilda’s pre-established dominance and the authority that came after, this moment of vulnerability didn’t wipe her strength from the audience's mind. Be that as it may, it does emphasize a bigger issue. This display of vulnerability is done mockingly. Women are expected to be overly emotional beings, so in a societally expected way, Hilda could get away with it. When Heinz portrayed this scene on Broadway, he was seen as an emotional joke for the rest of the show. In the case of Rock Of Ages, vulnerability is exaggerated to a point of abrasiveness. It’s clearly not written to be seen as strength. It’s written to be a punchline. It plays on the stigmatization of vulnerability and proves that it’s generally viewed by an audience as weakness. It begs the question, can an audience view vulnerability – a traditionally feminine characteristic – as strength?

When fairly analyzing whether or not vulnerability can be seen as strength, it’s important to look at sincere displays, rather than those done mockingly. In Andrew Wyeth’s “Christina’s World”, Wyeth paints an empty grass field with a seemingly hopeless woman laying at the bottom of a long, slowly inclining hill. She is alone. The woman's body faces away from us, and she fixes her gaze upwards to two off-white wooden buildings – a barn and a house. She is clean and clothed in a light pink dress, white tights, and black leather loafers. With her body desperately propped up on her toned arms, the woman’s right hip rests on the brittle ground, and her legs drape and drag behind. She appears to be crawling to the barn in the foggy distance. The choice in proportion makes it as if you were two feet behind her in the field, in “Christina's World”. A woman laying alone in a hazy field, seemingly unable to get up, is a vulnerable, uncomfortable image. There is no joke, punchline, or anything to ease the discomfort of seeing a woman struggling. However, the truth of this image lies in how an audience would answer the following question: does this woman exhibit strength or weakness?

According to the plaque in the MoMa, the woman in this painting is Anna Christina Olson at age 55 (1). Due to a degenerative muscular disorder, Anna had been unable to walk since she was 30 (1). Refusing to use a wheelchair, she chose to crawl everywhere (1). Wyeth met Anna one summer in Maine and chose to paint an interpretation of what he saw of her (1). When I initially viewed this image, I had no prior knowledge of the backstory. In my eyes, she gained strength after I learned she had chosen to crawl, instead of being weak and infirmed. This leads me to believe that, had I not known her backstory, I wouldn’t have assumed she possessed strength. As a woman and audience member to this painting, this troubles me. It makes me wonder if there is a medium in which vulnerability is displayed and strength is assumed.

In his essay, “I Didn’t Understand Male Privilege Until I Became A Stay-At-Home Dad,” Billy Kilgore reflects and criticizes the “pedestal effect” and how one trip to the grocery store with his young kids unveiled a new perspective of his own male privilege. Embedded within society, there is a disparity between the amount of recognition fathers receive over mothers for their vulnerability. When Billy, a recently unemployed stay-at-home father, entered the meat section with his “3-year-old son strapped in the seat and (his) 3-month-old son wrapped against (his) chest” (1), a shower of praise from the female employees washed over him. The compliments ranged from; “you are taking this dad thing to the next level” (2) to “you are the best dad ever” (2). After this trip, Billy didn’t realize he was experiencing male privilege until he read an article from Auburn University that discussed the “Pedestal Effect.” The “Pedestal Effect” refers to “when men receive undeserved praise, attention and rewards for performing work traditionally done by women, such as caring for a baby in a wrap” (3). The “Pedestal Effect” can be attributed to men having to break down social constructs to have their vulnerability be seen as strength. As a woman, I find the extra effort men make to defy a system they created simultaneously admirable and a little lackluster. Society has always viewed men as innately stronger than women. Therefore, men can be seen as both strong and vulnerable, while women are assumed one or the other. Having said that, the overwhelming population of praise givers for male vulnerability are women. In the case of Billy, he could barely pass a woman in the grocery store without receiving affirmations. Perhaps consciously and unconsciously, women praise men for their feminine behavior because it conveys a relatable quality that women can connect with. We can see this with Harry Styles, Troye Sivan, Lil Nas X, Billy Porter, and even Drag Queens. Their success with a female audience, as well as an LGBTQ+ audience, is proof that people admire these qualities in men. Furthermore, if vulnerability and other feminine traits are normalized through men, perhaps society will begin to view those traits as strong. Moreover, if men in the media convey genuine vulnerability, perhaps audiences will begin viewing it as strength. As Brit Marling said, ​​“stories inspire our actions” (9). This may prove to be an effective solution, but it is not my first choice. 

Playing the role of Hilda will forever be a euphoric experience in which I was able to exercise my strength in a way I never imagined. While I never may again wear an itchy pantsuit or conquer a strip club, I refuse to retire the perseverance she possessed. The audience saw me on the stage – a strong female lead – and not the man it was written for. Yes, there are problems with how women are represented in the media; however, day by day, it is improving. I couldn’t have portrayed a character like Hilda the same way on stage a few decades ago. She herself would’ve been the joke, rather than the vulnerability she portrayed. Yes, vulnerability being seen as a joke or differently between genders is also a compounded issue that deserves more attention and aid. I am optimistic that it will be – and you should be too. Our generation will shape the world through what we create. We have seen it happen throughout history. What was once acceptable and funny may be seen as insensitive and cruel today. This acknowledgement leads to change. Conceivably, giving an audience not what they think they want, but what they may need, is how we move forward. I believe that, in order to resolve the disparity in which we see vulnerability as strength, we must model it through every gender, race, ethnicity, sexual orientation, socioeconomic status, and other aspects of identity. On and off the stage, I will inhabit what I desire to represent. I encourage you to do the same.

Works Cited

“Andrew Wyeth. Christina's World. 1948.” MoMA, https://www.moma.org/collection/works/78455. Accessed 1 October 2022.

Kilgore, Billy Doidge. “Perspective | I didn't understand male privilege until I became a stay-at-home dad.” The Washington Post, 26 March 2018, https://www.washingtonpost.com/news/parenting/wp/2018/03/26/being-a-stay-at-home-dad-raised-my-awareness-of-male-privilege-and-i-cant-ignore-it/. Accessed 3 October 2022.

Marling, Brit. “Opinion | I Don't Want to Be the Strong Female Lead (Published 2020).” The New York Times, 7 February 2020, https://www.nytimes.com/2020/02/07/opinion/sunday/brit-marling-women-movies.html. Accessed 4 October 2022.