Janyce Denise Glasper – Bitch Flicks

Older Women Week: Judi Dench Carries ‘Notes On A Scandal,’ and Other Badass Accomplishments

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.

Notes on a Scandal film poster.

Written by Janyce Denise Glasper

Dame Judi Dench is a favorite of mine and definitely worthy of this appropriately named tumblr.

Dench played the wonderful Armande Voizon in Chocolat, a witty, brooding mother who gluttonously indulged despite having diabetes. She doesn’t have the “traditional” Bond Girl look and physique, but she kicks major ass as M (who is supposed to be a man) in the James Bond films. Sadly, it is her appearance in the Bond films that gets her the most recognition. She also voiced the darling Mrs. Lilly on the British animated series, Angelina Ballerina, and I have no shame in admitting that my hard drive houses several episodes. We can’t forget her unforgettable turns in Importance of Being Earnest, Iris, Shakespeare in Love, Mrs. Henderson Presents and so on.

When I see Dench on screen, I don’t see an aging actress fading and desiring work outside of matronly figure. I see a talented woman full of zesty relish and passion for her craft. Notes on a Scandal showcased a terrifying brilliance unlike anything I had ever seen from her, ultimately proving that Dench can wear many hats.

Barbara (Judi Dench) in her turtleneck and sweater cardigan wouldn’t hurt a fly.

Dench’s earlier portrayed characters contain humor and charm. In Notes on a Scandal, a film based on Zoe Heller’s novel, Barbara Covett certainly has that nestled inside her sea of condescending criticisms of the world around her. She drifts sans lifeboat and purpose; her greatest love is writing scribbles and taking care of her cat. Young, sensually stirring, carefree Sheba Hart (Cate Blanchett) floats listlessly into Barbara’s mundane life. A dark and sinister side disguised underneath a mask of a nonthreatening single old woman emerges with savage claws and teeth bared, waiting with perceptive eyes to strike into Sheba’s vulnerability.

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 imply unstated and wrong on all counts. She truly is at her artistic best.

In the Guardian’s article called, “I Never Want to Stop Working,” Dench briefly touches on why she felt compelled to play such a wicked character.

“I remember reading the novel Notes on a Scandal and thinking: I would love to play that woman, to try to find a humanity in that dreadful person. I was thrilled to be asked to do that.”

Barbara’s (Judi Dench) cat just died and she’s going postal on Sheba (Cate Blanchett) for trying to “abandon” her during the mourning process.

Notes on a Scandal is almost a Single White Femalesituation and some parts are unsettling in this disturbing thriller. Except that Barbara doesn’t want to mimic Sheba. She wants her. The undeniable tension between Barbara and her ravenous fixation on Sheba manifests into an overwhelming viscerally charged moment of raw intensity. Barbara is seeking sensual validation and believes that Sheba holds the key to fulfilling the fragmented jigsaw. She is deluded into actually concluding that Sheba is the missing puzzle piece that fits into an isolated world longing for female companionship. Sheba, so naive and unaware of Barbara’s lesbian attraction and dishonorable intentions, is just as lost and confused as the young boy she seduced.

Dench plays the hell out of this demented woman on the brink of lunacy with a sweet voice coated in cold calculating manipulation and demure blue eyes spurning icy darts of pure evil. I was so used to her sweet and congenial characters that Barbara Covett just literally frightened the depths of my soul. She is an unrootable and unstable character, yet smart and sly. It opened up this strange can of worms–I love Dench, but for the life of me, I despised Barbara and her sick, compulsive selfishness. Why couldn’t she have asked Sheba, “Let’s be friends?” Why deceive?

With close cropped silver hair and a diligent work ethic, Judi Dench continues to defy Hollywood’s obsession with long hair and youth.

Notes on a Scandal is a twisted piece of filmmaking that does touch on age and the desire to stay trapped inside youthfulness–that place where all the cool people reside. I have yet to read Zeller’s book, but feel compelled that I must do so.

As for Judi Dench, let’s applaud her never-ending quest to continue shining through and not letting a little thing like age get in the way of a versatile career. I see another Oscar nod or two in her future.

‘Thérèse’ Explores Twentieth Century Marriage Convictions and the Sexual Paths Of Two Women

Thérèse film poster.

Written by Janyce Denise Glasper

The 2012 film Thérèse touches on the aftereffects of burgeoning sexuality between two women–Thérèse and her sister-in-law, Anne–and focuses on a companionship that was formed when they were young girls.

“Have you thought about it?” Anne asks.

“You mean sleeping with your brother every night?” Thérèse asks back.

“Yes? Doesn’t it scare you?”

“No, I never think about it.”

“You’re lying!”

“No, I swear. Never.”

In this particular scene, the night before the big wedding between two adjoining pinery owners, Anne speaks of sexual intercourse with the vivid curiosity of a lively young woman. Her widened bright eyes and excited mouth speak candidly about scandalous romantic stories and masturbation–the latter a taboo topic among women of twentieth century France. Thérèse sees it nothing more than another trivial duty, another part of a rich union. Cigarette smoking, free thinking Thérèse appears bored with the overall thought, expressing little emotion, little joy. In terms of love, Thérèse affectionately nicknames Anne her “little girlfriend” and the soft, intimately close soon-to-be sisters clasp hands and sleep together–a picture of a long-time bond.

It was always three’s company between Thérèse (Audrey Tautou, center) and the Desqueyroux siblings, Anne (Anaïs Demoustier, right) and Bernard (Gilles Lellouche).

After the quiet wedding, the marriage bed occurs and Thérèse does not relish the occurrence or find satisfaction. When Bernard is lying atop of her still body, he grunts loud and moves awkwardly, selfish in his lovemaking skills. He is all about himself. No affection. No lingering touches that instill ardor. Cold, stoic Thérèse floats inside of an impermeable bubble, mouth closed, blank opened black eyes voided, arms lying limply on his back. She is as rigid as society conviction. Sex is a tedious obligation, not a pleasure.

This disheartening emotional prison that Thérèse is sequestered inside isn’t the kind that’s listed on the New York Times Bestseller List by historical romance novel writers who pen independent women seeking pleasure by graciously giving lovers. Thérèse’s privileged life has become the source of grave unhappiness, of silent depression. Her marriage isn’t a quintessential novel. It’s mundane and slowly killing her, especially with Bernard caring far more for the baby growing inside than Thérèse.

Thérèse (Audrey Tautou) enjoying one of Anne’s letters.

However, Anne’s sensually fluffed letters stimulate Thérèse’s duress. Anne has fallen in love with a roguish man named Jean that incites her vivacious spirit and electrifies naïve frustrations brewing between girlhood and fantasy. Her luscious words bring fruitful splendor to Thérèse, a vicarious longing that also inadvertently fuels Thérèse’s great jealousy. In Bernard, she feels no spark, no fire. In such a strict upper crust rule where women must obey husbands and yield to their every command, Thérèse has ultimately denied wanting those kinds of desires, growing up motherless and shadowing her father’s character, bearing perfect picture of the sophisticated society wife. Anne overtly shares captivating joy of having a man titillate ripening womanhood and this wicked experience is unknown to Thérèse, who greedily reads these letters in private vein, visibly shaken by the depth of Anne’s growing fulfillment.

Thérèse takes part in Anne’s family double crossed meddling, vowing to keep Anne away from her aching desire to marry a Jew. It’s unbearable seeing Anne break and shatter, like fragmented glass breaking in these tormented scenes. She is a pitiable wreck, refusing to eat, her disposition waning to a waxen pallor of imminent heartbreak. When Bernard’s dogs viciously attack her and he does the same straight after, the scene showcases a terrifying parallel between certain men and ferocious animals. Bernard may be gentle at times, but he has a violent side as beastly as a dog’s bite and treats his sister with cruel disdain. And as it turns out, Anne’s beau is too good to be true as well. Jean turns out to be a ruthless cad, a real asshole. This surprises Thérèse. He tells Thérèse in boastful fashion that he never has had an intention of marrying Anne or acquiring the deep tender feelings foolish Anne had so generously penned:

“Anne certainly has shared her life’s passions with me. You know what I’m talking about… the life that awaits her. The life that awaits all women around here. A bleak, provincial life. Proper, conventional, and rigid.”

Should Anne’s desires have remained dormant? Untapped? Are we to bow down to Jean and thank him, though prior he also asks, “Is it forbidden to play for a bit?”

My need to punch Jean became stronger as he continued talking. It didn’t matter what books he read or how intelligent he appeared to Thérèse, who eventually secretly writes to him throughout the film. The fact remains that he intentionally took advantage of Anne’s innocence, sullied her world, and played her like a damned toy. It begins to become hard to choose a side. Do viewers side with Anne’s family who bar and treat her like an asylum patient? Yes, they have valid reasons. Yet it’s sickening how women are not allowed to have the same sexual freedom as men and that if they showcase signs of this, they are relegated to being treated like they have mental incapacity. Sexual feelings and thoughts are wrong. They must be shut out. Even today, women who showcase sexual liberation are labeled horrifically. The other presented question is do we congratulate Jean who stirred a passion that burned so brightly inside Anne? Do we say, hurray to the man who made Anne his intended victim–his target for foreplay? Either way the choices are unfair to Anne. They are for Thérèse, too. They both have to conform to tradition- ignore natural bodily desires and submit to marriage, to a man of family choosing.

Thérèse (Audrey Tautou) often is lost in thought and women in her time were not allowed to think.

The second shown sex scene between Thérèse and Bernard is a disturbing, grossly violent act, occurring some time after the birth of the couple’s daughter. It shows Bernard being further self-seeking and rough. Thérèse has swatted her hand, but he is forceful and initiates a randy monstrous shallowness. She looks perplexed by this turn of events. Now Thérèse does have a friendship with him, a certain kindhearted camaraderie. In certain scenes he is more like a brother than a husband. Yet in this one horrid night, Bernard demonstrates his power and Thérèse has no choice but to succumb to him and her growing downfall to ruin by trying to kill him.

