We’ve seen it countless times before: the film trope of young women engaging in sexual relations with older men– or, as it should be worded, older men committing or fantasizing about statutory rape against underage girls. What makes this problematic is the way in which these relationships were represented on screen, with a heavy emphasis on the romance and the over-sexualization and objectification of the starring women. These types of tropes do not provide a critical analysis of such relationships; the reasons for this arguably lead back to men filling the position of director. Because Fish Tank is directed and written by Andrea Arnold, a woman, the film is able to effectively navigate the complexity of the story without objectifying its female lead, as well as provide an accurate portrayal of girlhood, and avoids slipping into the same mistakes that are common with the trope. Arnold’s feminine eye is especially obvious upon focusing on the use of voyeurism in the film, the ways in which Conor is objectified while Mia is not, and the storyline’s use of narrative drive to give an accurate rendering of girlhood.

In order to fully analyze Arnold’s technique in Fish Tank, it is necessary to first understand the perspective from which Arnold creates the film, and the way in which her perspective as a woman distances herself from the common ways in which other films are made, specifically from the perspective of male directors that dominate the industry. Laura Mulvey is known for her groundbreaking film theory about the “male gaze,” which is the notion that female characters in film are rarely characterized in an accurate light because of the bias of male directors, who project their view of womanhood onto such characters. This can manifest in many different ways, but the most obvious is through erotic representation, even if a film lacks an erotic scene itself. The male gaze projects onto female characters men’s ideal view of women, often as submissive, void of autonomy, and entirely sexual. Mulvey says that the male gaze enables male directors to “live out [their] fantasies and obsessions through linguistic command by imposing them on the silent image of woman still tied to her place as bearer of meaning, not maker of meaning” (Mulvey 1973: 7). Essentially, women in film serve as plot devices and props for male protagonists to drive their own story, and they are often exhibited via common film tropes: the damsel in distress, the virgin in need of a sexual awakening, the mysterious girl that behaves as a puzzle for men to figure out, etc. Another point that Mulvey makes is that while women in film are used for spectacle, men are rarely used for this purpose. She states that the reason for this is that male directors are reluctant to utilize male bodies as a point of spectacle because it decimates the idea that men are the active players in the story. Women, however, are seen as passive in real-life, and are therefore represented as passive in film. Thus, the male gaze is a socialized bias utilized in film as a reflection of the male perspective of society. However, when a woman is behind the camera, this may not always be the case.

While it is certainly possible for female directors to create films that exhibit the male gaze (the same way in which women are perfectly capable of perpetuating misogyny) there is often a clear difference in how female characters are treated in films directed by women versus films directed by men. And when a female director is extra careful to do her female characters justice, it is a direct opposition of the male gaze that is so normalized in film. So what is it called when a woman is behind the camera, and her perspective is the one imposed on audiences? Can that be considered the “female gaze?” Arguably, the “female gaze” does not exist because it cannot exist. The male gaze is a concept that has been developed under the reigns of patriarchy, which remains an oppressive force to this day. The use of the body as spectacle in film is unique to patriarchal standards. As Mulvey explains, “unchallenged, mainstream film coded the erotic into the language of the dominant patriarchal order” (Mulvey 1973: 8). Because women as a whole (not considering the nuanced identities of women) have never been an oppressive force themselves, a feminine gaze would be difficult to define because there is no female-centric oppressive force for such a concept to root itself in. Misandry may exist, but it is by and large not an issue that affects the masses in the way that patriarchy does. So what is Arnold’s angle? If she doesn’t partake in the “female gaze” because it doesn’t exist, how do we define the lens from which she films Fish Tank? Arnold does not operate using a female gaze, but simply lacks a male gaze, allowing her film to be objective and accurate in its portrayal of adolescent women.

