Bitch Flicks’ Weekly Picks

From a Saudi Arabian female filmmaker to loving your body to privilege–check out what we’ve been reading about this week! What have you been reading/writing this week? Tell us in the comments!

Saudi Arabian Film “Wadjda” Quietly Subverts and Stuns by Sarah Mirk at Bitch Media

The Big O: How Sandra Bullock Found Her Own Sense of Gravity by Susan Wloszczyna at Women and Hollywood

Homeland and Mental Illness by Melissa McEwan at Shakesville

The Female Anti-Hero in “Masters of Sex” by Alyssa Rosenberg at Bitch Media

Fanboys Don’t Like Black Widow’s ‘Huge’ Role in the Avengers Sequel by Alexander Abad-Santos at The Atlantic Wire

Why ‘It’s Like a 13-Hour Movie’ Fails to Do Justice to Great TV by Ronan Doyle at Indiewire

Women Film Pioneers Project at Columbia University

Meet Chris Nee, creator of Disney’s “Doc McStuffins” by Lorena Ruiz at msnbc

Quote of the Day: Jennifer Lawrence to Hollywood’s Diet Police “Go F*** Yourself” by Kerensa Cadenas at Women and Hollywood

Natalie Portman On The Real Meaning of Feminism at Huffington Post

The Feministing Five: Mariska Hargitay by Suzanna at Feministing

Fox Buys Diablo Cody/Fake Empire Drama by Nellie Andreeva at Deadline Hollywood

OWN: Oprah Winfrey Network Presents Special Night of Programming on Being Gay in America by Tambay A. Obenson at Shadow and Act

Stars Bring Laughter, Tears to Variety’s Power of Women Luncheon by AJ Marechal at Variety

Loving Your Body in the Age of Patriarchy by Sam at Autostraddle

Why We Still Need to Talk About Privilege by Jamilah King at Colorlines

Stop Dismissing Young Female Musicians as “Inauthentic” by Carl Wilson at Slate

 

What have you been reading/writing this week? Tell us in the comments!

Seed & Spark: Princess of the 22 Clark Bus

The idea for THE DREAMERS came to me over time. I saw it in the periphery of my vision as I woke up at 4 a.m. to go work the opening shift at my day job. I felt it pulling at the hem of my secondhand cargo jacket as I biked the heinous Chicago streets from one six-hour shift to another. I heard it in the stories and anecdotes of my fellow artists and friends as they struggled just like I did. It got to the point where I felt like I was being haunted.

Photo Credit Kelsey Jorissen Photography
Photo Credit Kelsey Jorissen Photography

 

I’m thirteen years old and staring open-mouthed at the ending credits. Immediately I hit the stop button, eject the DVD, and reinsert it into the player. Again. I have to see Princess Mononoke speak her mind, stick up for the sprits, and save the forest again. Then a third time. And then six more times. And then twice more for my friends who hadn’t seen it yet. No shame. I was completely blindsided by the power and grace of this story. The princess of the wolves was incredible, and not only was she a fucking badass… she was a she.

As a 20-something female operating in a big city far far away from the confines of her small town where everyone goes to the Polar Bear Diner for breakfast on Sundays, there came a day when I realized I had to stop waiting for permission. In 2011 I graduated from DePaul’s Acting Program with a solid education, a hefty repertoire of monologues for 20-something females, and a whole hell of a lot of anxiety. That first summer out of college was a cluster fuck. I got mugged on the CTA, I lost friends, I had to put my cat to sleep, I watched fellow artists give up, I had my heart broken into a million pieces, and I got rejection after rejection from talent agencies. Never had I felt so alone and lost.

My solace was going to the movies. It always had been. Much to my dismay that whole first year out of school I didn’t see a single movie in theaters that made me want to go right back, watch it again, and then show my friends. So you mean that the token female character clad in a cat suit is supposed to pass as an excuse for me to connect with a film? Well maybe if she was given more than a poor excuse for one-liners and a sensibly tight mid shot of her perfect 24-inch waist and 36-inch bust I would have paid attention. I’m sorry. I missed the memo on black lycra-wearing women are better seen and not heard. The stories were without spirit. The characters weren’t saving any forests anytime soon. At the end of the day I felt stigmatized. Where was the epic and sweeping storytelling that made me pursue this career path in the first place? What type of women were these filmmakers catering to? Certainly not the intelligent and capable females I knew. There are single women, there are married women, there are homosexual women, there are women who love dead lifting, there are women who love whiskey, there are women who are mothers, and there are women who really enjoy pirates. However there is one group we all fall under. The fact is that we all have a valid opinion.

Beauty shot of main character, Kara, in THE DREAMERS. Set up took two hours …
Beauty shot of main character, Kara, in THE DREAMERS. Set up took two hours …

The idea for THE DREAMERS came to me over time. I saw it in the periphery of my vision as I woke up at 4 a.m. to go work the opening shift at my day job. I felt it pulling at the hem of my secondhand cargo jacket as I biked the heinous Chicago streets from one six-hour shift to another. I heard it in the stories and anecdotes of my fellow artists and friends as they struggled just like I did. It got to the point where I felt like I was being haunted. The creative spirit world was calling to me wake the fuck up and just make it happen. Come on Princess of the 22 Clark Bus. Get with it. Hear our cry.

So I answered. At the beginning of 2013 I took a step away from answering casting calls, and Facebook posts, from text messages, and booking myself straight through the day from sunrise to sundown. Instead I turned on some Beyonce, made myself a big ass cup of French roast coffee, and sat down to write the first season of THE DREAMERS. Three months later I held in my hands the story of one female artist and her five friends as they try to navigate the unbalanced world of post-graduation. Over the course of the process of writing the first season I realized this series was a way to bring much-needed exposure to other artists working in Chicago. The heart beat of this show is that of the hundreds of actors, singers, theatre companies, installations artists, photographers, and musicians that inhabit the streets of the Second City. Why not expose the musical talent of my friends who turn pop music into Latin-fusion? Why not feature the hilariously talented ladies of Awkward Pause Theatre Company? Why not create a show that brings other artists into the limelight alongside these fictional characters? Initially I was shocked at how quick the universe was to respond. But when you are a young struggling artist writing a show about young struggling artists, it’s not that hard to find a group of young struggling artists who want nothing more than to create that story with you.

Filming the final scene for the pilot episode of The Dreamers.
Filming the final scene for the pilot episode of THE DREAMERS.

Producing and directing is problem solving on crack. It hit me that I had to speak louder in order to be heard. I had to be braver, smarter, faster, kinder, and most of all willing to fall flat on my face an infinite number of times if this show was ever going to get off the ground. As I look back on my process for the filming of the first episode I feel that being a female has worked to my advantage. People trust you. I cannot tell you how many meetings I have walked into donning my mental, emotional, and creative armor, ready to work any angle to get the yes I needed in order to make this web series a reality, only to be met with equal compromise and kindness. I am the only female on my crew, but they respect me and trust me because I send thank you notes. I make us breakfast at the beginning of a 12-hour shoot day. This show takes a village and I am only the sum of the dozen  dedicated crew and cast members. As a woman I know how to appreciate, how to communicate, and how to listen. We are expert collaborators, because we’re hardwired to be.

The tides are turning. I think of the glowing faces of female filmmakers like Lena Dunham, Jennifer Westfeldt, and Brit Marling. Their body of work is compelling, honest, and raw. Their films are not meant to reach only one demographic of people, nor are they meant to reach only one type of woman. These filmmakers are breaking walls, speaking their minds, but most importantly- telling stories worth telling. And that is what it comes down to, being brave enough to say it out loud. And guess what? We women are here to understand a good story when we see it just as much as men are. We are equally as capable to walk into theatre with a pair of eyes, a set of ears, and a heart absorb it all. On that fact alone we are worth quality storytelling.


 

Kelsey Jorissen
Kelsey Jorissen

Kelsey Jorissen hails from Cottage Grove, Minnesota. She has been making movies since the age of seven when she recreated Grease in her garage with a VHS camcorder. She graduated with a BFA in Acting from DePaul University’s Theatre School in 2011. After graduation she collaborated on a number of films projects with DePaul film students as well as finished her first feature film SanctuaryAlongside film she has worked as a professional stage actress. Alongside acting she works as a freelance photographer and runs her own small business at Kelsey Jorissen Photography. She aims to live a fulfilling life of adventure and mayhem with her beloved cat, Momo. So far so good.

