The American Lens on Global Unity in ‘Sense8’

‘Sense8’ is a clusterfuck of clichés, mediocre storylines and inept world building. Still, binge watch the series to enjoy the human journey of the eight sensates and maybe the Wachowskis and Netflix will take note and improve season 2 – they’ve mapped out five seasons. ‘Sense8’ will prosper on Netflix.

The Sensates "Mom" Angelica
The Sensates “Mom” Angelica

 


This is a guest post by Giselle Defares.


The paradoxical desire for global inclusivity that is created or controlled from an American perspective is characteristic for our modern pop culture. Harsh, maybe. We are in the 21st century after all, so it seems more than natural – albeit refreshing in our current cinematic climate of reboots – to explore an array of themes such as religion, gender identity and politics (LGBT) all served with a thin layer of sci-fi. The Wachowskis put their own spin on the mosaic narrative with Sense8. Robert Altman’s Short Cuts, Paul Thomas Anderson’s Magnolia and Alejandro Gonzaléz Iñárritu’s Babel paved the way. Sense8 aims to portray the brittleness of cultural barriers and the importance of global unity. Do the Wachowskis succeed?

Directors Lana and Andy Wachowski ventured from the start of their career into the field of “mindfuck” cinema. Their previous work on the Matrix trilogy, V for Vendetta, Speed Racer, and Ninja Assassin prepared them for their Magnum opus: the film version of the incomparable deemed novel of David Mitchell: Cloud Atlas – or was it the critically panned Jupiter Ascending?

The announcement of the series created a lot of buzz online but criticism rose against Lana Wachowski as a result of her previous comments when it came to the racial insensitivities in Cloud Atlas; and the fact that Wachowski was a keynote speaker at the Chicago Trans 100 – this annual event honors influential voices that are leading the transgender movement. In her speech she tried to focus on the “eradication of otherness,” but made several anti-Black comments, compared the current trans movement and its hardships to the American Civil Rights Movement, and appropriated Indigenous language. This is the same woman who brought us the premise of diversity with Sense8. Dilemma.

Sun and Capheus connect
Sun and Capheus connect

 

Sense8 has a challenging narrative structure. Eight different places, eight protagonists and eight stories that seemingly fit together as matryoshkas. The eight characters all influence each other in subtle ways and thereby change the course of events. In an interview with Buzzfeed director Joe Straczynski states,It’s a global story told on a planetary scale about human transcendence and what it ultimately means to be human in a contemporary society.” Right.

The plot centers around the idealistic Chicago cop Will (Brian J. Smith) who has father issues; Icelandic DJ Riley (Tuppence Middleton) who runs from her traumatic past; happy-go-lucky Kenyan bus driver Capheus who is obsessed with Jean Claude Van Damme (Aml Ameen); Korean business woman Sun (Bae Doona) who is a kick ass martial artist at night and deals with her inept brother and father; Mexican telenovela actor Lito (Miguel Angel Silvestre) who is closeted and afraid to come out, Indian scientist Kala (Tina Desai) who is stuck in a “love match” with a man she doesn’t love; German criminal Wolfgang (Max Riemelt) who struggles with his Slavic family; and San Franciscan blogger and ex-hacktivist Nomi (Jamie Clayton) who is a transwoman and is haunted by her family’s disproval. The series was shot in San Francisco, Chicago, Mexico City, London, Berlin, Iceland, Mumbai, Nairobi, and Seoul.

The eight strangers have one thing in common and that is that they’ve evolved into “sensates” and thus can share the thoughts, feelings, memories, skills, and experiences of other sensates. At the start of the series, the sensate Angelica (Daryl Hannah) and Jonas (Naveen Andrews) give “birth” to the group of adult sensates which ties them together into a “cluster”, which means that they can reach out to each other without being in physical contact first. The cluster is composed of eight sensates who are all born at the exact same time but are scattered all over the world. Conveniently enough they can use each other’s language, knowledge and skills. Well, no story is complete without the big bad wolf. The cluster is haunted by the Biologic Preservation Organization (BPO) under the leadership of Whispers (Terrence Mann).

The series has a very slow start. The Wachowskis take their sweet time to introduce all the characters. Will is the one who sets the story in motion when he finds out he can connect with other people – and has had a similar experience in his childhood. Jonas contacts Will and reassures him, “You’re not losing your mind, it’s just expanding.” Nomi often questions the ability of the sensates and her girlfriend’s mother quips, “ To be something more than what evolution would define as ‘yourself,’ you’d need something different from yourself.” Lovely pseudo-profound statement.

Nomi and Amanita
Nomi and Amanita

 

The Wachowskis made the creative choice to focus more on the day to day lives of the sensates and their relationships with their loved ones instead of fully embracing the sci-fi element. There should be a better balance between the sci-fi elements and the different relationships of the sensates. It truly distorts the flow of the series. The Wachowskis try to embrace the equality of different world culture and underline the universality of the human experience. It seems that they aimed for a similar vibe as seen in documentary films such as Baraka or Koyaanisqatsi.

However, they opt to include every cliché in the book when it comes to the non-western countries and the characters. Mexico City looks like it was copied out of a popular telenovela; Mumbai is multicolored, lots of jewelry, flowers, Hindu iconography and Kala busted out the classic Bollywood dance with her fiancé; Seoul is almost sterile with a grey-futuristic aesthetic and lots of mirrors and windows; Nairobi looks sweaty and lots of earth tones were used; and Reykjavik and London look like glossy tourist commercials and so on and so forth…

Naturally, Kala is a smart scientist who is stuck in a “love match” but knows that the arranged marriage will make her family very happy. Capheus is a poor yet happy bus driver who cares for his sick mother. Her illness? AIDS. He also has several battles with the local gangs. At first glance, Sun’s story seemed the most fleshed out. Only her arc reaffirms several stereotypes on East Asian culture, see the manifestation of sexism (“Oh, I wish my daughter was a son”) and she’s the ultimate fighter. Despite filming in Korea, the city is only used as a backdrop in the ultra-masculine business where Sun works or a seedy night club scene; Lito is the colorful, sensitive yet conservative homosexual telenovela actor who doesn’t want to bring his career in jeopardy by coming out. Honorable mention goes to Will as the idealistic white cop who tries to safe a black child’s life after he’s been shot and the Black nurse at the ER refuses to help at first and asks him if it will be worth it. Luckily this element of his arc was quickly dropped.

When it comes to (pop) cultural influences, they’re all American. Capheus is obsessed with Jean-Claude Van Damme. Wolfgang and his friend live by the philosophy of Conan the Barbarian and Riley inspires the cluster to a sing along with the 4 Non Blondes song “What’s Going On?” We are not introduced to the local (pop) culture of Mumbai, Mexico City, Seoul or Nairobi – besides the tired cliché of Kala’s Bollywood dance.

The creative decision to let all the characters speak English albeit with a hint of an accent here or there seemed unnecessary. In the other Netflix show, Daredevil, several characters spoke their native language and subtitles would suffice. On the other hand, there are small moments in the series where you know that the sensates speak to each other in their own language but because of their connection they understand each other, e.g. when Sun and Capheus meet and they understand each other, Sun asks him, “Do you speak Korean?” and Capheus says, “No.”

It has to be said, all eight storylines are mediocre when you look at them separately. Riley’s tragic loss is wonderfully acted but looks too familiar. Capheus’ narrative brings at times some lighthearted relief but it doesn’t add to the general arc. Lito, his boyfriend Hernando and beard Daniela have great chemistry- a Tumblr dream come to life. Yet, Lito’s narrative stands on his own until the last couple of episodes where’s he’s pulled into the fight of the sensates to rescue Riley. The only exception could be Nomi – played by the trans actress Jamie Clayton (!) – who plays an important part as a San Franciscan trans female character who fight society’s standards and the occasional TERF. Her arc is natural, layered and she has wonderful chemistry with her very supportive girlfriend Amanita.

Some of the performances fall flat and the swishy camerawork definitely doesn’t add to the quality. You can’t escape the cheesiness and terrible, terrible dialogue. Sure, Sun and Wolfgang are always used as the fighters when the others are in trouble; Will brings his critical thinking skills in times of duress; Capheus knows how to drive the get-a-away car; Lito will tell the perfect lie; Nomi can erase you from the internet; and Riley plays the white damsel in distress whilst being in a bland relationship with Will. All the sensates are seemingly good, kind and idealistic. Nevertheless, it still is a welcome change from the usual assholes that parade on our screens. Plus: Diversity (!).

Why should you watch Sense8? A) The genuine bond between all the sensates; B) The series really flows when the sensates finally work together to fight against Whispers and BPO and manage to control their skills; C) The Wachowskis do know how to aptly bring fight choreography to life on screen.

