When I started in the business, the saddest thing, looking back on it now, was that there were things being said (and written) that didn’t feel right but that I just accepted. I didn’t even really perceive how male driven things were; I just accepted it. It was just understood. I spent the greater part of my late teens and my twenties and even into my thirties feeling shame for not fitting into some mold or box that women, in television especially, are somehow supposed to fit into. Or at least that is the perception, and it’s hard not to be affected by that perception. The truth is that the images, stories and characters that touch us are full and flawed and human and grand and all of the rest of it. I am not sure where the disconnect is, but we have been talking about this for a long time. Progress has been made. I’m looking forward to a time where this imbalance is something that we don’t need to talk about anymore.
Gabrielle Miller on the left with the all-female Jury of the 2012 Oldenburg FF. Photo Credit Jorg Hemmen
This is guest post by Gabrielle Miller.
The first movie I remember seeing was a Shirley Temple film, the name of which I forget. I was really little, and they were playing old movies at the local theater, and my dad took me to see it. It was the first time I had seen a MOVIE-movie and her character goes through some great crisis and I had, what felt like to me at the time in my little body, a soul shaking experience. I just couldn’t stop crying and I remember my father at the time saying to me, ‘Gabie, we can’t take you to see films if they are going to upset you this much.’ I think he felt badly that I responded that way, but the truth was that it was the beginning of films, and film in general, really shaping my life. Although I was always very loved, my early childhood was by and large uncomfortable, and I was particularly uncomfortable in my own skin, and movies really brought me to a place of comfort. It was something that I could do with my dad, too. As a result, Flashdance was my reason for wanting to be an actor, and Ben Kingsley (as Ghandi) was my first crush, and Hal Hartley was the reason that I always wanted to direct.
Jennifer Beals in the 1983 film Flashdance
In the case of Flashdance, for example, I was probably around nine years old when it came out. After the lights came up, I couldn’t contain myself. I ran to the theater bathroom, closed the door, locked it and just danced. In the public bathroom. Just thinking, ‘Oh my god, if one day, if I can be as kickass as that girl, I will be free. That’s what I want.’ I know that’s ridiculous, but that’s what that character did for me, what that film did for me; it transported me. Those films brought me to another life. Literally, now, they brought me to the life I have. It all started with those films.
Hal Hartley was the beginning of my understanding of what it was to be a filmmaker. My dad would always get excited when a new Hal Hartley film came out. This, of course, meant that we weren’t going to see Hal Hartley as an individual. We were going to see Hal Hartley as a character that was embodied by his entire film, whether it was Simple Men or The Unbelievable Truth. All of a sudden I had this understanding of the whole. Story, actor, director and cinematographer, all from the position of a spectator. I suppose it was just a matter of time, then, before I stopped spectating and started acting.
When I started in the business, the saddest thing, looking back on it now, was that there were things being said (and written) that didn’t feel right but that I just accepted. I didn’t even really perceive how male driven things were; I just accepted it. It was just understood. I spent the greater part of my late teens and my twenties and even into my thirties feeling shame for not fitting into some mold or box that women, in television especially, are somehow supposed to fit into. Or at least that is the perception, and it’s hard not to be affected by that perception. The truth is that the images, stories and characters that touch us are full and flawed and human and grand and all of the rest of it. I am not sure where the disconnect is, but we have been talking about this for a long time. Progress has been made. I’m looking forward to a time where this imbalance is something that we don’t need to talk about anymore. I am tired of just accepting these problems as something we just have to deal with. I am tired of seeing female characters broken down by their physical attributes first and the male characters broken down, firstly, by what they do in the story. I would, like I am sure so many of the rest of us would, like to see a meaningful, lasting change.
Claudette Movie Poster
I am about to direct my first project, Claudette. It’s a narrative short. We have been raising our budget through crowd source funding on Seed&Spark.com. It’s an awesome site run by these really intrepid young women, Emily Best and Erica Anderson. I am excited about the path that platforms like this are creating for us because it’s a way to take back the independent process from the studios. I am excited to have the chance to make my own first little movie. And now, if you will excuse me, I am excited to go and dance in my bathroom, and I think this time, I will leave the door open.
Verena Brandt, 2012 Oldenburg FF
Gabrielle Miller has appeared in over 75 productions in the past two decades. She is best known for her lead roles on two television series: the runaway hit CTV series Corner Gas, and the critically acclaimed dramedy Robson Arms. In 2013, Gabrielle was nominated for a Canadian Screen Award for her role in Mike Clattenburg’s feature film Moving Day, the opening film for the Canadian Images Program at VIFF in 2012. Combined, Gabrielle has garnered 12 Gemini and Leo Award nominations and five wins. In 2012, Gabrielle had the honor of being a member of Oldenburg International Film Festival’s first ever all-female jury. Gabrielle can be heard this fall in the City TV/Hulu adult animated series, Mother Up!, and her most recent foray in the world of independent film, Down River, can be seen in theaters in the Spring of 2014. Gabrielle splits her time between her residences in New York and Toronto.
I’ve long been a little troubled by the women characters in Martin Scorsese’s films. I say this as compliment overall, because though the female protagonists are few, they’re far from shallow and weak. From Lorraine Bracco’s Karen in Goodfellas to Vera Farmiga’s Madolyn in The Departed, Scorsese has shown that he can depict women who are multi-faceted and complex. It’s just that their stories are always told in relation to the men their lives. Theirs is always a kind of power struggle with their husbands or boyfriends, and in the end, that power is rarely on par with men’s. I had heard that Scorsese’s 1974 Alice Doesn’t Live Here Anymore was different, but since it’s one that so rarely talked about, it took awhile for me to finally check it out. And I’m so glad I did.
I’ve long been a little troubled by the women characters in Martin Scorsese’s films. I say this as compliment overall, because though the female protagonists are few, they’re far from shallow and weak. From Lorraine Bracco’s Karen in Goodfellas to Vera Farmiga’s Madolyn in The Departed, Scorsese has shown that he can depict women who are multi-faceted and complex. It’s just that their stories are always told in relation to the men their lives. Theirs is always a kind of power struggle with their husbands or boyfriends, and in the end, that power is rarely on par with men’s. I had heard that Scorsese’s 1974 Alice Doesn’t Live Here Anymore was different, but since it’s one that so rarely talked about, it took awhile for me to finally check it out. And I’m so glad I did.
Ellen Burstyn’s Alice is a 30-something mother in Socorro, New Mexico, where she lives with her husband Donald (Billy Green Bush) and son Tommy (Alfred Lutter). Donald is an overbearing bastard of a man who does little more than bark at Alice and Tommy, who each take care to stay out of his way. Nothing Alice does is ever good enough for Donald. Thelma and Louise fans won’t be able to help but compare him to Darryl, the lout of a spouse who bullies Thelma. Unfortunately, there’s no Louise in this film to whisk Alice away in a 1966 Ford Thunderbird Convertible. Alice’s release from Donald is spurred by a freak car accident that kills him and leaves her and Tommy to fend for themselves. Just like the viewer up to this point, Alice has wished for Donald to disappear, but her guilt is raw, and Tommy senses her ambivalence. Rather than remain in a town she hates in a house she can no longer afford, Alice packs up the station wagon and heads to Monterey, California to reclaim her first love: singing. What ensues is an unlikely road movie with a mother and son at the center, and men on the periphery.
Alice and Tommy
Alice’s first stop is Phoenix, which is about as far as her money will take her. When she and Tommy settle in to a motel, Alice must go shopping for clothes that will make her look younger, as she tells her Tommy. It was at that moment in watching the film that I saw the story come into focus: what happens when a parent doesn’t hide the difficulty of making ends meet from her kid, but instead matter-of-factly involves him in the day-to-day slog of getting by, promising that good things are to come despite the current circumstances? Rather than keep Tommy in the dark about how broke she is and how no one will hire her for a living wage, Alice unsentimentally–yet lovingly–informs Tommy of her plans as she makes them.
Well, almost. Given that Tommy is still young (10 or 11), Alice does prefer to keep intimate details to herself, particularly when it comes to the first man she meets since her husband’s death, Ben (played by Harvey Keitel), who’s a regular customer at the bar where she lands a singing gig in Phoenix. Tommy is no fool, though, and when he asks one too many personal questions Alice tells him she’s not going to talk to him about her sex life. Sure, she doesn’t take this moment to have the birds and bees discussion, but when was the last time you heard a parent acknowledge the existence of a sex life to their kid? Its instances like that that make this film a fascinating study of a parent-child relationship in the context of shifting gender dynamics in a changing society.
The film is a fascinating study of a parent-child relationship.
A glance at the movie poster for Alice tells you that she’s going to eventually make her way into the arms of a rugged and mostly affable Kris Kristofferson, but she must deal with Ben first. While Alice initially rebuffs his advances, he eventually wears her down and wins her over. Yay, we think! Someone who will treat Alice with the tenderness she deserves. It doesn’t take long for Ben to reveal himself as a philanderer and psychopath, and this realization prompts Alice and Tommy to once again pack up the wagon for the next town, Tucson. Alice decides to make a pragmatic move and start working a job that’s close to their motel and will ensure free food: waiting tables. At this point in the plot the story expands to include the women at the restaurant—the brassy Flo (Dianne Ladd) and timid Vera (Valerie Curtain)—and Tommy’s new friend Audrey, played by a very young and very boyish Jodie Foster (creepy alert: two years later she and Harvey Keitel would be joined as the prostitute/pimp dyad in Scorsese’s Taxi Driver, which makes you feel gross when you watch them in Alice). Alice also meets David (Kris Kristofferson), and like her, we’re not altogether sure that his fixation with Tommy is genuine or just a sneaky way to pick up his mom. We see Alice try to work through the challenges of managing her expectations of love and work, and there’s real narrative power in how she fully inhabits all her choices, be they selfish, selfless, stupid, or sane. Though billed as a romance, the real love story has two couples at its core: Alice and Tommy, and Alice and herself.
