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| Even Dr. Crushers honeymoon stage it up. |
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| Odan’s new host body is a woman. |
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| “When you’re not around, it’s like a part of me is missing. I want to be with you more than anything.” – Lenara Kahn |
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| One of the 1st ever on-screen lesbian kisses. |
The radical notion that women like good movies
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| Even Dr. Crushers honeymoon stage it up. |
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| Odan’s new host body is a woman. |
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| “When you’re not around, it’s like a part of me is missing. I want to be with you more than anything.” – Lenara Kahn |
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| One of the 1st ever on-screen lesbian kisses. |
Women and Minorities Snubbed by TV Academy’s Hall of Fame by Chris Beachum via Gold Derby
Lena Dunham and Democratic Nudity by Ta-Nehisi Coates via The Atlantic
Diablo Cody on the Challenge of Directing While Raising a Toddler, and Women in Film (Q&A) by Jordan Zakarin via The Hollywood Reporter
The Liz Lemon Effect by Jen Chaney via Slate
An Observation by Melissa McEwan via Shakesville
2013 Women-Created TV Pilots by Karensa Cadenas via Women and Hollywood
“Girls,” “Scandal,” and TV’s New Crop of Flawed Women by Sarah Seltzer via RH Reality Check
Bollywood Actress Sonam Kapoor on Women’s Portrayal in Indian Movies by Nyay Bhushan via The Hollywood Reporter
Feminism, King Arthur, and Disney Come Together in ‘Avalon High’ by Margot Magowan via Reel Girl
Reel Girl’s Gallery of Girls Gone Missing from Children’s Movies in 2013 via Women and Hollywood
What ‘Girls’ and ‘Shameless’ Teach Us about Being Broke, and Being Poor by Nona Willis Aronowitz via The Nation
Sundance 2013: Female Directors Discuss the Challenges They Face by John Horn via The Los Angeles Times
2012 Celluloid Ceiling Study Results Are In. Spoiler Alert: They Aren’t Great by Melissa Silverstein and Karensa Cadenas via Women and Hollywood
Where Are the Girls in Children’s Media? by Laura Beck via Jezebel
Chatting With Diablo Cody About Film, Feminism, and the Right to Be Mediocre by Katrina Pallop via Bust Magazine
‘Mama’ Tackles the Psychotic Mother Trope and Makes It Less Problematic in the Process by Alex Cranz via FemPop
MTV’s ‘Catfish’ Show Tackles Fake Online Profiles, Villainizes Transgender Women: #Fail by Breanne Harris via QWOC Media
‘Girl with the Dragon Tattoo’ Sequel Could Ditch Daniel Craig, Feature Female Lead Instead by Jill Pantozzi via The Mary Sue
Hollywood — Don’t They Want the Money? by Martha Lauzen via Women’s Media Center
A Black Feminist Comment on ‘The Sisterhood,’ the Black Church, Rachetness, and Geist by Tamura A. Lomax via Racialicious
5 Female Characters Who Should Star in ‘Star Wars Episode VII’ by Alyssa Rosenberg via ThinkProgress
Thank You, Liz Lemon, for Being You by Madeleine Davies via Jezebel
Guest post written by Kaly Halkawt.
The author Sharnush Parsipur wrote 1989 a novel that would become what could be called a modern classic in contemporary feminist literature. The book entitled Women Without Men is a story about how five women living in Iran during the 1950s end up in exile from the male-dominated society they live in that has in different ways deprived them their freedom. Although along their path into exile is not a simple one. They must all go through a painful metamorphosis and accept that the freedom they ask for alienates their bodies from society. All five protagonists come together in a garden which serves them as a space free from male domination.
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| A still image from the video Mahdokt |
Mahdokt’s character can here be read as a representation of the female body and an attempt to erase the values and symbols the female body has embodied in mythology as the object. Parsipur/Neshat has rewritten the myth of the female body by making it the subject and not the object of the story. Mahdokt is the narrator of her story and she is not a victim. She actively chooses to offer her body to her ideal by becoming a tree in contrast to Daphne who is a victim who is being punished for not sacrificing her body.
The film takes place in 1953 which politically is an unforgettable year in Iran’s history. The democratically chosen Prime Minister Mossadghe was overthrown by the CIA which created enormous protests. The political background story serves as a tool for creating what will be the revolution in the mind of the characters.
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| Shabnam Toloui (Munis) |
In the first shot we see the character Munis committing suicide by jumping down from a roof, however she lives on in the story as the narrator. Later on in the film, we learn that one of the reasons for why she committed suicide was because she lived with a conservative brother who aggressively wanted her to stop following the protests by listening to the radio. He encouraged her to instead get married and “start a real life.”
The day of Munis’ suicide, we learn that her brother organized a suitable man that would come and ask for her hand in marriage. When Munis’ brother refuses to let her go out of the house, she decides to take control over the situation. By sacrificing her body for the sake of her integrity and political conviction, her death does not necessarily need to be read as a forfeit. Munis’ death leads to her freedom and becomes her politics. Its through her eyes after her death that we get to see the protests and demonstrations on the streets of Tehran.
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| Pegah Feridony (Faezeh) |
It is also Munis action that leads to the awakening of her friend Faezeh. From the beginning, Fazeh is portrayed as a traditional girl who wants to live a “normal life” aka get married and have children with Munis’ brother. However when she finds Munis’ dead body on the street and sees how her brother digs it down in his garden to prevent the news of her suicide spreading and leading to an official shaming of the family name, Faezeh’s world is turned upside down. She gives up the idea of marriage and men and just decides to look for her own piece of mind. Munis’ ghost serves literally as the guide and takes Faezeh to the garden and leads her into exile.
