Bitch Flicks – Page 100 – The radical notion that women like good movies

Seed & Spark: Latinas in the House!

BUTS started as a joke we had about our bodies. We are both pear-shaped women. (And God bless Lena Dunham for putting that silhouette out there without apologizing or qualifying it.) However, as our beauty standards still predicate, the hourglass figure rules. But our “hourglasses” had all the sand in the bottom! We would laugh about it and pad our bras when going to auditions.

This is a guest post by Irene Sofia Lucio.

First of all, it is an honor to be included in this fancy group of Seed & Spark women writing for Bitch Flicks, given that this is our very first project as co–creators. Reading the past articles written by these inspiring women is humbling, exiting, and gives you a good kick in the butt to keep working and be worthy of this community.

I will start off by saying that I am a Latina woman as is my co-creator, Emma Ramos. Never in a million years did I think I would be starting an article, or a characterization of myself, with those two titles. Perhaps I am naïve.

But it is incredibly important to open with this fact—that I am a woman and a minority. To do so is not only about combatting a lack of representation (or misrepresentation) in media, but also about eroding the loneliness that we all feel when there isn’t a heroine that we can call your own.

I was trained as an actor. And, because I look white, I played all kinds of American and European characters in grad school. After graduating, I adapted to the struggling actor lifestyle right away and was thrust into the casting pool and casting mentality of New York. Since then, I have been similarly cast: When the director was open-minded enough to disregard my Latin name and imagine me as something else, I only played white characters. I realize that I am fortunate to be ethnically diverse, but I felt sad that I could never tell the stories of Latin America. I wasn’t brown enough; I seemed too educated; I seemed too aristocratic. What does that say about how we think of Latinos and how we’re characterizing them?

I am not the typical Latina. I was brought up in a wealthy town in Puerto Rico, went to an American private school, and then two Ivy League schools. These are all privileges and accomplishments that I have often felt apologetic or embarrassed by. I didn’t experience many of the struggles that Latin Americans have to face on a daily basis, and as a result, I felt I had to prove that I was from Latin America. This is sad— not only because that implies that being Latin American restricts us to a certain experience and color, but also because it suggests that my stories are less valid, or less welcome.

It was at the peak of my frustration with the industry that I had the good fortune of meeting Emma. Though Emma looked “the part” more than I, she too was not “Latina enough” to play the bulk of the roles available. Unfortunately, the majority of these are still restricted to prostitutes, maids, and hyper-sexualized stereotypical figures. Emma grew up in Sinaloa Mexico, studied business, led radio stations there, and then decided to become an actor in New York City. After graduating from grad school, she too felt the harsh reality of a fundamental lack of roles. Frustrated that our stories weren’t being told, we decided to create BUTS.

Soon, though, we realized that our “inadequacy” was reflected elsewhere too. Again, we were too educated, privileged, Americanized, quirky, nerdy—you name it—to be considered Latina by TV and film standards. So, with our butts in mind, we started thinking about how we could expand the conversation. We took a ‘T’ out of the butt and considered the many ways that we as women and Latinas complicate the stereotypes and the very notion of what those two titles mean. It is our BUT argument to how those labels are being depicted. We have chosen to do it in a comedic format because, as we say in Puerto Rico: “I laugh so that I don’t cry.” And it is crazy how empowering it has been to embark on this endeavor with Emma.

As of now, we have only released one episode, but the laughter and impact it is already creating is extremely encouraging. Episode two will be released at the end of the month. We simply cannot wait to tell more stories of what it means to be an American millennial Latina: a person that identifies more with what it means to be a millennial than what it means to be a minority (even though society continuously insists on keeping us in that box).

As I read these other Bitch Flicks Seed & Spark articles in preparation for writing this one, it became incredibly clear that we are all trying to do the same thing: produce work that stands on its own, that “happens” to be by women and by demographics that are considered minorities. Like these other projects, I hope that BUTS will open more windows into more stories that are valid and true. I hope that my little sisters will see the episodes and relate instead of feeling like they are strange hybrids. By opening windows we are creating opportunity, hopefully reaching others, and welcoming them to do the same.

Finally, I will also say that the self empowerment that one feels when producing original work and calling the shots to maintain its integrity is the most thrilling feeling I have ever felt professionally. It surpasses that of standing in front of a large audience and reciting gorgeous text. Thank you for inviting us to be a part of this inspiring community. I look forward to reading many more.

Irene Sofia Lucio was born and raised in San Juan, Puerto Rico. She is an actress, writer, and teacher in New York City. Recent credits include: Love and Information NYTW, WIT at MTC, We Play for the GODS at Women’s Project, Pygmalion at California Shakespeare Co., Bad Jews at Studio Theater of DC, and Romeo and Juliet at Yale Rep, Stranded in Paradise (Sony Pictures), Casi Casi (HBO Latino), and Gossip Girl. She is a graduate from the Yale School of Drama and Princeton University. www.irenesofialucio.com

Emma Ramos began her career in Mexico in politics and business. She dramatically changed her life to become an actress after training at East 15 Drama School, UK.

Credits Include: NYTW: Scenes from a Marriage. Off-Broadway: Comfort of Numbers (Signature Theater), Accidents Waiting to Happen (IRT), La Santa (Ontological Theater), Him (Soho Rep), Sangre (SummerStage) Mala Hierba (Intar). Film & TV: 3rd St Black Out, Sunbelt Express, El Cielo es Azul, “Unforgettable,” “The Hunt,” “Killer Talent.” www.emmaramos.com

‘Baby Mama’ Makes Fun of Pregnancy More Than Poor People

Shockingly, despite both Tina Fey and Amy Poehler being on my Fantasy Dinner Party Guest List, it took me six years to finally watch Baby Mama, the 2008 surrogacy comedy starring everyone’s favorite FFBFFs (famous funny best friends forever). I made the classic error of judging a movie by its trailer and thought ‘Baby Mama’ was going to be 90 minutes of “this old bat has such raging baby fever she lowers herself to associating with—get this—poor people!” and/or “This chick is so poor she sublets her uterus! It’s funny because she’s poor.”

'Baby Mama' movie poster — *Baby Mama* movie poster

Shockingly, despite both Tina Fey and Amy Poehler being on my Fantasy Dinner Party Guest List, it took me six years to finally watch Baby Mama, the 2008 surrogacy comedy starring everyone’s favorite FFBFFs (famous funny best friends forever).

Aside from having been released during the pop culture blackout period that was my first year of law school my giant mistake, I also made the classic error of judging a movie by its trailer and thought Baby Mama was going to be 90 minutes of “this old bat has such raging baby fever she lowers herself to associating with—get this—poor people!” and/or “This chick is so poor she sublets her uterus! It’s funny because she’s poor.”

Amy Poehler's Angie holds breast pumps over her eyes. — Amy Poehler’s Angie holds breast pumps over her eyes.

Fortunately, Baby Mama is not as grossly classist as I feared. Yes, Tina Fey’s Kate, the wealthy businesswoman who can’t get pregnant, is shocked by her surrogate Angie (Amy Poehler) for everything from her diet (heavily featuring Tastykakes and Dr Pepper) to her manners (discarding gum under a reclaimed barnwood coffee table) to her interests (the American Idol karaoke video game Kate bought for her niece). But the audience is invited to laugh at both sides of the class divide between these characters, and there are actually significantly fewer jabs at Angie for being insufficiently classy than there are at Kate for being a yuppie snob. It’s just that peeing in the sink makes for better trailer material than jokes about forced nicknames for gentrified neighborhoods.

"You peed in the sink, isn't that against everyone's rules?" — “You peed in the sink, isn’t that against everyone’s rules?”