Sense8 is a clusterfuck of clichés, mediocre storylines and inept world building. Still, binge watch the series to enjoy the human journey of the eight sensates and maybe the Wachowskis and Netflix will take note and improve season 2 – they’ve mapped out five seasons. Sense8 will prosper on Netflix.

[youtube_sc url=”https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iKpKAlbJ7BQ”]

 


Giselle Defares comments on film, fashion (law) and American pop culture. See her blog here.

 

Bitch Flicks’ Weekly Picks

Check out what we’ve been reading this week–and let us know what you’ve been reading/writing in the comments!

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We Have the Data, Hollywood, Where are the Results? by Kat Kucera at Ms. blog

There’s No Feminism to Be Found in Jurassic World’s Genetic Code by Jada Yuan at Vulture

How LA Film Festival Achieved Diversity by “Looking for People Who Are Seeing the World Differently” by Inkoo Kang at Women and Hollywood

The Human Rights Watch Film Festival Explores Social Justice by Stephen Holden at The New York Times

Interview: Akosua Adoma Owusu’s ‘Kwaku Ananse’ at the Institute of Contemporary Art (Philadelphia) by Rissa Papillion at Shadow and Act

Four Years After Bridesmaids, the Summer of Female Comedy Is Finally Here. What Took So Long? by Inkoo Kang at Vanity Fair

Women of Color in Hollywood Need Equal Work Opportunities Too by Tanya Steele at RH Reality Check

Taraji P. Henson, Viola Davis and Drama Actress A-List Tackle Race, Sexism, Aging in Hollywood by Stacey Wilson Hunt at The Hollywood Reporter

The Definitive Oral History of How Clueless Became an Iconic 90s Classic by Jen Chaney at Vanity Fair

Television’s Conversations with Masculinity by Rachel Catlett at The Mary Sue

 

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

Seed & Spark: Finding Ourselves In Our Work

We are so quick to label adolescent girls as these terrible, unruly, hormone-driven monsters, but underneath the name-calling and back-stabbing, where do the behaviors originate? It’s easy to say that we, as women, should be holding one another up rather tearing each other down, so why do we lash out so quickly at one another?

the youtube diaries that became the installation, yr a slut (2010)
The YouTube diaries that became the installation, yr a slut (2010)

 


This is a guest post by Megyn Cawley.


Sluts, famewhores, gold-diggers – all terms I was encouraged and paid to use while working in the entertainment media industry in my early 20’s. After a long stretch of unemployment post-undergrad in the late ’00s (hello, recession), I gladly accepted a position as an editorial assistant with a somewhat infamous media company. Initially, I was so stoked to have landed the job, but the thrill of “working in Hollywood” quickly wore off. My workdays became a daily exercise in shaming women’s appearances and pitting them against one another. It was difficult for me to digest that my weekly paycheck depended on perpetuating these antiquated stereotypes and gender divisions. Who am I to publicly deface any woman as an “off-the-rails coke whore” or “lezbot”? How is a broke lil’ feminist with minimal job experience supposed to stay afloat in an inherently misogynistic industry without defaulting on her student loans? By turning to art.

Although leaving my job was not a realistic option at that moment in time, I realized if I could make films and videos aligning with my feminist point of view, they would somewhat diffuse the growing pit in my stomach screaming, “WHAT HAPPENED TO YOUR MORALS, GF???” While attending the California Institute of Arts for my MFA in Film & Video, I started scavenging YouTube for video diaries of teenage girls for an installation. The first-person videos feature young girls publicly declaring their classmates and frenemies as “sluts” and “whores,” all while giggling, suggesting punishments for the girls who may or may not have wronged them. I felt like I was watching a real life version of the the snark I perpetuated at my job. When cut together in rapid succession, the nonstop string of of these girls publicly humiliating their peers from the safety of their bedrooms quickly turned barbaric. We are so quick to label adolescent girls as these terrible, unruly, hormone-driven monsters, but underneath the name-calling and back-stabbing, where do the behaviors originate? It’s easy to say that we, as women, should be holding one another up rather tearing each other down, so why do we lash out so quickly at one another?

still from girl (2012)
still from girl (2012)

 

I began exploring the psyche of the adolescent female for my graduate thesis film, GIRL. I interviewed women of all ages and backgrounds, asking them a series of the same questions – “How would you describe your teenage self?” “When did you become conscious of wanting to belong to a certain clique or social circle?” “Did you ever feel isolated or depressed?” and so on. Although the experiences varied from woman to woman, the psychology driving their behaviors was almost identical- the desire for validation of self. Surprise, surprise- teenage girls have an inherent desire to be accepted, to have their existence validated by someone outside of themselves. If I feel self-conscious about my appearance, you better be damn sure I’m going to make you feel self-conscious too. I soon realized, through making the film, that being open and candid about our personal experiences in adolescence, our empathy for one another as adults can grow tremendously.

My goal is to bring that understanding of commonality of self to my newest project, LIL’ MER (currently crowdfunding on Seed & Spark). The short film is an experimental retelling of the classic Hans Christen Andersen fairy tale, The Little Mermaid, using the framework of the story to explore gender identity and self-actualization. The story centers around Mirabella, a young woman struggling to express her inner self, and turns to a late night infomercial for the solution. The desire to shed our insecurities and feel free be our true selves is one of the hardest struggles we encounter, and by making this film, I think I may be one step closer in my own path to finding her.

 


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Megyn Cawley is a multimedia artist and filmmaker based in Los Angeles. By channeling nostalgia and camp ethos through the juxtaposition of analog and digital media formats, her work explores the expression of ego, self and gender identity. Megyn holds an MFA in Film & Video from the California Institute of the Arts, and has exhibited her films and multi-channel installations across the western US. She is currently in pre-production and crowdfunding for her latest short film, LIL’ MER.

13 Disappointing Things about ‘Grace and Frankie’

On the eve of the release of season 3 of ‘Orange is the New Black,’ and while the rest of the world’s feminist media critics still struggle to sort out ‘Sense8,’ I decided to take a look at one of Netflix’s least-buzzed-about original series: ‘Grace and Frankie,’ which premiered in May to little fanfare outside a late night tweet from one Miley Cyrus. ‘Grace and Frankie’ stars Jane Fonda and Lily Tomlin as the title characters, whose husbands Robert and Sol (Martin Sheen and Sam Waterston) leave them for each other after admitting to a 20-years-running affair. Grace and Frankie move into the beach house the couples shared and forge an unlikely friendship while navigating the single life for septuagenarians. The show has its charms, such that I might have watched the entire season without journalistic integrity as a motivation, but ‘Grace and Frankie’ let me down in a lot of ways:

Promo image for 'Grace and Frankie'
Promo image for Grace and Frankie

On the eve of the release of season 3 of Orange is the New Black, and while the rest of the world’s feminist media critics still struggle to sort out Sense8, I decided to take a look at one of Netflix’s least-buzzed-about original series: Grace and Frankie, which premiered in May to little fanfare outside a late night tweet from one Miley Cyrus. Grace and Frankie stars Jane Fonda and Lily Tomlin as the title characters, whose husbands Robert and Sol (Martin Sheen and Sam Waterston) leave them for each other after admitting to a 20-years-running affair. Grace and Frankie move into the beach house the couples shared and forge an unlikely friendship while navigating the single life for septuagenarians.  The show has its charms, such that I might have watched the entire season without journalistic integrity as a motivation, but Grace and Frankie let me down in a lot of ways:

You may also need vanilla ice cream bathed in whiskey, as enjoyed by Lily Tomlin as Frankie
You may also need big bowl of vanilla ice cream and whiskey, as enjoyed by Lily Tomlin as Frankie

 

1. The premise turns out to be rather boring. It is easy to imagine a late 90s pitch meeting, where “It’s like The First Wives Club—but their exes are gay. For each other!” is met with applause and pats on the back for cooking up something so “edgy.” And given that the creators of Grace and Frankie are 90s sitcom powerhouses Marta Kauffman (Friends) and Howard J. Morris (Home Improvement), you might expect something embarrassingly old-fashioned along those lines. Fortunately this is not the case, but Grace and Frankie overcorrects: everyone is so accepting of Robert and Sol coming out, and breaking up their marriages to do so, that most of the dramatic interest is obliterated.

2. This blandness coincides with an unfortunate case of bi-erasure. No one ever uses the B-word, even though Robert and Sol seem to have truly loved their wives romantically and sexually before falling for each other. [Spoiler alert!] A late-episode plot development will probably force reconsideration of this issue in season 2, but I’d rather bisexuality not be addressed through a negative stereotype like unfaithfulness.

She's a kooky free spirit, she's uptight and snobby!
She’s a kooky free spirit, she’s uptight and snobby!

 

3. The odd couple dynamic between Grace and Frankie is alarmingly unimaginative. One is a WASP and one is a hippie! Can you imagine the peyote-fueled hijinx that must follow?

