Author: Leigh Kolb

‘Ass Backwards’: A Refreshing Buddy Comedy With No Regrets

They hitch a ride from a biker feminist who takes them to an all-women’s commune (“We live in a world very far removed from beauty pageants,” they say, after releasing Kate and Chloe from “the fraudulent chains of patriarchy”). There are some silly stereotypes in this scene, but Kate and Chloe are the tone-deaf ones (as always), and the older feminists are sympathetic and admirable. When they worry about their lack of appeal to the younger generation, Kate and Chloe step up to help them with a business plan–and they don’t know what they’re talking about. They just make fools of themselves, and don’t understand the consequences of their actions. (Could this be a criticism of third-wave feminism? I’d like to think so.)

 

Ass Backwards

“We’re not losers.” “We’re Kate and Chloe.” – Ass Backwards

 

Written by Leigh Kolb

Ass Backwards is a purposefully uncomfortable ride that follows two best friends–Kate and Chloe–as they attempt (and consistently fail) to get somewhere with their lives. The road-trip buddy comedy follows the two as they deal with internal and external road blocks on their way back to their hometown. The destination? To compete in a 50th anniversary beauty pageant that they’d lost as children. “If we go back there, we will win,” they confidently say as they disregard an eviction notice from their Manhattan apartment.

June Diane Raphael and Casey Wilson co-wrote and co-star in the film (as Kate and Chloe, respectively), and their acting skills shine. The comedy has its moments of brilliance, but doesn’t seem as strong as it could be, given the duo’s talent. A strong supporting cast (a wonderful Alicia Silverstone, Vincent D’Ornofrio, Jon Cryer and Bob Odenkirk) gives a strong backbone to a sometimes-wobbly film.

[youtube_sc url=”http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=W23rE3u1ce8″]

Ass Backwards has been receiving pretty negative reviews since it was released on VOD on Sept. 30 (its theatrical release is Nov. 8). The film has a number of rough spots (the bunny subplot and children in the woods, I’m looking at you), but I can’t help but wonder if our discomfort at seeing delusional women who humiliate themselves without a shred of self-awareness is partly to blame for audiences’ reactions.

This isn’t something we’re used to–seeing women characters embrace their failing lives with pride. The two have “dead-end” jobs (Chloe dances at a nightclub, and Kate is a “CEO” of her own business, which is selling her eggs to infertile couples), but they are proud. Their lives are spiraling downward, but they love themselves, and one another.

While the laughs aren’t on par with Dumb and Dumber, it’s a similar concept–two somewhat-but-not-really-lovable morons who don’t understand how relatively terrible their lives are. Audiences love and accept the “loser” male comedy hero, but his female counterpart feels awkward and foreign.

I’m not totally defending Ass Backwards as comedy gold. It has some hilarious moments and many groan-worthy moments (as most comedies do). I value it very much for what it is, however: a film that highlights female friendship, female-centric comedy, and female characters who are remarkably flawed. For all of its flaws, the writers took risks and gave us a comedy that receives an off-the-charts score on the Bechdel Test.

Ass-Backwards-e1359037482685
Chloe (left) and Kate hitchhike and get the unexpected.

And there are some great moments in Ass Backwards. When the two flash back to their childhood pageant days, Kate is asked in the interview portion, “When you’re a mommy, do you want to enter the work force, or stay at home?” She stumbles, and answers, “Workplaces are where people work.” The pageant host (Odenkirk) calls her a “moron,” and she’s laughed off the stage.

In the talent portion, Chloe (young Chloe is played by the wonderful Ursula Parker of Louie fame) sings/wails, “Stand by your man.”

“Those were the days,” Chloe wistfully remembers as an adult. When Kate looks pained by the memory, Chloe consoles her: “Your answer wasn’t easy, and that scares people.”

The funny, pointed critique of the pageant industry’s problematic relationship with little girls (and expectations of women in general) is clear.

Alicia Silverstone is excellent as Laurel, who won that pageant and has become and a veritable “winner” in adulthood. (Her charity, “Laurel’s Ladies,” gives “makeovers to low-income gals so they can look like me, if only for a day.”) When Kate and Chloe attend her book-signing, she tells them they would qualify for Laurel’s Ladies. They are simply confused; why would they need that?

As they set out on their road trip, there are plenty of hiccups. When Kate drives hours in the wrong direction, Chloe isn’t angry at all. Moments like this highlight the strength of their friendship. Toward the climax of the film, there is some in-fighting between the two, but it never delves into stereotypical cat fight territory–and this is refreshing.

They hitch a ride from a biker feminist who takes them to an all-women’s commune (“We live in a world very far removed from beauty pageants,” they say, after releasing Kate and Chloe from “the fraudulent chains of patriarchy”). There are some silly stereotypes in this scene, but Kate and Chloe are the tone-deaf ones (as always), and the older feminists are sympathetic and admirable. When they worry about their lack of appeal to the younger generation, Kate and Chloe step up to help them with a business plan–and they don’t know what they’re talking about. They just make fools of themselves, and don’t understand the consequences of their actions. (Could this be a criticism of third-wave feminism? I’d like to think so.)

They sing along proudly to a song that isn't quite right.
They sing along proudly to a song that isn’t quite right.

The women continue on, stripping by accident, landing in jail, seeking shelter with their favorite reality star, and finally end up at the beauty pageant (after they’ve released what’s been holding them back).

The pageant scene is as disastrous as we expect, and the epilogue is heartwarming and darkly humorous.

Comedies are hard to get just right, which is evident from the dearth of good ones–especially ones with female protagonists. For that fact alone, Ass Backwards is refreshing and exciting.

During the 50th anniversary pageant, Kate is asked about the strides that women have made in the last half a century. She is flustered, and finally gathers herself. She answers, “I don’t have a fucking clue. I don’t know.” She smiles, and proudly walks off stage.

Sometimes that is the best we can do. Smile, admit we have no fucking clue, and move on. Kate and Chloe aren’t losers, and Ass Backwards isn’t a loser, either. Ass Backwards is Kate and Chloe, and they have no regrets.

I have no regrets, either, having spent an hour and a half with Kate and Chloe. The line “Her ‘mones–she must be off her ‘mones” was alone worth the cost of the VOD rental.

Wilson and Raphael make quite the writing and acting team. As writers, they have sold two comedies (Mason Twins on NBC and DINKS on ABC) for this development season, and are set to be big winners in the world of comedy.