However, if you’re looking for any kind of meaningful exploration of the power dynamics and body politics inherent to contracted surrogate pregnancies, Baby Mama is not your movie. This is strictly a situation comedy, with a surprising reliance on plot twists and a mostly superfluous romantic subplot involving Greg Kinnear as a slightly more sincere yippie (Young Urban Professional Hippie) than Kate. A lot of the humor is derived from the absurdities that apply to pregnancy and parenting more generally rather than surrogacy specifically: birth shaming, strollers with airbags, books like 101 Things That Can Go Wrong With Your Pregnancy.

Kate reads 101 Things That Can Go Wrong With Your Pregnancy — Kate reads *101 Things That Can Go Wrong With Your Pregnancy*

But, the surrogacy forces the Hollywood Movie Unobtainium that is a central female relationship. And it is the chemistry between Fey and Poehler that keeps this movie afloat despite its meandering pace, some repeated jokes that never quite land (Steve Martin as Kate’s boss is one yuppie joke too many, Sigourney Weaver as the surprisingly fertile surrogacy agent), pointless tertiary characters (Maura Tierney as Kate’s supermom sister, Romany Malco as Kate’s weirdly ubiquitous doorman), and a final plot twist that made me feel like I had morning sickness.

Really, if the combined powers of Tina Fey and Amy Poehler can make a movie as thoroughly mediocre as Baby Mama so much fun to watch, we should probably be legally requiring them to make at least one movie together a year. Call your congressperson.

Robin Hitchcock is an American writer living in Cape Town who just looked up how many days there are until the next Golden Globes (129).

20 Years Later: Powerful Realism and Nostalgia in ‘My So-Called Life’

Twenty years later, we need more of what My So-Called Life gave us a taste of. We need teenage girl protagonists to be sexual, not sexy. We need honest portrayals of what it is to be a teenager–not only for teenagers who need to see themselves in faithful mirrors, but also for adults who are still trying to figure themselves out.

: My So-Called Life

This repost by Leigh Kolb appears as My So-Called Life turns 20.

Our teenage years are often unfulfilled and disappointing. We relentlessly try to find ourselves, to make things good, but those short years are over quickly, and we don’t truly get it until much later.

These years are much like the short-lived My So-Called Life, which aired from 1994 to early 1995, and was canceled after just one season. The protagonist of My So-Called Life, Angela Chase (Claire Danes), is a powerful representation of those short teenage years. She is self-centered, horny, and emotional. She is pulled from every direction, trying to separate from her parents and evolve with new friends. She has high expectations and deep disappointments. Angela and her friends are painfully accurate portrayals of what it is to be a teenager.

As sad and unjust as it is that the show only lasted one season, there’s something poignant about how it was short and open-ended, yet packed such intensity into 19 episodes. My So-Called Life is, essentially, a mirror image of adolescence not only in narrative, but also in format.

: Angela Chase

My So-Called Life is a gold mine for feminist analysis–the show includes many thoughtful critiques of what it means to be a young woman in our culture, what it means to be a wife and mother, what it means to be a man, and what it means to be gay. Topics typically reserved for superficial after-school specials (sexuality, drug use, abuse, coming out) are treated with an intensely real humanity that many critics have argued completely changed the genre of adolescent and family dramas.

Being a teenage girl in our culture is fraught with cultural expectations and disappointments. Angela–along with girlfriends Rayanne and Sharon–are portrayed not as caricatures, not as virgins or whores, not as good girls or bad girls. They are complex and sexual; they are selfish and confused; they are wonderful and awful.

Teenagers are typically–biologically–self-centered and sexual, and the power of nostalgia drives us to consider and reconsider our teen years (in them and after them). My So-Called Life stands the test of time because it deals with these issues through characters and plot lines that reflect reality.

Self-Centered

Early in the season, the writers frame most episodes with lessons that the students are learning in school. Kafka’s Metamorphosis is juxtaposed with Angela changing her looks (dying her hair red) and feeling misunderstood by her parents. Angela sits in a class about JFK’s assassination, and says she’s “jealous” that she hasn’t had that defining moment in life that she’ll always remember where she was when it happened. Malcolm X’s words are turned into a lament about a zit. Students flirt and make out, ignoring the art on a field trip to the art museum.

On the surface, these woven-together stories seem jarring–we watch Angela turn everything into an insignificant comparison to her own life. But this is exactly what we do in adolescence. We pout that nothing important has happened in our lifetime without understanding the weight of history because we think that we are the center of history. There is scientific proof that teenagers’ brains function differently–it’s important to remind ourselves of that.

My So-Called Life, specifically through Angela’s narrative, portrays that era of life perfectly. Creator/writer/producer Winnie Holzman said, “I just went back to what it was like to be a teenager for me. Sure, Angela’s me. But at the risk of sounding. . . whatever, all the characters were me.” Holzman researched further by teaching at a high school for a couple of days, and realized that teenagers were “exactly the same” as they always had been (which is perhaps why the show still seems so real).

: The unending journey to define “self”

This selfishness is not presented with judgment or disdain, though. All of the characters–teens and adults alike–have human motivations, which we sometimes like, and sometimes don’t. Their selfishness is examined through the consequences and normality of being self-centered as a teenager, and how that looks and feels different when one is a parent or teacher. Angela worrying about a zit over Malcolm X’s words seems off-putting, but it’s painfully real.

Angela’s relationships with her friends–Rayanne, Rickie, Brian, and Sharon–also highlight the inflated sense of self that navigates us through those formative years.

Horny

One of my favorite aspects of the show is the way young female sexuality is portrayed. Angela is horny as hell. Those fresh, out-of-control adolescent sexual urges are clear and accurate throughout the series, and the writers deal with teenage sexuality with truth and nuance that is too rare in portrayals of teenage sexuality (especially teenage girls’ sexuality). Angela’s inner monologues about–and eventual makeouts with–Jordan Catalano reveal that intensity.

: Intense

Angela is clearly sexual, but also struggles with the disappointing reality of teenage male sexuality when Jordan tongue-attacks her with a terrible, awkward kiss, or expects sex before she’s ready. She wants him so much, but the expectations and imbalance of sexual power are crushing. Angela is never anti-sex, but she is nervous. She speaks with her doctor about protection, and opens up to Sharon. Her reasons for not being quite ready don’t have to do with her parents or religion–it’s about her. And that’s just how it should be.

Meanwhile, straight-laced Sharon is getting it on constantly. She shares with Angela that the expectations that disregard female agency are problematic, but she enthusiastically enjoys sex. While Sharon seems the most judgmental and prudish, she has a fulfilling and active sex life. Angela realizes–as do we–that sexual acts don’t define a person, but sexuality is an important part of who we are.

Rayanne is known by her peers as promiscuous and “slutty,” but we are also challenged to look beyond that. She wants to define herself, and that’s the label that has stuck–so she decides to be proud of the designation (she and Sharon share sub-plots about their sexual reputations). Her sexual experiences–the drunken night with Jordan being the only time we know she has sex–don’t seem to be healthy or for her. All of the characters needed more seasons to have their stories fully realized, but Rayanne especially needed more than 19 episodes to be explored.

My So-Called Life turns the virgin-whore dichotomy on its head. Young women’s sexuality–the intensity, the confusion, the expectations–is presented realistically, and the message that when it’s good, it’s good, is loud and clear.

: INTENSE

Angela and Jordan’s makeout scenes are, well, amazing, and the female gaze is often catered to. When Angela is skipping geometry study sessions to go make out with Jordan in the boiler room, we understand why she’s doing it. That episode has some excellent commentary on young women’s educational motivations, especially mathematics. When an instructor laments that it’s “so sad” when these smart girls don’t try, another instructor says that it’s because of their low self-esteem.

