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Biopic and Documentary Week: Gorillas in the Mist

Gorillas in the Mist (1988)

This piece is from Monthly Contributor Carrie Nelson.

This post contains spoilers about the film Gorillas in the Mist.
For nearly 20 years, zoologist Dian Fossey lived and worked among the mountain gorillas in Africa. Her work as a researcher and animal rights activist is responsible for raising awareness about Africa’s gorilla population and the threat of their extinction. Gorillas in the Mist, a film directed by Michael Apted in 1988, follows Dian (Sigourney Weaver, in an Oscar-nominated role) as she works in the Congo and Rwanda to study the behavior of mountain gorillas and protect them from poaching. As the film was produced after Dian’s untimely death (she was murdered in 1985; to this day, the precise circumstances and perpetrators remain unknown), it is impossible to know how she would have responded to the film. However, based on what I understand about Dian’s real life, I believe she would appreciate the film. I believe she would see it as an honest portrayal of her life, and I also believe she would be happy to see that the film avoids common clichés that are typically found in mainstream films about the lives of women.
Over the course of the film, Dian experiences a radical transformation in gender presentation. At the beginning of her travels, she is incredibly conscious of her appearance. When she meets her mentor, Dr. Louis Leakey (Iain Cuthbertson) at the start of her mission, he explains that there isn’t room for all of the luggage she’s brought with her, to which she stubbornly replies, “Those cases contain my hairdryer, my makeup, my underwear and my brassieres. If they don’t go, Dr Leakey, I don’t go.” I thought this was a throwaway line, so I was surprised that there were several additional mentions of her interest in make-up, hair products and clothing soon after this exchange. I was frustrated with this focus on materialism, thinking that the writer was using these moments as shorthand to remind the audience that the protagonist is, indeed, a woman; I felt as if the filmmakers were saying, “Well, what woman wouldn’t want to bring her cosmetics to the jungle?”
But as the film goes on, the references to beauty cease, and it becomes clear that these lines are not comments on Dian’s gender identity but on the materialism that she gradually gives up as she becomes committed to living among the mountain gorillas. The lines about clothing and make-up eventually stop, and Dian lets go of the previous signifiers of her femininity. It isn’t that she becomes masculine, as Weaver’s character in the Alien series is often perceived – it’s that she no longer needs these material possessions and outward signifiers to feel comfortable in the world and convey her identity. Dian’s transformation is subtle, but it adds significant depth to her characterization as she becomes comfortable in her new surroundings.
A similar transformation occurs in Dian’s romantic life. When she moves to Africa, she leaves behind her fiancé, David. Over the course of the film, her mentions of him become fewer and fewer, until a passing remark reveals that they have ended their engagement. She does, however, meet photographer Bob Campbell (Bryan Brown). Bob is married, but his and Dian’s shared passion for studying the gorillas leads them to start a passionate love affair. His work as a photographer makes him travel frequently, but he always returns to visit Dian, until he finally reveals to her that he is divorcing his wife to marry her. Initially, Dian is thrilled with this proposal; though she is devoted to her career, she often expresses an interest in wanting a family. But ultimately, she chooses her career over Bob anyway. He is offered a job that would take her away from Africa and the mountain gorillas, and she tells him that if he accepts the job and leaves, he should never write or come back to her. It’s a tragic moment, as the film demonstrates how much Dian and Bob love each other, but it is ultimately a refreshing and honest one. Given how many films feature women sacrificing ambitions and goals in order to preserve romantic relationships, Dian’s lack of compromise is a welcome change of pace.
Fossey represented as maternal
The most fascinating and complex depiction of Dian’s gender identity, however, is her portrayal as a maternal figure. Dian never has children of her own, and her interactions with children in the film are troubling. At one point, she catches a young boy found among gorilla poachers, and in an attempt to uncover information about the poachers, she has his hands tied and dresses as a witch to scare him into talking. Dian is not above torturing children to get what she wants; it would seem, therefore, that she is not particularly maternal. However, this is not entirely accurate or fair. Rather than being maternal in a traditional sense, Dian channels that energy toward the gorillas. At one point, she saves baby Pucker from capture, and she takes care of her in her home until Pucker is healthy and taken away to a zoo. In the moments when she is seen taking care of the gorillas, particularly the young ones, it is clear that there is a certain maternal sensibility to Dian that remains constant throughout all of her other personal transformations. Though it is common to see women presented as mothers and caretakers in cinema, Dian’s role as one is untraditional. It may echo common tropes, but it remains a unique facet of her life and work.
Gorillas in the Mist does not always paint Dian Fossey in a positive light. It does, however, present her in a realistic one. She’s often portrayed as stubborn, unfriendly and even abusive; these traits, however, reflect the reality in which she lived. Dian did not have time to be feminine or nice or accommodating. She was too busy focusing on her work and dedicating her life to ensure the protection and well being of the mountain gorillas. Gorillas in the Mist constantly references the usual clichés of films about women – namely, an overwhelming focus on beauty, romance and children – but rather than reaffirming them, the film counters them. Dian’s characterization proves that there is no single way in which to be a woman and that, often times, it is women who step outside of the boxes of conventional femininity who are able to create the most radical change in the world.

