There is, nevertheless, something magical about Bessie’s life and career. How did an impoverished, orphaned Black girl who spent her childhood singing on the streets not only survive but succeed in a land that still lynched its Black citizens? There is something profoundly modern and heroic about the woman herself. An independent woman with attitude and talent, she has to be one of the most charismatic feminist icons of the 20th century.
HBO’s Bessie has to be one of the most exciting offerings on 2015’s cultural calendar. Helmed by Dee Rees and starring Queen Latifah in the title role, the telefilm will recall the extraordinary life of the “Empress of the Blues,” Bessie Smith. It has all the makings of a quality production. Dee Rees impressed us back in 2011 with her well-observed coming-of-age drama, Pariah. An attractive, charismatic presence, Queen Latifah is, equally, an excellent casting choice. But who was Bessie Smith? Although hugely respected by musicians throughout the generations, many of us remain unfamiliar with the entertainer. In anticipation of Bessie, let’s remind ourselves of the exceptional life and career of the “Empress of the Blues.”
Director Dee Rees
Born in Tennessee in 1894, Bessie Smith was one of the greatest Blues singers of the 20s and 30s. Her childhood was marked by poverty and she lost both of her parents by the age of 9. She sang on the streets before performing in touring groups. A dancer, at first, she was a member of the Rabbit Foot Minstrels, the same minstrel show as the great Ma Rainey, another Blues singer, by the way, who deserves her own biopic. Bessie signed a contract with Columbia Records in 1923 and was soon catapulted to fame–and riches. Earning an astonishing $2,000 a week, she became, in fact, the highest-paid Black entertainer of her era. She had her own show and her own railroad car.
Her private life was, by all accounts, pretty lively. Her marriage to husband Jack Gee was turbulent and she was particularly fond of gin. She broke many of the rules of her day. Reportedly bisexual, she had affairs with women during her marriage. Bessie Smith was sexual and successful as well as, of course, immensely gifted. The extraordinary depth and power of her voice is evident from this following clip from the short film, St Louis Blues (1929).
“Downhearted Blues,” “Nobody knows You When You’re Down and Out,” and “Baby, Won’t You Please Come Home” are among some of the songs Bessie recorded. Her popularity waned–music historians cite the Depression and changes in musical taste–but there were, it seems, indications that she was on the verge of a comeback. Tragically, Bessie Smith was killed in a car accident in 1937 at the age of 43.
Queen Latifah
There is, nevertheless, something magical about Bessie’s life and career. How did an impoverished, orphaned Black girl who spent her childhood singing on the streets not only survive but succeed in a land that still lynched its Black citizens? There is something profoundly modern and heroic about the woman herself. An independent woman with attitude and talent, she has to be one of the most charismatic feminist icons of the 20th century.
Another portrait of the “Empress of the Blues” by van Vechten
Bessie is a refreshing, tantalizing prospect. God knows, of course, that dramatizing the lives of female cultural heroines doesn’t seem to be much of a concern to the powers that be. This is particularly the case, let’s face it, with women of color. But that must change. Movie studios and television companies, moreover, need to pay tribute to people who create more instead of offering romanticized, revisionist accounts of snipers. The Empress of the Blues’s commanding voice and pioneering spirit resonate today. Hopefully, Bessie will help restore her to our collective memory. She occupies a unique, vital place in 20th century popular culture.
Directed by Nancy Kates, the HBO documentary ‘Regarding Susan Sontag’ (2014) chronicles the intellectual icon’s private and public life. Sontag came of age in conservative post-war America but did not conform to its rigid sexual and gender norms. She was told by her step-father that too much reading meant no husband. She ignored him, of course, and went on to study at Berkeley and the University of Chicago.
Susan Sontag (1933-2004) was a writer, political activist and filmmaker as well as an immensely influential critic. She wrote and spoke about almost everything. Her interests included high and popular culture, photography, politics, and illness. Her essays “Against Interpretation” (1966) and “Notes on Camp” (1964), are rightly recognized as pioneering works of cultural criticism. Although Sontag was a better cultural critic than novelist, her works of fiction demonstrated a certain creative ambition. She was also politically active. In the 60s, she campaigned against the Vietnam War and in the 90s, she directed Waiting for Godot during the Siege of Sarajevo. Sontag challenged and provoked. Her piece in the New Yorker characterizing 9/11 as “an attack on the world’s self-proclaimed superpower” was hugely controversial.
Poster for the HBO premiere
Directed by Nancy Kates, the HBO documentary Regarding Susan Sontag (2014) chronicles the intellectual icon’s private and public life. Sontag came of age in conservative post-war America but did not conform to its rigid sexual and gender norms. She was told by her step-father that too much reading meant no husband. She ignored him, of course, and went on to study at Berkeley and the University of Chicago. Strangely enough, she married the sociologist Philip Rieff at 17, and had a child at 19. Although the marriage lasted eight years, her life soon took another turn when she left the States to study in Paris. Sontag was bisexual, and had affairs with men and women throughout her life, although she did not come out in her younger years. The documentary also covers her activism–her trips to North Vietnam and Sarajevo as well as involvement with PEN American center.
Featuring commentary by former lovers, friends and family, Regarding Susan Sontag offers a very personal portrait of its subject. Acknowledging both her strengths and flaws, the documentary cannot be accused of hagiography. Armed with arresting looks and a penetrating intelligence, Sontag was a glamorous cultural icon. She was, however, sometimes knocked as self-absorbed and self-important. Some interviewees testify that she was not always an easy person to be around. A friend and former lover confides, “She was never able to know what goes on inside another person.” Still, Sontag loved life, and the accounts of the suffering she endured during her illness–she had two bouts of cancer–move the viewer.
Susan Sontag
The documentary does not, however, engage with Sontag’s ideas sufficiently, and more time could also have been spent on her politics. The first part of the film, in particular, focuses too much on her private life. This is, of course, quite typical of British and American profiles of cultural and political figures. You also don’t get the sense of just how provocative Sontag often was for an American public intellectual. At the beginning of the documentary, we see a clip of the writer on television defending the essay she wrote after 9/11, but we don’t return to the debate. Sontag also delivered another polemic when she stated that “the white race is the cancer of human history.” Kates touches on this but there is no discussion about the piece.
The documentary also does not examine her film on the Israel-Palestine conflict, Promised Lands (1974). Time constraints factor in here as well, of course. The documentary simply needs to be bigger, and longer. Nevertheless, we should be thankful for Regarding Susan Sontag. God knows there aren’t that many documentaries about public intellectuals out there–male or female. It’s certainly not dull. Sontag led a colorful, ground-breaking life, and her contemporaries offer interesting observations regarding the private woman. While not being a particularly erudite contribution to our understanding of the intellectual icon, Kates acknowledges her subject’s individualistic spirit.
‘The Internet’s Own Boy’ is a passionate, intelligent tribute to the tragically short but brilliant life of the programmer and activist. The documentary successfully captures Swartz’s spirit and rightly underscores his visionary genius and socio-cultural importance. Recounting both his days of triumph and despair, it acknowledges his vulnerabilities and fears as well as his drive and passion.
Directed by Brian Knappenberger, The Internet’s Own Boy (2014) is an involving and profoundly moving documentary about Internet icon Aaron Swartz. Swartz was not only an innovative and influential programmer, he was also a deeply committed Free Speech and Open Access advocate. In late 2010 and early 2011, Swartz downloaded academic documents from JSTOR at MIT. Arrested in January 2011, he was charged with wire fraud and theft of information. Facing up to 35 years in prison and a $1 million fine, he took his own life in his New York apartment on Jan. 11, 2013. He was 26 years old.
Examining both his private and public life, The Internet’s Own Boy intermixes home movies, stills, news footage, and interviews with friends and relatives. Home videos of Swartz as a child illustrate his intellectual precocity while family members recall his love of learning. At the age of 12, he created a Wikipedia-like information site before Wikipedia called info-org. The documentary comprehensively chronicles both his Internet and activist careers. Swartz programmed for Creative Commons, helped develop RSS and co-founded Reddit. When Reddit was bought by Conde Nast in 2006, the programmer relocated to California. But he literally recoiled from office life, and abandoned start-up culture. Peter Eckersley, a former roommate of Swartz and technological projects director at Electronic Frontier Foundation, tells us, “He was totally unexcited about starting businesses and making money.” Swartz was inspired by the example of World Wide Web inventor, Tim Berners-Lee, who wanted his creation to be used by all. He could have been like any other self-serving member of the 1 percent but he chose another path.
