Work Text:
“I’m telling you stories. Trust me.”
- The Passion, Jeanette Winterson
“Baron” is “Marmalade.” When Otis realises that the Babydoll Bandit, whom Baron reintroduced to him as “Marmalade,” was actually Baron (“Baron”) all along, then confirms it with photographic evidence of the MAMA-lade tattoo, he is thrown off-kilter. Defeated, almost petulant, he is rendered impotent mid-chase, unsure what he should even be on the lookout for when asked for further instruction for the FBI’s pursuit. He sulks: “There is no girl.”
The audience knows better. Baron – Marmalade – obscuring her features via a sleek blonde bob, large sunglasses, long sleeves and dainty black gloves, breezes past her would-be captors. Her bright yellow getaway car and dalmatian print dress perhaps bookend the light blue car and cow-print trousers of her introduction to the audience (including Otis, and by extension - literal, due to his wire - the whole FBI team), indicating that the story is about to divert away from the Marmalade mythos. Nevertheless, it is ironic that just as Otis accepts the futility of searching for the girl, she once more eludes him.
Baron is sunk low in his own sense of futility, his life “amounting to a pile of beans,” when he meets Marmalade, as he narrates to Otis. Marmalade spins into view, the frame mimicking Baron’s eye line as he rolls over off the ground; a not so subtle implication that she is here to turn his life on its axis. He fumbles their initial introduction; stuck in a rut, he is unable to conjure anything to excite Marmalade beyond the “nothing” of his mundane town and she leaves him.
She returns in response to a violent outburst, as Baron thrashes a tree branch against the metal swing set. Insofar as the Marmalade in his story represents the Baron/Marmalade of reality, one might view this as the genesis of the part of himself that was formed out of impulse and rage in response to his circumstances. Their introduction occurs after Baron has lost his job and been informed of the rising cost of his mama’s medication (brand name Pleonexia, meaning ‘avarice’). Although Baron remains largely docile in his narrative, it is his frustration at the rising cost of Pleonexia that most outwardly rebels against this. He puts on a brave face and remains relatively restrained when he remarks to his mama: “Them people’s lower than a snake’s belly in a wagon rut.” but, in conversation with Marmalade, he is allowed an outlet through which his grief and anger can gush into a rant:
“Yeah, can’t no one afford it, except some greedy man out there. And, and he’s so, he’s so rich, he, he, he just buys another boat when his first one get wet!”
His disdain is still couched in figurative imagery, which lends a certain distance; whilst skimming closer to the truth about the man, Don Frankels, after whose pharmaceutical business Baron has adopted his alias, (the earlier “them people” is here replaced by “some greedy man” and singular pronouns), the use of the figurative and fairly comical image of the rich man buying another boat pulls this back into the hypothetical; it can be understood as Baron talking about “the Man,” that is, the systems which subjugate.
Baron’s utterance is clumsy; the stops and starts could illustrate loss of control, as with anger, but could also indicate his inexperience with expressing these ideas. Marmalade has unlocked that part for him, and her response “When the system fails you, you just gotta create your own damn system.” will become the next step. In reality, this is a conclusion Baron/Marmalade reached alone.
When Baron first joins Marmalade in her car, the musical piece “Reconstructed Form” begins to play; as will be evidenced, their own union is not that of a pair, but of a merging into one being. Baron describes to Otis how he and Marmalade are “like one person glued from the same cloth.” This might sell Otis on Baron’s naïve view of an instant connection with his kindred spirit, but in hindsight is a sly twist on the truth of their identity.
Regardless, Marmalade is shown to merge with Baron and his life. The day after Baron allows her to take over his bedroom, he finds that Marmalade has donned the boiler suit he wore when he met her; later, on learning about her ostensible anosmia, he offers to let her “borrow [his] nose.” She is a vampire or parasite; he has invited her in and she is encroaching in ever closer proximity: his town, his house, his bedroom, his clothes, his body.
She wears Baron’s teal boiler suit tied at her waist, along with a pink tank top and her blue bra from the day before. This is a merging of their clothes and selves (through Marmalade at least; Baron retains his own clothes). As stereotypical gender markers, the pink and blue colour mix could act as an overt symbol of Baron and Marmalade’s unity. This is overblown to camp excess in Baron’s Samba dance sequence fantasy, wherein the masked-up couple wear dance versions of their heist outfits, with added sequins and ruffles. The dance begins with a passionate kiss, so that mask slots against mask like puzzle pieces. The visual is of a connection of multiple selves, due to the three faces on the masks; this idea is then echoed in the course of their dance, as multiple Marmalades and Barons appear and form a kaleidoscope of pink and blue. The use of reflection plays with the idea of multiple or split selves, or multiple aspects to oneself.
Outside of the dream sequence, their kiss in the car before the robbery transfers some of Marmalade’s lipstick onto Baron’s lips. From the profile view shown after he moves into the driver’s seat, the glimpse of magenta almost looks purposefully applied. When Baron’s eyes slide to the side, towards the camera (a glance, not quite sustained enough to feel like a true fourth-wall break), the audience can see how starkly his eyes and his parted, panting lips appear as the sole evidence of a living being behind the artificiality of the double-bagged facial disguise; the majority of the face and head is concealed by the “extra protection” of pink balaclava and theatrical three-faced mask. Their outfits swapped, you could mistake one for the other.
Baron will later look to the audience, that is, to camera, when he is stopped by the police in his blonde wig disguise. This time he stares down with more confidence, lipstick fully applied, eyes again peeking out, gazing over the top of wide framed sunglasses. Regardless of whether there is any emotional truth to the fear suggested in Baron in the pre-bank robbery scene, this parallel contrast now displays Baron as someone quietly confident and fully in-control of the situation. It is not his first job.
In a similar vein, as the pair drive away from the bank, Marmalade laughs whilst Baron screams in response; in parallel to this, when he realises he has managed to evade the FBI in the above mentioned scene, Baron laughs and yells raucously, like Marmalade, slapping the steering wheel in jubilation. He is in the same position as before, as the getaway driver, but this time with Marmalade’s disposition, underlining that Marmalade is part of him.
