Gangster Squad & Letting Go

"Mickey Cohen can have the whole damn city, he just can't have you." - Connie O'Mara



I absolutely love action movies. For being as anti-violence as I am, it is surely an odd mix. The reason I like them is quite simple, it is the same reason I can play FPS's for hours on end without a care in the world, but seeing a heated argument makes my stomach turn. When I play my games or watch Josh Brolin punch Sean Penn in the face, I know it isn't real. No one is actually getting hurt by fake punches or pixelated bullets. It is a safe outlet of aggression. But I digress.

Last night, I went with a friend to watch 'Gangster Squad', a highly stylized period piece loosely based on true events. I loved it. Emma Stone plays a lovely cardboard cutout in beautiful gowns, the soundtrack was excellent, and the characters were just fleshed out enough that they were semi-real, but they did not overshadow the obviously built up main characters. Sean Penn as Mickey Cohen was spot on. He was a rabid dog. He was violence incarnate. It was exactly what I had hoped for.

I was surprised at how much of my heart went out to the sergeant's wife, Connie O'Mara. The woman was pregnant through the majority of the movie, tied to the house, and scared out of her mind for her husband who would go out into LA every day to wage war against the mob. With Mickey Cohen at the head, the mob owned Las Angeles. No, like literally owned it. Crooked cops, paid off judges, the mayor was in his pocket for God's sake. Mickey Cohen was untouchable and the whole city knew it. Connie knew it.

Every morning, Sgt. John O'Mara went out the door to fight the good fight. Every morning, Connie would make him breakfast, stand behind him, help him where she could. Connie may not have been a gun toting bad-ass, but that girl had more balls than I could in that situation.

I can't help it. I have a nurturing nature. I want to strangle all of my darlings in my apron strings. I want to keep them safe, but I can't. I need to be able to let go sometimes too. I need to learn from Connie, who could jut out her chin in defiance of her own heart and watch her husband plot. John would pore over stacks of files, and where was Connie? Right beside him, pointing out the seemingly obvious answers and hand picking the perfect team. Where would I be? Locked in the bathroom until my husband agreed to never ever ever put a gun to another human being again.I would cry hysterically until he took up a safe, quiet job. My husband, ex-gang hunter, CPA.

After the baby was born, Connie flees LA at her husband's urging. The city was far from safe, and he had to protect her. She leaves rather unwillingly, but not once does she ask him to run away with her. He has to stay, he has a duty, a mission to complete. He can't just walk away, and she knows it.

Throughout literary history, what makes a strong female character is her ability to silently persevere. What makes us as a gender so strong is not our physical build, but our strength to carry the burden of a hurt heart, a sea of emotional turmoil, a hundred nagging issues at the back of our brains. We do this without breaking a sweat and often without shedding a tear. At least, without shedding those tears to an audience. We don't need to be able to carry the weight of a limp body, because piled on top of our already heavy hearts, we are carrying yours as well.