Carrie Nelson is a Bitch Flicks monthly contributor. She is a Staff Writer for Gender Across Borders, an international feminist community and blog that she co-founded in 2009. She works as a grant writer for an LGBT nonprofit, and she is currently pursuing an MA in Media Studies at The New School.

Biopic and Documentary Week: American Violet

This piece on American Violet, by Amber Leab, originally appeared at Bitch Flicks on April 5, 2010.

American Violet (2008)

American Violet tells the true story of an African-American mother of four girls arrested and falsely accused of selling crack cocaine. Set in a fictional Texas town with the 2000 presidential election as a fitting backdrop of confusion and corruption, we see Dee Roberts fight–with the help of ACLU lawyers–to clear her name and the names of other innocent people arrested in a broad sweep that day.
Newcomer Nicole Beharie gives a powerful performance as Dee, and the supporting cast, including Alfre Woodard as Dee’s mother, and Tim Blake Nelson and Malcolm Barrett as lawyers for the ACLU, do an equally good job. 

It’s impossible to not love Dee–a beautiful woman, a kind and patient mother, a hard worker, and a caring friend. Her temper gets the best of her once in the film, but she’s protecting her children from their alcoholic father and his accused child molester girlfriend, and can hardly be faulted for it. I’m inclined to think the movie tries too hard to make her character likable. In contrast, Dee’s friend and neighbor Gladys–who is not a conventionally attractive woman, and does not have four adorable children trailing her–is a compelling and empathetic character, but the film completely drops the ball, even failing to credit the actor who plays her. Gladys is Dee’s inspiration for continuing to fight the DA even after her charges are dropped (because Gladys took a plea deal, while Dee would not), but we don’t get to explore Gladys or her situation. I’m curious as to why she’s part of the story, but not really allowed to be a character in the film. While the movie is about Dee, I would’ve liked to get to know Gladys a bit.

Biopic and Documentary Week: Sofia Coppola’s ‘Marie Antoinette’ Surprisingly Feminist

