I know that it is not a popular opinion, but Juno (2007) was a formative movie for me. This isn’t because I was a pregnant teenager or necessarily wrote characters who spoke like that. There was something about the experience of sitting in that theater, having read in The Los Angeles Times about the struggles to bring the film to life, that felt like it changed my perspective. I saw the world differently after Juno. I fell in love with Ellen Page and felt more emboldened by what indie cinema could achieve. I wanted to make stories that had as much life, capable of exploring character nuance with as much humor and tragedy. Basically, I came out of 2007 wanting to be more like Diablo Cody.
That definitely was not a popular notion at the time. I remember having such a fondness for the film that I would carry it around in my backpack, contemplating if I had 90 minutes in the afternoon to pop it on and feel warm inside. With that said, nothing made me feel more vulnerable than when people saw into my backpack and would complain about how they hated Juno. They felt stupid watching the movie. As I grow older, I understand exactly why they felt that way, though I personally feel like the use of language was intentionally reflecting a divide and character growth that many ignored in favor of obnoxious hamburger phone jokes.
But to me, Cody was on her way to becoming one of my heroes as a writer. During 2007, she was one of the few celebrities who had a MySpace account, constantly updating her diary with personal exploits. I forgot when it stopped, but there was something substantial to visiting her page, finding a writer on the verge of greater opportunities. She was about to have a TV show produced by Steven Spielberg (The United States of Tara) and the potential for another Oscar always felt in her potential. To be frank, I’m still annoyed that Young Adult (2011) and Tully (2018) didn’t get at least a screenplay nomination.
So what was it about Cody that spoke to me so personally, where I can’t even really hate her outright flop Paradise (2013)? Part of it could just be that at 18, everything feels formative. You watch Superbad (2007) and think it’s the height of comedy simply because it’s teenagers gallivanting. One could argue it was also just that it was around when I veered into indie dramas, finding portraits of complex women to be much more compelling than the big-budgeted alternatives. It could also be that Cody scripts feel alive, so organic and unique. You understood what you got when you watched her films.
Which makes it unfair to admit that, in 2007, there was a major backlash against her not only because she was talking with flowery language, but also because she was a former stripper. While that may sound like she was desperate, selling her body simply to pay rent, the way that she posits it in “Candy Girl” is that she did it more as a test to herself. What was so wrong with sex-positive acts? It was the idea of living dangerously even while working a desk job, feeling the thrill of knowing that nobody knew how wild your other life truly was.
Like with MySpace, there was a candidness that I latched onto with “Candy Girl.” Starting as an online blog called Pussy Ranch, she detailed her exploits with this empathy. One could argue that it was exploitative, but it was clearly her morbid curiosity that drove her through these various obstacles, finding her learning how to pole dance and perform behind glass for perverts. The stories that she shares are detailed, managing to take delight in all of these strange occurrences. It was empowering, even if this was ultimately a side hustle to a comfortable life, realizing what joy can be achieved by giving into your dirty side.
Of course, she was somebody who arrived in the blogging world at the right time. While the story itself is compelling, especially with someone as well-educated and capable of such glorious prose, there’s no denying the impact of being in the right place at the right time. The Pussy Ranch became a viral sensation and helped to launch her career. She got a book deal out of it and, according to a blurb on the back, it remained the only book as part of The Late Show host David Letterman’s book club. It is both an honor and a perfect embodiment of his style of humor.
Which makes everything to follow a bit insane. She wasn’t even an experienced screenwriter when she sold Juno and, in a lot of ways, the qualities of that script don’t reflect what she would grow into. However, it may very well be the only thing that audiences remember her for. While it’s what made me all in love with her, I was committed to her journey, following her years on Twitter and now her days on Broadway. I miss her voice on the internet, though she deservedly admits that the information superhighway is just too much sometimes.
More than anything, I consider her to be one of the most defined screenwriters of the past 15 years. Even if she’s always evolving, there are aspects in all of her work that I find remarkable. She doesn’t compromise vision to have a male lead or sell a few more tickets. She’s willing to make movies like Young Adult that exist to have the most unpleasant protagonist imaginable, turning a young adult author into the most reprehensive “peaked in high school” character imaginable, finding constant ways to uproot the calm and adjusted lives of her former classmates.