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| Arita Sharzad (Fakhri) |
Fakhri is the eldest of the gang and arguably embodies what Second Wave feminism has criticized: upper-middle class ladies who are bored serving as some sort of poupée (doll) for their husbands. Fakhri’s journey towards change starts when she meets an old friend who reminds her of the freedom that can be the price of getting married. She remembers how she used to write poetry and hang out with people who believed in culture as a political tool for change, an opinion that makes her husband laugh. So in her own “eat-pray-love” escapade, she buys a big house in the garden and leaves her relationship so that she can put energy and time into rediscovering and recreating herself.
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| Jean-Auguste Dominique Ingres’ The Turkish Bath via Amiresque |
The fourth character Zarin is a prostitute who decides to escape the brothel when she sees a client’s deranged face while they are having sex. Zarin never talks during the film and like Munis, she uses her body to free herself from the societal norms. Zarin is just her body, we don’t get her background history. I think one possible reading of why she is just reduced to a body in this film is a comment on the stereotypical images of women that have been created within the frames of Orientalism.
Some of the films key scenes are focused on Zarin. In one of the most visual scenes, Zarin is in a Turkish hamam (Turkish bath) and scrubbing her body until it starts bleeding. The misé-en-scene is an exact copy of Jean-Augustue Dominique Ingres’ painting The Turkish Bath (1862). This is a direct comment on the representational prevail of white upper-middle class men. This painting, among others, led to the creation of myths about women from the Middle East. Neshat literally tries to erase this myth in this particular scene.
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| Orsolya Toth (Zarin) |
Another important scene that serves as a commentary for the male gaze is an image of Zarin floating in a river, alluding to John Everett Millais’ painting Ophelia (1852). In Millais’ painting, we see the suicide of Hamlet‘s Ophelia where she falls into the river and dies. Ophelia has been the subject of a lot of debate. How should we interpret her character? What values does she embody? This Shakespearian character is either referred to as a sick young damsel in distress or completely ignored and just seen as an object for male dominance in Hamlet. I think Neshat is trying to criticize the fact that Ophelia is almost never seen as her own character and only read in relation to Hamlet. Once again, Neshat tries to turn the female object into the subject.
Neshat uses Zarin’s body to criticize the stereotypical imagery of women in a few key scenes of the film by reproducing the exact same scenery as some historical paintings. However Neshat transforms Zarin’s body from object into subject, thus giving her the tools to go through a metamorphosis and take control over her body so that she can erase the values and ideas represented by men.
By giving each character their own voice to tell their story, Neshat questions the classical representation of women in Arab and Persian cultures. These women start off by being dominated in the patriarchy they live. Socially and politically, Munis is restricted by her brother. Intellectually, Fakhri does not have the freedom and the hope she had before she got married with an idiot (ie a man with power) and Zarin, before entering the garden, is just reduced to a sexual body used as a tool to control her position on a bigger scale since being a prostitute doesn’t always receive a lot of respect from society. But they all find their way to reinvent themselves in space free from male dominance. In case it’s not clear enough, this film is the queen of awesome films about women.
However one thing a bit fuzzy in Women Without Men is the portrayal of men. To sum it up, this is how Iranian men are characterized: men that live in Iran are uncultivated, uneducated rapists who crave control over women with no nuance of humanity in them. This contrasts with the Iranian men who have moved abroad, cultivated by the Western World and who see the value in educating women and treating them equally. But this is a post about the female characters so I won’t comment further other than to say the stereotype of men from Iran is not being questioned.
I never thought I would write an essay where I would find the female characters more well-written then the men. Deux point, Neshat.
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| Lena Dunham and the cast of Girls |
Written by Stephanie Rogers.
I have yet to hear anyone react to the news of an advance with, “Yep, that seems about right.” It would be great if the writers and books that deserved the most money got it—ditto the same amount of attention and praise. And all the gripe-storming about how slight her book proposal was, and how she’ll never make back her advance—when did we start reviewing book proposals? When did writers start caring so passionately about publishers recouping their losses?
The entertainment industry is not a meritocracy. From before the days of Barrymore to our present age of Bacons and Bridges, Sheen-Estevezes and Zappas family has, for better and worse, equaled opportunity. The Coppola family’s connections and influence are so vast they’d make the mob envious.
I hear the diversity criticism. However, to suggest that “Girls”—a show whose charm lies in part in its documentary-like feel—presents the universe these young women inhabit, working in publishing and the arts, as rich in racial diversity, would be, sadly, to lie. Besides, did anyone ever kvetch about Jerry Seinfeld’s lack of Asian friends?
It’s cute (read: pretty hypocritical, actually) to see this sudden spike in concern over television’s portrayal of women, but this fixation is propelled by the same sense of threatened dudeness that makes a show written by and about women so “controversial” in the first place. If television were an even playing field, Dunham would not be on the cover of New York magazine atop the subheading “Girls is the ballsiest show on TV,” nor would the debut of this series be such a massive deal. (Where are the cultural dissections of CSI: Miami?) The critics calling Girls disingenuous because it stars four white women should redirect their frustration toward misogyny itself, not at the one show trying to fight it.
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| Lena Dunham, probably getting ready to annoy people with her incessant whining |
Admittedly, I have a soft spot for Dunham, having written about her wonderful film Tiny Furniture way back in 2011, before she’d manage to offend the entire nation with her giant thighs and sloppy backside. I think she comes across as genuinely funny and interesting, and I hope that her success—and the hard hits she’s taking because of it—will make the next woman who dares to step out of line (where “line” means “the patriarchal framework”) do so with just as much fearlessness.
I mean, it’s not going to be like, “Hey guys, we’ve been out looking for a black friend or a friend in a wheelchair or a friend with a hat.” The tough thing is you kind of can’t win on that one. I have to write people who feel honest but also push our cultural ball forward.