Not Another Teenaged Drama: A Review of ‘Palo Alto’

Palo Alto is what would happen if Mean Girls had a major collision with American Beauty. The picturesque neighborhoods with the homes of the screwed up parents of the main characters was entirely reminiscent of American Beauty. The parents’ self-absorption was stunning at times. And every time April’s high school girl classmates talked, it was like nails on a chalkboard (cue: Mean Girls’ Regina George, Gretchen Weiners, Karen Smith WITHOUT the comedy).

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This is a guest post by Atima Omara-Alwala.

The next generation of directing Coppolas has come of age in Gia Coppola’s (granddaughter of renowned director Francis Ford Coppola) teenage angst drama featured in the American suburbs. Palo Alto is from a collection of short stories by actor James Franco (who knew he was a writer?), who stars in the film himself.

The main focus is around teenaged April (played by Emma Roberts, daughter of actor Eric Roberts) and Teddy (Jack Kilmer, Val Kilmer’s son) and their parallel existences with occasional touches on the lives of their fellow high school classmates who are obsessed with sex, substances, and suicide. The link between April and Teddy is that April likes Teddy, Teddy likes April–but because they’re teenagers, they never get around to saying it until much later into the film. In between this, April has a short-lived fling with her soccer coach, Mr. B (a very smarmy James Franco), and Teddy has a fling with Emily (Zoe Levin) (read: random fellatio at a house party). Also, Emily has a fling with Teddy’s best friend Fred (Nat Wolff), an all-star sociopathic misogynist.

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Indeed, it is a tad heartbreaking to see how quickly Fred jumps back into his jeans after bedding Emily and callously views her deflated face afterwards or, in another scene, how he pushes Emily down to her knees for some oral attention–all the while demanding she tell him what an amazing guy he is. Emily is that girl you knew in high school who you A) thought was cool because she seemed outwardly confident, and sexually precocious (when you didn’t have a clue) and B) was being endlessly slut shamed for it by all the jealous “mean girls”–which, of course, happens in this film.

For all her outward confidence, Emily is really looking to be valued and validated. So it’s even more painfully awkward as a viewer when Emily keeps going back to Fred until finally, in a major pivotal scene, she’s had enough of his verbal and emotional abuse. Meanwhile, April is trying to figure out her “relationship” with Mr. B and her feelings for Teddy. It is hinted that the relationship April has with Mr. B is perhaps due to the lack of attention at home from a less-than-interested mother and an eccentric stepfather (played by Val Kilmer).

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This is Gia Coppola’s first movie and not bad all around, but it was not revolutionary, and it is a story line that has been done more times than is necessary already: Y’know, the white middle-class to upper middle-class privileged kids who are bored and reckless–and who have no idea why they are so bored and reckless.

Palo Alto is what would happen if Mean Girls had a major collision with American Beauty. The picturesque neighborhoods with the homes of the screwed up parents of the main characters was entirely reminiscent of American Beauty. The parents’ self-absorption was stunning at times. And every time April’s high school girl classmates talked, it was like nails on a chalkboard (cue: Mean Girls’ Regina George, Gretchen Weiners, Karen Smith WITHOUT the comedy). There was very little diversity, no people of color except one or two as extras (which is often the case in a lot of suburbs anyway), and the only discussion of LGBT issues was Emily (who is already tagged as a whore) admitting to having done a girl-on-girl thing in a spirited game of “Never Have I Ever” (great).

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If you went to high school in the suburbs and want a nowhere near humorous and somewhat awkward reminder of the whole experience, Palo Alto is your film.

 


 

Atima Omara-Alwala is a political strategist and activist of 10 years who has served as staff on 8 federal and local political campaigns and other progressive causes. Atima’s work has had a particular focus on women’s political empowerment & 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.

 

 

Bitch Flicks’ Weekly Picks

What have you been reading/writing this week? Tell us in the comments!

Gamechanger Films to Fund Women Directed Films by Melissa Silverstein and Karensa Cadenas at Women and Hollywood
Black Movies 2013: Fall and Winter Preview by ReBecca Theodore-Vachon at The Urban Daily
Lonely Thinking: Hannah Arendt on Film by Roger Berkowitz at The Paris Review
Fall TV Preview – The Best and Worst So Far by Alyssa Rosenberg at Women and Hollywood
Why Characters Like Masters of Sex’s Virginia Johnson Matter by Alyssa Rosenberg at Women and Hollywood
Inequality for All Review by Susan Wloszczyna at RogerEbert.com
The Women & Film Project by Clarissa Jacob and Kate Wieteska at Kickstarter
5 Ways White Feminists Can Address Our Own Racism by Sarah Milstein at Huffington Post
 
 
 
 
What have you been reading/writing this week? Tell us in the comments!

 

Ten Most-Read Posts from August 2013

Did you miss these popular posts on Bitch Flicks? If so, here’s your chance to catch up.

Did you miss these popular posts on Bitch Flicks? If so, here’s your chance to catch up. 

10 Fascinating Female TV Characters Who Are Often Overlooked by Rachel Redfern

Bisexuality in Orange Is the New Black by Robin Hitchcock

Breaking Bad and the Power of Women: Skyler, Lydia and Marie Take Control by Leigh Kolb

Orange Is the New Black and Carrie Bradshaw Syndrome by Myrna Waldron

How to Lose Your Virginity or: How We Need to Rethink Sex by Leigh Kolb

Alice Morgan and the Luther Effect: More Female Villains, Please by Lauren C. Byrd

The Mortal Instruments: City of Mansplaining by Erin Tatum

Female Sexuality Is the Real Horror in Womb by Erin Tatum

The Lifeguard: A Female Antihero on the Cusp of 30 by Leigh Kolb

Elizabethtown After the Manic Pixie Dream Girl by Amanda Civitello

Older Women in Film and Television: The Roundup

This is a Roundup of all pieces that appeared during our theme week on Representations of Older Women in Film and Television.

The Ruthless Power of Patty Hewes from Damages & Victoria Grayson from Revenge by Amanda Rodriguez

Older women in film and TV are generally a stereotypical lot. They’re usually sexless matrons or grandmothers who perform roles of support for their screen-stealing husbands or children. These older women are typically preoccupied with home and family, lacking a complex inner life because they are gendered symbols of, you guessed it, home and family. Occasionally we see older women who go beyond that trope, even defying it to focus more on power, prestige, winning, and their own personal success and public image rather than that of others. Two potent examples of this are Patty Hewes from Damages and Victoria Grayson from Revenge.
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Aging and Existential Crisis in 3rd Rock from the Sun by Jenny Lapekas

Because Mary is teased for her old age, especially since she’s no longer viewed as the sexual being she was once known as, it’s at the forefront of particular episodes. In season three, Dick hounds a photographer who once took “tasteful, artistic” nude photos of Mary when she was younger, and he comes to terms with them only after he begins shredding them. He discovers that the shots are beautiful and capture how beautiful Mary was, but he also realizes that she’s still sexually appealing because he loves her; he tells her that she has aged “like a fine wine.”

 
The First Wives Club: “Don’t Get Mad. Get Everything.” by Jen Thorpe

There is a scene where Brenda is walking past a department store with a friend. She stops to look at a tiny black dress in the window. “Who’s supposed to wear that?” she rhetorically asks her friend, “Some anorexic teenager? Some fetus?” Her rant continues with her intent to lead a protest by never buying any more clothing until the designers “come to their senses.”

Charlize Theron: Too Hot to Be Wicked? by Katherine Newstead

In a scene toward the beginning of Snow White and the Huntsman, during Ravenna’s and the King’s wedding night, she tells of how she has replaced his old (emphasis on the “old”) Queen, and how, in time, she too would have been replaced. Thus, Ravenna speaks of the “natural” cycle of youth replacing age and appears to blame patriarchy for this situation, as men “toss women to the dogs like scraps” once they have finished with them.

“When a woman stays young and beautiful forever, the world is hers.”


Telling Stories: My House in Umbria by Amanda Civitello

“We survived,” Emily is fond of saying to a number of characters in the film – and while she’s obviously referencing the terror attack when she speaks to her fellow “walking wounded” – it’s apparent from its very first utterance that Emily has survived far more than the explosion in carrozza 219. As her story unfolds, we come to discover that Emily is a survivor of childhood abandonment: she was sold as an infant to a childless couple by her parents who had no place for a child in their circus-act lives. She’s a survivor of sexual abuse and a survivor of a succession of abusive relationships. 

