(Contains major spoilers for the finale of Big Little Lies)
 

Let’s talk about Audrey.

Specifically, let’s talk about the quartet of riotous, righteous Audreys who come to the defense of their fellow embattled, battered Audrey in the finale of Big Little Lies.

I just re-­‐watched the climactic scene on the back terrace, and upon second viewing, it is so much more. A fight plays out at the top of those treacherous stairs, during which all the Audreys—those quintessential, classic icons of delicate femininity—are transformed into a shield, a battalion protecting one of their own against a cruel, unjust patriarchy.

Who are the Audreys? On the surface, they are characters attending a themed “Elvis and Audrey” costume party. But why these five Audreys? My lovely sister is an acclaimed costume designer, J.R. Hawbaker. Thanks in part to her expertise, I sometimes find myself mimicking her designer’s eye. A huge amount of thought and work goes into clothing the men and women we see on screen. Not just tailoring, tucking and sewing each corner to fit the actor perfectly, but the careful design choices made to sculpt each and every character from head to toe.

The “why” of it all: Every good costume designer knows that the clothes we wear on our surface are the visible manifestations of what lurks out-­‐of-­‐sight just beneath. Big Little Lies costume designer, Alix Friedberg, knew that her icons on the terrace needed, in that pivotal moment, to be more than just a dress and a handbag.

Each of those Audrey costumes was hand-­‐chosen, hand-­‐picked for the character who wore her, for the situation, for the conflict to come.

There is, first, the victim Audrey. The battered woman, Celeste (Nicole Kidman), so multi-­‐hued, so bruised, so delicate. She is the wife, the woman about to be assaulted by her Big Bad, the volcanic husband, Perry (Alexander Skarsgård) the man who represents every toxic man. The predatory man who is even more dangerous because he is multi-­‐layered himself, flawed, and capable of great gentleness and charm. His violence is like the waves we’ve watched wash ashore all season, under-­‐the-­‐surface until it suddenly crests, crashes, and overwhelms.

In a slow-­‐burn drama like Big Little Lies, Perry is the show’s take on a Darth Vader. In this climactic scene, and this scene alone, there are no shades of gray. He is the Evil. He wears all black. Black leather, no less, the kind of costume that evokes biker gangs and toxic, masculine violence.

His victim is his wife Celeste, and Celeste’s Audrey is the Audrey we all know and love. The classic Breakfast at Tiffany’s Audrey, Holly Golightly with her high top knot and teeny crown, her long black gloves and long black dress… pitch perfect in execution. That Celeste is portrayed by Kidman, a Hollywood glam goddess herself (the same as the real Audrey Hepburn), means that Celeste’s Audrey is the most accurate in her costuming. Her Holly Golightly is the closest to the real thing. Real pearls. Real diamonds. If there is an actual Audrey Hepburn amongst the five women on the terrace that night, it is Celeste.

And it is the real Audrey Hepburn, the Feminine Divine Herself, whom the others must protect. She is a victim, molested, raped, abused, tortured by a sexual sadist. It is no coincidence, surely, that Celeste is garbed as Holly Golightly, Breakfast at Tiffany’s caricature of a woman in a mask who is betrayed, over and over again, by rich, power-­‐hungry, narcissistic New York men.

Of course, Celeste is destined to play the Audrey most famous for wearing black.

The only other Audrey in black on that terrace is her counterpoint, Jane. Doe-­‐ eyed, earthy Jane (Shailene Woodley). Jane’s Audrey is the same as Celeste’s, though Jane’s is a knockoff on a cheaper budget: her black vintage store dress and child’s plastic tiara are a pale mimic of Celeste’s formal wear. But these two women are clothed in the same Holly Golightly costume, because like Celeste, Jane is a victim. Abused by the same man. Raped years ago, she, too, thought she would die by Perry’s hand.

Celeste and Jane share a costume. They share an abuser. They share a victimhood. They both wear identical Audreys in black.

Then there are the Audreys in white: the white knights of the terrace.