To return to the initial heist disguise, it is notable that the imagery of dolls recurs in the film. The masks themselves look like creepy doll faces, made uncanny through the juxtaposition of an artificial face (or three) to replace the real. Marmalade uses the nickname ‘puppet’ from the moment they introduce themselves to each other: “Well Baron, you look like a freaking puppet flailing around out there!” Whilst referring to the style of dress she wears, ‘doll’ within the moniker the Baby Doll Bandit also corresponds to this imagery, which is enhanced by the fact of her very pink and camp costume recalling playing dress-up with dolls.
All together, these highlight themes of performance and of “play,” which interact in different ways. There is a playful, fun tone to the film and to the heist. Marmalade shrieks, childlike, and chases Baron around clothing shops, an intertitle describing this as “team bonding;” when training Baron to fire a gun, she jumps and waves the gun around, pretending to shoot it whilst vocalising “pew pew!” sounds. These scenes are invariably offset with moments of darker tension, such as when uneasy music backgrounds the times that Marmalade tries on one of the masks, or when, following her loud laughter at Baron being knocked to the ground from the force of firing the gun, she takes it from him and, with focused rage, shoots three times in quick succession.
The masks themselves are acquired by robbery; Marmalade brandishes her gun in the store and pistol-whips the cashier to gain access to the register when he refuses to get on the ground. Baron is horrified, his terror reflected in the customer who cowers and looks up at him pleading; despite his fear, through his continued association with Marmalade, he is an accomplice. Marmalade tries to soothe Baron by separating that action from herself:
“Hey, baby, I was just playing. Look at me. It’s just me.”
This highlights the darker implications of ‘play’ in this film, because the audience has now seen in practice what has thus far been rendered as a madcap plan. Even if temporary, the roles they play are still rooted in a dangerous reality.
She refers to the terrified employee as “that kid” and “dummy” which downplays her actions, again through the imagery of children paying. It is notable that “dummy” can also refer to a doll or puppet like figure. Baron, whom she refers to as “puppet” was also scared in this moment. By using “dummy” as an insult to dismiss the cashier’s reaction, a parallel is drawn, thus there is an implication that Marmalade looks down on Baron too. This adds to the tension of the scene, due to the potential threat she could pose to him that this exposes. Marmalade says “It’s just me.” but that is of little reassurance if one is not sure to which version that refers. Her volatility provokes questions on which is the real disguise. Nevertheless, she reassures him she was just “being stupid funny to get the jitters out before tomorrow,” as if she were rehearsing a play.
The FBI is putting on its own play as a surreptitious, if convoluted, form of interrogation. Local prison officer Chief Aldo Dixon admonishes Otis for “playing dress up” and tries to take control of the case back from him, favouring more direct techniques of getting Baron to break, but this is framed as a minority view. In this way, Marmalade/Baron and Otis and the FBI share a similarly slant approach to gaining what they want. They are ‘players’ (i.e. actors), disguising and recreating themselves (like dolls or puppets) for the specific audience that they are ‘playing’ (i.e. fooling or manipulating).
To Otis, who believes he is (in this latter sense) playing the naïve, “fresh-meat” Baron, Marmalade’s choice of the pet-name “puppet” feeds into his own conceptions of a criminal cuckooing and exploiting a vulnerable mark, manipulating his every move as one would with a puppet. What Otis doesn’t realise is that Marmalade is in the cell with him, crouched below the stage and waving Baron, as her dim-witted puppet disguise, in Otis’ face.
There is a certain irony in not realising he is joined by a fellow actor, when the whole cell is a stage for his own performance as an experienced inmate. Otis is surrounded by artifice. The “prison guard”, Officer Cambio, who is also revealed to be in on Otis’ sting operation, revels in the art of hiding in plain sight as he turns his performance into that of a budding actor reciting scene-relevant Shakespeare quotations at every turn (although, disguise shorn later in the film, he still quotes: “A man in his lifetime plays many parts.” so maybe he is just like that day-to-day).
As well as actor, Baron is an unbeknownst storyteller, a Scheherazade seducing Otis with her tale, thus ensuring her escape. “Do you believe our love?” Baron asks, when Otis presses him to reveal the location he is supposed to meet Marmalade. Insofar as the audience might believe Baron’s character and story entirely, this is a question of mutual trust, with Baron needing reassurance that Otis will help him escape and not simply seek out Marmalade at the secret location alone, just as “Otis” needs to trust that Baron will give him the money. In reality, it is about whether Otis buys Marmalade’s performance as “Baron”, that is, someone he can easily tail to find his real target.
The audience’s introduction to Baron is of him being arrested, then going through the prison’s administrative process, including shots of him alone in an interrogation room with a blank notepad in front of him, presumably for his confession. His nail anxiously carves into the wood of the pencil he holds, which could denote Baron as an unreliable narrator, as the writing tool, the symbolic authorial pen, is compromised in form.
There are other instances which seed the concept of narrative unreliability. As the prison guard leads Baron through the prison, there is a shot of a prisoner’s hand through the bars of his cell; across his fingers is tattooed the word “LIES.”
In terms of framing, Baron begins his initial narration “Once upon a time, I was just a wee boy…” which directly alludes to a tradition of fairy tales and make-believe. Similarly, Otis uses the imperative “press play” to invite Baron to begin his story, then “fast-forward” to prompt him to skip past his childhood, which recalls recorded media. In terms of metanarrative these phrases highlight the film’s artificial construction, as well as more generally alluding to the constructed nature of any recollection of one’s life.
Early into Baron’s story he either misspeaks, or Otis mishears, ‘crochet’ for ‘croquet;’ Otis also initially interprets Baron’s use of “red-hot” as referencing the colour of Marmalade’s hair. Once Marmalade decides to rob a bank, step-by-step intertitles outlining the pair’s preparation appear on screen. These are spoken by Marmalade, which corresponds to her taking over the narrative as she is the dominant figure enacting her plan. They include, with the first title, one of her trademark misspellings (“steak out”), which is then corrected; another indication that narratives can be overwritten and revised. These details act as reminders that the audience is viewing a story within a story and they draw attention to the ways in which narratives can be crafted or altered.