Anne’s fate is adjacent to Thérèse’s. After being mentally and physically imprisoned by her family, Anne’s awakened passions are replaced by civil, respectable duty. Completely subdued and complacent, Anne prepares to marry a kind, dull gentleman that family prefers. The life which has scarred Thérèse will be Anne’s. She has lost whimsical magic and charm. Her eyes are no longer merry and twinkling. Her smiles have lessened. She and Thérèse have both become muted in the course of the film.

Thérèse’s final scene with Anne is a sad one as well. It is apparent that they’ll probably never cross paths again. No more holding hands and sharing secrets. The past of two carefree girls has passed. They are fragmented shells that have dealt with family rejection, male dominance, and having sexual beliefs turned eschew. One cannot help but mourn the loss of their spirited personalities.

Thérèse (Audrey Tautou) and Bernard (Gilles Lellouche) in happier times.

Bernard does give Thérèse the keys to her freedom. He aches as he sees her literally dying before his eyes. Thérèse has lost so much, including rights to see her own child, but by the end, she gains something unexpected.

She has liberty.

Unfortunately, not many women can say the same.

‘Bend It Like Beckham’ And The Lesbian Hate Debate

Bend it like Beckham film poster.

Written by Janyce Denise Glasper

“You bitch!”

This thunderous exclamation seems to occur every five minutes. If a girl is way prettier, she’s a bitch. If a girl “steals” a man of a girl who isn’t even dating that said man, she’s a bitch. If a girl is thought to be a lesbian, she’s a bitch. Twice Jesminder “Jesse” Bharma, Bend it Like Beckham’s football loving protagonist, has been on the receiving end of the blow, but I started to lose sight of this supposedly empowering feminist sports movie due to the infinitely alarming amount of lesbian hatred disguised as harmless humor. To be a lesbian is a bitch? Really? Why?

Joe the coach (Jonathan Rhys Meyers) makes damn sure that Jesse (Parminder Nadra) is no lady lover.

Lesbianism appeared to be an invisible villain to both Jesse and her equally talented teammate, Juliet “Jules” Paxton—a horrendous nasty vile “disease” that could only arise from women who enjoy contact sports.

In Gurinder Chadha’s debut feature film, Jesse is inspired by David Beckham and has his posters and jersey decorating bedroom walls. She wants to emulate his prowess and expertise on the football field and certain people think that it’s not only his athleticism that propels her. She might just like women too. Jesse’s mother hates that she doesn’t want to be called “Jesminder” or act more feminine and domesticated.

“We aren’t lesbians! We both love Joe!” Jesse (Parminder Nagra) and Jules (Keira Knightly) should have chanted.

Jules notices Jesse’s skills against the boys and asks her to join a local team. Jesse eagerly agrees and plays in secret, knowing that her parents would greatly disapprove. Jesse and Jules start to build a positive relationship with Jules schooling Jesse on the amazing Mia Hamm, one of many American women football players in action. The close twosome begin sharing dreams of becoming an active member of the overseas sports team.

Jesse’s parents and Jules’ mother Paula are horrendously incomprehensible characters for sexist views about women’s lock length.

“They wear their hair so short these days, you can never tell,” says Jesse’s mother, twice.

This supposed to be a joke, but why?

Hair length is such a sensitive topic to women, especially when length is close cropped and called “boyish.” No one ever seems to really comprehend the meanings behind hair and what it truly says about someone. Whether a woman likes it away from their face, hate strands touching their butts, donates tresses to worthy causes, wears a protective scarf, or battles cancer or other form of loss, hair is worn differently by all women of all cultures and creeds and shouldn’t be a mark set against them if it’s above shoulders or just plain bald. Feminism should not be marketed towards hair, but unfortunately it always has and will be. Lesbians also wear their hair in various styles and the short hair cut is so beyond stereotypical. It isn’t that powerful to make fun of a group of women or use them as a catalyst to drive laughter. Lesbians also are people too– not a dirty circumstance.

When Pinky’s wedding is called off due to her fiance’s parents seeing Jesse and Jules “kissing,” Pinky is enraged and calls Jesse a bitch for ruining her life. So yes, lesbianism is so treacherous, it gets in the way of events like holy matrimony. Chadra’s co-written screenplay entails all the wrongs of same sex pairings, using misunderstandings as trivial humor– seen by both Jesse and Jules’ reactions to hearing that their families believe them to be drawn together and not to boys. It fails miserably at being sentimental to lesbians as a whole.

Jesse (Parminder Nagra) and her sister Pinky (the awesome Archie Panjabi) both look surprised by Paula (offscreen Juliet Stevenson) announcing that Jesse is part of a lesbian couple with Jules.

“Mother, just because I wear trakkies and play sport does not make me a lesbian!” Jules tells Paula, as if lesbianism the most foul label ever.

Bitch is fine. But lesbian is a slap to the cheek.

Paula was the absolute worst.

Now what if Jules really were a lesbian? If I were in Jules’ shoes (or cleats), I wouldn’t explain a damn thing to rude, insensitive Paula. For Paula to coldly burst into Pinky’s wedding and “call out” Jesse wasn’t exactly classy even if she tells Jules that she wouldn’t have minded Jesse and Jules being a couple. However, didn’t she not just yell for Jesse to get her “lesbian feet” out of her shoes? That doesn’t sound like someone who would’ve been supportive. Perhaps this is to be a humorous notion (still finding it hard to laugh), but politics on a woman’s style of hair and dress to be considered masculine instead of powerful and sophisticated is outrageous! Not only can’t women have short hair without being labeled manly, we cannot wear pants everyday because that’s an acute sign of lesbianism! Oh and if we play sports especially football, we might not like boys…..

It’s a shame that Jesse and Jules’ fallout had to be over a man– Joe, the coach.

Joe is going to see Jesse (Parminder Nagra) in a new light thanks to “The Makeover” by Jules (Keira Knightly) and Mel (Shaznay Lewis).

Joe trained Jesse hard on the playing field and shared a couple of his old football glory days prior to injury, but the moment Jesse wore makeup, a form fitting nearly backless number, and long wavy hair cascading about shoulders, he gazed in that beseeching manner that is supposed to be considered romantic. Awww. He really likes her outside of uniform and ponytails.

Pish posh!

This just truly means that her fuckability status moved up and sports took an immediate backburner! All of a sudden Jesse is hot stuff and Joe wants to have his sample, asking her to dance and almost taking advantage of her drunken state at the club celebration. Now the film has switched over from thrilling lady sports to a man getting his power on– thankfully for a few minutes at a time. A friendship gets spat on over a man. It becomes war between Jesse and Jules and that “you bitch!” comes bursting out like a launching torpedo—expected but crappy nonetheless. Jesse and Jules make it abundantly clear that they don’t want each other, but they sure do want that Joe.

However, pissed over the typical women falling for the same man BS, I respect that they don’t battle over the spot for the American team. Irate Jules took the time to seek out Jesse because she knew that Jesse was needed. When they played football, they were in it together, functioning, reacting, and showcasing talents together, victorious champions on the field, telling the world that women can kick around a soccer ball, that their dainty feet can work just as craftily and aggressively as a man. They put differences aside with cleats, game faces, and their other female counterparts to take on one hell of a win! Jesse and Jules prove that just because playing sports is considered a masculine way of showcasing aggression, women too can be rough, wield scars, and sweatiness.

Those kisses? Those hugs? That’s a female’s version of the butt taps that male athletes do. Why factor more into that?

The girls win big!

After all, the moral of the story is that girls can play sports and like boys– not be one of those scary lesbians!

I applaud Chadha’s direction, but let’s lay off the meanness next time.

Revisiting ‘Down In The Delta,’ Maya Angelou’s Only Feature Film

Down in the Delta film poster.

Written by Janyce Denise Glasper

I love, LOVE Maya Angelou.

She is one of my favorite inspirational women of all time, and I could praise her remarkable contributions to writing and activism forever.

When I discovered that she directed only one feature film, a film I had actually seen long ago, I decided to give it another watch and looked online. Thank you, Netflix!

Down in The Delta, with a screenplay by Myron Goble, begins with Loretta Sinclair, an undereducated African American woman strung out on drugs and alcohol, raising two children in a three-generational household, and struggling to find a job in rough Chicago. Upset that she cannot answer a single mathematical equation or find a job sweeping or mopping floors at a corner store, she dives deeper into the free, alluring drug world and her mother has to save her yet again.

In films and television, the poor single mother angle never stops, and adding lack of book smarts becomes a horse beaten to death. I personally didn’t think Angelou would angle into this pigeonholed concept of minority women, but eventually Alfre Woodard turned into a “Phenomenal Woman”–just not in the most congratulatory manner.

Rosa Lyn (Mary Alice) has a big idea that will keep her daughter on the righteous track.

Rosa Lyn, Loretta’s savior of a mother, pawns off a sterling silver candelabra heirloom (which is nicknamed “Nathan”). Loretta looks at it both shocked and hungry–that notorious expression of a drug fiend knowing prize could score ample amounts of desired inebriation. Alas, Rosa Lyn only intends that Nathan be sacrificed in order to pay for bus tickets so that Loretta and her kids have a brighter future down south.

However, Rosa Lyn wants Loretta to earn the money necessary to get Nathan back in the family.

Rosa Lyn (Mary Alice) pawns off Nathan the candelabra for bus tickets to Tracy (Kulania Hessan), Nathan (Mpho Koaho), and Loretta (Alfre Woodard).