Prodigy
Swartz soon became a leading Open Access and Free Speech activist. He saw the Internet as an instrument of freedom and enlightenment, and his profoundly moral and generous vision is evident from his personal blog, excerpts of which are featured in the documentary: “I work for ideas and learn from people. I don’t like excluding people…I want to make the world a better place.” Swartz co-founded Demand Progress in 2010, an advocacy group that successfully fought the Stop Online Piracy Act (SOPA). That public information and records should be out of reach of the public struck him an absurd injustice. In 2008, he downloaded electronic federal court records from the expensive public access service PACER. (Although investigated by the FBI, Swartz was not charged.) Expressing unease with social and economic inequality, he became increasingly politically engaged. In 2009, he co-founded the Progressive Change Campaign Committee. Aaron Swartz offered–and still offers–another way of thinking and being.
Although The Internet’s Own Boy does not give a gender-aware reading of Swartz, it is clear that the programmer and activist embodied a certain egalitarian masculinity. Although Swartz possessed attributes that have been traditionally associated with masculinity–such as single-mindedness and risk-taking–he neither personified nor espoused ideals of dominant masculinity. Unlike the ruinous gambling of the bankers who wrecked so much havoc on the world’s economy during the financial crisis, his risk-taking sought to serve the greater good. Swartz simply did not want to be a prized exemplar of corporate masculinity. He seemed uninterested in exercising power, and he did not exhibit the customary misogyny of his industry. Indeed he challenged institutions of power and wealth, asking why they possess so much control over human knowledge. Men like Swartz expand modern definitions of masculinity. The other way of thinking and being that he offered transcends gender, race, age, and sexuality, and he remains an inspirational figure for all.
Fighting SOPA
Critics may argue that the documentary offers a romanticized account of its subject. It sides with Swartz, that’s true, but the argument presented is utterly persuasive. Isn’t it, in fact, self-evident? How can anyone be locked away for 35 years for downloading academic documents? There is, also, no denying that Swartz is a romantic figure. He was an attractive, young man who wanted nothing more than to share knowledge. The Internet’s Own Boy chronicles this sad, shameful story of prosecutorial zeal with insight and compassion. It both angers, and moves the viewer. The prosecutors’ lack of imagination and humanity simply takes your breath away. If there is a modern-day American martyr, it is Aaron Swartz.
The Internet’s Own Boy is a passionate, intelligent tribute to the tragically short but brilliant life of the programmer and activist. The documentary successfully captures Swartz’s spirit and rightly underscores his visionary genius and socio-cultural importance. Recounting both his days of triumph and despair, it acknowledges his vulnerabilities and fears as well as his drive and passion. The story of Aaron Swartz is one of the most important of the millenium and it is encouraging that The Internet’s Own Boy is on this year’s Oscar shortlist. It’s a documentary about our time and we all need to see it.
Over a 100-day period between April and July 1994, the world stood by while Rwanda’s extremist Hutu government instructed its supporters to massacre 1 million Tutsis and moderate Hutus.
2014 has been an awful year teeming with its own appalling tragedies, but it should also be a time of sober reflection for the international community. Twenty years ago, the unspeakable occurred in one of the world’s most beautiful countries. I’m talking about the Rwandan genocide, of course. Over a 100-day period between April and July 1994, the world stood by while Rwanda’s extremist Hutu government instructed its supporters to massacre 1 million Tutsis and moderate Hutus.
There have been narrative and documentary films about the Rwandan genocide, but I think the most important have yet to be made. Nevertheless, I’d like to call attention to an unpretentious, compassionate documentary short released a decade after the genocide called God Sleeps in Rwanda (2004). The title comes from a Rwandan proverb: “They say my country is so beautiful that although God may wander the world during the day He returns at night to sleep in Rwanda.” Directed by Kimberlee Acquaro and Stacy Sherman, the 28-minute Oscar-nominated film examines the impact of the Rwandan genocide on the lives of five women. Narrated in an unshowy fashion by actor and women’s rights advocate, Rosario Dawson, God Sleeps in Rwanda features powerful testimony by survivors.
Odette serving her community
As the filmmakers explain, Rwanda’s population was a little less than 70 percent female by the end of the genocide. Although the vast majority of victims were men, Tutsi women–and children–were also massacred. We are told: “Their bodies were targeted because they symbolized the future of an entire people”. Women, additionally, were victims of another atrocious aspect of the Hutu extremists’ genocidal program–systematic sexual violence. Rape was, in fact, a dominant strategy. The filmmakers cite an appalling UN statistic: 250,000women–at least–were raped during the genocide. They also draw attention to the unexpected, unsettling truth that a woman played a central role in inciting rape–Minister for Family Welfare and the Advancement of Woman, Pauline Nyiramasuhuko. Along with her son, Nyiramasuhuko was indicted for rape as a war crime. (She was convicted of genocidal rape in 2011). God Sleeps in Rwanda, however, focuses on the victims of the genocide. Their stories are harrowing and heart-breaking. One survivor of sexual violence, Severa Mukakinani, calmly relates that she suffered multiple rapes after witnessing her family’s murder. “I cannot count the men who came to rape me,” she says. Attacked with machetes, she was thrown in the river Nyabarongo and left for dead. Somehow she survived. Severa became pregnant by rape and we see her caring for her nine-year-old daughter. At first she did not want the child but she now sees her as hers alone. Her name, Akimana, means “Child of God.” Other women contracted AIDS through rape. The story of Fifi and Chantal is an intensely moving one. Their bond was forged in tragedy- they were gang-raped together. We see Chantal visit Fifi in hospital to comfort and care for her. Sadly, Fifi died of AIDS during the making of the film. Parentless households have been another feature of post-genocide Rwanda and the documentary features interviews with Delphine, a young woman bringing up, and supporting siblings alone.
Fifi
The film shines a light on many of the enormous challenges facing Rwandan women in the post-genocide era: widowhood, parentless households, poverty, the psychological impact of sexual violence, children born of rape and AIDS. It also, however, makes the case that the position of women in Rwanda has greatly improved since 1994. As the filmmakers state, the predominantly female make-up of the population “handed Rwanda’s women an extraordinary burden and unprecedented opportunity.” Increased political participation is an essential part of that change and the story of Joseline personifies the promise of a new Rwanda. Joseline is a community organizer and development head in her village. Modest and motivated, she is dedicated to implementing vital projects such as road-building. The film features interviews with other strong, gracious women committed to transforming Rwandan society, such as widowed HIV-positive police officer Odette Mukakabera. Odette is an extraordinary woman. Not only does she serve her community; she also supports her children and orphaned niece, while studying to be a lawyer in the evening. The story of Chantal, mentioned earlier, is also one of promise and purpose. She found love after the tragedy, married and had three children.
Although God Sleeps in Rwanda contains haunting glimpses of those immeasurably dark days, it tells an encouraging story of courage and survival. Crucially, it respects its subjects and lets the women speak for themselves.
It was announced earlier this week that the Los Angeles Film Critics Association is to honor Gena Rowlands with its 2014 Career Achievement Award. Long overdue, no doubt, but perhaps the well-deserved attention will encourage people to revisit her impressive work. Most associated with the films she did with her husband, the ground-breaking independent director, John Cassavetes, Rowlands is an exceptionally talented and courageous actor. I must admit that I did not fully appreciate her talent until I experienced her extraordinary turn in ‘A Woman Under The Influence.’
It was announced earlier this week that the Los Angeles Film Critics Association is to honor Gena Rowlands with its 2014 Career Achievement Award. Long overdue, no doubt, but perhaps the well-deserved attention will encourage people to revisit her impressive work. Most associated with the films she did with her husband, the ground-breaking independent director, John Cassavetes, Rowlands is an exceptionally talented and courageous actor. I must admit that I did not fully appreciate her talent until I experienced her extraordinary turn in A Woman Under The Influence. It’s not only Rowland’s finest performance; it is, unquestionably, one of the greatest cinematic performances of all time.