Returning to the idea of the ‘players’ in this story, one might consider the ‘roles’ one is said to ‘perform’ in life, that is, the inherent contradictions in a person, which are not necessarily indicative of the unreliable, but of the multi-faceted. Separate to Marmalade, Baron performs multiple roles in his narrative. He is the sole breadwinner and a carer to his mama, checking the machines she is hooked up to, rubbing her feet and administering her pills, but there is also a degree of the amateur or childish in his manner. The house is sunny and warm (the colour yellow permeates so many scenes within the film, bright and hopeful), but the shot of a large pile of dishes left unwashed in the sink could act as shorthand for establishing his character as overwhelmed by his duties. Baron feeds Mama Eda her pills by shoving them into a Moon Pie she then bites into; he tenderly, but entirely unprofessionally, uses his finger to push some of the excess crumbs past her lips, before taking his own bite from the same Moon Pie. He is very much a son trying to care for a loved one, but lacking the requisite skills to do so effectively. This highlights the precarity of their situation and the responsibility Baron shoulders. In the context of the story he recounts to Otis, this presents a clear motive for his subsequent actions, but it might also reflect Baron’s guilt or sense of inadequacy.
It may then seem like Marmalade is stoking Baron’s ego to better manipulate him when she says, “[It’s] like you’ve been sent here to protect me, like some knight in shining armour.” She takes advantage of this imposed role as protector when she invents a baby as an understudy of a motive to commit the robbery, following Mama’s death. This reading could be supported by the fact she later later mocks him for not actually fulfilling this knightly role; she scoffs at his prayers that “we are scared,” pointing out that he isn’t even going to enter the bank with her. At his protest that he is the getaway driver she retorts: “Just to be clear, is it, is it gonna be you or Jesus taking the wheel?” (Of course, the answer is “It’s gonna be both of us.” It’s always both in this story.) However, as with his mama, Baron shows concern and care for Marmalade too. In one scene, Baron enters his bedroom to Marmalade sleeping on her front, half-hanging off the bed, childlike. Baron appears like a giant in his childhood bedroom, the bed and ceiling too low for his adult body; although this signals his own arrested development, stuck in his role as son and carer to his ailing mother, in this moment, he cuts an older, parental figure, tucking Marmalade in and kissing her brow.
Despite his apprehensions and fear around the heist rendering him inadequate within that context, Baron does actively consider practical solutions. The day after he is fired from the post office, he returns home after a day of unsuccessful job hunting to find Marmalade lying upside down on the sofa watching TV. Likewise, he is in the course of outlining plans to gain money from the spare room when she first introduces the idea of robbing a bank, and, following Mama Eda’s death he considers getting his job back from the post office. Therefore, even if motivated by fear, to some degree he is also taking on a traditional, responsible, adult approach to their troubles.
Of course, underlying this is always the potential motive of “Baron”, as narrator, downplaying the threat he poses in order to gain trust from Otis. However, it is important to balance the consideration of the unreliable narrator, with analysis of the characters as presented, and therefore the potential symbolic, if not literal, relevance of their actions to our understanding of them. Marmalade/Baron is the robber and the getaway driver alone, therefore Baron’s fear can be read as part of Marmalade’s inner conflict in carrying out the heist. In this context, one might consider such scenes as an exploration of duality.
As aforementioned, it is a burst of sudden violence which draws Marmalade back to Baron after their first short-lived meeting. Frustrated after letting the girl of his dreams drive off, Baron picks up a branch and begins thrashing it against the swing-set. Over ice cream, Marmalade questions why he did this, confiding that she does the same, “when I was a little girl at least.” Baron casts his eyes down, unable or unwilling to articulate it:
“Oh, uh, it’s like I, I can’t describe it. I don’t, I don’t know.”
Like the shock of mild-mannered Baron’s earlier outburst, this is a loaded moment. Baron’s inability to explain could correspond to the framing of this behaviour as child-like, suggested through Marmalade’s parallel to her younger self. It is a display of rage or uncompromised id; like a child, he perhaps couldn’t sublimate his frustration in another way, nor can he now intellectualise it. Earlier, the idea was explored that Marmalade originates in response to Baron’s anger, allowing him an outlet to develop and express it further, as she prepares him to rebel against the system. This could be viewed as another example of that.
However, there is also the possibility of prevarication or repression. Baron plods on in life, passive to circumstances: as aforementioned, he tempers the full extent of his anger in front of his mama, aiming to reassure her as her carer; similarly, although visibly crestfallen when Ms Jenkins speaks of her granddaughter’s wedding, he brushes off her encouragements about him finding someone and focusing on himself, simply stating that his mama needs him. He is not allowing himself to be fully attuned to his true feelings. Later, he admits to Marmalade “If not for my mama I’d be long gone here come tomorrow.” another indication that his sense of duty is holding him back, not allowing him to progress or change.
In this scene, Baron ostensibly believes his mama’s story about his dad being an astronaut. Whilst this is presented in initial contrast to Marmalade’s streetwise demeanour, attained through a life spent in foster care, it belies something darker – the implication is that his mama made up a story to conceal that his dad either abandoned his family or was not otherwise present in their life.
Nevertheless, Baron is still seemingly shielded from darker realities. When trying to tease more information out of Marmalade regarding her past, he even mistakenly uses “fosters” rather than “foster;” in the rear-view mirror Marmalade can be seen rolling her eyes when he broaches the topic. In her own way, she has occluded reality through her initially blasé, bare-bones summation of her life:
“Well my mom, my dear old momsie, ended up marrying some other fuckin’ dickhead. So yeah, I fuckin’ bailed. Again.”
And,
“…then I met this sleazebag out in Bug Bay, but he gave me Big Bertha [her car]”
The audience can glean that the subtext is more complicated than these simple declaratives suggest. She omits the realities of what running away multiple times from an unhappy family unit entails, and the possible implications of associating with a “sleazebag.” Whilst a wide-range of behaviour can be denoted by the term ‘sleaze,’ including ‘low morals,’ criminality or the sordid, the term often has a sexual connotation which could range from the unpleasant to the abusive. As with the “dickhead” and her running away from home, the audience senses the potential unspoken danger of this past interaction or relationship. Marmalade claims the man gave her the car, but Baron’s awed or doubtful question “He just gave it to you?” and Marmalade’s repetition draw attention to this claim, thus allowing pause for scrutiny:
“He just gave it to you?”