I want to write characters like her, who clearly have this deeper psychology to every decision they make. They may not create the most exciting stories, but they’re character studies full of these peaks and valleys, finding a journey into the self that is unlike anyone else. You may not like all of her movies, but I promise you that you can’t mistake Juno for any other precocious teenager. There’s a reason she became the embodiment of quirky indie teen for a long period, unfortunately typecasting Page for a few years.
That is what all writers should strive to do. You have to make your characters stand out, having these complex dynamics in ways that are organic to life. Even nowadays, in an era where studio comedies feel more welcoming of complex women, they feel years behind Cody’s ability to be vulnerable and unpleasant. There’s nothing sexy about Tully, finding Charlize Theron with a post-pregnancy body screaming outside of her car because her autistic son is getting on her nerves. She feels real, embracing the uncertainty that I’m sure Cody experienced firsthand. Again, it’s not the most marketable movie, but rarely has a story of loneliness and feeling old been given something as unruly, eventually paving the way for some excellent revelations.
She is someone who continually takes risks, and I think she has done an excellent job of becoming more than the author of “Candy Girl.” Whereas the world was criticizing her in 2007, suggesting that her appeal was limited, she has only become more interesting the less that the light has been on her. She is able to explore complicated women and, even more impressive, their personal relationships. She even managed to bring out one of Meryl Streep’s more interesting recent turns in Ricki and the Flash (2015), featuring a crazy mother-daughter story co-starring real-life child Mamie Gummer.
I think at the end of the day, the writers you most admire are the ones who make the process feel accessible like there are more opportunities for you to express yourself. As someone who tends to be drawn more towards the “talking around a table” style of dramas, I remember latching onto anyone who could make flagrant exchanges sound like verbal ballet. Everyone has something that makes them special, and to watch how Cody turns the emotional struggles of Juno as she deals with her strict father finds a perfect line between deep concern, insecurity, and a deflection of crude humor. It finds the heart under the style. In some ways, the style is important because it separates Juno from her classmates, creating a different form of an outsider in terms of communication.
Her best writing, hands down
I seek to be more honest and interesting, able to feel more excited by the world in these small ways. Not everyone goes on some grand voyage. Sometimes people just freak out in bookstores, and I love watching the psychological analysis Cody gives them. I see an acceptance that women, in particular, can exist outside of the boxes that studio screenwriters suggest they should be in. They can be altruistic, but it’s more interesting to see them be a hot mess, finding ways to attain redemption. It’s all there in everything she does, and it all started with her exploring the mechanics of a stripper pole, trying to understand the freedom that it gives her, to feel less alone in the world.
In any other year, there’s a good chance that I would be marking my calendar for when her Tony-nominated musical Jagged Little Pill would be making the rounds, likely to The Ahmanson Theater, and preparing to see what all the hubbub is about. I may not like jukebox musicals, but I am curious to see what she brings to the stage, finding ways to make the works of Alanis Morissette into this enjoyable dysfunctional family drama. I know that she’s capable of it and I’m curious to know if she translates. Given that she’s done well on TV, I have nothing but faith.
With that said, next week will feature Jagged Little Pill performing live as part of a quarantined-style Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade. In all honesty, I don’t know if it will be a great representation of what I want to see from the show. I want to see the drama, the in-between where Cody adds her own flourishes. I already know what a Morissette song sounds like. Unless the choreography is amazing, I don’t know how much I’ll get out of it, especially compared to something like Hamilton or Mean Girls. But hey, it’s a fun way to pass the morning.
It will always be a dream of mine to meet Cody, in some capacity, and just tell her how much of an influence she has been on me. I don’t expect the conversation to be all that deep, but a simple acknowledgment will at least confirm a feeling that I’ve had inside me for 13 years now. Writing can be much more interesting when we’re allowed to be ourselves, exploring something that is real to us. Sure, you can argue that Cody lives in her own fantastical language, but that’s to ignore what lies underneath, in the search for something more human, that words can’t always express properly. She does that so well, and I think that we all should too.
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