Nearly seven years ago, the film-makers Jesse Moss and Amanda McBaine went to Texas to see government in action, albeit one run by teenagers. The country was well into the Trump administration – Muslim bans and kids in cages dominated the headlines – when the two began filming an annual American Legion convention known as Boys State, a weeklong mock government simulation for 1,000 high school boys, in the summer of 2018. The duo tried to film a similar state program for girls, but were rebuffed; they ended up with Boys State, an incisive Apple TV+ documentary that captured the chaos, promise and peril of young masculinity in the US and went on to win the grand jury prize at the Sundance Film Festival in 2020.
But what if the girls were present? How well can a government simulation work without women? “There was unfinished business at Boys State,” McBaine told the Guardian, “which is that every time a cluster of boys or the legislature or even candidates at Boys State brought up the topic of abortion, it got very awkward very quickly. Because to their credit, many of the boys felt like it was not OK to talk about that issue without girls in the room.” The two wanted a Girls State, where such issues would be top of mind. “What we didn’t know, timing-wise, was how top of mind it was going to be,” said McBaine.
Girls State, the duo’s follow-up for Apple TV+, was filmed in Missouri in June 2022, mere days before the supreme court officially overturned Roe v Wade. The film buzzes with energy, from abortion rights supporters to opponents (and there are both), that critical decisions are about to be made for them. “We knew that we were there talking about girls’ political issues. And then in a couple of weeks, men would decide it for us,” said Nisha Murali, a judicial branch participant who brought with her an annotated copy of the leaked Dobbs v Jackson Women’s Health decision. “The knowledge that in real life, it wasn’t actually in our control and the fact that we were going to see a very concrete example of it not being in our control, influenced the way we interacted with politics at Girl State.”
Like its predecessor, Girls State embeds with several participants for a verité-style weeklong tour of hopes and heartbreak, dorm room hangs and rallies, speeches and mock proceedings. As in Texas, the Missouri girls program skews white; one participant, Tochi, ruefully notes that she’s probably the first Black person some participants from small, rural towns have met. Though still strictly separated by gender, Missouri Girls State was held concurrently with the boys for the first time in 2022, at the same campus. The program would necessarily be different from the boys in some ways – less testosterone, of course. A different navigation of social pressures and expectations. Fewer actual lawmakers available to bless the proceedings. Significantly less precedent in state and federal government, as the glass ceiling remains merely cracked.
But the differences, as observed by the film-makers and noted by the participants, felt more stark and corrosive. There were lectures on dress code (not so for the boys) and rules on never walking alone, because they’re sharing the campus with boys. Formal proceedings were undercut by a current of boosterism, an emphasis on “hey, girl!” positivity and sparkles rather than the gristle of government. “It just had an immediate kind of, like, child’s birthday party vibe,” said McBaine. “And that was in contrast to these girls that we just met and spent a lot of time with, who were debate champions, student body presidents, accomplished kids.”
“It was a lot more feminist empowering, and all that,” said Emily Worthmore, a Tracy Flick-type striver who immediately began a campaign for the program’s highest office of governor. “I did feel like it took precedence over the importance of politics as part of the program. And I didn’t think that that was necessarily fair to girls.” Part of the film’s enjoyment is watching the girls’ dawning awareness of the program’s patronizing limitations; Worthmore, a self-professed conservative, turns her intensity from electoral politics to chronicling the differences between the two. Her critiques find common ground with two liberal gubernatorial candidates, Cecilia Bartin, a fiery public orator, and Faith Glasgow, more blunt and intense.
Whereas Boys State dove headfirst into the politicking, from earnest canvassing to dirty tricks, Girls State takes its time. The participants declare their political identities, go to pep rallies, banter about having friends from the other side of the aisle over cafeteria trays, sing Pitbull lyrics while gathering early in the morning. “The way we edited the film is a direct representation of how we felt and what we witnessed that week, which is that the girls program is very slow to get started and get into its politics,” said McBaine. Boys State immediately divides the participants into two groups, leading to intense tribalism, but also “that they build their parties from scratch and therefore get into the meat and potatoes conversations more quickly, have more time to debate them. So it feels more substantive and more adult.”
The difference in pace was frustrating; as one participant puts it in the film, “I’m a little sick of the fluff.” Still, the girls eventually get down to business, debating a supreme court case on abortion rights and electing a governor, on both platform and personality. Throughout, there’s a tension between digging into one’s beliefs and fear of engaging too deeply; in a country this polarized, with this many girls from so many towns across the state, the third rail is always within reach.
“It’s not a naive optimism that they embody. They’re very aware of the barriers that they face in their lives and the existential threats they face politically and globally,” said Moss. “And yet they aren’t cynical and they do throw themselves into this process of politics and beyond Girl State.”
As in politics, life goes on, even as gridlock remains or confidence falters. The film ends with a haunting postscript on the end of Roe v Wade, as well as several trajectories projecting out of the conference crucible into college. Worthmore and Murali have returned to volunteer at a somewhat reformed Girls State; Glasgow is studying political science at the University of Missouri. “None of us know what we’re doing. We’re all insecure. We’re all anxious. We’re all terrified,” said Bartin, now a freshman at Brown University. “But how you present yourself doesn’t have to be all-consuming. Being a woman, I think we’re told so often that you have to present yourself a certain way. That’s not something that men are told,” she added. “Present yourself how you want to and let the world accept you.”
Despite the stakes outside the mock government halls, the girls maintained a remarkable, hopeful sense of curiosity, a desire to hear each other out. “I think we get really caught up in our own echo chambers and own social circles, and we forget that we’re all people,” said Glasgow. “And that if we’re able to talk about where our opinions come from, we can gain a deeper understanding for the other side, maybe compromise on some issues or, if nothing else, continue to love each other more.”
Girls State is available on Apple TV+ on 5 April
