https://www.salon.com/2025/03/23/dolores-claibornes-shocking-twist-bitchery-isnt-a/?fbclid=IwZXh0bgNhZW0CMTAAAR3S1mLr3Io5sKsfiiAMcFI8ns0qzTwYwCYkYIjLa-6JBxQRookQg5fjBM4_aem_J3aRMqSvSgw8XMI41RF2VA
The shocking twist of "Dolores Claiborne"? Being a difficult woman isn't a crime New interviews with the "Dolores Claiborne" cast and creators reveal how it subverted a popular '90s trope
By Tom Joudrey
Published March 23, 2025 1:30PM (EDT)
The shocking twist of "Dolores Claiborne"? Being a difficult woman isn't a crime New interviews with the "Dolores Claiborne" cast and creators reveal how it subverted a popular '90s trope
By Tom Joudrey
Published March 23, 2025 1:30PM (EDT)
Seventeen years after I wrote a chapter in Tony Magistrale's The Films of Stephen King anthology, I was contacted by Salon Magazine. My take on the film Dolores Claiborne was exactly what the author Tom Joudrey was looking for: I praised the Bitch.
It took a long time for the world to catch up with my defense of ornery women. It isn't our job to present a smiling, sexy front for the male gaze. In my opinion, Stephen King is a feminist for presenting a female protagonist as an older, unattractive, bitchy woman as the heroine. She leads her vile, alcoholic pedophile of a husband to his own demise. And Dolores nearly acquiesces to her elderly friend's desire for her to end the older woman's long-suffering life. She's not exactly a sweet old lady, but never does King show Dolores to be an evil woman. Ornery, yes. Evil, no. I love that. Obviously, Salon Magazine loved that, too.
About fucking time.
It's been 17 years since I wrote that chapter, and 15 years that I've been single. I always said Kevin would be my last lover, meaning I thought we'd be together until I died. Nope. We split up when it was finally clear to me that he liked me a lot but he didn't love me. I was a convenience, not a partner. Leaving him was an act of self-preservation. It hurt to leave, but it was more painful to stay. I felt then, and still do, that it isn't necessary for a woman to put up with a lopsided affair or a half-hearted relationship out of fear of being alone.
Despite lots of well-meaning advice to "get out there again," I've remained single and it's been one of my better decisions. I got through the death of my daughter without the help and support of a man beside me. Truly, that's the one time I desperately needed a man, and pretty much what I thought a marriage should be... shouldering the tough times together. But I had to get through it alone. I've endured the worst pain I can imagine by myself. At this point, why bother?
Now, I'm one of those weird, old women who lives alone and mutters to herself.
I've thought about dating over the last 15 years, and I've had offers from friends to introduce me to "nice older men." No, thank you. I want to travel to see my friends around the world, or simply stay home in my pajamas without comment or criticism. I want to get in my car and drive to the coast or buy some frivolous doo dad for my house without justifying or explaining my reasons.
And dressing to please a man? No. I recently donated all my high heeled shoes and boots to Goodwill. Why was I hanging onto those uncomfortable things? Sure, there was a brief time in my life when I wore short pencil skirts and spike heeled shoes for the man in my life. The blisters lasted longer than the relationship.
In the movie Dolores Claiborne the three women, mother, daughter, and crone, all share the quote, "Sometimes being a bitch is all a woman can hold on to." Being a bitch means speaking the truth and holding true to oneself. Why is that seen as ugly? Why does "being attractive" mean biting one's tongue and wearing uncomfortable clothes? Why does it mean smiling and nodding at others when one's life is falling apart?
Shortly after my daughter, Chelsea, died, I found myself walking in a daze through a grocery store. Chelsea was a vegan, and my younger daughter had a gluten-restricted diet. Shopping meant thinking clearly about what foods I would buy. Suddenly, I found myself shopping without Chelsea in mind. It was too much and I started to cry. A man took it on himself to "cheer me up." He said, "Smile, it can't be that bad."
Why would a man do that? He didn't know me, but he wanted me to smile. Why? I just looked at him and spit out, "My daughter just died." You never saw anyone turn and run as quickly as he did. That right there was me being a bitch. Totally justified. Ungraceful. Bitch. I'm glad I said it. It wasn't my job to make him feel better. And it wasn't his job to try to make me a more attractive woman in his eyes. Sometimes women are just human... and that isn't always pretty.
It took a long time for the world to catch up with my defense of ornery women. It isn't our job to present a smiling, sexy front for the male gaze. In my opinion, Stephen King is a feminist for presenting a female protagonist as an older, unattractive, bitchy woman as the heroine. She leads her vile, alcoholic pedophile of a husband to his own demise. And Dolores nearly acquiesces to her elderly friend's desire for her to end the older woman's long-suffering life. She's not exactly a sweet old lady, but never does King show Dolores to be an evil woman. Ornery, yes. Evil, no. I love that. Obviously, Salon Magazine loved that, too.
About fucking time.
It's been 17 years since I wrote that chapter, and 15 years that I've been single. I always said Kevin would be my last lover, meaning I thought we'd be together until I died. Nope. We split up when it was finally clear to me that he liked me a lot but he didn't love me. I was a convenience, not a partner. Leaving him was an act of self-preservation. It hurt to leave, but it was more painful to stay. I felt then, and still do, that it isn't necessary for a woman to put up with a lopsided affair or a half-hearted relationship out of fear of being alone.
Despite lots of well-meaning advice to "get out there again," I've remained single and it's been one of my better decisions. I got through the death of my daughter without the help and support of a man beside me. Truly, that's the one time I desperately needed a man, and pretty much what I thought a marriage should be... shouldering the tough times together. But I had to get through it alone. I've endured the worst pain I can imagine by myself. At this point, why bother?
Now, I'm one of those weird, old women who lives alone and mutters to herself.
I've thought about dating over the last 15 years, and I've had offers from friends to introduce me to "nice older men." No, thank you. I want to travel to see my friends around the world, or simply stay home in my pajamas without comment or criticism. I want to get in my car and drive to the coast or buy some frivolous doo dad for my house without justifying or explaining my reasons.
And dressing to please a man? No. I recently donated all my high heeled shoes and boots to Goodwill. Why was I hanging onto those uncomfortable things? Sure, there was a brief time in my life when I wore short pencil skirts and spike heeled shoes for the man in my life. The blisters lasted longer than the relationship.
In the movie Dolores Claiborne the three women, mother, daughter, and crone, all share the quote, "Sometimes being a bitch is all a woman can hold on to." Being a bitch means speaking the truth and holding true to oneself. Why is that seen as ugly? Why does "being attractive" mean biting one's tongue and wearing uncomfortable clothes? Why does it mean smiling and nodding at others when one's life is falling apart?
Shortly after my daughter, Chelsea, died, I found myself walking in a daze through a grocery store. Chelsea was a vegan, and my younger daughter had a gluten-restricted diet. Shopping meant thinking clearly about what foods I would buy. Suddenly, I found myself shopping without Chelsea in mind. It was too much and I started to cry. A man took it on himself to "cheer me up." He said, "Smile, it can't be that bad."
Why would a man do that? He didn't know me, but he wanted me to smile. Why? I just looked at him and spit out, "My daughter just died." You never saw anyone turn and run as quickly as he did. That right there was me being a bitch. Totally justified. Ungraceful. Bitch. I'm glad I said it. It wasn't my job to make him feel better. And it wasn't his job to try to make me a more attractive woman in his eyes. Sometimes women are just human... and that isn't always pretty.
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