Kirsten Dunst in Sofia Coppola’s Marie Antoinette
Many chastised Sofia Coppola’s re-imagining of Marie Antoinette. Some critics complained about the addition of modern music while others thought it looked too slick, like an MTV music video (remember those??). But I think most people missed the point. Beyond the confectionary colors, gorgeous shots of lavish costumes and a teen queen munching on decadent treats and sipping champagne is a compelling and heartbreaking film that transcends eye candy. Underneath the exquisite atmosphere exists a very powerful and feminist commentary on gender and women.
Marie Antoinette chronicles the life of Austrian-born Maria Antonia Josephina Joanna (Kirsten Dunst) as she becomes the Dauphine and then Queen of France leading up to the French Revolution. Writer and director Sofia Coppola loosely based the film on Antonia Fraser’s sympathetic biography of the French queen. Coppola injected the dialogue with actual quotes from the queen’s life. Dunst skillfully exhibits the queen’s naïveté, loneliness and charisma. In an outstanding and underrated performance, she adeptly captures the jubilance of a young woman who desperately desires freedom as well as a woman burdened with the knowledge that her only value lies in her ability to bear children.
In the beginning of the film, we see Marie Antoinette travel from her homeland of Austria to France as her mother has arranged for her to be married to the Dauphin, Louis XVI (Jason Schwartzman) in order to unite the two antagonistic kingdoms of Austria and France. In a heartbreaking scene, Judy Dench tells Marie Antoinette she must leave everything she knows behind to make room for her new French identity, including abandoning her adorbs dog Mops. No, not her dog! That scene seriously broke my heart reducing me to tears. Marie Antoinette is upset yet she swallows her pain and obeys. She enters a tent placed on the two countries’ borders, entering on Austrian soil and exiting on French land. In the tent, she must strip off all of her clothes in order to don her new French garb – a symbol of her having to strip away her identity.
Once Marie Antoinette marries Louis XVI, we see Versailles’ ridiculous and over the top traditions again and again. Every morning, an entourage of servants and royalty awakens Marie Antoinette, dressing her in garments with outlandish pomp and ceremony.
As she navigates royal society’s mores, we witness Marie Antoinette’s close friendships with the free spirited Duchesse de Polignac (Rose Byrne) and the reserved Princesse de Lamballe (Mary Nighy). When she is told she should choose more appropriate friends, particularly ditching Duchesse de Polignac, Marie Antoinette defends her friend saying she enjoys her fun spirit. Yes, there are moments when Marie Antoinette indulges in vapid, decadent luxuries. But people forget she’s a teenager. Um, that’s what they do! To take her mind off the constant societal pressure, she distracts herself by gambling, singing in plays and shopping. She’s so confined by societal expectations; she’s exploring her identity and experimenting as much as she can.
Marie Antoinette’s mother, the Austrian duchess Maria Theresa warns her, “All eyes will be on you.” After their wedding night, it’s clear that Louis XVI has no sexual interest in his bride. Through her constant letters, Maria Theresa perpetually reminds her daughter that “nothing is certain” about her place until she gives birth to a son. Even after Louis XVI is crowned king and Marie Antoinette becomes queen, her place is still not entirely secure until she has a son. After her sister-in-law gives birth to a son, Marie-Antoinette feels even more pressure to have a child. Her mother condemns her for not being charming enough or patient enough to entice her husband. As Marie Antoinette reads her mother’s letter, the stinging words wound her, we see and feel her solitary pain.
Women were reduced to their vaginas, only valued if they got pregnant so they could produce an heir. No one bothers Louis XVI about this, even though he’s the one who doesn’t want to have sex. Nope, just the woman; of course she’s to blame. Eventually after 7 years with no children, Marie Antoinette’s brother, the Holy Roman Emperor, talks to him. But Marie Antoinette is repeatedly blamed for not becoming pregnant. Clearly her body and reproduction are her only salient attributes in the eyes of society. 
Throughout the film, we’re reminded that women aren’t desirable, lesser than men. When her first child a daughter is born, Marie Antoinette says to her:
“Oh, you were not what was desired, but that makes you no less dear to me. A boy would have been the Son of France, but you, Marie Thérèse, shall be mine.”
In a world where nothing, not even her own body truly belongs to her, it’s touching to see Marie Antoinette, a devoted mother, take such joy in her relationship with her daughter.
Throughout history, people erroneously vilified Marie Antoinette, attributing her with more political influence than she actually possessed. And of course she was demonized after she supposedly told starving peasants, “Let them eat cake.” As civil unrest grows inching ever closer to revolution, the film’s Marie Antoinette says she would never say such a thing. Because of her Austrian heritage and I would also argue her gender, Marie Antoinette was repeatedly used as a scapegoat for France’s financial woes and the public’s strife.
The film divided audiences. At the Cannes Film Festival, critics notoriously booed yet it also received a standing ovation. Some critics dismissed it, saying it was nothing more than a pop video or that “all we learn about Marie Antoinette is her love for Laduree macaroons and Manolo Blahnik shoes.” Sofia Coppola, who consciously chose to omit politics from the film, fully acknowledged Marie Antoinette was not a typical historical biopic:

“It is not a lesson of history, it’s an interpretation carried by my desire for covering the subject differently. 
Would people still complain and moan if a dude was at the center of the film or a dude had directed this?? Nope, I think not. Does anyone else remember that Mozart acts like an immature douchebag in the critically acclaimed Amadeus??
But some delved deeper, understanding its rare beauty. Critic Roger Ebert praised Marie Antoinette astutely pointing out:

“This is Sofia Coppola’s third film centering on the loneliness of being female and surrounded by a world that knows how to use you but not how to value and understand you.”
Told almost entirely from the Queen’s perspective, we see the world through Marie Antoinette’s eyes. Her loneliness and the pressure she faces to be everything to everyone is palpable. 
With its commentaries on gender, women’s agency, reproduction and female friendships, Marie Antoinette is surprisingly deeper and more feminist than many realize. Sofia Coppola created a lush and sumptuous indulgence for the eyes. More importantly, by humanizing the doomed queen and adding modern touches, Coppola reminds us of the gender constraints women throughout history and today continually endure.

Biopic and Documentary Week: Poster Girl

This piece on Poster Girl, by Stephanie Rogers and Amber Leab, first appeared at Bitch Flicks on February 17, 2011, as part of their coverage of the Athena Film Festival.

Poster Girl (2010)
Poster Girl was, without a doubt, my favorite film at the Athena Film Festival. It’s no surprise that the film is nominated for an Academy Award for Best Documentary – Short Subject, even though this was a first effort at filmmaking from director Sara Nesson. 
[…]
Nesson also juxtaposes photos of Robynn prior to her Army experience–where she’s in a cheerleading uniform, smiling and having fun with friends–with the post-Army Robynn, a tattooed, pierced, PTSD victim who stares at the former photos as if they couldn’t possibly be her. And they aren’t anymore. The new Robynn is an activist who speaks out against war and gun violence, even while dealing with debilitating panic attacks.

Biopic and Documentary Week: Monster

Monster (2003)
This is a guest post from Charlie Shipley.

