Author: Bitch Flicks

Head wtch in charge: Revisiting The Witches

     Since the premiere of NBC’s new musical comedy, Smash (think: Glee for adults that are embarrassed to admit that they watch Glee), interest has been renewed in the legendary actor Anjelica Huston. While Huston boasts a laundry list of screen credits, including a handful of Emmys and an Academy Award win for Prizzi’s Honor, the least attention of all has been given to her worthwhile portrayal of the High Witch in the 1990 film adaptation of Roald Dahl’s The Witches.
   
     The film centers around the parallel lives of Helga Eveshim (Mai Zetterling) and her recently-orphaned grandson, Luke Eveshim (Jasen Fischer). Each night before bed, Luke begs to hear a story about witches. “Real witches dress in ordinary clothes and look very much like ordinary women. They live in ordinary houses and they work in ordinary jobs[…]for all you know, a witch might be living right next door to you,” Helga tells him in foreshadowing. For a moment, she sounds a bit like Fred Phelps, warning his minions about the dangers of lesbians.

     Grandmother’s distaste is very much warranted, however. As a child, she witnessed the witches turn her close friend into a character in a painting, where she spent the rest of her days, aging along with the canvas.

     Bad news strikes the Eveshim family thrice within the first fifteen minutes of The Witches. Shortly after the car crash which kills Luke’s parents, Helga is diagnosed with diabetes and urged to go on a holiday. The two relatives travel to a majestic hotel in Cornwall, England. Their relaxing vacation soon turns anything but as Helga and Luke realize that witches from every corner of the globe are having their annual convention in the very same hotel!

     These are hardly JK Rowling’s witches. They have beady purple eyes, scabbing scalps, square toes, not to mention a gross distaste for children–so much, that kiddies give off the scent of “dog’s droppings” whenever they are near. These supernatural women have one mission, and one mission only: To eradicate the world of these sticky-fingered, no good nuisances.

     Huston’s character spends the majority of her time on-screen berating the common witches  for not doing more to reduce the world’s K-12 population. When a commoner protests, “We can’t possibly wipe out all of them!,” the High Witch effortlessly turns her to ash. She then unveils a tiny bottle containing 500 doses of a potion called Formula 86, which is designed to assist in the complete annihilation of children in a very thorough and gruesome manner.
“Vitches vork ONLY vith magic!” the High Witch asserts. Funny, so do btches.

While Huston’s High Witch may be no Professor McGonagall, she serves as an excellent prequel to Bellatrix LeStrange:

     Fortunately, Grandmother Helga has schooled young Luke on witches’ wiles. Between her vast knowledge and Luke’s big-eared eagerness two learn, the two have no choice: They must take on the High Witch and–without giving away too much–offer her a taste of her own medicine.

     While The Witches did not fare well in box offices 22 years ago, the film holds two unplanned titles: In addition to being the Swedish bombshell Mai Zetterling’s last film, it was also Jim Henson’s final production before his untimely death in May 1990. As someone who grew up squished between episodes of Sesame Street and the pages of Roald Dahl’s novels, I would’ve loved to see this collaboration continue. The puppetry and cosmetic effects used in The Witches are so uniquely Henson that it’s impossible to not reminisce on Labyrinth while watching the film.
     Mai Zetterling ultimately pushes the plot forward, and in true feminist fashion. She’s everything I would want to be as a grandmother, from the bone-chilling bedtime stories to adventurous holidays in England. She educates and guides Luke, passing the witch-burning torch onto him when she’s no longer able to carry it.

     Despite The Witches having a large group of women serving as a collective antagonist, the film passes the Bechdel Test with flying colors: There is more than one female character who has a conversation about something other than men (in this case, the extermination of children); and while the High Witch uses her powers for evil, she earns Bonus Bechdel Points (BBPs) in my book for holding her own for as long as possible with a large and often critical group of colleagues.
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While she doesn’t quite have the accent, Sarah Fonseca’s been known to accidently type ‘ya’ll’ in her articles. Thank g-d for copyeditors.

Sarah runs frantically between writing and feminist club meetings on her university’s campus. Fortunately, those two spheres collide more than one would think. She is heavily involved with National Organization for Women, Creative Writing Club, and Random Acts of Poetry at Georgia Southern University.


Sarah is a staff writer for Georgia Southern’s George-Anne newspaper, and occasionally contributes to other publications within the community. Her fiction has been published in The Q Review and recognized by the Harbuck Scholarship committee.


Sarah is currently applying for fellowship with Lambda Literary, and plans to present her paper entitled On the Queering of Hair at next year’s National Women’s Studies Association Conference. 


Guest Writer Wednesday: Melancholia, Take 2

Justine as Ophelia? from Melancholia (2011)
This is a guest post from Hannah Reck.

“All say, ‘How hard it is that we have to die’—a strange complaint to come from people who have had to live.” –Mark Twain 