4. It leans heavily on the HILARITY of old ladies saying dirty words while rarely bothering to weave those dirty words into otherwise funny dialogue.

"If anybody is gonna sit on Ryan Gosling's face, it's gonna be me!"
“If anybody is gonna sit on Ryan Gosling’s face, it’s gonna be me!”

 

5. And yet the series is remarkably chaste outside of its discussion of sandy vaginas and yam-based personal lubricants. Grace and Frankie wants to be celebrated for acknowledging the sex lives of seniors, but the most sexual chemistry we see on screen is between Lily Tomlin and the Scripps National Spelling Bee.

6. The characters are in the very boring As-Perpetually-Seen-on-TV Upper Upper Middle Class, and the show never engages with how the characters’ economic privilege intersects with their aging or sexual identity.

7. The first episode rips off the How to Get Away With Murder scene where Annalise removes her wig and makeup, which a) is significantly less meaningful with a white woman b) undermined by the drastically incomplete removal of Jane Fonda’s makeup. This is her “deconstructed” look:

Jane Fonda's "bare" face
Jane Fonda’s “bare” face

 

8. And for a show whose main selling point is celebrating women of a certain age, it is a shame they felt the need to shave eight years off Jane Fonda’s age and five years off Lily Tomlin’s to make both protagonists 70 years old. And then have Grace list her age as 64 on a dating website.

9. The one person of color in the cast is the least-developed character. That’s one of Sol and Frankie’s adopted sons, Nwabudike “Bud” Bergstein (Baron Vaughn). It feels like the one chance we get to know him is through his chemistry with his future sister-in-law Brianna (June Diane Raphael), but that relationship is sidelined in favor of…

June Diane Raphael and Baron Vaughn as Brianna and Bud
June Diane Raphael and Baron Vaughn as Brianna and Bud

 

10. The creepy “I stalk you because our love is so pure” “connection” between the other cross-section of future step-siblings: Mallory (Brooklyn Decker, who has surprising comic timing) and Coyote (Ethan Embry, who is disturbingly 20 years older than he was in Empire Records WHERE DOES TIME GO). Mallory has a hunky doctor husband and Coyote is a drug-addicted loser, but I think we’re still supposed to root for those two crazy kids to work it out? I am only rooting for a restraining order.

Brooklyn Decker and Ethan Embry as Mallory and Coyote
Brooklyn Decker and Ethan Embry as Mallory and Coyote

 

11. And June Diane Raphael is as underused as she normally is, in keeping with her place as television’s Judy Greer.

12. There is an episode in which some of the main characters are trapped in an elevator and one of the characters unexpectedly delivers a baby outside of a hospital setting, but these two storylines occur at different times and places. How dare you tease us with the cliché singularity, show, and not follow through.

Duty calls, Dolly!
Duty calls, Dolly!

 

13. Dolly Parton does not guest star, denying us the 9 to 5 reunion we want—no, need—no, DESERVE. This better be corrected in season 2.


Robin Hitchcock is a writer based in Pittsburgh who can personally attest to the deliciousness of whiskey-soaked vanilla ice cream.

Lies The Government–and Movies–Tell Us: ‘(T)ERROR’ and ‘Me and Earl and the Dying Girl’

To see a portrait of the inner workings of the FBI we have to look to films like the new documentary, ‘(T)ERROR’ co-directed by Lyric R. Cabral and David Felix Sutcliffe, showing this Sunday, June 14 as part of the Human Rights Watch Film Festival. In a highly unusual coup, an FBI informant Saeed aka “Shariff” (who used to be Cabral’s neighbor) agrees to be followed by the camera (though he complains to Cabral during closeups “You’re always getting the fucking headshots”) as he talks about his past cases and sets up a current one.

terrorCover

In most movies, US government agents, whether they are from the FBI, like Mulder and Scully, or from the CIA, like Melissa McCarthy’s character in Spy, invariably play the hero (or heroine) thoughtful, competent, and above all, ethical. The news tells a different story; FBI protection was a key factor in organized crime head Whitey Bulger escaping prosecution for his crimes (which included murder) for decades. When the FBI was investigating the Boston Marathon bombing they interrogated an unarmed immigrant friend of the bombers, and even though he was not implicated in the crime they shot and killed him. Just last week, after targeting a Boston-area Muslim man with surveillance for a number of months, the FBI (teaming with local police) stopped him near a CVS parking lot to “talk” to him. They ended up shooting him dead right there–at 7 a.m. on a workday morning.

To see a portrait of the inner workings of the FBI we have to look to films like the new documentary, (T)ERROR, co-directed by Lyric R. Cabral and David Felix Sutcliffe, showing this Sunday, June 14 as part of the Human Rights Watch Film Festival. In a highly unusual coup, an FBI informant Saeed aka “Shariff” (who used to be Cabral’s neighbor) agrees to be followed by the camera (though he complains to Cabral during closeups, “You’re always getting the fucking headshots”) as he talks about his past cases and sets up a current one.

Saeed is an older Black American Muslim whom we see pull up stakes from his home (so he is away from his young son) and his job as a cook in a high school cafeteria to move to a strange city with his dog and his weed, working on getting entrée into the life of a younger American jihadi who makes inflammatory YouTube videos but seems not to do much else. We see Saeed haggling with the FBI about money (he does not seem to earn much–at all–for his efforts) and admonishing them to stop being so obvious about setting this guy up.

Meanwhile, the jihadi, using Google and a piece of mail he sees on Saeed’s car dashboard figures out his FBI connection early in their acquaintance. We find out later that Saeed started his career with the FBI because he himself was charged with a crime, and then set up a man who was a friend of his to escape punishment, a chilling reminder of the questionable use of informants in the US justice system. This cycle perpetuates to the end of the film–someone barely getting by (the jihadi lives in public housing and does not to have a car) preyed upon by someone nearly as desperate, Saeed, as the FBI eggs him on. Saeed seems unrepentant about his targets, saying, “I don’t have no feelings for them. You making the Islam look bad, you gotta go,” but as he smokes blunts and bakes a succession of cakes he seems bent on convincing not just the directors and us, but himself too.

EarlCover

 

The lie the designated Sundance “breakout” movie Me And Earl And The Dying Girl (which opens this Friday, June 12) tells is familiar–that the experiences of white, straight guys are the only important ones; the main white guy can learn valuable lessons thanks to women and people of color, but nothing they do or say could possibly be as fascinating to us. The “me” of the title is Greg (Thomas Mann) a senior in high school, quirky in that cliché movie way that never crosses into weird or creepy and creative (he makes films at home with pun titles of famous works). His only friend is Earl (RJ Cyler), the Black best friend as stereotype: Earl’s main attribute is his repetition in more than one scene of the word, “titties.” Greg’s mother (Connie Britton) (she along with Nick Offerman who plays Greg’s Dad and Molly Shannon, who also plays a parent in this film, wrest what they can out of the script which bestows no human qualities on them, just more quirks) commands him to visit a girl, Rachel (Olivia Cooke), newly diagnosed with cancer, saying, “You might be someone who could make Rachel feel better.” He hasn’t hung out with Rachel since grade school and she greets him at her house by saying, “I don’t need your stupid pity,” but the two begin a friendship anyway.

Too bad Rachel is really the manic, pixie, dying girl (the one way the movie doesn’t fall into predictability is that she and Greg never embark on a romance) since we find out, too late, she is an artist as well, but her aspirations and thoughts get short shrift. Olivia Cooke does well with a limited role and gives us a glimpse of how much better the movie could have been in one scene when she gives Greg a pep-talk about his future, but when he asks about hers, she suddenly goes quiet.

DyingGirl
This film could use a lot more “girl” (Olivia Cooke)

 

Alfonso Gomez-Rejon directed the script by Jesse Andrews based on his own YA novel; future filmmakers of similar material should note that no one over 20 gives a shit about high school social hierarchy. The film has great art direction and soundtrack selection (with artists like Brian Eno and vintage Velvet Underground), but nothing can disguise or improve its white-guy narrative of “Person unlike me who changed my life for the better,” which seems more fitting for an undergrad college entrance essay than the basis for a film.

Earl has received puzzlingly decent reviews and its trailer seems to have piqued the interest of people who should know better, To try to understand how retrograde this film is, think if it were instead Me, The Girl and Dying Earl. The “me” would still be the white guy, his best friend a white girl who says “balls” a lot (which actually would make her a more nuanced character than most teenaged girls in movies, including this one) and Earl would be a variation of The Magical Negro, this one with terminal cancer who, as a last good deed, gives Greg precious guidance–and a plot that shows us all what a great guy Greg is. No one would hesitate to call bullshit on that film, so I’m unsure why no one is complaining about this one. I was also disappointed that a contemporary film that takes place in the suburb of a large American city doesn’t include any queer students in its high school especially since Greg, Rachel, and Earl would all be more interesting–and their sexless bond more true-to-life–if one or more of them were queer.