“Well, I’ve walked these streets / A virtual stage it seemed to me / Makeup on their faces / Actors took their places next to me”
-Natalie Merchant, “Carnival”

We know the mass-culturally-sanctioned narrative about Patty Jenkins’ directorial debut, Monster: Charlize Theron got “ugly” and delivered a tour de force turn as serial killer Aileen Wuornos that was hailed by Roger Ebert in an effective, rare use of Travers-esque hyperbole as “one of the greatest performances in the history of the cinema.” That quote made it to countless one-sheets and adorns the DVD cover of the film, and perhaps rightly so; Theron’s performance (or “embodiment,” as Ebert puts it) so overwhelms the mise-en-scène and soundscape of the film that Christina Ricci’s stern gaze on the DVD packaging seems little more than a futile attempt to market the film visually as a buddy film gone terribly wrong. Thelma & Louise, this is not.
As is so often the case with art films that reach a wide audience, these cultural metanarratives surrounding the film as a consumer object threaten to overwhelm our consideration of the film itself. For that reason, I’m less concerned with the well-documented “bravery” of Theron’s transformation than I am with the question of whether this film does justice to Wuornos, or if that’s even possible.
It’s not difficult to argue against that possibility. Anytime there are agents in positions of relative privilege attempting to dramatize the life of a person at society’s margins, it’s so easy to colonize and reimagine those lives without regard to their complexity. Even with that enormous caveat, though, Jenkins does a remarkable job here of letting Wuornos the character speak for herself using canny structural and sonic devices to centralize her experiences; we can interpret her opening voiceover – “I always wanted to be in the movies” – as both a wish we know will be fulfilled and a bitterly ironic reminder of the aphorism “be careful what you wish for.” This and other voiceovers serve as a latticework within Monster, lending structure and even beauty to the narrative while allowing us to get a glimpse of Wuornos’s inner life.
This distinction between voiceover monologues and spoken dialogue is crucially important because Wuornos speaks in a desultory, often self-contradictory way that conceals a labyrinthine underlying psychology driven by the opportunism of someone in a literal and emotional fugitive state. In a powerful scene late in the film when Selby (Ricci) finds out the extent of Wuornos’s crimes and tries to plead ignorance, Wuornos makes the seemingly contradictory claims within the span of a few minutes that “you don’t know my life” and “you know me.” The first quote is Wuornos’s attempt to claim that her killings were justified, the second an appeal to Selby to trust her. In this dramatic context and in the context of the biopic genre generally, this distinction (knowing the events of a life vs. knowing a person’s “essential self”) is a subtle but important one. In the world of this film, when spoken dialogue resists clear meanings as in this scene, voiceover serves not to explain away the ambiguity but provide the emotional context for it. 
Charlize Theron and Patty Jenkins both gave interviews implicitly confirming that both of these modes of narrative – factual reportage and emotionally honest characterization – were of paramount importance in telling this story about Wuornos. In a way, the titular epithet, “monster,” bridges this gap by taking a label that many undoubtedly applied to Wuornos and giving her the agency within the film to choose the identification for herself in the voiceover at the Fun World carnival. 
Just as voiceover provides a fantastical cinematic refuge for Wuornos to articulate her feelings and meanings without worrying about the judgment of others, so too does pop music provide a visual and temporal escape hatch into the realm of fantasy. There is an instrumental score for the film that is used in a somewhat traditional way to heighten dramatic, dialogue-driven scenes, but these music cues are used more often in the latter part of the film. By contrast, the film’s opening and the first meetings between Aileen and Selby are characterized by a deep sense of naïve wonder, culminating in their first kiss at a roller skating rink set to Journey’s “Don’t Stop Believing.”
Selby (Ricci) and Wuornos (Theron) at the roller rink
This scene subverts the traditional biopic form by supplementing documented events in Wuornos’s life with a scene that would just as easily fit into a more traditionally feminine-identified genre, romance. It’s placed in the narrative before Wuornos has killed anyone, so the dream of class mobility and migration away from small-town life is especially bittersweet in light of what the viewer knows is to come. This is a theme of Aileen’s pledges to Selby throughout the movie; the promises-turned-fantasies of a better life “far, far away” echo the escapism promised by “a midnight train going anywhere.” There are elements that stretch the bounds of plausible reality as well. To give one example, women participating in a couples’ dance in 1980s Florida and openly kissing in an iconically “family-oriented” space such as a skating rink would presumably not be met with the same level of indifference as it is here. Furthermore, while the songs before “Don’t Stop Believing” are 100% diegetic – that is, coming from within the world of the film – “Don’t Stop Believing” begins as a song being played in the skating rink but continues as the film cuts to Selby and Aileen passionately kissing against the outer wall of the building. Just like Wuornos’s voiceovers provide relief from the naturalistic tension of the more narratively straightforward scenes, the pop music that plays here widens the bounds of what is possible. 
These liberties – voiceover and pop music – are often derided as lazy narrative fillers by film critics and screenplay-writing guides alike, but in the case of Monster, they give Wuornos’s character a space within the otherwise relentless film to express herself clearly and put words to her desires. 
A powerful intertext to Monster is the song “Carnival” by Natalie Merchant, which is used to great effect in the documentary Aileen: Portrait Of a Serial Killer and which Wuornos requested to be played at her funeral. (It also, if only by association, brought to my mind Bakhtin’s concept of the “carnivalesque,” which one can find in Monster’s elements of interclass contact and vernacular speech but not in its tone.) Merchant’s lines “Makeup on their faces / actors took their places next to me” eerily and concisely summarize the dilemma we face when asking whether a film like Monster can do justice to its subject. I think it can, and I think it does, for while Charlize Theron has indeed “taken her place” next to Aileen Wuornos in the collective consciousness, her commitment along with that of Patty Jenkins to giving center stage to Wuornos and channeling a conscientiously rendered version of her truth leaves us with a complex characterization – deeply flawed, and deeply human.

