Corey Deserved Her Own Movie
A Tribute to the Girl Who Wrote the Songs
In the neon-soul canon of late-'80s teen films, Say Anything... is remembered as a gentle masterpiece.
John Cusack, boombox aloft.
Peter Gabriel, in full emotional crescendo.
Lloyd Dobler, earnest and directionless and ready to follow love across oceans.
But I’m not here for Lloyd.
I’m here for Corey.
Corey Flood:
The heartbroken best friend.
The sharpest voice in the room.
The girl who put it all in songs and didn’t care if it made anyone uncomfortable.
She Wasn’t the Girl Next Door—She Was the Girl With the Guitar
Played with raw, radiant depth by Lili Taylor, Corey doesn’t beg for attention.
She commands it. Not with costume or quirk, but with honest anguish.
- She wrote 65 songs about a guy who broke her heart.
- She performed them. Publicly.
- She refused to soften her edges for anyone else's comfort.
- She wasn’t quirky. She was furious, focused, and still trying to be kind.
While the movie orbits Lloyd and Diane’s uncertain, idealized love, Corey is off to the side doing the work. Emotional processing in real time.
Turning trauma into art.
Turning heartache into feedback.
She’s Not the MPDG—She’s the Anti-Trope
The Manic Pixie Dream Girl, as a trope, exists to rescue the male protagonist.
To give him meaning. To unlock his inner life.
Corey?
She doesn’t unlock anyone.
She drags her friends to gigs and tells them the truth.
She warns Lloyd when he's being foolish, but never flinches in her support.
She writes about her own inner life and hands it to the world with a three-chord progression and a dead stare.
MPDGs are fantasy.
Corey is survival.
She’s not there to save Lloyd.
She’s there to be real next to him.
And she gets no credit for how much harder that is.
She Knew It Was Okay to Hurt—And To Make It Loud
Corey doesn’t “get over it.”
She doesn’t “move on.”
She plays the damn songs. Again. And again.
And when Joe (her emotionally vacant ex) shows up, clueless and asking for another chance, she doesn’t slap him or cry or collapse.
She sings one more song.
And it burns.
And we laugh. But we also know.
Because everyone’s been Joe.
And everyone’s been Corey.
Why Didn’t She Get Her Own Film?
Because she wasn’t soft.
Because she wasn’t a goal.
Because she didn’t orbit a boy—she lit her own damn stage.
In a different version of Say Anything..., Corey is the protagonist.
And we follow her from heartbreak to band tour to full-tilt indie icon, writing a breakup album that levels cities and makes Joe realize way too late that he was a subplot in someone else's real story.
What We Learn From Corey
- That you can be devastated and still be loud.
- That telling the truth is funnier, scarier, and more worthwhile than pretending you’re okay.
- That sometimes writing about it is getting through it.
- That you don’t need to be anyone’s dream girl—you can be your own amplifier.
So here’s to Corey Flood.
The one who felt it harder.
Who sang it anyway.
And who should’ve headlined the whole damn film.