20 Years On, D.E.B.S.‘ Campy Lesbian Romance Is Still a Delight to Behold

By Anna Govert  |  January 22, 2024 | 12:30pm
Movies Features Queer Film
20 Years On, D.E.B.S.‘ Campy Lesbian Romance Is Still a Delight to Behold
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We conduct a nationwide manhunt for you and you’re boning the suspect? Did you think this was a joke? “Let’s direct federal resources and man hours so I can have my collegiate lesbian fling in style!”

When D.E.B.S. premiered at Sundance Film Festival 20 years ago, the film received a mixed reception. Lauded for its campy comedic beats by some and skewered for its unseriousness by others, director Angela Robinson’s first feature film was relatively misunderstood at the time, but has since been reclaimed as one of queer cinema’s greatest masterpieces. A spiritual sibling to last year’s off-beat hit Bottoms and sharing the same early-2000s je ne sais quoi as Bring It On, D.E.B.S. is a campy, queer triumph, poking fun at genre conventions and maintaining its tongue-in-cheek, self-aware energy to deliver a lesbian rom-com-spy-romp mashup that remains unmatched by queer cinema to this day.

The film follows Amy Bradshaw (Sara Foster), a superspy within the D.E.B.S. (Discipline, Energy, Beauty, Strength) organization, whose agents work alongside Homeland Security, the National Guard, and every other relevant international security force to protect the U.S. from threats—all while decked out in tiny plaid skirts, button-up shirts, and a tie to match. Amy and her teammates—hotheaded leader Max (Meagan Good), unaffected Dominique (Devon Aoki) and naïve Janet (Jill Ritchie)—were chosen using a secret test within the SAT that measures spy aptitude, with Amy herself achieving a perfect score, and her team’s effectiveness in the field is only elevated by her star status. But when Amy comes face to face with international supervillainess Lucy Diamond (Jordana Brewster), she begins to rethink her future as her charming enemy opens her world beyond the confines of stifling spyfare.

Featuring questionable greenscreen and a classically 2000s soundtrack, D.E.B.S. is deeply unserious and astronomically stupid, riffing on a specific type of brainless genre flick with a clear and undeniable affection. While it may have been easy to fall into the same traps of the films its trying to satirize, this film never takes itself seriously, applying tropes from within the lesbian subgenre, the action genre, and the heteronormative rom-com to poke fun at the most repeated story conventions, all while simultaneously filling a gap within each genre as well. The effortless and hilarious crossover between its various moving parts allow it to remain unique and fresh, while offering twists on elements we’ve seen on screen over and over again. 

Every stereotypical action sequence is undercut (read: enhanced) by the blunt comedy within D.E.B.S.; one of the very first scenes features an obligatory info-dump on Lucy, complete with holograms of newspaper clippings and “she’s the most dangerous woman in the world”-hyperbole—only for a waitress to walk right through their briefing screen because they’re doing this in the middle of the academy’s cafeteria…and they ordered breakfast. The world-threatening meeting between Lucy and a Russian assassin is actually just a blind date; Lucy and Amy’s first meet-cute involves them pointing guns in each others’ faces; the stereotypical action themes and beats are simply tools to bring Lucy and Amy together, and the contrast between their villainous and heroic lifestyles is used to ultimately subvert the stereotypical lesbian story beats the film utilizes. 

From the overbearing ex-boyfriend to the bad girl corruption angle, D.E.B.S. takes the tired conventions of closeted lesbianism and homophobia and folds them seamlessly into the film’s sincere bedrock beneath the camp. Queerness is baked into the DNA of this script, taking conventional spy tropes that can often be allegorically queer and making them explicit. In one of the film’s most grounded scenes, D.E.B.S. higher-up Mr. Phipps (Michael Clarke Duncan) tells Amy that her perfect score came from her uncanny ability to lie—she’s the perfect spy because she’s the perfect liar. Where other films would leave the allegory unspoken, D.E.B.S. explicitly connects Amy’s well-practiced life of lies to a queer existence, and her perfect score shifts from a badge of honor into a manifestation of her greatest fear: simply being herself. 

What started as a short film (also written and directed by Robinson), about a secret agent who continually gets kidnapped so she can have quickies with an international supervillainess, is expanded upon into more of a cat-and-mouse game, where the life of a super-spy is a metaphor for closeting and the confines of those plaid D.E.B. ties mirror the confines of our society. At its heart, it’s about a girl removing herself from those boundaries and ultimately going after the life and career she wants; at its most ridiculous, its central characters run around in miniskirts and point comically large guns at each other. D.E.B.S. contains multitudes. 

Beyond its grander musings on society and the fun it pokes at both traditional lesbian and spy films, D.E.B.S. is also a delightful rom-com. Brewster is the picture of an early aughts heartthrob. With a crooked smile and a butterfly-inducing charm (and an outsized hatred for the entire continent of Australia), she’s the sapphic equivalent of a Heath Ledger, and the perfect bad girl with a heart of gold. One of the best sequences in the film is Lucy’s forgiveness tour, where she gives back all the art and money that she stole (in burlap sacks with giant dollar signs printed on them, no less) in an effort to win Amy back. After giddily undoing all her bad deeds alongside her best friend and head mercenary Scud (a delightful Jimmi Simpson), Lucy literally writes Amy’s name in the sky in front of a diamond and moodily sings “A Little Respect” by Erasure into a pool cue. 

And of course, D.E.B.S. would be nothing without the chemistry between Brewster and Foster, and the dynamic relationship established between Lucy and Amy. Their cat-and-mouse game is simultaneously thrilling and yet without major stakes—you know they’re going to be together in the end, but the journey to get there is just as fun each watch-through. As Amy struggles with her own identity and place within this organization that she’s been forced into, Lucy is an aspirational figure. She represents a life lived outside of the bounds of society’s boxes, and ultimately helps Amy become the free and brave individual she was always meant to be. After a repeat of their guns-drawn meet-cute and a round of blessings and goodbyes from Amy’s teammates to the happy couple, Lucy and Amy drive off into the sunset together, unburdened by their previous disconnects and the restrictive forces that aimed to keep them apart. 

In the 20 years since this film debuted, there is still a distinct lack of lesbian films (let alone lesbian rom-coms) that are as effortlessly queer, undeniably heartfelt and innately rewatchable. D.E.B.S. exists in a category all its own, distinctly different from the all-too-frequent Depressing Lesbian Period Pieces or its frankly less charming modern peers. Lesbian cinema should be allowed to be fun, funny, stupid and sincere, and D.E.B.S. represents those ideals to the nth degree. From the inclusion of lesbian icon Holland Taylor to its joyously ridiculous message (Love really is harder than crime!), D.E.B.S. remains a cornerstone of lesbian cinema, and a cult classic always worth revisiting. 

Anna Govert is the TV Editor of Paste Magazine. For any and all thoughts about TV, film, and her unshakable love of Buffy the Vampire Slayer, you can follow her @annagovert.

 
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