__________________________________________________________


Leigh Kolb is a composition, literature and journalism instructor at a community college in rural Missouri. 

‘Breaking Bad’: Postmodern Redemption and the Satisfying End of Desperate Masculinity

Because Jesse doesn’t fall into the same masculine megalomania that Walt does, he prevails. He suffers–god, does he suffer–but he is not sacrificed. He peels out of that Nazi compound in that old El Camino, tearing through the metal gates and sobbing and laughing his way away from his life as a prisoner of toxic masculinity–first Walt’s, then Jack and Todd’s.

Breaking Bad finale promo.



Written by Leigh Kolb

At the end of Breaking Bad, Walt slips away into death. Badfinger’s “Baby Blue” plays and the camera pulls up, as police are tentatively swarming his body. The lyrics mirror Walt’s love for his craft–for his “Baby Blue” that he has returned to–but the line, “Did you really think I’d do you wrong?” wasn’t from Walt’s point of view. Instead, Vince Gilligan was showing he’d fulfilled his promise to us, the viewers.
Ultimately, Gilligan did not do us wrong. Many critics were squirmy about how neat and tidy the end was, but it worked.

After “Ozymandias” aired, I was pleased and comfortable with my hatred for Walt. I was done. I would not be a “bad fan”–a “Todd.” In thinking about the father worship that surrounds Walt, I kept repeating, “Daddy, daddy, you bastard, I’m through.”

And then “Granite State” happened. I was pulled back in to Walt’s desperate humanity, and the pity and aching sympathy that I thought I’d banished came flooding back.

Dammit, good writing!

I didn’t know what to expect from the series finale. I refused to read any grandiose predictions. I’d heard that Gilligan was telling interviewers that the ending was “satisfying,” and that’s all I needed. My only wish was that Jesse wouldn’t die, but I was wide open for anything else.

Walt sets out to undo some of what he’s done.

As uncomfortable as I was with my quiet, uncontrollable root-for-Walt urges after “Granite State,” the finale, “Felina,” let me reconcile my disgust and my sympathy. To the outside world, Walt’s final acts were cruel, manipulative, and dangerous. He’s ensured that Flynn will get the remaining money (which Flynn doesn’t want) by, as far as Gretchen and Elliot know, holding them hostage and threatening their lives. He admits to Skyler that he’s done everything for himself. He poisons Lydia. He kills the Nazis and dies in a meth lab (by his “Precious,” Gilligan said). Willa Paskin writes at Slate, “Imagine the news story: ‘Druglord Heinsenberg found in Neo-Nazi compound: Dozens dead, booby-trapped car found on premises.’ Walt would have loved that.”

We can see all of that, but we are also focused in on Walt’s point of view throughout (a brilliant analysis on NPR describes how point of view and camera angles have encouraged us to root for Walt). We know that those hitmen were Badger and Skinny Pete with laser pointers. We know Walt saved Jesse. We know he hadn’t been cooking that meth.

Because we can clearly see Walt’s evil and his shreds of good, we are able to reconcile our feelings for him and his death feels right. He is redeemed as much as he can be in this postmodern antihero’s tale. He does not die a hero, but he dies doing what he thought needed to be done. His family is safe. Jesse is safe. At the end, they are safe in spite of and because of Walt. He did what he could to redeem himself–even if that redemption consisted of picking up and rearranging the garbage that he’d created.
Jesse is chained against his will.
In the end, I got to feel all the feelings about Walt: contempt, pity, and some kind of complicated, undying fatherly love (listen, it doesn’t help that my own father is a retired biology teacher, basically has the same wardrobe as Walter White–especially that khaki jacket–and loves Marty Robbins). Walt-as-hero wouldn’t have worked. Walt-as-pure evil wouldn’t have worked (for me). The complexity of the last three episodes takes us through an arc of emotions about our protagonist that we must work through.
There was something for all viewers (except for, perhaps, the Todd fans, who were probably drunk and confused and mad at Skyler for some reason).
Skyler, hearing Walt’s final words to her.
On a larger scale, I loved the ending because of the ultimate messages the show conveyed about masculinity.
From the very beginning, Walt’s journey was one of desperation–to provide for his family, to heal, to be the best, to be the king, to be violent, to run an empire. Walt wanted to be a fucking man. And for a long time, he embodied what it means to be a man in our culture. He’s violent, ruthless, proud, and never satisfied. He’s domineering and authoritative (or tries to be) at work and at home.
As a foil to Walt’s desperate and festering masculinity, Jesse has always been drawn as a sensitive, emotional, and compassionate man. His conscience guides him, and he avoids violence. He loves. He cries. His last name is Pinkman.
When the band of Neo-Nazis watch Jesse’s confession DVD, Uncle Jack says, “Does this pussy cry through the whole thing?”
Which of these characters possesses strong, masculine traits?
Which of these characters possesses weak, feminine traits?
If you ask the Todd fans and Skyler-haters, it’s always been pretty clear: #TeamWalt.
True aficionados, however, will realize that we are supposed to criticize this binary, and that pushing and prodding “strength” and masculinity into a narrowly defined, violent box will lead to failure. It will lead to death–literally and figuratively. Relationships and lives are ruined because building an empire for himself made Walt feel “alive.”
Jesse, however, is introspective and emotional. He is careful and gentle, and this is illustrated in the flashback to him as a younger, softer teenager in shop class lovingly crafting a wood box (he’d sell it for weed instead of giving it to his mother, but it brings to mind again Jesse-as-a-Christ-figure imagery).
Because Jesse doesn’t fall into the same masculine megalomania that Walt does, he prevails. He suffers–god, does he suffer–but he is not sacrificed. He peels out of that Nazi compound in that old El Camino, tearing through the metal gates and sobbing and laughing his way away from his life as a prisoner of toxic masculinity–first Walt’s, then Jack and Todd’s.
Jesse kills his captor, and releases himself from bondage.
Walt loses. Jesse wins. And while they ultimately weren’t pitted against one another (so many fans expected a final showdown), they nodded to one another, an understanding gesture that ended their relationship. They both know Walt is dying–Jesse sees the red blood stain bleeding into the sky blue lining of Walt’s jacket–and that Jesse is living.
This is the way it is supposed to end.
And while Walt’s machine-gun trick is pretty bad-ass, it’s destructive. It’s fleeting. Power and violence is not the answer. Our cultural definition of masculinity may be fun to watch or aspire to, but it’s not real. It doesn’t–it shouldn’t–win.
He doesn’t shoot Walt when he sees his side has already been punctured by a bullet. See above, in re: Jesse-as-Christ-figure.
In Marty Robbins’s “El Paso,” the singer is in love with “Felina.” In Breaking Bad, Walt’s Felina (or FeLiNa) isn’t a woman. It’s not his wife; it’s not his children. It’s his power and his money, the empire that he built with blue meth. The line “A bullet may find me” foreshadows what will happen to Walt. He has, purposefully or not, killed himself. His own gun, his own ricocheted bullet, did find him. At the end, his desperate need for power, to be a man, killed him–and so many others in his path.
“I did it for me,” Walt tells Skyler. “I liked it. I was good at it. And I was really–I was alive.” As he dies, Walt emotionally touches the tank in the lab, leaving a bloody handprint as he falls.
I realized that this ending is exactly what I wanted. And sometimes it’s good to get what we want–especially when it involves excellent storytelling, complicated characters, and criticism of our worship of American masculinity.
Jesse is free–feeling all the feelings, just like we are.
 