John Cassavetes with Gena Rowlands and Peter Falk
Both written and directed by Cassavetes, A Woman Under The Influence deals with non-conformity, mental illness, and the family. It’s also a considerably sympathetic examination of the socio-cultural role of women. Rowlands plays Mabel Longhetti, a mother of three young children, and wife to construction worker, Nick (played by Peter Falk). Mabel is a lively, spontaneous, somewhat charismatic woman, but it is clear from the very start, that she is psychologically unstable. She is feverish performing the most ordinary of tasks, such as getting the kids ready to visit their grandmother, or preparing pasta for her husband’s co-workers. Cassavetes seems to indicate that Mabel’s mental illness is an extreme form of non-conformity; her unrestrained behavior includes flirting with one of her husband’s co-workers directly in front of him. Although an uninhibited soul, Mabel is a deeply vulnerable woman who is consumed by her role as a wife, and mother. She wants to make everything right, but it is all too much. Perhaps she also feels that she has lost her very self. Her husband is characterized as a loving, traditionally masculine type who often responds to his wife’s extroverted ways, and unstable behaviour with frustration, and, sometimes, aggression. Mabel is, eventually, hospitalized for six months, and we see Nick struggle to perform his paternal role. In that it recognizes that that Mabel’s condition has both a psychological and social source, A Woman Under The Influence manifests a certain feminist awareness.
Gena Rowlands as Mabel
Rowland flawlessly channels Mabel’s open and exposed self, as well as her extraordinary intensity. She mines all aspects of her character, and deeply empathizes with her condition. Although she plays a woman whose condition issues from self-consciousness, specifically self-alienation, it is not a self-conscious performance. There are no gimmicks or false notes. Rowlands fully inhabits the role. She is, simply, Mabel, in all her complexity.
Mabel with husband Nick
Unlike most American movies, A Woman Under The Influence does not romanticize non-conformity and mental illness. Cassavetes’s masterpiece is worlds apart from the likes of A Beautiful Mind (2001) and Silver Linings Playbook (2012). Frankly, it makes those films look totally fake. Unlike most Hollywood movies, it, equally, does not paint a sanitized portrait of the nuclear family. Cinematic depictions of struggling parents and young children are often unduly sentimental and exploitative but Cassavetes never falls into that trap. Although the family’s often heart-breaking story is sympathetically told, the director does not manipulate his viewers. Nor does he sugarcoat the bad stuff. He completely immerses us in the life of the family. We literally live with them. The nuclear family is vividly, and accurately, characterized as a psychic, and literal site of love, want, humor, hate, and sickness. Very few films about the domestic space have so effectively captured its unceasing tensions, and complexities. Note too that Cassavetes never judges his characters. He portrays their intimate, authentic selves. Contemporary audiences may also find the socio-cultural setting unusual too: A Woman Under The Influence is an American film about a working-class family.
Unraveling
A Woman Under The Influence is Cassavetes’s most powerful, and greatest film. Peter Falk’s naturalistic, and vivid portrayal of Nick should also be acknowledged but it is Gena Rowlands’s performance that stands out. It is up there with Brando in On The Waterfront, Streep in Sophie’s Choice, and de Niro in Raging Bull. In short, it is a performance for the ages.
What modern cinema audiences should be interested in is his or her place in Hollywood history, and socio-cultural significance. Dietrich is a radical, and progressive cultural figure in terms of her sexual and gender identity. On and off screen. Her off-screen identity was also subversively androgynous and was often signified by her masculine attire.
Marlene Dietrich (1901-1992) was one of the most captivating, ground-breaking movie stars of the 20th century. There were more talented Hollywood contemporaries, but perhaps none of them had that heady combination of characteristics that made up her extraordinary screen persona: supernatural beauty fused with transgressive, gender-subversive sexual magnetism. Dietrich challenged traditional definitions of femininity, and bourgeois notions of respectability in her own life too. Biographical accounts reveal that the German-born star had numerous affairs with both men and women. But Dietrich was not solely an uninhibited sexual non-conformist. She was also a woman of considerable political courage. A committed anti-Fascist, the actress denounced Hitler’s Germany, and worked actively, and unstintingly, against the Nazi regime. (She became a US citizen in 1939.) Dietrich was a fearless, resilient woman who entertained throughout most of her life. She became a cabaret singer in her fifties, and toured the world into her seventies, soldiering on despite injury, illness and addiction. Was Dietrich a feminist movie star? Yes, and no. Although it seems that she was ultimately imprisoned by heterosexist Hollywood ideals of feminine beauty (she was a recluse in her later years), she should, nevertheless, be appreciated as an iconic figure of female sexual independence, individuality, and strength.
As Amy Jolly in Morocco
Hollywood marketed Dietrich, from the start, as an expressly seductive, “exotic” European star. Time and again, she portrayed scandalous lovers, and glamorous femme fatales. Dietrich did not embody the modern, professional American woman on screen. She never played a lawyer or reporter like Katherine Hepburn. Many of her films are about the pleasures, and dangers of romantic and physical love. They deal with obsession, sacrifice, and betrayal. Dietrich’s heroines are, also, of course, invariably ultra-glamorous. The star first caught Hollywood’s attention in The Blue Angel (1930), a German production directed by the Austrian-American filmmaker, Josef von Sternberg. In The Blue Angel, Dietrich plays cabaret singer, and femme fatale, Lola Lola. The Blue Angel secured her a contract with Paramount and she made six other films with von Sternberg: Morocco (1930), Dishonored (1931), Shanghai Express (1932), Blonde Venus (1932), The Scarlet Empress (1934), and The Devil is A Woman (1935).
As Shanghai Lilly in Shanghai Express
The glamorous, dreamy Dietrich look is at its most iconic in von Sternberg’s atmospheric, stylish films. In The Blue Angel, Dietrich is plumper, and more voluptuous, but in Morocco, she becomes slender and more angular. She would remain so. Von Sternberg, with whom the actress was romantically involved, has been described as a Svengali-like character. A maestro of light and shadow, influenced by German expressionism, the director is credited with sculpting the face of Dietrich on the screen, and shaping her mystique. The nature of Dietrich’s role in their personal, professional partnership will always be subject to debate but it was, ultimately, a creative union. It is also important to note that Dietrich gained knowledge during this period that would be employed throughout her career. It is said that she greatly understood lighting and was an inventive make-up artist.
Dietrich was not a traditional Hollywood star although she looked like a perfect example of constructed feminine beauty. Her beauty, in fact, transcends conventional glamour in its unearthliness. It’s also remarkable, and considerably subversive, that she frequently played economically independent women living, and working, outside the domestic space, and prescribed bounds of sexual propriety. In von Sternberg’s films, Dietrich plays cabaret entertainers (The Blue Angel, Morocco, and Blonde Venus), a courtesan (Shanghai Express), a prostitute-spy (Dishonored), an adulterous queen (The Scarlett Empress), as well as a predatory “vamp” (The Devil is a Woman). She also plays a saloon singer in the George Marshall-directed Western Destry Rides Again (1939), and a Baroness brothel owner in her final film, Just A Gigolo (David Hemmings, 1978). But the most unique aspect of Dietrich’s screen persona is her sexual presence. The modern viewer is, perhaps, most intrigued by her androgynous aspect and sexually subversive behavior.
As Catherine the Great in The Scarlet Empress
In Morocco, Dietrich provides one of the most radical sexually charged moments in Hollywood history when her cabaret singer character, Amy Jolly, sings “Give Me The Man Who Does Things” in French. She appears on stage elegantly dressed in a tux, and top hat, with a cigarette between her lips. Stopping at a table after the performance, she downs a glass of champagne, takes a flower from the hair of a female customer, and kisses her directly on the mouth. She then throws the flower to a male admirer (Gary Cooper as a French legionnaire). It’s a deeply seductive display of bisexuality, and Dietrich’s performance is fluidly, and perfectly, executed.
Dietrich was also the star of a scene that can be only be described as both sexually “out there,” and racist, in terms of its setting and images. I refer to the “Hot Voodoo” number in Blonde Venus where Dietrich’s character, once again a seductive cabaret entertainer, wanders around in a gorilla costume, slowly emerges from the suit, dons a blonde Afro wig, and starts to sing imperiously and suggestively, with hands on hips, in front of accompanying “native girls.” It’s a both bizarre and unsettling number.
As Lola Lola in The Blue Angel
Von Sternberg’s films are set, for the most part, in “exotic,” worlds such as 1920s China (Shanghai Express) and imperial Russia (The Scarlett Empress), and his depiction of non-American places is simultaneously ultra-stylized, and offensive. The audience is, also, at times encouraged to associate Dietrich’s heroines with “otherness.” The end of Morocco is quite interesting in that it shows a European woman rejecting domesticity, stasis, and marriage for love, and a nomadic existence. In pursuit of her great love, Amy Jolly eventually heads off into the desert and joins the North African women who shadow the legionnaires.