As I sat through Me and Earl I couldn’t help thinking of the Sufjan Stevens song “Casimir Pulaski Day” which covers some of the same ground–dying high school girl, quirkiness and a straight-guy narrator–but in less than six minutes reaches depths of feeling this film never comes close to. To equal the duration of this film you could instead listen to that song about 17 times–and save yourself $12.

[youtube_sc url=”https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2qfmAllbYC8″ iv_load_policy=”3″]

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Ren Jender is a queer writer-performer/producer putting a film together. Her writing, besides appearing every week on Bitch Flicks, has also been published in The Toast, RH Reality Check, xoJane and the Feminist Wire. You can follow her on Twitter @renjender

Scavenging for Food and Art: Agnès Varda’s ‘The Gleaners and I’

The tools Varda employs are modest and made for the road. The handheld digital video camera she uses allows for both freedom and intimacy. She puts herself in front of the camera, filming, for example, her aged hands and thinning hair in candid close-up. Can you imagine a Hollywood director doing so? Varda rejects vanity and embraces vulnerability.

Varga and her digital camera
Varga and her digital camera

 


Written by Rachael Johnson.


Belgian-born French filmmaker Agnès Varda is nothing less than a cinematic treasure. Her career spans decades and she has gained critical acclaim for both her fiction and documentary films. Varda was, of course, a pioneering figure of the New Wave and Left Bank. In 1962, she directed the ground-breaking, feminist classic Cléo de 5 à 7 (Cleo from 5 to 7). In 1985, her powerful, lyrical film about a young homeless woman, Sans Toi, Ni Loi (Vagabond), won the Golden Lion in Venice. This year Varda was awarded an honorary Palme d’Or at Cannes. She was the first woman to receive the tribute. At the beginning of the Millenium, Varda also directed the documentary Les Glaneurs et la Glaneuse (The Gleaners and I, 2000). It is one of the most fascinating ever made.

Poster for The Gleaners and I
Poster for The Gleaners and I

 

Varda begins her documentary by providing the historical, aesthetic and linguistic context of gleaning. We are given the Larousse dictionary definition: “To glean is to gather after the harvest.” The director tells us that it was a mostly female, collective activity in the old days. Today, both men and women glean, more often than not on their own. François Millet’s painting of les glaneuses provides the stimulating starting point for Varda’s creative, humanist journey. Marrying the past and the present, the documentary features interviews with men and women of rural and urban France in the new Millenium who practice various forms of gleaning. People gather everything from vegetables, fruit, and oysters to old dolls, fridges, and TVs. We encounter an impoverished single mother picking potatoes, and homeless young people dumpster-diving outside a supermarket. We also meet a chef scavenging for fruit because he prefers to know where his food comes from, as well as artist gleaners who scavenge for junk to use in their pieces. One of the most interesting people Varda meets is a man with a master’s degree who picks discarded fruit and bread from city markets in the morning and teaches French to immigrants from Mali and Senegal at night.

Recreating the act
Recreating the act

 

The Gleaners and I is not directly political but rather a thought-provoking, humanist study of people on the margins as well as those with reject capitalist norms of production and consumption. Issues of waste and sustainable development have become more and more critical, of course, since the film was made. Interestingly, in an effort to combat waste and food poverty, France introduced new laws this year banning supermarkets from dumping and destroying unsold food. They are now encouraged to give edible food to charities.

Millet's Les Glaneuses
Millet’s Les Glaneuses

 

The tools Varda employs are modest and made for the road. The handheld digital video camera she uses allows for both freedom and intimacy. She puts herself in front of the camera, filming, for example, her aged hands and thinning hair in candid close-up. Can you imagine a Hollywood director doing so? Varda rejects vanity and embraces vulnerability. Her presence is, also often playful. At the beginning of the film, she recreates the actions of the wheat-carrying glaneuse in Jules Breton’s painting of a solitary female gleaner, all the while fixing her eyes on the camera. Varda has the inquiring mind of all great artists. Her humanity and inventiveness are consistently on display in The Gleaners and I. The director seems entirely invested in the subject as well as entirely empathetic towards the people she meets. Varda indeed identifies herself as a glaneuse. She gleans both memories and images in her life and art. In truth, the documentary is not only a study of gleaning but also a beguiling self-portait of an artist as well as an imaginative self-reflexive study of the art and craft of filmmaking.

Villagers being interviewed about the tradition
Villagers being interviewed about the tradition

 

At once poetic and politically aware, The Gleaners and I offers a captivating portrait of the practice of scavenging. Both very French and very human, it’s a life-affirming film about how people survive and create. There are no subjects more important. The documentary is one of Varda’s essential works, as well as one of the most interesting and finest of all time.

 

Bitch Flicks’ Weekly Picks

Check out what we’ve been reading this week–and let us know what you’ve been reading/writing in the comments!

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Introducing Caitlyn Jenner at Vanity Fair

Laverne Cox and Janet Mock on Caitlyn Jenner and Trans Visibility

Jim Bob and Michelle Duggar’s Interview with Megyn Kelly: Minimize, Deny, Obfuscate by Libby Anne at Patheos – Love, Joy, Feminism

Interview: Lorraine Toussaint On Commitment To Characters, The Bechdel Test, And Baring It All For ‘Orange Is The New Black’ by Jai Tiggett at Shadow and Act

In “Spy,” Melissa McCarthy Screws With Your Expectations—And Gets the Last Laugh by Rebecca Olson at Bitch Media

Update!: 115 Films By and About Women of Color, and What We Can Learn From Them by jai tiggett at Women and Hollywood

‘No Más Bebés’ Exposes Sterilization Abuse Against Latinas in L.A. by Miriam Zoila Pérez at Colorlines

Kiki’s Delivery Service and My Witchy Feminist Awakening by Anna Gragert at The Mary Sue

A Q&A With Transparent Creator Jill Soloway by Aviva Dove-Viebahn at Ms. blog

Amy Schumer, Antiheroine by Laura Goode at Bright Ideas Magazine

Female Directors Better Represented in Festival Films Than Blockbusters (Study) by Hilary Lewis at The Hollywood Reporter

The Status of Women in the U.S. Media 2015 (Reports and Infographics) at Women’s Media Center

 

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

Where Are All the Female Anti-Heroes?

As I sit writing this post, it’s 6 a.m. I’m up early not by choice but because my internal alarm clock has gone off three hours early. Usually when this happens, it’s because of two reasons: I’ve fallen asleep drunk and it’s my beer alarm, or I’m extremely anxious about something. In today’s case, it’s Day 21 of my Kickstarter campaign for my first feature film.


This is a guest post by Christina Choe.


As I sit writing this post, it’s 6 a.m. I’m up early not by choice but because my internal alarm clock has gone off three hours early. Usually when this happens, it’s because of two reasons: I’ve fallen asleep drunk and it’s my beer alarm, or I’m extremely anxious about something. In today’s case, it’s Day 21 of my Kickstarter campaign for my first feature film. 

Seeing my struggling artist friends, my friends’ mothers, former collaborators, and strangers donating to my film has been extremely moving. It’s an uncomfortable position to be in, asking people for money so you can make your dreams a reality. And perhaps a very American concept. Like my immigrant mom says, “People in Korea only give you money if it’s a funeral or a wedding.”

During the lulls of the campaign, I’ve definitely thought to myself, I’m totally insane. Why am I putting myself through this masochistic process? Today, I was comforted by Robert DeNiro’s NYU commencement speech:

“When it comes to the arts, passion should always trump common sense. You weren’t just following dreams, you were reaching for your destiny. You’re a dancer, a musician, a filmmaker, a photographer, an actor, an artist. Yeah, you’re fucked.”

It’s hilarious but brutally true. As an artist we have to rely on our passion to keep going. As a Korean-American growing up in a small all white town in New Jersey, I didn’t know anybody pursuing the arts. I was also the black sheep in my family, who came to this country for the American Dream and wanted me to be a doctor or lawyer.

I chose the irrational. I also chose to tell stories about outsiders, because of some deep need to connect to others through cinema. While getting my MFA at Columbia University, I wrote/directed several shorts that screened around the world (Telluride, SXSW, Slamdance, Rooftop Films, etc). From The Queen, a film about a Korean-American teen coming out at his parents’ dry cleaners, to I am John Wayne, about a young Black cowboy grieving his best friend’s death, I’ve been lucky to connect with audiences with my films. That’s truly what keeps me going.

Since making those shorts, I’ve been working on making my debut feature. The script, NANCY, is a gripping, psychological drama about a female imposter who lies to gain emotional intimacy. The film is inspired by the literary hoax of JT Leroy, Fredreic Bourdin (The Imposter documentary), the fake blogger, “A Gay Girl in Damascus,” and my own former writing professor who turned out to be a fraud.

