"What is she thinking?”: The Construction of Female Interiorities in Big Little Lies (2017)

Mise-en-scène, the Melodramatic Genre, and the “Woman’s Film”

First, in order to examine the construction of mise-en-scene in Big Little Lies, one must consider the show’s roots in the melodramatic genre. Peter Brooks writes in his book The Melodramatic Imagination, “We have in fact been witnesses to the creation of drama — an exciting, excessive, parabolic story — from the banal stuff of reality” (2). This is, perhaps, a most apt description of Big Little Lies in that it is particularly exciting, completely excessive, and, at times, deeply parabolic. He goes further to say, “States of being beyond the immediate context of the narrative, and in excess of it, have been brought to bear on it, to charge it with intenser significances…” (2). Brooks describes an outpouring of excess—a maximalist approach to creating meaningful and serious storytelling. In this way, though he does not say so explicitly, there is a beauty to melodramatic storytelling: the creator of this story can choose to fill the pages or, in this case, the screen with as many symbols, metaphors, and details as they want, and all of this will be significant as long as it is convincing.

In examining the melodramatic tradition’s history within Western cinema, one would be remiss not to discuss its roots as a “woman’s film,” as Christine Gledhill writes in the introduction to Home is Where the Heart Is: Studies in Melodrama and the Woman’s Film: “Feminism, in particular, given melodrama’s long relegation as a women’s cultural domain, claims a stake in critical reappropriation of the form and introduces the problem of the ‘woman’s film’ which it has been assumed, represents a sub-set of melodrama” (1). The book contains several essays discussing this very phenomenon—the relegation of melodrama as a domain of entertainment for women—and describes the subtle ways in which the genre began leaning into its peak demographic, addressing the banes of womanhood. For example, Laura Mulvey proposes that the films of Douglas Sirk—one of the most prolific melodramatic filmmakers of all time—offered a contradiction to the Western or gangster film: while those films “celebrate the ups and downs endured by men of action, the melodrama of Douglas Sirk, like the tragedies of Euripides, probing pent-up emotions, bitterness and disillusion well known to women, act as a corrective” (76).

Both Mulvey and Mary Ann Doane in “The ‘Woman’s Film’: Possession and Address” write about the particular way in which space is used in these melodramatic films, noting the significance of mise-en-scene. Doane writes, “The deployment of space in the ‘woman’s film’ is motivated rather directly by a fairly strict mapping of gender-differentiated societal spaces onto the films – the woman’s place is in the home. Although this is quite clearly the case in the family melodrama (where the space of the house frequently dictates the weight of the mise en scene)…” (285). This essay will continue Doane’s train of thought, finding the ways in which the home becomes gendered to a point where the interior begins to reflect interiority. Ewa Lajer-Burcharth and Beate Söntgen write in the introduction to Interiors and Interiority, “The connection between interior space and human interiority has a long and rich history and various arguments have been offered to establish, explain, or justify it. How did we come to think of subjectivity as inner space to begin with? … The third genealogical narrative focuses on the contribution of architectural space to the process of internal subject formation. In this narrative, the emergence of the interior as a discrete and individuated space within the house played a major role in the cultural construction of an interiorized subject.” (1-2).

Dissecting Set Design as Mise-en-scene in Big Little Lies

In ruminating on the historical tradition of melodrama, domestic spaces, and personal interiority, one can begin to see that Big Little Lies builds its foundation on these classic ideas to implicitly form its characters. While the show’s exterior sequences are demanding and voracious, its interiors are moments of introspection and revelation, desiring to not only portray family dynamics, but also to make the woman at the head of the table known. Particularly, the mise-en-scene of Madeline and Celeste’s homes express attributes, desires, and intentions that are not explicitly spoken, providing a deeper understanding of their characters and their relationship to one another.

A cursory glance at Madeline’s home will show that her home is large, boasting wide windows and a big kitchen space. She fills every surface with furniture and decor, all functional items that look straight from a Pottery Barn or West Elm catalog. While all of these things look expensive, they are also relatively ordinary and serve the purpose of function rather than extraneous form. There is also a great sense of clutter in her home; large spaces are filled with sofas, chairs, lamps, and decorative pieces. Frankly, her furniture is expensive, but nowhere near or in the price bracket of her peers, yet despite this, she decides to overfill her home with it despite this inequality. The overwhelming maximization of space is a parallel to Madeline’s character; she overcompensates for the wealth difference between her and her peers, reflecting her tendency to respond extremely to prove herself and impress others, but falling short anyway.