Charlie Shipley has a B.A. in English with a minor in Women’s and Gender Studies from the College of Charleston. He blogs about mental health, fat acceptance, feminism, and all the things at A Mind Unquiet. 

Biopic and Documentary Week: The September Issue

This review of The September Issue, by Amber Leab, first appeared at Bitch Flicks on March 7, 2011.

Anna Wintour has Power. She jokes that her siblings find what she does for a living “peculiar,” because maybe editing a fashion magazine doesn’t affect world politics, or cure diseases, or save the world. But high fashion is art, and art is peculiar. Amid the ads for cosmetics (which probably contain ingredients that no one should be putting on her or his skin) and accessories few of us can afford, there are stunning photographs of beautiful clothes. Most of the clothes aren’t really meant to be worn in Real Life, but they are pieces of art, and the people who make this wearable art fall all over themselves hoping that Wintour will notice them. They cater to her every whim, her every pointed critique.
Perhaps Wintour finds her position a bit peculiar, as well. There’s a drive viewers can see in her, and it seems as if she’s blindly plowing ahead, following success after success with little reflection about the why of it all. Her daughter appears to have no interest in the fashion industry, even though there’s a simple, ready-made path for her there. Like her mother, she doesn’t elaborate on her opinions, but knows that the industry isn’t for her. Wintour herself doesn’t really have much to say about what she’s achieved; she’s not the type to wax philosophically. Instead she states–and shows viewers–very plainly that she works hard and that the magazine has earned her a lot of money.
Grace Coddington and Anna Wintour
Fortunately, the movie also features Wintour’s team at Vogue, one of whom emerges to become the real star of The September Issue.
Grace Coddington is a former model and the creative director at Vogue. She even started working there on the same day as Wintour. She is intelligent, reflective, and an artist to Wintour’s manager persona. Coddington isn’t afraid to stand up to Wintour (whose lack of empathy was famously fictionalized by Meryl Streep in 2006’s The Devil Wears Prada) either, and flawlessly uses her every resource, including the documentary film crew, to her advantage. Viewers may see her as being cutthroat, but she’s an artist fighting for her vision, her work, and she’s earned it. She’s 68 and has spent her whole life in this industry, working for British Vogue and Calvin Klein before joining Wintour.

Biopic and Documentary Week: The Fat Body (In)Visible

This piece on The Fat Body (In)Visible, by Stephanie Rogers, first appeared at Bitch Flicks on December 21, 2010.

I was thrilled to run across a fat-positive documentary by Margitte Kristjansson called The Fat Body (In)Visible, in which she interviews Jessica and Keena about the experience of being a fat woman in a society that doesn’t value—and even openly discriminates against—fat women. 
Quotes from the documentary:

Jessica, on Fat Acceptance:  Fat acceptance is just the radical idea that every body is a good body and that regardless of your shape or your size that you deserve just as much respect as the next person.

Keena, on Fat Acceptance:  Fat acceptance is just accepting your body where it is at.  Whether you’re bigger or you’re smaller. Just accepting what it is, your arms, your double chin, your thighs, and just not worrying about how other people may view you.

Click here to read the full piece and to watch The Fat Body (In)Visible. 

Biopic and Documentary Week: What’s Love Got To Do With It?