Alice
Heather Brown lives in Chicago, Ill., and works as a freelance instructional designer and online writing instructor. She lives for feminism, movies, live music, road trips, and cheese.
Usually movies with such mainstream blockbuster potential are not portrayed at Telluride Film Festival. Telluride opts for more artistic limited release movies. But I suspect Cuaron’s credibility, including casting a woman in the lead over Clooney, made it a Telluride film.
The Woman Behind Charles Dickens: A Review of the Film TheInvisible Woman
“You men live your lives, while we are left behind. I see no freedom where I stand!” yells protagonist Ellen Ternan at a Dickens’ colleague.
Ternan is the mistress of renowned English novelist Charles Dickens. And that sums up the movie TheInvisible Woman. Ternan became the 18-year-old mistress to then 45-year-old Charles Dickens, who was at the height of his fame. Based on the novel of the same name, it accounts their life together, the scandal it caused, as Dickens was still married to his wife. While the film is meant to be focused on this torrid affair between Dickens and Ternan it, by extension, is a telling of the unfortunate status of women in the Victorian era.
English actor Ralph Fiennes, a celebrated actor of his generation (Schindler’s List, Quiz Show, The English Patient, The End of the Affair, to name a few) plays the larger than life Charles Dickens and Felicity Jones plays Ellen Ternan. Invisible Woman is the second film Fiennes directed after Coriolanus.
The Invisible Woman is sumptuous in its costumes and details of the Victorian era, but occasionally lacks in the chain that builds up to the affair. Ternan, whose family of moderately successful actors are good friends of Dickens, finds herself in his company due to a play he is building. You instantly see why Dickens falls for Ternan–she is young, spirited, and passionate about his novels and short stories. Jones’ Ternan does a good job in not overdoing the “fan girl” role, as that can cross over to creepy rather quickly. Her love and understanding of his books touches Fiennes’ Dickens perhaps because his wife doesn’t seem that invested in his work and Ellen is rather young and pretty. One also suspects her adoration soothes his ego. Chats of his works turn to meaningful conversations of life ,which pale in comparison to the awkward stilted and physically passionless relationship that exists between Dickens and his wife, Catherine.
Felicity Jones in The Invisible Woman
Ternan finds herself at a crossroads in her relationship with Dickens, as her family realizes his adoration of her and her growing affection for him. While she hopes to become an actress, it is made clear to her by the women in her family that she is not good enough to survive in the profession. Since she has not too much formal educational training, any money to inherit, or other marital prospects, the best she can hope for is a relationship with Dickens, who cannot divorce his wife in Victoria era England. But can provide for Ternan. It is not a “choice” that thrills her, especially as she views Dickens’ callousness toward his wife–which includes but is NOT limited to a public letter in the London Times announcing he and his wife (unbeknownst to his wife) have agreed to separate (worse than texting your ex you’re through with them) and forcing his wife to deliver a gift meant for Ternan but accidentally delivered to her so (in Dickens’ mind) the wife can see for herself nothing exists between them.
I personally love Charles Dickens’ writings and thought he was quite the advocate for justice for the poor, but I was stunned at the sheer humiliation he put his wife through. You can imagine Ternan’s thoughts: if he’s that callous to the women who bore TEN of his children, how the hell is he going to treat me?
My biggest complaint was, while I saw a chemistry between Fiennes and Jones, the buildup was not always potent enough for me to think this was supposed to be the renowned passionate affair it apparently was. The timeline was fuzzy at times. Fiennes is outstanding per usual as the larger than life author, and Jones is an ingénue with promise who perhaps reached her limits in playing an older and wiser Ternan after Dickens’ passing, trapped in reflection and struggling to free herself from his ghost. Either way, go see it, if for nothing else to no more about this author and see another outstanding Ralph Fiennes performance.
Movie poster for Gravity
A Brilliant Woman Hero: A Review of the Film Gravity
If you ever doubted a woman could literally reach for the stars, Sandra Bullock changes your mind in her performance as Dr. Ryan Stone, a brilliant astronaut who becomes a hero in Gravity. The film is directed by Alfonso Cuaron, who also directed A Little Princess (1995), Y Tu Mamá También (2001), and Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban (2004). Gravity is a 3D movie with George Clooney as Bullock’s co star. Clooney plays fellow astronaut, Matt Kowalsky.
Dr. Stone and Kowalsky, along with others, are in space on a mission when debris from a satellite crashes into their space shuttle Explorer, killing most of their crew. Dr. Stone and Kowalsky (on limited oxygen) must find a way to survive.
Usually movies with such mainstream blockbuster potential are not portrayed at Telluride Film Festival. Telluride opts for more artistic limited release movies. But I suspect Cuaron’s credibility, including casting a woman in the lead over Clooney, made it a Telluride film.
Sandra Bullock in Gravity
Bullock is wonderfully nuanced in her role as Dr. Ryan Stone and I can see why reviews coming back from Venice International Film Festival have her touted for another Oscar nomination. Cuaron portrays a complex, brilliant astronaut with a sad past who is driven by her work. With her male colleagues (particularly Clooney’s Kowalsky, whom she interacts the most with), she confidently holds her own in what she does. When the space shuttle is hit, and Dr. Stone–a less experienced astronaut–is sent flying into space in a breathtaking 3D moment, she is rightfully panicked. I worried she might become the damsel in distress that Kowalsky rescues, but Bullock does not take you into unnecessary hysterics. If anything, the 3D movie makes the audience more empathetic to how scary the reality of flying untethered into space is. The rest of the movie is an exercise in her using her mental and physical reserves to brainstorm her way out of hairy situations, while the debris still in orbit rotates back around every so often to threaten her survival. I found myself mentally cheering her on as I think all viewers–especially women–will to the end.
Atima Omara-Alwala is a political strategist and activist of 10 years who has served as staff on eight federal and local political campaigns and other progressive causes. Atima’s work has had a particular focus on women’s political empowerment and leadership, reproductive justice, health care, communities of color and how gender and race is reflected in pop culture. Her writings on the topics have also been featured at Ms. Magazine, Women’s Enews, and RH Reality Check.
“Why,” you ask, “are you writing about Veronica Mars, a TV show that’s been off the air for years?” A few reasons. Mainly because the show is, was, and ever shall be kickassly awesome. The premise always sounds silly: teenage girl detective solves cases and fights crime, but it’s so much more than that. Veronica (embodied perfectly by Kristen Bell) is wicked smart and a wicked smart-ass. She’s an independent, dogged, talented, funny, intelligent, perpetual underdog with an enviable fashion sense (I always wanted to dress like her) and a knack for getting into and out of trouble. My other reason for writing this review is because creator/writer/director Rob Thomas is fulfilling every V Mars fan’s fantasy and making a movie that follows up on the canceled show.
Veronica Mars movie poster
It’s hard to say whether or not the movie will be any good. It takes place at Veronica’s 10-year high school reunion where she’ll be, once again, solving a murder. I think it’s worth checking out because the show itself was smart, funny, and engaged in important social issues with its strong female protagonist. Now, you might be asking, “If I’ve never seen the show, why should I care?” Answer: Because the show Veronica Mars is simply put great television. I admit, I’m something of a hater. Even the shows I like, I usually find a lot to critique. While Veronica Mars isn’t perfect, it tackled big issues with wit, compassion, and ovaries, such as class, race, the intersectionality of class and race, homosexuality, trans parenting, adoption, suicide, abuse, abandonment, addiction, animal cruelty, the stigma surrounding female teen sexuality, and on and on. In Season One, the two major mysteries that Veronica is trying to solve are:
Who murdered her best friend?
Who raped her?
Veronica taking seedy pictures for a surveillance job.
How many shows have you seen where the heroine is a struggling rape survivor? How many shows have you seen where the heroine is hunting down her rapist to make him pay (because Veronica doesn’t just believe in justice…she believes in revenge)? The theme of Veronica’s rape is on-going, continuing into Season Two when she finally solves the crime, and painful feelings and memories are dredged up in Season Three when she sets out to catch a serial rapist on her college campus, truthfully representing the fact that sexual assault survival isn’t something people just “get over”; it’s something they must deal with in multiple ways throughout their entire lives. I love the way Veronica refuses to be silent. Despite being humiliated at the sheriff’s office when she reports the crime, despite the fact that she can’t remember who her assailant is because she was drugged, Veronica’s doggedness allows many of us who were cowed into silence to vicariously live through her strength and perseverance. In Season Three, Veronica shares her power with the survivors of the serial rapist (who shaves his victims’ heads to further humiliate them). She shares her story with them and repeatedly declares herself to be their advocate and champion when no one else seems to care whether or not justice is served. For that alone, I love this show.
I also admire the relationship she has with her father.
Keith giving Veronica a directive that he knows she’ll ignore.