As a mother of a 3-year-old, I don’t get out much, and, on my evenings off, I’d rather lie on the couch and watch something mindless. Sad, but true. A friend asked me to meet her at the town’s indie film theater and I knew nothing about the film I was going to see, not even the name…or director. I am not well-versed in Lars Von Trier’s work; though, I did try to watch Dancer in the Dark and couldn’t make it through. The film we saw is obviously Melancholia. I’d never even seen a trailer for this film and I left the theater thinking, “how could you ever make a trailer for THAT?!?” Afterward, I watched the official trailer and thought it simplified what was so moving about this film. Yes, it’s about the end of the world, but it’s so much more than that. 
Ultimately, Melancholia is about the human condition and how we handle the deep emotion we feel and our personal definition of crisis. The film centers on the relationship between two sisters, who react differently to life’s challenges, and in this case they deal with life’s biggest challenge: death. Not only a single death, but death of everything, which is, I don’t know, kind of heavy. Justine, played brilliantly by Kirsten Dunst, is a near-debilitated depressive who forms a strange relationship to the approaching planet Melancholia. Claire, (Charlotte Gainbourg) is the other sister, very much the antithesis of Justine. For one, she’s sane and copes with life according to the rules of society; employing the niceties by which we all try to abide. Justine doesn’t. Even at her wedding, she rejects the ritual and falls into a deep depression after her mother’s toast. Their mother Gaby, a cutting and steely woman, is played by Charlotte Rampling (always brilliant), and their father Dexter, a bumbling, well-meaning drunk, by John Hurt (sometimes brilliant). Claire, it seems, has helped her sister cope with her depression throughout her entire life. Despite Justine’s episodes, Claire plans an extremely lavish wedding for her sister in the home she shares with her husband (Kiefer Sutherland) and her son, Leo (Cameron Spurr). Their home screams Gothic Romanticism, and could easily be the set of a British period drama with a brooding Byronic hero gazing down from the window. Justine is that hero…Byron-esque heroine? 
Justine, Leo, and Claire
Melancholia possesses qualities of romanticism, which Merriam-Webster defines as: a predilection for melancholy, and Wiki describes as “strong emotion as an authentic source of aesthetic experience [with] emphasis on such emotions as trepidation, horror and terror and awe—especially that which is experienced in confronting the sublimity of untamed nature and its picturesque qualities.” Where Melancholia is concerned, this is an exact description. Though I didn’t grab this Romantic connection immediately, the painting by Casper David Friedrich (most famously associated with Romanticism), Wonderer above the Sea and Fog, reminds me of the film in so many ways. The cinematography possesses the same overcast and pallid blueness that creates the moodiness in Friedrich’s painting. Justine, the main character, is seen looking out onto the vastness of the sea, the glorious grounds and into the infinity that is the sky: the sublime. 
Casper David Friedrich’s Wonderer above the Sea and Fog
Melancholia, the planet, is surely sublime. No has before, or will again, experience the super-planet’s awesomeness and the inhabitants of Lars Von Trier’s Melancholia have days to wonder about the vastness of our galaxy and how small we actually are in relation. 
Von Trier admits he did not set out to make a Romantic film, but it became one over time. He uses Robert Wagner’s Tristan and Isolde as the haunting theme for the film. When I’ve re-viewed parts of the film the music triggers a physical emotion, because I felt a real connection to the melancholic aspects. Everyone suffers from some degree of depression and I felt an almost-sigh of relief that depression of this magnitude was shown so intimately in a motion picture. I was able to sympathize with Justine’s condition, despite her selfishness. That’s not to say that she isn’t a strange character that could be called crazy. Melancholia takes an almost supernatural turn as Justine becomes Melancholia’s advocate and justifies its course toward earth. “I know things,” she says, “the earth is evil. We don’t need to grieve for it. Nobody will miss it.” Claire is baffled, “How do you know?” “Because, I know things,” Justine says, “And when I say we’re alone, we’re alone. Life is only on earth, and not for long.” It’s a creepy scene, but somehow you believe it without knowing why. Also, she moon-bathes nude (Melancholia-bathes) in a spot just off the property, which is Dunst’s second nude scene. Some people moon-bathe because it’s supposed to revitalize you and give you energy, and Justine’s visit to this spot is the one time she looks truly happy, excited even—I would go as far as sexually excited. Gazing up at the new sight of Melancholia, she softly caresses her skin as though she’s looking into her lover’s eyes and she smiles. Perhaps, she wants to die so badly, that this is the answer to her prayers…? 
Claire, distraught, as any person with something to lose, grieves for her son who will never grow up. Though this is the main motivation behind her upset, I found her mothering abilities lacking in their final days. As Melancholia enters their atmosphere on their last day, her son falls asleep because they are losing oxygen. She lays him down in his bed and leaves the room to talk with Justine. As a mother, I found this strange. What if he died? What if he was breathlessly calling for her? It disturbed me. Also, when she finally realizes that Melancholia will indeed hit, she goes to find John, who has taken all the pills she has prepared to softly lull her family into death’s arms. She finds him dead, in their stable, and her reaction is strange. She feels sad (okay) and dwells next to him, almost forgiving what he’s done, and remains there for what seems like an eternity. Yes, it would be upsetting to find your husband dead, but come on—he’s left you (and your child) to meet the end alone. He’s a coward, like most of the men in the film, and this illustrates that Von Trier seems to empathize much more with the women in the film. They are written as the source of power when it really counts. 
Pieter Bruegel’s Hunters in the Snow
Melancholia is divided into three parts: the introduction, “Justine,” and “Claire.” The intro is a sequence of slow-motion scenes and still images that lasts for 8 (long) minutes, the gist of which is a strange synopsis of the film’s action; however, some of the images never actually play out. The audience sees a dirty, dead-eyed, close-up of Justine in the yard looking into the abyss, while birds fall silently (dead) from the sky. We see her teaching Leo how to sharpen stick with a knife, for the magic cave she’s promised to build. The stills look a bit like she’s teaching him to hunt, which seems connected to Bruegel’s painting, Hunters in the Snow. Not only does this work illustrate the vastness of nature, it shows (like the Romantics) the micro and macro of the landscape (and the hunter’s sticks like the ones they prepare). This image repeats in the film and is the third frame in the opening; first the still painting and then it begins to slowly burn. Pretty sad really, to think of–All. Art. Gone. Every masterpiece, gone in an instant— this, oddly, made me saddest of all. Also in the intro, (never actually seen) Claire in utter panic, running with Leo as her legs sink into the ground. Half of the images are of Justine, Leo and Claire in wedding attire, at the ready, with a grand, gothic estate behind them. Oh, and Melancholia crashing (slowly) into the earth—and it’s truly beautiful. 
Claire running with Leo
Justine and Claire could be viewed as one person, because their roles completely reverse by the end of the film, illustrating that we all possess the same characteristics but utilize them at different times. Hate to say it, but (some) depressives are quite good in a crisis. They can put their immediate problems aside and deal with much larger themes (yes, I’m saying me). Justine is a wreck in “Justine,” and Claire appears stable (while John is still alive), but in “Claire,” she falls completely apart and Justine is very strong. Leo calls Justine “Auntie Dealbreaker” in “Justine,” when she keeps wandering off from her wedding reception and breaks her deal with John to smile, be happy, and go through with the wedding she’s promised will make her happy (at the wedding that he’s paying for). Leo calls her “Auntie Steelbreaker” in “Claire” because she’s so tough she could break steel? I think “Justine” demonstrates Justine’s deterioration (possible pre-grieving her death) that is brought on by Melancholia’s relationship to the earth. Though this is (oddly) never discussed in the film, she falls apart as Melancholia begins its “death dance,” and reenergizes when it lines up to hit us directly. Much to John’s chagrin, Claire finds a diagram, on the internet, illustrating the orbital “death dance” Melancholia will take (it comes close, moves away and then comes back and hits). 
Melancholia approaches
The men of Melancholia run away and are dismissive of women’s emotion. Justine’s father leaves on her wedding night (even though she begs him to stay); he seemingly cannot deal with her melt-down (and is also self-centered). Her new husband, Michael (played by Alexander Skarsgard), leaves when she won’t consummate their marriage (seemed hasty). Her boss (Stellan Skarsgard, Alexander’s dad, by the way) throws a royal fit when she won’t deliver the tagline he’s forced his nephew, Tim (Brady Corbet), to hound her about all night. She quits her job, as a high-powered ad exec, and (our only moment of true clarity about Justine’s past) pinpoints, with cutting accuracy, why she despises his vapid character and profession. He throws a raucous tantrum (plate-throwing) and leaves. John is completely dismissive of Justine’s feelings/depression (somewhat founded, she is pretty self-absorbed) and his wife’s relentless support; but moreover, he completely trivializes her fear of Melancholia. Instead of facing death with her and admitting he is wrong, he kills himself and leaves his wife and son to suffer a horrible, fiery death. Von Trier wrote these characters, and while he may not have intended for the men to come off as cowardly weaklings, they do. 
Finally, here’s my big issue with the film: clarity. Did Von Trier purposefully remain ambiguous? Yeah, probably. Okay, what was Justine like before? She has bridesmaids, but never talks to them. She has a fiancé, who was really excited about marrying her—and they seem really in love, so she can’t have always been this bad. She has a career, as a high-powered ad executive that her boss says, “is the best in the business.” Wouldn’t that require a certain degree of responsibility? I needed more here. How are we to believe that she could hold a job and have friends if she’s a fucking unapologetic wreck all the time? AND—no one remarks that she’s behaving differently—is she worse than normal? Is old Justine at it again…? Yes, on her wedding night her sister says, “we talked about this, no episodes tonight,” but people seem to believe in her. Michael gives the sweetest speech about his love and devotion to making her happy. I’m not being sappy here; his toast to her is a really fine piece of acting. 
Overall, a provoking film that forces you to think about the character’s point-of-view. Von Trier is a controversial character himself; he is eccentric and admittedly made this film about his own depression. Possibly fueled by the whole 2012 phenomenon, I’d say he’s made (so far) the most beautiful and compelling film about the end of the world. 
Melancholia approaches Earth
Hannah Reck is a professional undergrad who has gained a lot of knowledge in a variety fields: Acting, Musical Theater, Women’s Studies, English, and Secondary education from Ithaca College, CCM and the University of Cincinnati. She’s taken time off to marry, have a baby and a kidney transplant.

2012 Oscar Nominations Roundup

The Oscars air this Sunday night on ABC.

Thanks to all who contributed reviews of this year’s Academy Award nominees!

Best Picture:
The Descendants reviewed by Stephanie Brown
Extremely Loud & Incredibly Close reviewed by Jennifer Kiefer
The Help reviewed by elle
Hugo reviewed by Scott Mendelson
Midnight in Paris reviewed by Megan Kearns
Moneyball reviewed by Robin Hitchcock
The Tree of Life reviewed by Lesley Jenike
Best Documentary:
Hell and Back Again
If a Tree Falls: A Story of the Earth Liberation Front
Pina reviewed by Ren Jender
Paradise Lost 3: Purgatory
Undefeated

Best Actress:
Glenn Close in Albert Nobbs
Viola Davis in The Help
Meryl Streep in The Iron Lady reviewed by Gabriella Apicella
Michelle Williams in My Week With Marilyn reviewed by Danielle Winston
Best Supporting Actress:
Berenice Bejo in The Artist reviewed by Candice Frederick
Jessica Chastain in The Help
Melissa McCarthy in Bridesmaids reviewed by Janyce Denise Glasper
Janet McTeer in Albert Nobbs
Octavia Spencer in The Help

Best Original Screenplay:
The Artist
Bridesmaids
Margin Call reviewed by Jessica Pieklo
Midnight in Paris
A Separation

Best Adapted Screenplay:
The Descendants
Hugo
The Ides of March
Moneyball
Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy

Be sure to join us on Twitter during the Oscars!