While that’s not an untrue assessment, it’s also important to recognize that in Angela’s case, she was horny as hell. We brush off boys’ behavior–the idea that they can’t stop thinking about sex in their teen years–but girls are right there, too.

As Angela tells a confused Brian, “Boys don’t have the monopoly on thinking about it.”

My So-Called Life reiterates that idea, which is heartbreakingly rare in depictions of teenage girl protagonists.

: Commentary on the pressures that teenage girls face is woven throughout the show.

Nostalgic

The Greek roots of the word nostalgia are to return (home) with pain. We often think of nostalgia as telling stories with old friends, or looking through old yearbooks as we reminisce. But it’s much more than that.

Angela says, “I mean, this whole thing with yearbook — it’s like, everybody’s in this big hurry to make this book, to supposedly remember what happened. Because if you made a book of what really happened, it’d be a really upsetting book.”

My So-Called Life ends with Angela stepping into a car with Jordan and driving away. Jordan has just met her mother, Patty, and the two sit and visit. Patty has been waiting for her old high-school love interest to stop by for a drink (and a business conversation), but he doesn’t show up. Patty and Jordan share a fairly intimate conversation, and both seem to understand something they hadn’t before.

Jordan comes outside, asks Angela to come along with him, and says that her mom says it’s OK. In understanding her own trajectory from teenager to adult, Patty has released Angela.

It’s sudden, it’s unclear, and it’s vague. It–the show, and adolescence–goes by so quickly, and we can’t fully understand it until we look back at the literal and figurative pictures of our life. Not just the smiling yearbook photos, but those things that remain inside.

We don’t know exactly where Angela is going at the end of My So-Called Life, and neither does she. The restraints and possibilities of adolescence can be overwhelming, and as life changes into adulthood, the restraints and possibilities both tighten and grow. By looking back–in all of its pleasure and pain–into those years of intense growth and confusion, we can better know ourselves.

: Angela rides away with Jordan at the end.

When My So-Called Life originally aired, I was in middle school. Our antenna didn’t pick up ABC, so I wasn’t able to watch it in real time. I knew, however, from the occasional Sassy magazine that I wanted to be Angela Chase, and I wanted Jordan Catalano. Years later, after living through almost all of the plot lines of the show, I watched the entire series. And then again, years after that. I’m struck by how much I can still feel what I felt at 15 by listening to Angela’s internal monologue. Good television, like good literature, can do that–take us, through fiction, back to times and places. Whether those times and places are crushing or celebratory, there is a distinct pain in going back–that nostalgia that shapes us and creates our realities.

: Imagine the power in seeing this ad as a teenage girl: “Yes, I DO know how it feels!”

Twenty years later, we need more of what My So-Called Life gave us a taste of. We need teenage girl protagonists to be sexual, not sexy. We need honest portrayals of what it is to be a teenager–not only for teenagers who need to see themselves in faithful mirrors, but also for adults who are still trying to figure themselves out.

That season of our lives is fleeting, open-ended, and ends abruptly. It’s meaningful but unfortunate that My So-Called Life so accurately portrayed those particular aspects of adolescence.

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

When Dead People Have Something Useful to Say: Sexuality and Feminism in Neil Jordan’s Vampire Movies

Neil Jordan is best known for ‘The Crying Game’ —aka The Movie Where It Suddenly Turns Out That the Main Character is in Love with a Trans Woman – but he also made two vampire movies, and damn if those weren’t kind of interesting, too. Taken together, they show that the vampire genre can be re-invented in all kinds of ways, as long as there’s substance under the biting and blood.

Written by Katherine Murray.

Neil Jordan is best known for The Crying Game —aka The Movie Where It Suddenly Turns Out That the Main Character is in Love with a Trans Woman – but he also made two vampire movies, and damn if those weren’t kind of interesting, too. Taken together, they show that the vampire genre can be re-invented in all kinds of ways, as long as there’s substance under the biting and blood.

Let’s start with the obvious one. Interview with the Vampire is unusually relaxed about its LGBT content, especially given that it came out 20 years ago, in 1994 (a special anniversary blu-ray will be available soon). It’s a mainstream Hollywood movie about a bisexual man finding the self-esteem to leave an emotionally abusive relationship, and it has bankable A-list actors – one of whom famously sues people for saying he’s gay – in the lead roles.

Yet, it’s not remembered as being especially controversial. The characters don’t have sex – in the Rice verse, vampires are pretty much impotent and only get off on biting – but it’s clear that Brad Pitt’s character, Louis, is in two separate homosexual relationships over the course of the film. Interview was marketed as a vampire movie, though, rather than a gay romance, and the fact that people are biting each other rather than kissing apparently masks all other content.

In fact, “They’re vampires!” seems to mask many of the emotional and interpersonal dynamics in the film, which is kind of a shame, since Interview with the Vampire is a very complicated, well-dramatized story about co-dependency and toxic, emotionally abusive or incestuous relationships. The fact that at least two of these relationships are homosexual is treated as No Big Deal by the movie, and could potentially sail right past you – I guess – because of the fangs.

The female vampire, Claudia (played by a 12-year-old Kirsten Dunst), is literally an adult woman trapped in a child’s body, but she’s also a representation of how her fathers’ infantilizing treatment of her has kept her from becoming independent. When Lestat (Tom Cruise) turns her into a vampire, he does it specifically to manipulate Louis, after Louis threatens to leave him – it’s not about wanting a child, or wanting Claudia, specifically; it’s about wanting another thing to control and another avenue to control what he already has. We find out later in the film that what he’s done is forbidden – that vampires generally feel it’s wrong to create something that can’t survive on its own; a creature that will be trapped with you through its dependency.

Claudia is never allowed to become an adult and, since she and Louis are both victimized by Lestat, they form an emotionally incestuous bond that’s based on his taking care of her, and her being (sort of) his wife. She’s afraid that he’s going to leave her; he feels guilty about what will happen if he tries to strike out on his own.

In the end, Louis finds a new boyfriend, who murders Claudia in order to have Louis to himself and, at that point, Louis realizes that he can’t spend the rest of eternity taking care of people – whether it’s Lestat, or Claudia, or this new guy – and he decides to go live by himself, at which point he discovers that that possibility is not as terrible as he imagined.

“They’re vampires!” certainly adds an extra layer of interest to the story, and creates lots of opportunities for gory, stylized violence, but it’s the all-too-boring, all-too-common human dynamic beneath it that makes the vampire stuff worthwhile. It’s a story that spans centuries and uses fantastical elements like, “Look, this child can never grow up!” to touch on deeper reflections about dysfunctional relationships, boundaries, and self-esteem. The fact that it snuck the idea of two gay/bisexual men raising a child together into popular culture is just an added bonus.

Jordan revisits some of the same themes in his less well-known but more political vampire movie, Byzantium (2012), written by Moira Buffini.

More in-your-face than Interview with the Vampire, Byzantium tells the story of Clara and Eleanor Webb (Gemma Arterton and Saoirse Ronan), a vampire mother and daughter on the run from others of their kind who want to kill them.

Most of the story takes place in the present day, but flashbacks slowly reveal the tale of how Clara (who is Eleanor’s biological mother as well as her vampire!mother) was forced into a life of prostitution by a misogynist naval officer, Captain Ruthven, and later stole the map to immortality from him.

