Uptown Girls: A Retrospective
Beyond the Algorithm #04: On Living through Loss & The Beauty of Grief
While home for the holidays, I re-watched Uptown Girls (2003). I expected a nice, casual trip down memory lane, and instead, wrote an essay. Go figure!
It’s been more than a few years since I’ve seen this film. As a kid, it was my one of my favorites. I rented it from the local Movie Gallery at least a dozen times before someone (my dad, probably) caved and bought it for me on DVD. I just couldn’t get enough. It hit all the right notes. The colors, the characters, the music, the New York City setting—I loved every second of it.
I will admit my childhood love of this film was pretty surface-level. I was more concerned with the elements that made sense to my younger self, like the ballet sequences, the spinning teacups, and utterly adorable pig named Mu. (Can you blame me?) I remembered Uptown Girls the way everyone remembers their favorite shows, films, and albums from youth—always through the fond, rose-colored lens of nostalgia.
Upon re-watching it, I was pleased and a little validated, to discover something I’d never noticed before—something real. Uptown Girls is fundamentally a story about grief. Our two leads—Molly and Ray—both experience the unimaginable as children: the death of their parents. Yet, they each cope with their losses differently.
Molly lives a “charmed life,” in a Princess tower covered in pink, purple, and twinkly lights. Throughout the first half of the film, she outright refuses to grow up and become an adult, opting instead to give in to her childish, impulsive whims. In an act of seduction, she serves piles of tooth-rotting candy on a silver platter for Neal. She blows $1000k on Egyptian cotton sheets for the same guy who, by that point, wants to be rid of her because she’s impulsive and irresponsible. She plays rough with Ray’s barbies and tea set, often without asking. She resists numerous attempts from her best friends to help her downsize her life and get a real job. For years, she remains in the exact emotional place her parents left her: a confused, lonely child with unmet needs and severe abandonment issues.
Ray, by contrast, takes on the personality of the overly responsible, Type A germaphobe, terrified to be seen as anything other than prim, proper, and perfect. Any attempt from Molly to bring out Ray’s inner whimsy is met with quintessential Upper East Side snobbery and resentment. Even the “little girl” aspects of her life are literally and figuratively sterile. She’s sarcastic, cynical, and cold to everyone. With an absent, borderline-neglectful mother and a “dad for a vegetable,” it’s not hard to see how these sorts of coping strategies might give Ray a sense of control in an otherwise tense and uncertain environment.
On the face of it, these two are diametrically opposed in their approaches to dealing with pain. They clash at every turn until, finally, they meet at Coney Island, spin the teacup together, and embrace in solidarity after a shared, tearful breakdown. A meme of this particular moment has cropped up on Interfiefdom lately.
Almost all of these memes are some version of "My adult self is looking back at my younger self, wishing desperately I could heal/warn/save her.” Every time I see one, I sit there and stare at my phone for more than a few moments. I am always struck by the emotional depth of such an ephemeral image, which is a rarity for any doom scroll. A single meme brings every feeling and issue from my childhood back to the surface—abandonment, the fear of growing up, the untimely death of a loved one.
As it turns out, not only is Uptown Girls about the loss of one’s parent(s), but also, the loss of oneself—or at least, past versions of oneself. What do we lose when we grow up? What do we gain, if anything?
On this re-watch, I also was amazed by how many references I caught—things my eight-year-old-self couldn’t have known. Jeff Buckley. The Shining. 81st and 5th. Coney Island. MOMA. Nathan’s Hot Dogs. The mere concept of being and living Uptown. There are so many places depicted in this film I’ve now seen with my own eyes. It’s disorienting to be an adult—an adult who was once a child.
I think back on my life and wonder what I would say to my younger self. Would I warn her of what’s to come? Would I tell her to buck up, grow a thicker skin? Would I tell her to avoid those older men? Would I tell her to hold this film close to her chest? Would I tell her to let the pain grow from her fingertips, like branches? Let them show, I’d whisper. Don’t keep it all inside. Do not be ashamed to be loud.
Be louder. Keep dancing. Keep going.
I lost my dad on this day fourteen years ago. I’d just turned thirteen-years-old.
Over those fourteen years, I’ve gone through all the typical stages. I lived in denial. I’ve been depressed. I’ve been angry. I’ve bargained. I felt grown up in one way and totally stunted in another. For the most part, I’ve accepted all of this, though not necessarily with grace.
There’s a scene in Uptown Girls where, after finding her love interest half-naked in her employer’s kitchen, Molly walks through Central Park, angry, dejected, and alone. At every turn, there are families and loved ones—a father and daughter, a loving couple, a mother and her child—all the relationships (and people) Molly has lost.
I didn’t remember this scene from any of my previous watches. This time around, it’s stuck with me more than any other because I do the exact same thing. I see fathers and daughters in the wild and feel the familiar pang of loneliness. I remember that he never watched me graduate from high school or college. He’ll never see me get married. I’ll never know him as an adult. I’ve forgotten the sound of his voice. He’s just the remnants of old stories passed down before bedtime. Only facts, opinions, and songs make up the person I knew for twelve years. The memories grow fuzzier as the months turn into years, and the years turn into decades.
My father is a man out of focus.
It’s difficult for me to find a positive spin on all of this. Maybe there isn’t one. This film and its refusal to shy away from the hard stuff is certainly proof of that. Then again, it also ends with Molly and Ray having both learned important lessons about love, life, and loss. Ray learns to relinquish control and live more fully in her childhood present. Molly learns the value of responsibility, sacrifice, and ultimately finds confidence in her newly developed sense of self, without losing an ounce of her spark.
The legacy of loss looms large on us all, but without it, would we really know the true significance of living? Grief is beautiful in its multicolored reflections and refractions.
As cheesy and clichéd as it sounds, maybe it really is just about finding the right perspective.
P.S. Brittany Murphy and Dakota Fanning bring everything they’ve got to this film. Some might call it middling, but this last scene is just too sweet and heartwarming for words.
Thanks for reading, and if you have any recommendations, thoughts, or queries, send ‘em my way. I’d love to hear from you!
‘Til next time!
This was such a lovely read. Being an adult is so disorienting. I'm sorry you lost your dad so young. ♥️
Lot of hard hitting sentiments in this one. So inspired by the openess of your writing 💓 looking forward to more