2012 Indie Spirit Nominations Roundup

The Indie Spirit Awards air this Saturday night on IFC.

A big thanks to all who contributed reviews of the Indie Spirit nominees.

Best Feature:
The Descendants reviewed by Stephanie Brown
The Artist reviewed by Candice Frederick
Take Shelter reviewed by Carrie Nelson
Drive reviewed by Leigh Kolb
Beginners reviewed by Megan Ryland
50/50 reviewed by Josh Ralske
Best First Feature:
In the Family
Margin Call reviewed by Jessica Pieklo
Natural Selection
Another Earth reviewed by Diana Fakhouri
Martha Marcy May Marlene reviewed by Carrie Nelson
Best International Film:
A Separation
Melancholia reviewed by Olivia Bernal
Shame reviewed by Clint Waters
The Kid with a Bike
Tyrannosaur

John Cassavetes Award:
Bellflower reviewed by Deirdre Crimmins
Circumstance
Hello Lonesome
Pariah reviewed by Carrie Nelson
The Dynamiter
Best Female Lead:
Elizabeth Olsen in Martha Marcy May Marlene
Lauren Ambrose in Think of Me
Rachael Harris in Natural Selection
Adepero Oduye in Pariah 

Best Supporting Female:
Jessica Chastain in Take Shelter
Janet McTeer in Albert Nobbs
Harmony Santana in Gun Hill Road
Anjelica Huston in 50/50
Best Director:
Michel Hazanavicius for The Artist
Jeff Nichols for Take Shelter
Nicolas Winding Refn for Drive
Alexander Payne for The Descendants
Mike Mills for Beginners
Best Screenplay:
Tom McCarthy for Win Win
Alexander Payne, Nat Faxon & Jim Rash for The Descendants
Michel Hazanavicius for The Artist
Joseph Cedar for Footnote
Mike Mills for Beginners
Best First Screenplay:
Patrick deWitt for Terri
Phil Johnston for Cedar Rapids
Mike Cahill & Brit Marling for Another Earth
Will Reiser for 50/50
J.C. Chandor for Margin Call
Best Documentary:
We Were Here
The Redemption of General Butt Naked
The Interrupters
Bill Cunningham New York
An African Election
Be sure to join us on Twitter during the Spirit Awards!

Oscar Best Picture Nominee: Hugo

Hugo (2011)

This cross-post from Scott Mendelson originally appeared at Mendelson’s Memos.
Hugo
2011
127 minutes
rated PG
Pardon my theoretical laziness, but I’m not in the mood to do a formal review for Martin Scorsese’s Hugo. And frankly, since I went in knowing almost nothing aside from the general time period and a few of the actors, I suppose I should do my readers the same courtesy. But know this: Martin Scorsese has crafted the most impressive and beautiful 3D you’ve ever seen in a live action film. Since the film somewhat revolves around the early days of cinema (it takes place in 1930s Paris), Scorsese uses 3D technology to create a dreamlike visual palette that attempts to replicate what it was like for the very first moviegoers, the ones who allegedly jumped out of the way of speeding trains and ducked when the train robber fired his pistol at the screen. There are times when this live-action feature feels like a living cartoon, and I experienced a kind of fever-dream sensation that I haven’t felt since Coraline. If ever there was a movie to justify that 3D ticket-price bump, this is it. 
As for the movie, it is a most curious sort of family film. It is certainly appropriate for children and its two main protagonists are indeed kids, but it also serves as a passionate plea to respect and preserve not just cinema, but all forms of art that enthrall and captivate audiences of all stripes. The film builds pretty slowly, with most of the first hour devoted to set-up and the friendship between its young stars (Asa Butterfield and Chloe Moretz). But if the first hour almost qualifies as ‘slow’, the pay off is more than worth it. Ironically, the film has more in common than you might think with The Muppets. Both films deal with nostalgia. But while The Muppets deals with how our generation clings to the entertainments of our past to deal with the disappointment of our present, Hugo presents characters who refuse to look back because it hurts too much to compare what was with what is. Both films build to (completely earned) stunningly powerful finales, and I’d argue that Hugo wins a point for actually ending on said high note instead of having a couple false endings.
That’s all you really need. Just know that Hugo is one of the best films of 2011, one of the best films Scorsese has made in the last twenty years, and easily a new high-water mark for 3D filmmaking. 
Grade: A-
Scott Mendelson is, by hobby, a freelance film critic/pundit who specializes in box office analysis. He blogs primarily at Mendelson’s Memos while syndicating at The Huffington Post and Valley Scene Magazine. He lives in Woodland Hills, CA with his wife and two young kids where he works in a field totally unrelated to his BA in Film Theory/Criticism from Wright State University.

Indie Spirit Best Feature Nominee: Take Shelter

Take Shelter (2011)

This is a review from Monthly Guest Contributor Carrie Nelson.
Writing about Take Shelter for a website like Bitch Flicks is a challenge. Certainly, I can write endlessly about why I loved Take Shelter. There is no doubt in my mind that it was the best film I saw in 2011. I loved the story, I loved the performances, I loved the cinematography and the overall aesthetics of the film, and I loved the fact that it genuinely surprised me with its suspense. But while Take Shelter addresses a wide range of dynamic themes – family, mental illness, standing up for one’s convictions – it is not an explicitly feminist film, nor is it a film that discusses gender issues overtly. As I think about the film from a feminist perspective, however, I realize more and more that the story is actually quite feminist, even if it doesn’t advertise itself as such or appear to be at first glance. 
In Take Shelter, Curtis LaForche (Michael Shannon, in a performance that should have garnered him a Best Actor Academy Award nomination) is a husband and a father, working as a construction worker in Ohio. He begins to have a series of nightmares about a storm, one that rains polluted water and causes people and animals to react manically. Fearing that his dreams are prophetic, Curtis decides to build a tornado shelter in his yard, in order to protect his family from the apocalyptic doom he senses is coming. Curtis’ actions cause stress in all of his relationships – familial, social and professional – because no one understands why the shelter construction is so important to him. Curtis does not know if his dreams represent a true impending natural disaster, or if they are actually symptomatic of mental illness, a condition he may be inheriting from his mother (Kathy Baker). Nevertheless, he is driven to build the shelter, and no one can deter him. 
The heart of Take Shelter is the relationship between Curtis, his wife Samantha (Jessica Chastain, continuing her string of break-out roles in 2011) and their daughter Hannah (Tova Stewart). In many ways, the LaForche family structure is traditional. After all, the entire film is about the lengths one is willing to go in order to protect one’s family. Curtis and Samantha are good, church-going parents who put their family before anything else. But within that traditional model, the gender roles are less defined. Both Curtis and Samantha work outside the home to provide for the family, Curtis as a construction worker and Samantha as an artisan who sells crafts at local markets. Both are committed to raising Hannah, participating equally in school functions and spending time with her at home. Both are strong and determined, taking the sanctity and safety of their family incredibly carefully. The household and family may be traditional, but labor is not divided on gendered lines and neither Curtis nor Samantha is defined within the family unit by gender norms. 
Samantha (Jessica Chastain) and Curtis (Michael Shannon)
The marriage of Curtis and Samantha is one of the most fascinating elements of the film. When their loving relationship is tested by Curtis’ increasingly erratic behavior, Samantha fears for his well-being, and for the well-being of herself and her daughter. But as worried as he makes her, and as little as she understands what he is experiencing, she stands by him. She doesn’t leave, and she doesn’t speak ill of him to others. She responds in a way that most loving spouses would. 
Often in movies, the drama is increased by the collapse of marriages and otherwise committed relationships. I’m not going to say that marriage is easy, or that marriages always work out – it isn’t and they don’t, and it’s good for the media to reflect that reality. But it’s also true that marriages do not just fall apart over one problem. I’ve often seen films about failed marriages that give me pause, because I don’t understand how a strong commitment could fall apart so easily in real life. Part of what I loved about Take Shelter is how believable the LaForche marriage was in this respect. Curtis and Samantha have their problems, but they work through them the way committed couples in real life do. It was refreshing to see an image like that on-screen – an image that I do not think is presented often enough. 
But this isn’t just a story of a woman who stands by her husband. It’s more complicated than that. In an interesting twist on traditional gender roles, it is Samantha who ultimately “saves” Curtis in Take Shelter. Without spoiling the film’s climax (a heart-wrenching, suspenseful scene which remains the best cinema I saw in all of 2011), it is important to note that Curtis only overcomes his nightmares with Samantha’s tough love. She doesn’t just support her husband through his struggles, she demands that he trust her and believe in her commitment to him, which is how he begins to rediscover his own strength. Without Samantha, Curtis may have completely lost sight of himself and his reality. It is she who grounds him and forces him, albeit kicking and screaming, to work with her, rather than against her out of fear or suspicion. Samantha and Curtis are able to protect and preserve their marriage, but it is Samantha who does the heavy lifting. She is no waif or pushover. She creates the marriage she wants to have and makes sure that nothing sabotages it, no matter what. 
In an article for Ms. Magazine Blog, Janell Hobson sums up the message of Take Shelter as such: 

