Horrorella – Bitch Flicks

‘Jem and the Holograms’: Diversity and Female Empowerment

What I didn’t remember, and was pleasantly surprised by, was all of the diversity present in the show and the incredibly positive female role models that it presented to its young viewers. … It offered a positive statement on cultural acceptance and feminine strength at a time when children’s programming was lacking in both areas (and often still is today).

This guest post written by Horrorella appears as part of our theme week on Ladies of the 1980s.

Jem and the Holograms was a pivotal part of my childhood. I watched it religiously. I couldn’t get enough of Jem and her rock star cohorts. The music, the characters, the stories – I ate it up like the candy-colored mountain of awesome that it was. I had a chance to revisit the series as an adult when I received the complete series box set as a birthday gift (note – it is SO gloriously pink). I poured some Cap’n Crunch cereal and sat down to revisit this show that had brought me so much joy in true Saturday Morning Cartoon fashion.

Reconnecting with this series was an incredibly fun experience, albeit a surprising one. I remembered Jem and her friends getting into scrapes, playing concerts, and trying to outwit the Misfits’ dastardly plans. I remembered the foster girls that found a home and a family at Starlight House and who were overseen by the band members. I remembered the conflict that Jem/Jerrica dealt with in keeping her true identity a secret from the world, and the resulting friction that created with her boyfriend Rio. I even remembered some of the songs.

[youtube_sc url=”https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lkQE5wuBFeY”]

What I didn’t remember, and was pleasantly surprised by, was all of the diversity present in the show and the incredibly positive female role models that it presented to its young viewers. Though often criticized as being little more than a vehicle to promote the Hasbro line of dolls that had inspired the series, the show was actually so much more. It offered a positive statement on cultural acceptance and feminine strength at a time when children’s programming was lacking in both areas (and often still is today).

The Holograms celebrated an ethnically and culturally diverse group of characters who came from a variety of different backgrounds. Though Jerrica and Kimber were biological sisters, band members Aja (an Asian woman) and Shana (a Black woman) were adopted by the Benton family as children. Later, as the band expanded, a Latina drummer called Raya was added to the mix. This theme went on to include the foster girls populating Starlight House. Ba Nee, for example, a little girl involved in several major plot threads throughout the series, had been born to a Vietnamese woman and an American soldier before immigrating to the United States. The series took the time to showcase these cultural and ethnic differences, highlighting different traditions and backgrounds while also bringing the characters together as a united family.

Series creator Christy Marx stated in an interview with Off Hollywood that ethnic diversity was important to her when developing the characters. She wanted to be sure that all girls watching the show had someone to identify with, and made that a core goal as she began to develop the expanded cast. This was definitely a rarity among 1980s animated programming, and is something that made Jem and the Holograms stand out among its contemporaries.

Juxtaposed with our heroes, we have The Misfits – the nemesis band of the Holograms who are constantly trying to derail any project our heroes might be working on in order to stay on top. They are comprised fully of white women, and the leader, Pizzazz, comes from a particularly privileged background. Raised in an affluent lifestyle, spoiled, constantly angry, and dedicated to nothing more than getting her way by any means necessary, Pizzazz is the embodiment of entitlement. She will do anything within her power to stay on top.

[youtube_sc url=”https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7r6-Ie0un84″]

In many ways, The Misfits represent the privileged status quo. They came to stardom before the Holograms, and are determined not to give up their spot on top. They refuse to make way or share that space with anyone else. They demand a level of treatment they feel is in keeping with their status as rockstars, and care little for anyone besides themselves (Stormer is often the exception to this rule, as she proves early on to have a heart, yet is easily bullied and influenced by her bandmates). The Misfits are simply another example of the people in power remaining in power, while everyone else has to struggle to get by.