Here’s what I think, after watching the first half hour of the season: I admire that Dunham took the criticism she got last year to heart. There are so many examples of how Hollywood ignores this type of thing. In fact, there are whole websites devoted to it. It really seems like she listened; I can’t tell from thirty minutes that everything has been solved, but it seems to be off to a good start? Lena Dunham isn’t so bad? Maybe? I say that with reservation but enthusiasm. Before I go, a couple thoughts on the good and the bad:
Good: I’ll start with positive reinforcement: Girls is definitely more diverse this season!
Bad: That definitely wasn’t the hardest thing to do.
Good: Donald Glover as Sandy! Hannah’s new, fleshed-out, not at all T-Doggy boyfriend.
Bad: I’m just hoping Donald Glover won’t simply be this show’s Charlie Wheeler.
Good: About the extras: A marked improvement in the representation of Brooklyn’s racial mix. So, Lena Dunham created a popular show, a critically acclaimed show, and instead of being, like, “Whatever. They’re all going to watch me anyway!” she actually made an effort to improve her show. That’s good. Very good. And to be honest, she probably realizes that a more realistic mix equals a more realistic world for her characters to live in.
Bad: Again, this is about the extras: There are definitely more black people on the show, but … I mean … I’ll put it this way. Realistic diversity is definitely not in your first season, girl. But it also not this. It’s definitely realistic here. But—it’s not this either, so don’t go overboard.
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| White Women |
Laura Bennett at The New Republic said this:
Dunham uses the Sandy plot line as an opportunity to skewer both the complaints of her critics—Hannah herself echoes them with the misguided assumption that her essays are “for everyone”—and her characters’ blinkered worldview. Glover’s arc on the show is brief, but he is key to illustrating the limited scope of Hannah’s experience. “This always happens,” Sandy tells Hannah during their fight. “I’m a white girl and I moved to New York and I’m having a great time and oh I’ve got a fixed gear bike and I’m gonna date a black guy and we’re gonna go to a dangerous part of town. All that bullshit. I’ve seen it happen. And then they can’t deal with who I am.” Hannah responds with an explosion of goofy knee-jerk progressivism: “You know what, honestly maybe you should think about the fact that you could be fetishizing me. Because how many white women have you dated? Maybe you think of us as one big white blobby mass with stupid ideas. So why don’t you lay this thing down, flip it, and reverse it.” “You just said a Missy Elliot lyric,” Sandy says wearily.
It is wholly unsubtle, but it is still “Girls” at its best, at once affectionate and credible and lightly parodic. There is Hannah: impulsive, oblivious, tangled up in her own sloppy self-justifications. And then there is Lena Dunham, the wary third eye hovering above the action. “The joke’s on you because you know what? I never thought about the fact that you were black once,” Hannah tells Sandy. “I don’t live in a world where there are divisions like this,” she says. His simple reply: “You do.”
And I find myself back at the same place I was when Maya and I talked about Beyonce. No, Dunham’s attempt to introduce racial discourse into her show doesn’t suddenly make it diverse, but I think she still deserves some credit. If it sounds like I’m saying: the white girl gets a pass for not painting an accurate portrait of Blackness because she doesn’t have lived context/experience, that’s exactly what I’m saying. Why do we expect “all or nothing” from anyone who dares to align themselves with a few feminist values, even if they don’t call themselves feminists? When will we begin the process of meeting people where they are?
And, as Samhita wrote on this topic, maybe we should spend less time “scrutinizing [Dunham’s] personal behavior instead of looking at the real problem—the lack of diverse representations of women in popular culture.” Do we need to see realistic representations of Black girlhood on television? Yes, that’s why we need more Black girls writing shows. *raises hand* Do we need examples of diversity in film? Yes, that’s why we need more people from diverse backgrounds writing them. Truthfully, I’d rather not leave that task up to a white girl with “no Black friends.”
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| Lena Dunham, being all entitled and shit |
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| “Eh, what are you gonna do?” –privileged White dudes everywhere, in response to rarely getting called out for their bullshit |
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| And I respond just like Bart and Lisa Simpson. |
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Goddammit, it’s called Nazis at the Center of the Earth, not Rapists at the Center of the Earth.
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If you’re more of a words person, this might help.
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| Official movie poster for We Need to Talk About Kevin |
The reason for this (apart from the obvious fact that it’s about a child psychopath that you know is going to do something very, very bad, thus every event, every word is soaked in a weighty, dull dread) is that if you are a woman who is ambivalent about having children, Kevin represents your absolute worst nightmare, the zero sum of all your fears of what could happen once you’ve heaved a child from your bloody body.
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| Tilda Swinton and John C. Reilly in We Need to Talk About Kevin |
It’s a fascinating and minutely detailed account from Eva Katchadourian of her mothering of Kevin. It’s also an examination of her own soul and an attempt to parse what she may and may not be responsible for during the long build up to the ultimate flowering of Kevin’s violence.
Eva is a very cerebral person, and accordingly Kevin is a very cerebral book, following Eva’s long monologue (confession?) to her absent husband as she makes a hard and painful analysis of what has happened. In a wider sense, it is also an examination of the cultural notion of a mother’s guilt for the actions of her children—Eva is punished by her community for the crimes of her son and ends up living almost as a fugitive from her old life. She is wracked by guilt and horror, analysing events and their lead-up with painful clarity.
But it is soon very clear that though Eva is aware very early on that something is “wrong” with Kevin, she is isolated both by Kevin’s insidious nature and her very role as a mother—and is utterly powerless to do anything about it. Her All-American, trad values-craving husband Franklin coerces her into moving away from her beloved New York to an extravagantly ugly house in the suburbs for the sake of their “family.” Every time she tries to raise her concerns about Kevin, he is disbelieving, and disapproving—he is easily manipulated by his savvy child; because he is not Kevin’s primary caregiver, he only sees what Kevin wants him to see. On top of this, he is a devotee at the shrine of the inviolable nuclear family and refuses to acknowledge anything that could endanger this dream. Instead, he equates Eva’s misgivings with what he perceives as her untrustworthy wanderlust which he fears will take her away from him.