“Yep.”
“Hm!”
“He just gave it to me.”
One could argue that the apparent free-spirited nature of her narrative in fact covers the truth that she perhaps stole this from a shady character, who could even possibly be a dealer or a pimp, however, such specific details are a departure into pure speculation with little foregrounding.
Whereas Baron struggled to express himself to Marmalade, (“I can’t describe it. I don’t, I don’t know”) Marmalade iterates that Baron does not want to know the reality of her past; it is a more explicitly deliberate withholding. Just as Marmalade tried to coax more out of him in the ice-cream parlour, now Baron prods an ever-angrier Marmalade until she explodes, emotionally contrasting their two lives: “My life ain’t like yours alright. You don’t wanna know what the fuck I’ve been through!”
Interestingly, in the next scene, when they are sourcing disguises, Marmalade will instead draw comparison between their two lives: “You know, you and me, we’ve been kicked around our whole lives.” Viewing the two scenes without the knowledge of Baron/Marmalade, this could simply further Marmalade’s characterisation as unreliable. The apparent contradiction following so soon after her previous statement, suggests she is manipulating Baron by feigning empathy she may not necessarily believe in; she is speaking for him, presenting the heist as the two of them against the rest of the world, to gain him as an accomplice, when, in reality, this is what she wants, and it is just Marmalade against the world. However, if the viewer approaches these scenes knowing that Baron and Marmalade’s lives are one and the same, they take on different significance.
If one can see Marmalade as a version of Baron, it might follow that one can understand Baron as a facet of Marmalade. For instance, where she can be read as a representation of his anger or impulse, he might be a representation of her own ‘naivety’ or repression. Her demeanour with Baron in these scenes could represent Marmalade looking back (and down) on a version of herself that has not suffered as she has. Although, given the fact she describes being in foster care her whole life and the implied early age at which she suffered Frankels’ abuse, this is perhaps less likely a division in time, in the sense of before and after a particular traumatic event or hardship. The scenes may more likely serve as a representation of her inability to repress, because her supposedly symbolically repressed side is the one trying to coax this information out of her.
During the final act of the film, Otis discovers that Marmalade’s story of the man who abused and locked her and other children in dog cages is in fact true. Baron promised, when he first began his story to Otis, that “Well, you’ll see, it’s all about them details,” and it is indeed the details that solve the puzzle: the white cane, the left eye twitching in anger, the company name “Baron Pharmaceuticals.” Just as Otis had to come to terms with Marmalade being a fiction, he now has to confront that “Baron” is in fact the ploy; furthermore, the story he may have since discounted as belonging to a fictional character is revealed to be true. The confusion is important in ensuring Baron and Marmalade remain entwined. Marmalade was not just a device for Baron to evade capture; Baron and Marmalade exist and can be understood through each other. What Baron narrated to Otis may not adhere to strict facts but neither is its truth diminished.
Separately to Otis’ discovery, the audience will hear Baron/Marmalade specify that the Pleonexia is for his “foster mom.” This is an explicit allusion to Marmalade’s past, because thus far the story had maintained that it was Baron’s now deceased birth mom who had needed the medication. There is little room left to doubt that Marmalade’s story of foster families and child sexual abuse is his own.
With this in mind, the manner in which the account of abuse is initially introduced to the audience (and to Otis) is worth examining. Baron needs to get this information to Otis in order to eventually lead him to arrest Frankels. Through the split self, Baron transfers the pain onto another actor; he is creating his own distance from his trauma by using a story within a story, and placing the abuse on what Otis understands to be a person separate from Baron. In this way, this scene maintains a duality of raw vulnerability and guardedness, comparable to how Marmalade looks away from Baron to tell of her abuse. It is confession through story. Again, the story is not necessarily factual. Here is a conversation which never happened, but which is used as the vehicle via which to have a version of the same conversation with Otis.
Marmalade’s insistence that Baron would not want to know could mask her fear of voicing her abuse, and perhaps Baron’s own apprehension of revealing this to Otis. But Baron paints a reality wherein the lover accepts the truth with no judgement and reiterates his title as “[her] knight in shining armour.” If one transposes the ‘confession’ to the reality external to Baron’s narrative, it follows that Marmalade/Baron is now depending on Otis to slay the dragon.
Yet, in retrospect, the scene might also be understood as a reckoning with the self, in the sense of processing past trauma. Baron’s reassurances are then self-soothing. If Baron is a cipher for the repression of feelings, after this scene he is no longer without that knowledge. This represents another merging or synthesis of the two, with Baron accepting the knowledge, thus progressing further out of his previous naïve role, and with Marmalade seeming to accept Baron’s support; this arguably results in a moment of genuine tenderness between the pair, sealed with a kiss.
Fittingly, Marmalade follows up this display of vulnerability with a burst of her loud laughter as she excitedly heads into the store to look for disguises; here is where she steals the masks, threatening the store employee with her gun. As previously examined, Marmalade’s excitable or childish behaviour is often offset by a sense of danger; she is an unpredictable force sometimes framed as a threat.
Marmalade exhibits behaviours which, depending on framing, could be seen as those of an antagonist or anti-hero. There is sometimes a mean edge to her treatment of Baron. In the first day of meeting him she gives him an arguably condescending nickname, pranks him by shoving her ice-cream in his face, runs over his bicycle (accidentally, although not entirely remorsefully), and unceremoniously hints at him to vacate his own bedroom and leave her alone. In themselves, these are not damning. Lightly teasing a friend is not unusual, and could be seen as a quick way to break tension following the previously examined awkwardness of Baron’s inability to express his emotions; likewise, it is perfectly reasonable to not want a man you have just met to remain in the same bedroom as you. However, in their number, and in the context of her later behaviour which implies she is manipulating Baron, such actions suggest she is uncaring of his feelings. More explicitly, following the heist, and Baron beginning to question everything, she ‘light-heartedly’ mocks his prior distress, “Did the big baby get his panties out of a bunch? […] I’m just playing with you.”