Away from tempting drugs and hardship, Earl asks Loretta to work for him at his restaurant, Just Chicken, and teaches her how to make his famous chicken sausages. She has a hard time getting it right, but eventually she does and moves onto playing a bigger role into the restaurant field. This leads to the most disappointing part of the film. She discovers purpose not just in the Delta itself, but inside of a greasy chicken sausage joint. The situation isn’t particularly humorous or exciting. In fact, speaking from a vegan standpoint, I find it pretty distasteful, especially as a climactic point. When the small town bands together to stop the closing of the chicken plant, it becomes a cheesy outstretched manifesto of people proudly boasting about their beloved meat, disregarding slaughterhouses where the most incredibly unimaginable suffering takes place–a sacrificial unwanted suffering so eerily similar to that of Jesse. Chickens are forced into small cages, plucked and boiled alive, and all kinds of other horrors before being murdered, but Angelou praises the long hindered stereotype about African Americans’ adoration of chicken. It is heard so clearly that ears start to bleed from preaching. One wonders if that passion would remain devoutly strong if fruits and vegetable crops were similarly threatened.

I’m not trying to bash the love of chicken, but the chicken and African American relationship is so difficult to handle that it in itself becomes ludicrously overdone. The closeness to joining hands and singing spirituals left behind a sour taste.

However, the story behind Nathan the candelabra serves as a better narrative and has Angelou’s signature poignancy all over the polished sentimentality. Jesse, a family ancestor, stole the valuable sterling silver antique from his former owners, an act of revenge instilled inside since age six when watching his father get sold off auction block style, as though he were nothing more than a common object, not a human being with mind and beating heart. Candelabra, named Nathan after a father Jesse never found, has been passed down to the male line, but Eddie gives it to Loretta, marking a new sense of tradition, a new entrusted foundation.

Years ago, no one would have ever considered her worthy.

Loretta (Alfre Woodard) and Earl (the late Al Freeman Jr.) have much in common.

Down In The Delta brushes on Alzheimer’s Disease and autism and beautifully weaves how family copes with the two perilous circumstances. In one of Esther Rolle’s final roles, she plays Annie, Earl’s wife. It is wonderful how much Earl cares about Annie and has overprotective need to keep her safe from harm. But he has to keep doors and windows locked, shielding Annie inside a childproof environment.

“First she couldn’t find her keys,” states Earl. “Then she forgot what the keys were for.”

Meanwhile, Tracy, Loretta’s autistic daughter, has screamed, cried, and hollered nearly the entire film, leaving terrified strangers to think her a monstrous and demonic child. In a scene after the bus arrives at a location, a distraught woman blasts Loretta’s parenting skills, blaming her for not being able to control Tracy. Everyone wonders why Loretta keeps Tracy inside of a crib, but like Earl, Loretta is protecting Tracy from endangering herself. Angelou parallels Earl and Loretta’s dealings with disease, their gnawing frustrations and little triumphs, and bridges their connection closer together. It is not romantic, but friendly, familial, and bittersweet, one that succeeds because they provide comfort to each other.

Loretta also spends time with Annie’s caretaker, Zenia who offers her beer. Now Loretta, appearing uncomfortable and noticeably silent, could have easily declined. Alcoholism is a real disease to master and for her to suddenly kick back and have a chuckle makes light of the real difficulty people have just being around a bottle–having one little drink (or in this case, a whole bottle) is downright impossible.

The late Roger Ebert, however, was one of several critics who enjoyed Down in the Delta:

“Angelou’s first-time direction stays out of its own way; she doesn’t call attention to herself with unnecessary visual touches, but focuses on the business at hand. She and [Myron] Goble are interested in what might happen in a situation like this, not in how they can manipulate the audience with phony crises. When Annie wanders away from the house, for example, it’s handled in the way it might really be handled, instead of being turned into a set piece.”

Down in the Delta ends with the “feel good” message that life can be filled with turmoil and can appear inescapable, especially to a minority woman, but it’s never too late to turn things around. After Nathan is “rescued” from the pawn shop and handed down to Loretta, everyone now trusts her, the threat of drugs/alcoholism disappears, and Earl promotes her to running Just Chicken so that he can spend more time with Annie. Loretta now has reached a positive place.

As director, Maya Angelou’s spirit floated between the Mississippi-centered delta, but sometimes drifted away like it was never there.

However, that doesn’t mean that I don’t want her to make another film.

In fact, I wish she would.

‘Fill The Void’ Beautifully Opens Doors To The Ultra-Orthodox World

Fill The Void film poster.

Written by Janyce Denise Glasper

In this summer alone, film wise, I’ve been cordially invited to three weddings– Joss Whedon’s Shakespearean, black and white Much Ado About Nothing, Susanne Bier’s Italian scenic Love Is All You Need, and Rama Burshtein’s ultra-Orthodox Jewish Fill The Void.

Fill The Void was an entirely new cinematic experience, diving into Hebrew language, a culture familiar, but not fully illustrated to my knowledge. We are typically just shown pointed beards and tall hats. Wonderfully enough, a woman—Rama Burshtein, a filmmaker actually living and breathing the ultra-Orthodox sector–crafted this educational picture. She ultimately chooses to adapt her world on the big screen, which is quite brave, and irons out ignorance by showcasing strict and religious rituals taking center stage, but laces humor and integrity throughout, directing perspective from the eyes of Shira, female protagonist.

Shira (Hadas Turon) and her mother (Irit Sheleg) play supermarket spy.

It starts out innocently enough. Shira and her mother sleuth around a supermarket looking for Shira’s intended betrothal match. After a humorous phone call (“He’s in the dairy department!”), they find him and spy from afar. Shira is in wordless awe and is over the moon at witnessing the Miller’s son wipe and blow off spectacles.

“You’ll have to do a lot of washing,” her mother huffs. “Do you not have a tissue?”

That doesn’t hinder Shira’s enchantment over husband-to-be. As she stands and waits for Esther, her older sister, Shira’s demeanor is filled with excited tension. It’s funny how her exasperated body language attempts stoic composure, but joyous facial expression just terrifically shouts, “I want to tell someone!”

“It was strong I want to scream it out,” Shira exclaims.

“Stay calm, first of all,” instructs Esther. “He doesn’t need to know that you feel so strongly…”

The views of women transcend almost every culture–a poised, pious manner is revered and expected and opposition is horrifically demonized. In an old advertising class of mine, we were taught that boys/men were always seen as active and girls/women were meant to be still and decorative. Women must keep docile composure or else males would think her wild and wild equates to carefree and promiscuous–unwanted traits in a wife. In ultra-Orthodox, these terms are a stricter, devout practice.

Interestingly, however, Yochay, Esther’s husband tells Shira that she should “scream to the Lord!”

Shira’s world gets further complicated when Esther suddenly dies during ninth month of pregnancy. It is devastating because their sisterly bond was so sweet and genuine. Yet mourning goes to a whole other level–her sister’s husband is going to move to Belgium with the baby boy much to the horror of Shira’s family. The solution? Shira should marry him.

Shira (Hadas Turon) holds the bay with her mother (Irit Sheleg) looking on and Yochay (Yiftach Klein) looking pensive.

The situation goes from losing a loved one to taking that loved one’s place.

Shira is conflicted, questioning her confusing feelings and her desires. Another devastating milestone gets tossed along tattered path–the Millers have decided against her marrying their son. Shira considers Yochay, due to much pushing from her mother, but Shira continues asking Yochay questions about Esther, which is understandable. She did overhear him drunkenly professing Esther of love prior to childbearing death and it’s only appropriate to feel overshadowed by a sister’s ghost, for knowing that she was his first wife. That alone locks inside her emotions starting to unravel for Yochay, who longs for her to speak plain truth. In moments of solitude and softly spoken prayer, she wants to be brave and follow her heart, but fears of being considered bad stop her.

By the film’s end, visibly nervous with mascara dripping, rocking back and forth praying in rich, huge white wedding gown, Shira alone makes the life changing decision to be a mother to Esther’s child and wife to Esther’s husband.

Shira’s mother (Irit Sheleg), Shira (Hadas Yuron), and Shira’s cousin, Frieda (Hela Feldman).

Other female characters take up a great deal of screen time. It’s refreshing to see women have such power and be more vocal and at times having more authority over men when they are supposed to be seen as still, especially Shira’s mother. She’s the meddlesome figure who constructed the entire idea of Shira marrying Yochay. After seeing Yochay and Shira interacting with the little baby boy, she starts the fireworks, calling the rabbi and getting her husband on board—albeit reluctantly. Frieda, Shira’s cousin, gains the most sympathy. Frieda is always sad, hanging her uncovered head, at every female’s announcement of marriage and everyone gives her the pitying, “You’ll be next in line.” Esther had promised the sorrowful spinster that if anything happened to her, she would prefer Frieda to marry Yochay. Shira attempts to place them together, but for reasons unknown Yochay believes her cruel, but doesn’t even know why he doesn’t want to marry Frieda. Maybe it’s simply because he isn’t quick to compliment her beauty and youthfulness as he does Shira. Thankfully, however, Frieda finally does get married and is everyone’s pity turns to happiness. The unmarried aunt, who covers her head because the rabbi suggested it to stop embarrassing questions, also wants what’s best for Shira. She believes Yochay is too old and that Shira should be with a man her own age, but of course Shira’s mother wants to end their communication quickly.

“Stay away from Shira,” she warns.

Yochay (Yiftach Klein) & Shira (Hadas Yuron) become an instant family.

Overall, Fill The Void is a lovely piece of filmmaking that allows viewers a glimpse into Jewish customs and in a uniquely riveting way that sews in the roles of these women through a woman’s camera lens.

Rama Burshtein addressed reasoning behind creating Fill The Void to the Washington Post:

“I’m a storyteller more than anything, and I realized that we had no cultural voice. Most of the films about the community are done by outsiders and are rooted in conflicts between the religious and the secular,” says Burshtein, 45, mother of four who was born in New York and lives in Israel. “I wanted to tell a deeply human story.”

Fill The Void has been a tremendous feat for Burshtein’s first major screenwriting and directing effort. It swept the Israeli Film Academy Awards and became Israeli’s choice for Best Foreign Film nominee at the 85th Annual Academy Awards. Unfortunately, it didn’t secure a slot in the male-dominated category, losing in the first round, but it’s still laudable that a woman’s artistry and direction is chosen to represent an entire country. Her muted colors, quiet scenes, and modest wardrobe have a soft women’s touch, a poignant clarity that is delicately layered in a meticulous, respectful manner as it opens awareness towards this cloistered society.