Dietrich made her most celebrated, and extraordinary films with von Sternberg but there were at least a couple of other good, and remarkable films. A riotous energy and charisma are evident in Destry Rides Again where she plays a sassy saloon singer called Frenchy. She also puts in a fascinating, idiosyncratic performance in Orson Welles’s astonishing, and greatly stylized Touch of Evil (1958) as an outlandish cigar-smoking madam, and fortune-teller. She radiates personality, and insolence in the role. Dietrich moved away from the movies, and remade herself as a cabaret singer in the 50s. She worked with Burt Bacharach, and toured extensively for decades, before retiring in her 70s. The entertainer was the ultimate show business survivor.
In A Touch of Evil
Dietrich also had an interesting, unconventional private life. She did the conventional thing early on in her career by marrying a fellow German, director Rudolf Sieber, and bearing a child (a daughter named Maria) but soon took a radically different track. Although she remained married to her husband until his death in 1976 (as well as good friends), she separated from him, and reportedly had many affairs with both men and women. Which brings us briefly to the intimate Dietrich.
Characterizations of public personalities by the people who know them are often contradictory, and human beings are, of course, different people to different people. Biographical accounts attest that Dietrich was both deeply flawed as a mother, and hugely sympathetic as a friend. No doubt Dietrich’s bed-hopping must have caused pain to some of her lovers too. The function of film criticism, particularly star studies, is, however, not to marvel at, or judge a star’s number of partners. Leave that to biographers and the Daily Mail. What modern cinema audiences should be interested in is his or her place in Hollywood history, and socio-cultural significance. Dietrich is a radical, and progressive cultural figure in terms of her sexual and gender identity. On and off screen. Her off-screen identity was also subversively androgynous and was often signified by her masculine attire. There is, in fact, no overstating Dietrich’s modernity as fashion and erotic icon. Both the star’s bisexuality and sexually independent lifestyle, challenged patriarchy and she helped change the way 20th century women looked and behaved. In light of this, it is all the more baffling and maddening that the star slammed feminism in her later years. Her views are expressed in Maximilian Schell’s 1984 documentary, Marlene, which features interviews with an unseen Dietrich eager to preserve her glamorous persona. Nevertheless, the star’s spirit of sexual autonomy and freedom remains extraordinary, a spirit which, no doubt, had its roots in the sexually liberated Germany of the 1920s. During this creative, volatile period, Dietrich had been a chorus-girl and theatre actress who also took boxing lessons. A product of the Weimar Republic, Dietrich was, indeed, the living antithesis of the puritanical, patriarchal Nazi regime.
Entertaining the troops
Dietrich exhibited backbone and a principled, political consciousness during World War II. She not only condemned her own homeland’s nefarious government but also vigorously campaigned against it. The star raised war bonds, recorded music for the OSS (Office of Strategic Services), and toured with the USO (United Service Organizations). She even entertained troops near the front. Both Hitler and propaganda minister, Goebbels, tried to get woo her back to Germany but she refused to be a Third Reich star. The Nazis responded by defaming her, and banning her movies. Dietrich was recognized by both the US and France for her war work. She was awarded with the Presidential Medal of Freedom in 1945 and the French Legion of Honor. The star regarded this work as “the only important work I’ve ever done.” It is perhaps worth noting that both her father and step-father had been military men. There were German citizens who considered Dietrich a traitor– she received hate mail, and was once even spat at when she returned to her native land during post-war visits–but her anti-Nazi stance was also appreciated at home, and in 2002, the city of Berlin made her an honorary citizen.
The global screen star was a modern cosmopolitan woman who had friends, and lovers of many nationalities and backgrounds. She was a buddy of Asian-American actress Anna May Wong, and reportedly had affairs with legendary French singer, Edith Piaf, Cuban-American writer, Mercedes de Acosta, French actor, Jean Gabin, German writer Erich Maria Remarque, as well as American stars John Wayne, Gary Cooper, and James Stewart. It is also said that she had a romantic relationship with Greta Garbo. Dietrich moved to Paris in her later years, after touring the world as a cabaret artist. She died in the French capital in 1992 at the age of 90.
The iconic androgynous look
Dietrich has endured as a cultural icon because she was, simply, way ahead of her time. Her chic, sexually ambiguous screen, and star personae have remained hugely influential in popular culture. Madonna, who somewhat resembles the actress, has, famously, paid homage to her style in her performances, most memorably perhaps in her 1993 Girlie Tour. But Dietrich’s name is not only immortalized in “Vogue”; she haunts Suzanne Vega’s very different track “Marlene on the Wall” too. Interestingly, Indiewire reported earlier this year that Megan Ellison is planning a TV show about Dietrich and Greta Garbo. It sounds like an exciting project but we can only hope the filmmakers will fully appreciate Dietrich’s sexual, and gender non-conformity, cosmopolitan lifestyle and anti-Fascist spirit. The star deserves no less. She was, after all, the coolest of them all.
Although peppered with flashbacks to the women’s childhood and youth, ‘Julia’ is set during their formative academic and professional years. The film chronicles the women’s personal and political lives in the decade that saw the rise of Fascism. We witness how the fight against those dark forces transforms both friends.
Written by Rachael Johnson as part of our theme week on Female Friendship.
Directed by Fred Zinnemann, Julia (1977) is an exceptionally beautiful portrait of female friendship and heroism. Primarily set in the thirties, it tells the story of two interesting, gifted women, the playwright, Lillian Hellman (Jane Fonda) and anti-Nazi activist Julia (Vanessa Redgrave).
Before I look more closely at Julia, I need to briefly address the controversy surrounding its narrative source. The film’s Oscar-winning screenplay (written by Alvin Sargent) is based on Lillian Hellman’s memoir Pentimento: A Book of Portraits, specifically her account of her friendship with a childhood friend and anti-Fascist activist called Julia. The story, unfortunately, turned out to be a fabrication. The lie, of course, cheats the reader, and violates historical truth. The question remains, however, whether Julia is partly true or a blend of real historical figures. My focus, here, of course, is on the film. We can choose to write off the cinematic adaptation as fraudulent or appreciate it as a work of fiction. Julia is a fascinating, involving study of courage and its depiction of friendship persuasive and affecting. The caliber of the acting can also not be disputed. Redgrave and Fonda both give riveting, career-defining performances.
Childhood friends
Although peppered with flashbacks to the women’s childhood and youth, Julia is set during their formative academic and professional years. The film chronicles the women’s personal and political lives in the decade that saw the rise of Fascism. We witness how the fight against those dark forces transforms both friends.
Lillian becomes a playwright, battles all the frustrations the profession of writing entails, and eventually achieves success and celebrity. She lives with her lover, and fellow writer, Dashiell Hammett (Jason Robards), in a beach house facing the Atlantic. An even more adventurous soul, Julia goes abroad to study medicine at Oxford and Vienna, before becoming a committed anti-Fascist activist. Although both friends are ultimately characterized as strong women with strong ideals, Julia is portrayed, from the start, as the more courageous, self-assured, and politically engaged woman. Lillian is more insecure, and human, while Julia is both resolute and ethereal. Although a fellow left-winger, Lillian is not immune to the finer things of life. Regarding class identity, Julia’s mindset is more remarkable. A child of extreme wealth, she utterly rejects the lifestyle and values of her privileged caste.
Lillian and Julia
The flashbacks to the friends’ youth are haunting and illuminating. Even as an adolescent, Julia (Lisa Pelikan) is enraged by economic inequality and social injustice. We see her express her impatience at her friend’s conventional need to hear of her family’s trips to Europe. The young Lillian (Susan Jones) is dazzled by Julia’s affluent, cosmopolitan background and lacks her friend’s political consciousness. Lillian, in fact, worships her friend. Julia recognizes that veneration sometimes characterizes female adolescent friendship, and the actresses who play the teenage friends credibly capture that particular dynamic. Such friendships can, of course, become abusive but this is not the case with Julia and Lillian. Although the young Julia plays the dominant role, and has a patrician, prefect-like manner, she is, nevertheless, a warm, just, soul. Julia enlightens, and inspires Lillian. Crucially, she is Lillian’s heroic example.
Lillian with Dash
The deep affection Lillian has for Julia endures and Fonda conveys her love with a remarkable candor. The scenes between the adult childhood friends are, in fact, extremely moving and beautifully played. The playwright, it must be noted, is written as a considerably complex woman. She is sensitive, vulnerable, moral and humane, as well as idealistic and spirited. Fonda’s compassionate, intense portrayal captures both her insecurities and charisma. The scenes between Lillian and “Dash” are also vividly, and tenderly performed. Robards plays Dash as a crabby, no-nonsense yet supportive mentor-lover and both actors are magnetic in their moments together. Whether the portraits of both writers are authentic characterizations is another matter but that applies to all autobiographical and literary depictions of real people, of course.
