Beyond famous monsters Frankenstein and Nosferatu, and the supernatural forces looming on unsuspecting families, horror has amassed a cult following for its classic subgenre––the slasher movie.
The genre follows a classic formula: a group of young adults are picked off by a lurking masked killer, all except a single heroine, better known as the final girl.
As the lone survivor, she tells the story and picks up the pieces of the bloodbath.
From Sally Hardesty in the 1974 The Texas Chainsaw Massacre, to Laurie Strode in the 1978 movie Halloween, the final girl has been a symbol of resilience and bravery.
In a genre historically defined by its violence toward female characters, this enduring character archetype and her fight against the fate of death is seen as empowering.
Yet it may not be as liberating as it presents itself to be.
Through this complexity comes a debated question, is the final girl a rejection of a stereotype pushed on women in horror, or is it a twisted take on gender conformity?
A classic ensemble in horror, mainly in slashers, includes a provocative couple, a textbook nerd, an unassuming jock, a comedic relief character and most recognizably, our single fighter.
As coined by film theorist Carol J. Clover, the concept of the final girl is best defined as a female character who confronts the movie’s villain and survives the harrowing massacre.
While she represents intelligence and courage, her survival goes hand in hand with her chastity and moral superiority of the other female characters in the film.
That offers one of the main problems with the trope, as female purity is associated with survival, and ‘impurity’ is followed by penalization.
As seen by the sexually deviant camp counselors and babysitters in Friday the 13th and Halloween respectively, promiscuous women often face tragedy. On the other side, reserved characters that reinforce traditional gender norms almost always survive.
This pattern suggests that innocence and restraint are to be rewarded, while death is often seen to be a consequence for lack of virginity.
However, modern horror films have also offered a different approach to this narrative, presenting that survival doesn’t mean women’s freedom from cruelty.
Nikki Freeman, the untraditional final girl of Obsession, offers a different perspective.
In the aftermath of the carnage set off by a man’s decision, ultimately taking the life of her friend Sarah, her survival does not liberate her. Instead, she is denied the autonomy that is expected of her to gain for enduring her abuse.
These conflicting views establish the core issue with the final girl—she can’t escape her exploitation even if she doesn’t societally conform.
Rather than celebrating female strength unconditionally, these contradicting narratives have implied that certain women are more deserving of survival than others.
Of course, that isn’t true in every horror film.
For instance, Strode, the perpetual target of Michael Myers, is resourceful and persistent in her fight against the masked assailant. Similarly, Sidney Prescott of the Scream franchise, faces her attackers head on while protecting those she cares about.
These beloved final girls challenge the genre’s mold, disrupting the conventional horror narrative in which they are obligated to be virtuous survivors or remain trapped in their cycle of misery.
Regardless of how the figure changes and adapts, the final girl can be both uplifting and misogynistic.
But a truly empowering final girl should be allowed to have her flaws or go against expectations without her worth being determined by the genre’s rules and standards.