Notes on a Scandal: The Older Woman As Predator and Prey by Elizabeth Kiy

Her loneliness is compounded by this narrative technique, as Barbara is often given no one to play off of and instead watches interactions from a distance, remaining an entirely closed off person with a rich internal life she only reveals in her private writing. For an older woman, whose age, unmarried status and perceived lack of attractiveness leave her virtually invisible and of no value to society, this narration allows her to express her resentment. But underneath her malice is the profound loneliness of a woman who seems to have never learned how to connect to people and to remain in their lives without manipulations.


How Golden Girls Shaped My Feminism by Megan Kearns

Golden Girls was ahead of its time. We rarely see female actors over the age of 50 portraying characters embracing and owning their sexuality. Reduced to our appearances, women are told time and again that beauty, youth and thinness determine our worth. When the media body shames and bodysnarks female actors’ bodies, it’s clear how how far we need to go in featuring women’s stories. And so in our youth-obsessed society, it’s revolutionary to see women over 50 on-screen as beautiful, vivacious and sexual. 

 


You Don’t Own Me: The First Wives Club and Feminism by Mia Steinle

As a 12-year-old, my life bore little resemblance to theirs, but The First Wives Club gave me one of my first, delicious glimpses into womanhood — a womanhood that includes sassy retorts and getting drunk at lunch and hanging out with your best friends (and also with Bronson Pinchot and Gloria Steinem). It’s a version of womanhood where we know that Maggie Smith, no matter how old, is always cooler than Sarah Jessica Parker. Where finding out that your daughter is a lesbian is no big thing. (“Lesbians are great nowadays!” Annie remarks after hearing the news.) Where female empowerment isn’t just a nebulous buzzword, but something you achieve and celebrate.

Kind Grandmothers and Powerful Witches in Studio Ghibli Films by Eugenia Andino

The Castle in the Sky includes an ambiguous character which is probably the funniest and most groundbreaking of all of Ghibli’s older women: Captain Dola, an air pirate. She initially appears to be a villain, but later she joins forces with the protagonists, Sheeta and Pazu, against Muska. With her sons as henchmen, stealing treasures is her main objective. She shows a great love for her sons, companionship with her husband, and kindness to Sheeta while still fulfilling the role of reckless, greedy pirate. She’s arguably the most memorable element in the whole film.

Fried Green Tomatoes: A Celebration of (Older) Women by Amanda Morris

In American society and in Hollywood films, too often women are invisible, much less a force to be reckoned with. Older women in particular are meant to be hidden away, not viewed as holders of wisdom or desired as sexual beings or feared as people who could create change or cause damage. And when women ARE a force in film, there tend to be dire consequences for demonstrating independence and strength. This is not the case in Fried Green Tomatoes. Ninny and Evelyn are older female characters who not only carry the film with their stories but also demonstrate real strength and determination in the face of denial, obstinacy, and youthful swagger. 

 


Funniest After Fifty: Four Comediennes to Love Forever by Rachel Redfern

Betty White, Maggie Smith, Judi Dench, and Helen Mirren… At first, when writing this article, I thought about pointing out the ways in which Hollywood has shorted these prolific and amazing actresses, and while I’m sure that’s happened to them at some point in their careers, in reading about their lives, I realized that would almost be a disservice to all that they’ve accomplished. Rather, this piece is meant as a tribute to these enduring female comediennes, who have not only flourished but also paved the way for so many other actresses and actors.

Pretty Little Zombies — The Lure of Eternal Youth in Robert Zemeckis’ Death Becomes Her by Artemis Linhart

This is the turning point of the movie. All the conflicts revolving around jealousy, beauty, and, of course, youth, are henceforth turned into a spirit of sisterhood. The dependence on Ernest transforms into a friendly co-dependent relationship between the two women. However much of a love-hate sentiment resonates throughout the final part of the movie, friendship and solidarity triumph. The special bond that Madeline and Helen share is still based on the wish for eternal youth, but they have finally turned to each other.

Judi Dench Carries Notes on a Scandal Amongst Other Badass Accomplishments by Janyce Denise Glasper

There’s an imperative reason why Dench was nominated for an Academy Award for Best Actress in a film for Notes On a Scandal. The Academy can be a load of BS with their ageism and racism, but sometimes, they get it right. It’s also quite wonderful to point out that Dench scored her first nomination at 64, her first and only win at 65, and four nods after– the last being Notes on a Scandal. For people to say that she is too old for anything is simply wrong on all counts. She truly is at her artistic best.

The Extraordinary Romance of an Ordinary “Old Girl”: Thoughts on Ali: Fear Eats the Soul by Rachael Johnson

Of course older women have traditionally not been allowed to be sexual beings, and mothers have always been held to a higher sexual standard than fathers. In fact, when a woman of any age does not conform or transgresses sexually she customarily suffers greater social condemnation. What Ali: Fear Eats the Soul makes clear is that the Whore-Madonna complex still reigned supreme in 1970s Germany. When Emmi first tells her daughter and son-in-law that she has fallen in love with a much younger man, they laugh. The thought of an old mother in love and lust is so impossible, so unnatural–horrific, in fact–that laughter is the only fitting response. When she introduces her children to her new husband, one son calls her a whore and another kicks in her television. In the eyes of her deeply conventional, racist children, Emmi is guilty of the most profane double betrayal–racial disloyalty and defilement of the maternal role.

Older Women Week: The Extraordinary Romance of an Ordinary "Old Girl": Thoughts on ‘Ali: Fear Eats the Soul’

Of course older women have traditionally not been allowed to be sexual beings, and mothers have always been held to a higher sexual standard than fathers. In fact, when a woman of any age does not conform or transgresses sexually she customarily suffers greater social condemnation. What Ali: Fear Eats the Soul makes clear is that the Whore-Madonna complex still reigned supreme in 1970s Germany. When Emmi first tells her daughter and son-in-law that she has fallen in love with a much younger man, they laugh. The thought of an old mother in love and lust is so impossible, so unnatural—horrific, in fact—that laughter is the only fitting response. When she introduces her children to her new husband, one son calls her a whore and another kicks in her television. In the eyes of her deeply conventional, racist children, Emmi is guilty of the most profane double betrayal—racial disloyalty and defilement of the maternal role.