Angela Bassett as Tina Turner in What’s Love Got To Do With It?
This is a guest post from Candice Frederick.
Angela Bassett is one of those actresses who could breathe life into any role, no matter how flimsy—from her role as the matriarch of the Jackson family in The Jacksons: An American Dream to playing the wife of a slain political leader in Malcolm X. One could attribute that talent to the power in her delivery, the depth she gives to every line, and the gut-wrenching emotion she brings to every character.
But it is her star-making turn as rock and roll superstar Tina Turner in 1993’s What’s Love Got To Do With It? that catapulted her to the A-list. Complete with the rock star wigs, superhero body and slightly timid but ever-so-deliberate snarl in her speech, Bassett embodied the icon during her slow and steady rise to fame, and her tumultuous marriage to late musician Ike Turner (Laurence Fishburne).
It was her piercing portrayal of Tina that also contributed to the evolution of women’s roles in cinema, and one which still arrests audiences almost twenty years later. Bassett turned what could have been a whimpering, damsel in distress character in the hands of a lesser actress into a strong, unflinching woman worthy of admiration and one so memorable that it became a model for nuanced female characters for years to come.
Ike (Fishburne) and Tina (Bassett)
Because of Bassett’s performance, a new crop of fans could appreciate how a woman could be seen as more than merely a survivor, but a hero to her generation. And we’re not only talking about the female generation, or the African-American generation.  We’re talking about a star whose undeniable talent and wicked charisma helped shaped the face of rock and roll, regardless of age, color, creed and gender. It wasn’t an easy feat to step into Tina’s studded stilettos, but Bassett was able to humanize the icon. She showed the world some of the lowest points in Tina’s life, and turned them into a promise, a promise to her fans that she was going to overcome all of it to remind us all of how great she is. It was an exceptional cinematic tribute to a woman who touched the lives of many, and showed that even though she might have been victimized by her abusive husband, Tina was never a victim. It’s a fine line to walk, but Bassett’s diligent performance effortlessly revealed a multidimensional woman who was still a role model for many. It was respectful, rather than downtrodden (and it really could have gone either way).
That’s not to say Tina didn’t become a punching bag for Ike in the movie. The fast-talking, egotistical producer and bandleader often battled with drugs, money woes and a failed solo career, so whenever he got really burned up about things, he’d take them out on Tina every chance he had. Struggling with his own demons and crushed dreams, he decided to take out his aggression on his wife, and attempt to dash her ambitions. But regardless of what Ike tried to do to Tina, we never saw her broken afterwards. She got right back into that recording studio and belted out some of the classic tunes we still listen to today. She got back up and perfected that firm “I’m okay” smile for her friends and family, and remained a rock for her children. Because, as Lena Horne once said, “it’s not the load that breaks you down; it’s the way you carry it.” She never let Ike or anyone else see her down; she got right back up.
Bassett and Fishburne
It also helped that she had an edge on Ike that he wasn’t willing to admit, one that made them look more like world class fighters in a ring, rather than one champion and one lightweight.  In many films, we often see the female as the victim, the weakling, the one who can’t defend herself, has no mind of her own and is led to believe she is nothing without her abuser. In other words, the abuser is always seen as the dominant figure in the relationship. But in What’s Love Got to Do With It?, we’re watching two very fierce characters, Tina and her husband Ike, fight a very similar fight against each other. Where Ike uses physical force and brutality to control Tina, Tina uses her unyielding emotional strength and supersized talent to ultimately eclipse Ike.
Bassett’s was not only one of the defining performances for women in cinema; it was also one that became a benchmark for actresses of color. Her riveting portrayal role was further punctuated by the remarkable writing. Many lead roles for women of color since then are often subordinate characters. And in many other instances, they’re the tough, ever wise figures, which don’t often allow them inhabit any other emotion. Even in the heavily lauded yet divisive drama, The Help, we saw the stories of two African-American characters glossed over and unrealized, lacking the measure of which they were worthy. Overall, too many roles written for African-American actresses have them simply orbiting around the larger story of the movie without actually being a part of it and making any real impact.
Nearly two decades later, Bassett’s performance still stands as one that turns all of that on its ear by actualizing all the those things a woman (of any color) can be—timid yet fierce, bold yet shy, loud yet subdued, happy yet sad—all at once. It’s a feast of emotions, and one which as a female viewer you crave to watch. We yearn to see it unfold and go through those same emotions along with Bassett in the movie, and she delivers. She takes a celebrated icon and gently peels away her tough outer layer to reveal a vulnerable inner core that so desperately screamed to be unchained. It is heartbreaking story, but one in which few tears are shed, but ultimately turns into a victory dance. You can’t help but to want to dance with her.

Candice Frederick is an NABJ award-winning print journalist, film critic, and blogger for Reel Talk.