One of the most notable aspects of Fish Tank is the voyeuristic way in which it is filmed, as well as the parallel voyeurism that we watch Mia commit. Voyeurism is considered a quality that is key to the male gaze, but Arnold uses the concept differently in her film. Instead of the audience being utilized as “peeping toms,” as is common in male-dominated films, the voyeurism we commit as an audience is not erotic or scopophilic. Rather, we get a tourist's glance into the life of a young girl without the obstacles of fetishization impeding our ability to understand her as a human being and as a woman. The voyeurism utilized in Fish Tank from an audience’s perspective is documentary-like, imposing onto the audience that we are seeing a real-life representation of girlhood, not peeping in on and fetishizing the private lives of the characters. However, Mia herself is voyeuristic. She spies on her mother and Conor having sex, pretends to be asleep in order to hear their conversations, steals glances at Conor’s body from a scopophilic perspective, and even breaks into his house to snoop through his things. As Pam Hirsch points out, “we watch [Mia] watching, while she attempts to find her way through this difficult terrain–both cityscape and emotional space” (Hirsch 2014: 473). In this sense, Arnold uses voyeurism not to satisfy the audience’s scopophilic desires, but rather to represent Mia’s navigation of her and Conor’s relationship. In fact, the film is arguably difficult to watch, especially as Conor’s relationship with Mia ventures out of paternal and into sexual. As Mia’s crush is validated by Conor, subtly at first but increasingly more lurid, it becomes difficult not to cringe at every interaction and feel a sense of dread whenever they are alone in a room together– whereas commonly, male-directed films with similar subject matter in fact glorify the male protagonist’s seduction of the underage girl and the moral implications of such a relationship are treated as an afterthought, if mentioned at all. Because Arnold does not subscribe to the male gaze, she is able to use voyeurism to further develop the film and provide a compelling narrative without forcing a fetishistic perspective onto her audience, allowing for the relationship between Conor and Mia to not be glorified or romanticized, but rather condemned and seen as immoral.

Arnold further crafts Mia and Conor’s relationship through the use of scopophilic fetishization, but like voyeurism, turns the trope on its head to put the male in the position of bodily vulnerability. Having a well-known, well-liked, and attractive actor like Michael Fassbender play Conor among inexperienced or first-time actors increases the likelihood that audiences will fetishize the character of Conor over the other characters. In the beginning of the film, Conor is viewed as the personification of good men, from both Mia’s perspective and the audience’s. He is the only person in Mia’s life that shows her kindness, as her mother is abusive and her sister is too young to know any better. Conor’s father-like treatment of Mia paints him as a “stand-up guy'', making the audience sympathize with him and therefore more likely to find him attractive. We see him shirtless, naked, and a subject of erotic spectacle throughout the film. Not only is his body used onscreen to be objectified by the audience, but because the film is from Mia’s perspective, he is objectified by Mia, herself. This goes directly against what we, as the audience, are used to from male-centric films, where the perspective of the film is of men fetishizing women. Contrastingly, Mia is not sexualized throughout the duration of the film. She is seen almost always wearing baggy clothing, with her hair in her face. Her body is actively hidden from the audience, making it difficult to fetishize her. The only times (aside from the scene where Conor rapes her) in which we see Mia in a physically vulnerable state are when Conor carries her to her room and takes her pants off before covering her with a blanket, and when she comes downstairs in the morning in only her underwear. In both of these instances, the images of Mia’s exposed body are not on screen for long enough to be really looked at, and are interrupted by parental figures (if you can count Conor as a parental figure) covering her up, either physically or verbally. When Conor undresses her, he immediately covers her with a blanket with a father-like tenderness, and when Mia comes downstairs in her underwear, her mother tells her to change. It’s difficult to see anything inherently sexual about either of these instances, because they are not filmed from the perspective of a sexual encounter. Mia’s body is not being filmed with the audience’s satisfaction in mind, whereas in other films which participate in the male gaze, consideration of the aesthetic satisfaction of the audience is forefront in the way in which the body is filmed. Even when Conor has sex with Mia, her body is not onscreen for longer than a few seconds at a time, and even then, the lack of light in the scene obscures Mia’s body. The scene is not meant to be erotic, but rather disturbing. Furthermore, Arnold uses dance in the film to highlight the body but does so by refusing to use objectification. Mia’s dance, as Hirsch says, “offer[s] moments of release or evasion from an otherwise oppressive familial and social system” (Hirsch 2014: 476). Mia’s dancing is not sexual, but instead a way for her to express herself and a potential means of social mobility because of her audition. In the moments right before Conor rapes Mia, she rehearses her audition in front of him. The dancing is not bad, but obviously a work in progress and not meant to be sexual. Still, Conor uses this as a means to initiate intercourse. The use of unprofessional and nonsexual choreography here highlights the fact that Mia’s sexuality is undeveloped (as she is a teenager) and shies away from the male gaze in that it refuses to sexualize Mia. Whereas in films like American Beauty, where the underage subject of the adult man’s fantasy is lying naked in a pile of rose petals, perfect and sexually developed, Fish Tank further condemns Conor’s actions by highlighting the fact that Mia is a child. The dichotomy between the representation of Conor’s body and that of Mia’s provides further evidence of Arnold’s assertion against the male gaze