Take Shelter asks us to put our faith back into our intuition (usually associated with women), to accept our maternal gifts (even as they veer off from patriarchal rationality), to listen to our inner voices when all others call us crazy and, most of us all, to surround ourselves with love. 

I couldn’t agree with Hobson more. Take Shelter is about many things, but the theme of familial love is particularly strong. Curtis and Samantha have their struggles, but they survive together, and that sends a vital message. Storms do come. People do become ill. But as long as we have strength in our own personal convictions and love for the people who love us, we will survive those struggles. Traditional as it may be, it’s an important message, one that I wish I saw more frequently in films. Take Shelter presented it honestly and powerfully. Here’s hoping that more films can do the same.

Carrie Nelson is a Staff Writer for Gender Across Borders and a Monthly Guest Contributor for Bitch Flicks. She works as a grant writer for an LGBT nonprofit organization in NYC.

The Descendants: Oscar Best Picture and Indie Spirit Best Feature Nominee

The Good Patriarch: The Descendants, directed by Alexander Payne

This is a guest post from Stephanie Brown. 
The Descendants is a movie about patriarchy, about husbandry and fatherhood as verb and action rather than noun and abstraction, about stewardship and responsibility. It implies that being a responsible and engaged and aware man is the key to being a responsible citizen and human being. It’s an important film that is very much of the current zeitgeist, but its ease and perfection and touches of comedy (very much like the persona of George Clooney himself) may mean that its depth is missed amid the excellent casting and the light touch of director Alexander Payne. The film is based on the book of the same name by Kaui Hart Hemmings, who was raised in Hawaii by her mother and step-father. 
In The Descendants, Clooney’s character, Matt King, is the key decision maker for his family’s trust. Their family has lived in Hawaii for generations, part native Hawaiian and part white. They own a large undeveloped tract of land on Kauai. As the movie begins the family is in the process of selling the land to a developer and the group is poised to profit handsomely. His many cousins, also heirs, are portrayed as decent people, “good guys” who like to drink and hang out: contemporary landed gentry, enjoying their wealth and comfort in paradise. As decision maker for the fate of the fortune for a whole slew of cousins/subjects scattered around the islands and mainland, Matt is aptly named “king,” and he is affable, fair and aims to please. At the same time his wife, Elizabeth, has been in a water skiing accident and is now in a coma. Like many fathers and husbands, he is not very involved in his children’s lives and doesn’t know them very well, and is not really that knowledgeable of his wife’s life either. Soon after he retrieves his older daughter from her private boarding school (she is drunk when he finds her) to return home with him, he discovers from her that his wife has been having an affair. The movie is about the slow unfolding of this secret that has been kept from him by friends and family, and the slow strengthening of his bond with his daughters, especially his oldest daughter, Alex, played by Shailene Woodley. It’s a great performance by Woodley, who is utterly believably as an intelligent and strong but betrayed and angry teenager. She alone knows the exact nature of both her parents’ flaws but is powerless to make them change. Instead she causes problems as school and acts bratty and disagreeable. She is also shown schooling her younger sister in teenage survival skills, and while her methods and language are crude, one knows that this is likely the only practical advice the younger daughter has gotten from anyone. The movie is taken up with a road trip of sorts, actually jaunts between islands and neighborhoods therein, with Alex, the younger daughter Scottie (Amara Miller), and Alex’s friend Sid (Nick Krause) providing the comic relief. Matt and Alex search for and find the man with whom Elizabeth has had an affair and end up awkwardly befriending him and his wife (Matthew Lillard and Judy Green) as they move toward the conclusion—to finalize the sale of the land, and to see if Elizabeth will live or die. 
Recent radio ads for The Descendants are comparing it to Terms of Endearment. I’m not sure Alexander Payne’s subtly crafted movies, Election, About Schmidt, and Sideways, while critical favorites, have become all-time-favorite-movie blockbusters in the way that Terms of Endearment has. I’m betting that the strategy of this comparison is to try to push it into the blockbuster box office realm. Will it ‘play in Peoria,” though? The Descendants does have an emotional death scene, where George Clooney says what is in his heart to his comatose and dying wife, but, like Payne’s other films, scenes such as this are restrained and Clooney’s soliloquy never veers into melodrama. By this point in the film, I didn’t like the wife and I was not sorry to see her die. I did not feel that the scene’s intention was to make me cry in an emotionally cathartic way. I don’t think the comparison between films works, and I think viewers who are expecting a Terms of Endearment will be disappointed. They may, however, see the powerful film that it is and come away awakened by its point of view. Think of the difference between Jack Nicholson in Terms of Endearment and Jack Nicholson in Payne’s About Schmidt. Schmidt’s character’s sad, reticent and somewhat baffled personality is naked and embarrassing to his daughter, and it’s a fine and restrained performance from Nicholson, who, like Clooney, is a masterful comedic actor. Both have elastic faces and trademark voices, and Payne’s direction keeps them true and honest in these depictions that move from comedic turns to profoundly honest portrayals of wounded American men. 
The Descendants has many facets, touching on wealth and its effects on people and the history of the islands of Hawaii themselves, among other things, but to my mind, the most interesting theme in the film is the examination of fatherhood and manhood that is revealed via the relationship of Elizabeth to her father, Scott Thorson, played with frank ferocity by Robert Forster. Like a God, like Thor, Mr. Thorson has thunderous opinions and never wavers in them. We also know that he is wrong and pigheaded and the kind of person who is impossible to live with. He is certain that his daughter was a perfect wife and mother and that her accident could have been prevented if only Matt had bought her a safer boat to use rather than have her rely on her friends’ boats. Like his daughter, Mr. Thorson’s wife is shown as non compos mentis. She is in the throes of dementia and unaware of her surroundings. I do not think this is a coincidence. The only way to endure a man like this is to retreat into silence and passivity symbolized here as states of dementia and coma. His wife never speaks but she smiles. Mr. Thorson is an archetype of a Korean War-era father, all manliness, certainty and uncomplicated self-assurance. He has indulged his daughter and rejected his son—and he is not fond of his son-in-law. It is also clear that Mr. Thorson does not even know his daughter beyond superficial platitudes that he can shout about her being a good wife, mother and athlete (that she might be too much of a risk taker is ignored). He extols that she was a faithful wife when she was not. His fulsome praise has probably inflated his daughter’s ego and created a monster. Mr. Thorson is the figure of a crippled manhood that can exist only by rejecting deep feelings and hard truths about people, a style of fathering that may extol specialness, but rejects complexity and imperfection. Matt resembles him, unfortunately, in his own benign neglect of his children. Matt, whose style is more graceful and contemporary than Thorson’s, is of the generation that seeks to be seen as a “good guy” like his cousins—happy to take a profit and enjoy life, happy to live as a detached “back- up” parent (as he calls himself) who can easily just not pay much attention and not see any pain and suffering his children are feeling. They live in paradise and are quite wealthy, after all. It would never occur to the cousins or Matt to preserve the land for future generations; it is seen as inevitable that it must be sold and profit shared today. Benign neglect. 
In the end, Matt decides not to sell the land but to preserve it. It is not a popular decision with the cousins. It is, however, the right decision. Matt uses his power for the first time and he risks not being popular, affable, or liked, and he is not. That is what it means to be a father and a steward and a patriarch, however. It means thinking about the future beyond current gain and comfort. It means thinking of future generations, accepting responsibility and using it reasonably and well. It means choosing not to be part of the rather dissolute landed gentry and not encouraging your children in this direction either. As I watched the film and saw him choose to preserve the land for future generations, it occurred to me that this decision would not have been believable if the film were released ten or twenty years ago. I don’t think I myself would have agreed with the decision. I would have thought, development is inevitable so why not let these decent people profit from it? But it has been released in a very different economic and social climate, where we are questioning the realities of profit and gain run amok. What is the result of all the wealth that we acquired and lost in the last twenty years? The culture tried to live like landed gentry. We exported our jobs and we exported our pollution in order to create our crap without regulations, and we sought to live like the cousins, expecting a good deal to come our way and to continue to come our way. The Descendants got me considering these truths. If one is a patriarch, one should accept it and be a responsible one. One should father and husband as a verb. And that goes the same for matriarchs and mothers and wives. If Mr. Thorson was our father, we need to wake up and pay attention and change the traits that resemble his. We need to be stewards of our families and of the earth for our descendants. 
I was talking to friends one night and I mentioned that I had seen this movie and Lars Von Trier’s movie Melancholia during the same weekend, and that I liked both of them. Von Trier gets at the gnawing dread that I think we all feel about the world being destroyed. I felt grateful that an artist had made this film, because it forced me to think about my own hopelessness in the face of that destruction. But I added that I felt that The Descendants was just as powerful of a film and just as profound, even if the tone is lighter. In the last scene, Matt and his two daughters are shown sitting on a couch together, eating ice cream and watching TV. We can hear the movie’s narrator, Morgan Freeman, and after a while one realizes that they’re watching March of the Penguins. As my husband pointed out to me as we walked out of the theater, the male penguin is the one who cradles the egg, who protects it and keeps it safe from danger until it hatches. Like the father who has learned to father in film.
Stephanie Brown is the author of two collections of poetry, Domestic Interior and Allegory of the Supermarket. She’s published work in American Poetry Review, Ploughshares and The Best American Poetry series. She was awarded an NEA Fellowship in 2001 and a Breadloaf Fellowship in 2009. She has taught at UC Irvine and the University of Redlands and is a regional branch manager for OC Public Libraries in southern California.