Keith Mars (another case of perfect casting with Enrico Colantoni) is raising his very smart, independent (read: defiant) teenage daughter on his own. Together, they joke and laugh and communicate. Keith may give Veronica too much freedom and may trust her a bit too much, but, in the end, we always know he’s doing the best he can, making all of his choices with her best interest at heart. What really gets me is that they unabashedly love each other. Veronica chooses her father over her unsupportive so-called “friends” and peers. Keith doesn’t stifle his daughter, while teaching her that hard work and tenacity is what sets her apart from her wealthy classmates. It’s rare to see a single father scenario on TV, and it’s even rarer to see it done half as well as Veronica Mars does it.
I also adore Veronica’s friends. Her best friend Wallace Fennel (portrayed by Percy Daggs III) is so sweet and so genuine. He proves time and time again that he’s a much better friend to Veronica that she can ever be to him. Veronica is humanized as we see her flaws when she takes advantage of Wallace’s friendship, but Wallace is so good-natured that he that he usually just goes along for the ride (though he does call her on her selfishness from time to time). I think it’s great that there’s NEVER any sexual tension between them. They are friends and neither of them wants or seeks more EVER. This is a good example of realistic friendships and Rob Thomas knowing there’s a line between drama and melodrama.
Veronica and Wallace plot and scheme.
Then there’s Mac, played by the adorable Tina Majorino. Cindy Mackenzie is known as “Mac,” in part, because of her last name, but mostly because of her badass computer skills. When Veronica and Mac team up, it’s like fireworks of awesome gooey brains just flying all over the place. I love that these two smart gals find each other, and they talk about waaaaay more than just boys (another instance of the show passing the Bechdel Test), for starters: hacking databases and email accounts, setting up remote surveillance, and dealing with Mac’s discovery that she was adopted. Their relationship is pretty great because they’re encouraging of each other, supportive, and they have complementary skills, all of which make them an awesome sleuthing team.
Veronica and Mac aren’t afraid to get goofy.
There’s a lot to love about this show. Its plethora of cameos, quick wit, and hilarious pop cultural references are part of the amazing package deal. If you’re a V Mars fan, you’re probably wondering why I haven’t mentioned the Duncan and Veronica vs. Logan and Veronica vs. Piz and Veronica deal. I guess it’s because most shows geared towards women and young girls have a love triangle scenario. Though I got sucked into the love triangle like everyone else did, I think what’s so special about Veronica Mars is that its heroine isn’t defined by her romantic relationships. She is so much more. She’s a daughter, a friend, a spy, a scholar, an excellent snickerdoodle baker, a photographer, a dog lover, and, above all, a confident, sassy young woman who lives by her own rules and has an amazing, unlimited future ahead of her. Do I even need to say it? We need more role models like Veronica Mars in film and on television, and we need them STAT.
Monroe, in fact, enjoyed expressing herself sexually. To see her as an eternal victim is to rob her of her own sexuality. Monroe embraced her sexual subjectivity; she did not want to be a sexual object. In fact, she told Meryman, “I just hate to be a thing.” Of course, female sexuality is simultaneously denied, contained, controlled and exploited in a misogynistic society. The star was, at once, punished for her sexuality and reduced to being a sexual object. I think, with Monroe, we should not reproduce those objectifying, effectively dehumanizing tendencies in our understanding of her sexuality.
Directed by Liz Garbus, Love, Marilyn is a 2012 documentary about the most iconic female American star of the twentieth century, Marilyn Monroe. The film mixes archival footage, photographs and movie clips with contemporary commentary by biographers and historians as well as old interviews with those who knew the actress. It also features dramatic readings by present-day actors of Monroe’s own words and quotes by deceased writers and directors. In her opening, Garbus anticipates the accusation of over-saturation by acknowledging that the star has, in truth, been one of the most scrutinized figures in pop culture. We are told that there have been over a thousand books written about her. Love, Marilyn, though, hopes to be fresh and different as one of its sources is a trove of recently discovered writing by the star herself. Garbus promises, “Marilyn’s own voice adds new layers to the mystery.”
True to its tagline–“One Icon, Many Voices”–Love, Marilyn employs a number of actresses of all ages to read Monroe’s reflections. They include the likes of Glenn Close, Uma Thurman, Lili Taylor, Lindsay Lohan, Marisa Tomei, Evan Rachel Wood and Viola Davis. I understand the point. While attempting to shine a light on the many parts of Monroe, the director is, also, it seems, trying to suggest a kind of ancestral kinship between the women. This is quite a moving idea when you think about it. Unfortunately, what is a potentially interesting, affecting device rapidly becomes a really irritating gimmick. Far too many actresses seem to hover across the screen to give readings and I am very sorry to say that the vast majority of the performances are just too self-conscious and overstated. Of course, the actors who give voice to Monroe’s deceased male biographers and the men who knew her fare no better with this approach. The dramatic readings are simply distracting. Only Viola Davis and Adrien Brody (as Truman Capote) give half-decent deliveries. It is a shame because there are some fine talents involved.
Monroe, the sex symbol
It is even more disappointing because the artificial readings quite often obscure the absorbing and constructive elements of the documentary. Love, Marilyn features interesting commentary by Monroe biographers and film historians in addition to fascinating footage of old television interviews with the actress. Most importantly, it acknowledges her heartbreaking victimization while also recognizing her achievements and great cultural significance. Monroe should not be dismissed as a passive sex object or “bimbo.” When she was focused and healthy, she was a dynamic, engaged subject as both an actor and woman. Although it naturally addresses the darkness–the exploitation, pills, mental illness and fatal overdose–the documentary crucially highlights her creativity and ambitious, competitive nature. From the very start, it makes it clear that the young Marilyn was extremely industrious and entirely dedicated to improving her acting skills. She also looked after her interests and demonstrated uncommon initiative. Tired of being underappreciated and underpaid by the studio, and fed up with lack of creative control and worn-out roles, she walked out of her contract at Twentieth Century Fox in 1954 and escaped to New York.
A star of the American street
The documentary underscores that Monroe’s break for independence was exceptional for a Hollywood star. Her personal revolt paid off when the studio eventually asked her to return. She got what she wanted–director approval included. Love, Marilyn also relates that Monroe launched her own production company with photographer Milton Greene, Marilyn Monroe Productions, when she went out on her own. This is an invaluable reminder for audiences. There are still too many film lovers who are unaware of this extraordinary, inspiring fact.
In New York, Monroe also began to concentrate on her craft. She took classes at the Actors Studio and befriended the legendary Lee Strasberg. In an old interview with the acting teacher, he praises Marilyn’s gifts: “She was one of the two or three most sensitive and talented people I’ve seen in my life.” Love, Marilyn points out her professional insecurities but also exhibits her gifts. There is a great clip shown of Monroe and Laurence Olivier in The Prince and the Showgirl (1957). As biographer Donald Spotto remarks, the actress simply out-performs her illustrious co-star on the big screen.
A Philippe Halsman 1952 shot of Monroe featured in the documentary
Love, Marilyn also, importantly, demolishes long-held beliefs that the sex symbol Monroe was solely manufactured by the studio. Ellen Burstyn, a former Actors Studio member, observes, “Marilyn created that wonderful character, Marilyn Monroe.” Vividly illustrating how she invented her own walk, she argues that it was the actress herself who fashioned her very own star persona. Love, Marilyn also acknowledges Monroe’s love of literature as well as her respect for ideas and intellectuals. It was during this period that she met her future husband, playwright Arthur Miller. The documentary also importantly points out that Monroe was ahead of her time regarding the question of marriage and career. Fascinating interviews with the actress shortly after her marriage to Miller reveal that she had absolutely no intention of giving up her career or slowing down. It is said that this was, in fact, one of the main reasons her marriage to the patriarchal ex-baseball player, Joe DiMaggio broke down. Monroe’s attitudes are all the more unusual in what is generally acknowledged as a backward decade for American women.
Uma Thurman performing Monroe’s words
Although it recognizes her enlightened attitudes and interest in ideas, Love, Marilyn does not, unfortunately, address Monroe’s specific ideological beliefs. The actress was, it seems, to the left of the political spectrum and impressively forward-thinking. It shows that she supported Arthur Miller when he was forced to testify before the chillingly repressive McCarthy hearings that he had no Communist affiliations but it does not explore her remarkable connections with left-wing activists, respect for working people and progressive sympathies. She actively championed the career of Ella Fitzgerald and advocated interracial harmony. As the great singer herself said, “She was an unusual woman, a little ahead of her times. And she didn’t know it.” This is a missed opportunity by the filmmaker. Monroe’s principles constitute a powerful rebuke to those who seek to simplify her as a sex object. Her support for Fitzgerald also shows that this so-called “man’s woman” was capable of sisterly solidarity.
Lili Taylor performing Monroe’s words
There is, of course, a darker side to Monroe’s life. Tragically, there is little doubt that she suffered sexual exploitation in Hollywood. She was also objectified on the screen. Love, Marilyn explains that this was particularly the case in the early part of her career. Head of Twentieth Century Fox, Darryl Zanuck, it is said, hated Monroe and gave her a string of offensive, one-dimensional sex object roles. This was, of course, the main reason why she quit Fox. The documentary also suggests that Monroe was both a victim of the casting couch and a cog in the Hollywood machine. Monroe was a casualty of the deeply conservative patriarchal time and place that was America in the ’50s.