Nancy is a woman on the edge of society. She yearns for emotional connection through lying. She is morally ambiguous, charming, disturbing, and complex, in the vein of many male anti-hero characters we love like Travis Bickle, Walter White, Tony Soprano, etc.

As many of us already know, female filmmakers are still a minority and as a result, there are fewer complex female protagonists on screen. For female filmmakers of color the statistics are even more dismal. But I truly believe with a village of supporters, this film will be made.

We have seven days left! Please consider donating to our campaign and spreading the word to your friends! We have awesome female director tote bags as Kickstarter rewards.

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Christina Choe is an award winning filmmaker. She has received funding from New York Foundation for the Arts (NYFA), Jerome Foundation, and Canada Arts Council for the Arts. Her short films, The Queen, Flow, and I am John Wayne, have screened at film festivals around the world, including: Telluride, SXSW, Slamdance (Grand Jury Prize), Los Angeles Film Festival, Aspen Shorts Fest, and Rooftop Film Festival. Her films have been featured on VICE, Hammer to Nail and Vimeo Staff Picks.

In 2012, she was invited to the Berlinale Talent Campus and The MacDowell Colony. In 2013, she was selected as one of two fellows for the HBO/DGA Directing Fellowship, shadowing directors on Girls, Boardwalk Empire, and Looking.

She received an M.F.A from Columbia University for writing/directing and is currently in development for her first feature, NANCY, which was selected for Emerging Storytellers at IFP Project Forum, Venice Biennale College Cinema Program, the Hamptons International Film Festival Screenwriter’s Lab, Film Independent’s Fast Track & Directing Lab. In 2015 she received the Roger and Chaz Ebert Foundation Fellowship for Emerging Filmmaker at the Spirit Awards.

 

 

‘Jupiter Ascending’: Female-centric Fantasy That’s Not Quite Feminist

So yes, ‘Jupiter Ascending’ provides women and girls the “you’re secretly the most important person in the solar system” narrative that is so often granted to cishet white men, the demographic who already are treated as the most important people by virtue of the kyriarchy. What’s missing, however, is the part where Jupiter taps into her secret set of special skills.

Poster for 'Jupiter Ascending'
Poster for ‘Jupiter Ascending’

If you’re not on Tumblr, you might have entirely missed the existence of The Wachowskis’ space opera Jupiter Ascending. Bumped from last summer to a mercy-kill February release, it was panned by critics and ignored by audiences. Save the fannishly inclined, largely female Tumblr users who happen to populate my dashboard, who completely lost their minds over this movie. I blinked and missed its momentary theatrical release and had to wait for it on video to find out if it met the subculture hype. And I am here to report that Jupiter Ascending is a delightful cheesy sci-fi flick, if you’re into that sort of thing. And while it isn’t a feminist triumph in the way that Mad Max: Fury Road is (and even that movie’s feminism has been called into question), Jupiter Ascending is unusually suited to a female viewership, which is sadly still rather revolutionary, particularly for a genre flick.

Why does this spaceship look like a fancy mechanical fish? Why doesn't yours!?
Why does this spaceship look like a fancy mechanical fish? Why doesn’t yours!?

Gavia Baker-Whitlaw’s Daily Dot piece “Why Women Love Jupiter Ascending notes that its story “is the precise gender-flipped equivalent of all those movies where some weak-chinned rando turns out to be the Chosen One” usually with a hyper-competent and hot “Strong Female Character” acting as his guide through his Newly Discovered Destiny.  In Jupiter Ascending, Mila Kunis’s Jupiter Jones is a mild-mannered housecleaner who discovers she is actually solar system royalty after Genetically Engineered Space Werewolf Channing Tatum rescues her from an alien attack. Jupiter finds that she is at the center of a war between three royal Jovian siblings (yes I just had to look up the demonym for Jupiter I love my life) who all seek to control Earth and its seven billion harvestable humans so they can rejuvenate their youth by bathing in Soylent Green Espom Salts. She has a claim to Earth because she is the reincarnation of their mother and is also immune to bee stings. Or something. (The intricacies of the plot are not important, I only recount them here because they amuse me.)

Bees don't sting solar system royalty for some reason.
Bees don’t sting solar system royalty for some reason.

So yes, Jupiter Ascending provides women and girls the “you’re secretly the most important person in the solar system” narrative that is so often granted to cishet white men, the demographic who already are treated as the most important people by virtue of the kyriarchy (you really need to be MORE important, cishet white dudes?). What’s missing, however, is the part where Jupiter taps into her secret set of special skills, as we see with our once-mundane male Chosen Ones from The Matrix‘s Neo to The Lego Movie‘s Emmett to Wanted‘s Whatever-James-McAvoy’s-character-was-named.  She never eclipses the badassness of her Trinity-equivalent, the aforementioned Genetically-Engineered Space Werewolf, Caine Wise (one of the great joys of the film is when people call him “Wise” while he’s doing foolishly reckless things. I’m not sure if that was intentional). Caine needs to rescue Jupiter throughout the film; his preferred style of rescue is to give her a piggyback ride while he zooms around on his gravity-defying space rollerblades. If all these absurd details haven’t convinced you to watch this movie  yet, I’m not sure what will. When she’s on her own, Jupiter’s “action” is largely about contract  law.

Jupiter gets a lot of piggyback rides from Caine
Jupiter gets a lot of piggyback rides from Caine

Because Jupiter’s secret importance doesn’t come with previously untapped hyper-competence or the unique importance of her particular abilities, it is simply a royal birthright. She’s more along the lines of The Princess Diaries‘ Mia Thermopolis than Neo. And women aren’t really wanting for “you are actually a princess!” narratives.  There are 30-odd Disney movies about that. Jupiter Ascending isn’t a power fantasy, it is a wish-fulfillment fantasy.

Women already have "you're really a princess!" stories
Women already have “you’re really a princess!” stories

But it is still a fantasy for women in a big-budget sci fi movie, which is incredibly rare. Is that why Jupiter Ascending flopped at the box office, or at least why the studio lost confidence in it as a potential summer release? I suspect it has more to do with the current difficulty selling big movies without source material. If even the Wachowskis’ own Matrix trilogy (which provided the very namesake of Tasha Robinson’s Trinity Syndrome) couldn’t bring in a new era of original sci-fi blockbusters (the only two I can think of are Avatar and Pacific Rim), the failure of Jupiter Ascending seems foretold. So hopefully studios will focus on Jupiter Ascending‘s lack of source material rather than its female protagonist when they try to avoid making other movies that meet its fate. Then again, only basing movies on properties that already exist will perpetuate male-dominated stories.  So we’re kinda screwed either way, which isn’t an unfamiliar position for feminist film fans.

Eddie Redmayne as Balem Abrasax (that's the kind of character name you get with 'Jupiter Ascending')
Eddie Redmayne as Balem Abrasax (that’s the kind of character name you get with Jupiter Ascending)

Jupiter Ascending might go on to be a cult classic, and if you like bizarre scifi you should help it get there. I didn’t even get into Academy Award Winner Eddie Redmayne’s astonishingly campy performance as Balem Abrasax, who prefers the cape-but-no-shirt look and only speaks in whispers and screams (in the alternate universe where Jupiter Ascending was released in Summer 2014, Michael Keaton gazes lovingly upon his Best Actor Oscar). While Jupiter Ascending deserves accolades for providing female-centric fantasy, it doesn’t go the distance to become a truly feminist film (it is certainly nine or ten notches below Mad Max: Fury Road, which doesn’t even meet the bar for some people). But while I can’t recommend Jupiter Ascending as a feminist film, I do recommend it as a fun film. They can’t all have Furiosa.

 


Robin Hitchcock is a Pittsburgh-based writer who sadly has been stung by bees.

‘Spy’: Truly Funny and Truly Feminist

The melding of feminism and marketing means that certain crappy, mainstream films try to convince us our duty is to shell out money for them just because they’re directed by women, written by women or star women. This marketing, of course, is the best way to kill movies directed by, written by or starring women once and for all, by force- feeding us films that are supposed to be “good” for women but which give us no pleasure when pleasure, or something like it, is why we go to movies in the first place.

SpyMcCarthyCover

An advantage of getting older is being able to predict what types of maintream entertainment I won’t enjoy and then being able to cheerfully avoid them. I have never even seen a clip from Breaking Bad: the fulsome interviews with the (male) cast and creator on NPR were all I needed to hear. In the many years people have been posting “hilarious” Saturday Night Live clips I’ve found only “Brownie Husband” and Tiny Fey as Sarah Palin funny, so now I just skip them. With movies I am a lot more susceptible to hype, especially if the film is about a woman or women. I’ve been let down enough times that, for about the past decade, I’ve seen hardly seen anything at the multiplex, especially “comedies” which rarely make me laugh out loud or even smile. After sitting through The Devil Wears Prada, I decided I would no longer believe anyone who said, “You’ll like this one.”

