‘Audrie & Daisy’ is an affecting documentary, tackling the tough subject of teenage sexual assault in the Internet Age.
I am 22. When I was in eighth grade a friend of mine showed me a nude picture he had received from a girl in our grade. He commented on the size of her breasts, and how stoked he was about it. Luckily, nothing more came of that. But the proclivity for teens to use technology as a seemingly safe means of displaying sexuality often leads to danger. If you go into Audrie & Daisy thinking something like this could never happen in your hometown, get a grip, because it can and likely has.
The documentary, directed by the team of Bonni Cohen and Jon Shenk tells the story of two separate cases of rape, with different tragic outcomes. The first is the case of Audrie Pott. Audrie was a freshman in a Saratoga, California high school when she was sexually assaulted at a party. The cyberbullying that followed the next week led her to committing suicide.
The film opens on animated overlays of the silhouettes of two anonymous young men. You soon find out these were Audrie’s assaulters. Near the end of the film it is revealed that in their settlements these boys had to agree to do these interviews. This is a stylistic element that sets an otherwise lacking visual production. The art (done by Daisy Coleman) is a striking opening, but more than anything these sections drive home a major point of the film. Without any editorializing from the filmmakers, it becomes clear just to what extent of seriousness these boys are reflecting on their actions. Many would say, not enough.
A majority of this section comprises of interviews with the victims and the Pott family. There are transcriptions of Facebook messages from Audrie to classmates that set her conflict firmly in the realm of cyberspace. You forget this is how teens talk, how easily they can lie and manipulate each other. The film doesn’t condemn technology as much as it makes it the setting. Many of the interviews are difficult to watch, three words that describe the film generally. It’s easy to imagine how many parts of the film would be triggering for victims of similar situations. But Cohen and Shenk know this, and hope to use the film as motivation to help those women speak out.
This message is more evident in the second half of the film focusing on Daisy Coleman, a teenager in Maryville, Missouri. At age 14 Daisy and her friend Paige were raped by a group of high school seniors who were friends with her brother. Daisy was intoxicated to the level of unconsciousness. The assault was videotaped, the video never recovered, and she was dumped half-conscious on her front lawn in the middle of January.
It is not a pleasant story, and somehow Daisy’s sections get to the heart of the film more quickly. This is entirely reliant upon stressing Daisy as a survivor — the Audrie story explaining that not all victims become survivors. Hearing Daisy speak on her own experience gives a more tortuous and vivid description of the night that remains as haunting as anything in Audrie’s secondhand story.
What allows the film to shine in these moments begins with the intervention of Delaney Henderson, a rape victim from California, who reached out to Daisy following the news spreading nationwide. The eventual meeting of these young women is an inspiring scene of many survivors gathered to speak out on their experiences — many who have not shared before. The advocation of speech, not the condemnation of tech is the final focus here.
Daisy’s mother Melinda Coleman says at one point “it’s all political.” Briefly delved into, but perhaps the biggest personal sticking point, was Daisy & Audrie’s look at small town politics. Matthew Barnett, charged with raping Daisy, had all charges dropped against him. His grandfather also happened to be a former state representative. This incestual Middle America pride is under fire. Reflected enough in the New York City audience reactions to the utter lack of involvement from the mayor, and the more animated gasps and head shakes when hearing the Sheriff say the words “let’s not call it rape. It wasn’t rape.”
The true heroes of Audrie & Daisy are the victims. This much is clear. But I’d be remiss without mentioning Daisy’s brother Charlie Coleman, who has his own arc of sorts. He remains a supportive male figure throughout, which is something he should be, but the way he takes Daisy’s experience and betters himself and the kids he now coaches because of it is one of the more hopeful elements we see full through.
The subject matter throughout both sections of Audrie & Daisy is heartbreaking. The film handles talking about rape with care, not shying away from calling it what it is. Ideologically, the film is a triumph. Not blaming alcohol or the internet for what happened to Audrie — not really placing blame — but using the facts and family as a disclaimer. Not a disclaimer that tells women how to avoid these situations, no they are often unavoidable, but one that reminds us how many remain silent. Audrie & Daisy is a statement that urges victims to raise their voices in solidarity.
Audrie & Daisy is available now on Netflix and in limited theaters nationwide.
