The Other Woman (2014) is probably the first adult movie I became obsessed with. Not that media for adults had escaped my viewing, but at 16, I had primarily been invested in immersing myself in the media of childhood and the dramas of teenagerdom. But at 16, I was dragged to go watch what I assumed was a bad romantic comedy and walked out of the theatre a changed man.
To summarise the plot as succinctly as I possibly can, this is the story of three women who discover the joys of friendship after it is revealed they’re all in a relationship with the same man. Not like, as sister wives. He’s a cheating asshole. The film centres primarily around Carly (Cameron Diaz), a cold attorney with a bitchy assistant. She thaws out over the course of the wacky antics necessary in destroying the cheating asshole. Conflict primarily comes from Kate (Leslie Mann) and her struggle to give up her life with said asshole and her husband, Mark (Nikolaj Coster-Waldau). Kate Upton is also part of the trio taking him down. Her character is named Amber.
I feel like every review of a film about female friendship begins with some screed about how there are no films about female friendship, which at this point simply isn’t true. There’s plenty. Not enough, because there can never be, but there’s still plenty. No, what I want to talk about firstly is the traditions this film exists within.
There are essentially two separate plot archetypes at play in this film. The Other Woman is essentially a heist film with slapstick elements throughout. This is the story of how a team of women comes together to take down the man who hurt them. Cameron Diaz leads the team in a remarkably similar way to Sandra Bullock in Ocean’s 8 (2018), while Leslie Mann’s manic positivity maintains a sitcom-esque appeal, ala Lucille Ball.
They’re an excellent comic duo, with Diaz’s rigidity and sharpness slicing through to hilarious deadpan deliveries. Her later career, up until her retirement, was marked by a trademark dryness that only she could really pull of. Meanwhile, Mann’s pep isn’t necessarily insincere, but there’s a hidden depth of frustration and rage that gives the big smiles a menacing quality. If I had to put the performance into a single archetype, it’s a grown woman with the energy of a sorority girl. That’s a balance few could pull off well and it’s to her credit that her Kate reads as very real.
Speaking of Kates, let’s quickly discuss Upton’s performance. It’s fine. Cast as the dumb blonde in a film that needs a third to fill out the team, she’s given the unenviable task of staking out her own laughs amidst a sea of much more established screen presences. It’s not really a position where you can nail it, unless you’re a true talent. Kate Upton not that. But she likeable and pretty enough that her presence isn’t a drag. Her line about her scent just being her sweat is genuinely funny, but she can’t really figure out how to react when not speaking. But luckily she’s a competent enough to support the stronger performances and thus it works out.
So, this isn’t a review only reliant on gushing, let me discuss the worst and least necessary part of the film: Phil. Played by Taylor Kinney, he is Kate’s brother, and Carly’s love interest. His role in the film is essentially to act as a destination point for Carly’s character arc. He’s the fire that warms the ice queen. Except that’s also Kate’s role. In a film that otherwise explicitly presents female friendships as inherently fulfilling and thus enough to replace the superficial love granted by Mark, Phil and Carly being pregnant and in love at the end feels out of place considering her arc. Carly’s need for intimacy was brought to the surface without a man and a baby to cap things off.
That leads to the other problem, which is also a man. Now Amber ending up with Carly’s father Frank (Don Johnson) isn’t as weird, because neither are really characters that have arcs. Johnson plays the sleazy type very well, and Amber is pretty and smiles a lot. A match made in heaven. The biggest problem with Johnson is that he has chemistry with almost everyone, and that exception being Diaz. They’re fine together, but the awkwardness that defines their dynamic doesn’t always feel intentional. If they are, it’s a tone that is just a touch out of line with the awkwardness presented by Mann’s enthusiasm and Diaz’s general iciness. It’s a small gripe, but my last one I’ll not.
I mentioned in another newsletter that I often walk away asking what a film wants me to think about (there in the context of historical figures) and here, I think the main think I’m meant to take away is that feminine friendship is incredibly important. Which is true. Men are way too much drama (looking at you, **** from high school!).
Oftentimes, women being friends in film is emphasised as a sisterhood or sacred bond. Look at the historic friendships of Anne Shirley and Diana Barry in Anne of Green Gables, or the March sisters in Little Women. Whether biological or spiritual, girls are friends from childhood and grow together where possible. Which is really nice, and I love those types of stories. Derry Girls (2018-present) is a clear descendant of both those books, with roots in other works, like The Babysitters Club and Golden Girls. But there’s a flexibility and awkwardness to new friendship that I think is underrepresented. Sisterhood is earned, not immediate, for many real life non-fictional women.
Trust me, I’ve met at least five.
I like The Other Woman because it’s about how trust is earned. Carly only lets Kate in with significant effort, and she nearly throws that new and important relationship away when she faces rejection. They learn to depend on each other, which is what trust is.
My favourite moment of the film is actually the very famous scene where Kate is drunk in the bar with Carly, explaining why she’s so upset at her marriage ending. In a moment of extreme vulnerability that’s played comedic but still quite natural, she outlines that she feels old and awkward in a world where she’ll be single again. Her pain isn’t about losing Mark; it’s quite telling how all these women immediately shrug his effect on them off. They all realise they’re just as satisfied emotionally with friends. But Carly is forced, for the first moment in the film, to be connected to someone without a clear transactional element at play. She’s not winning anything by listening, she just is listening. It’s really sweet, actually.
That’s really what made me so obsessed with the film. Aesthetically it’s pleasant but indistinct, I cannot remember the soundtrack at all, the slapstick is arguably a little broad, but the acting and core friendship is both fascinating and comforting. They’re three women who grow to rely on each other in ways that feels authentic and earned by the end. Mann gives a blowout performance that has followed her into some great comedic roles, and Diaz proved to me she was the actress of her generation to watch right before killing her career to marry a man from Good Charlotte.
And, as always, Kate Upton was also there.