Ali: Fear Eats the Soul
This is a guest post by Rachael Johnson
Ali: Fear Eats the Soul is a tale of interracial and intergenerational love set in West Germany in the 1970s. It was both written and directed by one of the key figures of the New German Cinema, Rainer Werner Fassbinder. In his short yet productive life–he died aged 37 of a drug-related heart attack–the workaholic Fassbinder made countless remarkable films and pursued an equally remarkable private life. Anti-bourgeois and anti-establishment, the bisexual Bavarian earned a legendary reputation as a flammable wild child and libertine of extreme appetites. Influenced by Douglas Sirk’s socially subversive melodramas, Ali: Fear Eats the Soul is a fascinating exploration of sexual taboos and non-conformity as well as a searing critique of German racism. It is, also, a deeply affecting love story.
The lovers are Ali, a Moroccan-born mechanic in his thirties and Emmi, a white German woman around 60. Tall, bearded and muscular, Ali is played by El Hedi ben Salam, then a lover of the director. Emmi, played by Brigitte Mira, is a small woman of average looks with a pleasant, pudgy face. There is nothing glamorous about Fassbinder’s heroine, and it is this very ordinariness that endears her to the viewer and makes the story all the more poignant. A lonely widow with three married children she rarely sees, there is, it seems, little remarkable about Emmi either. Nor is she a privileged hausfrau. She cleans for a living.
The bar
The two meet in a bar frequented by Arab immigrants. Emmi takes shelter from the rain, but she is also drawn by the ‘exotic’ music. It is a fairly odd scene. The bar maid is a buxom, blonde German woman, and there is only a handful of customers. They stare impassively at Emmi when she enters. A long shot emphasizes her vulnerability and isolation. She sits by the door and asks the bar maid about her clientele and selection of music. She orders a coke and keeps her coat on. The women mock her and a female companion of Ali prods him to dance with ‘the old girl.’ He obeys her with a mock salute. The others stare at the couple, of course, but Ali is gracious, and they learn a little about each other. He accompanies Emmi home and their extraordinary romance begins in a sweet, ordinary fashion.
Fassbinder lays bare the nasty, pervasive nature of racism in West German society during the seventies. Ali, we soon learn, only calls himself Ali because white Germans have maliciously given him the stereotypical name. His life is hard. He works constantly and drinks heavily. He tells Emmi that he shares a room with five other foreign workers. ‘German master/Arab dog’ is how he describes race relations at his garage. Racism is a constant in the lovers’ lives. Emmi listens with unease as her fellow cleaning women dole out dehumanizing descriptions of immigrants as dirty, lazy, dangerous and hypersexual. Her female neighbors gossip incessantly about her affair and fix merciless eyes on her lover. Her son-in-law, Eugen, played by Fassbinder himself, is a lazy boor enraged at the mere mention of his Turkish foreman. When her landlord’s son accuses her of subletting due to Ali’s presence, Emmi tells him that the young Moroccan is her fiancé. The ruse becomes a reality when they mutually agree to tie the knot. Emmi’s children, neighbors and co-workers ostracize her and her new husband. She is forced to eat lunch alone at work, and he is humiliated by the local shop-keeper. Only the passage of time and naked self-interest mellow their attitude.
Ali surrounded by Emmi’s coworkers
Ali: Fear Eats the Soul explores the impact of racism on human relationships. Fassbinder specifically underscores how its evil even infects those of an intimate nature. Emmi’s relationship with Ali sours and she is shown to be capable of reproducing the racism of her compatriots. Impatient with his craving for couscous, a sign, of course, of deep homesickness, she tells her husband to adapt to German customs. On one occasion, she encourages her co-workers’ sexual objectification of Ali, an objectification that smacks of unsavory white voyeurism. When he quits the room, she puts it down to a changeable ‘foreign mentality.’ Emmi is, of course, a product of her nation’s past. In the 1970s, Germany’s history of genocidal racism was still a living, breathing memory. Emmi was a young woman when the Nazis were in power. When she tells Ali that she and her father were members of the party, it is a quiet, forever mind-blowing reminder that membership was the norm.
Emmi with Eugen and Krista
There are, nevertheless, indications that Emmi was always a little different. She crosses borders. Her parents did not want her to marry a foreigner after the war, but she married a Polish man. She is not a xenophobe like her father. She enters the immigrants’ bar because she is drawn to the sounds of others. Emmi is genuinely curious about other cultures and accepts cultural differences. She is hospitable and questions why white Germans and foreigners cannot be friends. She is appalled to hear of Ali’s intolerable living conditions. Curiosity, empathy, attraction and love make up Emmi’s feelings for Ali. Although she will never suffer the daily degradations and abuse he suffers, she is also a victim of racism. Although she tries to hide it, she is, in fact, tormented by the hatred besieging them. Emmi is derided and marginalized by white Germans for loving and marrying an Arab man. A neighbor asks, at one point, if she is a ‘real’ German due to her Polish last name. White women who have affairs with North African and Turkish foreign workers are labeled ‘filthy whores’ by her co-workers. Although a manifestly provincial product of her time and place, Emmi artlessly manages to challenge German racism through the simple, human act of loving. In the socio-historical context of post-war West Germany, she is a nonconformist.
Ali and Emmi
Seemingly unsophisticated, Emmi also breaks sexual taboos. She is a desiring old woman, and it is this desire that outrages and disgusts her children. Of course older women have traditionally not been allowed to be sexual beings, and mothers have always been held to a higher sexual standard than fathers. In fact, when a woman of any age does not conform or transgresses sexually she customarily suffers greater social condemnation. What Ali: Fear Eats the Soul makes clear is that the Whore-Madonna complex still reigned supreme in 1970s Germany. When Emmi first tells her daughter and son-in-law that she has fallen in love with a much younger man, they laugh. The thought of an old mother in love and lust is so impossible, so unnatural–horrific, in fact–that laughter is the only fitting response. When she introduces her children to her new husband, one son calls her a whore and another kicks in her television. In the eyes of her deeply conventional, racist children, Emmi is guilty of the most profane double betrayal–racial disloyalty and defilement of the maternal role.
Her daughter Krista mirrors her brothers. She calls Emmi’s home ‘a pigsty.’ There is, it must be said, little female solidarity apparent in Ali: Fear Eats the Soul. The older woman’s female peers and acquaintances seem for the most part to be slaves of convention, regarding issues of race and gender. Ali’s female friends are manifestly threatened by Emmi’s sexuality. One calls his wife ‘a filthy old whore’ behind her back. ‘It’ll never work out. It’s unnatural, plain unnatural,’ she spits, with some jealousy. Does Fassbinder identify women in particular with convention? Or does he see his female characters as parts of the patriarchal system?
Emmi and Ali embrace
Fassbinder’s portrayal of Emmi’s passion is, however, empathetic and quite revolutionary. He never depicts the older woman’s desire as warped and unnatural, and it is worth reflecting how rare an attitude this is on screen. Emmi’s sexual subjectivity is acknowledged. When she momentarily looks at Ali showering, she tells him, ‘You are very beautiful, Ali.’ Her looking does not here denote exploitative voyeurism. Her softly delivered words are addressed to her husband only. He smiles back at her. An older female gaze, of course, doubly reverses cinematic male-female conventions of objectification. In this very short scene, the director recognizes Emmi’s subversive female gaze while, it must be said, expressing his own sexuality. Ultimately, Fassbinder understands that his heroine is, at heart, driven by an entirely natural desire for intimate human companionship as well as a simple need for love.
Their intergenerational relationship comprises painful personal humiliations–issuing from racism and infidelity–but it is also an essentially loving one. Ali’s everyday interactions with Emmi are, from the very start, characterized by kindness, devotion and respect. He and Emmi share their insecurities, comfort each other and enjoy each other’s company. Her daughter’s so-called conventional marriage pales in comparison. There are many achingly poignant, well-observed moments in this love story. On the street where she lives, an anxious Emmi fearing that she had lost her new love, cries Ali’s name before running toward him like a little girl. The warm, relaxed way Ali strokes Emmi’s arm their first night together is another arresting sign of their unusual bond. Their supposedly impossible relationship always seems authentic. Fassbinder reveals the unlikely pair’s fundamental affinities. They are both victims of loneliness and social alienation, and they are both hard-working, working-class people.
Emmi and Ali have dinner
There is an essential humanity to Fassbinder’s characterization of both lovers, and their unusual love story is told with tenderness. Unsurprisingly, Ali: Fear Eats the Soul was well received internationally. It honors the empathetic imagination and pays touching tribute to the outsider. It also shows how an ordinary ‘old girl’ can quietly tear down racial boundaries as well as defy conventional expectations of female desire.


Rachael Johnson has contributed articles to CINEACTION, www.objectif-cinema.com and www.jgcinema.com.

 

Older Women Week: Pretty Little Zombies — The Lure of Eternal Youth in Robert Zemeckis’ ‘Death Becomes Her’

This is the turning point of the movie. All the conflicts revolving around jealousy, beauty, and, of course, youth, are henceforth turned into a spirit of sisterhood. The dependence on Ernest transforms into a friendly co-dependent relationship between the two women. However much of a love-hate sentiment resonates throughout the final part of the movie, friendship and solidarity triumph. The special bond that Madeline and Helen share is still based on the wish for eternal youth, but they have finally turned to each other.

Death Becomes Her movie poster

This is a guest post by Artemis Linhart.