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The Future of Feminism series from Fourth Wave

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Spotlight: Anna and Modern-Day Slavery from Her Film

Sympathy for the Devil: On HBO’s Game Change, and Hating Ladies for the Right Reasons from Tiger Beatdown

Capitol Control: The Irony of The Hunger Games Movie Mania from Bitch

Stephanie‘s Picks:

“BYT @ SXSW Movies: Wonder Women“ by Jeff Spross for Brightest Young Things

“Tavi Gevinson on Creativity, Taste, and the Word ‘Girly'” from Huffington Post

“Hungering for a Female Hero: Hunger Games May Break New Ground” by Tom Long for Detroit News

“The Bitch List: Does Your Screenplay Have What It Takes?”

by The Bitch Pack

“On Feminism: Romantic Femininity” by Hila Shachar for Le Projet D’amour

Megan‘s Picks:

It’s Women’s History Month! Celebrate by Seeing The Hunger Games and Vote with Your Dollars This Weekend via I Will Not Diet

Will the Box Office Change the Gender Balance in Film? via Feminema

Mad Men: Set Me Free – a musical mash-up with the series’ female characters via Pop Culture Pirate

Steel Magnolias Remake Cast Announced: Queen Latifah, Phylicia Rashad to Star via Clutch Magazine

The Feminist Harry Potter Tumblr You’ve Been Waiting For via Bust Magazine




Leave your links in the comments!

Guest Writer Wednesday: You Know What I Was Just Thinking?

HBO’s Entourage
 
This cross post by Melissa McEwan originally appeared at her blog Shakesville.

That if President Obama REALLY wants to convince me that he’s totally an ally to ladies, he would definitely agree to a cameo in Entourage: The Movie.

SO THIS IS VERY GOOD NEWS FOR ME!

Adrian Grenier, star of the hit series “Entourage,” says he’s made a deal with President Obama.

“I promised to make the ‘Entourage’ movie if he would do a cameo. He agreed. Seriously,” Grenier wrote on Facebook on Friday.

Obama was a big fan of the HBO show.

NEAT! That is such a FUN FACT about the President, and also a very cool show for dudes to like!

For the record, yes, I realize that this is just some shit that some douche who starred in a horrible show about horrible people based on Mark Wahlberg’s real horrible life wrote on his Facebook page, but it has been three days and no horrified press release has been issued saying that the President categorically is not interested in appearing in the horrible movie spin-off of this horrible show, because no doy it’s fun to just let the cool bros think the prez is totes gonna do it and WHO ARE YOU GOING TO VOTE FOR, WOMEN WITH SELF-RESPECT, IF NOT FOR THE PRESIDENT WHO LOVES ENTOURAGE EVEN MORE THAN ROE V WADE?! Answer me that!

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Melissa McEwan is the founder and manager of the award-winning political and cultural group blog Shakesville, which she launched as Shakespeare’s Sister in October 2004 because George Bush was pissing her off. In addition to running Shakesville, she also contributes to The Guardian‘s Comment is Free America and AlterNet. Melissa graduated from Loyola University Chicago with degrees in Sociology and Cultural Anthropology, with an emphasis on the political marginalization of gender-based groups. An active feminist and LGBTQI advocate, she has worked as a concept development and brand consultant and now writes full-time.

Guest Writer Wednesday: Bee Movie

Bee Movie (2007)

This is a guest post from Nicola Mason.