Fill The Void actress Hadas Yuron (left) with screenwriter/director, Rama Burshtein.

The performances were wonderful, especially Hadas Yuron, who is an actress I want to keep seeing. She portrays Shira’s plight in such a convincing light, in a brave performance that is both graceful and tender, rendered marvelously well by Burshtein’s compelling direction. A scene could be absent of distracting props and Yuron delivers poetry, a steadfast heart-moving somberness to Burshtein’s remarkable screenplay.

Hopefully, this isn’t the last beautifully articulated lesson Rama Burshtein entails on a place rarely seen outside of war. I cannot wait to see other offerings brewing inside of that incredibly courageous mind of hers.

‘Fruitvale Station’ Humanizes the Pigeonholed African American Father/Child Relationship

Fruitvale Station film poster.

Written by Janyce Denise Glasper

“I got a daughter…” groans Oscar Grant. “He just shot me…”

Lying face down, a coward’s bullet inside his back, young Oscar’s black-brown eyes water, blood spews between his purple lips, redness staining bright white teeth that had smiled with an infinite amount of mesmerizing happiness prior to Oscar’s unjustly end.

One person dominates his mind, one little female of great importance.

In Fruitvale Station, Ryan Coogler’s first independent feature film, Oscar’s final words bring forth poignant honesty that dismantles the absentee black father, that negative stereotype surrounding black culture, haunting it like a skeletal ghost refusing to die. The precious gift of fatherhood is robbed from Oscar, shot into the perilous night by a senseless white police officer. It is the kind of tragedy seen every day in America–a young black man murdered, his life thrown into a casket and immediately glossed over, swept aside for the next victim without any real emphasis behind his personal story. Media would say a black man died today, talk about surviving relatives, and–like a conveyor belt moving fast inside a methodical slaughterhouse factory–another man takes his place.

Coogler focuses on the last day of Oscar Grant’s life, specifically his relationships between his mother, Wanda, his girlfriend, Sophina and their daughter, Tatiana–a definitive, commendable highlight. To Oscar, Tatiana is everything. Media portrays the African American father as never present and always on the hunt for sowing his wild oats. Despite its setting against horrendous ill-conceived logic, however, Fruitvale Station is no Pursuit of Happyness Will/Jaden Smith film either. There is no happy ending here. Set in an urban foundation, the bond between a father and his daughter is tested by a system designed to fail black men.

Tatianna (Arianna Neal) is the apple of Oscar’s (Michael B. Jordan) eye.

Now unfortunately, I’m all too familiar with the “black father not being around” stereotype. I grew up in a single-mother household, second oldest of five kids–three fathers between us. I breathed that negative stimulus of being a fatherless child all throughout my life. I admired my peers’ stick figure families with dads in them and hated whenever June came around. Eventually, I found my father, but it became even tougher to deal with the fact that I had five other siblings–all in different states. So yes, while it is tough to face difficult situations, one must move over the past and not become oppressed by it. Otherwise it becomes a pattern.

Oscar’s biological father doesn’t appear to be around either, but the love offered from his supportive mother is tenderly passed down to his daughter and rendered with a remarkable tranquility that is difficult to turn away from. It is like a lesson has been passed down. That “I’ll do everything in my power not to be like my father” mentality is endearing and honestly portrayed. Laughter, pride and joy are magically threaded together, humanizing the reality of the American black father, showcasing his imperative role in the upbringing of a precociously bright daughter. I didn’t feel this extreme jealousy or envy while seeing him depicted as a strong, caring parent who adores and nurtures his child–that sustenance missing from my painful childhood.

Oscar is no martyr, no betrayer. He is a catalyst. I sense hope for change, a harrowing desire for other filmmakers to portray the black man as a hero to be worshiped by his own offspring, to inspire a generation still believing the worst about his race, shooting him down just because his brown skin incites “fear.”

“Do you want her to come down here? See you like this?” Wanda asks, speaking of Tatiana, after Oscar has been jailed for the implied umpteenth time.

She moved me to tears in this scene when she abruptly admits she cannot take it, rises out of her seat, and boldly walks away. She almost breaks down, but her strength–that same tenacity flowing through Oscar’s veins–allows her to rein it all in. This solidifying moment, set just a year before Oscar’s death, defined Oscar’s passion to change, to truly make a genuine effort as a father. He knows that he cannot guide Tatiana from behind bars, that in order to be a good, responsible role model the most important rule is just to be present, and not take advantage of time.

Tomorrow is never ever promised, especially for a black man.

Coincidentally enough, black men are often penalized for killing each other–at times with no possibility for parole; but on the other hand, people of other races receive light sentences on killing black men because black men are still seen as expendable. Johannes Mehserle served eleven months out of a paltry two-year prison sentence for killing Oscar. George Zimmerman is free for shooting an armless teenager. These slap on the wrists transpire every single day. Throughout the course of America’s grisly racist history, families continue grieving lost loved ones, a mother’s mourning the most bereft because justice continues murdering her children and telling her it’s fair.

Tatiana (Arianna Neal) and her father (Michael B. Jordan).

Fruitvale Station is a film that confronts viewers with love–the love that a black man feels for his family, his friends, his girlfriend. This is not some ridiculous caricature with watermelons and fried chicken. These people eat lobster and celebrate life together. There’s no oppression or fodder. They are connected to one another through Oscar, who says “I love you” to everyone through words, laughter, and body language. When he tells his daughter stories, they are not inventive lies or tall tales, promises of a better life. He doesn’t say, “Yeah! We’re going to Disneyland tomorrow!” He may not be a wealthy man, he may be struggling a bit, but real unconditional love is what keeps him going, what sets him in a positive direction.

After the death of a symbolic pit bull, a shining array of wisdom captures Oscar in a beguiling light. He sits on rocks and tosses a fat bag of weed into the river and doesn’t take any of his friend’s wad. Reflection has created a striking change in Oscar, an enlightened promise to become a better man, a better father, a respectful, worthy being. Before the credits roll, as he clings to life on his beeping hospital bed, viewers are left with what are possibly his concluding thoughts before death–that of Tatiana, his guiding light, his North Star in a world filled with darkness, in a world crueler than a black man selling dope in the street corners to survive and provide.

Tatiana’s (Arianna Neal) fear for Oscar (Michael B. Jordan) is a disheartening premonition.

Oscar makes mistakes, but he always set out to right wrongs and often speaks on future dreams.

It is hard to breathe in a society that programs us how to think, taking away the mentality of the colored person, reshaping them only to a fit comforting representation–the joking, laughing spectacle. The moment a black man, especially as a father, is shaped into a person experiencing real struggles and hardships, the jester masquerade is over. It is impossible for lips to crack a smile. An ugly illustration of residue is left behind. A suffering mother stares at the lifeless body she isn’t allowed to hold again, barred from nearness. Even death has become another prison cell. Then there’s the daughter. She knows that her father is not going to outrace her in front of schoolmates or take her to Chucky Cheese or let her sleep between him and her mother.

Fruitvale Station ends somberly, the note quiet and gut wrenching. Coogler is not only crying out for retribution, for understanding, but for dignity and honor for those black men murdered without any sense of decency or remorse for the lives they have touched–family, friends, passing strangers.

Most gently, however, Coogler gives black fathers their due.

Disabilities Week: One Woman Holds The Breakthrough Key In ‘The Miracle Worker’

The Miracle Worker film poster.

Written by Janyce Denise Glasper

The Miracle Worker summarizes the turbulent beginnings of one of the most remarkably profound relationships in history–Anne Sullivan and her pupil/mentee Helen Keller. Various films have been made about this duo, but nothing quite compares to the original 1962 adaptation of William Gibson’s stage play. Both Broadway actresses, Anne Bancroft and Patty Duke, reprise their respective lead roles as Anne Sullivan and Helen Keller.

The first scene ends on Kate Keller screaming in outlandish revulsion at the shocking discovery of having a blind daughter, as though the crib contained a grisly, terrifying monster straight out of her nightmares. Helen’s discrepancies are depicted in extreme exaggeration on the film poster–an open mouth on blurred face looking possessed by devil’s agony while a calm, serene woman holds her steady, showcasing psychological depth rather than horror thriller.

Helen’s parents spoil instead of nurture–Captain Arthur Keller (Victor Rory) and Kate Keller (Inga Swenson).

Years pass by and despite being rich, slave-owning Southerners, the Kellers have searched far and wide for solutions in curing their deaf, blind and mute child. The family has somewhat accepted Helen, coddling her ignorance. They hover and pet her like a wild animal, but do not educate further while Helen desires to learn and comprehend the world around her.

“Put her in an insane asylum!” protests Jimmy, Helen’s half brother, after Helen accidentally knocks down the baby’s crib–with baby still inside.

It is easy to place an incomprehensible diagnosis inside a box and throw away logic. Back in the turn of 19th century, people of Helen’s delicate condition would have been sentenced inside “madhouses” because no one knew how to communicate with them or even try. Jimmy is oblivious in seeing that Helen’s manic outbursts are not signs of mental disorder. Helen’s incoherent mumbles, cries, and physical punches stem from frustrations of an isolated mind desiring to learn how to address humankind–not doctors, needles, and shock therapy. It doesn’t help that Kate wants to keep Helen just to baby her and Captain Keller simply obliges Kate’s wishes to have their daughter close. They love her, but none of them realize what Helen sincerely needs.

Helen has a mind dying to be nurtured, but the Kellers don’t know to broaden her horizons.

Helen (Patty Duke) explores Anne’s (Anne Bancroft) suitcase.