Oscar Best Picture Nominee: ‘Moneyball’

Brad Pitt stars in Best Picture nominee Moneyball
This is a guest post from Robin Hitchcock.
I didn’t know until the end credits that Aaron Sorkin had a writing credit on Moneyball. This is good, because I semi-irrationally hate Aaron Sorkin, and I wouldn’t want that bias to have influenced my take on the film. I’m frankly astonished I made it through the movie without recognizing Sorkin’s handiwork given his very specific, very stilted style. I’m not sure if that is a credit to the acting, the directing, the influence of also-credited writer Steve Zallian’s earlier draft, an uncharacteristic bout of restraint on the part of Mr. Sorkin, or a combination thereof. Sure, the dialogue is sharp and clever, not so aggressively sharp and clever that you feel like you’re being stabbed in the throat with wit. The snazzy dialogue is more there to entertain the viewer, instead of demonstrate the genius of the writer, which is pretty much the opposite of how I usually feel about Sorkin’s work.
While I didn’t know about Sorkin’s contribution to the script when I watched Moneyball, I did know I’d be reviewing it for Bitch Flicks. So I watched with my feminist glasses freshly cleaned and firmly planted on my nose. Which was tricky, because this is not a movie about women. Professional baseball is about as much of a man’s world as you could ask for, plus there’s the whole “based on a true story” business to validate keeping all the major characters men.
Which is fine! There are stories, stories worth telling, that are just about men. [Likewise, there are stories worth telling that only involve women, but its hard to get Hollywood to bankroll those.] Telling a story about men in a men’s world isn’t inherently sexist. But I think it is fair to subject whatever scraps of portrayal of women we get in these male-dominated films to a slightly higher scrutiny.
Moneyball becomes pretty cringeworthy when you do that. The film has a runtime of 133 minutes, and by my rough count women “characters” are featured in slightly less than 8 of those minutes. That’s 6%. [This whole “math” thing is kind of a double-edged sword, eh, Moneyball?] In those 8 minutes we see three wives/mothers, two daughters, three markedly cheerful and helpful secretaries, and one bitchy sports reporter. Yep, that’s right, the only woman in the movie who isn’t in a family or subservient relationship to the male characters is established as pushy and mean in a scant ten lines of dialogue.
Casey, played by Kerris Dorsey
The only even remotely well-rounded female character is Billy Beane’s twelve-year-old daughter, Casey (Kerris Dorsey), and the character is only as well-rounded as a dented egg. She’s your standard shy-yet-precocious pre-teen on the brink of womanhood, a favorite stock character of lazy male writers. [See also First Daughter Lucy in Sorkin’s The American President]. Casey feels a bit shoe-horned into the movie, to soften Brad Pitt’s Billy Beane and give him some scenes where he’s not flipping tables or arranging complicated player trade deals, all the better to bait that sweet, sweet Oscar honey. The other reason for Casey’s character to exist is to provide an explanation of Beane’s decision to reject a lucrative offer from the Boston Red Sox to become the best-paid GM in the game. I have no idea if Real Life Billy Beane stayed in Oakland to be near his children (although this Sports Illustrated piece from the time suggests as much), but I am sadly reminded of Aaron Sorkin’s “but you guys remember Rooney Mara, right!?” defense against the feminist criticism of women in The Social Network. When you’re only including women in your story because they motivate the men in the story, it’s not enough to win you any points with feminists.
The other women in the film (aside from an entirely wasted Robin Wright as Beane’s ex-wife) are all presented as service-providers to men. On top of the cheerful secretaries, we also see one of the player’s wives bring out coffee for Beane and his associate when they invite themselves into her living room to recruit spurned former catcher Scott Hatteberg (Chris Pratt) to play first base, and quickly scoop up her and Scott’s young daughter when she toddles her way through this important meeting between the menfolk. I was so distracted by the antiquated gender dynamic playing out in that scene I had to watch it a second time to pay attention to the plot advancement.
Antiquated gender dynamics mar Moneyball
A later scene leads me to believe that the strange emphasis on women as helpmates was intentional, hopefully trying to say something about the old-fashioned hyper-masculine world of baseball. When Beane meets with Boston Red Sox owner John Henry (Arliss Howard), his cheerful and helpful secretary cheerfully and helpfully serves coffee, prompting this exchange.
Henry: You know, it’s her birthday, and I need to get her a present, but she’s usually the one that does that for me. So, do you have any ideas?
 
Beane: Uh, scarf.
 
Henry: You mean like wool?
 
Beane: No, I meant, uh, what women wear with, uh… decorative.
 
Henry: Where would I get something like that?
After which Beane cuts him off with something like, “I have no time for such frivolous lady issues! Let’s talk about serious matters of vital importance, like BASEBALL!” I believe this exchange is in the movie to highlight the strangeness of the general absence of women in this universe and subservient roles the few present women are in. At least, I hope that is what is going on, because otherwise I get the sinking suspicion that Sorkin wrote all these helper women in the movie as a deliberate fuck you to those who criticized the portrayal of women in The Social Network. Or worse yet, he thought by making all these helper women so markedly cheerful and polite, and by not having anyone snort coke off their bodies, that he was course-correcting. But that’s all wild speculation, given I don’t know the content of Sorkin’s contributions to the script.
Regardless, its inarguable that Moneyball does no favors for women in cinema. Aside from that, it’s a perfectly fine movie, not something I’d generally consider in the echelon of Best Picture nominees, but well worth watching nonetheless. All the same, I wish there were more movies with virtually all-female casts to counterbalance all the Moneyballs I’ve seen over my lifetime.
Robin Hitchcock has previously reviewed The Descent and Michael Clayton for Bitch Flicks. You can read her movie reviews at her blog HitchDied and other feminist pop culture commentary at her blog The Double R Diner.