Somewhere between Marty McFly and Jessica Rabbit, it became quite clear that one thing Robert Zemeckis’ characters have in common is an utter defiance of the laws of nature. Now, channeling this notion in Isabella Rossellini’s role of Lisle von Rhoman, emerges the ultimate temptress: “Sempre viva – live forever.”
However, for the women of this movie, it isn’t so much the promise of eternal life that entices them to drink the rejuvenating potion offered by Lisle. It is the ever-lasting youthful appearance they are after. For this they are willing to spend all the money they have, which seems to them like a small price to pay. But “the sordid topic of coin,” as Lisle calls it, is not the only price eternal youth comes at; set against the backdrop of a seemingly never-ending thunderstorm, Zemeckis unfolds a lurid tale of (attempted) murder, jealousy and spray paint.
It all begins with the aging starlet Madeline Ashton (Meryl Streep) performing an ill-conceived version of Tennessee Williams’ “Sweet Bird of Youth,” and people stepping on her photograph as they leave the theater mid-show. It is no secret that working as an actress and living as a human being subject to the process of aging don’t go well together – the limitations of which real life Meryl Streep has been known to point out.
Helen Sharp (Goldie Hawn) after Ernest leaves her
As the aspiring writer Helen Sharp (Goldie Hawn) introduces her fiancé Ernest (Bruce Willis) to her long-time frienemy Madeline, their lives start to unravel. Instantly smitten, Ernest loses no time to break off the engagement and marry Madeline instead. His occupation as a plastic surgeon should prove to be beneficial to Madeline’s crumbling career.
“Tell me, doctor, do you think that I’m starting to need you?” she asks him, flirtingly. Her choice of words illustrates the undisputed consensus that, at a certain age, women need to act on the fact that time is taking a toll on their appearance. Retaining a youthful image has become a need like breathing or eating (in moderation, by all means).
Meanwhile, Helen’s appearance undergoes three stages. Starting off as rather mousy and plain, she gains weight after being left by Ernest, resulting in the clichéd cat lady couch potato. The camera mocks her voluminous buttocks on more than one occasion. Due to her inertia as well as an obsession with her rival Madeline, she is admitted to a mental hospital where a doctor yells at her for being overweight. Disregarding the fat-shaming, she plots her revenge. In a cut to seven years later, we see her as what society describes as a desirable beauty, finally having managed to get her life back together. It seems that success and appearance go hand in hand. Her book (titled “Forever Young”) finally sells, as she looks fresher than ever – all thanks to a little magic potion, which Madeline is about to happen upon herself shortly.
Ernest (Bruce Willis) and Helen
Ageism You Can Drink
Madeline Ashton is a regular at a spa where she routinely receives extensive (as well as expensive) facial treatments. It is run by people with European accents, which, in combination with Isabella Rossellini’s character, allows for the impression that the beauty and youth lobby is run by a wealthy Eurotrash elite.
Madeline is told that she cannot undergo a treatment, as her last appointment was only a few weeks ago. Frantic in the face of an employee with “22-year-old skin and tits like rocks,” she begs for a spa treatment, illustrating the obsession with physical appearance women are pressured with.
Upon being offered makeup, she screams, “Makeup is pointless! It does nothing anymore!” thus highlighting a problem many women, especially actresses, face. Once hiding behind a lot of makeup no longer serves the purpose of rejuvenation, more drastic measures have to be taken. In addition, Madeline’s frenzy demonstrates the idea that Botox and collagen treatments as well as plastic surgery often have addictive potential.
Madeline (Meryl Streep), Helen, and Ernest
A staff member apologizes, explaining that they are “restricted by the laws of nature.”

Cue Lisle von Rhoman.

“Screw the laws of nature!” she shouts furiously at one point. Defying every physical law, she is just what Madeline is looking for. Between her twenty-something boyfriend cheating on her with someone his own age, and her husband Ernest having a newfound interest in the now youthful Helen Sharp, Madeline has a nervous breakdown. Youth seems to be all that matters to society, and she has internalized the desire to keep up.
Lisle describes aging as “life’s ultimate cruelty – it offers us the taste of youth and vitality and then makes us witness our own decay.”
Her remedy: “a touch of magic in this world obsessed with science.”
Madeline and Helen
While Meryl Streep was appalled to be offered as many as three different roles as witches as she turned 40, her character in Death Becomes Her now resorts to supernatural powers as an alternative to medical treatments in order to battle aging – when really she should be battling ageism instead.
The women of this movie are consistent with the idea that they are only worthy of success, men, or happiness as long as they are – or appear to be – young. As Madeline watches her body age in reverse after consuming the potion, she exclaims cheerfully, “I’m a girl!”

Hence, womanhood is based on certain physical features defined by society to please the eye. This is mirrored in the character of Ernest who desires whoever looks the youngest, yet accuses Madeline of being cheap for wanting to maintain a youthful facade.

While Ernest is portrayed as a “pushover,” whose domineering spouse makes his life a living hell, we watch his spirit break and his life force dwindle as he is increasingly emaciated and, most notably, emasculated. He is undoubtedly condemned and punished for this until, ultimately, he stands up to Madeline and Helen, which enables him to regain his dignity and lead a decent life after all. Women’s dominance is clearly demonized in Death Becomes Her. It entails depraved moral values, hysteria, and, naturally, a good old cat fight. Helen and Madeline engage in a bizarre brawl that results in a grotesquely comic CGI spectacle. As he lets them lash out at each other, Zemeckis does things to the human body previously only seen in cartoons. The chronic bitchfight based on envy, that the two of them have been carrying out for years in much more subtle ways, has now extended to the physical dimension.
Helen, after Madeline shoots her

Life As We Know It

“It’s alive!” Helen calls out in a nod to Mary Shelley as she sees Madeline’s zombified self happily walking around the house. In a previous foreshadowing analogy, Ernest asks their housekeeper about Madeline, “Is it awake?”, emphasizing his despise for his oppressive wife on the one hand and the objectification of the woman monster on the other.
After shooting a hole through Helen’s stomach, Madeline cheers, “These are the moments that make life worth living.”
And yet, alive is a thing both women are not even close to being. The forces of nature have been tampered with, and disaster is taking its course. Death Becomes Her sends a pretty clear message when it comes to the distribution of power, morality and, ultimately, gender roles. Life, as many a patriarch has come to know and appreciate it, has been turned upside down. Here, a reversal of gender roles results in the collapse of the main characters’ lives.
The moral decay is mirrored in the disintegration of Helen’s and Madeline’s faces. This is where they realize their dependency on Ernest, who has been fixing their lesions with spray paint. Even beyond death, beyond eternal beauty, they still need the plastic surgeon to fix their crumbling visages. “What if it fades? What if it chips? What if it rains? Will he come back for touch-ups?”
As it turns out, he won’t, and they will have to master the skill of restoring their faces themselves.
Madeline’s turning point
This is the turning point of the movie. All the conflicts revolving around jealousy, beauty, and, of course, youth, are henceforth turned into a spirit of sisterhood. The dependence on Ernest transforms into a friendly co-dependent relationship between the two women. However much of a love-hate sentiment resonates throughout the final part of the movie, friendship and solidarity triumph. The special bond that Madeline and Helen share is still based on the wish for eternal youth, but they have finally turned to each other.
Meanwhile, Earnest has been living his life without them, his new motto being “Life begins at 50.” As a man, he can afford this attitude. Earlier on, as Madeline and Helen attempt to convince him to drink the potion and attain immortality, the thought of a youthful appearance never even crosses his mind.
Instead, he contemplates being able to continue his career. Eternal youth is not the determining factor for him. In the light of an everlasting life, in contrast, Ernest refuses to drink it. This goes to show that men, as opposed to women, do not face the terror of the beauty industry in quite the same way.
Helen and Madeline still prevail
In fact, he is rewarded for this decision later on by the pastor at his funeral who asserts that Ernest, just by being a remarkable man who has gone on to found disputable institutions like “The Menville Center for the Study of Women,” he has achieved eternal life. Even after his death he has accomplished eternal youth, as he “lives on in his children.” The irony of this causes Helen and Madeline to get up and leave, not without declaring, “Blaaa blaaa blaaa.”
And yet, as tragic an ending as they face, Madeline and Helen prevail, long after Ernest’s death. Thirty-seven years of interdependent touch-ups later, they now look like bizarre zombie puppets. As they drag their brittle bodies away from the funeral, they fall down a flight of stairs and break into smithereens.
With all their separate body parts scattered across the ground, they are still best friends. This is the actual happy ending – one of solidarity, friendship and emancipation.

 
Artemis Linhart is a freelance writer and film curator with a weakness for escapism.

Older Women Week: ‘Fried Green Tomatoes’: A Celebration of (Older) Women

This is a guest review by Amanda Morris.
Sassy and fearless storyteller, 82-year-old Ninny Threadgoode (Jessica Tandy), takes Evelyn Couch (Kathy Bates) and viewers on a journey through a tableaux of Southern family and friendship in Fried Green Tomatoes. There’s a lot going on in this film worth talking about, from race and sexuality to class and masculinity. But let’s focus on how the film presents older women. Based on a Fanny Flagg original novel, Fried Green Tomatoes at the Whistle Stop Cafe, the movie presents a vision of mature women who are survivors that guide their families and communities with compassion, stubbornness, and love.

