Cora Bora is the kind of representation chaotic bisexuals demand. (Or at least this one does!) Since the screwball comedies of the 1930s, straight girls have had representation in the flailing yet fabulous likes of Katharine Hepburn, Meg Ryan, and Amy Schumer. Their characters were hot messes, but funny and deeply lovable. Now, striding her way into the ranks of comedy queens with queer love and no boundaries comes Cora, a trainwreck dealing with lust, love, and loss by making us roar with laughter and recognition.
Who better to carry the torch of madcap humor than Megan Stalter, online comic turned Hacks scene-stealer? On Twitter, she’s carved out a following of fans, who’ve reveled in her subversive skits, like her mockery of rainbow capitalism(Opens in a new tab) that is iconic in LGBTQ+ circles. On TV, she’s proven a thrilling supporting player on the heralded Hacks, bringing spontaneity and sexuality as an assistant crushing hard on her boss. Now, with Cora Bora, Stalter steps into the spotlight as a leading lady, shouldering this cringe comedy with the radiance and radicalness of her star power.
What’s Cora Bora about?
Directed by Hannah Pearl Utt, Cora Bora centers on the titular nicknamed musician, who left Portland and her girlfriend behind to pursue her dreams in LA. The couple’s open relationship allows each to explore, or in Cora’s case, endure an awkward one-night-stand with a sexy flat earther (Thomas Mann). “He doesn’t believe in science,” she quips, “But he’s got that big dick, right?”
With underwhelming gigs and a manager who uses quotation fingers when speaking about Cora’s career, LA isn’t panning out quite as she’d planned. So when she catches wind that her girlfriend (Jojo T. Gibbs) is getting serious with someone else (Ayden Mayeri), she rushes home to pull off a grand romantic gesture and get her girl back. But if screwball comedies have taught us anything, it’s that the road to love can be a bumpy ride.
Cora Bora doesn’t play nice and that’s a good thing.
Don’t saddle Cora Bora with the expectations of a romantic comedy. Its heroine isn’t a daffy career girl or a gently mussed artiste, who’s swiftly made over by letting down her hair and taking off her glasses. Cora dresses in donut print crop tops, space buns, and sparkly pants, channeling the bi-girl fashion sense that demands to be seen (but maybe not perceived). She owns a cheetah print coat, established cinema signifier for “this girl needs to get her shit together.” And most jolting (and exhilarating) of all she sings songs with lyrics like, “Dreams are stupid. And so are you for believing in them.”
Don’t saddle ‘Cora Bora’ with the expectations of a romantic comedy.
On this quest of self-love and reclamation, Cora will fumble into group sex, accidental dognapping, and wonky flirtations with a suspiciously kind while hot stranger (The Good Place‘s Manny Jacinto). The circumstances are absurd yet familiar, because we all have that friend who can turn a simple errand into major drama. (If you don’t have that friend, I regret to inform you that you may be that friend!) Whatever her wobbles, the film roots for her, even as we may cringe at her catastrophic social interactions.
There’s no shaming for Cora’s sexual desires or experimentations. Indeed, the polyamory group she briefly entangles with is all about how consent and connection are sexy! The comedy comes instead then from the simple yet chaotic human friction of vulnerability. Behind her boldness and brash comments, Cora holds a broken heart she can’t mend on her own. But to expose it would be to risk rejection. Within this space of volatile vulnerability, Cora Bora comes alive.
Cora Bora is a SXSW standout.
In a crowded field of comedies showing at this year’s South By Southwest, including star-studded affairs like Self-Reliance, Bottoms, and Tetris, Rhianon Jones’ script vibrates with a frenetic energy that makes excellent use of Stalter’s mirth and moxie. Scream-laughs are won whether Cora is snarking over almond milk or calling in “abortion” to skip work. She brandishes a sharp queer wit with reckless abandon, a self-defense mechanism well honed. Shrewdly, the stereotype of a lusty indecisive bi girl is played into, then subverted by giving Cora emotional depth and psychological complexity. Ultimately the film supports her by suggesting who she chooses isn’t the key choice in her life or her happiness.
In the end, Cora Bora proves a sensational cringe comedy, spiked with wicked humor, skin-crawling awkward scenarios, and an ardent — if wounded — heart. Deftly dancing from brash jokes to tender dialogue, Stalter reveals a riveting range and stirring screen presence. Simply put, it’s easy to fall for Cora Bora.
Cora Bora was reviewed out of its World Premiere at SXSW 2023.
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