In comes Anne Sullivan the answer to their troubles. She is a freshly graduated valedictorian tormented by events of a troubling past. She often remembers desiring to learn amongst strict caretakers who believed her incapable due to blindness. That lifelong quest for knowledge is a trait companionable to Helen’s silent plight. When Anne greets her young protégé on the porch, Helen immediately touches both Anne’s suitcase and her face, feeling Anne’s entire structures with curiously wandering hands, knowing instantly that she is a new person. Helen picks up the suitcase, slaps Anne who tries taking it away, and takes her suitcase inside house and up the stairs–signs of both kindness and gracious hospitality. Helen’s joy slips away suddenly at Anne’s stern ways of teachings, in a stricter fashion than Helen is unused to. The angry, spoiled child locks Anne into her room and hides the key, revealing a sneaky intelligence and fiery spirit.

Captain Keller, however, is displeased with Anne’s age and appearance, especially her rounded black spectacles.

“Why does she wear those glasses?” Captain Keller asks.

“She had nine operations on her eyes,” Kate says. “One just before she left.”

“Blind! Good heavens! They expect one blind child to teach another?” He asks, very disapproved. “Even a house full of grown adults can’t cope with a child. How can an inexperienced half blind Yankee school girl manage?”

Anne (Anne Bancroft) and Helen (Patty Duke).

Anne manages, and she manages well.

In the breakfast scene of severe sound and action, in moments of brutally charged, disturbing pandemonium, Anne single-handedly demonstrates powerful mastery over Helen’s wildly aggressive tendencies by battling fire with fire instead of pampering her. Anne is trying desperately to get Helen to eat with a spoon instead of the barbaric, uncivilized audacity to eat off her family’s plates with bare hands. Helen bites, slaps, spits, and bangs on locked doors, fighting stubbornly against new lessons, but Anne is forceful and undeterred, pushing Helen into unlearning childish behavior. Glasses shatter and food is spilled everywhere, but Anne has made an alarming advancement.

“The room is a wreck but her napkin is folded,” she reveals to Kate.

Kate beams with pure joy at this statement, but Captain Keller doesn’t see why.

“What in heaven’s name is so extraordinary about folding a napkin?” He asks.

“It’s more than you’ve ever done,” Kate replies.

The real life Helen Keller and Anne Sullivan.

Men appear to be damaging catalysts–undermining Anne’s progress in every which way since she arrived. From first appearances alone, Captain Keller believes Anne to be young and inept, but after giving her a chance to prove diligence he wants to fire her because she’s not docile and kind like fair sex allots. In fact, she tells him what to do on many occasions and it infuriates him. On the other hand, Jimmy wants Anne to give up and see that Helen is a creature that needs pity, but with being typical male, in the same breath he also says, “You could be handsome if it weren’t for your eye.” These two characters appear to be more angered by the fact that she’s a woman and that threatens their authority. Captain Keller just wants another instructor while Jimmy still insists that Helen be institutionalized.

However, Anne sees the true thorn in the Keller household and it’s not just the men making circumstances problematic.

Slowly Helen (Patty Duke) is learning from Anne’s (Anne Bancroft) unorthodox methods.

“Mrs. Keller, I don’t think Helen’s greatest handicap is deafness or blindness,” Anne reveals to Kate, her devout champion. “I think it’s your love and pity. All these years you’ve felt so sorry for her you’ve kept her like a pet. Well, even a dog you housebreak.”

Surprisingly, she doesn’t include the hired help. Although slavery has been abolished (15 years before Helen was born), they too are considered lower housebroken beings, hardworking “dogs” that labor for the wealthy family. They don’t get the same favorable treatment as Helen due to their skin color and a cruelly unjust class system. When Anne forces a black child to get up out of bed and factors him into her lessons with Helen, he winces in fright. This demonstrates that the child is expendable and however much Helen hurts him, no one would care.

Anne gets permission to teach Helen for two weeks outside of Keller custody. Helen is upset to be alone with her, but in a couple of days, Anne’s instructions and experiences start sinking in as well as emotional components of joy, excitement, and humor. Manic episodes diminish slowly and engaging happiness brightens Helen’s once timid disposition.

Helen’s (Patty Duke) remarkable breakthrough of water thanks to Anne (Anne Bancroft).

Unfortunately, Kate doesn’t agree with Anne’s need for more time alone with Helen, claiming to miss her daughter and saying that obedience is enough. It’s off-putting. Anne wants to teach Helen, but iron gates have once again been placed around Helen as though she were a living doll to adore and not a person worthy of truly learning about words and meanings behind them.

Back at home, Helen is determined to revert back to her old ways, but Anne wants her not to forget all that she has taught and thanks to Jimmy’s surprising aid she does just that. It is just as she is refilling the pitcher, water covering her hands, that Helen makes a most impressive breakthrough.

“She knows!” Anne shouts joyously.

And in a bittersweet exchange, towards the end in an utterly touching display of symbolic affection, Helen finally gives Anne back the key to her locked room.

The Miracle Worker is a wonderful portrayal of two strong women, and Bancroft and Duke won Academy Awards for their leading and supportive roles. Anne and Helen impacted the world by not letting blindness or deafness confine them into a shelled prison sentence. They relied solely on one another. Partly due to Anne’s vigorous aide, Helen–a writer, activist and lecturer–went on to become the first deaf blind person to earn a bachelor’s degree. Together Anne and Helen used these unique circumstances as stepping stones toward helping others find their worthiness, showing that though the world appears black and soundless, this is not a hindrance or burden.

Helen (Patty Duke) touches her parents (Victor Fury and Inga Swenson) in a beguiling discovery.

Their friendship may have faced tempestuous struggle and staggering barriers, but Anne Sullivan and Helen Keller concluded 40 years of camaraderie with compelling milestones that continue to be worth honoring today.

In The Hardest Of Moments, Susanne Bier Proves That "Love Is All You Need"

Love Is All You Need film poster.

Written by Janyce Denise Glasper

Amongst the lush beautiful paradise of scenic Italy, a wedding is underway in Oscar-winner Susanne Bier’s Love Is All You Need or as the original title translates--The Bald Hairdresser.

Danish, English, and Italian languages weave a trilingual story about Ida, a mother of two who is excited about her daughter’s upcoming nuptials whilst in the throes of battling cancer. As a hairdresser, she is a caretaker catering to styling client heads, but hides hair loss obtained from chemotherapy treatments underneath a sleek blond wig.

Director/co-writer Susanne Bier with Pierce Brosnan (Phillip) and Trine Dyrholm (Ida).

In a world where hair reigns supreme, when a woman known for long locks makes headlines just for getting a haircut, Bier sheds a light on this important commodity for a woman’s beauty–often at the top of the hierarchy because strands identify, individualize, and tantalize the male gaze. It calls to mind the short film at Lunafest where Kim, a bold, unafraid cancer patient, gets a henna tattoo on her bald head … or the empowered alopecia survivor, Sheila Bridges in Good Hair who proudly prefers staying away from wigs and weaves. Ida’s blond wig protects her in a traditional way from pity or scrutiny, and it doesn’t make her ugly or insecure. Just human. She could have easily quit her hair styling profession but chose to continue doing what made her happy. However, harrowing strength and dignity cannot save her from Leif, her husband who sexes it up on the couch with his young assistant, Thilde–a woman their daughter’s age–who he’s been having an affair with for quite a while, even during Ida’s screenings and treatments!

Ida (Trine Dyrholm) isn’t pleased to see Thilde (Christiane Schaumburg-Müller) at her daughter’s wedding party and for good reason.

As Ida makes way to Italy alone, at the airport, her car accidentally encounters the grouchy, rich fruit-growing widower, Phillip, who just so happens to be the father of her daughter’s fiancé. He yells angrily at her, but she gives right back calling him “stupid and mean” and goes as far as asking, “Why would anyone work for you?” Although Ida’s day worsens when her suitcase is lost, she still doesn’t seem upset or unnerved. Just calm and optimistic. Phillip shares his background story with Ida–that his wife was killed in a winter car accident–and he still holds bitterness that grows even as the wedding is taking place where he once lived with her. Ida and Phillip’s relationship, which started off as sour as his orchard lemons, eventually warms into a blossomed camaraderie.

Their relationship deepens after one scene of raw poignancy. Phillip sees Ida swimming completely naked and free, and immediately comes to her “aide.” But she doesn’t need rescue from the sea. Out of the water, starkly bare, bald with breasts noticeably slashed and scarred, it is he who cannot stop eying her head to toe. From head to toe, he simply gazes everywhere. Her discomfort at his staring speaks to the audience. It is invasive and rude and even as she tells him to turn around so that she could put back on her clothes, he still takes a glimpse. It isn’t a lust induced fixation, but a quiet, serene moment cloaked in an honest portrait of struggling with the guttural shame cancer brings to a woman’s body and a man who doesn’t see the disease.

Mother and daughter: Ida (Trine Dyrholm) and Astrid (Molly Blixt Egelind).

Astrid, Ida’s daughter, has a lot to stress about. She is to marry Patrick and is in love with him, but she doesn’t think that he loves her because they haven’t had sex. Their kisses are short and sweet, but Patrick does seem to lack a real genuine ardor for her. Yes, he obviously cares a great deal, but their relationship is missing something. His secrets are especially clear in the moment wine stains Astrid’s dress and he rubs at it simultaneously with another man–Alessandro, who has a crush on him. Camera focuses heavily on those two hands working vigorously against this mar near Astrid’s genitalia; showcasing not her sexuality, but that of the two men whose lust for each other sparks.

Three’s a crowd for Alessandro (Ciro Petrone), Astrid (Molly Blixt Egelind), and Patrick (Sebastian Jessen).

Astrid is devastated by the treacherous events that cause an extravagant wedding not to take place, but thanks to Ida, her pain can be healed over time. Love is a thread that ties together mother and daughter, lacing forth a strength that cannot be severed. Leif’s affair and Patrick’s astonishing revelations are occurrences never expected to happen in these women’s worlds, but they did. It is only believable that Ida and Astrid turn to each other for a comforting bond that is always constant, nonjudgmental, and supportive. That when pain crashes down, it is best to seek solace in arms that will hold and nurture–what Ida brings to her daughter as they leave the saddened events of Italy behind them.