Oscar Best Supporting Actress Nominee: Melissa McCarthy in Bridesmaids

Oscar nominee Melissa McCarthy in Bridesmaids

This is a guest post from Janyce Denise Glasper.

“I swear to God, that dolphin looked not at me, but into my soul, into my goddamn soul, Annie, and said, ‘I’m saving you, Megan.’”

Is that not charmingly poetic?
Does that not make one want to jump into the rivers of the deep to find unlikely redemption into the eyes of a playful circus mammal?
Bridesmaids, a hysterically entertaining R-rated anti-chick flick that has women front and center and men taking the backseat is just one teeny tiny pivotal step in right direction, has received two Academy Award nominations- Best Original Screenplay and a Best Supporting Actress nod for Melissa McCarthy.
For a comedian to be nominated in a comedic role is rare in Academy Award history and, if anything, McCarthy’s performance is extraordinarily insightful and altogether wonderful because she expresses an impressively varied range. From downright funny, to adorably charming, to unapologetically unladylike and to fearless poignancy.
Now the story is that Lillian is getting married to her “Dougie” and what better than to have a pack of rambunctious ladies up for a most diverse bridal party–Annie, the poor, creative-minded maid of honor/best friend; Helen, the skinny rich bitch who often steals Annie’s thunder; Becca, the chipper, saccharinely-sweet newlywed; Rita, the pissed off housewife cousin of Lillian; and at last Megan, Doug’s sister, a wisecracking badass-guts-no-glory kind of woman.
Melissa McCarthy as bridesmaid Megan
Introduced to Annie by a very busy Lillian, Megan is demurely dressed in a starched blouse, black slacks, unkempt pulled-back hair, and au naturale complexion. Pacing and somewhat twirling around the dance floor, Megan is an isolated figure, fruity beverage in hand, and seems a bit out of place in room of glamorously dressed people, but the pearl necklace and matching earrings give her that upper crust belonging.
A survivor of a cruise ship fall with pins in her legs, Megan speaks of being miraculously rescued by a heroic, telepathic dolphin, every bit of her words strongly emphasized in devout conviction.
Certainly not delusions derived from nearly drowned unconsciousness, McCarthy’s vividly animated performance makes the viewers simultaneously find humor and pity from an otherwise dangerous plight without using the over-played sarcastic or classic “dumb girl” approach. Resonating such brilliance and infectious wit, one cannot help but adore the spitfire the actress makes Megan to be.
Megan knows he’s really an air marshall
Short, stout, and proud of her sexual dominance, she has traits that others would find downright masculine.
For example, while boasting about Lillian’s potentially insufferable life with her brother, she also throws in an odd curveball idea of having a shower theme of “Fight Club,” thinking ganging up and beating up the bride an unexpected twist, which shocks and stuns the bridal band.
However, the part that electrifies to the core is the scene towards the end where McCarthy expels a reality about the negative connotations of bullying that cannot be ignored, expressing where such bravado and strength materialized, and a courage that is downright fascinating to watch.
It’s this speech that triggers the emotions:

No, this was not easy going up and down the halls. Okay? They used to try to blow me up. They threw firecrackers at my head. Fire crackers. I mean literally. I’m not saying that figuratively. I got firecrackers thrown at my head. They called me a freak. Do you think I let that break me? Think I went home to my mommy crying; ‘Oh, I don’t have any friends. Oh, Megan doesn’t have any friends.’ No, I did not. You know what I did? I pulled myself up. I studied really hard. I read every book in the library and now I work for the government. I have the highest possible security clearance.

She is not the best friend or closest pal to Annie, but is the one person who comes to visit the blond basket case, albeit with nine puppies in tow. Warm and rife with valiant wisdom, Megan’s thoughtful encouragement and lighthearted advice get Annie out of a depressing, self-inflicted funk.
Anti-rainbows, pink bows, and fluffy chatter, Megan, an imperfectly flawed champion female, is such a viable role of which McCarthy deserves praise and many accolades for she is a richly funny, captivating and beautiful scene stealer.

Janyce Denise Glasper is a writer/artist running two silly blogs of creative adventures called Sugarygingersnap and AfroVeganChick. She enjoys good female centric film, cute rubber duckies, chocolate covered everything (except bugs!), Days of Our Lives, and slaying nightly demons Buffy style in Dayton, Ohio.

Oscar Best Picture Nominee: An Oscar for Oskar? ‘Extremely Loud & Incredibly Close,’ the Surprise Nominee