The way we get this information is really ham-fisted, and it’s lacking in any kind of subtlety or emotional weight, but the idea is important. Ruthven comes by the map in the first place because local Nice Guy, Darvell, who thinks of himself as a good person, invites Ruthven to join his Secret Special Amazing Fraternity of Super Cool Dudes, knowing that Ruthven viciously destroyed Clara’s life. He feels sorry for her, but the idea that Ruthven is responsible for doing this to her is in no way incompatible, for him, with the idea that Ruthven is the kind of guy you’d want to be blood brothers with for eternity.

When Clara steals the map to the supernatural cave that turns people into vampires (just go with it), Darvell gets pissed-off and tells her that she ruined everything by becoming the first female vampire. She’s forbidden from turning anyone else, but, when Ruthven attacks Eleanor as revenge for Clara stealing his map, Clara brings Eleanor to the cave and makes her a vampire, too. Nice Guy Darvell spends the next two hundred years trying to kill them because they wrecked his super special brotherhood.

Along the way to driving home this point about women’s equality, Byzantium also explores the uncomfortable dynamic between Clara and Eleanor, where they’re more like sisters than parent and child – partly owing to the fact that Clara was so young when she gave birth to Eleanor – and the uncomfortable way in which Clara keeps resorting to prostitution as a way of making money. (This is maybe the only vampire movie where the vampires are not somehow rich, and you can easily trace it to the lack of opportunity they’ve had as women).

In the end – spoiler, spoiler – Darvell finally figures out that he’s being an asshole, and Clara figures out that Eleanor needs to have her own life rather than being a project for Clara to work on.

Byzantium is not a subtle movie, but it’s interesting in that it uses the long life of vampires to trace the social position that women have held in Western culture, over the past 200 years. When we first meet Clara, she isn’t even treated as a person – in fact, she steals personhood from a group of men, and passes it onto her daughter, making her public enemy number one. Flash forward to the present, and it’s ridiculous to suggest that Clara and Eleanor aren’t people – so ridiculous that even Darvell comes around to the idea, in the end.

It’s a very different narrative about vampirism than the one where male aristocrats get to hang out being rich and good-looking, luring women toward them in some kind of magical thrall. It’s a narrative that takes into account that the world looks different depending on whether you’re standing on top, or getting your face stomped in, down below.

Whereas Interview with the Vampire has a more general message that isn’t specifically about being gay, and casually pulls in gay characters, Byzantium is much more overtly political, and much more about articulating an experience that is specifically female. Both approaches are interesting, and both offer something more than “They’re vampires!” to steer the story.

Interview with the Vampire and Byzantium are both movies that use their supernatural elements as a springboard for exploring social and psychological content that’s relevant to the world we live in. Rather than using real-life issues as window-dressing (True Blood), or being purely escapist (Twilight, Dracula), Neil Jordan’s vampire movies (and the source works they’re based on) show how you can re-imagine the vampire in different, less superficial ways, based on what kind of analogy you’re trying to make.

We’re living in a time of vampire saturation, but it’s a (blood) well that doesn’t actually have to run dry. As long as “vampire” is tied to something more than having fangs, I’ll keep watching these movies forever.

Katherine Murray is a Toronto-based writer who yells about movies and TV on her blog.

Exposing Real Lies: ‘Reel Injun: On the Trail of the Hollywood Indian’

What does an “Indian” look like? If you are like most Americans, your answer will fall somewhere between Disney’s Pocahontas character, Johnny Depp’s depiction of Tonto, and the Washington NFL team logo. That’s because your education, family, friends, and society have no idea what actual, living Native peoples look like thanks in large part to Hollywood film representations. The 89-minute documentary ‘Reel Injun: On the Trail of the Hollywood Indian’ (2009) will begin to correct some of those misrepresentations floating around in your brainpan.

What does an “Indian” look like? If you are like most Americans, your answer will fall somewhere between Disney’s Pocahontas character, Johnny Depp’s depiction of Tonto, and the Washington NFL team logo. That’s because your education, family, friends, and society have no idea what actual, living Native peoples look like thanks in large part to Hollywood film representations. The 89-minute documentary Reel Injun: On the Trail of the Hollywood Indian (2009) will begin to correct some of those misrepresentations floating around in your brainpan.

[youtube_sc url=”https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rbDvteUUrm4″]

What will really blow your mind is when I say that “Indians” don’t exist. “Indian” was the term Columbus labeled the indigenous peoples of this land because he thought he was in India. So this mistake has become the generic name for all 500+ nations that still remain in this land. Charming. And in Hollywood films, Native peoples exist only as stereotypes. Thomas King (Cherokee) writes in his latest tome, The Inconvenient Indian, “Indians were made for film. Indians were exotic and erotic. All those feathers, all that face paint, the breast plates, the bone chokers, the skimpy loincloths. . .The only thing film had to do was to collect such materials and cobble them together into a series of functioning cliches. Film dispensed with any errant subtleties and colorings, and crafted three basic Indian types. There was the bloodthirsty savage, the noble savage, and the dying savage.”

The history of this practice is laid bare in Reel Injun and will shock and amaze you. Director Neil Diamond (Cree), and co-directors Catherine Bainbridge, and Jeremiah Hayes craft an alternative narrative to the one you think you know. For instance, did you know that the most famous “Indian” actor, Iron Eyes Cody, was Sicilian, not Native?

[youtube_sc url=”https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=65PpeJkix5g”]

Did you know that the story you think you know about Crazy Horse and Custer isn’t true? Or that in many “classic” Hollywood westerns where Native actors are speaking a Native language, they are making fun of the scene or their fellow white actors instead of saying the lines presented in English on screen? Or that in the 1930s, Native Americans directed and acted in films from their own perspectives? Or that the headband seen so often on Native characters in westerns was because of the costume department and has absolutely nothing to do with real Plains cultures?

After a scene in a Hollywood costume vault, Ojibway film critic Jesse Wente says, “This is actually, while probably not calculated, an ingenious act of colonialism. You are essentially robbing nations of an identity and grouping them into one.”

Reel Injun starts off by reminding viewers that Hollywood has represented “Indians” in over 4,000 films for over 100 years before launching into a film clip smorgasbord that washes you with image after image that reinforces Thomas King’s statement.

The director/narrator, Neil Diamond, does a simple voiceover as the camera captures young Native kids watching one of those ubiquitous Hollywood westerns where “Indians” are the enemy. His voiceover: “Growing up on the reservation, the only show in town was movie night in the church basement. Raised on cowboys and indians, we cheered for the cowboys, never realizing we were the indians.”

Diamond’s stated goal is to “make sense of the world’s enduring love affair with the Hollywood indian. . .this image has captured the world’s imagination.” From the silent era when Native Americans were directing and acting in films to the twentieth century when representations of Native peoples remained wildly inaccurate and fantastical.

Cree director of Reel Injun, Neil Diamond.

Adam Beach, John Trudell, Russell Means, and Chris Eyre are among an impressive list of interviewees in the film and their comments are dispersed among historic photographs, film clips, and images of iconic American landscapes. About 13 minutes in, Chris Eyre explains, “The reason that indians were projected so heavily into movies was the romance of the tragedy, Greek-Roman tragedy.”

Philip J. Deloria addresses the representation of Native peoples in film in his book, Indians in Unexpected Places, writing, “Films, of course, never repudiated the sensibility of Indian violence found in the Wild West. Indeed, they were key to the shifting of Indian violence from nineteenth-century possibility to twentieth-century titillation and metaphor” (55).

At one point, director Diamond visits one of the many summer camps held in America every year that keep “Hollywood’s notion of the noble savage alive and well,” where little white boys romp and play and fight dressed in face and body paint and grunt and shout and vocalize the Atlanta Braves’ “tomahawk chop” tune under the watchful eye of their white leaders. Before he meets this group of campers, Diamond says, “I wonder if any of these kids have ever met a Native person. Or if their image of us comes only from the movies. I hope I don’t disappoint them.”