Leif, on the other hand, is such a callous bastard and way too many men share his behavioral traits. He has the audacity to bring Thilde to the wedding, and she has the nerve to introduce herself to all the guests as his fiancée. It’s funny that their son questions Thilde on why she is with Leif when the same could be asked of Ida–too strong of a character to be with such a self-centered coward. Once Ida comes out to the wedding party in an alluring red dress and dances with Phillip, Leif gets rid of Thilde and dances with his wife, seeming to be awakened by desire. Ida returns home with him, but her heart is in Italy.

Mother (Trine Dyrholm) and daughter (Molly Blixt Egelind) hugging it out.

Bier’s co-writing and direction effort is a treat for women, and performance-wise, Trine Dyrholm takes the cake by rendering a softened beauty in Ida. Dyrholm brings forth a brave, spirited portrayal that hurls cancer’s cruelty into a darkened shadow and lets all the lights of life’s little joys come right inside to bring sunshine. What a powerful performance! Also Paprika Steen brings hilarious delight as Phillip’s horrible, overly talkative sister-in-law, Benedikte, who mistakenly thinks she has a chance with Phillip, but continually berates and shames her teenage daughter (including horrendous fat shaming) and mocks Ida. It only serves her right to get thrown up on and ridiculed by Phillip! It’s wonderful to note that Ida ignored Benedikte’s malicious comments or Thilde’s childish antics. Life is simply too short to wallow in shallow manners, and Ida simply continues to stride onward.

Ida (Trine Dyrholm) in the infamous red dress dances with Phillip (Pierce Brosnan).

At the film’s tranquil end, after another doctor’s visit, Ida finally leaves Leif with only her purse in hand, travels back to Phillip, and hands him over the envelope with her results from a lump testing. They share a tender, passionate kiss and open it together–leaving the conclusions to them alone. The audience doesn’t need to see how much time Ida has left.

‘Castle’ Part II: At Least The Women Aren’t So Bad

Castle’s Season 3 promo.

Written by Janyce Denise Glasper

I do like Castle‘s peculiar whodunnits and admire Andrew Marlowe’s diverse cast, especially the women characters who frequently provide humorous banter to their male counterparts. Yet as the series progressed more toward the Caskett pairing, putting their romance as a pivotal forefront of the show, it lost a certain integrity and edgy charm.

“You put yourself into these relationships with men you don’t love,” Castle says to Beckett in the season three finale.

How does Castle even know that Beckett doesn’t love these boyfriends or have feelings for them? Because they’re not him? Viewers barely get an opportunity to know who they are.

Castle (Nathan Fillion) and Beckett (Stana Katic) put on a kissing act.

I am a fan of Caskett’s affable, easy going camaraderie. By the third season, Castle and Beckett finish each other’s sentences and even have a signature “I know who the killer is” line, but working together simply hasn’t been enough for them. Castle gives Beckett sentimental gifts at times, compliments her inner attributes–not her looks, as he previously did so often–and occasionally saves her life. Their tender, endearing friendship is wonderful to watch, but by the end of season four it fully turns into a muddied Castle/Beckett melodramatic mess. I love my soap operas, preferably in the afternoon, and desire to have mysteries and comedic mayhem at night. Bones used to be sheer entertainment, but everyone at the Smithsonian is hooked up with each other–the two leads included! Apparently this seems to be all the rage at every network.

We never see Beckett with her boyfriends beyond the precinct. Every time she’s playing “sexy” undercover work (because she always has to seduce male bad guys and never the other way around), Castle is always there to stare her down like a starving man needing a cop’s jelly doughnut. (These scenes usually give me squeamish shivers.) Despite her role as a muse’s eye candy, Beckett’s strengths, flaws, and challenges are admirable. She has faced so much tragedy and adversity (including being shot in season three’s explosive finale) but continues to be a powerful, heroic woman who can throw a mean punch. Her private tears don’t always blur judgment, and her quips are sharper than razor tips.

However, my favorite relationship happens to be Castle/Alexis. They have sweet father/daughter moments that are genuinely touching to watch. Alexis is the bright, intelligent Penny to Castle’s quirky Inspector Gadget–sort of an adoring mother hen to her sometimes childish father. It became slightly tampered because of Gina. His ex-wife makes quite an eye-opening speech that sheds light on their marriage and her desire to have a relationship with Alexis:

“Even when we were married you built a wall around Alexis like you didn’t want anyone to be close to her. When it came to the two of you I was always on the outside looking in.”

Castle did make the ultimate commitment to this woman. She may not have been Alexis’s biological mother, but he should have at least given her an opportunity to try to play that role.

Season three Castle cast: top- Molly Quinn (Alexis), Susan Sulllivan (Martha), Stana Katic (Beckett), Tamala Jones (Lanie), bottom- Dever (Ryan), Nathan Fillion (Castle), and Jon Huertes (Esposito).

Season three has milestones. Detective Ryan proposes to his longtime girlfriend Jenny. Castle and Beckett have their first kiss- -a ruse for an undercover assignment (bound to happen). Captain Roy Montgomery dies tragically. And Beckett is shot in the very somber finale. And then there’s …

“Esplanie!”

This season also introduces another coupling at work–Esposito (Jon Huertes) and Lanie (Tamala Jones). Now this pairing doesn’t receive the special treatment of a strong build up, “hot” tension, and those over-sentimental fluffy moments that Castle and Beckett continue having, or even the sweet sincerity of Ryan and Jenny. No. No. No. In Poof! You’re Dead, episode 12 of season three, they’re in bed together (okay a floor, but still). Marlowe and company gave no hints, no signs that these two were even going to be in this “bam bam thank you ma’am” situation. Prior to this affair, they barely speak or flash eyes at crime scenes. So what gives? On one hand, I’m happy to see Lanie have more to do than giving the cause of death in difficult medical terminology or telling Beckett to chase Castle, but I want to know who she is. Lanie is funny (who can forget her hilarious British accent?), smart (those words aren’t easy to pronounce!), and caring (riding the gurney whilst desperately trying to save Beckett’s life is so endearingly emotional). Why not see her presence around more?

Castle‘s season four promo with Beckett (Stana Katic) and Castle (Nathan Fillion).

Season four also introduces a new character–Captain Victoria “Iron” Gates (Penny Johnson Herald). She’s ruthless, kind of mean, and likes to be called “Sir.” There’s something badass about wanting to be called “Sir.” It’s not that “I’m the man around here” attitude; it’s “I’m the boss, I mean business, and don’t take crap from anyone”–including Castle, mayor’s buddy or not! She’s not as lenient as Roy, but she isn’t all hard. There’s softness in her steel posture. I love that she despises Castle because that’s one person on the show who will not feed Beckett that “Castle loves you” tune that everyone keeps singing. Plus, she’s a minority woman (as is Lanie) and to place her in a strong leadership position is worth applause. Women of color could benefit from less stereotyping in television.

Season four highs and lows: Alexis finally tells Castle that he isn’t a bloody cop! (Finally!) Esplanie breaks up. Ryan and Jenny get married. Caskett confesses their feelings in the finale with, of course, cheesy Beckett all soaked from rain (what else is new?) and apologizing to Castle … and succumbing to the writer’s question of “will they or won’t they?” against the door.

No longer fun & witty, sex is selling Castle‘s season five promo.

The above poster tells viewers exactly what season five is about.

Well, Mr. Marlowe, the charm of Castle, started dwindling in season five–especially with Beckett whining every other episode about not knowing where their relationship is going (insert Lanie’s primary usage here). Now getting right into the season finale which included a proposal–an ultimatum disguised as romance–Castle feels pissed that Beckett didn’t want to tell him about her impressive new job offer. It’s become another villain, another crook to “put to bed.” Beckett seems pretty stoked–why else would she secretly fly out to D.C., have recommendations, and all her other little peas in a podded nicely? She really wants that job. I doubt that she wants to continue life with morning coffee and NYC crime. If she chooses Castle, she would have to stay and forever be the Nikki Heat to his Jameson Rook. How long can she stand being that person?

Penny Johnson Herald as Captain “Iron” Gates in Castle.

Season six is this mysterious mist that fogs up summer. It is a mist that is both anticipative and detrimental for all of these characters, but the last thing needed is another shocking cast death. Beckett is leg shackled to Castle and Tamala Jones and Penny Johnson Herald have too many credit-only appearances. They’ve never had stories featured on them, no accidental involvements in murders or connections to victims. Alexis may be in college too, but I miss her her warmth and intelligence; it’s rare to see a young woman in television using her brains and not her body to get attention (another stereotype bullet dodged!). The Save Alexis kidnapping two-parter episode showed that familiar Castle I had grown to love–a definite highlight of the season.

Castle‘s cherished spontaneity has quickly turned into rehashed predictability. I hope that these women remain strong against the tides that continue to either make or break them. The show should get back to focusing on enigmatic mysteries, Beckett’s reliable strength (the heart of everything), and let that romantic drama linger in the background–not kill the show’s balance like an unseen murderer.

‘Castle’ Part 1: Why Can’t We Just Be Friends?

Castle in on ABC.

Written by Janyce Denise Glasper

An avid fan of most Whedonverse alums, I started watching Castle in the middle of the fourth season to see the charming charismatic Nathan Fillion (Firefly, Buffy, and Dr. Horrible’s Sing- Along Blog) play the title role. Stana Katic–although a new actress to me, is a fantastic choice to play Detective Kate Beckett, a strong, independent, and very smart cop with a ferocious attitude and deliverer of humorous quips and handcuffs to the bad guys.

After Castle’s season five finale in which Beckett has to choose between a great promotion to D.C. and a marriage proposal, it raised a lot of questions about the summer hiatus. Why should she risk an opportunity to enhance her talented skills on a chance to become wife number three? Why are fans outraged and painting her selfish if she chose the power move over love? Most importantly, how did her relationship with Castle get to this point of wedding bells?