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| Tilda Swinton glaring |
And yet, in a lot of ways Eva and Kevin are very alike. This is why Kevin knows it’s easier to get around Dad, but not around Mum—because she understands him in a way Dad never can. Kevin embodies the darker elements of Eva that she herself is unaware of until she starts her minute analysis in the aftermath of his arrest. This feeds her sense of guilt—but also her understanding of him, and her eventual coming to terms with his nature.
Shriver has obviously done her homework. Her construction of Kevin’s childhood reminded me very much of undiagnosed schizophrenic Nancy Spungen’s in her mother’s memoir And I Don’t Want to Live This Life. And when I read this NY Times article about child psychopaths, I thought right away of Kevin and how much the behaviour of the children in it echoed his. It also made me think of Lionel Dahmer’s memoir and how he searched for the answer to Jeffrey’s crimes in his parenting, the dark twists in his own personality and the ways in which he and his son were alike.
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| Tilda Swinton looking uneasy |
We Need to Talk About Kevin is a dark and disturbing, dread-filled book. It consumed my thoughts while I was reading it and terrorised my brain. There are imperfections that mar its surface, the main one being some narrative trickery that I won’t reveal as it’s something of a spoiler. But I will say that I thought it was a bit gimmicky and a slight betrayal of the reader.
So when I heard there was a film coming out, I thought, “Crikey! Good luck!”
This is because, as with The Hunger Games, We Need to Talk About Kevin is narrated as an internal monologue. Recreating the same effect in a film is very difficult, if not impossible, to do. But the distinctive voice of Eva Katchadourian is essential to the story, is the story.
However, there was one very positive factor—the film was directed by Lynne Ramsay, who is absolutely fantastic. Her films are always creative, individual, and beautifully made.
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| Tilda Swinton and tomato soup |
But hearing about the casting of Tilda Swinton gave me some pause. Don’t get me wrong—I love me some SWINTON. She is astonishingly awesome. I also really liked her interview with W Magazine about the film, in which she said:
It’s every pregnant woman’s nightmare to give birth to the devil. And every mother worries that she won’t connect to her children. When I had my children, my manager asked me what project I wanted to work on next. I said, “Something Greek, perhaps Medea.” Nobody quite understood what I meant, what I was feeling…
You have twins, who are now 13. Did you worry about becoming a mother?
When I first saw the twins, I really liked them. And, at the same time, there was a ghost over my shoulder saying, What if I hadn’t liked them? Kevin spoke to that feeling. It is that nightmare scenario: What if you don’t feel that connection to your children? There’s no preparation for having children. In Kevin, the woman I play is in mourning for her past life, and yet she looks at this dark, nihilistic kid and knows exactly where he comes from. He isn’t foreign to her; she sees herself. And that is, quite literally, revolting to her.
And of course, she is fantastic in the film. She is such a great actress, so lacking in vanity and unafraid to plunge into whatever is needed for a role. It’s just, that … well, Eva is of Armenian descent. And this is quite important in the books. She’s olivey and dark, and Swinton is a long cool glass of milk.
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| Tilda Swinton and John C. Reilly and balloons in We Need to Talk About Kevin |
This might have been okay, if I didn’t feel so uneasy about the casting of the other central characters as well. John C. Reilly, I love you, so please forgive me for this, but I imagined Franklin as handsome (I think he’s actually described as such in the book)—albeit in a ruddy, slightly chunky sort of way, but handsome nonetheless. Not only did Reilly not at all correspond with how I thought Franklin should look, but I just completely could not buy he and Swinton as a couple, no matter how hard I tried. He didn’t do a bad job, but I just did not believe it. And there wasn’t a lot of chemistry between them to help the situation out, either.
And then we arrive at the titular Kevin himself. With Kevin, I had the opposite problem: he is described as being quite good-looking in the books. But movie-Kevin goes beyond this; he looks like an underwear model. Ladies and gentlemen I present to you, Ezra Miller:
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| Ezra Miller, star of We Need to Talk About Kevin |
However, it’s impossible to overcome the central problem—the way the story is told in the book just can’t be replicated in a film. But I also found that having read the book, there was just no tension in the story and the characters didn’t quite gel enough for me to get pulled into their story anyway. It’s a well-made film, but I’ll have to declare the winner unequivocally: BOOK.
———-
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| Movie poster for Alfred Hitchcock’s Rebecca |
There is a trio of women at the heart of Rebecca. There’s a male love interest, to be sure – the dashing, wealthy, ostensibly noble Maxim de Winter – but at its most essential, Rebecca is a story of women: the unnamed protagonist, the second Mrs. de Winter; Rebecca de Winter, Maxim’s first wife, whose seeming omnipresence at the de Winters’ country seat, Manderley, haunts her replacement; and Mrs. Danvers, Manderley’s housekeeper, and Rebecca’s personal maid, devoted to her mistress even after death. The narrator of Daphne du Maurier’s 1938 novel and Alfred Hitchcock’s 1940 film adaptation might be the second Mrs. de Winter, but Rebecca – particularly the novel – doesn’t belong to her in the slightest. Despite a script which departs from the novel in several crucial instances and the talent of Laurence Olivier and Joan Fontaine, the story is Mrs. Danvers’s, and the film is Judith Anderson’s.