 

__________________________________________________________


Leigh Kolb is a composition, literature and journalism instructor at a community college in rural Missouri. She hopes that before she retires, “Breaking Bad as Literature” is standard college fare.

Father Worship and the ‘Bad Fans’ of ‘Breaking Bad’

Breaking Bad promo still.

Written by Leigh Kolb

“Two vast and trunkless legs of stone / Stand in the desert. … And on the pedestal these words appear: ‘My name is Ozymandias, King of Kings: / Look on my works, ye mighty, and despair!'”
In an analysis of the Sept. 15 episode of Breaking Bad (“Ozymandias”), Emily Nussbaum points out that she thinks Todd “looked very much like the prototypical Bad Fan of Breaking Bad: he arrived late in the story, and he saw Walt purely as a kick-ass genius, worthy of worship.” While his worship of Walt has been clear since Todd arrived on the scene, his continued worship of Walt is what makes him–and the “Bad Fans” he resembles–stand out. Ultimately, there is something fundamentally patriarchal about this kind of father worship, when we gravitate toward and are obsessed with the father figure.
After Sunday’s episode, critic Matt Zoller Seitz took to Twitter to observe
Todd and Bad Fans have that in common: they see Walt as a father figure, worthy of forgiveness and blind worship. He’s Walter White. He’s Heisenberg. He’s a bad-ass who really just has done everything for his (unappreciative!) family. 
Jesse, Todd and Walt.
Walt’s children–biological and surrogate–all represent the different types of Breaking Bad fans. 
Jesse: a lot of eye-rolling at the beginning, mistrusting yet comforted by Walt’s fatherly role, pulled in to Walt’s world fully, wracked with conflicting feelings, turns against Walt after he kills another father figure, Mike. Yet he is now, against his will, chained back into Walt’s world.  This fan didn’t ever really like Walt, but went through phases of loving him and wanting him to be the man she needed in her life. She is heartbroken, but is still stuck deep in the action. 

Todd: doting, dumb, reveres Walt. Ignores “dead kids.” See above, in re: the Bad Fan. This fan thinks everything that Walt does is for a good cause, or it’s someone else’s fault if bad things happen. This fan is almost definitely a terrible person. 

Walt, Jr. (who will probably go by Flynn forever now): shocked, desperately clinging to hope that everything will be fine, tries to blame Skyler, can’t believe that Walt could have committed those crimes–until Walt lashes out in front of him. Then Junior calls 911.  This fan thinks the best of Walt, even though she knows better. By the end of “Ozymandias,” however, she is done with Walt’s shit.  

Holly: clueless, confused, a pawn, terrified of Walt’s next move.  This fan needs someone to explain to her what happens after each episode. She feels emotionally manipulated.


Walt and his children, who we see suffer because of his actions.
These characters’ relationships with Walt highlight his devolution into something worse than Heisenberg. He lies, kills, plots against and kidnaps. He’s abusive. He’s consumed with his perceived power and greed. How we respond to him, though, is indicative of something larger in our society–a male-centric tendency to search for and cling to a father figure.
It’s not easy to hate a hero. The emotional response we have to characters tells us a great deal about ourselves, and I think for many of us, we watch Walt and want him to be someone he’s not, seeing glimmers of humanity in someone who is increasingly monstrous. Like Jesse, we know. We know how evil Walt is. But we can’t get away.
Jesse, held captive by Todd.
After “Ozymandias” aired (an episode which, by the way, is currently rated 10/10 by over 17,000 reviewers on IMDb), the Todds of the Internet scurried to Walt’s defense. Clearly, Walt is doing everything at this point to ensure that Skyler is seen as innocent, right? That phone call? 
When Walt calls Skyler, he rants at her, telling her she’s ungrateful, and always “whining and complaining,” “dragging” him “down.” He calls her a “stupid bitch” and hangs up on her. 
His entire monologue could have been lifted from the pages of reddit, or a Facebook page dedicated to hating Skyler White. (During the phone call, my husband smirked and said, “He’s basically saying everything that people say about Skyler–and he’s an abusive egomaniac,” pointing out the genius in such commentary.) 
Nussbaum says,

“But what was truly fascinating about that phone call was that if it was trolling the Bad Fan, it was also trolling me: the sort of feminist-minded sucker who took the speech at face value, for nearly an hour, until I suddenly realized, in a flash of clarity, that it was a fake-out for the police. (Skyler realized long before I did.)”

Zoller Seitz, however, thinks that Walt was acting on “impulse,” and that the phone call was “instinctive.” He asserts that Walt was “acting in tandem with Heisenberg” in this scene, doing something “chaotic and frightening, but ultimately good.” 
Walt, like Sisyphus (or a dung beetle), trying desperately to get somewhere. He’s almost pitiful again, like his underwear-clad beginnings. But he’s not.
There is clearly more at work here than Walt simply enacting a plan to exonerate Skyler or Walt just lashing out against his wife. Zoller Seitz’s multifaceted analysis of the scene is spot on, and doesn’t give Walt more credit than he deserves. (Zoller Seitz also used Twitter to take down the idea that Walt is some pure “badass genius antihero” who was just acting to protect Skyler.)
That reading–that Walt is some kind of benevolent dictator–inspires the #TeamWalt hashtag on Twitter. Walt’s motivations, intentions and actions are often unclear yet calculated. However, whenever we weigh his actions (that could keep his immediate family safe) against his words, we cannot be on #TeamWalt, hanging out with the fan-boy Todds. We can’t. 
At the beginning of “Ozymandias,” Walt orders the neo-Nazis to kill Jesse. Walt sees his life, doomed and destroyed. As they drag Jesse away, Walt growls, “Wait,” and says to him:

“I watched Jane die. I was there. And I watched her die. I watched her overdose and choke to death. I could have saved her. But I didn’t.” 