In television, there are far too many serials where the two leads get together–often at the workplace. This simply showcases that men and women cannot work in close quarters without “love” getting in the way. It leaves writers to play too much on the “will they or won’t they?” device which can muddle an entire episode. More often than not, they get the answer wrong (Mulder and Scully still comes to mind). Chemistry is a good thing to have, but why must it always be addressed as a sexual one? Why can’t men and women be friends at the workplace? Kate has beers with her male colleagues before and after Castle shows up. Why can’t he just be one more face across the bar?

Now I’ve finished watching the first two seasons of Castle–all 34 episodes over the course of a weekend and can honestly say that I’m not quite buying a passage on the “Caskett” train yet. Banter between the leads is fun to watch, and Fillion has an intriguing engagement with Katic.

And the opening premise isn’t hard to swallow.

Castle (Nathan Fillion) is a little too enthused over being interrogated by Kate (Stana Katic).

Famed crime novelist Richard Castle is a man surrounded by women. He lives with Alexis, his teenage genius daughter, and Martha, his mother–a Broadway actress who has to stay at his humble abode because an ex spent her entire savings. One of Castle’s former wives (he has two) happens to be his publicist and Alexis’s mother. He is at a point in his life where things are coming to a mundane standstill. Until Detective Kate Beckett, a secret Castle book fan, has a few questions for him. After getting a taste of helping the police aide in a case, thanks to a friendship with the mayor, he gets to stick around much to Beckett’s displeasure and announces that he plans to pen a book starring his new inspiration–Detective Kate Beckett.

That’s already two strikes in many of Castle’s interferences.

Kate (Stana Katic) flashes her badge of honor.

While Castle is surrounded by women, emotionally guarded Kate is nestled in a man’s world. Her boss is Captain Roy Montgomery, and her two buddies are partners Detective Kevin Ryan and Detective Javier Esposito. She decided to become a cop because her mother was violently murdered, and for years she had run her own private investigation but ultimately decided to stop. She is drawn to strange cases, gets them solved in a matter of forty minutes with help from her friends and even Castle, who frequently spins his writer fictions yet shows off an incredible knack for crime resolution.

Castle does, however, add innuendo to conversations and is often too suggestive, but Kate doesn’t seem to mind lighting his fuses. Still not seeing the “love” here. Maybe it’s too early. Just a humorous camaraderie between a cop and a man that annoys her for fun. He brings charming wit and coffee into her gritty life, but it doesn’t change who he is at the end of the day–a big kid. He plays games with his daughter and sleeps around frequently, but every time a man shows interest in Kate, his bear claws come out. “No one touches my muse,” his expression says to these men who then always ask Kate–“Is there something going on between you two?”

At the end of season one, Castle coordinates his own investigation into Beckett’s mom’s murder (which she strictly forbade), and it angers her so much that she wants him gone.

Strike three.

Everyone wants Beckett (Stana Katic) to date Castle (Nathan Fillion) because he follows her around like a puppy.

However, Beckett’s friends just want her to be with Castle (because she’s beautiful, young, and lonely yadda yadda yadda!), and he gets compliments aplenty all around the precinct. Medical examiner Lanie Parish often tells Kate to give Castle a chance although it’s not clear why she does, having barely shared a few scenes with him. Also, I don’t think I would ever advise a friend to date a man staring hard at my cleavage and having conversations with them. Plus, why is it so wrong for Beckett to stay single? Lanie is too!

“Why do you think he keeps following you around? I’m sure it’s not to watch you be with another man.” –Detective Javier Esposito

Yet Beckett should continue seeing Castle flock to his women? Ugh!

From A Deadly Game, season two’s finale, Detective Javier Esposito says the above statement. It’s insensitive considering the fact that Kate has started dating a nice someone–a former co-worker and friend of his, Demming. It gets nastier when Castle keeps asking Kate to spend the summer at his Hamptons home knowing this. By the end of the episode she dumps Demming (who sadly doesn’t understand why) and is shyly on the verge of asking Castle out, but bam! He springs out his ex-wife, saying that she is his Hamptons last-minute companion. Kate is left embarrassed, and her nosy friends are watching through the glass.

This irksome moment defined Castle’s selfishness and vanity. Prior to the finale, in the episode Overkill, his ego wanted to win a case and went to battle with Demming in a disgusting showing of oversized macho testosterone. The finale further revealed just how vile his intentions were and made him pretty much unlikable for a strong woman like Kate.

Use us all: Ruben Santiago-Hudson (Roy), Susan Sullivan (Martha), Molly Quinn (Alexis), Nathan Fillion (Castle), Stana Katic (Kate), Tamala Jones (Lanie), Jon Huertas (Esposito), and Seamus Dever (Ryan).

Castle has such a diverse cast, but creator Andrew Marlowe barely uses them all in one episode because he’s spending too much time building up Caskett. Yes. It’s a difficult challenge dealing with a large amount of actors, but each character is important in every aspect of the story–from the murder scene to the morgue to the precinct to Castle’s house (weird fit but this is his point of view). Here’s hoping that in the next three seasons of catch up that stories utilize characters outside of Castle and Beckett and, of course, answer the big question of whether I hop on the Caskett train or the casket bus. Male and female friends can work together. It’s just in the television world they seem to always want more.

Wedding Week: "Jumping The Broom" Addresses Racial Hangups While Marrying Ancestral Tradition

Jumping the Broom poster.

Written by Janyce Denise Glasper

Uh oh!

Sabrina Watson has done it again!

“I promise you, God, if you get me out of this situation, I’ll only share my cookies with the man I marry,” she exclaims subconsciously.

Jumping the Broom is Arlene Gibbs first screenwriting credit.

Jumping The Broom, co-written by two women — Arlene Gibbs and Elizabeth Hunter (Beauty Shop and Abducted: The Carlina White Story), beats up tired stereotypes, plays religious poker, and opens up a can of scandalous worms at a wedding for two successful African American lovebirds who’ve only known each other for six months- Sabrina Watson and Jason Taylor.

Exciting, smart, and worldly, Sabrina is a formerly licentious woman seeking to change her approach in regards to relationships and calls on the Lord Almighty for aide; promising to stop fooling around with unworthy men. Salvation arrives in the form of Jason. After she accidentally hits him with her car, she apologizes profusely and makes it up to him by introducing refined, cultured sides of life- theaters, opera, and art galleries all while vowing celibacy. He certainly doesn’t mind waiting for the latter and enjoys the pain free newness she brings to his life.

By month five, Sabrina has received an opportunity of a lifetime — a promotion in China. Jason doesn’t appear thrilled; saying that he can’t be in a long distance relationship. This breaks Sabrina’s heart in an awkward scene. She gives him back gifted red rose, stares sideways at him, teary eyed, looking for validation and a singer’s serenade grows louder as quiet tension builds between the couple.

Jason (Laz Alonso) springs on the ultimate surprise for Sabrina (Paula Patton).

But alas, Jason proposes, wants to marry immediately, and move with Sabrina to China! A man willing to change lifestyle habits, possibly career, and fly around the world for a woman? Yes!

Opening credits roll with black and white montage celebrating happily wedded blissful couples still carrying on a tradition used in weddings today.

Jumping the Broom focuses on two strong customs — one being jumping the broom that has predated slavery, which Jason’s mother Pamela strongly supports, and saving sex for marriage. Sabrina and Jason obviously have strong physical desires for one another, but they’re willing to postpone physical intercourse and are continuing to know each other on various intimate levels- emotional primarily. This isn’t essentially common in most romantic films, especially an African American centric film.

Jumping the Broom co writer, Elizabeth Hunter.

Yes. The introduction reveals Sabrina to be a bit promiscuous, but she seems to always be regretful and ashamed by one night “cookie” stands. She commits to moralistic goals in ironclad obligation; having to even “fight” Jason off with a few kisses and eloquent French tongued whispers to temporarily dampen his arousing impatience.

The opinions that run amok between Sabrina’s and Jason’s prospective parties include many stereotypes in ideas of rushed marriage. Some believe that Jason has gotten Sabrina pregnant including Claudine, Sabrina’s overbearing mother. It brings about this peculiar lifelong notion that if both parents are unionized into marriage sanctity, the unborn child would be protected from the “sin” of being born on the wrong side of the blanket. The added plus is that the woman would be a wife and “saved” from “Baby’s Mama” label. Others, the ones who know that Sabrina and Jason haven’t slept together, believe that Jason is either cheating or being on the “down low.” This is also particularly disturbing. It’s incredibly mind-boggling that a man who can refrain from sex must be unfaithful or gay! When Jason confesses that he can hold out longer- a few weeks, but still, it just suggests that patience truly exists in the world. He was probably a monk in his past life.

Lauren (Tenisha Davis), Sabrina (Paula Patton), and Blythe (Meagan Good) have pre-wedding girl talk.

The filmmakers are validating these society extremes and addressing that Sabrina and Jason’s friends should not incite intrusive gossip without honest facts and have a lot to learn about real love and integrity.

However, “jumping the broom!” is one tradition that Sabrina and Jason are dead set against and this infuriates Anger Management attendee Pamela to a heated rage.

It’s the formalistic Capulets versus the Montagues reincarnated as angry spiritual working class black lady verses the high cultured, fluent French speaking mother who- gasps- has traced her roots to her family actually owning slaves and says this in a boast filled breath.

Shondra (Tasha Smith) and Pamela (Loretta Devine) at the post office discussing Jason’s wedding.

At first, aristocratic Claudine Watson looks to be a cold, frozen wave of upper crust vile, but is instead a misunderstood, determined, intelligent woman bottling emotionally layered scars underneath sarcastic exterior. She believes her husband, Greg is cheating on her, has a severely strained relationship with her sister, Geneva, and doesn’t take well to the “ghetto” presence Jason’s family brings to the eloquent Watson Estate on Martha’s Vineyard. However, the shocking fact that her infertility, an unbearably complex subject matter to address, is revealed in a gutturally delivered slap that is just as painful sounding as the back palmed hand that delivers it.