Original trailer for Fried Green Tomatoes
Set in 1920s Alabama, Fried Green Tomatoes is a story about the healing power of stories, as much as it is about how Evelyn develops a friendship with Ninny that is forged from story. The primary characters are older women, with men taking supporting roles, which is an impressive reversal for any Hollywood film. The story within the story features the friendship and love between young Ruth Jamison (Mary-Louise Parker) and Idgie Threadgoode (Mary Stuart Masterson), Ninny’s family and friends from 50 years in the past. Ninny, Evelyn, Mama Threadgoode (Lois Smith), and Sipsey (Cicely Tyson) present four different views of older womanhood in this complex film that touches on many taboo subjects that older women aren’t usually permitted to grapple with on film. All four demonstrate the the kind of agency and decision-making prowess usually reserved for younger women and men.
“I’m too young to be old and I’m too old to be young,” Evelyn says to Ninny during one of their visits. Ninny asks a few pointed questions and then diagnoses Evelyn as going through menopause. This subject opens the door to a further conversation about Ninny’s son Albert, “the Lord’s greatest gift,” who died at 30. Mentioning child death and menopause in the same scene is unusual, not to mention the casual and straightforward way it is handled, without excess drama or emotion. Rather, these issues are presented as just a part of life, and Ninny’s wisdom is hard-earned and taken in stride, which helps the middle-aged Evelyn change her own attitude about feeling depressed and lost.

For Ninny, who remembers by the end of the film that the most important thing in life is “friends, best friends,” keeping friendships alive through story provides a pathway to both the fascinating past and the unknowable but exciting future. On her birthday, Ninny tells Evelyn not to fear death because even though she is “at the jumping off place,” she isn’t scared at all. Ninny’s spirit is energetic and intoxicating as she regales Evelyn (and us) with the life and times of Idgie and Ruth, including how Idgie was accused of murdering Ruth’s husband, Frank Bennett (Nick Searcy). Ninny’s frank mode of speaking, indomitable spirit, and ability to treat everything as an adventure, even while sampling the fried green tomatoes that Evelyn brings for her birthday, sets this character apart from other representations of older women on screen. In fact, Ninny is so different from our expectations of an 80-something woman that the disconnect between Ninny and the nursing home where she lives becomes starkly apparent when Evelyn discovers that Ninny really is meant to stay in this dying, sad place for good.

In American society and in Hollywood films, too often women are invisible, much less a force to be reckoned with. Older women in particular are meant to be hidden away, not viewed as holders of wisdom or desired as sexual beings or feared as people who could create change or cause damage. And when women ARE a force in film, there tend to be dire consequences for demonstrating independence and strength. This is not the case in Fried Green Tomatoes. Ninny and Evelyn are older female characters who not only carry the film with their stories but also demonstrate real strength and determination in the face of denial, obstinacy, and youthful swagger. Consider one of my favorite scenes in the final third of the film where Evelyn stands up to two young women over a parking lot slight:

Evelyn discovers her inner Towanda
Who else hasn’t wanted to react this way when cut off in a parking lot or in traffic? Evelyn’s action is cathartic for older female viewers as we imagine ourselves in her seat, embracing our inner Towandas right alongside her. She is accessible because she is imperfect, emotionally complex, and full of vigor. As a character, Evelyn is not just a reflection of Southern middle-aged womanhood; she is a modern Everywoman and we cheer for her every discovery and improvement that she makes for her own benefit, such as her decision to invite Ninny to live with her and Ed (Gailard Sartain), who is less than thrilled with the idea.

When Evelyn states, “Don’t you ever say never to me,” this is a direct reflection of Ruth’s statement when she and Idgie have to jump from the train. The scenes in this film intertwine and interconnect in ways that help viewers see older women as positive, strong, and wise role models. Even the tertiary but important characters of Mama Threadgoode and Sipsey show strength and determination when it isn’t popular or socially acceptable to do so.
The scene where Sipsey stands up to Frank Bennett and says, “I ain’t scared of you,” sets the stage for her later accidental murder of the man when he tries to abscond with his and Ruth’s infant son from the Cafe.

Cicely Tyson as Sipsey
While murder is decidedly against the law, audiences are meant to sympathize with this older Southern black woman who is standing up to white male domination.
As for Mama Threadgoode (Smith), she also stands up to societal expectations when she invites Ruth to stay for the summer as a way to reach Idgie. She says to Ruth after Idgie, who appears indifferent to Ruth’s presence, walks away, “Oh, it’s got to work. Somebody’s got to help her and I can’t.” The expectation is that mothers can fix their children’s problems, and Mama Threadgoode reverses that expectation by reaching outside for help.
Nominated for two Oscars (Best Actress in a Supporting Role and Best Writing, Screenplay Based on Material Previously Produced or Published), Fried Green Tomatoes weaves a moving picture of older women that is uplifting even as this vision borders on the sentimental. Gentle strength is the beating heart of this story, embodied by the older female characters who weave powerful stories that are strong enough to heal even the toughest cynic among us.


Amanda Morris, Ph.D. is an assistant professor of multiethnic rhetorics at Kutztown University in Pennsylvania, and when she’s not writing or wrangling students, she loves shark fishing, gardening, and cooking with her man.

Older Women Week: Kind Grandmothers and Powerful Witches in Studio Ghibli Films

Studio Ghibli

This is guest post by Eugenia Andino previously appeared at her Web site (in Spanish) and is cross-posted with permission. 

The female protagonists in Studio Ghibli films have often been analysed as examples of feminist work; ranging from young women (like Nausicaa or Princess Mononoke) to little girls like Ponyo. The most popular ones, like Chihiro in Spirited Away, are just on the brink of adolescence. While it is true that there are not many adult women in Studio Ghibli films, there are varied, sympathetic and imaginative portraits of older women, normally in supporting roles.
These older women can be broadly grouped in two types.
The main ones are the wise or nurturing women. The first of them is Obaba in Nausicaa. We first meet her when her family meets Lord Yupa, a visitor, and Obaba interprets for them the local legend of a hero in blue, in a golden field, who will save the Valley. Obaba is brave and strong, if somewhat fatalistic; she dares invaders to kill her, and near the end of the film she seems resigned to the end of the people either by the toxic plants, an attack of giant insects, or foreign invaders. In any case, it is remarkable that for the role of symbolic voice of the Valley culture, the film chooses an old woman rather than a wise man or a warrior.
Princess Mononoke is a film with a similar theme, the conflict created by an industrial city whose prosperity depends on the exploitation of a magical forest. The old, wise woman here is Hii-sama. She tries to placate the possessed boar who bites and curses Ashitaka, without success, and then decides that the protagonist should leave the village and find a cure in the west. Since Ashitaka leaves not to come back, she doesn’t reappear. Again, the character gives richness to the film.

 

Dola and her sons

 

Sometimes the nurturing woman isn’t a “wise woman” type but simply kind, nurturing, and treated with great sympathy by the story. This is the case with Granny in My Neighbour Totoro, and of the many women in the home where Lisa works in Ponyo. In the forced absence of Satsuki and Mei’s mother because of her illness, Granny (who is not their grandmother but a neighbor, and the grandmother of Satsuki’s friend, Okagi), gives much needed love and attention to the little girl. At the same time, the film never implies that only women should take care of children, as can be seen in the initial scenes of the two little girls housekeeping and bathing with their father, in a rare, realistic and positive example of fatherhood. In this film and in Ponyo, these kinds old neighbors form a community that gives much needed emotional support to little children with loving but busy parents.
But older women’s roles as family caretakers aren’t only surrogate, as we can see in My Neighbors the Yamadas, a sweet “slice of life” piece composed of vignettes. Here we find a family with Takashi, the father, Matsuko the mother, Shige the grandmother, Noburu, a teenage boy, and Nonoko, a little girl. At the end of the film, Noburu jokes that the family works because all three adults are crazy: if any one of them were sensible, the balance would be broken. There’s some truth to this, as there are a number of unresolved tensions among the adults that would be unbearable with only two of them (or if they didn’t love one another very much). The conflict between Granny Shige and her son-in-law is stated early on the film: the property is hers, but he built the house himself. Here and elsewhere, Matsuko doesn’t take sides and tries to stop the fight. On their part, Shige and Matsuko both argue about their (unenthusiastic) housekeeping. Although Shige is often witty and very funny, it’s not all rosy; for example, the melancholy caused by the nearness of her death and the sickness of a friend is the theme of one of the Shorts.