Lillian with Anne Marie
Julia is the most extraordinary character in the film, however. The viewer sees her, of course, to a considerable extent, through Lillian’s eyes. Preserved by memory and distance, she remains an exotic, daring figure from childhood. Julia may have a certain mythic aspect but she grows up to be a devoted, dynamic political activist and her activism is very real and very dangerous work. Julia provides us with a powerful, multi-layered portrait of female activism. Her characterization does not exhibit the customary misogynist Hollywood stereotyping of female activists as sexless, humorless and nutty. She is sexual, sane, and cerebral. She is, however, a unique human being. Most men and women of privilege crave more wealth, and there is something heroic about Julia’s decision to betray her cosseted class. Julia, indeed, is that rarest of American films, a Hollywood film with a Socialist heroine. Redgrave equally gives her character a steely yet otherworldly power and grace. It is an exquisite performance.
Julia
There is another outstanding female performance in Julia. A young Meryl Streep gives one of the greatest scene-stealing cameos in Hollywood history as Anne-Marie, a socialite friend of both Julia and Lillian. It was, in fact, Streep’s very first film performance and her ability to fully inhabit roles is already on display. Her character typifies the kind of woman Julia in particular could have become, a spectacularly self-regarding, superficially charismatic woman of privilege.
An enduring friendship
Our friends choose a tougher track. When their lives intersect as adults, Julia asks Lillian to perform a courageous act. It will test Lillian but it should also be seen, in a way, as a gift. Lillian is given an opportunity to demonstrate courage and shape history. It is also an act that binds the women together.
Julia is a film laced with tenderness and sadness. Ultimately, it is a tale of both heroism and tragedy. Although it cannot be categorized as obscure, Julia has been somewhat forgotten. This is not that surprising, of course. Most film critics are men, and Julia is a story about women that foregrounds and honors female friendship. Although shot in a conventionally romantic, almost cozy fashion, Julia is unusual in many ways. It is an American film for adults about the loving friendship of two accomplished women with romantic and professional lives. What’s more, it’s a movie about female activism and heroism. It needs to be fully restored to our cinematic memory.
Directed by Jerry Rothwell, ‘Town of Runners’ is a 2012 documentary about promising young athletes from the highland town of Bekoji in Ethiopia. It’s a very special place, Bekoji. A remarkably high number of world-class runners have been trained there, including the great 10,000 and 5,000 meter Olympic champion, Tirunesh Dibaba, and 10,000 meter sporting pioneer, Derartu Tulu, the first African woman to win an Olympic gold medal.
Directed by Jerry Rothwell, Town of Runners is a 2012 documentary about promising young athletes from the highland town of Bekoji in Ethiopia. It’s a very special place, Bekoji. A remarkably high number of world-class runners have been trained there, including the great 10,000 and 5,000 meter Olympic champion, Tirunesh Dibaba, and 10,000 meter sporting pioneer, Derartu Tulu, the first African woman to win an Olympic gold medal.
Hawii
Distance runners are greatly celebrated in Ethiopia. Running is bound up with national identity and pride. A scene at the beginning of Town of Runners, showing a group of young people watching the Olympics on television, movingly illustrates the romantic hold the sport has in the country.
Alemi
Town of Runners follows the careers of two talented teenaged girls from Bekoji who are seeking to emulate their famous compatriots, best friends Hawii Megersa and Alemi Tsegaye. Their story is charmingly narrated by an ambitious young boy called Biruk Fikadu. The girls are both competitive and good-natured. Their equally engaging coach, Sentayehu Eshetu, is a hugely supportive, down-to-earth man with an extraordinarily successful record in training Olympic gold winners. Encouraged by Eshetu, the girls are offered places on training programs in another part of the country. Their farming families do not prevent them from pursuing their dreams. Running offers a life of independence as well as an escape from poverty. It’s not easy road though. The specter of unfulfilled promise, of course, shadows young athletes all around the world but those in poorer countries face extra challenges such as lack of funding, poor lodging and neglect. But the girls’ dedication to the track never wavers. Greatness is born on overgrown tracks in Ethiopia.
Coach Sentayehu Eshetu
Town of Runners is not, it must be said, an expose of exploitation in African sport. It is not an overtly political documentary. Rothwell does not tell a tragic tale. Nor does he provide the viewer with a socio-cultural analysis of the role of athletics in Ethiopia. He takes an observational rather than polemical approach. There are shortcomings. Although Town of Runners records signs of change, while offering glimpses into enduring aspects of Ethiopian culture, such as faith, and family, the viewer is not given much historical context. The documentary, moreover, does not provide in-depth analysis of why the town has produced so many sensational runners. Nevertheless, it paints an empathetic portrait of female talent while paying homage to a blessed place. What’s more, it’s refreshing to see a Western film-maker tell a largely positive story about contemporary Africa. Town of Runners is a compassionate, beautifully made documentary with universal appeal.
A pioneering advocate for gender equality, co-founder of Ms. Magazine, and cultural icon, Gloria Steinem has played a prominent role in modern American history. The HBO-produced profile ‘In Her Own Words’ features thoughtful interviews with the woman herself as well as fascinating archival footage. Steinem comes across as sincere and engaging while clips of central moments in 70s women’s history capture the energy and spirit of feminist activism.
A pioneering advocate for gender equality, co-founder of Ms. Magazine, and cultural icon, Gloria Steinem has played a prominent role in modern American history. The HBO-produced profile In Her Own Words features thoughtful interviews with the woman herself as well as fascinating archival footage. Steinem comes across as sincere and engaging while clips of central moments in 70s women’s history capture the energy and spirit of feminist activism. Other illuminating footage, exposing the mind-blowing sexism of the US media, clearly indicates what women were up against. In Her Own Words offers, too, a fairly intimate profile of Steinem. Addressing family and romantic relationships, as well as Steinem’s feminist awakening, the documentary marries the personal and political.
The late, great Kenyan environmentalist Wangari Maathai (1940-2011) remains one of the moral figures of our age. Maathai founded the Green Belt Movement, a tree-planting organization benefiting rural women facing firewood and food scarcity on environmentally degraded land. In 2004, she became the first African woman to receive the Nobel Peace Prize for her contributions to sustainable development. A strong, energizing figure brimming with personality, Maathai also confronted sexism and political oppression. Taking Root tells the story of an eco-feminist crusader who empowered her fellow women and citizens. It’s both a stirring study of singular courage and a story of people power.
Free Angela and All Political Prisoners chronicles the extraordinary life of an extraordinary woman, activist, and academic, Angela Davis. Directed with style and verve, it addresses a particular episode in the radical icon’s life, her arrest and trial following the 1970 kidnapping of, and killing in a shootout, of a Californian judge. The incident occurred during an escape attempt at the trial of one of the Soledad Brothers, three men accused of killing a white prison guard after the killing of several Black inmates. As the guns were registered to Davis, she was accused of involvement. Fleeing arrest, she was put on the FBI’s Most Wanted Fugitive List. Davis was acquitted of all charges in 1972 after spending 18 months in prison. The historical context is hugely important, of course. Davis was seen by many in the United States, and globally, as a victim of a racist legal justice system and society that actively persecuted people of color. A left-wing philosophy philosopher at UCLA with close links to the Black Panthers, Davis posed a threat to the right-wing white establishment. She had, previous to the Marin County incident, been fired from her teaching post. Although one documentary feature cannot hope to fully capture the woman and her life’s work- -her writing encompasses gender, race, class, and the US “prison industrial complex”- Shola Lynch’s documentary vividly portrays her uncanny intelligence and charisma. The archival footage and funk soundtrack are electrifying and the director provides an evocative portrait of those turbulent times.
Focusing on the lives and careers of two key figures of the 19th century women’s movement, Elizabeth Cady Stanton and Susan B. Anthony, Not for Ourselves Alone examines the long, hard struggle for women’s suffrage in the United States. It’s a hugely informative, richly detailed and beautifully made film. It is highly recommended.
Union Maids
5. Union Maids (Julia Reichert, James Klein, Miles Mogulescu, 1976)
The Oscar-nominated documentary, Union Maids, is a little gem. Blending extraordinary archival footage, and stills, with compelling, contemporary interviews with three labor activists–Kate Hyndman, Stella Nowicki and Sylvia Woods–it is a powerful tribute to the politically engaged, working-class woman of 30s America. It is an invaluable historical resource.