There is Madeline. Stay-­‐at-­‐home mom, meddling Madeline, always the It Girl at the party. Madeline (Reese Witherspoon), like her dear friends Celeste and Jane, is also costumed as Holly Golightly. The three best friends are all clothed as the same Audrey character. It makes sense that Madeline, too, would share Holly, though not the one in the black dress. The black dress is for Jane and Celeste, the victims of Perry’s abuse. Madeline is not a victim. She is Holly Golightly freshly roused from slumber in her sleep mask and man’s white tuxedo shirt. Her fuzzy slippers. Her chandelier ears. Her funny, quirky self. This is the stay-­‐at-­‐home Audrey, the fanciful, dreamer Audrey, the Audrey at her most comfortable and in control.

Madeline is Holly Golightly in white as she tries to save her friend. 

There’s another white knight on that terrace, though not the same Audrey. Not Holly Golightly, not from Breakfast at Tiffany’s. No, this Audrey isn’t in the three friend’s tight circle, so she doesn’t share the same movie. Instead, this is a My Fair Lady Audrey. Renata (Laura Dern), an interloper on the scene the same way Eliza Doolittle interlopes into a posh world beyond her socioeconomic station. Renata wears Eliza’s famous, over-­‐the-­‐top ascot dress from the horse races. Her frippery reminds us that Renata, Madeline’s social rival, is not meant to be there—she’s not supposed to be on that terrace, just as Eliza was not supposed to be amongst the upper crust at the horse races. But there she finds herself… there to save the day.

Two Audreys in white from two different movies, two different worlds, finally united in their quest to fend off a violent husband as he beats and tries to murder his wife in front of them.

When Perry attacks Celeste, kicking her, pounding her skull into the pavement, any of his blows could kill her instantly. Jane, terrified of her former abuser, reacts instinctually in fear and backs away. However, the white knights are there, ready to shield Celeste upon Perry’s first approach. Madeline and Renata grab and pull, beat their fists upon Perry’s back. They are saviors from the get-­‐go, giving a stunned Jane time to grip her courage and join the fight. The three Audreys on the terrace, two innocent witnesses in white (Madeline and Renata), one a fellow abuse victim in black (Jane), fly upon the assailant, trying to protect the true, celestial Audrey.

But they fail.

This virulent man, this violent man, this epitome of all evil men… he is too strong. At 6’5″, he is too tall. Too powerful. His rage is all consuming. He pushes them back like nothing. He is a rock, and they are the waves breaking against him. Nothing will stop him. He lands blow after blow after blow, and the three Audreys, trying to protect Celeste as she curls beaten and broken on the ground, are one by one pushed off. Pushed away. They know it is useless, but they fight on. Jane, a rape victim, screams “Stop!” to a deaf audience’s ears. Perry is already rearing back for that last kick. That last blow. The one that will at long last kill his wife.

The final Audrey makes her descent down the stairs. 

And just as her costume dictates, this fellow outsider is not from the holy friendship trinity of Breakfast at Tiffany’s. She is another My Fair Lady, a fringe player, a would-­‐be feminine rival interloping on a scene where she doesn’t belong. But unlike Renata’s helpless, foolish Eliza, Bonnie (Zoë Kravitz) is the sleek, bejeweled Eliza, the embassy ball Eliza who descends down the stairs like an empress. She shimmers in the dark, ready for her Hero Moment. Thanks to the shining, silvery metallic sheen of her costume, she is not another white knight, but a real knight.

The one in armor.

With a battle cry, with one powerful thrust, Bonnie’s Empress Eliza bashes into the great evil before he can land that final blow, and shoves him down the stairs to his death.

The Audreys have won.

– Laura Hawbaker

Author’s Note: “An Analysis of Audreys” is a poetic feminist meditation on the costume design of the climactic final death scene in HBO’s Big Little Lies (recently nominated for six Golden Globes). That scene, all 45 bone-chilling beautiful seconds of it, encapsulates the entirety of the Women’s March Movement, the #MeToo Movement, and the feminist wave gripping American culture in this post-Trumpian world. By analyzing the iterations of Audrey Hepburn as represented in the scene, Big Little Lies encapsulates an entire generation’s struggle against patriarchy, and a hope for a brighter future