And Pamela Taylor hears all the soapy juiciness. Now there’s a reason she wasn’t invited to the brunch held a month prior to the wedding date. It wasn’t because she works as a loud, outspoken, and rude post office worker. She has apparently ruined every relationship Jason’s ever had. Upset that Jason doesn’t want to carry on the family tradition and that ignorance is definitely not bliss when the Watsons have an angry French tirade about her “backward”comments, Pamela nastily destroys Sabrina’s perfect upbringing in front of everyone. It’s kind of pathetic that she can be hurtful, cling to Bible like a shield, and believe her actions are just. This allows Jason to finally give her an ultimatum- she has to change (as in be a mother figure to him) or not be in his life.

Sabrina (Paula Patton) with the woman who raised her, Claudine (Angela Bassett).

After brutal climax, Geneva tells runaway bride Sabrina the bitter truth about her parentage- she’s the product of an affair Geneva had at age sixteen with a married man in France. With the hefty amount of French the Watsons kept speaking, it’s safe to say that Paris is definitely the new Las Vegas. Except well, what happened in Paris didn’t exactly stay there, but at least the infertile Claudine and Greg got to love Sabrina from the start. Geneva gave Sabrina to Claudine because she was married which comes back to stereotypes of children born out of wedlock. Two parents are not only better than one, but a much stronger unit, especially married and this message cannot be implanted enough. Geneva may have been from a rich family, but Claudine had the motherly instincts she didn’t have at the time and it’s been quite obvious that Geneva was making up for that.

Jason (Laz Alonso) and his mother, Pamela (Loretta Devine).

Although the Watsons are not seen reading Bibles as much as Pamela is, the holy presence is stressed so strongly that it binds these two families like an invisible cord.

Gibbs and Hunter’s story also shed light on contradictions that sadly still exist. Julie Bowen’s character Amy plays the white servant who mutters ignorant racial fodder- “why is she so light” when seeing Claudine’s sister, she impermissibly touches Shonda’s braids like she was at a petting zoo, and complains about the chef who sees Jason’s family as being “chicken folk.” Funnily enough, Jason’s immature and equally ignorant cousin, Malcolm says comments such as “you’re pretty for a dark skinned girl” (the ugliest and most hurtful insult to a colored woman) and has a white people hate complex, but winds up being the one to dance with Amy. Maybe both of their prejudices are supposed to cancel each other out?

Before committing fully to Jason once more, Sabrina understands her family and accepts the truth.

Differences become swept aside. Claudine’s marriage isn’t as heartless as originally appeared and Pamela sets forth to live in the present. Other ladies find unintentional romance post nuptials. Stylish, sophisticated, Blythe- the best friend/maid of honor, fell for a poetic, complimentary sampling chef while charming, free-spirited, Shonda- joyously soaking in the Vineyard getaway and fighting hard against a younger cougar worshiping college man finally succumbed to his lips. Even Geneva lets her guard down a bit and dances with Uncle Willie- a man of slithery pick up lines and unlikable wisdom.

Sabrina (Paula Patton) and Jason (Laz Alonso) are married and will have cookies later!

At the wedding, however, Sabrina and Jason may have started off with their own traditions, but the moment they jumped over the broom and smiled hard at Pamela, the couple gave an appreciative nod towards history and fulfilled the screenplay’s destiny.

Jumping the Broom may borderline on containing too many preachy sanctimonious moments, but it teaches spiritual lessons that symbolize the “something old” wedding gift. It doesn’t matter where a person comes from. Whether it’s from the ghetto or the suburbs, one must value themselves first and then create personal hierarchy of what matters most- partners, family, friends, and successes. For Sabrina, she just wanted to be in love and share her cookies with a good man worthy enough to marry.

And that she did.

Revisiting ‘Mermaids’: Identifying Connections With The Flax Women

Mermaids film poster.

Written by Janyce Denise Glasper

June Roberts’ screenplay of 1990’s Mermaids is adapted from Patty Dann’s novel and happens to be one of my all time favorite films.

As infectious retro soundtrack flares and mod dresses make scenes pop, I connect in certain respects to each Flax woman–Cher’s big-haired, mother hen, Mrs. Rachel Flax and her two daughters–Winona Ryder’s quirky, awkward, Charlotte and Christina Ricci’s sweet, future Olympic swimmer, Kate.

The film opens with the Flax women trio on eighteenth move–this time to Massachusetts. These habitual migrations stem from either Rachel’s failed relationships or embarrassment of becoming small town gossip fodder such as the case when Charlotte’s teacher believes her to have a mental disorder. Charlotte and Kate are primarily raised by flamboyant Rachel still living promiscuously and with shocking hoopla surrounding actress Kate Winslet’s third pregnancy; it’s imperative to note that Charlotte and Kate also have different fathers–one a product from teenage love and other from an affair with an athlete. In the sixties, this would be much more ostracized condemnation than now because middle class Mrs. Flax isn’t married and wealthy Mrs. Winslet is.

Rachel (Cher) and Lou (Bob Hospkins).

Rachel doesn’t cook and doesn’t like sitting around a table having traditional meal conversation, but she does enter countless relationships with various men including married ones.

While buying school staples, Rachel takes her daughters to a shoe store where she catches eye of charming Lou, the owner. He is attentive to Rachel’s whims, but she despises his “interference” in her daughter’s lives which possibly stems from desires to usually cut men off after having physical fill of them. In overprotective stance, especially of little Kate, Mama Bear Rachel obviously doesn’t want the female trio to include a missing male figure that isn’t one hundred percent reliable.

“I have never wanted to hit a woman the way I want to hit you right now,” Lou spits to Rachel.

Although he doesn’t throw a fist, this is such an ugly blow and he loses appeal quickly. It’s no excuse to do or say the words. Having moved from one disappointment to another still searching for that perfect, unmarred place to call home, Rachel has a justified reasoning for not wanting to surge Kate’s hopes of a father figure.

Rachel stays with Lou and allows further access. He influences more intimate times together and Rachel continues creating strange hors douerves as meals–her specialty being odd looking marshmallow kabobs.

Now my deepest connection is centered primarily in Charlotte, Rachel’s older daughter.

Charlotte (Winona Ryder) longs for Joe (Michael Schoeffling).

A naïve devotee to religion and born Jewish, Charlotte prays in Christian earnest, stares in awe at nuns while curiously wondering about their undergarments, and silently condemns her mother’s behavior–finding her wild ways altogether blasphemous. The most hysterical narration races inside Charlotte’s precociously engaged head as her large black brown eyes express desires for uncontrollable rationality that weave from the very person she is so dead set against becoming. Joe, a handsome convent caretaker and bus driver, ten years older, incites passions that ignite from the very moment she first sees him, but still, she clings desperately to God Almighty and hopes relentless pining suffices.

However, after witnessing her mother planting a New Year’s kiss on her beloved Joe, Charlotte feels threatened and insecure. Prior to losing virginity to him, it is quite apparent that she poufs up her hair, puts on tawdry makeup, dons her mother’s oversized black polka dotted pink dress, and downs alcohol, believing that embodying her sinful role model is the only way Joe would have her. It’s saddening because he didn’t explain why he kissed her mother and drove off in a big, macho huff as though Charlotte offended him, planting sordid competition to arise inside her.

Now Joe doesn’t seem to be this great, charming fiction that overly sentimental Charlotte dreamily continues telling herself and the audience. So often lust is confused for love, especially in youth, and Charlotte is clearly not thinking with the best intentions. In moments spent with him, this hormonal seventeen-year-old girl constantly wants kisses and to be tossed onto the ground to make a “Joe Jr.” Their connection is no deeper than a shallow appeal to his physical appearance and being cloistered in the place she yearned to be–alongside nuns.

“Why are you so set on repeating my mistakes?” Mrs. Flax asks.

Yes. Charlotte spends time in saintly shrines whispering pious pleas or fasting from her sinful inhibitions, but nothing changes the fact that she is her mother’s daughter and that she cannot reject blood filtering through veins. In the end, at high school, she’s less shy, growing popular with boys, and dressing differently while wearing her hair poufy.

It’s not just religious fervor or deepening fascination with a handsome bus driver bridging forth my strong connection to Charlotte’s character–though it’s a peculiar similarity. Her curiosity and ignorance struck a beautiful cord threading invisibly and Ryder’s gifted portrayal draws immediate replay. When Charlotte is distraught from kiss “pregnancy,” she drives off towards Connecticut and immerses herself with a television looking family in this minute mid-teenager life crisis. Her longing to know absentee father opened up my Pandora’s box of living with a single mother and rendered frustrations of not having that stout manly figure in my world. As she fibs to this family about him, anyone could see that she wishes that her stories were true, even those rapt listeners knowing them to be incredibly farfetched.

Kate, the last and littlest Flax is no ordinary girl.

She doesn’t play with Barbie dolls or dream of being a princess in a big castle waiting for a man to sweep her off dainty feet. Since age five, she has trained vigorously at swimming and is constantly trying to break the world record for holding breath under water inside the bathtub. This winner is the little force that unites the strained Rachel and Charlotte–delightfully enough Charlotte used to pretend that Kate was her baby. Despite horrendous climax in which Charlotte places a drunken Kate in treacherous peril–a nearly fatal drowning incident, she is bravely back in championship form and holds no traumatic scar save for a little loss of hearing.

Saint loving Charlotte (Winona Ryder), Mama Bear Rachel (Cher), and swimming cap covered Kate (Christina Ricci).

Parenting, however, is still Rachel’s struggle, but she grows maturely as does Charlotte.

“You two didn’t come with an instruction manual!” Rachel cries, confused by Charlotte’s ever growing silent treatment. “Just tell me and I’ll try my best.”

And she does.

She may make mistakes, but Rachel tries and wants to do right by her daughters.

Charlotte (Winona Ryder), Kate (Christina Ricci), and Rachel Flax (Cher).

Mermaids ends on a feel-good note. Three smiling, happily connected women dance and set the table to “If You Wanna Be Happy.” Times have certainly changed, and strained relationships have finally mended towards the exciting promise of something better–a start of stronger female foundation.