Conversely, the Holograms can be seen to embody a more ideal future; something to strive for. Inclusive, and aiming not for fame and fortune, but for acceptance, integrity, and the greater good. Their songs have meaning and a positive message, often focusing on teamwork, fair play and the like. They lead by example, and offer a blueprint for what we could be, rather than what we often are.

The feminism and the female empowerment in the series is also incredibly meaningful and noteworthy. Jerrica/Jem is an icon, both within the story and for the show’s legions of young fans. Not for her fame or for being the rockstar with the cool clothes and the pink hair (though, admittedly, the pink hair was pretty rad), but for being a successful, confident and capable woman. She was a different kind of role model for a little girl growing up in the 1980s. We tend to focus on the fashion and the music present in the show, but more importantly, Jem gave us a powerful and successful female character to look up to. In her, we found a character who was in charge of her own destiny. An intelligent, savvy business woman who maintained not only a record company, but a nonprofit that housed, cared for, and provided a supportive home for foster children. In Jerrica, we see a balance of a woman who is able to achieve professional, financial, and artistic success, while also contributing positively and meaningfully to the world around her.

Marx says:

“The thing I like about Jem and Jerrica is that she’s kick ass in how she cares about this entire household full of foster girls, or she’s kick ass because she has this musical career, or she’s a music executive. She’s someone who is strong and independent and directs her own life.”

Marx also notes that though the series, its fashion, and its technology are all very 80s, the stories still speak to us even today. They have a timelessness to them that allows them to carry on. And as much as last year’s film revival was a raging disaster, the silver lining is that the values and power of the property have found a new embodiment reaching a new generation in the form of the IDW’s comic series. The books take the characters, stories, and concepts that made the original series so important and meaningful and bring them forward into the modern era, with continued racial diversity, varied body types, and sexual orientations; a swath of powerful, well-developed female characters and new adventures.

Jem and the Holograms impacted its fan base in a way that few series of the time (or since) were able to. Through building a cast and a series of stories that reflected the people watching it, it connected with its audience in an entirely new way. It provided the viewers with a positive female role model who was strong and powerful in ways not typically seen on television, and certainly not in children’s programming. Jem and the Holograms influenced a generation, and the lessons we learned from that show and its stories were taken with us into adulthood. Hopefully, its new incarnation will continue to do the same for new legions of fans.

See also at Bitch Flicks: Was ‘Jem and the Holograms’ a Good Show for Little Girls?

Horrorella has written about film for Ain’t it Cool News, the Women in Horror Annual and on her blog at horrorella.com. She geeks out incessantly over movies, television, comics and kitties. You can gab with her on Twitter @horrorellablog.

Feminism and Classism in ‘The Legend of Billie Jean’

‘The Legend of Billie Jean’ addresses questions of gender and class that are as real today as they were in 1985 and sets its story within the struggles against the patriarchy and the ruling wealthy class by people who all too often fall victim to those oppressions. … She wants dignity, and respect – truly, what she is after is equality.

This guest post written by Horrorella appears as part of our theme week on Ladies of the 1980s. | Spoilers ahead.

[Trigger warning: discussion of sexual assault]

The Legend of Billie Jean is a film that I found my way to only recently; a year ago, in fact. It wasn’t one of the 80’s teen classics that was endlessly rerun on cable every weekend throughout my high school and college years, so I didn’t have the opportunity to get to know the great Billie Jean Davy the way I got to know Samantha and Farmer Ted, Andie, Bender, or any of the other John Hughes characters. On the one hand, I wish that Billie Jean had been a character that I would have found in my teenage years. Her strength, her unwillingness to be beaten down, and the way she stands up for herself would probably have had a positive impact on my confused, teen self. But on the other hand, I’m glad I discovered her exactly when I did – in my 30s as I am surrounded by a new feminism and as women are beginning to be heard in new and exciting ways. I resonate with this character much differently than I would have at the age of fifteen, and even now, she has given me a new role model.