Rebecca recounts the story of the second Mrs. de Winter (Joan Fontaine), the new bride of the wealthy widower Maxim de Winter (Laurence Olivier), who married him after a whirlwind courtship. Though not especially acquainted with her frequently secretive, moody husband, she nevertheless adores him and, despite her modest upbringings, resolves to do her best as lady of the manor at Manderley. She meets with resistance, of course, from a likely corner, the housekeeper Mrs. Danvers (Judith Anderson), as well as from a more unlikely one, Maxim’s late wife Rebecca de Winter, who drowned tragically but whose ghost seems to haunt Manderley and its inhabitants in more ways than one. The second Mrs. de Winter finds herself at odds with Mrs. Danvers, who is by turns cruel and falsely sweet, and utterly bent on removing Mrs. de Winter from Manderley, at one point attempting to coax her into suicide. The film is something of a thriller, and so of course there are questions surrounding Rebecca’s mysterious drowning – particularly about Maxim’s part in it. Fortunately for our heroine and her romantic lead, Maxim is miraculously exonerated, in a disappointing departure from the novel, and Mr. and Mrs. de Winter, it is presumed, enjoy something of a happy retirement after the closing titles, despite a final act of revenge.
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| Mrs. Danvers (Judith Anderson) and the second Mrs. de Winter (Joan Fontaine) |
Rebecca, Hitchcock’s first Hollywood film, is beautifully shot and wonderfully acted, but it’s also caught, somewhat uncomfortably, between genres. It doesn’t quite want to be a true Gothic thriller, because it shies from the moral ambiguity that makes the novel such a rich book, but nor is it a straightforward romance, for nothing is ever straightforward with Alfred Hitchcock. Unfortunately, the major casualty of this uncertainty is the novel’s most interesting female character: the housekeeper, Mrs. Danvers, a brilliant turn by Judith Anderson. In the novel, Mrs. Danvers haunts each page just as much as the ghost of Rebecca de Winter. In Hitchcock’s hands, Rebecca becomes a cross between a Gothic thriller and a mannered romance, ultimately tending towards the latter, but even this does not fully temper Mrs. Danvers’s omnipresence: she is the link between the unnamed protagonist and the unseen antagonist, not the husband they share in common. However, the novel is full of contradictions in its characterization of Mrs. Danvers which the film does not address. Through the second Mrs. de Winter’s eyes we see Mrs. Danvers as “tall and gaunt,” with “great, hollow eyes,” a “skull’s face set on a skeleton’s frame,” and possessing of “limp and heavy, deathly cold” hands. While Judith Anderson’s costuming is not, perhaps, as skeletal as du Maurier intended, she nevertheless embodies the chilly lifelessness of her character. Her Mrs. Danvers is ghostly in her carriage, but terrifyingly real in her interactions with her new mistress. Yet in the film adaptation, the other-worldliness never leaves her, and Anderson plays it masterfully, creating a character who is deeply unsettling and deliciously spooky. But du Maurier’s novel tempers this description; the Danvers of the novel is not always an evil, unbalanced ice queen. She’s desperate and half-mad with grief, still living in the past and passionate about her mistress.
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| Mrs. Danvers (Judith Anderson) in Rebecca de Winter’s bedroom |
Hitchcock, however, is a director unafraid of ambiguity and a master of great subtlety, and he addresses the Rebecca-Danvers relationship most decisively in the pivotal bedroom scene, which prompts the second Mrs. de Winter into assuming more control of her household. Throughout, Judith Anderson keeps her delivery crisp and preternaturally calm, conveying Mrs. Danvers’s madness only with her eyes and movement, to great effect. The scene is as utterly disquieting on screen as it is in the novel, perhaps even more so, given the refinement of Judith Anderson’s performance. Danvers catches the second Mrs. de Winter in Rebecca’s closed-off bedroom in the west wing, and then proceeds to show her new mistress Rebecca’s personal things: her furs, still hanging pristinely in the armoire; her hairbrush, laid in exactly the same place; her nightdress, still laid out for the mistress who won’t return. It’s very easy to make it entirely Gothic in character – a bit of ghostly theatre to unsettle the new bride – but really, there’s much more at play. Again, however, the film and the novel are at odds: in the novel, there’s an undercurrent of grief for the late Rebecca that cuts through Danvers’s cruelty, such that the housekeeper is mad with grief, and motivated by love for her mistress. Death has not relinquished the hold Rebecca had on Mrs. Danvers; in fact, it’s intensified it. Judith Anderson is frighteningly convincing as she caresses Rebecca’s lace underwear, such that the scene is laced with an almost palpable degree of sexual tension and lesbian subtext. Mrs. Danvers’s passion for her mistress is undeniable, and the nature of that passion is left unspecified. The question of a lesbian subtext to the Danvers-Rebecca relationship is one to which the novel alludes as well, and it gives a layer of richness to Mrs. Danvers’s character. If there was a degree of romantic passion on Mrs. Danvers’s part, her grief becomes more sympathetic; her madness, more understandable. But in Rebecca, the scene must be viewed within the context of the film as a whole. Where, in the novel, the reader ultimately feels a degree of pity and sympathy for Mrs. Danvers, despite the assessment of the narrator, on screen, it’s simply, in the end, a briefly penetrating look into an unbalanced, hostile, malicious woman’s madness.
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| Mrs. Danvers showing Rebecca’s furs to the second Mrs. de Winter, part of the subtext-laden bedroom scene |
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| Capulet and Montague, business moguls and patriarchal forces. Jesus looks on. |
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| The feuding men. |
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| A nontraditional balcony scene places Romeo and Juliet closer together. |
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| When Romeo enters the violent, masculine sphere, the story changes completely and tragically. |
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| The death scene is altered from the original text, and adds to the emotional impact. |
Written by Lady T. Some of this piece was originally published at The Funny Feminist.
Is there any literary comfort food better than Pride and Prejudice? No, there is not. Every time I read it (about once a year), I have to force myself not to swallow the whole thing in one gulp. I try to pace myself, but I can’t. Watching the 1995 BBC miniseries presents the same problem. I can only watch it when I have nothing else to do that week because I will watch all six hours in one night if I’m not stopped.