Ukraine is Not A Brothel is an intelligent documentary about the controversial feminist movement Femen. Founded in the Ukraine in 2008, the group privileges the female body as a site of liberation and resistance. Wearing crowns of flowers, activists use their bare breasts to protest patriarchy, religious authority, and sexual exploitation. Green mixes interviews with footage of the women’s protests. Their methods invite scepticism and accusations of hypocrisy- the typical Femen activist seems to be tall, blonde and beautiful- but the women do lay themselves on the line. Members relate distressing incidents of abuse. The documentary reveals, however, that their leader is a man, a certain Victor Svyatski. But that’s not the end of this complex tale. Members like Sasha have distanced themselves from Victor and Femen is now based in Paris. Embedded with the women for more than year, Green provides the viewer with an authentic, in-depth portrait of the organization.
Pray the Devil Back to Hell is a powerful ode to non-violent resistance. It documents an awe-inspiring episode in Liberia’s recent, war-scarred history when an inter-generational, inter-faith movement, comprised of ordinary women, successfully petitioned for peace. The film gives voice to the members as it acknowledges and honors their courageous, creative efforts. One remarkable woman featured in the film, movement organizer, Leymah Gbowee, jointly won the Nobel Peace Prize in 2011 with the current President of Liberia, Ellen Johnson Sirleaf. Pray The Devil Back to Hell is a unique contribution to peace studies.
Chisholm ’72 chronicles the political career of American’s first Black Congresswoman, Shirley Chisholm (1924-2005) focusing on her unsuccessful yet trail-blazing 1972 presidential bid. Blending interviews with contemporaries with captivating archival footage, it’s an absorbing documentary about a genuine, progressive figure who personified the promise of a more democratic, socially inclusive America. Chisholm promoted voting and greater political engagement, and her example remains an inspiration for candidates today. Shola Lynch’s film is a vital tribute to the uncommon resolve of a candidate who set out to transform the system.
This British-Russian documentary chronicles the political career of the anti-authoritarian, anti-clerical feminist punk band, Pussy Riot. It’s both a colorful and disturbing tale. Pussy Riot, of course, gained world attention in 2012 when they performed a “punk prayer” in Moscow’s Cathedral of Christ the Saviour in multi-hued balaclavas. As the film makes clear, the jokey, subversive stunt was politically motivated. It was a finger-to-the-father protest against the Orthodox Church’s backing of Putin as well as misogynist religious ideology. Three of the band members- Nadezhda Tolokonnikova, Maria Alyokhina and Yekaterina Samutsevich- were put on trial and given lengthy prison sentences for hooliganism and inciting religious hatred offences although Samutsevich latter would soon have her sentence suspended. The severe punishment the women received was condemned by Western human rights organizations such as Amnesty International. (Tolokonnikova and Alyokhina were finally released under Russia’s amnesty law at the end of 2013). The Sundance award-winning documentary is an engrossing account of one of the most fascinating feminist stories of our time.
We does not offer a conventional profile of Arundhati Roy. As its underground filmmakers promise from the very start: “This film is not about her. It is about her words.” The viewer is solely informed that the Indian writer and activist won the Booker Prize in 1997 for The God of Small Things and the Sydney Peace Prize in 2004. A formally inventive film, it mixes commentary and clips from Roy’s compelling 2002 “Come September” speech with powerful illustrative footage. The wide-ranging speech covers corporate globalisation, the legacy of colonialism, imperialism, the war on terror, civil unrest, and resistance. Roy’s lyrical voice hypnotizes while her words pack a punch. The soundtrack, featuring the likes of Massive Attack and Nine Inch Nails, is equally mesmerizing. Giving voice to an eloquent, courageous woman, We speaks truth to power.
On June 5, Jane Fonda received the American Film Institute’s Life Achievement award. She fully deserves the honor, of course. The two-time Oscar winner is, simply, one of the greatest American film actors of the last 50 years. There is a certain sincerity and intensity to Fonda’s acting and, as with all the finest stars, the camera never finds her boring. Her greatest performances, in They Shoot Horses, Don’t They? (1969), Klute (1971) and Coming Home (1978), are nothing less than master classes in the art of acting. Fonda has also led an interesting, eventful life. She has been an activist for decades, and her political interests have not infrequently been reflected in her choice of roles. An inspirational interpreter of American femininity on the screen, she has, moreover, championed feminist causes in both the United States and around the world.
Many of the films Fonda has appeared in address social and political issues while many of her roles have been culturally significant. The very early ones are, generally speaking, less interesting but in movies such as Barefoot in the Park (1967), Fonda’s vivacious protagonists are clearly intended to represent youthful 60s womanhood. Directed by her then husband, the late French filmmaker Roger Vadim, the wacky, erotic sci-fi Barbarella (1968) made her into one of the cinematic sex symbols of that decade. Her next role could not have been more different: in the dark, Depression-set drama, They Shoot Horses, Don’t They?, she plays a participant in a hellish dance competition. There is great depth and complexity to her character and Fonda won her first Oscar nomination for the part. The roles she began to play during this period revealed a growing socio-political awareness.
They Shoot Horses, Don’t They?
Fonda’s greatest, Academy Award-winning performance–to date–is in Klute (1971). As I noted in my article, “Female Identity and Performance,” Klute should not only be celebrated as a suspenseful psychological thriller about a sex worker and a detective but also as “an allegory of the female condition in patriarchy.” Alan Pakula’s film powerfully explores female sexuality and independence as well as violence against women and misogyny. Reflecting social change, Fonda portrayed independent professional women during the 70s and 80s. She played TV reporters in The China Syndrome (1979) and The Electric Horseman (1979) and a psychiatrist in Agnes of God (1985). Fonda also, of course, starred in 9 to 5 (1980), a lively, subversive revenge comedy that directly addressed sexism in the American workplace. Incarnations of real-life, historical figures have been rare but in Julia (1977), she played Lillian Hellman, one of the key American playwrights of the 20th century. In The Butler (2013), she portrayed former first lady, Nancy Reagan. As the former President’s politics contrast sharply with Fonda’s, the decision to play his partner is a somewhat amusing one.
Coming Home
Fonda has not only portrayed American femininity for decades; her off-screen feminist activism has also been widely acknowledged and appreciated. A supporter of the V-Day movement, the actor has actively championed anti-VAW initiatives around the world. She has also demonstrated an interest in women’s health. She founded the Georgia Campaign for Adolescent Pregnancy Prevention in 1995 and the Jane Fonda Center for Adolescent Reproductive Health at the Emory School of Medicine in 2002. A co-founder of the Women’s Media Center, the actor has, furthermore, shown a commitment to improving the status of women in the US media.
Fonda championed progressive political causes as a younger woman. In the late 60s and early 70s, she supported Native and Black American rights and campaigned against The Vietnam War. Fonda’s visit to Hanoi during the Vietnam War in 1972 was the subject of controversy and one incident in particular caused anger in the United States. A photo was taken of a gleeful-looking Fonda as she sat on a North Vietnamese antiaircraft gun site. In her autobiography, My Life So Far (2005), Fonda explains, for her part, that the act was spontaneous and not intentionally staged; she was singing a song with her hosts and sat down unwittingly at the site. There are, in fact, Vietnam vets today who have not forgiven Fonda for her Hanoi visit, particularly for the gun incident, and the actor remains a target for virulent right-wing abuse online. In fact, a certain right-wing US news source–you can guess which–reported anger by some veterans at Fonda receiving the AFI award. In her memoir, Fonda apologizes for the photo. She also states that the gun incident constituted a betrayal of her own involvement with the GI movement, explaining that it was the veterans themselves who exposed her to the horrors of the Vietnam War.
Klute
Right-wing obsession with the image, of course, not only indicated frankly racist indifference to the mass deaths of Vietnamese civilians but it also served to obscure the political and moral motivations for the trip as well as the infinitely greater transgression of the war itself. Fonda does not apologize for the trip in her memoir. She went to raise awareness in the United States of Nixon and Kissinger’s underhanded, escalated bombing of the country, particularly its dikes. Any reading of the historic response to her visit, particularly the gun incident, as well as lingering resentment, should also take into account the following truths: politically engaged women have traditionally endured greater scrutiny and judgment than their male counterparts while women who have been perceived as traitors have always been subject to more intense vilification. Fonda herself expresses an awareness of this in her memoir: “I realize that it is not just a US citizen laughing and clapping…I am Henry Fonda’s privileged daughter who appears to be thumbing my nose at the country that has provided me these privileges. More than that, I am a woman, which makes me sitting there even more of a betrayal. And I am a woman who is seen as Barbarella…an embodiment of men’s fantasies.”