In The Inconvenient Indian, King provides a guiding perspective with which to consider the documentary Reel Injun, as well as any representations of Native peoples you may see on film or TV: “The good news is that none of these Indians was a threat. To the White heroes in particular and to North America in general. None of them ever prevailed. What we watched on the screen over and over was the implicit and inevitable acquiescence of Native people to Christianity and Commerce. No matter what happened, the question that was asked again and again on the silver screen was: Can Indians survive in a modern world? And the answer, even in sympathetic films such as Broken Arrow, Little Big Man, and Dances with Wolves, was always: No.”

Reel Injun won Gemini Awards for Best Direction and Best Visual Research and was nominated for Best Original Score in a Documentary Program. Available to stream on Amazon and Netflix, this documentary would make a wise and balanced addition to any classroom studying film, film history, Native Americans past and present, as well as issues of representation or identity.

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Dr. Amanda Morris is an Assistant Professor of Multiethnic Rhetorics at Kutztown University of Pennsylvania with a specialty in Indigenous Rhetorics.

On Not Giving Women Filmmakers A “Free Pass”: ‘Kelly & Cal’

Many actresses, especially those in their 30s and older, find themselves relegated to playing “the mother” for much of their careers. Most of these films (like the recent indie hit Boyhood) seem to go out of their way to tell stories from anyone but the mother’s point of view. For a short time Jen McGowan’s Kelly & Cal (also written by a woman: Amy Lowe Starbin) seems like it will be a welcome contrast to this norm. At the beginning we see a closeup of the tired, stressed face of new mother, Kelly (Juliette Lewis), as we hear the pleasant, disembodied voice of Kelly’s OB/GYN, who indulges in the (relatively recent) abhorrent practice of referring to women who are pregnant or have recently given birth as “Mom” (instead of calling them by their names) while she rushes Kelly through her six-week checkup. The doctor isn’t the only offender: “How was your day, Mommy?” Cybill Shepherd’s squeaky clean mother-in-law later asks when she visits for dinner.

We again see closeups of Kelly’s unhappy face as she (and we) hear her baby constantly crying, interrupting her even when she tries to masturbate–after her husband proves more interested in TV than in sex. We learn Kelly’s name only when she introduces herself to Cal. They meet over her fence as Kelly sneaks a cigarette and Cal asks if he can have one too. Cal is supposed to be 17 or l8, but the handsome and not untalented Jonny Weston, who plays him, is–and looks–26. Throughout the film, whenever he talks about attending high school I felt like correcting him, “Don’t you mean graduate school?” The actor visibly being well past his teens makes Cal’s banter seem particularly inappropriate and creepy.

He tells Kelly (whom he’s just met) “You have great breasts,” then admonishes her that if she didn’t want him to comment on them she shouldn’t nurse her son with the curtains open (sort of like how some men feel free to advise celebrities never to pose for private nude photos if they don’t want the world to see them).

Kelly immediately tells him, “Get away from my house,” then sees he uses a wheelchair as he rolls back toward his own place. That evening she tells her husband she feels bad that she yelled at someone who is “handicapped,” the word used to describe Cal throughout the film, even though “people with disabilites” has been common parlance–including in the Americans With Disabilities Act–for over 25 years. I guess we should be grateful the film doesn’t have any queer characters, so we don’t have to hear them called “homosexuals.”

She used to be "wild" — She used to be “wild”

The movie really goes off the rails after Kelly appears at Cal’s garage apartment (his parents’ house hasn’t been equipped with ramps) as an apology, but quickly leaves (Juliette Lewis is quite funny in this scene; she’s better than the film deserves) when Cal continues to talk explicitly about sex (this time about his own prowess even after the accident that caused his spinal cord injury). Her actions are perfectly in keeping with everything else we’ve seen so far from Kelly. So the audience is left to wonder why, the next day, she goes back to visit Cal as if nothing has happened. If Kelly were meant to be a damaged character, a woman who felt that being in the company of someone who humiliates her by talking explicitly about her body (which he spied on while she was behind closed doors in her own house, feeding her son)–and then told her all the sexual things he could do to her–is all she deserves, I could accept this plot point. But as the part is written (up until that point in the film) and as Lewis plays her, Kelly is a level-headed sort, even if she feels lonely and out-of-place in her new role as a suburban stay-at-home mother. Kelly and Cal’s “friendship” in this context makes no sense and seems to bolster the philosophy of street harassers and “pickup artists” that talking explicitly to women they barely know (and who don’t seem open to their sexual attention) is the way to attract them.

For extended periods that follow, the film (which seems long but is actually only 110 minutes), in the tradition of soap operas, seems to forget Kelly has a baby. We see her freely drinking beer and other alcohol when before she had demurred explaining that she was still breast-feeding (if the TV series Please Like Me can be trusted, apparently breastfeeding mothers can pump their milk before the occasional drunken night out, but the movie doesn’t care enough to offer this explanation). She and Cal spend lots of time alone together, after which she often goes home to an empty house–when new parenthood means (as the start of movie makes clear, and shows is a major part of Kelly’s frustration), except for brief respites when others take over, the baby is always there.

No, really she was "wild" — No, really, she was “wild”

We get a tiny subplot that goes nowhere about Kelly once being “young and wild” and “in a band” which seems cribbed from a Wikipedia entry about “Riot Grrrl,” especially when the characters repeatedly mispronounce “Sleater-Kinney” as “Sleeter-Kinney.” The film also uses a Cyndi Lauper song, the polar opposite of “wild,” as one of of Kelly’s favorites. Kelly ends up kissing Cal because his harassment somehow ends up charming her. She also does a little breaking and entering and graffiti with him as foreplay.

Cal, on the other hand, inhabits the trope of the disabled character who feels like life is no longer worth living. A person with disabilities who becomes suicidal is such a cliché that When Billy Broke His Head, a too-infrequently seen documentary about disability–directed by a disabled man–had a sequence that was a montage of disabled characters in film after film announcing their intentions to kill themselves. Audiences would object if every woman in films wanted to off herself–or if every person of color did. And we’re glad that modern queer characters in dramas like Weekend, Keep The Lights On, and Pariah survive to the credits because in the past the rule seemed to be that one (or more) of a film’s queer characters must die by the end. But the disabled character (and there’s usually only one), if he or she isn’t busy being an inspiration to others, is, in too many films and TV shows otherwise on the brink of suicide. We could use more characters like Winston (Clifton Collins Jr.) in Sunshine Cleaning, who was missing an arm, but was neither depressed nor awe-inspiring, just a person trying to get through life.

A film with real distribution (it opens on Sept. 5) directed by a woman as well as written by one is a rare enough occurrence that I wish I didn’t have to point out all that’s wrong with Kelly & Cal. But if a film has the same old sexist (not to mention ableist) tropes, we have remember why we wanted more films by women in the first place–and see that maybe this particular example isn’t solving the problem.