The melding of feminism and marketing means that certain crappy, mainstream films try to convince us our duty is to shell out money for them just because they’re directed by women, written by women or star women. This marketing, of course, is the best way to kill movies directed by, written by, or starring women once and for all, by force-feeding us films that are supposed to be “good” for women but which give us no pleasure when pleasure, or something like it, is why we go to movies in the first place. What I find especially galling is when a film that is supposed to “empower” women ends up making one the butt of the joke, but instead of being a joke just because she’s a woman (as she would be in the usual bro-comedy) she’s a joke because she’s fat, or not white or because her appearance doesn’t conform to the ultra-femme standard of most women characters in movies. I feared that Spy, which opens this Friday, June 5, and stars Melissa McCarthy (who has been in more than one of the type of films I’ve described) might be another disappointment, but was pleasantly surprised.

The film starts out strong with a pre-credit sequence in which McCarthy’s character, Susan Cooper, from an office in Washington DC, guides spy Bradley Fine (Jude Law) through various ambushes and traps in an Eastern European mansion/castle using an earpiece, a contact lens camera and surveillance technology–plus her own expertise. She’s the super-competent office assistant that most powerful men have back at the office. She never falters and he, in the mold of James Bond and Jason Bourne never does either until the end when he confronts a villain and makes a huge error (which, in context, made me laugh out loud). At first Susan says, “Oh my God, why, why did you do that?” But then, like all great office assistants she immediately takes the blame, saying she should have taken additional measures to prevent the incident, even though we see she has already taken more than enough.

McCarthyLawSpy
Agents Cooper and Fine

 

Susan has a crush on Fine (who wouldn’t? Law here is at his most charming and, unlike in some other recent roles, has hair) which keeps her in his thrall. She confesses her desire to be a real spy only to her office mate, Nancy (a wonderful Miranda Hart, whom some might recognize from Call The Midwife), who tells her, “You play it too safe.”

Also on hand is Allison Janney (in one of the brusque, take-charge roles she does so well) as the agency boss who has no patience with Susan until she realizes “We need someone invisible,” in the field. Janney’s character also counsels Susan, saying that Fine, by telling her she was best at her job as his helper was actually holding her back. Susan is eager to take on the sophisticated false identity that she’s seen Fine and the other agents given but always ends up as a variation of a frumpy, Midwestern cat-lady, a sly dig at the type of roles actresses who aren’t slender, like McCarthy, are typically asked to play.

When Nancy and Susan visit the gadget sector of the agency, instead of the cross between a hovercraft and a Segway we see a good-looking man in a suit and tie thoroughly enjoying himself on, Susan receives a bottle of “stool softeners” that are actually  poison antidotes along with equally unglamorous accessories. Once in Europe she runs into another agent (who is supposed to be lying low) Rick (Jason Statham making fun of his usual “tough guy” roles) a bungling braggart who takes every opportunity to disparage Susan’s skills as a spy, even as we see that she brings the same efficiency to her work in the field as she did back in the office.

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Susan and Nancy

 

In a world where “satire” is used as a descriptor for works like Entourage, the word might not have much meaning, but Spy, in the tradition of the best satire, makes fun of conventions we might not have realized we were sick of–like the cat-lady typecasting. Also, while male action heroes like 007 and Jason Bourne never make a wrong move, no matter how extreme the situations they find themselves in and shoot and kill others with all the sensitivity of a giant swatting at flies, two of the women in Spy who kill react more like the rest of us might: neither plays it cool.

spy-rose-byrne-melissa-mccarthy
Rose Byrne as Rayna and Melissa McCarthy as Cooper (front)

 

I kept on waiting for the film to go wrong, for someone to humiliate Susan for her size, which miraculously never happens. Others doubt her skill and the villainess Rayna (Rose Byrne, having a ball as a spoiled, rich Daddy’s girl with a British accent) rips apart her fashion sense, even after Susan changes into flattering, chic evening wear, but no one ever comes close to making a fat “joke” or comment, which has to be some kind of milestone: imagine if Will Smith or Denzel Washington had spent a good part of their careers being the butt of racist jokes–and how different their careers would then be today.

I haven’t before seen McCarthy in a role I’ve liked, so was gratified to see how good she was in this one, which calls on her to take on multiple identities, sometimes switching personas in the middle of a scene. Writer-director Paul Feig (the director of Bridesmaids who is also one of the only male directors to publicly support the ACLU action on behalf of women directors in the industry) gives us the same settings as the real Bourne and Bond films use: European casinos, lakefront estates and helicopters, but isn’t so dazzled by them that he forgets to include jokes, good ones. For once no one is making fun of the office ladies (Hart’s Nancy also gets her turn in the field) but of those who make fun of the office ladies, like Rick, who by the end grudgingly admits that Susan has done a good job though we see he’s still not the smartest guy. I even liked the celebrity-as-himself cameo (Fifty Cent, who gets a great last line) and some of the physical comedy, which is a first for me.

The film isn’t perfect. I could have done without Peter Serafinowicz’s terrible Italian accent as a lecherous fellow agent and would remind everyone involved that Europe (not to mention Washington DC) has plenty of people of color and encourage them to cast some in speaking roles (the villains here are Eastern European, so we don’t even get Arab actors, though Bobby Cannavale, who is half Cuban, plays one hard-to-kill baddie). The film also includes a scene where Cooper and Nancy tear down a friendly, thin, well-dressed woman agent behind her back and an instance where a newly glammed-up Cooper delights in being the target of street harassment, false tropes that a woman writer-director probably wouldn’t have perpetuated. But Spy is so much better than any other film in its genre (and unceasing in its feminism: the solidarity between the women characters continues right through the end) that even those who put together the trailer must not have been able to believe it, since they strung together–badly–moments that make the movie look like the usual summer mediocrity. It’s not! Instead we finally have an action-adventure comedy that is truly funny and truly feminist–and almost makes me look forward to my next trip to the multiplex.

[youtube_sc url=”https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mAqxH0IAPQI” iv_load_policy=”3″]

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Ren Jender is a queer writer-performer/producer putting a film together. Her writing, besides appearing every week on Bitch Flicks, has also been published in The Toast, RH Reality Check, xoJane and the Feminist Wire. You can follow her on Twitter @renjender

They’ve Made a Huge Mistake: Motherhood in ‘Arrested Development’

Lindsay does not like to think of herself as a mother. Whether it has to do with her negative feelings about her own mother, or the fact that it might make her seem old (or, quite possibly, a combination of both), it becomes very obvious that she does not seem to feel comfortable in this role.


This is a guest post by Artemis Linhart.


Now the story of a wealthy family who’s literally lost it and the two mothers who had no clue how to keep it all together. It’s Arrested Development.

When it comes to parenthood, there is little to be learned from the Bluth family other than how not to do it. There are bad parenting choices all over the place. Moreover, when it comes to parenthood, discussions usually focus on the mother as the central character involved in the matter, sidelining the dads, which has to do with the antiquated gender roles our society is still prone to perpetuate. It is due to this habit that when talking about bad parenting, it is the mothers who are judged a lot more harshly than the fathers. When a mother neglects what is still often believed to be her natural role of the nurturing individual in a child’s life, she often faces scrutiny and reproach. Acknowledging this inadequacy, this article will nonetheless concentrate on the mothers of Arrested Development. Let the record show, however, that the fathers of the Bluth family are just as bad, if not worse.

Lucille Bluth, the matriarch of the family, has managed to raise her kids to resent her. The four (later to be five) siblings don’t usually agree on much. All the more telling is the fact that they readily agree on one thing: that their mother is a horrible person.

She has, however, maintained the love and loyalty of her youngest son, Buster, by strictly repressing his independence. The two of them have an inappropriately codependent relationship which, at times, reaches disturbing levels.

Lindsay Bluth has handled her daughter in the exact opposite way. She rarely knows Maeby’s whereabouts, nor does she seem to care at all. She prides herself on her liberal parenting style and all the freedom she is giving her daughter, when in reality, she simply fails to take notice of her.

While Maeby does enjoy the pleasures of a laisser-faire upbringing and the ability to take control of her own life as she pleases, she is also deeply hurt by her parents’ neglect.

All of this, however, is, in all its awfulness, used – and works perfectly – as a comedic device.

Stay-in-bed Mom

Not only does Lindsay forget Maeby’s birthday every single year, but she oftentimes fails to acknowledge, or even forgets, that she actually has a child. Thus, over the course of the previous four seasons, Maeby goes through a whole series of attempts to shock or spite her parents, none of which are successful, as they go completely unnoticed. This is already established in the very first episode when she tries to teach her parents a lesson about how their family ties are so loose that she doesn’t even know her own cousin, by kissing George Michael on the mouth – consequently sending him into a spiral of awkwardly improper feelings for her.