Antiwar activist
Again, many of the movie projects she was involved in during the era addressed her political concerns. One, in fact, tackled the war in Vietnam. Conceived and developed by Fonda herself, Coming Home is the story of a wife of a Marine Corps captain who has an affair with a paraplegic vet when her husband is in Vietnam. An intimate, political take on the conflict, the drama addresses its life-changing consequences. It not only examines war-related disabilities and PTSD but also looks at its impact on women with partners in the military.
The China Syndrome (1979), a thriller about a cover-up in a nuclear plant, reflected Fonda’s concern with the dangers of nuclear energy. The credibility and urgency of the movie’s message was amplified by a real-life incident at the time of its release in 1979: astonishingly, the Three Mile Island accident in Pennsylvania, effectively a limited nuclear meltdown, occurred less than a fortnight after the opening of the film. Other films Fonda appeared in during this period critiqued materialism. The romance The Electric Horseman (1979) espouses an anti-corporate ethos while Fun With Dick and Jane (1977) takes aim at the American Dream. Although set in a much earlier era, the anti-Fascist Julia examines the nature of courage and political engagement.
The China Syndrome
Fonda has played a great many parts in her own life. She has, of course, been a fitness and health guru–as aspect of her life that, I must admit, interests me the least–as well as a memoir writer. Fonda’s private life has been equally been eventful. She has been married to three charismatic men–the politician Tom Hayden, media mogul Ted Turner, as well as Roger Vadim–has three children, and is currently in a relationship with music producer, Richard Perry. It is difficult to think of another American movie star who has had such an accomplished, interesting and influential life but Fonda’s deeply confessional autobiography is a candid account of female insecurity and self-abuse. My Life So Far chronicles the experiences of a privileged though objectified woman in a patriarchal society and details the psychological damage that sexist attitudes inflict upon women. It is shocking to read director Joshua Logan’s suggestion that Fonda procure a more defined look by having her jaw broken and reset. Another troubling aspect of her memoir is her account of her relationship with her father. Jane adored Henry though he was a cold and distant parent. On Golden Pond (1981), a drama about a troubled father-daughter relationship, was a gift to Henry from his daughter–Jane produced and starred in the film with him and he won a Best Actor Oscar for it–but you wonder whether he deserved her love. It is, to be frank, a love that comes across as emotionally slavish father worship. Fonda also, it seems, had troubles with the men in her life in the past, including sexual betrayal. My Life So Far may be read as an act of female strength in that it opposes traditional patriarchal attitudes towards weakness but it is also a quite a perplexing and dispiriting affair. As a feminist icon, should Fonda not be highlighting her work more? Tough yet vulnerable, independent yet emotionally dependent, the younger Fonda arguably embodied the contradictions of middle 20th century womanhood.
Fitness guru
Fonda retired from acting in the early 90s but returned in 2005. The films have not been remarkable but it’s great to see her grace both the big and small screen. Her role as CEO Leona Lansing in the TV series, The Newsroom, is strikingly played but we are left wanting more. The good news is that she will star with Lilly Tomlin in a Netflix comedy. It would also be a wonderful thing to see another great central cinematic performance from Fonda but even if it does not happen–through preference for smaller parts or opportunity–the great roles of her prime will continue to stand the test of time.
Few figures in American popular culture have played such a dynamic public role as Fonda. Whatever your opinion of her politics or fitness/health projects, it is difficult to disregard her passion and commitment. Fonda was at the very epicenter of social and political change in America for many years. The 76-year-old has shown creativity and daring in both her career and activism and she should be celebrated not only for her great performances but also for her personal courage and resilience. Jane Fonda is an American icon and survivor.
Female viewers may derive psychological pleasure from watching Bridget’s erotic, self-interested shenanigans. It’s exhilarating to see a female cinematic character take sexual control and outwit her male partners. It makes a refreshing change from watching women suffer the pain of romantic love. We know that Bridget will never be a victim. She will never tolerate domestic drudgery or the compromises marriage brings. In fact, it’s pretty much a given that she will always overcome her opponents. Life is a pitiless yet entertaining Darwinian game in ‘The Last Seduction,’ and Bridget plays it brilliantly.
Written by Rachael Johnson as part of our theme week on Representations of Female Sexual Desire.
Bridget Gregory is one of American cinema’s great anti-heroines. Flawlessly played by Linda Fiorentino, she is the amoral yet captivating protagonist of John Dahl’s 1994 thriller, The Last Seduction. Fiorentino’s Bridget is a lithe, beautiful woman, and her look evokes heroines of post-war noir. Her sleek, dark hair has a Golden Age cut and style, and a cigarette is never far from her perfect lips. But Dahl’s neo-noir offers an original, post-modern female villain. She’s a femme fatale for the 90s. Bridget is, at heart, a tough, lone wolf entirely dedicated to serving her own interests and ensuring her self-preservation. A female lone wolf is rare in American movies and one of the pleasures of The Last Seduction is watching her survive and thrive. Bridget is, also, gender-subversive as well as a desiring and assertive erotic subject. It is her sexual subjectivity that enthralls, amuses, and entertains.
Made crystal clear from the very start of the film, Bridget is a colorful piece of work. She’s the manager of a New York telemarketing company, and we first see her taunting and egging on her subordinates with inspirational insults such as “maggots,” “suckers,” “bastards,” and “eunuchs.” Dahl cuts between this scene and another involving a man meeting two younger guys under a bridge. The man, we will discover shortly, is Bridget’s husband, Clay Gregory (Bill Pullman). A medical resident desperately in need of cash, he is presently selling drugs to pay off a loan shark. The dangerous, nerve-wracking deal scores the couple a handsome sum.
Clay and Bridget: husband and wife
Clay is also a piece of work. As acquisitive as Bridget, he is also capable of violence. When Bridget later calls Clay an “idiot” back in their apartment for carrying the money around in broad daylight, he strikes her. He makes the cowardly excuse that he was shaken up by the deal, and Bridget fakes forgiveness. When he’s in the shower, however, she runs off with the stash. Before she quits the city, Bridget takes off her wedding ring. The act signifies a rejection of domesticity and traditional coupling as well as a repudiation of age-old ideas of female subservience and sacrifice. It also signals that she will now drive the narrative. Although the act of abuse serves as a trigger, the viewer is, in fact, encouraged to believe that Bridget is motivated by more than vengeance. She wants total mastery of her destiny and will do anything to achieve it.
She flees north. Stopping in a small, characterless town in “cow country,” she drops into a run-of-the-mill bar. A gorgeous, svelte yet foul-mouthed New Yorker, Bridget is perceived as an exotic figure in these parts. A young, attractive man with a pleasant personality and the very ordinary name of Mike, is drawn to her. Mike (Peter Berg) buys her a drink when her ungracious demand for a Manhattan is, quite understandably, ignored by the bartender.
Bridget at a dive bar
Their first encounter serves as an amusing, outrageous antidote to the saccharine meet-cutes of 90s romantic comedies. Bridget initially refuses Mike’s quite ordinary advances in inimitably impolite fashion: “Go find yourself a nice little cowgirl and make nice little cow babies and leave me alone.” But when Mike good-humoredly makes the claim that he’s “hung like a horse,” Bridget offers him a seat. She proceeds to unzip his pants, fondle his dick, probe him about his sexual history, and, then, smell her fingers. Inspection over, the newly acquainted couple head off to his place and spend the night together. The morning after, she heads off without telling him her name or saying goodbye.
Their next meeting, at Mike’s place of work, is pure coincidence. Deciding to lay low in the town, Bridget secures a managerial position at the same insurance company as her new lover, and takes on the name of Wendy Kroy. She wants distance from Mike at work and warns him: “Don’t fuck with my image.” She is, however, more sociable when she meets him again at the bar.
They soon have sex near the dumpster behind the bar. Bridget directs their love-making and plays the more sexually dynamic part. Hanging onto the rails, in an elevated position, Bridget fucks Mike against a fence. With his pants down to his ankles and knees bent, he looks the more vulnerable partner in this al fresco erotic episode. He is also the emotionally vulnerable lover. “Where do I fit in?” Mike asks Bridget. “You’re my designated fuck,” she replies. She later rides him in her car.