I feel less inclined to watch the 2005 version again. I somewhat enjoyed it the first time I watched it, and especially liked Rosamund Pike as Jane, but when I watched the proposal scenes from both versions back to back, I almost felt embarrassed. The 2005 version just doesn’t compare.
Let’s take a look at the proposal scene from the 1995 version:
I love Colin Firth in this scene. His agitation and struggle is such a marked difference from Darcy’s too-cool-for-school attitude in the beginning of the miniseries. He shows just how much his love for Elizabeth completely rattles and unravels him, and when she rejects him, he’s shocked, shocked, I tell you. He may be in love with her, but he’s so arrogant that he had absolutely no doubt she would accept him. He fully believes that, given the disparity in their connections, he’s doing her a favor by bestowing his love and admiration. Jennifer Ehle as Elizabeth is also perfect. She’s all cool civility in the beginning, bowled over by his profession of love, and calmly biting until he pushes her to the edge.
I cringe in this scene and feel pity for both characters, but importantly, the comedy still comes through. I can’t help but laugh at Darcy’s mention of how he loved her against his will. “Your family’s an embarrassment. I make much, much more money than your family does. Being united with your family would be shameful and I would be humiliated to be associated with them. But I love you, so marry me?” Oh, Darcy.
Meanwhile, ten years later, we have this:
Marvel at Elizabeth and Mr. Darcy having a passionate conversation in the rain (because people were doing that all the time in the Regency period, don’t you know). Watch as Matthew MacFadyen and Keira Knightley rush through their dialogue and steamroll over each other – I mean, show Darcy and Elizabeth’s deep! passion! for! each! other! Weep as Mr. Darcy gives Elizabeth his best wounded puppy look because he’s so insecure (just like Darcy in the book…riiiiight), and watch as Elizabeth stares wetly back at him looking like she would love nothing more than to kiss him – because she certainly doesn’t completely loathe him at that point in the story.
I had a bad feeling about the 2005 adaptation even before I saw it, because Keira Knightley said something in an interview comparing Darcy and Elizabeth to two teenagers who don’t realize how much they actually like each other…and that’s exactly how she plays it. It’s such a disservice to both characters, especially Elizabeth, to describe them in that way. Elizabeth’s problem is not that she’s SEKRITLY IN LUUV with Darcy from the very beginning but in denial about her feelings. Her problem is that she’s almost as arrogant as Darcy is, so impressed with herself for being a wonderful judge of character, that she doesn’t revise her opinion of him until given evidence that she’s wrong. She’s not a teenage girl who just can’t decide which boy she likes better omg. She’s a grown-ass woman who is more flawed than she realizes. Knightley plays her like a petulant teenager. FAIL. And MacFadyen plays Darcy as insecure and wounded and emo. DOUBLE FAIL.
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| Pride and Prejudice or Wuthering Heights? Who can tell? |
(I don’t think I even need to mention that the movie is just so lush and gorgeous and Romantic with a DOUBLE Capital R, with heightened emotions, Elizabeth and Darcy meeting each other at daybreak on the moors and staring at each other lustfully. Never mind that Jane Austen spent an entire book and a half – Northanger Abbey and Sense and Sensibility – mocking and satirizing all of those Romantic conventions.)
Anyway, long story short, it used to bug me that the 2005 Pride Ampersand Prejudice (as I like to call it, to differentiate it from the superb BBC version) even existed, because it felt so very un-Austen to me. There were too many lingering shots on beautiful countrysides and Elizabeth spinning in her family’s swing, and not enough conversation, when conversation is at the heart of what makes Austen Austen. Looking at the film again, though, I realize that I have another reason to prefer the 1995 version: the treatment of the female characters.
One character I’ve always found fascinating is Elizabeth Bennet’s best friend, Charlotte Lucas: wise and calculating, a careful observer of human behavior and social norms, who won’t have a chance to marry someone worthy of her because of the social restrictions for women during the Regency period. She marries Mr. Collins knowing that he’s a ridiculous fool who can never make her truly happy, but resignedly accepts her fate anyway. She tells her dear friend, “I’m not romantic, you know. I never was. I ask only for a comfortable home – and, considering Mr. Collins’ character and situation in life, I am convinced that my chances of happiness with him are more than most people can boast on entering the marriage state.”
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| Lucy Scott as Charlotte Lucas |
Charlotte’s lines in the 2005 Pride Ampersand Prejudice are similar, but with a few key differences. She tells Elizabeth, “Not all of us can afford to be romantic. I’ve been offered a comfortable home and protection. There’s a lot to be thankful for. I’m 27 years old. I’ve no money and no prospects. I’m already a burden to my parents. And I’m frightened. So don’t judge me, Lizzy. Don’t you dare judge me.”
The first Charlotte is calm, cool, and collected in explaining her reasons for marrying Mr. Collins. The second Charlotte is bordering on desperate, openly admitting that she’s frightened.
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| Claudie Blakley as Charlotte Lucas |
I understand why Pride Ampersand Prejudice portrays Charlotte in this way. Women in the Regency period had very few options in their lives. Unless they were independently wealthy heiresses, like Austen’s own Emma Woodhouse in Emma, they had to marry well or suffer the consequences. Pride Ampersand Prejudice wants us to feel for Charlotte’s limited circumstances.
But I know Pride and Prejudice too well, and I can’t accept this change in Charlotte’s character. The Charlotte Lucas I know in Austen’s text would never have wanted to be pitied for her marriage. The Charlotte Lucas I know probably would not have been very romantic even if she could afford to be. The Charlotte Lucas I know is entirely practical, unapologetic in her choice of husband, and determined to make a comfortable life for herself – and she does. Charlotte in the BBC Pride and Prejudice is portrayed as less pitiable than the Charlotte in the Joe Wright film, even though the first Charlotte has a much less appealing Mr. Collins to put up with. David Bamber’s Mr. Collins is an inspired comic performance – unctuous, slimy, entirely lacking in self-awareness – while Tom Holland’s Mr. Collins is…short. And kind of awkward.