Our faces are pinched, our stomachs turn. We are horrified at Walt’s pride in this admission, and we remember that at that point in the series, we were probably still rooting for Walt. We are also disgusted with ourselves. The fact that we can see humanity in Walt isn’t wrong–that’s good writing. To stubbornly fixate on his heroism, though, is just being blind.
Breaking Bad: just like Twilight.

The look on Jesse’s face–broken and empty–reflects how we (should) feel. And just as his turmoil isn’t yet over, neither is ours. There are two more legs to the journey, two “legs of stone” to finish telling us the story of the fallen king and the decaying waste he’s left behind. If the season thus far has taught us to expect anything, it’s this: brilliant torture through perfect storytelling. We’re scared and in crisis over what to expect. We’re coming to terms with the fact that this father figure is not worthy of worship. The ride is almost over.

________________________________________________________

Leigh Kolb is a composition, literature and journalism instructor at a community college in rural Missouri. She hopes that before she retires, “Breaking Bad as Literature” is standard college fare.

Father Worship and the ‘Bad Fans’ of ‘Breaking Bad’

Breaking Bad promo still.

Written by Leigh Kolb

Spoilers ahead (through “Ozymandias”)

“Two vast and trunkless legs of stone / Stand in the desert. … And on the pedestal these words appear: ‘My name is Ozymandias, King of Kings: / Look on my works, ye mighty, and despair!'”
In an analysis of the Sept. 15 episode of Breaking Bad (“Ozymandias”), Emily Nussbaum points out that she thinks Todd “looked very much like the prototypical Bad Fan of Breaking Bad: he arrived late in the story, and he saw Walt purely as a kick-ass genius, worthy of worship.” While his worship of Walt has been clear since Todd arrived on the scene, his continued worship of Walt is what makes him–and the “Bad Fans” he resembles–stand out. Ultimately, there is something fundamentally patriarchal about this kind of father worship, when we gravitate toward and are obsessed with the father figure.
After Sunday’s episode, critic Matt Zoller Seitz took to Twitter to observe
Todd and Bad Fans have that in common: they see Walt as a father figure, worthy of forgiveness and blind worship. He’s Walter White. He’s Heisenberg. He’s a bad-ass who really just has done everything for his (unappreciative!) family. 
Jesse, Todd and Walt.
Walt’s children–biological and surrogate–all represent the different types of Breaking Bad fans. 
Jesse: a lot of eye-rolling at the beginning, mistrusting yet comforted by Walt’s fatherly role, pulled in to Walt’s world fully, wracked with conflicting feelings, turns against Walt after he kills another father figure, Mike. Yet he is now, against his will, chained back into Walt’s world.  This fan didn’t ever really like Walt, but went through phases of loving him and wanting him to be the man she needed in her life. She is heartbroken, but is still stuck deep in the action. 

Todd: doting, dumb, reveres Walt. Ignores “dead kids.” See above, in re: the Bad Fan. This fan thinks everything that Walt does is for a good cause, or it’s someone else’s fault if bad things happen. This fan is almost definitely a terrible person. 

Walt, Jr. (who will probably go by Flynn forever now): shocked, desperately clinging to hope that everything will be fine, tries to blame Skyler, can’t believe that Walt could have committed those crimes–until Walt lashes out in front of him. Then Junior calls 911.  This fan thinks the best of Walt, even though she knows better. By the end of “Ozymandias,” however, she is done with Walt’s shit.  

Holly: clueless, confused, a pawn, terrified of Walt’s next move.  This fan needs someone to explain to her what happens after each episode. She feels emotionally manipulated.


Walt and his children, who we see suffer because of his actions.
These characters’ relationships with Walt highlight his devolution into something worse than Heisenberg. He lies, kills, plots against and kidnaps. He’s abusive. He’s consumed with his perceived power and greed. How we respond to him, though, is indicative of something larger in our society–a male-centric tendency to search for and cling to a father figure.
It’s not easy to hate a hero. The emotional response we have to characters tells us a great deal about ourselves, and I think for many of us, we watch Walt and want him to be someone he’s not, seeing glimmers of humanity in someone who is increasingly monstrous. Like Jesse, we know. We know how evil Walt is. But we can’t get away.
Jesse, held captive by Todd.
After “Ozymandias” aired (an episode which, by the way, is currently rated 10/10 by over 17,000 reviewers on IMDb), the Todds of the Internet scurried to Walt’s defense. Clearly, Walt is doing everything at this point to ensure that Skyler is seen as innocent, right? That phone call? 
When Walt calls Skyler, he rants at her, telling her she’s ungrateful, and always “whining and complaining,” “dragging” him “down.” He calls her a “stupid bitch” and hangs up on her. 
His entire monologue could have been lifted from the pages of reddit, or a Facebook page dedicated to hating Skyler White. (During the phone call, my husband smirked and said, “He’s basically saying everything that people say about Skyler–and he’s an abusive egomaniac,” pointing out the genius in such commentary.) 
Nussbaum says,

“But what was truly fascinating about that phone call was that if it was trolling the Bad Fan, it was also trolling me: the sort of feminist-minded sucker who took the speech at face value, for nearly an hour, until I suddenly realized, in a flash of clarity, that it was a fake-out for the police. (Skyler realized long before I did.)”

