Tired, average, expected to take up slack… This is the unofficial mantra of almost any woman on the planet, especially those who run the race in worn-out and worthless stilettos. Perhaps this is why change isn’t limited to good; it is a necessity.
Enter Juanita, the protagonist of the similarly titled film. She is fed up because she’s too old for bullshit, too young to retire, and suffering from a common psychological condition called midlife crisis. As a single mother to three adult children who still act like kids, she’s caring but also triggered by long-buried desires from before they were even a consideration.
A film about taking risks when money is tight, friends are few, and sanity is all that remains for one to seek. It stars Alfrie Woodard in a role that could inspire anyone to move beyond melancholy and escape from a never-ending cycle of disappointments and useless pursuits.
Second chances are not reserved for the adventurous because the soul doesn’t seek validation to get what it innately wants. Directed by Clark Johnson and released in 2019, this won’t appeal to entitled brats, grandmothers who willingly accept free babysitter status, or others who claim adulthood but behave as if just breastfed.
“I ain’t got to do shit for y’all, no more,” is a line from this film and the battle cry of every woman with a nest that refuses to empty. Culturally, the unyielding desire to remain tethered is likely epigenetic; all shades of minority children have historically been forcibly removed or separated from their lineage long before land masses were continuous.
Set initially in an urban environment, a more beat-down than fed-up Juanita declares, “I’m a fuckin’ ghetto cliché,” and casts fate to the wind. A quick check-in with her cash-positive best friend peels back any reservations and gives her the push to hop on the next Greyhound bound for wherever and ends up right in the middle of Montana.
With its open landscape and unobstructed views of vast mountain ranges, one would expect Juanita to grow, and she does. Romantic love blooms during her brief 6-to-8-week stay with a fine example of an Indigenous American called Jess. The owner of presumably the only French restaurant in the state, he is a war veteran and binge drinker drawn to her feisty attitude, and significantly more mature, yet younger, than any man she’s ever been with.
Given that the entertainment industry is driven by commerce, however, this film’s lack of box office appeal is actually the key to its brilliance. Adapted from the screenplay by Roderick M. Spencer and based on Sheila Williams’ novel Dancing on the Edge of the Roof, it makes a dynamic backstory unlikely within a 90-minute runtime. More importantly, the focus on underlying structural failures that exacerbate urban blight is documentary, not dramatic, in format.
Escapism isn’t unique to human experience; in fact, all mammals, birds, and reptiles exhibit a state of daydreaming. A psychological need driven by instinct, it allows data gleaned from inner thoughts to shift toward clarity. Portrayed as impulsive, Juanita’s impromptu departure is the shit that single, working-class women, regardless of matriarchal status, long for.
Criticized for its “lack of urgency,” this film explores the process of self-actualization. More than casual viewing is necessary to distinguish leisure from indifference and routine from a nuanced expectation to stay within one’s designated space. As a subtle challenge to cultural norms about reclaiming identity, it symbolically implies that, because aging is slow, self-discovery is also unique and equally time-consuming.
Brimming with colloquial meta-narrative, it’s a form of open diary written as a love note to its target audience—middle-aged minority women. Often overlooked, demonized, and expected to be averse to melancholy because of having borne children, this piece is a middle finger and loudly suggests that life, with its miasmal dirt and decay, and as previously lived, should fuck completely off.
Because personal agency and inner truth work together, any woman who hasn’t let her soul shout, “I ain’t ya mama,” is suffering from strong woman syndrome. A form of segregation, it’s a cruel, neglectful type of insecurity that keeps women from balancing the innocence of childhood with the disappointment of adulthood.
Being middle-aged and female has always suggested that women have passed their prime, not entered it. This film’s joy includes Juanita’s declaration of independence from fantasies that typically depict romance, as well as those that suggest approval is necessary for the heart and mind to grow together.
Maybe it is less emotional and introspective than other box-office hits; however, that does not diminish its cultural importance. With an open ending that directly challenges complete closure, Juanita is a film about triumph, freedom, and the bravery to pursue whatever form of healing the mind seeks.
A contemporary and blatantly honest slice into the interiority of minority mothers, this one omits a vulnerable wallflower. A direct interrogation of why guilt and shame should not be attached to refusal to breastfeed beyond lactation, its significance is its illumination of middle-aged minority women’s right to claim space for actual, not stereotypical, self-love.
For your reading pleasure, here are a few more titles by Sheila Williams, the author whose novel inspired Juanita:
And, additional titles that draw on themes of self-discovery/reinvention, like the film Juanita:
Maame, by Jessica George
The Alchemist, by Paulo Coelho
How Not to Drown in a Glass of Water, by Angie Cruz
The Unlikely Pilgrimage of Harold Fry, by Rachel Joyce