Her parents’ disinterest in her life reflects in her performance at school. Lindsay doesn’t care what grades Maeby gets, nor does she even know what grade she is in. This does work to Maeby’s advantage when she decides to quit school and work as a fake but highly successful movie executive instead.

Interestingly enough, Maeby’s constant need to rebel against her parents takes after Lindsay to some extent. After all, the whole reason Lindsay married Tobias was to spite her parents who, as they make perfectly clear, will never like nor accept him.

Lindsay does not like to think of herself as a mother. Whether it has to do with her negative feelings about her own mother, or the fact that it might make her seem old (or, quite possibly, a combination of both), it becomes very obvious that she does not seem to feel comfortable in this role. When she refuses to take Maeby to the Bluth company’s Christmas party, she argues: “You see, if I show up with you, it’ll just make me seem like I’m a mother.” As Maeby replies, “I’ve never thought of you that way,” which speaks volumes in itself, Lindsay is flattered and responds, “That’s sweet.”

Season 4 illustrates quite clearly the relationship between Lindsay and her daughter. In the two episodes dealing with Lindsay’s experience, Maeby is not a part of the plot. This is foretold metaphorically as Lindsay deems her framed photos of Maeby unnecessary baggage and leaves them behind, because her suitcase is too full. As a matter of fact, Maeby only appears in these episodes disguised as a shaman, which isn’t revealed until later in the season. This can be seen as an apt metaphor for Maeby’s struggle of being around all the time but never being seen. The episode centers around Lindsay, who, when asked by said shaman whether she has kids, instinctively says no.

Maeby’s Season 4 episode, on the other hand, deals exclusively with her trying to get her parents to notice that she is flunking high school – unsurprisingly, to no avail. As it turns out, Lindsay and Tobias have sold their house and gone their separate ways, abandoning Maeby, who they both believe they had sent to boarding school. While she is visibly disappointed by all of this, she is clearly not at all surprised. This goes to show just how badly she already thinks of her parents and how well she blends in with the Bluth family, where oblivion is king and no one has any respect for anyone.

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One thing Lindsay deserves some credit for, though, is that by not caring about Maeby, she is also very accepting of her. Lucille, on the other hand, is highly critical of her children, especially focusing her verbal disapproval on Lindsay. Her looks and weight in particular are what Lucille loves to dwell on. When Lindsay declares that she “doesn’t feel like being criticized around the clock,” Lucille’s harsh, yet hilariously nonsensical reply is: “I don’t criticize you. And if you’re worried about criticism, sometimes a diet is the best defense.”

In fact, Maeby does learn to appreciate her mother’s aloofness when she briefly befriends Lucille, who quickly starts subjecting her to the same rebuke about her physical appearance. She subsequently even tells Lindsay that she’s glad to have her as a mom.

Another thing that sets Lindsay apart from her mother Lucille is that she is not a control freak. Lucille who, incidentally, sometimes happens to be out of control due to her excessive drinking, keeps tabs on all the goings-on in the Bluth family. In a way, she is the evil puppeteer of the family, monitoring her children’s every move and manipulating them not only into doing things for her and getting her what she wants, but also into turning against each other for that very purpose.

Her fear of her children ganging up on her is another reason she pits them against each other. In Season 1, for instance, she tells Lindsay that Michael thinks of her as a stay-in-bed mom – when it was really her, who coined this ever so fitting description of her daughter.

Maeby pretending to move out of the model home, in an effort to outrage her parents. Lindsay, meanwhile, is sound asleep.
Maeby pretending to move out of the model home, in an effort to outrage her parents. Lindsay, meanwhile, is sound asleep.

 

A run for their money

Despite their differences (of opinion and in general), Lucille and Lindsay share quite a few (appalling) characteristics.

While they both have a very hands-off parenting style, they certainly have a very hands-on attitude towards the family money. When it comes to finances, both are hugely irresponsible. They have grown accustomed to a certain lifestyle and are not willing to relinquish it in the face of their going broke. In a family where no one cares about anything but themselves, they take whatever they can get their hands on, mostly by lying to everyone about everything – that being another character trait the Bluth family has collectively perfected.

Not unlike the rest of the Bluths, they are both entirely out of touch with reality. Whether it’s Lindsay’s pretend interest in political causes and desultory fundraisers, or Lucille’s bizarre appraisal of the world (“I mean, it’s one banana, Michael. What could it cost? Ten dollars?”), it becomes very clear that money is a non-issue for them. This does not change in a time where it should be and is very much of great concern, seeing as the company is in jeopardy of going out of business.

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With the goal of maintaining her luxurious lifestyle, she uses her children as pawns in order to maneuver her way around her son Michael’s policy of handling the company money responsibly. What matters to her is that she gets her way. Her disregard of other people’s feelings also shows in how overly vocal she is about disliking her children, especially GOB. Out of her four biological children she clearly harbors the most disdain for him. After her “baby,” Buster, Michael seems to be the one who she is the fondest of. The way she phrases this demonstrates not only her inability to say something nice to her children, but also how much of a burden she seems her children to view as: “You are my third least favorite child.”

However, this fondness might have to do with the fact that he handles the family money. A case in point is the following conversation in Season 1:

Michael: “I don’t have the money, alright, Mom?”

Lucille: “Then why are you here?”

Not only does she not make a secret out of not liking her children, at times she even goes out of her way to be mean to them. For example in Season 1, when she deliberately tries to hit GOB with her car, which she later blames on an unsuspecting Michael. In order to prevent him from remembering what really happened that night, she repeatedly hits him over the head with heavy objects, all the while pretending to be the caring mother figure who just wants the best for her son and is there to nurse him.

Speaking of nursing…

When George Sr. goes to prison, Lucille’s grip on Buster tightens. For fear of being all alone, she relies on her youngest son to be there for her. This works well for poor, brainwashed Buster, whose affection for Lucille knows no bounds.

As the overbearing mother that she is to him, she dresses him, gives him baths and decides what he can and can not do. In return, he does what he can to serve and please her, which grows more absurd as the series progresses: From the fairly harmless zipping up of her dresses to the unsettling practice of a mouth-to-mouth ritual when Lucille takes up smoking and Buster inhales the smoke from her mouth and blows it out the window, because she refuses to get up to do this herself.

Despite all this closeness and codependence, their relationship is subliminally based on a mutual hatred of some kind. His constant presence, as they can no longer afford to send him off to postgraduate studies, annoys Lucille and she starts to resent Buster.

Small, yet very real insults are exchanged behind each other’s backs. Lucille says about him, “His glasses make him look like a lizard,” whereas Buster speaks his mind to his siblings, who regularly badmouth their mother themselves: “She gets off on being withholding.”

Aside from being terrible at parenting, Lucille is an alcoholic. While she is usually heavily “under the influence,” the whole family is subject to and under the influence of her insane whims.

Her drinking might also help explain why Buster seems a little bit strange in general. When he unwittingly drinks alcohol for what we believe to be the first time, the narrator clarifies: “It was the first taste of alcohol Buster had since he was nursing.”

Clearly, theirs is a love of many a troubling detail. There are little clues dropped here and there that shape up to an image of an unhealthy, sheer unbreakable bond between mother and son. It is a slippery slope from Buster’s remarks such as “This is not how my mother is raising me” (note the present tense) to Lucille admitting in Season 3 that she has only just quit taking her post-partum medication, 32 years after having Buster. Michael gently suggests “cutting the cord,” but Lucille isn’t having any of it. “He needs me” and “he’s weak” are her excuses to keep him under her wing.

When ultimately he does break free from Lucille’s dominant parenting, he literally doesn’t get very far: He gets involved with Lucille’s best frenemy, Lucille 2, who lives across the hall, and quickly moves in with her. In a way, she takes on the role of a mother-substitute while also being Buster’s lover, the lines of which seem to be a big blur for Buster as it is, as is often insinuated throughout the seasons of the show, but especially in season 4.

For the first time, Buster is free from Lucille and greatly enjoys his newfound liberation (with the other Lucille). He wants to experience life and do all the things his mother never allowed him to do.

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Meanwhile, a jealous Lucille, who has never lived alone, is initially terrified and tries to break up Buster and Lucille 2. However, it doesn’t take long for her to also explore her freedom, and soon she is found dancing drunk in her apartment, smoking a cigar and singing along to “Mama’s all alone, Mama doesn’t care, Mama’s lettin’ loose” blasting on the stereo.

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As the two of them are living it up without each other, it becomes clear that this is not a long-term solution. Buster eventually breaks up with Lucille 2: “I’ve already got a Lucille in my life!”

However, Buster is not the only one to seek a replacement for the other. Lucille needs the security of taking care of “her baby” and takes whoever is convenient to her at the moment.

Lucille’s trust in Buster is shaken and she gets an adoptive child who she believes to be named Annyong (“Hello”). She uses him to make Buster jealous as a type of revenge for him leaving her for a different Lucille. Though she is deeply annoyed by the kid who hardly ever speaks a word other than “his name,” she still keeps him with her as a way of showing Buster how little he is needed.