Though thirty years old, The Legend of Billie Jean speaks to me in a very real way, and mirrors issues that are still at the forefront of our conversation. It addresses questions of gender and class that are as real today as they were in 1985 and sets its story within the struggles against the patriarchy and the ruling wealthy class by people who all too often fall victim to those oppressions.

The film tells the story of Billie Jean Davy (Helen Slater), a teenager living in a Texas trailer park with her mother (Mona Lee Fultz) and her brother Binx (Christian Slater). At the opening of the film, the siblings drive Binx’s Honda scooter to a secluded river area to swim and try to escape the oppressive Texas summer heat. On their way, they cross paths with Hubie Pyatt (Barry Tubb) and his gang of teenage miscreants. Refusing to succumb to both his forceful advances on Billie Jean and his desires to push Binx around, the pair flee, but not before Binx splashes Hubie’s face with a milkshake as a means of distraction. Thinking they are safe, Billie Jean and Binx relax. Their respite is all too short, however, when Hubie and his boys track them down and trash the scooter in an act petulant of revenge.

Billie Jean reports the incident to the local police department, but finds the detective (Peter Coyote) to be less than helpful. She then goes to visit Hubie and his father (Richard Bradford) to claim the money necessary for the repair work: $608. Instead of simply paying up (oh, and maybe apologizing), Mr. Pyatt attempts to assault Billie Jean, telling her that she can earn the money through sexual favors. She is able to flee when Binx enters the store and threatens Pyatt with a gun, believed to be empty. The gun goes off (much to Binx’s surprise) and wounds Pyatt, offering an opportunity for escape. Knowing the magnitude of their situation and with little faith in the fact that anyone would take their word over Pyatt’s, the pair hit the road.

In the days that follow, the story of a young woman who just wanted fairness, equality, and a fair shake spreads. She becomes a hero figure to teenagers across Texas when she cuts her hair (inspired by Joan of Arc), dons a particularly inspired warrior look and makes a video decrying the harshness of a world that would believe Pyatt over her because of his money and his status as a man. All she wants is payment from Pyatt for the money owed for the scooter, decreeing, “Fair is fair!” It would become a rallying call that would be echoed by teens across the state and the theme of Billie Jean’s mission.

Through Billie Jean’s story, we see the harsh reality of a world where being affluent and male is everything that you need to survive. Pyatt never has any intention of just owning up to his son’s behavior and paying for the scooter repairs. He assumes he can take what he wants from Billie Jean (here, in the form of both money and sex) and nobody will protest or stop him because she’s a woman and poor. His status as a male figure protects him from any repercussions to his actions. He has no fear throughout this process that his story will ever even be questioned, and is free to proceed as he wishes. He has full control, and she can either bend to his will, or abandon her quest entirely. Even when Billie Jean fights back, she is forced to flee because her recent attempt at getting help from the police went unanswered. The world has proven that no one will believe the truth of the story — that Pyatt started the altercation and that Binx never had any intention of shooting the man, as he believed the gun to be empty.

As the story progresses, Billie Jean’s flight becomes more than just the desire to escape from a situation that sees her and her friends unfairly on the wrong side of the law. She wants wrongs to be set right. She wants Pyatt to pay the $608 he owes for repairs on the scooter – no more, no less. Fair is fair. She wants what she is rightfully owed and for Pyatt and Hubie to own up to what they have done and make it square. She wants dignity, and respect – truly, what she is after is equality.

Pyatt refuses to give her that equality. The reason the situation goes as far as it does it because he won’t admit that Billie Jean is entitled to the same treatment hat he would give someone male and of higher income were the situation repeated. Billie Jean is a trailer park girl and is of little value in his eyes. She is simply an object; someone that he can take advantage of, force himself on, and someone who nobody would believe even if she did make the truth known. His maleness and his wealth make him untouchable.