In contrast, Celeste’s home is more modern with striking furniture pieces and a greater sense of decorative cohesion, yet still offers a sense of familial and communal function. A brief shot of Perry (“Somebody’s Dead,” 00:27:20) reveals a small sitting area near their home’s window where there are two wicker chairs, a side table, and a coffee table. The consolidation of form and function is obvious here: the coffee table is made up of a dark, beautiful marble, and an obscure decorative piece (either sticks or coral) sits above it, but so does a soccer ball, several colorful blocks, and a wooden toy house. On top of the wicker chair and its accompanying aesthetic throw pillow, sits a large teddy bear. The appearance of form in Celeste’s home speaks to a greater sense of wealth in her family: she can afford and purchase decorative items for the sake of having them rather than for any other practical reason. Despite this, the aesthetic of her home can seem strange and sterile at times. A closer examination of the mise-en-scene of the table reveals this—the dark and clean aesthetic of the marble table and the threateningly obscure nature of the centerpiece is an antithesis to the warmness and clutter of a traditional American suburban family. In this picture, it almost feels as if the children’s toys attempt to be a redeeming factor for the general coldness of the house, though this fails. It simply adds to an unmistakable tension.

Another short shot in “Serious Mothering” shows the boys’ nanny kneeling on the ground, picking up scattered toys on the ground (00:21:40). Arguably, the silent nanny is a harbinger of the mise-en-scene, acting as a stagehand responsible for removing elements of the children from the scene. Her hastiness in cleaning up contributes to this tension between the ideas of family life and the conflict that overwhelms the home. Both Madeline and Celeste’s homes reflect personal stakes in exterior conflicts. For Madeline, her strong tendency to overcompensate and her perceptions of her own wealth are what drives her to befriend Jane as Ed subtly points out in “Somebody’s Dead” (00:24:40), and this friendship is what causes most, if not all, of the drama in the show. For Celeste, there is endless friction between her cold and violent relationship with Perry and her desire for her children to be happy, which is ultimately—as the show slowly reveals—what instigates Perry’s death. These distinctions allow the audience to recognize Madeline and Celeste’s individual contributions to the group while engaging the characters in a dynamic interplay within the ensemble. Once the characters are all burdened with one another’s responsibilities, the individual will still remain unmistakable, but will now exist within the context of the group.

Renata and Jane’s homes offer two points of radical contrast to Madeline and Celete’s—one representing extreme wealth, and the other depicting the average lower-middle class. Renata’s home is best depicted in a shot of Gordon walking to meet Renata outside as the camera pans across the family’s living room (“Someone’s Dead,” 00:31:05). The area is made up of dark furniture items such as a gray circular couch, gray armchairs, and a round glass coffee table. The only splashes of color come from an abstract orange glass piece on the coffee table and the blue glass countertop. The room itself has high ceilings, floor-to-ceiling windows, and a lot of unoccupied space. There are no clutter or signs of children’s toys. The set design of the home offers insight into the aesthetic differences of “new money” wealth, particularly the cold and highbrow environment she lives in.

As Edgar Allan Poe writes in his humorous essay, “Philosophy of Furniture,” “But, in America, dollars being the supreme insignia of aristocracy, their display may be said, in general terms, to be the sole means of aristocratic distinction; and the populace, looking up for models, are insensibly led to confound the two entirely separate ideas of magnificence and beauty. In short, the cost of an article of furniture has, at length, come to be, with us, nearly the sole test of its merit in a decorative point of view.” (Poe). Here, Renata’s furniture is this immediate and exemplary representation of wealth—a way of depicting her success. As she says to Gordon in “Somebody’s Dead,” “It’s one thing to be demonized for having the temerity of a career. But… but look at this. Look at our life. [gestures to the house and scenic sunset] What kind of person chooses to work? Certainly not a mother by any acceptable standards” (00:31:25). While the home explicitly comes across as cold and empty as if Renata has no affection for her daughter or space for her family, it directly represents her desires to prove her worth, both physically and emotionally. Renata clearly prioritizes order and simplicity, and, at first glance, this can seem unwelcoming, but that is simply not her concern.