 

In Spirited Away, we find an example of each category, so let’s introduce the second one: the ambiguous villain or antagonist.
This film has two twin sisters, Yubaba and Zeniba. Their age is doubtful: they look old, but Yubaba has a baby boy. In a way that reminds me slightly of Lady Eboshi in Princess Mononoke, she is, first and foremost, a businesswoman. Her biggest flaw is her greed, but she’s not truly evil. She doesn’t want to cause unnecessary harm, and she always keeps her word, even when she complains that it goes against her interests. Her sister Zeniba starts off as another antagonist, who attacks Haku and transforms Yubaba’s baby boy into a mouse, and then turns out to be grandmotherly and friendly and angry only at her sister for ordering Haku to steal from her. This gives complexity and appeal to the character, showing that “nurturing grandmothers” have their own interests and needs too.

 

Hii-Sama dictates Ashitaka’s destiny
In Howl’s Moving Castle there is another couple, if not so well paired up: Sophie, the main character, is transformed into a 90-year-old woman by the Witch of the West. This gets the main adventures of the film started as she searches for a way to break the spell and finds Howl. Just like in Spirited Away or Ponyo, the spell is broken with love, which isn’t very original. The interesting thing about Sophie’s transformation is that a shy, insecure, and practical girl finds a housekeeping job that suits her well, but only after being cursed with old age. This, in the context of Ghibli films as a whole, suggests again the nurturing, caring values of grandmotherly types. Here, they are certainly compensated and kept refreshing and fun rather than repetitive with the Witch of the West, a rare character because she’s mostly (or completely) villainous, with no redeeming features. And finally, Madame Suliman, of uncertain age (her hair is white, but she doesn’t look as old as the other two), is a powerful magician who used to be Howl’s master and teacher.
The Castle in the Sky includes an ambiguous character which is probably the funniest and most groundbreaking of all of Ghibli’s older women: Captain Dola, an air pirate. She initially appears to be a villain, but later she joins forces with the protagonists, Sheeta and Pazu, against Muska. With her sons as henchmen, stealing treasures is her main objective. She shows a great love for her sons, companionship with her husband, and kindness to Sheeta while still fulfilling the role of reckless, greedy pirate. She’s arguably the most memorable element in the whole film.

 

A grandmotherly Zeniba teaches No-Face how to knit

 

Despite the repetition of patterns, with all these witches and grandmothers, the characterisation of older women in Studio Ghibli films is never stereotypical. If Ghibli heroines can show children that little girls can be clever, courageous and admirable, these secondary characters show that their spark and their charm are not lost with age.

Eugenia Andino Lucas is a teacher of English as a Foreign Language in Spain. She’s also working on a PhD on Gender Violence in the novels of Charles Dickens. You can follow her on twitter: @laguiri and on her blog: eugeniaandino.bachpress.org.

 

Older Women Week: You Don’t Own Me: ‘The First Wives Club’ and Feminism


Movie poster for The First Wives Club

This guest post by Mia Steinle previously appeared at Canonball and is cross-posted with permission.

In the late nineties, as I was entering early teenagerdom and as a group of marketers was inventing the term “tween,” my favorite movie was about a group of middle-aged divorcees waging war on their self-centered ex-husbands. The First Wives Club had come out in 1996, and it’s possible — nay, likely — that my parents rented it from our local Blockbuster shortly thereafter, but it wasn’t until some years later, at the dawn of a new millennium, that I was treated to this quintessentially 90s nugget of female empowerment, over and over again on my friend’s VCR.

Diane Keaton, Goldie Hawn, and Bette Midler in The First Wives Club

We admired Bette Midler as ballsy, street-smart Brenda, who is incensed that her ex-husband Morty has the gall to bring his girlfriend (Sarah Jessica Parker) to their son’s bar mitzvah. We laughed at Goldie Hawn as Elise, a habitually drunk, botoxed actress, whose producer ex-husband has just taken up with an even younger actress (Elizabeth Berkeley, whose performance makes SJP look like a comedic genius). And, while the other ladies are fun and glamorous, I think we were most touched by the neurotic realism of Diane Keaton as Annie, an anxious, eager-to-please, but ready-to-burst housewife whose husband (played by the Rev. Eric Camden, aka Stephen Collins) leaves her for their therapist.

After the suicide of a mutual friend — a woman who gave the best years of her life, and her self-esteem, to a man who then left her for a younger woman — the ladies band together to get back at their exes. As Annie explains, it’s a matter of justice; they made life easy for their ex-husbands for years, only to be discarded in middle-age — that time of life when society tries to force women into invisibility: sexually, romantically and professionally.

The ladies set to work destroying their exes, using a combination of cunning and, perhaps most unconventionally, financial savvy. Their greatest successes aren’t born of cat fights with second wives, but of their ability to read tax returns (Morty cheated on his), rig auctions (Annie uses her winnings to buy ownership of her ex-husband’s advertising firm) and do simple arithmetic (turns out Elise’s ex-husband’s new girlfriend is only 16). And their accomplices, on the surface, are the types of characters who don’t usually get to be clever, the types of characters we’re supposed to laugh at. But Maggie Smith as a wealthy socialite, Jennifer Dundas as Annie’s lesbian and feminist daughter and Bronson Pinchot as an interior decorator of vague foreign origin, are just as smart and savvy as the first wives. Not being male, not being young and not being straight aren’t liabilities for these characters.

As a 12-year-old, my life bore little resemblance to theirs, but The First Wives Club gave me one of my first, delicious glimpses into womanhood — a womanhood that includes sassy retorts and getting drunk at lunch and hanging out with your best friends (and also with Bronson Pinchot and Gloria Steinem). It’s a version of womanhood where we know that Maggie Smith, no matter how old, is always cooler than Sarah Jessica Parker. Where finding out that your daughter is a lesbian is no big thing. (“Lesbians are great nowadays!” Annie remarks after hearing the news.) Where female empowerment isn’t just a nebulous buzzword, but something you achieve and celebrate.
When I sat down this week to watch the movie with fellow Canonball editor Lindsay (who had never seen it before — by contrast, our contributor James owns two copies), I wondered how it had weathered the 15 years since its release. But, really, aside from a few instances of characters exclaiming, “It’s the nineties!” the movie holds up surprisingly well. In a way, it’s almost more progressive than a lot of today’s female-led comedies. Spoiler: while we’re left to assume that Brenda and Morty are going to get back together, neither attention-seeking Elise nor insecure Annie take back their ex-husbands. As Annie explains:
He wants to come home again and he feels emotionally ready to recommit to an equitable and caring relationship. I told him to drop dead.

Because at its core, The First Wives Club isn’t a story about romance or marriage. It’s a story about finding the bravery to stand up for yourself — especially when “yourself” is a woman, and not the young, pretty kind either. And seeing Keaton’s Annie transform from the nervous wreck that I so deeply identify with, to the kind of woman who can tell the dad from 7th Heaven to drop dead, is like a breath of fresh air. 
 

Mia Steinle is a journalist living in Washington, D.C. Her work has appeared in Huffington Post, Columbia Journalism Review, and POLITICO, among others.

Older Women Week: ‘Notes on a Scandal’: The Older Woman As Predator and Prey

This is a guest post by Elizabeth Kiy.

“I don’t know. It’s just the distance between life as you dream it and life as it is.” –Sheba Hart

Notes on a Scandal film poster

In Notes on a Scandal, a 2006 British psychological thriller, a web of lies and manipulations form around the relationship of two schoolteachers who live very different lives.

Told through her point of view, the film takes viewers into the mind of Barbara Covett (Judi Dench), an elderly woman whose sweet voice and grandmotherly appearance hide a cunning mind and sinister intentions. She lives alone with her cat and confides only in her journal, whose entries form the film’s narration.

Her loneliness is compounded by this narrative technique, as Barbara is often given no one to play off of and instead watches interactions from a distance, remaining an entirely closed off person with a rich internal life she only reveals in her private writing. For an older woman, whose age, unmarried status and perceived lack of attractiveness leave her virtually invisible and of no value to society, this narration allows her to express her resentment. But underneath her malice is the profound loneliness of a woman who seems to have never learned how to connect to people and to remain in their lives without manipulations.

Barbara only confides her real opinions in her journal

To a degree, her isolation is self imposed as Barbara sees the people around her, students and teachers alike, as uncultured, unwashed and unilaterally badly behaved. That she sees herself as above them is highlighted in an early sequence when she watches the children come into the school from an upper floor window. This is the scene where Barbara first sees Sheba Hart (Cate Blanchett).

Sheba’s first appearance presents a sharp contrast. She floats, very blonde and pale in a sea of dark haired students in black uniforms and the viewer’s eye, aligned with Barbara’s, is easily drawn to her. While Barbara, a through disciplinarian in dowdy clothes, fits naturally into the school environment, Sheba is alien within it. It is suggested that she has no authority over the students because she still sees herself as a young person and wants to be their friend. The film also addresses the idea of class difference which further sets Sheba, with her upperclass background, apart from the working class pupils.