This understanding should not, nevertheless, obscure the fact that there was another Marilyn who somehow survived her hellish youth to love and desire others. As a 1962 Life Magazine interview with Richard Meryman reveals, Monroe was not ashamed of her sexuality: “We are all sexual creatures, thank God, but it’s a pity so many people despise and crush this natural gift” (Life Magazine, Aug. 17, 1962). Monroe, in fact, enjoyed expressing herself sexually. To see her as an eternal victim is to rob her of her own sexuality. Monroe embraced her sexual subjectivity; she did not want to be a sexual object. In fact, she told Meryman, “I just hate to be a thing.” Of course, female sexuality is simultaneously denied, contained, controlled and exploited in a misogynistic society. The star was, at once, punished for her sexuality and reduced to being a sexual object. I think, with Monroe, we should not reproduce those objectifying, effectively dehumanizing tendencies in our understanding of her sexuality.
Love, Marilyn rightly shows that the actress was not frightened of expressing–and displaying–herself sexually. When it was discovered in 1952 that Monroe did a nude calendar a few years earlier, the scandal threatened to destroy her career. But the star was defiant: “I will not be punished for it, or not be loved, or be afraid of my genitals being exposed, known and seen. So what?” Thankfully for the star, the scandal catapulted her to fame. Film historian Thomas Schatz boldly proposes that Monroe was a sexual pioneer: “The world was ready for that. Obviously, the sexual mores are changing and she is at the vanguard of that. She’s anticipating a sexual revolution that many people associate with Betty Friedan, etc, a decade later, that would not have happened without Marilyn Monroe.” There is an amusing anecdote related by Amy Greene, Monroe’s friend and wife of Milton Greene, that reveals the sex symbol as a sexual subject. When questioned about the unlikely pairing between the actress and DiMaggio, Monroe simply responded, “He’s terrific in bed.” The sexual politics surrounding the star could, nevertheless, have been explored in greater depth. It would be have been interesting to examine both male and female attitudes towards Monroe as well as her attitudes towards her own sex.
A 1962 Arnold Newman photo of Monroe with the poet Carl Sandburg featured in the documentary
Love, Marilyn does not shy away from the depressing aspects of Monroe’s life and rightly recognizes that she was victimized personally and professionally. It examines her ultimately troubled marriages to Joe DiMaggio and Arthur Miller, addiction to pills, miscarriages and ill health, as well as her final disputes with the studio. It contends that both husbands ill-treated her: DiMaggio was violently possessive while Miller belittled her intelligence and career in his writing. Towards the end of her life, Monroe also suffered ruinous problems in her work. Love, Marilyn, it must be said, is a sympathetic rather than sychophantic portrait. It does give voice to directors like George Cukor who accused Monroe of a gross lack of professionalism. But it also suggests that the actress was used as a scapegoat for the sins of others.
All in all, Love, Marilyn is formally flawed but certainly interesting and significant. Drawing on a variety of sources, it presents important arguments. As Garbus highlights Monroe’s achievements and cultural contribution, it cannot be said to just be another miserabilist take on the icon. All the same, a more focused, unhurried approach would have been more helpful and the arguments could have been developed further. I would personally like to have spent more time with the biographers and film historians interviewed. Hopefully, however, Love, Marilyn, will encourage viewers to review, or discover, the star’s performances and read more about her life and career. The more you learn about Monroe, the more fascinating she becomes. There is the sadness–the abuse, exploitation, and deep psychological suffering–but there is also the originality, self-invention, ambition, intellectual curiosity, empathy and sexuality. I also hope that Love, Marilyn will inspire documentarians out there–particularly feminist filmmakers–to explore the complexities of this most enduring, ground-breaking star.
A three-hour art film about two queer women with subtitles is like a dream come true for me: I’ve sat through arty, subtitled films twice that long–which didn’t have a trace of queer content. So I’ve obsessively read everything I can about Blue Is The Warmest Color. And I’m puzzled. In an age when writers of color like Wesley Morris and Roxane Gay bring added perspective and insight to their reviews of films like, Django Unchained and 12 Years A Slave, why are straight men the overwhelming majority of people telling the world whether or not the sex scenes in Blue are convincing?
A three-hour art film about two queer women with subtitles is like a dream come true for me: I’ve sat through arty, subtitled films twice that long–which didn’t have a trace of queer content. So I’ve obsessively read everything I can about Blue Is The Warmest Color. And I’m puzzled. In an age when writers of color like Wesley Morris and Roxane Gay bring added perspective and insight to their reviews of films like, Django Unchained and 12 Years A Slave, why are straight men the overwhelming majority of people telling the world whether or not the sex scenes in Blue are convincing?
I saw the film about five months after it had won the top prize at Cannes (in an unusual move the jury awarded the prize to the two stars, Léa Seydoux and Adèle Exarchopoulos, as well as the director, Abdellatif Kechiche) just prior to its US release. Julie Maroh (the queer author of the original graphic novel on which the film is based) prepared me to not love the sex scenes, which she described as “porn,” ” brutal and surgical,” and “cold.”
What I didn’t expect, in a film that is told almost entirely in close-ups on faces, was the director (who also co-wrote the script) framing the sex scenes so they have as much tits and ass–especially ass–in them as possible. The actresses (Seydoux as Emma and Exarchopoulos as Adèle: the director named the main character and the film itself–the French title is La vie d’Adèle—after the woman playing the lead) do a beautiful job of making us believe in this romance–during the rest of the film. But here they are stuck playing a joyless game of naked Twister. We can practically hear the director shout, “Put your hand there! Put your face there! No, there! Now slap her ass! Again!” The ass slapping reminded me of the moment in male-directed, girl-on-girl porn clips, in which, to keep the audience from getting bored and give the actresses something to do, one woman is directed to slap (or tap: it makes a noise like slapping) the vulva of the other woman–even though: I don’t want my vulva slapped, and I’ve never met another queer woman who wants her vulva slapped nor one who gets pleasure from slapping the vulva of another woman.
The director frames a scene in a museum much like the sex scenes, so we get an eyeful of the breasts and buttocks from the nude artworks, as if the scene takes place at a peepshow. If the director had been able to stop ogling women’s body parts, he could have redeemed himself. A woman (who has never had sex with another woman) seeing nudes in the company of the woman to whom she has a strong sexual attraction is a situation rife with possibility. And part of what makes Adèle and Emma’s bond believable is the instant and electrifying attraction they have to each other: Adèle literally stops traffic when she first sees Emma and fantasizes about her that night, though the two haven’t even spoken. Every other moment of their relationship feels genuine (except when one woman hits the other during a fight, which also feels like a man’s version of what two women do when they’re alone), so we feel cheated during the naked sex scenes.
We see what the nude scenes could have been later in the film when the characters have a sexual moment but stay fully clothed–which is maybe why the director doesn’t ruin the mood. The camera focuses on their faces and the emotion that plays across them. Perhaps Kechiche finally learned that no one is able to act with her ass.
Although the filmmakers (I am including the actresses since, according to all parties, improvisation played a big part in the finished film) and straight reviewers are quick to describe the film as being a universal one of first love, and as Maroh has pointed out no queer women had a prominent role in the creation of the film, it captures queer life and love well, especially the intensity and desperation of a teenager’s first relationship with another woman. When the two have their big fight I cringed in recognition–as I did during many other moments.
The isolation Adèle experiences in her relationship with Emma is nothing like the peer-pressure romance she has at the beginning of the film with the sensitive, good-looking, older boy at school. Her high school friends (most of whom have the same neat, fashionable haircut; Adèle’s hair is messily piled on her head but at the same time always gets in her face) seem more eager about the relationship (“He likes you!”) than Adèle does.
After she breaks up with the boy, we see Adèle walking away from the high school friends who are calling her name to be with Emma. Adèle is opening her life to the elements, to a tornado, knowing nothing will be the same afterward and not caring about the consequences. So we’re not surprised that Adèle clings to Emma like a life preserver. And we’re also not surprised to see that later in the film, without Emma, she starts to sink.
After she’s finished with school, Adèle doesn’t talk with straight coworkers about her personal life, even though she gets along with them and likes her job. She wants to avoid coming out to them. She even hides her true address, so none of them find out she lives with a woman. When heartbreak comes she can’t tell the people she works with why she doesn’t feel like dancing with the preschoolers they look after, so she goes through the motions, letting her real feelings surface only after everyone has left, and the day is done.
Lea Seydoux (Emma)
Seydoux (whose previous roles are nothing like the one she plays here) makes Emma a beautiful butch, especially in her later scenes in which she seems lit from within, as if she stepped out of a Renoir painting. Emma is an artist herself and so stunning even those of us who are art-snobs can almost forgive her shitty paintings: the director seems to know as much about the art world as he does about sex between women.
Even in the mainstream films queer women love, we usually have to ignore the discrepancy between how non-character actresses in mainstream films are supposed to look and how butches look. Popular films will sometimes feature a butch who wears makeup heavy enough to be visible on camera, or we will see a woman who is supposed to be butch who has obvious breast implants. Though individual butches may have these attributes, they don’t signal “butch” to other queer women, including those in a film audience.
With her pale lashes and unpainted mouth Seydoux is one of the most recognizable butches I’ve seen in any movie, including those made by queer women. And her Emma pleasantly surprises us in the way that people in real life sometimes surprise us. We expect flirtatious, teasing, older Emma, who has her arm around another woman when she first sees Adèle, and a posse of admirers at the women’s bar, to break Adèle’s heart, but Emma turns out to be a serial monogamist who genuinely cares about Adèle. When Adèle first sees the inevitable cracks forming in her relationship with Emma she does the one thing guaranteed to destroy it (without consciously admitting what she is doing). Adèle ends up breaking her own heart.