On the other hand, Jane’s apartment is small, and the furniture does not match. It only has one bedroom, so she sleeps on a sofa bed in the living room while her son, Ziggy, takes the bedroom. In one of the first shots of Jane’s apartment (“Somebody’s Dead”; 00:33:50), the viewer sees her collapsing into a red papasan chair, which may be comfortable, but is a very average piece of furniture. It is an accent chair in lieu of something expensive, often associated with recreational spaces in a home. This association reminds the viewer that Jane is, indeed, truly quite young; not only does she not have the same resources as Madeline, Celeste, or Renata, but she is also in a completely different stage of her life. Her circumstances have forced her to compensate and be resourceful, but this does not stop her from providing for her son. A shot of Ziggy’s room in the same episode (“Somebody’s Dead”, 00:35:05) shows a lit up constellation system hung on the ceiling, a paper-mache planet system above Ziggy’s bed, a nice wooden twin-sized bed, matching sheets and comforters, and several adorable lamps. In the whole house, the most thought has been put into Ziggy’s room, and that speaks to Jane’s desire for Ziggy to have a stable and well-supported childhood.

Using Implicit Spaces within Narratively Complex Media

Jason Mittell in “Narrative Complexity in Contemporary Narrative Television” defines two components of narrative complexity as a “redefinition of episodic forms under the influence of serial narration … Rejecting the need for plot closure within every episode that typifies conventional episodic form, narrative complexity foregrounds stories across a range of genres. Additionally, narrative complexity moves serial form outside of the generic assumptions tied to soap operas…” (32). In the cultural sphere, Big Little Lies has already been established as a narratively complex piece of television: the show draws from its HBO predecessors to weave together a narrative that both forgoes conventional episodic structure and subverts genre-specific expectations. The idea that Big Little Lies does not conform to one genre is nearly self-explicit. The show is framed as both a procedural and a dramedy, yet does not adhere to traditional forms of either, which is a result of the showrunners’ decision to eliminate clear genre boundaries. Mittell’s first point about episodic structure, however, sheds light onto the limited forms of narration that the show uses to maintain suspense and create complexity.

Notably, one of the striking choices made by the showrunners is the use of restrictive and objective narration. This means that within the show, information is constantly withheld until it becomes contextually useful. When revelations are made or feelings are shared, it is usually in moments within the ensemble, focusing on peer reactions. These limitations in narration are ultimately necessary to fulfill the sense of incompleteness that the open-ended nature of the episodes provides. Any formal resolution would immediately break the momentum of the story, including the plot resolution at the end of the episode.

The purpose of designating Big Little Lies as narratively complex is similar to discussing its usage of the ensemble within the show. Both of these factors are, while not obvious, relatively acceptable to a casual spectator: on the surface, most see and understand that this is a show with a relatively complicated narrative and a large cast with characters of equitable significance. Yet, the idea of narrative complexity also poses questions pertaining to the manner in which information is shared within the show; although the narrative must be restricted to maintain irresolution, this tactic is not helpful in attempting to understand a character’s individual motivations and interior thoughts. Simply put, if everything is about the group and nothing is revealed, then all individual interiority ceases to exist. Therefore, the significance of expressive mise-en-scene is both about differentiating characters from one another and implicitly revealing compelling information. As seen above, the particular mise-en-scene of four women’s homes offers perspective into each of their psyche; their environments are the physical manifestation of their desires and anxieties. It is this implicit narration that corroborates and deciphers the explicit diegetic components of the narrative.

Representing Female Interiority within Domestic Spaces

Once the reasoning and significance behind the usage of expressive mise-en-scene in Big Little Lies has been made clear, one can begin to examine the thematic impact of this visual representation. If these houses are truly extensions of the characters, then the audience is to understand that the lives, struggles, and triumphs of suburban women are incredibly varied. Indeed, the show portrays these four women as having essential commonalities like their status as mothers, the age of their children, and the town in which they live; however, despite these basic similarities, it is their personal contexts that differentiate them. Taking from its melodramatic predecessors, Big Little Lies contemporizes the “woman’s film” and argues that there are deep and jarring complexities within being a modern woman and a modern mother. The stark portrayals of these women’s personal residences are a true manifestation of the dichotomy of feminine interiority, as it is the only place in which the private becomes visual and the ensemble ceases to exist. It is this interiority that allows the individual to present herself as a nuanced figure, commanding a sincere understanding of the specific compulsions and circumstances that become motivation and action within both the ensemble and a larger complex narrative.