As Susan Sarandon (in The Celluloid Closet) said of their love scenes in The Hunger, no one needs to get drunk to kiss Catherine Deneuve. In the same way, nobody needs to lower their standards to love the films of women like Stacie Passon, Miranda July, Dee Rees, Sarah Polley, and Andrea Arnold. But film distributors still treat an acclaimed queer woman’s film about a queer woman, Concussion, as subpar: last year the rapturous reviews it received from a number of influential critics came too late for it to have a real run in many cities that might have embraced it, (including mine which is full of art houses and is in the first state to legalize queer marriage). One Cut, One Life the documentary co-directed by and featuring Lucia Small was the best film I saw at the Independent Film Festival of Boston (where I saw Dear White People, Belle, and Obvious Child) and probably the best documentary I’ve seen this year (a year that included Elaine Stritch: Shoot Me and Anita) but even though it plays at The New York Film Festival Sept. 29 it still doesn’t, as far as I know, have a distribution deal. The only way to fight against this tide is to keep praising good films by women–and not dilute that praise by heaping it onto other films that happen to have women’s names on them.

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

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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.

Ten Documentaries About Political Women

A pioneering advocate for gender equality, co-founder of Ms. Magazine, and cultural icon, Gloria Steinem has played a prominent role in modern American history. The HBO-produced profile ‘In Her Own Words’ features thoughtful interviews with the woman herself as well as fascinating archival footage. Steinem comes across as sincere and engaging while clips of central moments in 70s women’s history capture the energy and spirit of feminist activism.

Written by Rachael Johnson.

1. Gloria: In Her Own Words (Peter W. Kunhardt, 2011)

A pioneering advocate for gender equality, co-founder of Ms. Magazine, and cultural icon, Gloria Steinem has played a prominent role in modern American history. The HBO-produced profile In Her Own Words features thoughtful interviews with the woman herself as well as fascinating archival footage. Steinem comes across as sincere and engaging while clips of central moments in 70s women’s history capture the energy and spirit of feminist activism. Other illuminating footage, exposing the mind-blowing sexism of the US media, clearly indicates what women were up against. In Her Own Words offers, too, a fairly intimate profile of Steinem. Addressing family and romantic relationships, as well as Steinem’s feminist awakening, the documentary marries the personal and political.

2. Taking Root: The Vision of Wangari Maathai (Lisa Merton and Alan Dater, 2008)

The late, great Kenyan environmentalist Wangari Maathai (1940-2011) remains one of the moral figures of our age. Maathai founded the Green Belt Movement, a tree-planting organization benefiting rural women facing firewood and food scarcity on environmentally degraded land. In 2004, she became the first African woman to receive the Nobel Peace Prize for her contributions to sustainable development. A strong, energizing figure brimming with personality, Maathai also confronted sexism and political oppression. Taking Root tells the story of an eco-feminist crusader who empowered her fellow women and citizens. It’s both a stirring study of singular courage and a story of people power.

3. Free Angela and All Political Prisoners (Shola Lynch, 2013)

Free Angela and All Political Prisoners chronicles the extraordinary life of an extraordinary woman, activist, and academic, Angela Davis. Directed with style and verve, it addresses a particular episode in the radical icon’s life, her arrest and trial following the 1970 kidnapping of, and killing in a shootout, of a Californian judge. The incident occurred during an escape attempt at the trial of one of the Soledad Brothers, three men accused of killing a white prison guard after the killing of several Black inmates. As the guns were registered to Davis, she was accused of involvement. Fleeing arrest, she was put on the FBI’s Most Wanted Fugitive List. Davis was acquitted of all charges in 1972 after spending 18 months in prison. The historical context is hugely important, of course. Davis was seen by many in the United States, and globally, as a victim of a racist legal justice system and society that actively persecuted people of color. A left-wing philosophy philosopher at UCLA with close links to the Black Panthers, Davis posed a threat to the right-wing white establishment. She had, previous to the Marin County incident, been fired from her teaching post. Although one documentary feature cannot hope to fully capture the woman and her life’s work- -her writing encompasses gender, race, class, and the US “prison industrial complex”- Shola Lynch’s documentary vividly portrays her uncanny intelligence and charisma. The archival footage and funk soundtrack are electrifying and the director provides an evocative portrait of those turbulent times.

4. Not for Ourselves Alone: The Story of Elizabeth Cady Stanton and Susan B. Anthony (Ken Burns, 1999)

Focusing on the lives and careers of two key figures of the 19^th century women’s movement, Elizabeth Cady Stanton and Susan B. Anthony, Not for Ourselves Alone examines the long, hard struggle for women’s suffrage in the United States. It’s a hugely informative, richly detailed and beautifully made film. It is highly recommended.

5. Union Maids (Julia Reichert, James Klein, Miles Mogulescu, 1976)

The Oscar-nominated documentary, Union Maids, is a little gem. Blending extraordinary archival footage, and stills, with compelling, contemporary interviews with three labor activists–Kate Hyndman, Stella Nowicki and Sylvia Woods–it is a powerful tribute to the politically engaged, working-class woman of 30s America. It is an invaluable historical resource.

6. Ukraine is Not A Brothel (Kitty Green, 2013)

Ukraine is Not A Brothel is an intelligent documentary about the controversial feminist movement Femen. Founded in the Ukraine in 2008, the group privileges the female body as a site of liberation and resistance. Wearing crowns of flowers, activists use their bare breasts to protest patriarchy, religious authority, and sexual exploitation. Green mixes interviews with footage of the women’s protests. Their methods invite scepticism and accusations of hypocrisy- the typical Femen activist seems to be tall, blonde and beautiful- but the women do lay themselves on the line. Members relate distressing incidents of abuse. The documentary reveals, however, that their leader is a man, a certain Victor Svyatski. But that’s not the end of this complex tale. Members like Sasha have distanced themselves from Victor and Femen is now based in Paris. Embedded with the women for more than year, Green provides the viewer with an authentic, in-depth portrait of the organization.

7. Pray the Devil Back to Hell (Gini Reticker, 2008).

Pray the Devil Back to Hell is a powerful ode to non-violent resistance. It documents an awe-inspiring episode in Liberia’s recent, war-scarred history when an inter-generational, inter-faith movement, comprised of ordinary women, successfully petitioned for peace. The film gives voice to the members as it acknowledges and honors their courageous, creative efforts. One remarkable woman featured in the film, movement organizer, Leymah Gbowee, jointly won the Nobel Peace Prize in 2011 with the current President of Liberia, Ellen Johnson Sirleaf. Pray The Devil Back to Hell is a unique contribution to peace studies.

8. Chisholm ’72: Unbought and Unbossed (Shola Lynch, 2004)

Chisholm ’72 chronicles the political career of American’s first Black Congresswoman, Shirley Chisholm (1924-2005) focusing on her unsuccessful yet trail-blazing 1972 presidential bid. Blending interviews with contemporaries with captivating archival footage, it’s an absorbing documentary about a genuine, progressive figure who personified the promise of a more democratic, socially inclusive America. Chisholm promoted voting and greater political engagement, and her example remains an inspiration for candidates today. Shola Lynch’s film is a vital tribute to the uncommon resolve of a candidate who set out to transform the system.

9. Pussy Riot: A Punk Prayer (Mike Lerner, Maxim Pozdorovkin, 2013)

This British-Russian documentary chronicles the political career of the anti-authoritarian, anti-clerical feminist punk band, Pussy Riot. It’s both a colorful and disturbing tale. Pussy Riot, of course, gained world attention in 2012 when they performed a “punk prayer” in Moscow’s Cathedral of Christ the Saviour in multi-hued balaclavas. As the film makes clear, the jokey, subversive stunt was politically motivated. It was a finger-to-the-father protest against the Orthodox Church’s backing of Putin as well as misogynist religious ideology. Three of the band members- Nadezhda Tolokonnikova, Maria Alyokhina and Yekaterina Samutsevich- were put on trial and given lengthy prison sentences for hooliganism and inciting religious hatred offences although Samutsevich latter would soon have her sentence suspended. The severe punishment the women received was condemned by Western human rights organizations such as Amnesty International. (Tolokonnikova and Alyokhina were finally released under Russia’s amnesty law at the end of 2013). The Sundance award-winning documentary is an engrossing account of one of the most fascinating feminist stories of our time.