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When Buster goes off to the army, she admits that if anything were to happen to him, she would be lost.

She instantly pulls George Michael close to her and declares, “You’re going to have to be the baby of the family” and with a kiss on the cheek she commands, “You’re never going in the ocean. You’re my baby, I’m never letting you go!” as she holds him in a tight embrace.

Undoubtedly, she is not thinking clearly in this state of emergency, because usually, Lucille isn’t one for showing her affection. In fact, as she once hugs Michael, he seems startled and confused as to what is happening.

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What is remarkable about the Bluth family is that, considering all their resentment toward and estrangement from each other, they are exceptionally close. They see each other every day or speak on the phone and while those are rarely friendly interactions, they are still very involved in each other’s lives.

All the overwhelming chaos and the myriad of issues create a wide array of feelings – and where there are feelings, there is certainly a bond. In the end, they can count on being there for each other, even when bribing is usually involved.

Lastly, it remains to say that Jessica Walter is brilliant in the role of the detached, alcoholic mother. For all those who can’t get enough of the wonderful and hilarious Lucille, there is always the adult animated TV series Archer, where Walter voices a character that bears an uncanny resemblance to Lucille Bluth.

[youtube_sc url=”https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=G9EiV3EPLy0″]

 


Artemis Linhart is a freelance writer and film curator with a weakness for escapism.

 

 

The Fresh Slice of Life of ‘Ackee & Saltfish’

Friendship between women has been depicted in an array of illustrious shapes in our pop culture. Who hasn’t seen the indelible images of Thelma and Louise, Cher and Dionne, Romy and Michelle, Leslie and Anne? The new kids on the block that will nestle themselves into our cultural lexicon are: Olivia and Rachel. British humor is revered and known for blending dark humor with peculiar physical comedy, but try listing at least three films off the top of your head that are focused on the Black British experience and black British humor; you’ll likely come up short. However, there’s now ‘Ackee & Saltfish,’ a witty step forward in closing the gap.

Rachel (left) and Olivia (right)
Rachel (left) and Olivia (right)

 


This is a guest post by Giselle Defares.


Friendship between women has been depicted in an array of illustrious shapes in our pop culture. Who hasn’t seen the indelible images of Thelma and Louise, Cher and Dionne, Romy and Michelle, Leslie and Anne? The new kids on the block that will nestle themselves into our cultural lexicon are: Olivia and Rachel. British humor is revered and known for blending dark humor with peculiar physical comedy, but try listing at least three films off the top of your head that are focused on the Black British experience and black British humor; you’ll likely come up short. However, there’s now Ackee & Saltfish, a witty step forward in closing the gap.

The Jamaican-British director Cecile Emeke forged her own path of limitless creativity – outside the mainstream media – with her honest, humoristic storytelling. Another filmmaker who created her own niche is Issa Rae, who established an successful career out of her YouTube series The Misadventures of Awkward Black Girl, that resulted in a deal with HBO for her TV pilot and a bestselling novel of the same name. While both managed to create space where the doors were closed that’s where the similarities end.

Emeke garnered the public’s attention via her “Fake Deep” poem, and through her phenomenal work on the Strolling docu-series. She has carved a safe space for young Black women and men to vent and offer their unique perspectives navigating the Western world whilst being Black. In an interview with The Washington Post, Emeke explained how she created her docu-series, saying, “Strolling was born out of a desire to capture and share intra-communal discussions within the black community in hopes of affirming others and relieving alienation. I started off capturing conversations with friends, but since Strolling has grown, the conversations have grown to include people all over the world. I’m aiming to touch every corner of the diaspora.” Those are lofty goals and it seems she’s about to fulfill them. Her work was selected by Tribeca N.O.W., which celebrates new online work of independent filmmakers, BBC Trending recently called her YouTube channel “young, British, witty and black.” The New York Times said her work was “rendered with a complexity and depth that is exhilarating to watch.” Not bad for someone who only picked up a camera at the start of 2014.

Rachel and Olivia enjoying life
Rachel and Olivia enjoying life

 

Ackee & Saltfish is set on a warm Sunday afternoon in East London where we follow Olivia (Michelle Tiwo) and Rachel (Vanessa Babirye) on their quest to find food – or to be precise – the traditional Caribbean dish Ackee and saltfish. The duo planned a lavish brunch but Rachel forgot to soak the saltfish overnight so now they’re on a serious mission to find an authentic plate of Ackee and saltfish. On their stroll through the city hilarity ensues and tensions rise when we follow the best friends on their holy quest to find their Caribbean takeaway. The short film is written and directed by Emeke.

Emeke allows the viewer to closely follow two best friends who talk about pop culture, love, classism, racism, and the world at large, but there’s no drama when it comes to boyfriends, drugs, or other redundant tropes that seem to be prevalent when it comes to modern films about the Black British experience – i.e. Adulthood, Kidulthood, Top Boy (TV).

It’s a double-edged sword when it comes to Black women and media–they are underrepresented but at the same time molded in archetypes that are damaging society’s perception of Black women. Think of the Strong Black Woman, Mammy, Jezebel, Video Vixen, and so on. What’s so refreshing about Ackee & Saltfish is that Emeke simply presents an alternative. Olivia and Rachel are two Black women who are just livin’ life.

There’s an excellent balance between the two characters. Olivia has a distinct personality: bubbly, brash, outspoken and quick with her sometimes insensitive quips while Rachel is more grounded, contemplative and not necessarily as interested in talking about socio-political issues. When Olivia is firing up about gentrification and cultural appropriation, Rachel sarcastically claps back with “Aww, did you learn some new words off Black Twitter today?” Her reaction reflects their different stances on the issues at hand. Whilst Olivia is ready to fight the status quo, Rachel succumbs to the fact that they can’t change the situation right away. For many, Olivia’s anger will seem justified but Emeke never portrays the characters being right or wrong. It’s up to the audience to form their own opinion.

Can we see Olivia and Rachel as carefree Black girls? Jamala Johns wrote in her article for Refinery29 on carefree Black girls: “By putting the word ‘carefree’ front and center, it’s making a statement that we don’t want to be solely defined by hardships and stereotypes so we can enjoy our lives as we please. Carefree should not be mistaken with careless.” So with that in mind, it’s refreshing to see Olivia and Rachel quibbling whether or not Olivia will find her own Common but they’re simultaneously aware of the issues surrounding religion, race, the social implications of gentrification in their neighborhood, and so much more. There are a couple of funny scenes where Olivia and Rachel riff off each other:

Olivia: “I want Solange to adopt me.”

Rachel: “Why?”

Olivia: “Well, think about it, Solange as a mother would be the most amazing thing in the world.”

Rachel: “Why?! How do you know that?”

Olivia: “Like, Julez is livin’. I’m trying to live with Julez.”

This and several other short scenes underline the depth of their friendship and the ease with which they talk to each other on the most mundane topics. Emeke gives us a glimpse into the private world that exists between two best friends. Often comparisons are made with the Comedy Central hit Broad City, or Pursuit of Sexiness by SNL’s Sasheer Zamata and Girl Code’s Nicole Bryer, where you also follow the lives of two 20-somethings in the big city, but you’ll find out that Ackee & Saltfish stands on its own.

The crux of the appeal of Ackee & Saltfish lies in the humor and the familiarity. The underlying layer of authenticity simmers throughout the film when you hear Olivia and Rachel throw quips back and forth. It’s like you can see them walking past you on the street, and you catch funny snippets of an intimate conversation where you want to chime in – but instead you’ll hold your tongue. The cinematography of the film is straightforward, sometimes Emeke uses soft focus, or slow, inquisitive zooms. Emeke narrows the story down to the classic unity of time, place, and action. The core of the film is a long walk, recorded in real time and the takes create the appearance that the scenes are off-the-cuff improvised, but in fact they’re carefully scripted and extensively rehearsed. It’s cinematic strolling at its best.

Ackee & Saltfish is a short film that consists of small events, many conversations, and a lot of friendship. It is a tribute to healthy female friendship between Black women, but also a film about pop culture, gentrification, classism, race and just two girls enjoying life. The narrative is not groundbreaking. Nevertheless, the natural chemistry between the leads, the sometimes uncontrollably witty scenes, dialogues and observations and richness of details carry the film with ease.

Just like the Caribbean dish, this short film will make you thirsty and crave for more. Luckily, you can now quench your thirst since Emeke followed the short format with a five-part series on YouTube where you can follow the everyday adventures of best friends Olivia and Rachel.

[youtube_sc url=”https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rPu-DN58KuM”]

 

See also at Bitch Flicks: Ackee & Saltfish: There Are Other Narratives to Explore

 


Giselle Defares comments on film, fashion (law), and American pop culture. See her blog here.