Dismantling the Stereotypical Nature of the “Strong Woman” in Greta Gerwig’s Little Women

Written by Eden Prosser

In an era so oft hailed as progressive, one might expect to find strong women across the small and silver screens. And yet, when Greta Gerwig’s Little Women (2019) first graced the theatre, it felt different than any project that had come before. Here were four women, who were not simply defined by their physical strength or “notlike-other-girls”-ness, but were instead unique and multi-faceted. Through their trials and tribulations, they each demonstrated inner power, showing that one need not hide their more feminine qualities to be accepted in a wide world full of men. In Gerwig’s lush and nuanced script, each of the four March sisters undergoes a blossoming arc in which they learn to define who they are, what they want, and how they are going to get there. And yet, these are overarching arcs, stretching across 135 minutes of glorious development. Throughout this time, beliefs are dismantled, stereotypes are dismissed, and women are portrayed in ways they have never been before. One such young March sister is Jo, the feisty protagonist: a writer unafraid to share her truth, who learns to shoulder love through the progression of her story.

To Make it in a Man’s World, One Must Hide That Which Makes Them a Woman

From their very first introduction, the four March girls appear different as can be. Meg, the eldest, is traditional: caring for child-rearing and marriage, carrying on the family legacy. Beth, the youngest, is quiet and demure, content to play the day away at her piano. Amy, the brash and naïve middle child, is rife with dreams and craves all the attention. In contrast, there is Jo. Josephine “Jo” March, the traditional protagonist of Alcott’s initial tale. She is introduced as a tomboy: preferring trousers over tulle and lessons over love. Early in the film, she informs her aunt that she has no intention of ever marrying; she instead intents to “make [her] own way in the world,” presumably through intellectual and authorly pursuits (35:20). Her sisters even jokingly refer to her as their “only brother,” despite her female sex (32:16). In short, she is the antithesis of the eighteenth-century woman: a characterization Gerwig steadfastly leans into.

Notably, Jo dreams of becoming a writer—a traditionally-male occupation, and one where women are oft not taken seriously. Women, after all, are supposed to settle and get married, not let their dreams run wild—a sentiment made explicit by Jo’s gatekeeping editor, Mr. Dashwood. According to him, women—be they the figments of Jo’s tales, or the real ones walking the world—must be “married by the end” of their life stories, as he so pointedly reminds her (3:48). For a woman, a career cannot be the goal. Thus, if Jo is to make it as a writer, she must shove out all semblance of womanliness. Only by acting like a man can she, a woman, make it in a man’s world—and in a typically masculine career, no less.

This explains much of her dress and disposition. This is precisely why she is viewed by her contemporaries as “a boxer, about to go into the ring” rather than delicate and demure: an opening metaphor that introduces her in a strong and manly light (1:13). Her fingers are not dainty, nor are her nails painted; instead, her hands are described as being covered in ink stains, demonstrating her lack of care for her appearance (2:23). It is hard for Jo to separate the concept of “woman” from that of “meek,” “ignored” or “forgotten,” and so, throughout the script, she discards her femininity, hiding what she believes makes her seem weak.

Uncovering What’s Hidden: Shattering (Psychological) Armour, and Opening Oneself to Love

It is not until the script’s hundredth page—far into the third act of the story—that her facade begins to crack, betraying all she truly feels, the feelings she thought she had to lock away. Because a woman—in Jo’s eyes, and in the eyes of her society—cannot wear her heart on her sleeve and still expect to excel in a man’s career. And yet, despite her best attempts, Jo still struggles. She is not writing at her best, and what little words she does force out sell for less than a man’s starting price. And that is just occupationally—mentally, she is barely holding on. Still, she forces down her womanly desires, insisting on rejecting romance from the suitors in her life. She fears getting close to her co-worker Friedrich, fleeing when he acts astute, shying from his watchful observations (5:46). Despite her evident attraction to the man—evidenced by her reverie when asked, by him, to dance—she cannot bear to open her heart and let him in (10:55-12:08). Later, in the third act, when Laurie asks to marry her, she similarly shuts him down, going so far as to flee the city (1:36:41-1:40:00). She cares for him, more than she ever has for any man; he is her best friend, and respect can easily blossom into admiration and attraction. Still, she tells him she cannot accept. As she tells him, she “does not believe [that she] will ever marry”, and is “happy as [she is]” (1:38:40-1:39:23). Be that true or a façade, it is the front she puts up, so as not to give in to his—or any other man’s—offering of love. She cannot accept their offerings. After all, showing such a “womanly” emotion as care or love—at least, in her eyes— would dismantle her strong, capable exterior, the carefully-constructed front she has forged and maintained. Allowing it to crack—well, that could very well be her downfall. And Jo is nowhere near ready to give up her dreams, her future.

Learning to Love, and Loving as Strength: Jo’s Miraculous Revelation

It is only on that hundredth page where her fears—and with them, her true feelings—begin to seep through. “Women have minds,” she starts, “…and souls” (1:42:27-1:42:41). This makes sense: Jo is a firm believer in her intellect, and every human has a soul. These traits are unsurprising. It is the following admittance, however, that demonstrates her vulnerability: “… and hearts” (1:42:47). Hearts, that is, to feel emotion, to feel love. The next line in the monologue continues her realization. “Ambition and talent, as well as beauty” (1:42:48-1:43:04). These traits—some stereotypically male, others, stereotypically female—are not mutually exclusive, nor are they truly limited to just one of the sexes. Women, she realizes, can be smart, and still be empathetic. They can throw themselves into their work, and still care for skirts and jewels.

It is through this monologue that Jo finally admits, both to her Marmee and herself, that wanting a career does not mean that she must hide her heart, nor does it mean that craving love or companionship makes her weak. Through her words, Jo realizes that women are not solely one thing—smart (but plain), beautiful (but ditzy); instead, they are multi-faceted. Strength, she concedes, does not just come through hardening the heart, but rather from accepting every side of the self. With this realization, Jo finally unlocks the mental block holding her from completing her magnum opus. Finally, she can be herself—and let her dreams run wild. She unlocks ideas and inspiration. She recovers the desire to put her pen to paper. For the first time in a long time, she writes all night. Through the lifting of this weight, Jo is able to begin—and, more impressively, complete—her first publishable novel. In accepting her true self, she can finally fulfill her long-held authorly dream (1:51:46-1:1:54:28).

Conclusion: The Reality of the Multifaceted Woman

Ultimately, Jo’s discovery opens her eyes to the reality of the world. Women do have minds and souls and hearts (1:42:27- 1:43:04). They can be brainy and empathetic, driven yet demure. Strength, as demonstrated throughout the film, is not simply physical, nor can it be summed up in one core trait; instead, strength is a mosaic. It is found in Jo’s intelligence, yet also in her desires; in her relationships—with Marmee, with her sisters, with the love that she so craves—while also in her authorly imagination. Little Women (2019) may have been one of the first films to delve into the multifaceted nature of the woman, the persona of one who is both elegant and flirtatious, clever and romantic. The day where this becomes recognized as the norm, then—both in fiction and reality—will be a very powerful day indeed.

Works Cited

Little Women. Directed by Greta Gerwig, Sony Pictures Releasing, 2019. Film