Thomas (Tom Hanks) and Oskar (Thomas Horn)
This is a guest post from Jennifer Kiefer.
Potential viewer beware: the trailer for this film is awful. Terrible. Even worse than Alexander’s terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day. But that’s because this film deals with, as young Oskar dubs it, “the worst day.” When I first saw the trailer, I hated it. I thought it would be an overblown, sentimentalization of 9/11. But it was way above that. (For the record, I hated the trailer, loved the book and film.) Even so, it would be immensely difficult for anyone to make a two-minute-or-less trailer of any film including the events of 9/11, because to not disclose that the event is involved would be to hoodwink and outrage viewers when they discovered this upon viewing the film, but to include it in such a short duration automatically leaves the impression of emotional warfare. Even the tagline is horrible, perhaps a desperate attempt to grab the potential viewer by the collar and shout, “Don’t you see! This film is not about September 11! It’s about every day after!”
A better tagline: “A boy’s search for his father.” Even: “Based on the novel by Jonathan Safran Foer.”
Of course, any piece of art (perhaps excluding documentaries) more than mentioning 9/11 will endure endless criticism, regardless of the usage or the piece’s merit, and this film is no exception. As opposed to a film like Remember Me, which uses the event really as a surprise ending—sorry if I spoiled that incredible film for you—Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close is, as the tagline pleads with you to believe, not necessarily a story about the events of the worst day. Yes, Oskar’s dad dies in the World Trade Centers. Yes, they show the buildings, but ninety percent of that is actual footage shown on television screens, and never once do they show a plane tearing into the building. In fact, the most exploitative thing about the movie’s portrayal is hazy shots of a man falling from the building, and only then because Oskar wonders whether that could have been his own father. “The other kids probably see their dads, too,” he says.
Thomas Horn as Oskar
EL&IC is about Oskar’s journey to deal with his father’s death, to analyze the artifacts, to constantly question why or how someone could or would kill thousands of people he did not even know, but also about Oskar’s connection to the people of New York City as he searches for the missing lock which fits the key Oskar found in his father’s closet a year later. For a young boy who possibly has Asberger’s (“The tests were undetermined,” Oskar says), his father was his best friend. They look in the New York Times for mistakes together, they practice karate techniques and have oxymoron wars in the living room. His father created “Reconnaissance Missions,” which forced Oskar to talk to other people, which he says is hard for him to do. In the tragedy of his father’s death, he creates his own reconnaissance mission, even larger than anything his father could have imagined, proving that even in tragedy there is community.
Perhaps Oskar’s precociousness (some argue over-precociousness) and grieving sentimentalized his father’s death—the film can be very emotional in this young man’s personal tragedy (played beautifully by Thomas Horn, but more on that later), but it is also humorous and honest. But why shouldn’t a smart, questioning nine-year-old boy be sentimental, even overly so, about his father’s premature, sudden death? Any death of a parent at that age would be devastating, even a year or two afterwards. The film is most moving and honest in the scenes where Oskar remembers or simply misses his father, resulting in fear, explosive anger, and solitude. 
But still, some people have called this the “worst movie ever.” First, that’s not possible because films like Absence of Malice and Open Water exist. Second, I would be surprised if these opinions were based on more evidence than “the film is about 9/11” (or “the kid’s demeanor annoyed me.”). It is such a recent wound for Americans that even a sensitive, well-made film such as EL&IC will invoke backlash and extreme criticism. It is surely a gutsy and risky topic.
Some have argued that the film would not be that changed had Oskar’s father died in another way, say an automobile accident. Sure, the story would still be honest and heart-wrenching and beautiful, but it wouldn’t be as meaningful. Here’s where I go English Major on you.
Oskar is constantly trying to make sense of this tragedy and his father’s death. One of the most moving and emotional scenes pits Oskar against his still-living mother, crashing the kitchen, yelling for her to make sense of it. But she cannot, and he tells her, “I wish it had been you.”
Oskar and his mother, Linda (Sandra Bullock)
The tragedy of 9/11 holds much more meaning and complexity than an accident. What would it have shown about the human condition if his father died in a crash? Shit happens? Humans are really bad drivers? Bad luck? Oskar is conflicted, because the events of the worst day seem to prove that people are horrifying and everything is an unsafe target, yet in his search for the lock, his only clue being an envelope labeled “Black,” he finds that people can also be generous and surprising. Even though a very, extremely tragic event, 9/11 did unite the residents of NYC. Oskar similarly connects with this city a year later in his search, emphasizing once again that tragedy breeds community. Everyone Oskar meets, as he says, “has all lost someone,” sometimes sharing Oskar’s tragedy and sometimes not.
Oskar’s father wasn’t a regular worker in the World Trade Center—he was a jeweler who had a meeting at a popular coffee shop there on a higher floor for the view. Rather than being “emotional warfare,” (a term I have tossed in before) this serves to prove how the worst day affected everyone and anyone.
Not as much discussed in the film, the Renter, an unspeaking man living with Oskar’s grandmother, is a survivor of the Dresden bombings. The juxtaposition of both atrocious events confirms the inevitability of war and the violence of human nature, both events being essentially “pointless” in that both incidents killed innocent civilians for political purposes. What was that about a car accident being the same?
And simply plot-wise, other types of death would have made the artifact of the answering machine, with messages from his father on the worst day trying to reach someone at home, which Oskar replaces and hides, “Just like nothing ever happened,” more difficult, if not impossible, for Oskar to have.
This film is so gorged with symbolism (the food of English majors) that even each of Oskar’s little facts serves a deeper meaning—a story of a researcher who played recordings of dead elephants’ calls to relative elephants who recognized the calls, the eight minutes of light that would remain on Earth even if the sun went out, ad nauseum. I didn’t even attempt to process the symbolism of the name Black in the midst of everything else.
The Renter (Max von Sydow) and Oskar
I promised you early on that this film incorporates humor. Jonathan Safran Foer is a pro at quirk, wherein some of the humor lies, though genuine. In his first novel, Everything is Illuminated, the main character is named Jonathan Safran Foer. The first and many chapters of the book are written in a broken translation of English by Alex, both funny and poignant. The driver believes he is blind. The novel EL&IC includes photographs, blank pages, pages with one sentence, pages blacked out from overwriting, and a flipbook in the back. The character of the Renter is typical of Foer’s signature quirk (can you have a signature on your second novel?)—he is a survivor of tragedy who has lost his words and cannot speak. He writes everything down in a daybook and even has “yes” and “no” tattooed on his palms. 
Max von Sydow, as the Renter, has great comedic timing in his nonspeaking role. The people Oskar meets, his interactions with his father, the brief lies Oskar counts (“Why aren’t you in school?” “They said I know too much already.”) all produce genuine laughter, even after moments of potential, authentic tears. (Was it Vonnegut who said that laughter is a response to overwhelming tragedy in an essay about his own experiences in Dresden?)
Thomas Horn, in his first-ever role, carries the film with wonderful wit and beautiful pathos. Subtleties make his performance—his expressions during unspoken moments, his over-enunciation even when speed-talking (a quality of his possible Asberger’s?), the fear in his eyes as he rides the subway (an easy target in his eyes). The panic in his demeanor as he decides whether or not to cross a bridge. Sticking his key absently into stray locks at the locksmith shop. His performance is so good I was honestly surprised that this was his first role—Oskar is a complex, emotional, challenging character, and would be a difficult feat for any actor. Horn is honest and pretty amazing throughout, particularly convincing in the most affecting, most difficult scenes—pinching himself to cause bruises because he feels guilty, screaming because he has lost his father and cannot understand why, telling his mother that he wishes she had been the one to die. Though he was not nominated for Best Actor (why don’t they have a Breakthrough or Best Young Actor award?), his performance surely landed the film its nomination for Best Picture, which could not have been fueled solely by Max von Sydow.
Oskar and The Renter
So, will it win the Oscar? Probably not, though for my money it deserves it, and the Academy did previously award the also-controversial Crash. It would be a tremendously exciting surprise, but don’t bet your house on it. Max von Sydow has a chance, perhaps based on his age—Alan Arkin said after his win for Little Miss Sunshine that he thought it was because he was getting older (though both are great performances).
If none of this has convinced you, if for no other reason, you should rest assured that this is a beautiful, premium film because my father, who is notorious for falling asleep in the darkness of the theater, stayed awake for the entire film during at 9:55 PM showing.
Jennifer Kiefer holds a BA in Creative Writing from Western Kentucky University. She currently resides in Louisville, Kentucky where she is using her former movie theater employee discount and waiting to hear back from graduate programs.

Indie Spirit Best First Feature Nominee: ‘Another Earth:’ From George Orwell to Nicholas Sparks

Another Earth (2011)
This is a guest post from Diana Fakhouri.
I haven’t cracked open a math book since 2005, so excuse me for glossing over Another Earth‘s astrophysical ambiguities. Fortunately, the film is less concerned with the space/time continuum than May/December romance, leaping from Orwellian tragedy to Nicholas Sparks rom-dram in under 100 minutes. Despite its flippant scientific disregard, Mike Cahill (director) and Brit Marling’s (writer/producer/star) interpretation of the archetypal parallel universe artfully weighs the millenial dilemma: to set forth on a predestined path, or forge a wild journey through the unknown? Another Earth never commits to either, but forces Brit Marling’s Rhoda to wade in the Styx between the two. 
Like all good sci-fi flicks, Another Earth opens at a high school kegger. Rhoda is a Connecticut senior heading to MIT’s astrophysics program and celebrating her upcoming graduation. I’m not sure how typical Rhoda – all waifish, golden-haired, middle-class, white – would be of the MIT student body, but let’s grant them some artistic license, shall we? After partying late into the night, a dazed Rhoda climbs into the driver’s seat and engrosses herself in DJ Flava’s highly scientific radio report on the discovery of another Earth (dubbed Earth 2), a mirror image of our planet inhabited by carbon copies of the population. The drunk teen tempts fate, craning her neck to catch a glimpse of the mysterious planet. Seconds later, Cahill offers a striking bird’s eye view of her head-on collision with Yale composer John Burroughs’ vehicle, leaving him in a coma and killing his pregnant wife and child. 
Brit Marling as Rhoda Williams
Fast forward four years, and Rhoda’s skittish parents pick her up from a correctional facility, treading lightly and scolding her brother for asking what it’s like “on the inside.” Rhoda’s yellow locks have lost their luster, lying in tangled knots against her prison-issue garb. At home in her plaid wallpapered bedroom, she gazes at model planets descending from the ceiling and fingers glittery make-up tins lining the dresser. Rhoda finds work as a janitor at her old high school, ignoring pleas from a job counselor to accept more challenging work better suited to her intellect. 
Since DJ Flava’s announcement, the space race has been running overtime. An international team of astronauts and scientists will soon blast off on the inaugural trip to Earth 2, and a wealthy benefactor offers a delightfully quaint essay contest to win a spot on the crew. Rhoda pens a thoughtful entry likening her outcast status to the criminals of yesteryear who ventured out and populated the unknown, earning her a spot on the manifest. 
The dichotomy between Rhoda’s life plan and unexpected reality are highlighted by a chance encounter in a bodega. Rhoda chats with a former male friend stocking up on champagne to celebrate his acceptance to business school, wearing her shame on her sleeve while the future MBA candidate infers her failures. Her embarrassment speaks volumes, revealing that she feels unable to rejoin her peers in the rat race. 
Enter obligatory romantic entanglement. 
In an attempt to assuage her conscience, Rhoda tracks down John and learns that he woke from the coma and returned to his home on outskirts of town. She heads to meet him, absent a plan of action. Stunned by the drunk, disheveled man who emerges from the squalor inside, Rhoda swallows her confession and concocts a lie that allows her to remain anonymous while helping him get his life back on track, though inextricably entangling herself in it. 
Rhoda (Marling) and John (William Mapother)
The sexual relationship that develops between John and Rhoda brutally mars the film, relegating an insightful, ethereal drama to a Lifetime after-school special. It feels wrong; it feels unnecessary. While Rhoda ostensibly consents, it’s clear that she feels she owes a debt to John she can never repay. Once John takes note of her sexually, Rhoda’s femininity blossoms on screen: she sheds the drab janitor’s jumpsuit and haphazard braids for flowing skirts, drapey cardigans, and glossy Middleton hair. Their transition from awkward, wounded companions to passionate lovers feels forced, and prevents Rhoda from piecing her world back together. The safety, albeit forged, of her relationship with John further separates her from a normal life. To make matters worse, when she finally confesses her part in the death of his wife and child, John banishes her from his life. 
In a not-so-shocking (spoiler alert!) twist, Rhoda discerns that the reflexivity of the two planets was interrupted at the moment of discovery, possibly precluding the fatal accident from affecting the John and Rhoda of the other Earth. In a final act of penance, Rhoda offers John her passage on the maiden voyage to Earth 2, hoping to reunite him with his family. Shortly after, she comes face to face with her own persona from the alternate universe, clad in the twenty-something yuppy uniform that corroborates the broken parallel hypothesis. 
The bold cinematography carries the film. While it’s a gorgeous take on sci-fi, Deep-Impact-meets-2001: A-Space-Odyssey-meets-Instagram isn’t doing the modern heroine any favors. Rhoda is unable to overcome the tragic accident that throws her life off track, and the final scene intimates that the unblemished Earth 2 Rhoda is as much a stranger to her as her friend from the bodega. 