Zoller Seitz, however, thinks that Walt was acting on “impulse,” and that the phone call was “instinctive.” He asserts that Walt was “acting in tandem with Heisenberg” in this scene, doing something “chaotic and frightening, but ultimately good.” 
Walt, like Sisyphus (or a dung beetle), trying desperately to get somewhere. He’s almost pitiful again, like his underwear-clad beginnings. But he’s not.
There is clearly more at work here than Walt simply enacting a plan to exonerate Skyler or Walt just lashing out against his wife. Zoller Seitz’s multifaceted analysis of the scene is spot on, and doesn’t give Walt more credit than he deserves. (Zoller Seitz also used Twitter to take down the idea that Walt is some pure “badass genius antihero” who was just acting to protect Skyler.)
That reading–that Walt is some kind of benevolent dictator–inspires the #TeamWalt hashtag on Twitter. Walt’s motivations, intentions and actions are often unclear yet calculated. However, whenever we weigh his actions (that could keep his immediate family safe) against his words, we cannot be on #TeamWalt, hanging out with the fan-boy Todds. We can’t. 
At the beginning of “Ozymandias,” Walt orders the neo-Nazis to kill Jesse. Walt sees his life, doomed and destroyed. As they drag Jesse away, Walt growls, “Wait,” and says to him:

“I watched Jane die. I was there. And I watched her die. I watched her overdose and choke to death. I could have saved her. But I didn’t.” 

Our faces are pinched, our stomachs turn. We are horrified at Walt’s pride in this admission, and we remember that at that point in the series, we were probably still rooting for Walt. We are also disgusted with ourselves. The fact that we can see humanity in Walt isn’t wrong–that’s good writing. To stubbornly fixate on his heroism, though, is just being blind.
Breaking Bad: just like Twilight.

The look on Jesse’s face–broken and empty–reflects how we (should) feel. And just as his turmoil isn’t yet over, neither is ours. There are two more legs to the journey, two “legs of stone” to finish telling us the story of the fallen king and the decaying waste he’s left behind. If the season thus far has taught us to expect anything, it’s this: brilliant torture through perfect storytelling. We’re scared and in crisis over what to expect. We’re coming to terms with the fact that this father figure is not worthy of worship. The ride is almost over.

________________________________________________________

Leigh Kolb is a composition, literature and journalism instructor at a community college in rural Missouri. She hopes that before she retires, “Breaking Bad as Literature” is standard college fare.

An Audience on the Edge: ‘Sons of Anarchy,’ Morality and Masculinity

Sons of Anarchy
 
 
Written by Leigh Kolb

In 15th and early 16th century Europe, morality plays existed to entertain audiences, but also to teach them lessons. Classic morality plays used allegory to impart lessons about what it means to be good, and what it means to be evil. Typically, virtue always prevailed over vice.
Shakespeare no doubt was exposed to such plays in his early life, and reflections of this genre can be seen (in more complex forms) in some of his plays, including Hamlet. Showrunner Kurt Sutter has said Hamlet inspired Sons of Anarchy, which began its sixth season on Tuesday, Sept. 10.
At a recent press conference, Sutter acknowledged the shocking ending of the season premier, which follows a young boy who takes a KG-9 machine gun into a school and opens fire (the audience hears the shots and screams from inside the building).  Sutter said,

“It is truly the catalyst for the third act of our morality play. It sets everything in motion for this season that will ultimately lead to the end that then will bring us into the final season and what I see as the ultimate comeuppance of everything in terms of the series.”

Viewers were shocked at the scene, and a conservative parents group is calling for Congress to reconsider cable programming distribution methods because of, in part, this episode.
In an article at The Daily Beast, Jason Lynch (who has screened the first three episodes) asserts that the show has gone too far, and that this storyline is “damaging to the series and its characters.”
What is clear at the end of the first episode is that SAMCRO has some connection to the gun and to the child shooter. The child is the son of a woman who is dating Nero’s cousin, and we can assume that the gun used in the shooting came from the Sons, who run guns and produce pornography.
While this episode is horrifyingly violent and disturbing, it’s also this: brilliant.
If we think about Sutter’s influences–Hamlet and his reference to Sons of Anarchy being a “morality play”–something needs to happen this season. That something that needs to happen is that we need to start despising the club, and maybe even Jax (unless he is “reformed” into virtue, as the protagonist of a true morality play would be).
The child shooter–the juxtaposition of virtue (religion, order) and vice (guns, violence), and a case study in toxic masculinity.
At this point (in the action of this first episode), the men of SAMCRO are still operating in some sphere of justice and morality. This is highlighted in the opening women-in-refrigerators plot point when the men avenge the beating and rape of Lyla, who had gotten a job shooting porn that turned out to be violent torture porn.
These disgusting scenes highlight the relative “morality” of the Sons–they run porn and prostitution businesses, but there’s a line that can’t be crossed (women being tortured, raped, beaten or killed). This has been apparent from the beginning of the series. Even when the men were running drugs and guns, their treatment of women reinforced the idea that we are still supposed to be rooting for them.
And the women, of course, (thankfully) aren’t painted as innocent victims needing rescuing. The “Mothers” of Anarchy are forces to be reckoned with, too.
In prison, Tara refuses to see Jax and devolves into violence.
In Hamlet, we know Hamlet has turned when he starts treating Ophelia like shit. How a character treats women is often a litmus test for whether or not we are supposed to support that character. In 2013, the morality play is twisted and turned (the antihero is king, after all), but some archetypes still remain.
Something awful needed to happen on Sons of Anarchy–something so awful that we can’t reconcile our sympathy and support for the characters. While Lynch is disgusted with the turn, I think it’s perfect. Forcing us to turn against our heroes (who we should struggle to see as heroes, in reality) is powerful storytelling.
As this child wields a semi-automatic weapon and goes into his all-boys Catholic school and opens fire, Gemma is gifting Nero’s son with a toy gun (she had one of Nero’s prostitutes wrap it for her). Gemma’s gesture, which is a clear indoctrination of what masculinity means–guns, violence and sex–is made even more meaningful by the boy across town who, amidst violent and disturbing drawings he’s done and the self-harm cut marks on his arm, has gotten access to a man’s gun by his proximity to SAMCRO. What’s the difference between the play gun and the real gun? What’s the difference between fetish porn and torture porn? There are differences, but Sons of Anarchy is asking us to think harder about how different they really are.
Meanwhile, Jax is cheating on Tara and having sex with the madame of a brothel (Sutter notes that Jax is really looking for nurturing and maternal love). Another display of what we consider to be masculinity is cut between scenes of violence. Tara, in prison, is beating a woman for stealing her blanket.
Jax seeks “comfort” from Colette.
All of this is set to Leonard Cohen’s “Come Healing,” a gravelly spiritual that conjures images of Christ and redemption.
Lynch says that Sutter “crossed a line” when he had SAMCRO react in “a callous way” with “no remorse” in the next few episodes.
However, that’s exactly how the club should react. We need to reach a point where we are not rooting for and sympathizing with these men–this is the ugly, unhappy truth of loving a show with an antihero who keeps falling instead of being redeemed.
SAMCRO has always had its own code of justice and morality and we, as viewers, have more often than not sympathized with the men. However, if they see that they are complicit in the mass murder of children, and they do not respond properly–we must rethink our sympathy. We are going to turn against them, as we should.
At the beginning of the episode, Jax is reading aloud a letter he’s writing to his sons. “Examine yourselves as men,” he says, filling the page with cliches.
That’s what’s happening now. What it means to be a man–the overwhelming masculinity of sex and violence–is coming to a head. If Jax falls, which he appears to be doing, so does his brand of masculinity. Hopefully his sons will get that message.
Sutter’s “sons” are examining themselves as men as the series begins its descent. In ancient morality plays, virtue would win, and the sinner would typically be redeemed. In Hamlet, everyone dies in a pile of revenge and tragedy. It remains to be seen how Sutter will ultimately unwind this modern “morality play,” but we will know if we are supposed to stop caring about the Sons. There will be consequences–just as there should be.
We need to examine ourselves as viewers, and recognize when enough is enough–and when we reach that breaking point, we are pushed to the edge and forced to reconcile our obsession with vice and toxic masculinity. The ride into the last act of Sons of Anarchy isn’t going to be an easy one–if it was, then Sutter wouldn’t have gone far enough.
Like the Sons and their old ladies, the audience is going to have a difficult ride in the last act.
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Leigh Kolb is a composition, literature and journalism instructor at a community college in rural Missouri. She wrote a chapter about the feminine sphere and ethics of care in Sons of Anarchy and Philosophy: Brains Before Bullets.