The film utilizes the Male Gaze throughout to allow us to see how Pyatt and his ilk view women. It is always used as a means of making women feel small, trying to force some sense of ownership on them. The first instance occurs during the initial altercation between the Davys and Hubie’s group of friends. Throughout all of it, one of the young men is photographing Billie Jean – her movements, her reactions, and most importantly, her body as she her climbs out of the pond and tries to prevent the group from taking the scooter, scantily clad and dripping wet. While she is on the offensive in that moment to try to prevent any harm from coming to her brother or to his property, he captures the sensual nature of the image and uses that shot as a means of holding power over her. She is in his sights – an object of prey. He can see her and thus, she is vulnerable.

Later, that photo becomes an iconic image of Billie Jean when it is released to the public and sold as posters at Pyatt’s beachfront pop-up store. He has assaulted her, he has refused to own up to his role in the altercation, he has refused to pay her what it owed, and now he is selling her. His final attempt at owning her by any means necessary. He has her image and he is profiting off of it.

Billie Jean serves as an icon to both feminism and to an ongoing class struggle. As her legend grows, kids and teenagers begin to look up to her and to see her as a hero figure. Even though most of the stories surrounding their exploits have been fabricated (often for the benefit of male businessmen who want the notoriety of having been held up by the notorious Billie Jean Davy), the teen populace of Texas identifies with her as someone bucking the system. Someone who refuses to play by the rules of the status quo when those rules are meant to benefit and serve a select few, rather than the downtrodden many. If the story were set today, Pyatt would be the 1% and Billie Jean would be the rest of us.

These themes of a class struggle are further illustrated by the inclusion of the scooter as a plot device. That scooter is Binx’s most prized possession. He was only able to afford it thanks to some insurance money that their father left behind when he passed away. This is a luxury item to them; something that Binx cherishes not only for its practical uses, but also because it represents a life he can only dream of. It is the one instance that he has been able to grasp of a life beyond the trailer park. And Hubie ripped it apart in a childish rage — not only as revenge for the milkshake incident (hardly a fair trade, mind you), but because doing so put Binx and Billie Jean back in their place. The destruction was a reminder and a warning against trying to rise above their roots and to invade the sacred space of those wealthier.

Within the film, Billie Jean’s story grows to make her something of a combination of a Robin Hood figure and a Bonnie and Clyde story. Her deeds are greatly exaggerated, but she represents something that resonates strongly with the community. She stands up and refuses to let a wealthy male figure walk over her. In a world where feminist issues are still prevalent (though thankfully, also a part of the conversation), Billie Jean remains a hero that we can all look to for inspiration. She demands the very definition of feminism – equality. She wants no more and no less than what is owed to her. Fair is fair.

OMG a Vagina: The Struggle for Feminine Artistic Integrity in Kimberly Peirce’s ‘Carrie’

Carrie is a terrifying and compelling story, but there is certainly something to be gained and perhaps a certain truth to be found in watching the pain of her journey into womanhood as told by a woman director. … But even in the face of these small victories, we have to wonder how the film would have been different had Peirce been allowed to tell this story without being inhibited by the fear and discomfort of the male voices around her.

This guest post written by Horrorella appears as part of our theme week on Women Directors.

In his 1981 non-fiction work Danse Macabre, Stephen King noted that, “Carrie is largely about how women find their own channels of power, but also what men fear about women and women’s sexuality.” That statement is as true in the 21st century as it was in the 1970s, and was directly illustrated in the production of the 2013 adaptation.

The horror community was very divided when MGM and Screen Gems first announced that they would be producing a remake of Carrie. After all, this would be the third direct adaptation of the material following Brian de Palma’s 1976 film and a made for TV movie from 2002, directed by David Carson. In our current culture of remakes, reboots and sequels, fans are experiencing a bit of fatigue when it comes to repackaging known quantities over developing original ideas. De Palma’s film is still considered a classic and is very well respected within the genre, so naturally people began to question just what would make this version different from the ones we had already seen.