Seeing the two actresses play the scene in the cafétoward the end is like watching two great musicians play together. Some viewers have complained the film is too long, but Blue takes time to unwind the way relationships take time, the way heartbreak takes time, the way life takes time. Even at three hours we just want more.
The film also excels in capturing the experiences of queer women who are femmes. At one point, we see Adèle (who wears skirts and heels) cook for, serve and then clean up for a large group of people she barely knows while her butch girlfriend (whose friends are the party guests) literally lies back with her hands under her head. I’ve played a similar “wife” role to a butch partner–and seen too many other femmes I know do so too.
In a long scene at the party, a man corners Adèle into a conversation about her sexuality, his eyes glittering (he could be a stand-in for the director!), and she’s too polite to tell him to fuck off. I’ve been to that party, met that man, and been that woman.
Adele Exarchopoulos (Adèle)
Adèle is beautiful in the conventional sense (with her hair down, she resembles a younger, more well-fed version of Angelina Jolie), but we see that she doesn’t fit in either at the women’s bar, where she first speaks to Emma or later at the party among her girlfriend’s arty, more conventionally queer-looking friends. She is always, always getting attention from men, even the ones who know she is with Emma–but garners hardly any notice from other queer women.
Though Blue Is The Warmest Color is directed by a straight guy (and one who is, let’s not forget, a creepy asshole) it is, I would argue, a feminist film. It’s centered on one woman and takes her seriously. And Exarchopoulos gives the role (as Adèle jokingly tells Emma she will give her “study” of sex with women) her “all.” Exarchopoulos’s face here is like a landscape in a Terrence Malick film and Blue, like the works of Malick, should absolutely, positively be seen in a theater, so the experience can wash over us, the way we see seawater wash over Adèle’s face when she is on a working holiday at the beach.
In Blue we see every aspect of Adèle’s life: as a schlumpy teenager, a student of French literature, a daughter, a girlfriend, a protestor, a “friend,” a teacher and finally a stylish twenty-something, alone. Films that cover this range in a man’s life are commonplace, but this week I was supposed to see three acclaimed American movies before their release (some of which competed with Blue at Cannes and may very well compete with it again at the Oscars), and the women in them are, according to even the glowing reviews, types and stereotypes: cute old ladies who talk dirty (and get cheap laughs for doing so) and bitchy ex-girlfriends who show that though the male protagonists may be losers, they aren’t gay losers. So sitting through three hours in a movie theater and focusing on one woman’s life (especially a queer woman’s) was a relief and something I could use a lot more of. SEE THIS FILM.
Ren Jender is a queer writer-performer/producer putting a film together. Her writing has appeared in The Toast, xoJane and the Feminist Wire. She almost dressed as “Emma” for Halloween, but then decided to be “zombie Lou Reed” instead.
Superhero movies often get better in their sequels because the repetitive and time-consuming business of an origin story has already been taken care of. Some of the greatest beneficiaries of this greater narrative freedom are the secondary characters, a group which, because these are comic book movies, generally encompasses every female character.
And yes, the women are for the most part given More To Do in Thor 2. But is it any more satisfying for the feminist viewer? Read more to find out.
Superhero movies often get better in their sequels because the repetitive and time-consuming business of an origin story has already been taken care of. Some of the greatest beneficiaries of this greater narrative freedom are the secondary characters, a group which, because these are comic book movies, generally encompasses every female character.
And yes, the women are for the most part given More To Do in Thor 2. But is it any more satisfying for the feminist viewer? Read more to find out. Spoiler alert #1: Not Really. Spoiler alert #2: There are spoilers for the film in this review.
Jane Foster could feel it. She was perfect.
Jane Foster Goes All Black Swan on Us
I know next to nothing about the character in the comics, but I really like Natalie Portman’s Jane Foster. I love how passionate she is about her work (possibly because I married a scientist). And Natalie Portman, with real life academic bona fides, brings invaluable credulity to her role as a brilliant astrophysicist. She also pulls off the character’s social awkwardness convincingly and endearingly, despite “good at science, bad at people” being something of an overdone trope. And my favorite thing about Jane Foster is how embarrassed she is by her romance novel-esque love affair with a godlike superhero from another realm. But while her character was nicely three-dimensional in the first Thor, she wasn’t given much in the way of plot.
So in the sequel, Jane gets plot, but it’s only by coincidentally being possessed by the MacGuffin (some kind of universe-destroying energy called the Aether). This results in her having some self-defending superpowers which are barely called into play (less action than Pepper Potts got with her temporary superpowers in Iron Man Three), and a handful of spooky moments where her eyes turn dark and she grows feathers out of her back. We don’t actually get to know how Jane FEELS about this potentially fatal possession, though. It’s clearly just a plot device to get Jane to Asgard, and a waste of an opportunity for real character development.
Also, that “for New York” face slap she gave Loki in the trailer? Much less effective in the actual film because it comes well after a DOUBLE face slap for Thor for not calling her when he was on Earth to save New York. If I think about that any longer I will actually have a stroke, so let’s move on to…
Rene Russo as Frigga
Frigga? More Like Fridge-a
Even though I watched the original (or two-thirds of the original before I fell asleep, no slight on the film, just a side effect of a busy week) on Friday night, I can’t remember what Frigga, mother to Thor and Loki and Queen of Asgard, did in the first movie other than provide the audience with a pleasant moment of, “Hey, Rene Russo!” and offer the camera concerned looks.
It’s not much better for our Queen in Thor 2. She gets one good tactical move and around thirty seconds of “see, strong women!” swordplay before getting killed off by the main baddie, all the better to fuel Thor’s broodiness. Loki clearly had a stronger bond with Frigga, but the only way we see her death affect him is when he rages out in his prison cell. Which, you know, he probably does when he has a stubborn tangle in his hair, so it’s not all that compelling. With the actually dramatically interesting parts of Frigga’s death left unexplored, it feels all the more egregious a case of the character being fridged.
Jaimie Alexander as Sif
Sif, also present.
Sif actually gets LESS to do in this movie, and a couple of suggestive edits imply she’s in one corner of a love triangle with Thor and Jane, which I could SERIOUSLY do without (although my Thor expert Ben tells me that in some runs of the comics, Sif loves Thor “big time”). But if they MUST go down that path, at least let us have some meaningful dialogue between her and Jane during their escape from Asgard.
I also get sad when Sif is on screen because she makes me want a Wonder Woman movie even more, but that isn’t Marvel or Jaimie Alexander’s fault, so let’s move on.
Kat Dennings as Darcy
And Kat Dennings as “Darcy”
Kat Denning’s Darcy is a Miracle Whip character: you either love her or hate her. She worked better for me in the first film, partially because the atrocious sitcom 2 Broke Girls pretty much has the same effect on Kat Denning’s signature shtick as sunlight does on Miracle Whip. Nevertheless, Darcy made me laugh, she helped the film pass the Bechdel Test by leaps and bounds, and, best of all, she reacted to the absurd goings-on the way a normal person would. I wanted to stand up and cheer when she called the police after Jane went missing from a creepy abandoned building, because that is what normal people would do, even when it seems pretty clear she’s missing because she’s in another realm, because there’s no 999 for that.
Even though I realize Darcy isn’t for everyone, I do wish there were more characters like her in the Marvel universe. By which I mean interesting, well-developed human civilian characters. So keep the Darcys coming, Marvel, and try to make some of them people of color, wouldya?
Thor 2‘s take on women: partly cloudy, some showers
In conclusion?Thor 2 isn’t TERRIBLE to its women, even though it isn’t exactly great. Moreover, the treatment of women in the movie is good enough that it doesn’t detract much from the rest of the film, which is for my money very enjoyable and a substantial improvement on the (already pretty good) first installment. It’s definitely worth seeing–at least so I have more people to talk to about it.
Everyone loves a feel-good story about an awkward ginger falling in love and bonding with his family! About Time follows the life of Tim (Domhnall Gleeson), a young lawyer whose father (Bill Nighy) informs him on his 21st birthday that he has the ability to time travel. Specifically, that all the men in his family have the ability to time travel. I was a little bit perplexed that the women are kept in the dark about the family secret, but I guess it’s a metaphor for paternal bonding or whatever. Tim immediately endeavors to use his newfound gift to find a girlfriend, which feels slightly immature for a guy who’s out of school and in a steady career. Nevertheless, Gleeson keeps the tone light and heartwarming. Tim soon meets Mary (Rachel McAdams) and makes frequent use of his time travel to ensure that every aspect of their relationship development is perfect.
Everyone loves a feel-good story about an awkward ginger falling in love and bonding with his family! About Time follows the life of Tim (Domhnall Gleeson), a young lawyer, whose father (Bill Nighy) informs him on his 21st birthday that he has the ability to time travel. Specifically, that all the men in his family have the ability to time travel. I was a little bit perplexed that the women are kept in the dark about the family secret, but I guess it’s a metaphor for paternal bonding or whatever. Tim immediately endeavors to use his newfound gift to find a girlfriend, which feels slightly immature for a guy who’s out of school and in a steady career. Nevertheless, Gleeson keeps the tone light and heartwarming. Tim soon meets Mary (Rachel McAdams) and makes frequent use of his time travel to ensure that every aspect of their relationship development is perfect.