The Feminism and Anti-Racism of ‘Boardwalk Empire’ (And the Critics Who Don’t Get It)

Boardwalk Empire



Written by Leigh Kolb


Spoilers ahead

Boardwalk Empire returned for its fourth season on Sunday, Sept. 8. This season is poised to continue important representation of struggles involving gender and race in the award-winning show, which is aesthetically gorgeous and well-written.

The few, but incredibly important, female characters on Boardwalk Empire are fascinating. I wrote last year about the remarkable story lines in season 3 that focused on birth control and reproductive rights. Boardwalk Empire has always kept a keen eye on women’s issues–from suffrage to health care.

Season 4 is set up to be more of the same–long-form debauchery and violence with moments of poignant sub-plots featuring the female characters. Gillian is slipping deeper into a heroin addiction, and is selling herself instead of selling her house. Cora escapes a violent bedroom scene (which we will revisit in a moment). A young actress attempts to take Billie’s place in Nucky’s life for her own gain, but he rejects her. Richard has traveled to reunite with his twin sister, Emma, on her farm.

As often is the case in these seemingly masculine dramas, women are essential to the plot, even if they often aren’t the focus of most reviewers, or even the bulk of the action. Nucky is king, Al Capone is pulling strings, and Chalky is set to be a power player.

Drink, talk, shoot, repeat.

But those moments that the women of Boardwalk Empire are on screen are among the best of each episode. Their parts are small. Their scenes are brief. But each is meaningful and powerful. The women characters are complex–evil, moral, conflicted, good mothers, bad mothers, addicts and everything in between. They are three-dimensional. This is a good thing.

The female-centric subplots in Boardwalk Empire are treasures buried in a pile of empty whiskey bottles. Most reviewers, however, focus on the men. Hollywood Life only mentions the male characters (except for the mention of Nucky getting smarter about women). The Huffington Post mentions Gillian briefly and Cora (but not by her name). Rolling Stone does do a better job of fully describing and summarizing the episode.

The fact that critics often ignore or reduce women characters isn’t surprising, although it’s always frustrating. What’s horrifying, however, are a few critics’ responses to the aforementioned violent sex scene.

Just like Boardwalk Empire has woven in subplots of women’s struggles, it has also presented the endemic racial tension in Nucky’s world in a way that makes viewers uncomfortable (especially since our culture is still so steeped in racism). Not everyone seems to get this, though.

From left, Dickey, Cora, Dunn and Chalky.

At Chalky’s new club, he sits watching the new talent with his right-hand man, Dunn, and a white talent agent, Dickey, and his girlfriend, Cora. Cora sketches an erotic drawing of her and Dunn, and asks him to come upstairs. The two start having sex, and Dickey makes himself known in the room as he draws a gun against Dunn. Dunn scrambles to put on his pants, and Cora immediately says he had forced her. This is all a game, though, for Dickey and Cora. Dickey forces Dunn to resume having sex with Cora, and all the while Dickey is throwing racial epithets, heavily peppering his slurs with the N-word and claims about how black men behave.

Dickey starts masturbating. “It’s all just some fun,” Cora says with a smile.

Then Dickey says, “There’s no changing you people.” With this, Dunn breaks a bottle over Dickey’s head and proceeds to stab him repeatedly and viciously. We are surprisingly comfortable with this outcome of the scene, because Dunn’s humiliation and objectification is so visceral, as is the racism. This scene is indicative of not only the racism and degradation of black Americans at the time (echoed by Nucky’s almost-mistress who says the Onyx Girls are “deliciously primitive”), but also the demand that they perform as objects for whites’ entertainment and sexual purposes, without agency. The power that Dickey wields over Dunn–his whiteness, his gun, his hand down his pants–is nauseating and historically accurate. This scene is about racism. This scene is about power, humiliation and resistance when one is caught up against a wall of disgusting degradation.

However, the aforementioned reviewers had a different reading of this scene.

From Hollywood Life:

“…Chalky finds out that being the boss requires a lot of cleanup. Like when after his sidekick Dunn Purnsley (Erik LaRay Harvey), in the most awkwardly violent scene of the episode, murders a booking agent after the guy catches him sleeping with his wife — and then forces Dunn to continue while he watches. Boardwalk Empire, ladies and gentlemen!”

Certainly a brief show recap isn’t always the place for heavy cultural analysis, but to brush off the scene with such flippant commentary? Privilege, ladies and gentlemen! 
Not to be topped, the Huffington Post saw Dunn’s actions as self-defense:

“So Dunn did what he had to do, smashing the guy’s head with a liquor bottle to get himself out of danger. And then he went the extra murderous mile, repeatedly stabbing the guy in the throat with the broken bottle, because it’s Boardwalk Empire.”