The details of Sheba’s life seem comfortable enough; she lives in a large, ornate house with her much older husband (Bill Nighy–who interestingly portrayed a love interest to Dench in Best Exotic Marigold Hotel) and her two children, a teenage daughter (Juno Temple) and a boy with Down syndrome, but none of it makes her happy. In a telling detail, a photograph of Sheba in her youth, dressed in a punk style, is shown in her studio.

Teenage Sheba was a Siouxsie & The Banshees fan

Like her pottery and the art in her shed, this photograph suggests a life unfulfilled, that she imagined a bigger, more bohemian life for herself. This was the time in her life when she felt most free and most herself, before she was married or had children, and it is this sense of fulfillment she tries to reclaim by ultimately entering into a relationship with one of her students.

Her relationship with 15-year-old Steven Connolly is particularly disturbing because actor Andrew Simpson certainly looks this age. At first, he satisfies her idealism, and helping him develop his potential as an artist makes her feel useful in a way she hasn’t felt in a long time. She tells Barbara it was he who began to pursue her, constantly following her and playing on her sympathy with sad stories about his family life. The first time she leaves her family to meet him, lying about where she is going, the camera briefly lingers on her son and husband, showing her last minute hesitation.

In viewing the situation as one where he pursued her and she was helpless in her desire (whether or not Sheba’s story to Barbara is reliable), she allows herself to feel young, desirable and like a teenager again, experiencing clandestine affairs. In this sense, her much older husband is recast as her father, which Connolly thinks he is when he sees him. Sheba’s relationship with her daughter, who is the same age as Connolly, is also changed as they both enter a similar world of teenage dating.

Teenage Steven Connolly pursues Sheba

In the end, it becomes clear Connolly can’t take the burden of this complicated relationship and the knowledge that she has a family and feels he has been used by her. In her efforts to reclaim her own carefree youth, she has been stealing his and forcing him to grow up. In one telling scene, Connolly looks through her records and is unfamiliar with the artists, highlighting their age gap. The wrongness of Sheba’s actions is brought home to her when Connolly, naked post-sex tries on her son’s hat. At the sight of him, she is repulsed and forces him to take it off.

Though both women struggle with loneliness and are unhappy with their lives, the different ways they deal with similar emotions cast them in degrees as predator and prey.

Alone and undervalued, Barbara rapidly develops an obsession with her younger colleague, which makes her feel more vital and connected to the world. She is fascinated with the exotic character that Sheba seems to be, someone so different from her. She is also jealous of Sheba, as in her narration she says that people like her only think they know what real loneliness is. With this in mind, when she discovers Sheba’s affair with Connolly, she uses it to blackmail her into being her friend.

Though society easily defines a woman like Sheba as a predator, and she is punished with a jail sentence at the film’s end, Barbara’s predatory nature is much subtler and hidden. She looks at Sheba’s life noting how around her family, she acts in a serving position, making dinner and tidying the dining room while the others sit and talk, that she alone has had to take care of the children. This allows Barbara to resent Sheba’s family as a burden placed on her that she’d be glad to be rid of.

Several characters mention Barbara’s old friend, Jennifer, who she doesn’t want to talk about, suggesting she has had these obsessives friendships before. They also suggest Barbara’s attraction to Sheba is actually repressed lesbian desire, unfortunately casting this desire as predatory by connecting it with Barbara’s manipulations. In one scene, the camera, showing her point of view, focuses on an extreme close-up of one of Sheba’s golden hairs falling. Like a lover, Barbara holds it delicately, as if it is precious to her and saves it in her diary.

The camera shows Barbara’s point of view as she gazes at Sheba with lust

In addition, during a moment of casual dancing during her first visit to the Harts, Barbara’s eyes scan up Sheba’s body, and her dancing is shown in slight slow motion, accentuating Barbara’s lustful gaze. This gaze challenges the societal view of an older woman as a sexless grandmother and presents her as someone with active sexual desires.

Sheba is also guilty of manipulating Barbara and dismissing her because of her age. Early on, when she first begins to confide in Barbara, she sees her as a good person to talk to because she assumes she does not have her own life or secrets. She assumes a woman like Barbara would be glad just to have a friend, and dismisses any idea that she could have sinister intentions running contrary to the older woman’s assumed place in society as the grandmother. With this assumption, she begins to prey on Barbara’s loneliness, continuing to see Connolly and buying Barbara gifts to silence her. The viewer begins to feel sympathy for Barbara here as her narration reveals that she lives in a fantasy world, believing she has a wonderful relationship with this loving friend who will take care for her in her old age.

Barbara dresses as a doting grandmother to visit the Harts

Similarly, Barbara shows her first genuine smile when she is first invited to Sheba’s family dinner. Because the film follows her through the minute details of getting ready; buying clothes and having her hair done, the invitation is inflated in importance. As the details momentarily consume the film, the preparations seem to become her whole life, revealing how small, unimportant and lonely it is. The insert shot of her in the mirror, nervously touching her hair stresses her concern about looking a certain way and fitting into the role expected of her.

She emerges wearing pearls and carrying flowers, the very picture of a sweet grandmother.

The film takes great care to show Barbara in an unflattering light, making the signs of her age, her thinning hair, neck fat and heavily wrinkled skin, appear (for lack of a better word) pathetic. It also suggests Barbara’s appearance mirrors her cold-hearted nature. This seems a bit hypocritical, as much of the film can be interpreted to suggest that the older woman should not be dismissed as having none of her own desires and secrets. By aligning the film with Barbara’s point of view and then including scenes, like the overhead shot of Barbara smoking in the bath with her sweaty older body on display, it is suggested not only that she is monstrous, but that she sees herself as monstrous.

Barbara’s “monstrous” older body on display in a purposefully unflattering shot
The older unmarried woman is often portrayed in media in a very cliched fashion, as treating her pet like a child, and this point in Barbara’s character is a bit heavy-handed. Her most vulnerable, “pathetic” moments occur around her cat, Portia, and its failing health. The one time she is explicit about her sexual attraction to Sheba, when the camera, showing her point of view, pans down to Sheba’s breasts, is after she finds out Portia is terminal. Angered Sheba doesn’t reciprocate, she reveals that she fully understands Sheba’s state of mind when she delivers the ultimate insult, telling her, “You’re not young.” When Portia is put down, Barbara is bewildered and irrational and tries to force Sheba into being with her. She goes to Sheba’s house and screams at her, attempting to pull her away from her family exactly when she is trying to reconnect with them.

To Barbara, this final betrayal marks the end of their friendship, as she buries not only her cat, but the silver frame Sheba had given her. Having become completely unhinged, Barbara now wants to possess Sheba and become the only thing in her life, as Sheba is in Barbara’s. With this goal, she reveals Sheba’s relationship with Connolly.
The overwhelming solitariness of Barbara’s life is contrasted with Sheba’s warm family evening, through crosscutting between them, counting down the last moments of Sheba’s happiness. When the affair is revealed, Sheba’s house is swarmed by the media, and her family rejects her. With no one else left, she has to call Barbara and rely on her friendship when she has nothing else.

Sheba, in her punk make-up, discovers the journal

Alone in Barbara’s apartment, Sheba tries to convince herself that she is still young and attractive, by applying punk make-up, finally visually becoming the teenage girl she had felt like.
As she sits, considering herself in the mirror, she discovers ripped pages from Barbara’s diary and, furious and scared, she begins to search for it. The film cuts between Barbara innocently shopping for their new life and Sheba discovering her obsessions and manipulations.
In the end, Sheba returns home to talk with her husband and rebuild her family, while Barbara sits with her new notebook, speculating on the life she could have lived with Sheba. Time passes and Barbara meets a new woman and begins her predatory advances all over again.

Barbara makes a new friend and the story begins again

Notes on a Scandal is an interesting film to look at through a lens of age, as it portrays elderly and middle-aged women being driven to manipulate each other and those around them by their fear of growing old and being (or feeling) alone. It is complicated in its depiction of lesbianism, its suggestion that a teenage boy is responsible for seducing his teacher, and its often cliched presentation of an elderly woman as a spinster worthy of pity.


Elizabeth Kiy has a degree in journalism with a minor in film from Carleton University. She lives in Toronto, Ontario and is currently working on a novel.