Tim initially sets his sights on Charlotte.
What I like about Tim is that he’s flawed in a relatively benign way. While we’ve been conditioned as viewers to see the lead roles as starcrossed lovers, despite Tim’s undeniable love for Mary, he’s indiscriminate. He doesn’t really care who he falls in love with as long as he’s in love. As a testament to this, the film devotes a surprisingly large amount of time to showing his failed conquest of his first love, Charlotte (Margot Robbie). Far from the traditional notions of Hollywood romance, Mary arguably only becomes Tim’s true love because she was the first girl to give him a chance. Tim even goes on an ambiguous date with Charlotte while he’s dating Mary, wherein Charlotte predictably expresses playful remorse for initially rejecting him and makes a move. Tim carefully cuts it off just short of cheating – only by a hair’s breadth – to avoid venturing into unsympathetic protagonist territory. (He conveniently runs home to Mary and spontaneously proposes.) I will say that I’m not a fan of bringing Charlotte back into the narrative to encourage the audience to thumb their nose at her and feed into smug Nice Guy vindictiveness. However, I do like that Tim and Mary are just sort of together out of coincidence because it proves that you don’t always need an epic back story or a lot of angst to be happy with someone.
Tim and Mary.
I have some concerns about female agency in this movie. Tim meets Mary several times with varying degrees of success. He redoes their initial conversation so much that he ironically lands a date with her by using her own opinions verbatim from previous attempts. He discovers through his lackluster interactions with Charlotte that even time travel and the clairvoyance that it brings can’t force someone to fall in love with him, but his experiences with Mary suggest otherwise. Sure, Mary was attracted to him from the start and you could conclude that any little tweaks Tim made wouldn’t have that much of an impact if they truly were “meant to be.” Obsessively manipulating every tiny aspect of your relationship to meet your idealized standards doesn’t exactly feel like you’re allowing the chemistry to develop organically. There’s definitely something uncomfortable about picking a random girl as your love object and then meticulously premeditating everything until she’s basically a blank slate for the perfect partner. That’s not really liberating for Mary. It’s the (500) Days of Summer mentality minus the petulant entitlement.
Tim and Kit Kat stick together.
These problematic aspects are mostly redeemed in that the romance isn’t actually the heart of the story. Refreshingly enough, Tim’s relationships with his family quickly come back to the foreground to pack more of an affective punch than sappy a love story ever could on its own. I’ve never seen the main romance as a faux A-plot in a romcom-esque drama and I couldn’t have enjoyed that twist more. The bond between Tim and his father turns out to be the most emotional aspect of the film. At times, I found Tim’s dizzy sister Kit Kat (Lydia Wilson) airy fairy to the point of being almost obnoxiously childlike, but Wilson and Gleeson have a phenomenal, easy chemistry that evens out her frayed edges. They’re one of my favorite brother/sister relationships in recent memory. Although Tim is clearly protective of her, it’s never overbearing or controlling. When Kit Kat turns to drinking to deal with her abusive boyfriend and gets into a car crash, Tim tries unsuccessfully to undo events before realizing that she needs to make the decision to better her life choices on her own. Somewhat implausibly, she has this epiphany in a few short sentences and finds new love and stability with Tim’s geeky best friend Jay (Will Merrick, bizarrely playing Gleeson’s peer despite a ten year age gap). I much prefer Tim and Kit Kat’s relationship as partners in crime to the romanticized possessiveness of brothers over sisters. I also think the fact that Tim was unable to protect her from all the bad things in life and gently encouraged her to make changes herself is much more realistic. People can get wrapped up in their lives and not notice what’s going on with their family, but that doesn’t necessarily mean they love them any less or should feel obligated to beat themselves up. They can still do the best they can as a support system. The only person I wish had been explored more is Tim’s mom. Oh well, I guess you can’t expect everyone to be totally developed. It’s just strange given that everyone else in his family seems so close.
Tim’s dad comforts him after breaking the news of his diagnosis.
A few unexpected plot twists keep things from becoming stale and work to set limits on the God complex of time travel. Tim takes Kit Kat back in time to stop her from meeting her abusive boyfriend after the car crash, which happened to occur on the day of his daughter’s first birthday. Things appear to go off without a hitch until to his horror, he returns home to a completely different child. His dad explains that he can’t go back in time past the birth of his child because it would effectively create a sperm roulette and produce different children every time, meaning that events are set in stone with the birth of each of his future children. This caveat acquires heart wrenching significance when his dad is diagnosed with terminal cancer. He and Tim continue to spend time together through time travel after his death, but it isn’t long before Mary announces she wants another baby. The meetings between father and son must come to a close. (Although I’m not quite sure how they happen. He can’t time travel because he’s dead. If Tim travels back, isn’t it just his memory of his dad? How does he continue to live? If he is “alive,” it’s a bit rude to leave your dad in purgatory.) Their final scene together is a massive tearjerker. Tim ultimately decides to stop time traveling altogether and live each day to the fullest. Even if you have the power to live every moment again, sometimes the present is perfect enough.
BET’s Black Girls Rock! Awards ceremony last week was a magnificent and much-needed celebration of the social and cultural achievements of Black women: in politics and sport, music and local activism. It’s absolutely disgusting that such an important and wonderful event was marred by white racism.
BET’s Black Girls Rock! Awards ceremony last week was a magnificent and much-needed celebration of the social and cultural achievements of Black women: in politics and sport, music and local activism. The ceremony is a 90-minute showcase of monumental talent, guts, and determination among women of color, and it’s absolutely disgusting that such an important and wonderful event was marred by white racism.
FACT
As a white person watching this event, what struck me most was this: These women were not addressing me. Although I’m trans and queer, I otherwise fall into the coveted “white males aged 18-35” demographic, and all mainstream media content is aimed squarely at me. Our society demonstrably:
And then turns around, smiling sweetly, and claims to be “post-racial.” In this environment, only the most assimilationist and unthreatening of Black voices are given a platform. Will Smith stars in bootrstrappy neocon fairytales. Crashpasses for nuanced discourse around race in Hollywood. Kanye West is ridiculed for publicly speaking truths about racism in the US.
There’s an ugly mass silencing of Black voices in white America. That’s what makes Black Girls Rock! so necessary and so compelling.
I LOVE YOU, JANELLE MONAE
I’m a white guy, surrounded by white privilege the way I’m surrounded by air, so I didn’t start watching the show for its political content, but out of sheer narcissism: I was at the taping of the opening performance by my beloved Janelle Monáe, and I just wanted to see my own face on TV (you get a split-second glimpse of me at the end of Monáe’s song). I kept watching because it is so unusual for me to witness people of color talking in this way – to, from, and for their community. The women onstage were talking about the intersectional web of systemic and individual oppressions faced by Black women in America, and they were doing this in the context of an awards show. As an avid Academy hate-watcher, I’m accustomed to treating awards shows as the smarmy, self-congratulatory industry circle-jerks that most of them are. This, though! This was a genuinely uplifting celebration of legitimately inspiring work by truly awesome individuals.
Here was the incredible Marian Wright Edelman, Mississippi’s first African-American woman lawyer and a tireless activist for underserved children even well into her seventies.
I LOVE YOU, MARIAN WRIGHT EDELMAN
Here was anti-violence activist Ameena Matthews, speaking so powerfully about being a Black Muslim woman that she gave me chills.
Here was TV writer Mara Brock Akil, declaring, “Black women, even if nobody else sees you, I SEE YOU.”
Here was Misty Copeland, a Black woman dancing classical ballet with otherworldly beauty.
Here were three astonishing young women who have made astounding contributions to local activism in their communities, including one little girl who created her own (female, Black) superhero to combat pollution.
As Awesomely Luvvie put it, “Every moment felt like a highlight.” Amber Riley, Queen Latifah, Venus Williams, and Jennifer Hudson were among the stars present, and pretty nearly everything about the show was wonderful. Talented, tireless African-American women were lifting one another up instead of being forced to cater to white supremacy, and it was beautiful.
This is the ugly reality of racism’s MO in US society. Staggering forces operate socially, economically, politically, and culturally to maintain white supremacy in every arena, and if everpeople of color do something that is not directly and primarily aimed at perpetuating this, white people start accusing them of racism. It would be funny if it wasn’t borderline-genocidal.
Fellow white people, I am begging you: don’t make this about you. Go watch the Black Girls Rock! show. Give BET your eyeballs, your time, and your attention. When I sat down to watch the show, I was only in it for myself, but I got a humbling and eye-opening exposure to some phenomenal women who are powerful forces for good in our society. May Black girls continue to rock the boat, the house, and the world.
Patsey can be the only the source of her violent hatred; and while Mistress Epps turns her spite on her husband occasionally, she is quickly reminded by her husband of her place in a patriarchal American Southern society–if he tires of her, she is gone. McQueen handles these situations with a frankness and humanity that is not overdone and he brings the best perfomances out of all his actors. The film got a standing ovation at Telluride, several times over, which is rare to happen at the festival.
From Red Tails to Lee Daniels’ The Butler and Django Unchained, there have been a lot of “Black Exodus” movies lately, and by Black Exodus, I mean every time there is major motion picture with a mostly African American cast (and usually a historical plot), every black person I know (including myself) goes to see the movie on opening weekend. Usually because there are so few movies, especially great films, that are made with African Americans as a major focus it’s an event to go see such a movie and we want to make sure Hollywood knows it has support.Well if there is any movie worth going to see whether you are black, white, woman or man, I urge you to go see 12 Years a Slave.