Finally, Arnold’s use of storytelling as a writer provides us with insight into the lens with which she aimed to portray female adolescence, and further encapsulates the way in which Conor and Mia’s relationship is represented. Because of the “point of view” style of the film, it is easy to empathize with Mia, to feel as if we are going on this journey with her. Because of this, the audience is almost groomed alongside Mia. We, too, find Conor appealing and a benevolent force upon his first few appearances. With the very beginning of the film being so dark and miserable, Conor’s appearance is a breath of fresh air, and that’s reflected in Mia’s emotions about Conor, too. She has known nothing but anguish her entire life, so her mother finally finding stability with a man who also appears to be the father figure that Mia has never had along with being the first “positive” male attention she’s received provides Mia with hope. That hope is turned into a “light at the end of the tunnel” mentality when Conor begins to encourage her dancing and treats her like a human being. Conor’s mere existence in the lives of Mia’s family allows them to see a way out of their financial situation, and for the first time, Mia is able to see a future for herself. This is relieving to the audience, as well, because Conor is the only positive thing about Mia’s life at first. We see the way in which Conor treats Mia like a daughter, along with how Mia sees Conor as a crush. From the get-go, Mia and Conor’s relationship is confusing to the audience because it is hard to decipher whether Conor’s benevolence toward Mia is father-like or sexual. In the scene where Conor takes Mia to her bed and removes her pants, there is a tense moment where we think “is he going to do something to her?” followed by a wave of relief when he covers her with the blanket. Because Conor toes the line between flirting and fathering, everything he says or does to Mia creates an internal debate on whether he perceives her as a daughter or a sexual interest. His interest in her dancing could be seen as a father-figure wanting to push his child toward their fullest potential, or as a grown man convincing an underage girl to film herself committing what he deems a sexual act. Just as Mia is confused about the boundaries of their relationship, we are, too. Arnold’s perspective as a female provides her with a hyper-vigilant understanding of the power dynamics between grown men and underage girls. This allows her the ability to seamlessly weave such a storyline and dialogue together, so much so that the film actively grooms its audience alongside its main character. With this in mind, it’s possible for Arnold to provide a clear representation of the manipulation tactics that predatory men use. Instead of simply stating in her film that “grooming is bad,” Arnold provides her audience with an easily-identifiable instance in which grooming occurs, and shows the negative implications and effects of such behavior through Mia’s self-sabotaging spiral at the end of the film.

At first glance, Andrea Arnold’s film Fish Tank seems simply like a heartbreaking story about a young girl losing herself to the allure of an older man. But upon further examination, it becomes clear that Arnold’s feminine eye allows the film to dive into the complexities of such a relationship while avoiding common fouls that male directors typically make. Within the context of the “male gaze” (or, in this instance, lack thereof), Arnold’s directorial perspective actively pushes against the way women are viewed in film in order to create a portrayal of feminine adolescence that is both accurate and heartbreaking. Arnold’s feminine frame of reference becomes clear upon analyzing the use of voyeurism in the film, the dichotomy between Conor and Mia’s objectification of the body, and the story itself. Andrea Arnold’s Fish Tank raises questions about girlhood while simultaneously representing problematic relationships with sensitivity and care, all of which are partially owed to her identity as a woman.

Works Cited

Arnold, Andrea. Fish Tank. Curzon Artificial Eye, 2009.

Hirsch, Pam. Feminist Media Studies. Routledge, 2014.

Mulvey, Laura. "Visual Pleasure and Narrative Cinema." University of Wisconsin, Madison, 1973.