She is presented as dishonest. Her congenital anosmia proving to be false is the obvious giveaway in Baron’s story that she is untrustworthy, but further to this are numerous slips ups, which suggest her true intentions. For instance, she at one points refers to “my dream life” before correcting herself to include Baron; this also suggests selfishness. Similarly, when she later tells Baron “It’s just the two of us against the rest of the world,” he has to remind her of the baby with which she claimed she was pregnant.
Alongside her suspicious knowledge of how to carry out a robbery are her remarks that subtly imply past experience, for example: “I got a feeling about this one.” Whilst this could refer to this bank being a preferable target over the previous, overexposed one, it could also be read in the context of prior robberies. When she tries to reassure Baron that this will be their “last job” he counters, “We ain’t even had our first job yet,” drawing attention to the fact that, whilst true for this version of Baron, this is not the case for Marmalade. She admits this to Baron when he questions her in the safe house, but at that point Baron’s trust is compromised, such that, like the audience, he doesn’t know what to believe either. Although she seemingly confesses, one might question her claim that the other robberies only garnered “chump change.” It is unclear whether this reflects reality, or whether it is an attempt to diminish her previous actions (crimes, if you will), and therefore lend credence to her promise of this being the last job.
Her glee as she squeals “Money money money money!” and literally rolls around in their loot, in classic heist film tradition, is juxtaposed with Baron’s solemn and guilty hunched posture, putting their different goals at odds. Whilst Baron is often presented as a passive figure, insofar as one can assign him a goal, other than pleasing Marmalade, this would be to help his mama get better; in contrast, for Marmalade, the money is the goal, hence her pleasure in this moment. In this way, their characters and morals are presented to be misaligned, despite the fact that Baron is an accessory to her crimes. Marmalade is suggested to be detrimental to Baron, as under her influence he seemingly acts against his morals.
It is explicitly stated at several points that Marmalade operates outside of society’s moral paradigms. Marmalade tells Baron on separate occasions:
“When the system fails you, you gotta create your own damn system,”
“It’s time we make our own rules”
”You know, you and me, we’ve been kicked around our whole lives. It’s time we start kicking back.”
In his narration, Baron also states “Marmalade had her own set of rules for everything,” during a scene which shows how she pulls Baron to her side. They are making out in a general store before the cashier prompts them to collect their change. Marmalade challenges the cashier that she gave him $20 instead of $10. She asks Baron to back her up, which he does, despite the fact he is tricking someone he obviously knows (he addresses Gary by name, and Gary goes on to send his best to Eda); Marmalade is grooming him into low-level criminal activity.
There is a possible reading of the film wherein ‘Marmalade,’ in terms of the assumed identity and criminal activities that she represents, is purely a means to the end of helping Baron’s mama. Although possible to overlook (and intentionally so) in the presentation of Baron’s narrative, in retrospect certain details can reveal that the love story told is familial rather than romantic. In the cell with Otis, Baron begins to narrate his childhood with his mama before he is interrupted by Otis asking him to “cut the fat”. Eager to get to details about Marmalade, he dismisses the emotional significance of Baron’s focus, and in his impatience (and in his own character of seasoned prisoner) even exclaims: “Fuck your mama”. For the audience too, this moment is framed comically, as the combination of sentimental music and golden sun-soaked wheat field lends a touch of the overwrought to a scene which appears to have been irrelevantly foregrounded, before Baron is forced by Otis’ bluntness to revert his focus to recounting the main story.
The Pleonexia prescription Baron collects is under the name Eda Lamram. In case the viewer did not gather the significance of this, the film utilises a shot of Baron placing the pills in front of a magnifying mirror on the pharmacy counter, which has the double effect of allowing the audience to discern the mirrored meaning, and of further contributing to the theme of doubles and multiple sides to oneself, as Baron too is reflected. Baron seeds the notion of reading words backwards during his earlier narrated ice cream date/bank stakeout with Marmalade, although, again, this is a detail that is rendered as insignificant chatter in the context of the scene. Indeed it is a detail which isn’t necessary to understand Eda Lamram as marmalade backwards, but which nevertheless demonstrates how calculated Baron’s tale is.
Even prior to the mirrored reveal, one can observe that “Mama Eda” is phonetically similar to Marmalade. This might initially be understood as a thematic link between the two characters, perhaps setting them up as competing priorities for Baron, especially as Marmalade consumes more of his attention and life, to the possible detriment of Mama Eda. However, the additional context of Eda’s surname (or at least the surname under which the prescription is collected) also supports the idea that “Marmalade” revolves around Eda Lamram and her needs, because the two names are indelibly linked.
The prioritisation of Mama Eda is further shown through the MAMA-lade tattoo. Baron attributes his tattoo, the word ‘MAMA’ on a jar of orange marmalade, which is also reminiscent of prescription pill bottles, to a misspelling on the tattoo artist’s part. Given the length of time Baron deliberately shows off his tattoo (and clean-shaven ankle) to Otis, the latter perhaps might then question if the jar was tattooed after the mistake, since ‘MARMALADE’ would have never fit on that label; instead he ironically recalls Baron’s emphasis on the details mattering in order to pry more information about Marmalade’s puzzle piece neck tattoo. He is only able to put his own puzzle pieces together when he finds the jar of marmalade Baron left on a grave; the word ‘marmalade’ is crossed out and overwritten with ‘MAMA,’ impelling Otis to realise that the tattoo is a clue. He confirms with the CCTV images of the Babydoll Bandit that reveal she was Baron all along. The use of overwriting here could also suggest that Mama Eda supersedes ‘Marmalade’ in this story, in the sense that, as aforementioned, Baron’s love story is not romantic but familial. However, given that Marmalade is not entirely fictitious, in the sense that, firstly, Baron is Marmalade/the Babydoll Bandit, and secondly, Marmalade as a character can be seen as a version of Baron, this could also suggest Baron is putting his mama before himself.