Diana Fakhouri earned her BA in English Literature from The College of William and Mary in 2009. She lives in Richmond, Virginia and has never turned down a Mimosa. Check her out on Twitter and Tumblr.

Indie Spirit Best International Film Nominee: Melancholia

Melancholia (2011)

This is a guest post from Olivia Bernal.

As I’m leaving the theatre, the booming volume of two planets crashing still causing a hollow echo in my ears, the gentlemen who sat behind me remarks to his wife, “Well, that was…odd.”
“What did you say?” his wife replies, apparently as temporarily deaf as I.
This was the same guy who asked his wife during the beginning collage of the movie – a symphony of images, slow-paced and gorgeously rendered, whose disparate tones fit together like an orchestra – whether the whole movie would be like this and could they leave if it was.
Odd is probably one of the more tame opinions ever bestowed on a Lars von Trier movie. After Antichrist, which gave me nightmares solely from the descriptions, I was hesitant to see Melancholia. I had never seen a Lars von Trier movie and his reputation was one of Nazism, misogyny, and violence.
So I was surprised at this beautiful, thoughtful, and often funny movie. Told in two acts, it begins at Justine’s (Kirsten Dunst) wedding reception, which is held at Justine’s sister Claire’s (Charlotte Gainsbourg) mansion. It is clear early on that Justine suffers from a potentially debilitating depression, one that is being held carefully in check. Claire and her husband care for Justine as a Mother would, constantly fortifying her, usually through guilt, to return to the crowd of people there to celebrate her wedding. As the evening wanes, she escapes time and again to take a bath, have sex with a random guest on the golf course, and cuddle with her nephew, all to the ruination of her new marriage. Her husband, at first patient and understanding, abandons her to her demons by dawn.
Later, as the second act begins, Justine is delivered back to the mansion sometime after her failed wedding. This time, her depression has fully consumed her. She can barely stand, much less eat or walk or bathe. She recuperates as news comes that a rogue planet called Melancholia may collide with Earth – a potential destruction that would cease all life on the planet. In the wake of this potential tragedy, Justine becomes calm – even coherent – at the inevitability of the collision. She comforts her nephew, as her sister and brother-in-law lose themselves in terror. At one point, in the best scene of the movie, Claire stuffs her son into a golf cart and drives madly away from the mansion, as if escaping their isolation could somehow save them. And of course, it can’t. Melancholia looms over their heads, its inevitability a sordid reminder of their impending mortality.
It’s no secret that Lars von Trier manages to produce an excessively offensive quote every time he’s interviewed. Reports that he hired a “Misogyny Consultant” abounded after the release of Antichrist. While being interviewed during the Cannes film festival to promote Melancholia, von Trier announced, “What can I say? I understand Hitler.” I have never seen another Lars von Trier movies and it is difficult to assess someone’s philosophy based on only one of his works or based only on publicity-inducing quotes. But I would argue that von Trier is full of shit. Melancholia is one of the most stunning, understated, and complex depictions of women I have seen in ages.
This is not to say it does not have its flaws. Though the images are unbelievably beautiful, some of the dialogue is terrible. The ideas presented are challenging, but the way in which they are presented is awkward. Towards the end, Justine and Claire confront each other about their varying degrees of concern at the future tragedy. 
Justine: All I know is, life on earth is evil.
Claire: Then maybe life somewhere else.
Justine: But there isn’t.
Claire: How do you know?
Justine: Because I know things.
Claire: Oh yes, you always imagined you did.
Justine: I know we’re alone.
Claire: I don’t think you know that at all.
Justine: 678. The bean lottery. Nobody guessed the amount of beans in the bottle.
Claire: No, that’s right.
Justine: But I know. 678.
Claire: Well, perhaps. But what does that prove?
Justine: That I know things. And when I say we’re alone, we’re alone. Life is only on earth and not for long.
The bean lottery, a game at Justine’s wedding, is a silly and ultimately ridiculous way of proving that Justine knows anything. This revelation is supposed to reveal a level of prescience in Justine’s character, a fact that had never been established before. It is the only inconsistency in her character and weakened an otherwise excellent movie. It is then the images, and those big ideas that von Trier is not afraid to take on, that raise this movie to such an exciting level.
If Melancholia is a meditation on the nature of depression, the first act, I believe, is meant to exhibit the self-destruction and eventual depletion of those who suffer from it. Justine’s ruin seemed imminent, even as she smiled and laughed in her white dress and perfectly-coiffed hair. Her father, drunk and addled, remarks upon her happiness, only to have Justine later admit to her new husband that she is not happy at all. Von Trier is so skillful at making his audience despise and empathize with Justine at the same time. You can see the strain on her face as she once again escapes the confines of the crowd and realize the intense effort of her façade, yet you want her to suck it up and be normal. It is the intricacy of this first act, the turmoil within Justine at having to conform that makes her a refreshingly three-dimensional character.
Her mental illness is born in sharp relief to her sister, who is practical and efficient in the first act. The genius of the movie is in the second-act reversal by non-reversal. As Melancholia threatens our planet, Justine loses none of her pessimism, yet now, with death looming, this seems lucid, even logical. What once was absurd about Justine now becomes rational. As Claire becomes desperate to regain control over her world, her competence is now insanity. It is the context that changes – their characters remain frustratingly consistent. Justine’s depression is rational; Claire’s control is fanatical. As an audience member, I almost wanted Justine to admit what she will lose by this tragedy or Claire to stop trying to fix the situation and give in to her destiny.
I believe that in any creation of a character, the portrayal of a character as simple is a worse crime than the portrayal of that character as negative. Honoring the intricacy and spirit and individuality is a greater boon to women than depicting us as good or positive or non-offensive. Justine and Claire are excessively flawed and in many ways are tremendously unlikeable. But, von Trier, ever skillful, will not give in to convention and never gives his audience easy solutions. What he gives us instead, is an intimate view of civilization – of two responses to terror, tragedy, and mental illness. That he does so within the framework of these women, exhibits a level of concern for humanity that his sound bytes from interviews don’t express.
At the end, the earth does end in a deafening explosion of sound as Justine, Claire, and Claire’s son hold hands under a tent of sticks, built by Justine to calm Claire’s son. Justine is placid, almost trance-like; Claire is despondent. This is indeed an odd movie, just as the gentleman said. It is odd because it defies type. Von Trier, for all his bullshit ballyhoo, might have proven himself, perhaps unwittingly, a feminist.
Melancholia trailer:

Olivia Bernal is a public school teacher from Kansas. She writes for The Independent Book Review.