Enter Kimberly Peirce. Working from a script developed by Roberto Aguirre-Sacasa, the involvement of the director of Boys Don’t Cry instantly made a new adaptation much more appealing. It offered the promise of a new perspective by inviting a woman to helm this story of female adolescence and horror. Carrie is a terrifying and compelling story, but there is certainly something to be gained and perhaps a certain truth to be found in watching the pain of her journey into womanhood as told by a woman director. Particularly, given how underrepresented women are in the industry in general, and specifically in horror.

Despite Carrie‘s promise, we were largely disappointed by the final product. Reviews were mixed, audience reaction was largely negative, and the film garnered a mere 48% on Rotten Tomatoes. Forty minutes were reportedly cut at the request of the studio, and though there were a few changes here and there, the story remained largely the same, following Lawrence D. Cohen’s original script beat for beat. Notable exceptions included the way the film built the relationship between Carrie (Chloe Grace Moretz) and her mother, Margaret (Julianne Moore), making their interactions much more tender and driven by love (albeit, a rather abusive and misguided love) than they were in either the book or in previous film adaptations, as well as more thoughtful symbolism in the role that blood played throughout the film.

One of the many disappointments was the ending of the film. Brian de Palma broke new ground with his shocking finale, which featured a remorseful Sue Snell (Amy Irving) visiting the remains of the house where Carrie White (Sissy Spacek) died after the slaughter at the prom. As Sue leans forward to lay flowers at the base of a “For Sale” sign, serving as a makeshift tombstone, a bloody hand shoots up out of the earth and grabs Sue’s arm. Audience members were terrified and that scene continues to replicated to this day, marking its place in the history of horror cinema.

The ending of Peirce’s version, again, at the behest of the studio, features a similar scene, showing Sue (Gabriella Wilde) walking towards Carrie’s grave as a voiceover lays out the final sentences of her testimony of the events of the prom, stating that people can only be pushed so far before they break. As she lays a single rose on the grave and turns to go, the ground begins to shake and the tombstone cracks, illustrating the breaking point that Carrie was pushed to and past at the hands of her classmates and tormentors.

It’s not a horrible ending thematically, but it does cause the film to end on a rather uninspired note, especially when compared to its cinematic predecessor. If there is one thing audiences expect from the story of Carrie, it is a strong finish, and this film just fizzled in its final moments. The frustrating thing is, it didn’t have to be this way.

In September, 2014. Peirce gave a talk at AFI Directing Workshop for Women’s 2014 Showcase which was later examined in an article at io9. She discussed the filmmaking process and how her original ending was a bit more intense, and ultimately much more fascinating.

After showing Sue laying a flower on Carrie’s grave, the film jumped forward in time to a delivery room, and a very pregnant Sue laying on the table, about to give birth to the daughter that Carrie had foreseen in her final moments of life. Terrified and panicking, Sue tries to explain to the hospital staff that something is wrong. They try to calm her, telling her to take a deep breath and prepare for one final push. As she focuses her energy, instead of a tiny, screaming infant we see a large, bloody arm, belonging to a fully grown woman (presumably Carrie) making its way out of Sue’s body and back into the world itself. The scene then reveals itself to be a dream as Sue’s mother attempts to wake her from her horrific nightmare, mirroring the final moments of the de Palma ending.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9kGJGQZIduo

This scene is fantastic for a variety of reasons. It is scary, it is certainly unexpected, and within the confines of Peirce’s story, it is elegantly poetic. The film opened with Carrie’s birth, featuring Margaret alone in her home, delivering the infant. Carrie being reborn into the world at the end (even within the confines of a dream sequence), bookends the events of the story nicely. It also casts a dark shadow over the remainder of Sue’s life, indicating that despite any kind actions in an attempt to make amends, Sue will be forever haunted by the role that she played in Carrie’s torment. Additionally, from a more practical standpoint, it gives Carrie’s knowledge of Sue’s pregnancy more of a purpose in the narrative. This would have been a clever and strong ending to a film, helping to set it apart from other adaptations and giving it a certain elegance unto itself.