While shopping one day recently, I happened upon and purchased Bee Movie, the 2007 animated film featuring characters voiced by Jerry Seinfeld and Renee Zellweger. I had taken up beekeeping a few months before—had a hive of some 10,000 bees in my backyard—and I’d been educating my four-year-old daughter on how a hive’s vast population of wee six-legged arthropods work together to produce that delightfully sweet amber end-product, honey. I thought Bee Movie would be the perfect mom-daughter flick, and that it would reinforce much of what my little girl had been learning over the course of our bee-centric summer. To my horror, the movie not only presented a slew of factual inaccuracies, it also imposed a decidedly male worldview on the most successful matriarchal society in nature.
The movie begins on the graduation day of young Barry B. Benson (Seinfeld), who, along with the rest of his class (including his best friend, Adam, voiced by Matthew Broderick), must choose a job within New Hive City. A tour guide takes the class—made up of male and female bees—through the bustling inner complex and describes the choices available as we view (largely male) bees hard at work in the Honex industry.
The problem here is that, in actuality, male bees don’t work in the hive. At all. There are only a few drones in any given bee population, and their only “job” is to meet at a designated outdoor spot every afternoon in the hope that a virgin queen will pass by so they can fertilize her in an insect-world version of a gang bang. When the queen returns to the hive, she is so well fertilized that she need never mate again. All the eggs she will lay within the course of her life are already primed with the necessary genetic material to make the burgeoning brood of daughters that is necessary for the group’s survival. I feel compelled to point out that drones are considered so . . . inessential . . . that when winter sets in, they are summarily forced out of the hive and blocked from re-entering. The workers don’t want to waste precious honey on them, since it takes on average 40 lbs of the sweet stuff to sustain a hive through the cold months until nectar flows again. Drones would be an unnecessary drain on resources—and the workers can easily make a new bevy of boy-toys in the spring.
Weirdly, Barry lives in a private residence inside the hive with both a mother and father bee. The mother stereotypically worries over him and scolds him: “Don’t fly in the house!” Later in the film, the fact that the queen is his “real” mother is made clear. The Bensons are his adoptive parents. It seems worth mentioning, however, that this most powerful female force—the queen bee—is never seen and rarely mentioned. In essence, her role, and her significance, are downplayed because the movie is centered on its male hero—Barry—who, unwilling to be simply subsumed by predestined bee duties, dreams of a life of adventure.
In search of this life, he fixates on the “pollen jocks,” an eponym the film pins on forager bees, which in actuality are, of course, female. Here is where the movie takes, to my mind, a flat-out appalling testosterony turn. Its foragers are depicted as a military battalion of super bees—much larger than the workers, uniformly male, their chests puffed out with muscle and, one gathers, masculine pride. They are referred to by their drill sergeant as “monsters” and “sky freaks” as they line up at “J Gate” for their daily mission while a throng of starry-eyed female bees giggle and wave and gasp admiringly nearby. Moreover, these jocks are equipped with “nectar packs” that they carry on their backs. When Barry joins them one day (on a dare), we discover these are collection devices that, held like guns, violently siphon nectar from the flowers without the bees even having to land. Barry looks on in wonder as nature is raped and laments that he was not bred to be a pollen jock. (Insert retching sound.)
As the moviegoer expects, Barry finds a way to make his own mark. He takes the forbidden path and communicates with a human—a ditzy female florist (Renee Zellweger), who then largely drops out of the film as Barry pursues his solo crusade to keep humans from “stealing” the honey that bees work so hard to produce. The scandal goes public, and Barry, interviewed by a bee version of Larry King, becomes famous. A lawsuit ensues (bee world and human world collide), Barry wins, yadda yadda. There is an additional plot twist that brings his florist crush—with her oh-so-feminine love of lots and lots of pretty flowers—back into play, but even my four-year-old had lost interest at this point, so I will not bore you with the details.
Clearly the movie was intended as a star vehicle for Seinfeld. Obviously a male conceived of the movie (David Moses Pimental is listed as Head of Story). The writers of the screenplay—all seven of them, including Seinfeld—are, big surprise, male. What they created was not just a fiction but a male fantasy. The human female is even lured away from her big hunky boyfriend by tiny-but-charming Barry. Sure, you can give the film credit for a cross-species romance, but how difficult would it have been to simply reverse these roles? How about a female bee nonconformist hero? A male florist who adores all things prettily petaled and whose greatest aspiration is to attend the annual flower festival/parade, manning his own float? Humor could still be the heart of the film, but a slant, surprising, and more fulfilling humor that arises from challenging culturally-ingrained gender expectations instead of reinforcing them—emphasis on the forcing. I would give my weight in honey to see a film like that.


Nicola Mason is the managing editor of The Cincinnati Review, a lit mag based at University of Cincinnati. Her fiction has been widely published and anthologized. She is also a visual artist:www.nicolamason.com. 

TEDx Women: Rachel Simmons

We know that one of the causes of the lack of diverse representation of women in media and film is that there are not enough women behind the camera, not enough women telling their stories, and not enough of these stories being produced. 
We also know that media both reflects and shapes the culture. The (excellent) tagline of the documentary film Miss Representation comes to mind here: “You can’t be what you can’t see.” From childhood, girls see representations that reinforce the idea that girls are secondary to boys. As they grow up, the disparity continues. Geena Davis’ Institute on Gender & Media has reported that in family films males outnumber females 3 to 1 and females are almost four times as likely as males to be shown in sexy attire. We know that these statistics don’t improve in media for young or adult women.
Rachel Simmons’ talk at TEDx Women suggests that as young women grow up, the media barrage telling them that they can be powerful, as long as they don’t offend anyone, sends mixed messages that, along with institutional sexism, prevents women from achieving leadership positions:

I’m convinced a psychological glass ceiling exists as well. And it begins as a product of a culture that is telling girls “Yes, but.” Yes, you can be powerful, but you still be nice while you do it. Yes, you be smart, but make sure you don’t make anyone uncomfortable with your intelligence. Yes, you can be active, but you be sexy and skinny while you do it.

In other words, Simmons argues that enlightened sexism is holding women back, even at a time when women in the United States outpace men in education (women have higher rates of high school graduation, college attendance, and college graduation), women remain a significant minority in positions of leadership.
In Hollywood? We know how women currently fare there.
Watch the Rachel Simmons video, with an introduction and personal story about female friendship from Claire Saninni:
Also check out TEDx talks from the founder of Girls Club Entertainment, Jennifer Siebel Newsom, and filmmaker Tiffany Shlain, two women who have taken the reigns to make media of their own.