10. We: Arundhati Roy (Anonymous, 2006)

We does not offer a conventional profile of Arundhati Roy. As its underground filmmakers promise from the very start: “This film is not about her. It is about her words.” The viewer is solely informed that the Indian writer and activist won the Booker Prize in 1997 for The God of Small Things and the Sydney Peace Prize in 2004. A formally inventive film, it mixes commentary and clips from Roy’s compelling 2002 “Come September” speech with powerful illustrative footage. The wide-ranging speech covers corporate globalisation, the legacy of colonialism, imperialism, the war on terror, civil unrest, and resistance. Roy’s lyrical voice hypnotizes while her words pack a punch. The soundtrack, featuring the likes of Massive Attack and Nine Inch Nails, is equally mesmerizing. Giving voice to an eloquent, courageous woman, We speaks truth to power.

‘Girl Soldier’: Trauma, Terror, and Reconciliation

Jonathan Torgovnik, South-African based award winning photographer and filmmaker, was drawn to these women’s stories and from them created the short film, ‘Girl Soldier.’ ‘Girl Soldier’ features interviews with several ex-child soldiers from the Sierra Leone civil war—women who managed to survive their traumatic history and have now been reintegrated back into their communities.

Kadiatu Koromoa sits for a portrait in Jonathon Torgovnik's 'Girl Soldier' — Kadiatu Koromoa sits for a portrait in Jonathon Torgovnik’s *Girl Soldier*

Written by Rachel Redfern.

Trigger Warning: Sexual Assault, Violence

After the viral video Kony 2012, there was a whole slew of renewed interest in the problems of child soldiers–the trauma, abuse and the horrors that accompanies such a twisting of childhood innocence and trust into a weapon all came to light. Eventually, Kony 2012 and its creators fell out of favor with activists, and the continuing problem of child soldiers and its life-long effects on its victims and their communities faded to the background. Unfortunately, to date, there are still over 300,000 child soldiers worldwide with half that number fighting in African conflicts.

There is a surprising and often unspoken fact that over 40 percent of all child soldiers worldwide are girls. The images we normally see of child soldiers always feature young boys stoically gripping an AK4; they rarely feature girls and never show the women these soldiers later become.

Jonathan Torgovnik, South-African based award winning photographer and filmmaker, was drawn to these women’s stories and from them created the short film, Girl Soldier. Girl Soldier features interviews with several ex-child soldiers from the Sierra Leone civil war—women who managed to survive their traumatic history and have now been reintegrated back into their communities.

From 1991-2001 Sierra Leone was the site of a massive civil war that resulted in the death of 50,000 people. Thousands of children were abducted and forced to fight for rebel forces—the atrocity of utilizing children for an armed conflict was doubled by the horrors they were forced to commit.

In the Sierra Leone Civil War, 30 percent of all child soldiers were girls.

Torgovnik spends much of the film with the women recounting their personal experience as child soldiers; this is an unnerving experience for the viewer as well, especially in the easy way that each woman shares the horrific events of her childhood. And for many of the women, their lives as a child soldier didn’t necessarily end with the war; many were left with babies after being impregnated by their captors.

As the end of the film shows, these women were able to deal with the trauma because of their shared experience and the group-counseling sessions organized by shelters and NGOs.

While the beginning of Girl Soldier is a stark reminder of the sickening crimes committed in the name of war, the end of the film covers the sad, but uplifting aftermath. It is inspiring to watch the human ability for forgiveness that these women demonstrate: despite the horrific acts committed against them by their captors, these men now walk free after Sierra Leone’s reconciliation hearings. In order for their country to survive and to have peace, these women had to learn to live with the men who had brutalized them in the first place.

The 2006 film Blood Diamond featured a gritty Leonardo DiCaprio and impassioned Jennifer Connolly against the backdrop of the Sierra Leone civil war; despite its Hollywood origins, Blood Diamond did expose the horrors of child soldiers through the story of Dia. Large-scale Hollywood epics such as these are important, as they bring awareness on a massive level; however, while many of the women in Girl Soldier had similar experiences during the war, the faces, the photos of children and friends, the context of women in their home villages, makes their stories even more horrifying, and ultimately more personal.

To watch Girl Soldier and read an interview with Torgovnik click here.

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Rachel is a traveler and teacher who spent the last few years living in Asia. Now back in her native California, she focuses on writing about media, culture, and feminism. While a big fan of campy 80s movies and eccentric sci-fi, she’s become a cable acolyte, spending most of her time watching HBO, AMC, and Showtime. For good stories about lions and bungee jumping, as well as rants about sexism and slow drivers, follow her on Twitter at @RachelRedfern2.

We’re All Stars: A Feminist Retrieval of ‘High School Musical’

I am not here to argue that the ‘High School Musical’ franchise is a feminist triumph. But I continue to believe that popular cultural products beloved of young women and girls receive an inordinate amount of vitriol because of misogyny, and that they merit close and generous examination for the retrieval of positive messages.

Written by Max Thornton.

First things first: I am not here to argue that the High School Musical franchise is a feminist triumph. But I continue to believe that popular cultural products beloved of young women and girls receive an inordinate amount of vitriol because of misogyny, and that they merit close and generous examination for the retrieval of positive messages.

(At least, that’s what I tell myself to justify my love of One Direction.)

The first time I saw High School Musical, I classified it as “basically Grease with worse songs but a better message,” and that holds true. As the RiffTrax snarks: “At last, a high school movie that tackles the issue of cliques.” But let’s be real, there are an awful lot of teen movies out there with pretty terrible messages (like, um, Grease), and HSM isn’t actually one of them.

There's so much pep in this poster, I'm exhausted just looking at it. — There’s so much pep in this poster, I’m exhausted just looking at it.

Sure, it’s cheesier than a four cheese pizza with extra cheese, setting up potential conflicts only to resolve them through ~the power of friendship~ ten minutes later. And sure, it has plot holes you could drive a bus through. My personal favorites are (1) the notion of theater nerds being obsessed with punctuality and (2) the fact that antagonists Ryan and Sharpay are in every way demonstrably better performers than the heroes Troy and Gabriella. (In fact, they are such breakout characters that Sharpay even has her own spinoff movie, Sharpay’s Fabulous Adventure, which, the montage of two dogs falling in love to a Justin Bieber song notwithstanding, undoubtedly has the most narrative cohesion of any film in the High School Musical franchise.)

However, let’s take our cue from Johnny Mercer and ac-cent-tchu-ate the positive. Latina Gabriella’s friendship with African-American nerd Taylor ensures that the film easily passes both the Bechdel test and the race equivalent. Then there’s the fact that, as a Tumblr post that eludes my search skills put it, the master narrative is that of a rom com about a popular boy “giving up his swag” to be with a nerdy girl. Of course, this is Disney at its Disneyest, so even the nerdy kids are bright-eyed and pimple-free, but it’s still essentially a gender inversion of a common trope.

Plus, the film kind of takes the hoary message about being true to yourself to a logical endpoint by being so ridiculously optimistic about the consequences. Standout number “Stick to the Status Quo” is all about kids reinforcing a system that disadvantages them because it’s all they know. The homework enthusiast who loves hiphop, the basketballer player who bakes, the stoner (/skateboarder, because this is Disney) who plays the cello – all are shouted down by their fellow students who want them to remain within their boxes. And yet surely nobody is fully defined by a single interest. Even the nameless masses of kids who insist that their bolder peers “stick to the stuff you know” must have other hobbies, pastimes, passions, facets to their personalities; but they are so invested in the clique system that they insist upon it, even when they logically should not. I’m not going to suggest that this is a trenchant critique of repectability politics and systems of normativity, but it is an illustration of how these things work. The system’s greatest trick is its internalization by those who suffer under it.