12 Years a Slave is based on the autobiographical account of Solomon Northrup, a successful, middle class African American attorney born free who lives in upstate New York with his family in the 1840s. He is kidnapped on his way to Washington DC to pursue a business deal and is sold into slavery at its xenith in the American South. The story accounts his experiences as an enslaved man and his struggle to get back to his family. British (and black) director Steve McQueen (of Hunger and Shame) directs an all-star cast of Chiwetel Ejiofor (Solomon Northrup) Brad Pitt, Michael Fassbender, Benedict Cumberbatch, Paul Giamatti, Alfre Woodard, and outstanding newcomer Kenyan actress Lupita N’yongo.
Unlike Django Unchained, it is not particularly rough to watch in its violence. As a matter of fact, because I saw Django Unchained I think I was better prepared to see the brutality portrayed in 12 Years a Slave. To me the most brutal scenes were not of the requisite whipping or hanging of the slaves, but of the systematic emotional break down of Solomon as he realizes what has happened to him and no matter how hard he protests, no one will believe who he is, and if they do, they beat him physically or emotionally until he eventually gives up. Solomon’s breakdown from freeman to slave provides the most interesting twist, because it’s not just about a man who was born a slave, lived a slave, and died a slave. This story was about a freeman with the privileges and rights of any other freeman who had them ripped away. And it’s this that allows the viewer to see the full brutality of American slavery, and how it thrived off depriving the human spirit. It’s Solomon’s determination to get back to his family that keeps him surviving, but it’s his fear and occasional brushes with nearly getting caught, that increase his fear (e.g. writing a letter to his family when slaves aren’t supposed to read and write) and keep him a slave.
The movie does not shy from the gender dynamics that were also at play in American slavery through Solomon’s female counterparts. From a slave woman named Eliza, who is separated from her children, to Patsey (played by outstanding newcomer Lupita Nyong’o), who is the unfortunate object of her slave master’s sexual advances. Through Mistress Shaw, the black mistress of a white plantation owner (played with sass by Alfre Woodard) we hear of the “choices” that many enslaved black women have then as she tries to counsel Patsey. Submit to the master’s sexual advances or feel the whip on your back and work hours in the fields, she admonishes. However, sometimes even if you submitted to the master of the plantation’s desires, it didn’t guarantee your safety. As Patsey finds out from her sociopathic Master Epps (Michael Fassbender), who has an obsessive fascination with her that results in him brutalizing her and others around her who might get in his way as he “pursues” her. One such object of Epps’ hatred and source of distress for Patsey is Master Epps’ wife, a Bible-thumping bitter woman (Sarah Paulson), who in a fit of jealous rage throws a glass at Patsey’s head when she sees her husband ogling her.
Patsey can be the only the source of her violent hatred; and while Mistress Epps turns her spite on her husband occasionally, she is quickly reminded by her husband of her place in a patriarchal American Southern society–if he tires of her, she is gone. McQueen handles these situations with a frankness and humanity that is not overdone and he brings the best perfomances out of all his actors. The film got a standing ovation at Telluride, several times over, which is rare to happen at the festival. The music is by renowned musician Hans Zimmer. 12 Years a Slave is a must-see by all accounts.
Atima Omara-Alwala is a political strategist and activist of 10 years who has served as staff on eight federal and local political campaigns and other progressive causes. Atima’s work has had a particular focus on women’s political empowerment and leadership, reproductive justice, health care, communities of color and how gender and race is reflected in pop culture. Her writings on the topics have also been featured at Ms. Magazine, Women’s Enews, and RH Reality Check.
However, for some reason, the siren song of shock value makes writers unable to let sleeping dogs lie. Happiness (or let’s be real, any positivity) just isn’t authentic enough. Queer characters have a bull’s-eye on their backs because their suffering is interpreted as a commentary on the cruelty of the human condition, even if their death has nothing to do with their identity. It’s symbolic! The potential pathos payoff of a queer martyr is too tempting to worry about silly junk like the importance of representation or overcoming adversity. Queer kids, you can totally have a meaningful future, until your death is required for timely social commentary or for the sake of artistic profundity! But you still kind of sort of existed when it was relevant to other people, so isn’t that enough? Ah yes, you can always depend on that token queer waiting in the slaughterhouse when you’ve run out of ideas and/or creative integrity.
Skins and Degrassi are just two recent examples of this unfortunately common trope.
Queer representation has increased steadily over the past few years. Like all characters, some portrayals are better than others. It unfortunately seems to be an unspoken rule that writers have a lot more room with laziness or clichés when it comes to creating queer characters. The logic behind minority characters and particularly queer characters tends to follow the philosophy of “make ‘em as one dimensional as you want, you get a gold star for just admitting that they exist!” Thus anyone who isn’t a cis, straight, able-bodied white male has a lot of hurdles to climb. Many writers have recently expressed enthusiasm about LGBT community inclusion, which has been both a blessing and a curse. Really, how many unrequited crush storylines can you do? Often, “queer” becomes code for “resident narrative punching bag and straight romance prop.”
Naomi Campbell (top) and Adam Torres (bottom).
Nonetheless, sometimes writers strike gold. Two prime examples include Naomi Campbell (Skins) and Adam Torres (Degrassi), a lesbian and female to male (FTM) trans* guy respectively. Naomi (Lily Loveless) is everyone’s favorite snark knight with an interest in politics and a growing attraction to Emily (Kat Prescott). Naomi grapples with her sexuality, her fear of vulnerability, and fierce opposition from Emily’s twin sister Katie. After a river of tears and several passionate monologues, Naomi and Emily, aka Naomily, finally get their happy ending. They even survive a godawful love square. The queer community fell as deeply in love with Naomi and Emily as they did with each other and the couple was almost universally hailed as the most iconic queer coming-of-age story of our generation. Adam (Jordan Todosey) faces similar obstacles. Although he is confident in his identity, he faces constant opposition from his reluctant mother as well as bullying and harassment from his peers, which drives him to self-harm. He fights for everything from sports participation to bathroom rights. Adding insult to injury, he is rejected by a slew of girls because they can’t accept him as authentically male. In an ironic twist, he ultimately finds himself happy in love with an extremely conservative Christian girl, Becky (Sarah Fisher). Degrassi received tons of positive press for introducing TV’s first transgendered teen.
Of course, the characters and the execution of their representation weren’t without fault. Once you strip away all the jaded hipster dialogue and pretty outfits and tortured sexual tension, Naomily’s storyline is fairly formulaic – one person experiences perpetual gay panic while their dogged love interest gets dragged through the mud and back into the closet. Naomi’s involvement with politics only functioned as a premise for her to interact initially with Emily and then completely disappeared. Naomi and Emily’s sole purpose individually is to be hopelessly codependent on the other, so much so that most fans just refer to them by their portmanteau. They never existed outside of each other’s narratives and their relationship was the entirety of their character development. By the same token, I can’t name an Adam plot that didn’t relate directly or indirectly to him being transgendered. The fact that most of Adam’s love interests bypassed him to date his cisgendered brother Drew sends a painfully deliberate, albeit possibly unintentional, message to the audience. In spite of everything, the incredibly compelling performances of the actresses allowed these characters to transcend stereotypical stumbles and become sympathetic and relatable. Naomi and Adam were clear fan favorites.
Naomi and Emily (top) and Adam and Becky (bottom) being adorable.
However, for some reason, the siren song of shock value makes writers unable to let sleeping dogs lie. Happiness (or let’s be real, any positivity) just isn’t authentic enough. Queer characters have a bull’s-eye on their backs because their suffering is interpreted as a commentary on the cruelty of the human condition, even if their death has nothing to do with their identity. It’s symbolic! The potential pathos payoff of a queer martyr is too tempting to worry about silly junk like the importance of representation or overcoming adversity. Queer kids, you can totally have a meaningful future, until your death is required for timely social commentary or for the sake of artistic profundity! But you still kind of sort of existed when it was relevant to other people, so isn’t that enough? Ah yes, you can always depend on that token queer waiting in the slaughterhouse when you’ve run out of ideas and/or creative integrity.
Here’s where the shit hits the fan. As a longtime devotee of both Skins and Degrassi and someone who was deeply emotionally invested in both Adam and Naomi as individuals and their potential to attest to and bring about an evolving social landscape long overdue, I’m about to get unapologetically salty. Buckle up.
Naomi and Emily finished their original arc with an emotional reconciliation.
Everything had turned out well for Naomi and Emily. Skins changes casts every two years, so we hadn’t seen them since 2010. The show is notoriously scant with mentions of previous characters once they’ve moved on. Fan reaction was thus understandably elated when it was announced that the couple would return for the show’s final “celebratory” season this past July, which claimed to serve as an updated epilogue for a handful of popular characters. Though Naomi and Emily were somewhat nonsensically shoehorned into an episode with another character as the main focus, everyone was excited to see what new challenges they were facing. Optimism is an Achilles’ heel when it comes to the Skins franchise because the writers conflate maturity and character development with total disillusionment and misery. Showrunners and father/son co-creators Brian Elsley and Jamie Brittain passed the torch of Naomily to little sister Jess. Nepotism is always the surefire way to have a job well done! That’s like letting your younger sister play with your favorite Barbie dolls and giving her full permission to toss them down the garbage disposal. Still, Jamie himself stated that Naomi and Emily get married in the future. The outcome couldn’t be too catastrophic, right?