Bridget is the femme fatale
Bridget, for the most part, assumes the traditionally dominant position in her love-making sessions with Mike. The filmmakers’ characterization of their female protagonist’s desire is unusual for American cinema. Bridget’s physical beauty is certainly not obscured, but she cannot be characterized as a classic Hollywood sex object. She is, instead, presented as an assertive, dynamic sexual subject. Intense physical pleasure is not bound up with the self-abandonment of romantic love. Nor does it signify psychic self-annihilation. Reproduction, furthermore, does not play a part in Bridget’s world. She and her husband are childless. Love has an ideological import, and it has often, let’s face it, been a trap for women in patriarchal society. Bridget, however, is not confined by love. Sex, for her, is about control, pleasure and play.
Mike, however, falls in love with Bridget and craves a more emotionally intimate relationship. He is flattered that she has chosen him, as he believes himself to be “bigger than this town.” Although he bemoans, in a somewhat boyish way, her arrogance and dominance. Mike realizes, a little late, that Bridget is a dangerous, amoral woman. He calls her “sick” and “deranged” when she suggests they “sell murder” to people (for example, to women who have been betrayed by their husbands), but he is ultimately ignorant of her true intentions. She becomes increasingly calculating with her lover, and he just can’t keep up. Although Mike is horrified when Bridget (falsely) tells him that she has successfully sold murder, he is eventually manipulated into agreeing to kill Clay. Note that Bridget has lied to him about the identity of his target. Mike is unaware that he has been sent to New York to murder Bridget’s husband; he believes his target to be a man who’s been driving old ladies out of their homes. I will not tell you what happens when Mike encounters Clay.
Bridget is winning at her game
Bridget’s treatment of people, particularly men, remains consistently appalling throughout the film, but it goes beyond crude invective and exploitation. Bridget admits to Mike that she enjoys “bending the rules, playing with people’s brains.” She exploits both society’s moral codes and prejudices and takes advantage of the kindness of others. She espouses a certain moral relativism. When Mike says, helplessly, “Murder is wrong,” Bridget counters, “Unless the President says to do it.” In fact, Bridget gains an almost sexual pleasure plotting her clever moves. She screws men both literally and metaphorically.
Bridget’s unbound sexuality and gender-subversive behavior make her evil more interesting and radical. She knows how to manipulate the gender order and succeed in a phallocentric world. She is unfailingly resourceful and supernaturally resilient. In a way, this amoral female protagonist functions to strip patriarchy bare. Her cynical, manipulative words and acts serve to expose the weaknesses and wickedness of men: their insecurities, secrets, and vulnerabilities as well as their aggressive, acquisitive traits.
Bridget, as we have seen, does not conform to culturally constructed norms of femininity. She also manipulates and mocks conventional expectations of gender. Her parodic skills are neatly demonstrated in one short, entertaining scene when she offers cookies to a local detective her husband has recruited. Wearing a lace apron and a smile, she delivers the sweet gift to the man watching her movements in his parked car. He does not, however, see her placing a plank of nails by his tires, and he has only himself to blame when she drives off to an unknown destination.
The Last Seduction does not, of course, endorse a reversal of domination, but the movie makes for a playfully, and knowingly, subversive viewing experience. Although Bridget’s actions should not be read in a literal, man-hating way, female viewers may derive psychological pleasure from watching Bridget’s erotic, self-interested shenanigans. It’s exhilarating to see a female cinematic character take sexual control and outwit her male partners. It makes a refreshing change from watching women suffer the pain of romantic love. We know that Bridget will never be a victim. She will never tolerate domestic drudgery or the compromises marriage brings. In fact, it’s pretty much a given that she will always overcome her opponents. Life is a pitiless yet entertaining Darwinian game in The Last Seduction, and Bridget plays it brilliantly.
An in-control Bridget
Fiorentino’s interpretation of our deeply sexy, whip-smart anti-heroine is supremely persuasive. The casting is perfect; the actress should have won an Oscar for her performance, but the movie was shut out of the nominations because it was first shown on cable television before being given a cinematic release. Rules may be rules, but it’s nothing less than a sin that both Fiorentino and John Dahl’s smart, stylish film were deemed ineligible.
The Last Seduction is elegantly shot, well-paced and cleverly constructed. Bridget is the dominant sexual and narrative subject. The story is primarily shaped by her sensual, self-interested needs. If she can be characterized as a feminist cultural icon, she’s an amusing, distinctly anti-humanist one. One thing that’s certain is that watching her at work and play is the cinematic equivalent of an empowering Manhattan cocktail.
The Iranian feminist poet Forough Farrokhzad (1935-1967) led the way in both her life and art. Her pen foregrounded female subjectivity and desire while her independent lifestyle defied the gender norms of her time and place. Killed in a car accident at the tragically young age of 32, Farrokhzad is regarded as one of the great voices of 20th century Persian poetry. But the Tehran-born poet also occupies a special place in Iranian cinema. She wrote and directed ‘The House is Black,’ an award-winning documentary short film that is still revered by Iranian filmmakers and well-respected by critics and scholars. A landmark essay film of Iranian New Wave Cinema, it recently secured a place (235) on ‘Sight and Sound’s prestigious critics’ (2012) list of 250 Greatest Films.
A film is never really good unless the camera is an eye in the head of a poet.
–Orson Welles
The Iranian feminist poet Forough Farrokhzad (1935-1967) led the way in both her life and art. Her pen foregrounded female subjectivity and desire while her independent lifestyle defied the gender norms of her time and place. Killed in a car accident at the tragically young age of 32, Farrokhzad is regarded as one of the great voices of 20th century Persian poetry. But the Tehran-born poet also occupies a special place in Iranian cinema. She wrote and directed The House is Black, an award-winning documentary short film that is still revered by Iranian filmmakers and well-respected by critics and scholars. A landmark essay film of Iranian New Wave Cinema, it recently secured a place (235) on Sight and Sound’s prestigious critics’ (2012) list of 250 Greatest Films.
The House is Black deserves all the critical acclaim it has received since its release in 1962. It is a powerful and rewarding film that should be more widely seen. It is also vital for critics, filmmakers, and lovers of cinema to remember and honor the work of women around the world who have made their mark in cinematic history. I acknowledge that some will find The House is Black a challenging viewing experience. It is a black-and-white documentary about a leper colony.
Forough Farrokhzad
Filming people afflicted by disease is, of course, potentially problematic. The leprous body has traditionally been a site of anxiety and fear in the cultural imagination and those suffering from the condition have suffered terrible prejudice. Are the victims of disease being violated and exploited by the camera? Is the viewer being emotionally manipulated? There is, thankfully, nothing exploitative about Farrokhzad’s documentary. Her gaze never debases her subjects. She depicts their everyday lives and recognizes that they are not only active members of their community but also a part of their country as well as the human family. We see them pray, collect food, play games, enjoy music, apply make-up, attend weddings, and care for their children. They are not characterized as “other.” Note, however, that Farrokzhad does not shy away from the condition. Her gaze is direct. She has a poet’s grasp of detail as well as a poet’s empathy. Visibility is, in fact, crucial to her project. The producer’s voice-over narration at the opening of the documentary states: “There is no shortage of ugliness in the world. If man closed his eyes to it, there would be even more. But man is a problem solver. On this screen will appear an image of ugliness, a vision of pain no caring human being should ignore. To wipe out this ugliness, and to relieve its victims is the motive of this film and the hope of its filmmakers.” Throughout the film, Farrokhzad’s camera records and honors the experiences of the most marginalized of people.
Farrokhzad does not put herself in the frame but she also employs her own evocative voice. In her voice-over narration, she reads from her haunting verse. The documentary, in fact, incorporates the scientific, metaphysical, sacred and lyrical. Farrokhzad’s poetry serves to articulate the suffering of the afflicted while images of men praying are interwoven with glimpses of patients being treated. A more extended montage of patients being treated is, also, supplemented by a medical voice telling us that leprosy is a contagious but “not incurable,” treatable condition.
The House is Black is a 20th century film about an ancient condition. It is not only expertly executed — there are some fine tracking shots — but it also highly innovative. The poet-director’s use of close-ups, rapidly edited, thematically connected images, as well as repetition of images, endow the documentary with a poetic richness and potency. Sadly, The House is Black is the only film the poet directed. Who knows what other wonderful work she would have given us. Nevertheless, we should be grateful for this utterly unique contribution to World Cinema.