The problem came when male studio representatives tried to come to terms with exactly what this ending would mean and how they could execute it. Though they agreed that it would be scary and unexpected, they had a terribly hard time articulating just what the scene meant or how it could be achieved. In fact, they had a difficult time discussing the scene at all. Says Peirce:

“When one guy started forming a sentence that should have included the word ‘vagina,’ he would just stop. ‘So when you have to shoot the hand coming out of the, uh, the, uh,…’ and then there was just silence. And giggles. And finally it came out: ‘the Vajayjay.’ (The Vajajay? Really?) ‘The cooter, the hole,’ other euphemisms.”

The voices involved were so terrified of even saying the word “vagina,” it’s no wonder they were feeling trepidation of having one in or even near the final scene of the film. And let’s face it – babies come from vaginas, so there was no way this birthing scene was going to happen properly without at least the implication that one was involved. And really, when you look at the nightmare scenario that is a tormented, angry, telekinetic teenager being reborn, the vagina itself should not be the scary part of that scene.

Despite their fears and stammering, Peirce was given the go-ahead to shoot some test footage of her idea. She storyboarded and filmed a three-quarter body prosthetic from every possible vantage, examining and testing a variety of different ways to execute this shot – from above, from the side, form various angles, and yes – even a straight-on shot aimed directly at the vagina itself.

Peirce continues:

“Finally I was having a production meeting, and the guy who hadn’t been able to say the word ‘vagina’ said it. A few times. Proudly. “So you’ll shoot towards the, uh, vagina? But not at the vagina?” And then, excitedly, ‘Can you believe we’re all at a work meeting, saying the word ‘vagina’?'”

Bravo, buddy.

Ultimately, although her ending tested well, the studio decided that it would just be too polarizing and went with the much more sterilized, uninteresting ending taking place in the graveyard.

As Peirce notes in her speech, women in film are fighting a constant battle to be heard among their male peers, and it is important to recognize and celebrate the small victories. Though she was unable to complete the film the way she wanted to make it, thanks to a perplexing fear of getting too up close and personal with the female anatomy, it is important to note that she was given the resources and the support to make this film at all. And even though the birth ending was ultimately cut, the studio did encourage her to give it a try, and a completed version of the scene is available as an alternate ending on the film’s Blu-Ray release.

But even in the face of these small victories, we have to wonder how the film would have been different had Peirce been allowed to tell this story without being inhibited by the fear and discomfort of the male voices around her. There is a certain amount of give and take to the creative control of any mainstream film production – the studio is interested in making sure the story appeals to the widest audience possible, and it is not uncommon for decisions to be made to serve that interest more than the creative drive of artists behind the picture.

But, as Peirce’s story illustrates, women filmmakers are more likely to be affected by decisions based around gender rather than simply a financial bottom line. Her discussions with various producers and studio execs demonstrate how this incident went beyond simply trying to get a specific rating or go for a certain tone. They were physically uncomfortable even saying the word, let alone entertaining the notion that a vagina could be directly involved in one of the scenes of this movie – even if it was not explicitly shown.

Art and finances quite often go head to head when it comes to decisions that will affect the final cut of a production, but with all of the hurdles that woman face in the film industry, having to make decisions and changes based around feminine content should not ever have to be one of them. I would like to see the executive who was oh so proud of himself for finally making it through the uttering of “vagina” without stammers and giggles to now take the next step of not being afraid to have a film go near one in the first place, and to allow these women to tell their stories onscreen.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wrQu2TlGYwQ

Horrorella has written about film for Ain’t it Cool News, the Women in Horror Annual and on her blog at horrorella.com. She geeks out incessently over movies, television, comics and kitties. You can gab with her on Twitter @horrorellablog.