Naomi attempts to comfort Emily as they face the reality of her terminal diagnosis.
Think again! Naomi and Emily are reduced to window dressing as the primary character Effy enjoys a glamorous life in the London stock investment world. Effy and Naomi are roommates while Emily does a photography internship in New York (the first time Emily has been given an interest outside of Naomi). Proving her mediocrity as a writer, Jess saddles Naomi with cancer and makes her entire plot – a B-plot for crying out loud – about the impact her illness has on Effy. We have less than an hour to get reacquainted with a character that we haven’t seen in three years, you give her a terminal illness in the B-plot, and the fucking plot isn’t even technically about her. Naomi decides to keep Emily in the dark to protect her because that’s ~the noble thing to do, alluding to their fragile trust issues after mutual infidelity. I don’t even understand why Kat was in the credits when Emily has so little screen time. Emily visits Naomi once early on in blissful ignorance and they have sex while moaning pornographically as Effy tries to get it on with her love interest. Haha, the hilarity of gay sex. Naomi then deteriorates super graphically, vomiting in Effy’s lap and eventually being confined to a hospital bed. When it’s confirmed that the unnamed cancer is terminal, Effy caves and tells Emily. The last we see of Naomily is Emily curled up sobbing by Naomi’s side, with Naomi’s fate left ambiguous but pretty much sealed.
The backlash was intense and venomous. Naomily was one of the few queer couples with a solidly positive ending. Sure, plenty of people would argue that their cheating storyline was weak as hell (myself included), but that was redeemed for many when Naomi won Emily back for good. The ink was dry, their chapter was closed, etc. There was no reason to mess with a good thing, save for the obvious elephant in the room: ratings and easy exploitation. Naomily was the piece de resistance of the franchise and their reputation arguably preceded and eclipsed that of the show itself. The PR team knew that Naomily fans were a large demographic. However, the ratings ploy aspect of it isn’t even that logical, since it was already announced that the series was canceled before filming on the final season started. Accusations and mudslinging began to fly. The Brittains have had a remarkably antagonistic relationship to the Skins fan base. We are talking levels of contempt that would put Ryan Murphy and the Glee fandom to shame. As the seasons wore on and the gimmicks got cheaper, fans became increasingly vocal about their disappointment. Given the Brittain’s penchant for routine, pointless character death and the immense outcry that it always provoked, Naomi’s death was seen as a blatant middle finger. Heather Hogan, AfterEllen contributor and former staunch defendant of all previous Skins fuckery due to Naomily’s flawlessness, announced that she would not be reviewing the episode precisely because it needlessly extinguished a shining example for an entire community. When you’ve lost your most irrational stan, that’s when you know you’ve shit the bed. For their part, the Brittain siblings responded to the onslaught of genuine dismay with all the grace and poise of constipated five-year-olds denied their nap time. Jess deleted her Twitter multiple times and in response to Heather calling them out on their contribution to the alarming frequency of queer women character deaths, Jamie tweeted back “I couldn’t care less.”
The wound was so deep that people vowed to turn their backs on the beloved actresses, questioning whether they knew about the outcome of the script when they signed on for the project. On one hand, it’s important to remember that actors are just doing their job and everyone has to make a living. However, the sense of betrayal definitely resonates on some level. If Lily and Kat did know that Naomi would end up on her deathbed, it’s a little depressing to think that they would be willing to self-destruct characters that launched their careers for an easy paycheck, when they themselves have spoken of the overwhelmingly positive response to and significance of Naomily. Jess defended herself by stating that even if Naomi did die, it effectively didn’t matter because Naomi and Emily would always be gay. I tried to make a joke here, but I couldn’t because the argument is too nonsensical. The stupidity transcends my wit. I didn’t know that was possible.
Adam’s departure was equally shoddy. Following the launch of his epic romance, he quickly faded into the background. Rumors were swirling for months that Jordan Todosey wanted to leave Degrassi. There were also concerns about Jordan’s shelf life as Adam, given that several of Adam’s storylines revolved around his decision to begin testosterone treatments and Jordan isn’t trans*. This is one of those instances that underscores the importance of casting someone who actually matches the character’s circumstances in real life, although Jordan’s performance was consistently strong. Normally I loathe casting multiple actors to play the same character, but on this rare occasion, it would have worked, especially since Jordan wanted to leave anyway. They could have gotten a trans* guy to take over the role post-testosterone. I should have anticipated that Adam’s actual resolution would be much more asinine.
Adam has a chat with Imogen and showcases his, um, updated style.
Adam suddenly returns front and center for the early block of season 13 episodes, which should have been our first red flag. All of the previous meticulousness that had gone into making Adam look masculine has vanished and his style throughout his final return is basically just Jordan awkwardly shoved into frumpy layered flannel and baseball caps, making her look more like a lesbian suburban soccer mom than a 17-year-old boy. I know Jordan had been phoning it in with Adam and growing her hair out, but this was just embarrassing. I don’t mean to imply that trans* guys who don’t present as traditionally masculine are less legitimate, but letting Adam running around with a mullet and what appears to be unisex 80s clothing from the local Goodwill does a deep disservice to his character in that his central concern has always been passing as masculine and sometimes even cisgendered.
Don’t worry, this incredibly disturbing visual serves no purpose! He’ll be dead by the end of the commercial break.
Anyway, what better use of Adam’s last few episodes of screen time than a gratuitous and nonsensical love triangle! The writers answered the prayers of many a fangirl in the most unsavory way possible by putting him at the center of a girl-on-girl rivalry as soon as he was in a stable and loving relationship. Long story short, Adam and Becky have a fight, prompting Adam to make out with his friend Imogen. He feels so wracked with guilt that he immediately jumps in the car and texts Becky. The distraction causes him to crash into a tree. We have the lovely treat of seeing him bruised and bandaged in a coma for all of one episode before he quietly passes away. Vomit. Fans were obviously upset. Showrunner Stefan Brogren bailed himself out by advising fans via Twitter not to watch Degrassi if they don’t like it. He must have time traveled all the way back to sixth grade to come up with that zinger. Since Adam’s death, some half-assed attempts to turn him into a sacrificial lamb for texting and driving awareness have fallen flat because a) you could’ve given that plot to any other fucking character b) are you really doubling down on PSA duty with the trans* kid? and c) his original intent in terms of “audience lessons” (if you’re going to reduce him to that) was done with such care and empathy that it makes this plot seem like a bag of horse shit. Letting him by defined postmortem by texting and driving spits on his legacy. I have the urge to insert that middle finger gif every other sentence.
In abstract, the writers’ defenses of their chosen character deaths were lazy yet plausible. The Brittains pointed out that many young people have their lives tragically cut short by cancer and Brogren essentially made the same argument for texting and driving. Both statements are true. In those situations, death does not discriminate. But you can’t sit there and honestly tell me that those decisions were pure coincidence, even if only on the unconscious level. Really, you just happened to kill the LGBT character? That’s like robbing someone’s house and then claiming that they can’t prosecute you because some burglaries go unsolved, despite the fact that you’d been scoping out their house for months and knew they were vulnerable. As for why this explanation is fucking ridiculous on a show specific level, Naomi’s appearance was anticipated to be a 45 min. ratings victory lap about what she had been up to since going to university. You could have shown her cleaning pools, for fuck’s sake, as long as she had a few cute scenes with Emily. We hadn’t seen her in three years and we aren’t ever going to see her again, so why on earth would you choose to nuke the crown jewel of your family franchise with a cliché cancer tragedy fapfest? On a similar note, Degrassi has been known for writing off characters in as little as a single line of dialogue or simply by never mentioning them again. Past explanations for character departure include going to Kenya and moving to Paris to model. You’re telling me you couldn’t send Adam to Europe for a fancy testosterone trial or something?
Overall, the petulant indignation of these writers in response to sincere criticism of snuffing out crucial representation speaks volumes about just how much further the media has to go in terms of its handling of queer subjects. If even the most three-dimensional portrayals can be milked as award bait and then thrown under the bus for any totally non-sequitur issue of the week, it isn’t really all that progressive, is it? Groundbreaking would be showing that queer people have a new chapter worth living for, even if they have to fight for it. Groundbreaking would be showing queer characters happy in relationships without immediately punishing them with supposedly random acts of fate. Groundbreaking would be showing that queer people can and do go on to lead successful, fulfilling lives.
Writers, what you’re doing isn’t groundbreaking. It’s self-serving. You are jumping on a bandwagon and then cutting your own creations loose the second they become inconvenient. You can’t dust your hands off and tell me shit happens. Try again. Push harder. Instead of shocking me with publicity stunts, make me marvel at just how committed you are to actually telling a character’s story authentically . Lastly, don’t you dare fucking tell me to sit down and shut up. You made a big show of initially bringing our community’s “real” stories into the spotlight and now you have the gall to cherry pick our reaction and whine that we should have been grateful for the inevitable shit sandwich all along? We have precious few torchbearers of alternative identity. The capitalization on such fragile issues is sickening and myopically focused on garnering brownie points for the status quo. I can assure you that the impact of these characters transcends the incubator of your tragically narrow mind and maybe that makes you bitter. At the end of the day, in spite of the most idiotic departures you can think of, these characters symbolize an intense hope and tenacity for those who might not have any other allies in their corner.
For all these reasons and more, I will not allow you to quietly bury your queers.