Are you kidding me? Dunn murdering Dickey had nothing to do with him being in danger. It had everything to do with him being degraded and humiliated.

Rolling Stone acknowledges Dunn’s true motivations, but still misses the mark:

“He may have moved up the ranks from jail antagonist to kitchen worker to Chalky’s right-hand man, but Dunn doesn’t know shit about doing business, especially with white folks in 1924. I can’t blame him for pounding a broken bottle into Dickey’s face repeatedly – not only was he forced to have sex with Cora at gunpoint, but Dickey degraded him even further with regular use of the n-word and vicious taunts like, ‘There’s no changing you people.’ Except Chalky knows that you can’t go around killing Cotton Club employees (Cora manages to escape) just for ’15 minutes’ worth of jelly.'” 

Yes, perhaps Chalky knows how to do business with white folks, but his “jelly” comment is inaccurate–that’s not what Dunn killed for. Except for killing Dickey (which even this reviewer acknowledges a motivation for), Dunn didn’t really do anything wrong.

And perhaps most egregious, buried in an approximately 2.5-million-word recap from New Jersey:

“‘It’s all just some fun,’ the wife assures. Not to Purnsley who, after they begin the humiliating deed, blasts a whiskey bottle clear across Dickie’s face. It’s doesn’t just stop there, however, the beating continues until the booking agent is dead and his wife, in horror, escapes through the window, naked. Purnsley stands there a bloody mess.”

There are some pretty pertinent details missing here. In this review, Dunn seems to be painted as a savage villain, lashing out for no clear reason. That’s not what happens.

Reviewers saw Dunn acting in self-defense (which further reduces his perceived power), not understanding how to do business with white people (blaming his sexuality and ignorance), or lashing out in savage violence without clear motivation.

Reviewers ignore the implications of racism.

Reviewers sideline female characters.

Reviewers do this because too frequently, the lens they are looking through is of the white male experience. This is privilege.

Even when the artifact itself deals with gender and race in a way designed to challenge viewers, reviewers often overlook it. I was uncomfortable, horrified and excited during the premier of Boardwalk Empire this season. I continue to see complex female characters and pointed commentary on racism.

Sally, Margaret and Gillian.

I’m disappointed, then (and even horrified), when critics ignore these aspects, or get them terribly wrong. Their recaps and analyses help shape the conversations surrounding these shows, and if they just focus on those smoke-filled rooms and the power brokers, without fully paying attention to the other characters, they are insulting women, people of color and those who work so hard to write about and represent them.

However, if we can look past the critics, there is much to be excited for in season 4. Still to come this season, Patricia Arquette will play a speakeasy owner and Jeffrey Wright will play a Harlem gangster who is seeped in the politics of the Harlem Renaissance. These moments that have made Boardwalk Empire exceptional–the moments of clear gender and racial historical context and commentary–are poised to take center stage in season 4. Hopefully we can all look through the clouds of white male smoke to see what lies ahead.

Valentin and Maitland

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Leigh Kolb is a composition, literature and journalism instructor at a community college in rural Missouri.

Bitch Flicks Weekly Picks

How Cartoons Inform Children’s Ideas About Race by Federico Subervi at Huffington Post

TV can make America better by Jennifer L. Ponzer at Salon

“Where’s the female Woody Allen?” by Heather Havrilesky at Salon

There’s No Excuse For Misogyny In Space by Helen O’Hara at Empire Online
Pondering Roseanne on its 25th Anniversary by Alyssa Rosenberg at Women and Hollywood
What have you been reading/writing this week? Tell us in the comments!

Bitch Flicks’ Weekly Picks

How Cartoons Inform Children’s Ideas About Race by Federico Subervi at Huffington Post

TV can make America better by Jennifer L. Ponzer at Salon

“Where’s the female Woody Allen?” by Heather Havrilesky at Salon

There’s No Excuse For Misogyny In Space by Helen O’Hara at Empire Online
Pondering Roseanne on its 25th Anniversary by Alyssa Rosenberg at Women and Hollywood
What have you been reading/writing this week? Tell us in the comments!

Call for Writers: Older Women in Film and TV

Call for Writers: Older Women in Film and TV

“Once women passed childbearing age they could only be seen as 
grotesque on some level.” 
– Meryl Streep

As female actresses age, their roles–in film and television–seem to rapidly diminish. In a 2012 interview with Vogue, Meryl Streep said that when she turned 40 in 1989, “I remember turning to my husband and saying, ‘Well, what should we do? Because it’s over.’” The magazine points out that, “The following year, she received three offers to play witches in different movies.” She has gone on to star in many multifaceted roles, but her observation of ageism in Hollywood–against women specifically–is on point.

In a recent interview, Melanie Griffith described the same frustrations: “It is what I never thought would happen when I was in my 20s and 30s, hearing actresses b—- about not getting any work when they turned 50. Now I understand it, it is just different. It is all about youth and beauty, for women anyway…”

While some publications point out that the “over-40 actress” is seeing fame and fortune in today’s Hollywood, others depressingly point out that this might have something to do with an advance in “anti-ageing techniques” (while citing Tina Fey’s assertion in Bossypants that men cast who they find “fuckable”). Not surprisingly, a majority of women between 50-75 have reported being unsatisfied with the representation of their age bracket (and especially their sexual desires) on film. Older mother/daughter duos on screen are often just a few years apart in real life.

Bitch Flicks‘s Robin Hitchcock looked at statistics from the Oscars over the years, and found that female actresses win more awards when they are young, and male actors win more awards as they age. It’s all too clear not only what Hollywood values, but also what we’ve been conditioned to expect. Statistically, male protagonists may get older, but their love interests do not.

This month at Bitch Flicks, our theme week will explore “Older Women in Film and TV,” and we are excited to open up the floor to analysis of films and television shows that get older women right, and those that get older women wrong. We look for analysis of the film or show as a text, but also for specific character studies, in addition to general commentary.