In this reading, Marmalade represents the lengths Baron will go to for his mama. The more troubling aspects of Marmalade’s character, and any danger she seemingly presents to Baron’s mama are manifestations of Baron’s anxieties and his conflicted feelings of using criminal means to obtain his mama’s medication, even if he believes that “this is the only way.”
Whilst his mama is clearly important to him, however, there are indications that Marmalade holds a more ‘selfish’ importance to Baron. The meaning of this will be unpicked in the following section. The night before the robbery, Marmalade, sensing Baron’s doubts, initiates the following exchange:
“What do you want? Hm?”
“Hm?”
“I mean we got all the opportunity in the world. So, what do you want?”
“Well, I want Mama to get better-“
“No, puppet. What do you want, huh? What do you, Baron, need?”
“Oh, you. I want you. I need you.”
“Hm. I want you too. I want this. I want us. But this is the only way.”
Within the scene, this seems in contradiction to her earlier challenge of Baron not focusing on his own needs, because Baron has simply replaced his mama with Marmalade. Her acceptance of his answer is proof of her manipulation; she doesn’t care what Baron wants as long as it serves her, and Mama Eda is a distraction from that.
In retrospect, however, of Baron being Marmalade, one can see that she is in fact, what he wants: she is his dream girl, he her dream man. As they are one, the desire Baron/Marmalade expresses can then be interpreted as ‘selfish,’ in the sense that it lies outside of consideration of others’ needs, contrary to how the scene may initially appear. The dialogue depicts Baron’s longing for this part of himself. We have seen that even behind the smoke and mirrors, lies a symbolic truth to the story Baron tells. Here he is sub textually revealing that his dream girl is himself. It is not therefore unreasonable to interpret Baron/Marmalade as trans.
Through a queer lens, the presentation of Marmalade’s more unpalatable traits gains a somewhat tragic edge. When Baron introduces Marmalade to his mama, she is immediately loud in contrast with Baron’s soft voice, and Mama Eda appears disapproving, raising her eyebrows in distaste. The next day, Marmalade idly plays with Eda’s oxygen tube, as she sits on the latter’s bed, and when Baron presents her with a bouquet of flowers, leaps forward to hug him, jostling tubes and wires with little consideration for Eda’s comfort. It was previously examined that Marmalade and her methods are justified as the only way to save Baron’s mama, but here Marmalade is at odds with Mama Eda, perhaps suggesting that not everything about Marmalade is in Eda’s best interests. This is not necessarily negative, as self-actualisation sometimes requires breaking away from parents in some capacity, and existing as an individual who may not always be aligned with their parent(s). However, it could be argued that this mismatch is heightened here because it represents an attachment anxiety.
This anxiety is further heightened in scenes where desire for Marmalade is contrasted with Eda’s worsening condition. There are multiple times when Marmalade and Baron’s interactions are interrupted by his mama coughing, including the above mentioned introductory scene, in which Baron gazes longingly at Marmalade, only to have to rush off to assist his mama.
In another scene, Baron and Marmalade are in the kitchen, the former watching, mesmerised, as the latter dances along to “Groove is in the heart” by Deee-Lite; he continues staring at her as she feeds him a cracker. It is only when his mama coughs from the other room that Baron looks off to the side, but Marmalade gently places her finger under his chin to redirect his focus back to her, as she softly reassures: “Hey, you don’t gotta worry about her no more.” When Baron questions this, she responds “’Cause you got me now.” This phrasing lends itself to a couple of interpretations. The first is that she will help care for Mama Eda. This corresponds to the previously discussed notion of Marmalade as a means to help his mama; it could also suggest that he is able to draw strength through the recognition of this aspect of himself, thus no longer feel alone. Antithetically, one might consider this phrasing alongside the positioning within the narrative of Mama Eda and of Marmalade as two elements competing for Baron’s attention. “You don’t gotta worry about her […] ‘cause you got me now.” illustrates her intention to draw Baron into her scheme, therefore stealing his attention away from his mama.
Marmalade follows up this reassurance by bluntly telling Baron they should rob a bank. Again, the implication is that this is to help Eda, although within the story, it becomes apparent that this is something Marmalade desires for herself. In the face of Baron’s protests and uneasy apprehension, Marmalade kisses him and claims she likes him; that they’ve “got something special”, and that he is her “knight in shining armour.” Thus the scene is a seduction; selling the idea of robbing a bank is intertwined with the beginning of their romantic relationship.
A gifset by tumblr user rachelsennott captioned “Marmalade (2024) + gender,” (post/758546152169832448), includes Marmalade’s speech wherein she explains, (hushed, as if revealing a secret wisdom or voicing a desire so delicate it could easily shatter):
“There’s reality, right, and then there’s dreaming, up there […] But then there is this place that is right in-between: that’s right here, right fucking now.”
Viewed through the lens of gender, this presents the possibility of existing outside of the binary. Here “reality” stands in for Baron and his current life, “dreaming” for a seemingly unattainable ideal, in the girl of his dreams, Marmalade, and the “[place] right in-between” for their union. Earlier in the scene, Baron stated “I gotta get [mama] good, so maybe you and me can do some adventuring,” suggesting that his life with Marmalade is a dream to be postponed. Here, however, Marmalade offers an alternative: that they can begin to accept and express this part of themselves now, opening themselves up to new possibilities of the self. Baron is now the one to initiate the kiss following Marmalade’s speech, indicating his acceptance of her proposal of the in-between, but their mama’s coughing soon interrupts. Evidently, the union of their selves does not resolve every issue, and reality still persists.
In the scene where Baron and Marmalade are making out in the general store, and Marmalade then enlists Baron’s assistance in conning the store clerk, it seemingly takes the clerk mentioning Baron’s mother to remind him of her existence, as he panics and rushes back home to her. Although Baron is still shown caring for her when he returns home, this apparent lapse indicates to the audience that Marmalade is distracting Baron from his duties, both through the criminal activity he pursues using her persona, and through his desire for her, represented in this scene by a physical expression of lust.
Likewise, in the aforementioned scene where Marmalade tries to assuage Baron’s doubts about the heist by asking him what he wants, she brings her seduction to a climax by placing the three-faced mask onto Baron (and one on herself), climbing atop him and grinding against him.
