Trap: The Fangirl Experience
Fangirl. That word has nasty, negative connotations. If you think about it, it’s pretty sexist. We have to differentiate fans by gender, tacking on “girl” as if to distinguish this type of person from a “normal” fan. This aligns with the general practice of treating straight, white, cisgender, and male as the default categorization for everything.
Then, I’ll problematize the “girl” part—after all, I am an adult woman. I’m fully grown, but “girl” distances me from my maturity with a flippant, linguistic knockback in time. Is it to say that fannishness is only for the young and naive? That you must outgrow your affection for a film or series or band, or that you have to eschew that type of adoration in order to be viewed as a “proper” adult?
Now, despite my misgivings about the word, I still identify as a fangirl. Perhaps it’s out of defiance for the people who look down on us. As long as it makes you happy, there is nothing wrong with loving something with your whole heart and shaping your world and life around it. Most of my tattoos are related to the K-pop groups and TV that impacted me positively. I’m literally making a mosaic of my most precious media on my skin. And people want to mock, belittle, or deride that dedication?
That’s unfathomable, yet I see it constantly in both reality and fiction. American films and television especially love to insult fangirls. The creative team’s scorn is blatant in the styling and writing, often depicting the fan as rabidly obsessive, cringe-worthy, unhygienic, and delusional or downright dangerous. I’m sure a few unflattering caricatures come to mind immediately.
So, when I decided to watch M. Night Shyamalan’s Trap (2024), I felt a familiar sense of foreboding, only for my apprehension to fade instantly. Trap follows a serial killer who attends a pop concert with his daughter only to discover the whole event is an attempt to catch him. But I’m not interested in discussing the protagonist or the overall plot. Because what struck me—and stuck with me—most about the thriller is how respectfully Shyamalan treats his preteen fangirl character.
In Trap, Riley is intelligent and perceptive. She is also highly emotional and enamored with the pop star known as Lady Raven. Riley gushes about Lady Raven, buys her merch, and knows the lyrics and choreography for every song. Riley’s off-key singing and awkward moves are endearing, not embarrassing. She cheers, screams, and cries. While her dad, Cooper, doesn’t exactly understand the appeal, he offers unwavering support.
Most notably, Cooper does not judge, criticize, or dismiss Riley. His confusion is merely a common side effect of parenting—the older generation baffled by the contemporary culture. Riley’s commitment to Lady Raven also mirrors her filial devotion to Cooper; Riley knows the setlist and can see that the concert is going as planned, and she knows her dad’s habits and mannerisms well enough to notice when he starts to act suspicious.
Overall, what Trap does best is subvert expectations for both the characters and the audience. Riley expects her father to be her role model and friend, not a murderer. She expects Lady Raven to be an untouchable celebrity, yet Lady Raven is humble and heroic. Finally, I never expected a fangirl and her idol to have such pivotal roles or be framed with such sincerity. Yet the writer/director shows how that relationship can literally change and save lives. Forget the Sixth Sense—a realistic, respected fangirl is the greatest twist of M. Night Shyamalan’s career.