Below is just a sampling of films and television shows that highlight older women:

Amour
Harold and Maude
Away From Her
Golden Girls
The Joy Luck Club
Refuge
Damages
Over the Hill Band
Joan Rivers: A Piece of Work
Made in Dagenham
Calendar Girls
Shirley Valentine
Another Happy Day
The Stone Angel
Hot in Cleveland
RED
RED 2
The Iron Lady
The Turning Point
Something’s Gotta Give

First Wives Club
Being Julia
The Best Exotic Marigold Hotel
Bread and Tulips
Absolutely Fabulous
All About Eve
The Hot Flashes
Under the Tuscan Sun
Two For The Road
Young at Heart 
Death Becomes Her
Fried Green Tomatoes
Hope Springs
Lovely, Still
Mrs. Henderson Presents

Here are some basic guidelines for guest writers:
–Pieces should be between 700 and 2,000 words.
–Include images (with captions) and links in your piece, along with a title for your article.
–Send your piece in the text of an email, attaching all images, no later than Friday, September 20.
–Include a 2-3 sentence bio for placement at the end of your piece.

Email us at btchflcks(at)gmail(dot)com if you’d like to contribute a review. We accept original pieces or cross-posts. You may either send us a query and a writing sample or a completed piece for consideration.
We look forward to reading your submissions!

Bitch Flicks Weekly Picks

Can You Tell If A Movie’s Sexist? The Mako Mori Test Can Help by Melanie Mignucci at Bust

America – You Really Don’t Matter All That Much To Hollywood Studios Anymore… by Tambay A. Obenson at Shadow and Act

Wonder Woman Can’t Have it All by Alexander Abad-Santos at The Atlantic Wire

Science fiction is no longer a boys’ club by Ghezal Hamidi at Salon

And The Emmy Goes To… Women Directors by Amelia Rosch at Ms. Magazine’s Blog

Summer’s Final Thoughts: Wonder Woman, Strong Women, Indie Women and All the Women in Between by Melissa Silverstein at Women and Hollywood

45 Women of Color in Science-Fiction/Fantasy Movies by Karishma at Racialicious

Back in Black by Emily Hashimoto at Bitch Media


But what about Syria? Why talking about Miley matters by Verónica Bayetti Flores at Feministing


A sexologist’s two cents on the 2013 MTV VMAs by Dr. Jill McDevitt at A Day in the Life of a Sexologist

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

Bitch Flicks’ Weekly Picks

Can You Tell If A Movie’s Sexist? The Mako Mori Test Can Help by Melanie Mignucci at Bust

America – You Really Don’t Matter All That Much To Hollywood Studios Anymore… by Tambay A. Obenson at Shadow and Act

Wonder Woman Can’t Have it All by Alexander Abad-Santos at The Atlantic Wire

Science fiction is no longer a boys’ club by Ghezal Hamidi at Salon

And The Emmy Goes To… Women Directors by Amelia Rosch at Ms. Magazine’s Blog

Summer’s Final Thoughts: Wonder Woman, Strong Women, Indie Women and All the Women in Between by Melissa Silverstein at Women and Hollywood

45 Women of Color in Science-Fiction/Fantasy Movies by Karishma at Racialicious

Back in Black by Emily Hashimoto at Bitch Media


But what about Syria? Why talking about Miley matters by Verónica Bayetti Flores at Feministing


A sexologist’s two cents on the 2013 MTV VMAs by Dr. Jill McDevitt at A Day in the Life of a Sexologist

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

Anna Gunn Breaks the Fourth Wall in a ‘New York Times’ Op/Ed

Skyler White (Anna Gunn) sheds a light on our society’s misogyny.
It isn’t rare to see an actor or actress to take to the op/ed pages to pen support or disdain for political issues and candidates or to come forward with personal stories to enlighten and advocate. The actor or actress, however, typically speaks as an individual, removed from his or her fictional life. 
However, Anna Gunn (Skyler White on Breaking Bad) took to The New York Times opinion page to tackle an issue that brings the fictional world that Skyler inhabits into Gunn’s personal world. She weaves in the cultural causes and implications of the vitriol directed at Skyler’s character, at Gunn herself, and at certain kinds of women in our society.
In the beautifully written and poignant “I Have a Character Issue,” she describes how she expected, and even understood, that her character was not going to be well-loved at first. After all, she is Walt’s antagonist, and Walt is the protagonist–the greedy, depraved, meticulously drawn anti-hero.
In her analysis of the horrible response Skyler received from Breaking Bad fans (including Facebook pages that we’ve written about at length), Gunn briefly touches upon her fulfillment in playing the role, and her fear for her own safety when online threats and death wishes devolved from using Skyler’s name to actually singling out Anna Gunn–the real person, not the character she played. Her focus, however, is that this response to Skyler is part of a much larger problem in our culture.
Gunn writes,

“My character, to judge from the popularity of Web sites and Facebook pages devoted to hating her, has become a flash point for many people’s feelings about strong, nonsubmissive, ill-treated women.”

And with that, she nails it. Feminists have spent a great deal of time suggesting that the hatred of Skyler White (and other notable anti-heros’ wives) is rooted in misogyny. Vince Gilligan, the show’s creator and writer, acknowledged this in a Vulture interview last May. He said,

“…I think the people who have these issues with the wives being too bitchy on Breaking Bad are misogynists, plain and simple.”

For those of us who already knew that, this was a refreshing sound byte. However, there is much more to audiences’ reactions to Skyler, and Gunn’s piece takes that simple reflection on misogyny and unpacks it, giving meaning to our reactions to the fictional world as being indicative of our society as a whole. And she’s right.
Gunn says,  

“…I finally realized that most people’s hatred of Skyler had little to do with me and a lot to do with their own perception of women and wives. Because Skyler didn’t conform to a comfortable ideal of the archetypical female, she had become a kind of Rorschach test for society, a measure of our attitudes toward gender.”

The Skyler White Rorschach test has certainly revealed a great deal of hideous, blatant misogyny and hatred toward women who don’t conform.

Gunn’s New York Times op/ed breaks through a glass fourth wall. Not only is Skyler White one of the most complex female characters on television, but Gunn also uses her real voice in a national publication to lend force to the idea that the hatred and violence directed toward her character, and toward her, reveals much more about our society than most would be willing to admit.

Art imitates life. Life imitates art. And how we feel about that art tells us a great deal about ourselves. In the case of how much hate is directed at characters like Skyler White, it’s no wonder that the work of women’s equality activists–whether they are fighting for proper representation in the media or working for pro-women legislation–is not nearly done.

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Leigh Kolb is a composition, literature and journalism instructor at a community college in rural Missouri.