The Rise of the Comedy Antiheroine

In comedies, women are often relegated to bit parts as nagging wives/mothers/girlfriends, lust objects, or manic pixie dream girls. But cinema of late has shown a notable shift, with women not only taking leading roles in comedies, but also conquering terrain often dominated by men—the antihero, a character whose personality is so flawed that he is potentially unlikeable and sometimes loathsome…and yet we root for him. Typically, the comedy antihero is a merciless curmudgeon (Jack Nicholson in As Good as It Gets), who usually has a Grinch-like transformation by film's end (Paul Rudd in Role Models) or fails to change and continues to be a horrible—though hilarious—human being (Richard E. Grant in Withnail & I). Sometimes the antihero is a happily stunted man-child who wants to be a "real man" after meeting his dream girl (just about every Judd Apatow movie). Regardless, he's a hot mess that we nonetheless relate to, but he's generally a he.

Yet over the past year or so, there's been a curious rise in female versions of these roles, a shift so unexpected there are no fitting words for it. I discovered this problem while reviewing Bridesmaids and wondering what the lady equivalents of "man-child" and "bromance" would be. Then last winter, Lena Dunham drew praise for her ballsy (still searching for a suitable gender equivalent) self-mockery in the semi-autobiographical comedy Tiny Furniture, where she exposed her flaws and unflattering underwear to craft a Woody Allen-styled comedy for the modern twentysomething. In the spring came the box-office force that was Bridesmaids, where Kristen Wiig played a woman so afraid of losing her childhood friend to marriage/adulthood that she suffers a total meltdown—complete with a chocolate fondue-flinging freakout. Finally, the fall brought the most daring comedy yet: Young Adult, where Charlize Theron plays an absolute and unrepentant bitch. In each case, part of me was repulsed by these stunted women, yet ultimately I empathized and cheered for them because I saw in them a little bit of me. And given their popularity, I'm obviously not alone. Tiny Furniture scored Dunham her own HBO show, Girls. Bridesmaids went on to make more money than any Apatow feature to date, and Young Adult is already scoring award nods. Brava, bitches.

What's the next frontier for fearless comediennes looking to tackle antihero taboos? Perhaps it will be the wisecracking criminal, who comes in a wide range of forms, from the snarky hitman (In Bruges, Pulp Fiction) to the low-rent grifter/gambler (every Guy Ritchie movie). Personally, I'd love to see Jane Lynch as a merciless murderer with a penchant for punchlines, or Judy Greer as a petty con artist forced to take on a massive grift with an all-girl crew. But please, let's leave clichéd romantic subplots at the door and keep the focus where it belongs, on these badass broads.