Watching the Joe Wright film, I can’t help but feel that Charlotte in the BBC version would feel insulted by her counterpart in 2005 (through no fault of Claudie Blakley, who gives a lovely performance). Original Recipe Charlotte would not want people to feel sorry for her, and would insist that she has a perfectly decent life. I’m inclined to agree with Original Recipe Charlotte that her happiness is “more than most people can boast upon entering the marriage state.” Charlotte will certainly be happier than Mr. Bennet, who married a woman just as silly as Mr. Collins, but wasn’t nearly as well-acquainted with his partner’s true character.
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| Mr. Bennet: less happy in marriage than Mrs. Collins |
Charlotte Lucas isn’t the only female character who’s softened or changed for the 2005 feature film, however. Mary Bennet is comforted by her father when she makes a fool of herself at the Netherfield party, presented as nothing more than a little shy and awkward, even though she’s pretty much the female equivalent of Mr. Collins – pompous and not as smart as she thinks she is. Mrs. Bennet has a moment where she’s portrayed as a heroine in disguise (um, NO) who needs to marry her daughters off to protect them. Even Georgiana Darcy rushes to Elizabeth and greets her eagerly when they first meet – even though, in the book, she’s so shy she can barely breathe in front of new people.
When I look at the way the female characters are presented in the 2005 film version, I see Regency characters with modern attitudes thrust upon them. Elizabeth is no longer spirited, but spunky. Charlotte is no longer practical, but pitiable. Mary is no longer pretentious, but geeky and awkward. Mrs. Bennet is no longer a hilarious comic character, but a desperate woman trying to protect her daughters. Georgiana can’t be shy anymore, but a spunky, miniature version of Elizabeth.
I appreciate the attempt to shed some light on the limited options of women during the Regency period, but much of the humor is lost from the original text when turning comic characters into sympathetic ones. I will always prefer the BBC Pride and Prejudice because it remembers that Jane Austen wrote a comedy, and doesn’t feel the need to lament over the fates of her female characters. All things considered, Charlotte Lucas is going to be fine, and it’s okay to be a feminist and still laugh at Mrs. Bennet.
Written by Lady T. Some of this piece was originally published at The Funny Feminist.
Is there any literary comfort food better than Pride and Prejudice? No, there is not. Every time I read it (about once a year), I have to force myself not to swallow the whole thing in one gulp. I try to pace myself, but I can’t. Watching the 1995 BBC miniseries presents the same problem. I can only watch it when I have nothing else to do that week because I will watch all six hours in one night if I’m not stopped.
I feel less inclined to watch the 2005 version again. I somewhat enjoyed it the first time I watched it, and especially liked Rosamund Pike as Jane, but when I watched the proposal scenes from both versions back to back, I almost felt embarrassed. The 2005 version just doesn’t compare.
Let’s take a look at the proposal scene from the 1995 version:
I love Colin Firth in this scene. His agitation and struggle is such a marked difference from Darcy’s too-cool-for-school attitude in the beginning of the miniseries. He shows just how much his love for Elizabeth completely rattles and unravels him, and when she rejects him, he’s shocked, shocked, I tell you. He may be in love with her, but he’s so arrogant that he had absolutely no doubt she would accept him. He fully believes that, given the disparity in their connections, he’s doing her a favor by bestowing his love and admiration. Jennifer Ehle as Elizabeth is also perfect. She’s all cool civility in the beginning, bowled over by his profession of love, and calmly biting until he pushes her to the edge.
I cringe in this scene and feel pity for both characters, but importantly, the comedy still comes through. I can’t help but laugh at Darcy’s mention of how he loved her against his will. “Your family’s an embarrassment. I make much, much more money than your family does. Being united with your family would be shameful and I would be humiliated to be associated with them. But I love you, so marry me?” Oh, Darcy.
Meanwhile, ten years later, we have this:
Marvel at Elizabeth and Mr. Darcy having a passionate conversation in the rain (because people were doing that all the time in the Regency period, don’t you know). Watch as Matthew MacFadyen and Keira Knightley rush through their dialogue and steamroll over each other – I mean, show Darcy and Elizabeth’s deep! passion! for! each! other! Weep as Mr. Darcy gives Elizabeth his best wounded puppy look because he’s so insecure (just like Darcy in the book…riiiiight), and watch as Elizabeth stares wetly back at him looking like she would love nothing more than to kiss him – because she certainly doesn’t completely loathe him at that point in the story.
I had a bad feeling about the 2005 adaptation even before I saw it, because Keira Knightley said something in an interview comparing Darcy and Elizabeth to two teenagers who don’t realize how much they actually like each other…and that’s exactly how she plays it. It’s such a disservice to both characters, especially Elizabeth, to describe them in that way. Elizabeth’s problem is not that she’s SEKRITLY IN LUUV with Darcy from the very beginning but in denial about her feelings. Her problem is that she’s almost as arrogant as Darcy is, so impressed with herself for being a wonderful judge of character, that she doesn’t revise her opinion of him until given evidence that she’s wrong. She’s not a teenage girl who just can’t decide which boy she likes better omg. She’s a grown-ass woman who is more flawed than she realizes. Knightley plays her like a petulant teenager. FAIL. And MacFadyen plays Darcy as insecure and wounded and emo. DOUBLE FAIL.