“This is the only way.” Marmalade says, indicating the mask, thus the act of putting the mask on Baron feels emphatic, and almost ceremonial, like she is sealing a pact. The masks both disguise their actual faces and unify the two of them, as they now wear the same face(s); they denote both the heist itself, for which they are practically worn, and the blending of Baron and Marmalade into one. Within “This is the only way,” is the subtext that it is only as Marmalade (the acceptance of the queer self) that Baron can get what he wants.
Marmalade’s grinding is languid, undulating like a snake. This visual is enhanced by her snakeskin patterned trousers and the jangling non-diegetic music creating a sense of unease. Snake imagery has connotations of duplicity and temptation, both of which are relevant in this scene; Marmalade, as presented here is trying to manipulate Baron through seduction. However, one might further consider that snakes shed successive skins as they grow. Marmalade has worn these trousers over the last few days, such as when she teaches Baron to wield a gun, when she whisks him off to ride him in a changing room (the consummation of their union this time interrupted by Otis breaching the narrative distance and prematurely cutting off the intricate ritual of Baron titillating his cellmate); she wears them when she shares her past with Baron, allowing herself to be vulnerable in his presence, and when she steals the masks, frightening him. These scenes showcase the parallel progression of their relationship and of the heist plan, as Baron is drawn further into her world, and this present scene in particular is an externalised culmination of Baron relenting to his inner desires of becoming one with Marmalade.
Mama Eda’s coughing interrupts again, but, this time, Marmalade insists she will see to her. This makes sense on the symbolic level of Baron fully accepting that Marmalade is what he wants (to be), and of integrating her into himself; as Marmalade says: “She’s just as much my mama now too.” Moments later, Marmalade’s screams bring Baron down to find his mama dead; Marmalade is unable to look at her.
It is as Marmalade takes on the role of daughter that their mama then dies, and there are indications that Marmalade, as she exists within Baron’s story to Otis, deliberately caused her death. For instance, her increasing panic and outburst of anger at Baron when he continues to insist that they should call off the robbery is motivated by the threat to the original plan that Mama Eda’s death has posed. She even, turned towards the audience in a moment of would-be dramatic irony if not for the fact Baron is deliberately tailoring his story, whispers “Oh God I fucked up.” her eyes darting around in thought before she turns back to Baron and reveals she is pregnant. To the audience, she appears as someone who has miscalculated by removing Mama Eda from the equation, and subsequently invents a baby to once more ensnare Baron. For Baron (as told in his story), Marmalade’s potential part in Eda’s death is only considered after the heist, when he finds some of the Pleonexia pills in her car. Marmalade insists she forgot about them and that it was just Eda’s “time,” but whether deliberate or through carelessness, she seemingly remains complicit in her death.
As the story is presented through Baron’s perspective, Marmalade’s apparent incompatibility with Mama Eda could be interpreted as Baron’s fear of familial rejection if they were to be their true self, and their sense of guilt at the potential harm they believe they are capable of causing their mama in whatever capacity.
The audience learns that Marmalade/Baron’s foster mother is alive, which compels one to examine the symbolic significance of Mama Eda’s death as presented. It is true that Marmalade/Baron takes on responsibility for their mama, and that there is a real possibility of her dying without access to her pills. In this sense, the death represents Marmalade/Baron’s fear of their mama’s mortality, and Marmalade’s complicity in the death conveys the responsibility they shoulder in ensuring her continued existence; if they fuck up, she could die.
Confronting literal death is but one lens through which to examine this. Viewed symbolically, the death may not just represent itself, but stand in for a perceived or dreaded loss of or change to the relationship between Baron and their mama, with Marmalade, as Baron’s queer identity, being the thing that ‘kills’ it. It is plausible within the film’s narrative to interpret Mama Eda’s death as deliberately caused by Marmalade, because Eda was an obstacle to Baron fully focusing on her. This could be understood as the darker antithesis of Baron’s previous notion of waiting for his mama to get better before he can go on adventures with Marmalade; instead the idea that perhaps Baron can only be with Marmalade (i.e. be Marmalade) in the absence of his mama. Baron states in one of his earliest conversations with Marmalade, “yeah I couldn’t just up and leave my mama.” and “If not for my mama I’d be long gone here tomorrow.” emphasising that, at that point in the film, he has placed certain restrictions on his life, as is neglecting his own needs to care for his mama. This is not to say that Baron wishes for his mama’s death. Above all else, Baron/Marmalade is shown to care for their mama, and, one could even argue that “I’d be long gone” is not an admission of leaving his town and current situation, but could instead be interpreted as referring to his own death; that his mama has saved his life. However, the relationship as presented between Mama Eda and Marmalade cannot be ignored; there is a conflict there, which as aforementioned, could represent Baron/Marmalade’s guilt, in this case, at having wants and needs outside of their mama.
This conflict of desires remains even after Mama Eda’s death (in Baron’s story). When Baron, suspicious, begins questioning Marmalade after the heist, she tells him “This is our dream life. It’s already started.” and, claims that it was meeting Baron which made her renege on her intention to “throw in the towel” on robbing banks: “I wanted the whole fuckin’ world. And the moon.” But Baron is struck with remorse and second thoughts: “This was supposed to be for mama’s pills.” “This” indicates the money they stole, but could also refer to the heist in general, his dressing up and ‘playing’ Marmalade. It is a reckoning with the fact Marmalade exists beyond Mama Eda and the practicalities of bank robberies. She is Baron.
Whilst guilt is present in the story as it is told to Otis, it is worth considering two things. Firstly, since Marmalade is Baron, and, has been argued, both are aspects of the same person, her glee is his too, even if it is perhaps rendered hyperbolic here. It is just as likely that Baron/Marmalade is using Baron’s morals and remorse in order to portray themselves in a better light and justify their actions to Otis. Even if their tale is not so calculated, however, the guilt comes as a result of the pleasure; the duality causes the tension. Secondly, one might also look to how Baron/Marmalade acts on the run. Retrieving the money and disguise from the safe house, they also unveil a collection of newspaper clippings relating to Otis and the case of the Baby Doll Bandit. Whilst this, on one level, serves as narrative shorthand to fill in gaps for the audience, and, within the story, could serve a practical purpose of the research needed to stay ahead of the FBI, there is also a scrapbooking pleasure to it; the clippings are like trophies in their evidence of Baron/Marmalade’s successes. Gathering the money, they seem to enjoy practising their accent, before slipping out of it completely. Whatever their past inner turmoil, in this moment they appear confident, adept, and downright pleased with themselves.
