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Poor Things (2023): Feminist Film Analysis

3 min readJan 9, 2026

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Poor Things (2023), directed by Yorgos Lanthimos, isn’t just a surreal black comedy — it’s a bold thought experiment about what happens when curiosity collides with a world built on control. At the center is Bella Baxter (Emma Stone), a woman “brought back” through an unsettling scientific intervention by Dr. Godwin Baxter (Willem Dafoe). Bella enters life with a strange, accelerated innocence: she’s physically an adult, but emotionally and intellectually discovering everything from the beginning. That setup becomes the film’s engine — because Bella doesn’t simply learn society’s rules, she tests them.

Emma Stone and Mark Ruffalo in Poor Things (2023). Dir. Yorgos Lanthimos. Cinematography by Robbie Ryan. (Copyright Searchlight Pictures). Image Courtesy of FILMGRAB.

The film asks uncomfortable questions: How far would you go to chase pleasure, knowledge, or freedom? And what does “polite society” really protect — morality, or power? Bella’s journey starts inside the controlled space of Baxter’s home, where she is observed, guided, and — despite care — restricted. But once she steps into the world, the tone shifts into an unfiltered exploration of experience: travel, desire, and self-definition. Her relationship with lawyer Duncan Wedderburn (Mark Ruffalo) turns into a whirlwind tour of indulgence and excess, but also reveals something darker: how quickly “freedom” becomes another form of possession when someone believes they’re entitled to you.

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One of the article’s strongest threads is how power and agency are constantly negotiated through the men around Bella. The story places four archetypes in her orbit — a father figure, a caretaker, a lover, and a husband — each representing a familiar way society tries to shape women’s choices. Even when their intentions differ, control keeps showing up: protecting her, preserving her innocence, owning her sexuality, reclaiming her as “property.” Bella’s refusal to internalize shame becomes disruptive — not because she’s “rebellious,” but because she’s not trained to shrink herself to fit expectations.

The piece also contrasts Bella’s autonomy with the fate of Victoria Blessington — the woman whose body becomes central to the experiment. Even in death, Victoria is denied dignity, which sharpens the film’s critique: women are often granted value only through what can be extracted from them. Against that background, Bella’s bold relationship with her body feels radical. She explores without apology, not to perform empowerment, but because she simply believes she has the right to live.

Still, the article doesn’t present Poor Things as a flawless feminist masterpiece. The film plays with provocative tropes (including the uncomfortable “Born Sexy Yesterday” dynamic), and part of the viewing experience is grappling with that tension: the story critiques objectification while also flirting with it visually and narratively. Yet, even with its contradictions, the film gives viewers a rich space to think about captivity vs. freedom, nature vs. nurture, and the cost of conformity — especially for those denied power in the first place.

In the end, Bella’s transformation isn’t about becoming “a proper woman.” It’s about becoming a whole person — shaped by experience, empathy, and the insistence that curiosity is not a sin.

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