![]() |
| Pride and Prejudice or Wuthering Heights? Who can tell? |
(I don’t think I even need to mention that the movie is just so lush and gorgeous and Romantic with a DOUBLE Capital R, with heightened emotions, Elizabeth and Darcy meeting each other at daybreak on the moors and staring at each other lustfully. Never mind that Jane Austen spent an entire book and a half – Northanger Abbey and Sense and Sensibility – mocking and satirizing all of those Romantic conventions.)
Anyway, long story short, it used to bug me that the 2005 Pride Ampersand Prejudice (as I like to call it, to differentiate it from the superb BBC version) even existed, because it felt so very un-Austen to me. There were too many lingering shots on beautiful countrysides and Elizabeth spinning in her family’s swing, and not enough conversation, when conversation is at the heart of what makes Austen Austen. Looking at the film again, though, I realize that I have another reason to prefer the 1995 version: the treatment of the female characters.
One character I’ve always found fascinating is Elizabeth Bennet’s best friend, Charlotte Lucas: wise and calculating, a careful observer of human behavior and social norms, who won’t have a chance to marry someone worthy of her because of the social restrictions for women during the Regency period. She marries Mr. Collins knowing that he’s a ridiculous fool who can never make her truly happy, but resignedly accepts her fate anyway. She tells her dear friend, “I’m not romantic, you know. I never was. I ask only for a comfortable home – and, considering Mr. Collins’ character and situation in life, I am convinced that my chances of happiness with him are more than most people can boast on entering the marriage state.”
![]() |
| Lucy Scott as Charlotte Lucas |
Charlotte’s lines in the 2005 Pride Ampersand Prejudice are similar, but with a few key differences. She tells Elizabeth, “Not all of us can afford to be romantic. I’ve been offered a comfortable home and protection. There’s a lot to be thankful for. I’m 27 years old. I’ve no money and no prospects. I’m already a burden to my parents. And I’m frightened. So don’t judge me, Lizzy. Don’t you dare judge me.”
The first Charlotte is calm, cool, and collected in explaining her reasons for marrying Mr. Collins. The second Charlotte is bordering on desperate, openly admitting that she’s frightened.
![]() |
| Claudie Blakley as Charlotte Lucas |
I understand why Pride Ampersand Prejudice portrays Charlotte in this way. Women in the Regency period had very few options in their lives. Unless they were independently wealthy heiresses, like Austen’s own Emma Woodhouse in Emma, they had to marry well or suffer the consequences. Pride Ampersand Prejudice wants us to feel for Charlotte’s limited circumstances.
But I know Pride and Prejudice too well, and I can’t accept this change in Charlotte’s character. The Charlotte Lucas I know in Austen’s text would never have wanted to be pitied for her marriage. The Charlotte Lucas I know probably would not have been very romantic even if she could afford to be. The Charlotte Lucas I know is entirely practical, unapologetic in her choice of husband, and determined to make a comfortable life for herself – and she does. Charlotte in the BBC Pride and Prejudice is portrayed as less pitiable than the Charlotte in the Joe Wright film, even though the first Charlotte has a much less appealing Mr. Collins to put up with. David Bamber’s Mr. Collins is an inspired comic performance – unctuous, slimy, entirely lacking in self-awareness – while Tom Holland’s Mr. Collins is…short. And kind of awkward.
Watching the Joe Wright film, I can’t help but feel that Charlotte in the BBC version would feel insulted by her counterpart in 2005 (through no fault of Claudie Blakley, who gives a lovely performance). Original Recipe Charlotte would not want people to feel sorry for her, and would insist that she has a perfectly decent life. I’m inclined to agree with Original Recipe Charlotte that her happiness is “more than most people can boast upon entering the marriage state.” Charlotte will certainly be happier than Mr. Bennet, who married a woman just as silly as Mr. Collins, but wasn’t nearly as well-acquainted with his partner’s true character.
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| Mr. Bennet: less happy in marriage than Mrs. Collins |
Charlotte Lucas isn’t the only female character who’s softened or changed for the 2005 feature film, however. Mary Bennet is comforted by her father when she makes a fool of herself at the Netherfield party, presented as nothing more than a little shy and awkward, even though she’s pretty much the female equivalent of Mr. Collins – pompous and not as smart as she thinks she is. Mrs. Bennet has a moment where she’s portrayed as a heroine in disguise (um, NO) who needs to marry her daughters off to protect them. Even Georgiana Darcy rushes to Elizabeth and greets her eagerly when they first meet – even though, in the book, she’s so shy she can barely breathe in front of new people.
When I look at the way the female characters are presented in the 2005 film version, I see Regency characters with modern attitudes thrust upon them. Elizabeth is no longer spirited, but spunky. Charlotte is no longer practical, but pitiable. Mary is no longer pretentious, but geeky and awkward. Mrs. Bennet is no longer a hilarious comic character, but a desperate woman trying to protect her daughters. Georgiana can’t be shy anymore, but a spunky, miniature version of Elizabeth.
I appreciate the attempt to shed some light on the limited options of women during the Regency period, but much of the humor is lost from the original text when turning comic characters into sympathetic ones. I will always prefer the BBC Pride and Prejudice because it remembers that Jane Austen wrote a comedy, and doesn’t feel the need to lament over the fates of her female characters. All things considered, Charlotte Lucas is going to be fine, and it’s okay to be a feminist and still laugh at Mrs. Bennet.
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| Pride & Prejudice DVD Cover (Source: Wikipedia) |

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| The Bennet Sisters, From Left To Right: Lydia, Jane, Mary, Kitty, Lizzy (Source: http://ladylavinia1932.wordpress.com/) |
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| Pemberley (Source: austenprose.wordpress.com) |
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| Mr. Darcy and Lizzy (Source: bbc.co.uk) |
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| We interrupt this essay to bring you some fanservice. (Source: telegraph.co.uk) |
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| The Double Wedding (Source: blogspot.com) |
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| Movie poster for The Uninvited |
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| Dorothy Macardle |