Following the queer reading of ‘Marmalade,’ the film’s ending might be troubling. For instance, how is the return to a conventionally short “male” haircut to be interpreted? Cutting hair could represent a number of things. Like Marmalade’s anosmia, it is a (perhaps unnecessary, given manifold other clues) smoking gun to Baron’s own dishonesty. The impetus of Baron’s story is partially his unfair dismissal from his job due to his steadfast refusal to cut his hair despite pressure. He previously draws attention to its importance when he first tells Otis of the money he and Marmalade possess to pay Otis, and assures him, “I swear. On my hair.” If his word is as good as his hair, then his DIY getaway haircut indicates that he is not the person he has presented himself to be.
Sartorially, Marmalade/Baron appears fairly neat compared to the messy stylings of Baron’s often childish, worn-out wardrobe. Their blue shirt does seem to be the same as one worn previously by Baron, this time buttoned up and styled with a leather jacket, but there is no trace of Marmalade’s particular haphazard thrift store flair. Here, pink is found in the scrubs of the nursing home staff; if this recalls the previous use of colour to blend Marmalade and Baron in a gender-play, the juxtaposition against Marmalade/Baron’s blue shirt is instead representative of a different union, as Marmalade/Baron assists the nursing home in caring for its residents.
Throughout, this analysis has focused on the union of Baron and Marmalade representing different aspects in one person, so it stands to reason, that, being neither fully one nor the other, the true self emerges as something entirely new. Furthermore, the audience’s exposure to this character has mainly been through a crafted story used to deceive an FBI agent, wherein the self is split into symbolic representations. Therefore this ‘new’ figure of Marmalade/Baron is imbued with a degree of mystery and uncertainty.
That said, at a very basic instinctual reaction to stereotypical presentations, the combination of the short hair and blue shirt previously worn by the ‘male’ half of the split identity does arouse some doubt around Marmalade/Baron’s future. It may seem like Marmalade/Baron is to henceforth conform to a singular conventional identity, and that, this was their “last job” for the sake of their mama. However this is but one outfit and Baron/Marmalade is freshly on the run. The shirt resembling the one Baron wears could just be seen as another element which ties the ‘fictional’ to the real; in the same manner, they also retain the recently acquired yellow car which is reminiscent of Marmalade’s blue car. Haircuts are a fairly common first-port-of-call disguise for women on the run in films; this follows Marmalade/Baron shedding or disguising recognisable features to evade the FBI. More broadly, haircuts can represent change, but this does not necessarily equate to a complete abandonment of one’s former self. Rather it could be seen as a point of progress, building on what has come before.
Taking place after the actual bank robbery, the narrative drive of the film has concerned itself more with trickery and the attraction to Marmalade than it has foregrounded the heist as the one final job needed for a better life. Marmalade’s promises on this were always cast in doubt, existing in scenes which highlighted her as untrustworthy. In the card to Otis, Marmalade/Baron merely states they are going to take care of their mama; the audience knows the lengths they may yet need to go to for that. When the FBI round in on Marmalade and Baron’s safe house, Marmalade outlines that, should one of them fail to meet at their spot the next day, the other will disappear forever, but this functions as a ploy to put pressure on and rush Otis and the FBI into making decisions that lead to Baron’s escape. Indeed, the fact ‘Baron’ manages to escape in time for his non-existent appointment would render the pact void.
More striking in this scene, however, is Marmalade’s admission of love. Marmalade has, with varying degrees of apparent sincerity, already told Baron she loves him. However, this scene is most reminiscent of the one in which she tells Baron of the abuse she experienced, with Marmalade tearful and sincere as she appears to bare a truth not previously shared. It is therefore more believable that her love for Baron is reconciled against his love for her when she says:
“I never loved anyone like I love you. And nobody’s ever loved me like - Hm. Nobody’s ever loved me. You’re the man of my fuckin’ dreams.”
Throughout the course of the film, Baron has been enamoured by Marmalade, absorbing her into his life and letting her change him. The reciprocation of Marmalade stating Baron is the man of her dreams, and the admission that no one has every loved her until now, indicates a moment of self-actualisation, with Baron/Marmalade having achieved self-acceptance and self-love. Baron/Marmalade no longer needs to repress the queer self, but accepts her fully.
Marmalade is not just a vehicle for Baron’s love of his mama, but a story too of self-actualisation. Mama initially holds Baron back from Marmalade, and everything she represents, through Baron’s repression of his own needs as he prioritises his mama. Marmalade allows Baron to help Mama Eda, but she does not exist solely for her benefit, and it becomes apparent that Baron’s happiness involves Marmalade. Baron’s tale to Otis can be viewed as them telling the truth slant; the story functions as misdirection but there are true elements within. This invites for an analysis on the level of the symbolic, which in turn reveals the emotional reality of Marmalade/Baron.
The film’s ending points towards the hopeful. Most unsubtly, the crocheted door-hanging described by Baron near the beginning of his tale proclaims “While there is life, there is hope.” Rather than being entirely trite, in juxtaposition with the fact that, when Marmalade/Baron refills Eda’s medication, we see that only a few pills remained for her, the message adopts a greater sense of the fragility of life and hope. Eda, able to stand, in contrast to Baron’s narrative, faces away from the camera as she looks out the window, (hence perhaps symbolically towards the future) in her sun-soaked room. No words are spoken, indicating the comfort of the familiar; Marmalade/Baron offers Eda a Moon Pie, the latter gently nudges her shoulder against them, Marmalade/Baron rubs her back. The pair are thus reunited in a scene of contentment, and one hopes that Marmalade/Baron too will continue to self-actualise and live happily beyond the boundaries of this story. In conclusion, Marmalade deserves to treat herself and spend some of that heist money on HRT. xoxo