[youtube_sc url=”https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZYZpZr3Cv7I”]

This being Disney, as the RiffTrax says, “high-schoolers’ secrets are ‘I like rap,’ not ‘Dissecting the fetal pigs gave me a boner.’” Everyone is afraid that doing something different will make their friends dislike them; their friends are jerks (“worse than jerks… mean jerks,” as Taylor The Academic Decathlete so incisively expresses it) for all of ten minutes before feeling bad, apologizing, and joining forces to enable the lead characters to excel at a truly implausible number of extracurriculars. In a corny, contrived way, the film presents a world in which being yourself really is the best option. Admit to your secret love of singing, and not only will your jock buddies accept you, they will actively scheme to enhance your time-management skills. Within the schema of the “be yourself” story, it’s at least consistent to the notion that being yourself always makes life better – even if it does this in a hopelessly rose-tinted manner. If the message of your fictional story is “things will be best if you are always true to yourself,” it makes logical and moral sense for your protagonists to get to have their cake and eat it once they have learned this lesson.

It’s also pretty easy to read this film as a coming-out story in disguise. The jock is concerned that his love of musical theater will alienate his teammates and his jock dad? Yeah. OK, it’s a stereotype, but what in this movie isn’t? Plus the movie goes out of its way to code Troy and Gabriella’s relationship as nonsexual: they bond over the idea of being in kindergarten, they never actually kiss until the sequel, their rival counterparts are a literal brother and sister (the brother of whom is as gay as you could get in a Disney Channel original film)… On one level, of course, this is simply a rather extreme version of boy-band attractiveness rendered as non-threatening, desexualized cuteness – being a 90s kid, I still think of Hanson as the zenith of such things – but the queer reading can certainly coexist. (Note also that gay-coded musical theater enthusiast Ryan and scoffing dudebro jock Chad inexplicably show up wearing each other’s clothes in a scene in High School Musical 2.)

You think I made that up? I did not make that up.

A major philosophical concern of recent decades has been the coexistence of unity and diversity. How do we balance our commonalities as human beings and our differences as individuals? As complex and difficult as this topic often gets, I ultimately can’t express it more succinctly than the lyrics to “We’re All In This Together”:

“We’re not the same, we’re different in a good way.”

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Max Thornton blogs at Gay Christian Geek, tumbles as trans substantial, and is slowly learning to twitter at @RainicornMax. He wrote this piece for his partner, because it’s their anniversary and they watched High School Musical on their first date. Romance!

Call for Writers: Female Friendships

Female friendships are the bedrock of feminism. The ideal of a community of women who support, understand, and love each other is a source of succor for sisters in need and a dream towards which the feminist movement strives. There are endless power and agency in female friendships. There is purpose in those bonds, a purpose outside the pursuit of men, even if Hollywood doesn’t see it.

Our theme week for September 2014 will be Female Friendships.

The notorious Bechdel Test judges films based on three simple criteria: 1.) More than one woman must appear in the film 2.) They must talk to each other 3.) Their conversation must be about something other than men. The Bechdel Test has become a yardstick for measuring the most basic feminist standards for filmmaking because very few movies actually manage to pass the test’s very simple criteria. This means that female friendships, nevermind female-centric or matriarchal communities, are all but erased from cinema.

Classic films like the entire Star Wars franchise present women as anomalous, isolated Others who are likely love interests. If women happen to appear together in films, they usually don’t even rate love interest status; instead they’re decorative, sexualized objects without meaningful lines or personalities. On the rare occasion that we see women interacting on screen together, they are all too often in competition for male attention, which sets up female relationships as necessarily adversarial. This erasure of women from entertainment media along with their sexual exploitation and the stereotype of “catfighting” girl vs. girl are extremely damaging representations. If these examples are all young women see reflected around them, how will they know there are other ways of being?

There are endless power and agency in female friendships. There is purpose in those bonds, a purpose outside the pursuit of men, even if Hollywood doesn’t see it. Tell us about your favorite female friendships on screen or skewer a depiction that fails to show us meaningful female relationships.

Feel free to use the examples below to inspire your writing on this subject, or choose your own source material.

We’d like to avoid as much overlap as possible for this theme, so get your proposals in early if you know which film you’d like to write about. We accept both original pieces and cross-posts, and we respond to queries within a week.

Most of our pieces are between 1,000 and 2,000 words, and include links and images. Please send your piece as a Microsoft Word document to btchflcks[at]gmail[dot]com, including links to all images, and include a 2- to 3-sentence bio.

If you have written for us before, please indicate that in your proposal, and if not, send a writing sample if possible.

Please be familiar with our publication and look over recent and popular posts to get an idea of Bitch Flicks’ style and purpose. We encourage writers to use our search function to see if your topic has been written about before, and link when appropriate (hyperlinks to sources are welcome, as well).

The final due date for these submissions is Friday, September 19 by midnight.

The Runaways

The Women

Sucker Punch

Girl, Interrupted

Heathers

Xena Warrior Princess

Thelma & Louise

Now and Then

Pretty Little Liars

Foxfire

Voilet & Daisy

The First Wives Club

Beaches

The Little Princess

Steel Magnolias

Waiting to Exhale

Boys on the Side

Frozen

The Brat Pack: The Roundup

Check out all of the posts for our Brat Pack Theme Week here.

Mannequin: A Dummy’s Guide to True and Everlasting Love by Karina Wilson

By any regular standards, even the 1980s, Mannequin is a TERRIBLE movie. It never should have been green lit, let alone hit wide release. It’s often lumped in with other Brat Pack pics, thanks to the presence of Andrew McCarthy and James Spader, but it really should be categorized separately, as a romcom gone wrong. Showroom dummies that come to life after hours should be the stuff of horror movies, or episodes of Doctor Who, not fluffy fantasies starring a nearly naked Kim Cattrall. John Hughes wouldn’t have touched this material with a ten-foot pole.

Sixteen Candles, Rape Culture, and the Anti-Woman Politics of 2013 by Stephanie Rogers

Holy fuck this movie. I started watching it like OH YEAH MY CHILDHOOD MOLLY RINGWALD ADOLESCENCE IS SO HARD and after two scenes, I put that shit on pause like, WHEN DID SOMEONE WRITE ALL THESE RACIST HOMOPHOBIC SEXIST ABLEIST RAPEY PARTS THAT WEREN’T HERE BEFORE I WOULD’VE REMEMBERED THEM.

Nostalgia is a sneaky bitch.

A Brain, an Athlete, a Basket Case, a Princess, and a Criminal: How The Breakfast Club Archetypes Set Standards for High School in Brat Pack Cinema and Beyond by Kylie Sparks

While today’s entertainment sources a lot of inspiration from Brat Pack Cinema, especially the high school-coming-of-age era of Brat Pack Cinema, we have to be very aware that we do not fall into the trap of embracing multifaceted male characters and yet only providing a Princess/Oddball dynamic with female characters. Not all of us fall into The Brain, The Athlete, The Basket Case, The Princess, and The Criminal, and while we can look to Brat Pack Cinema for inspiration to create new projects for our generation and generations to come, archetypes are suggestions, not the end-all be-all for characters in entertainment.

After The Brat Pack: Ally Sheedy in High Art by Ren Jender

Although a few who had fallen under the brat pack sobriquet (like Demi Moore) continued in mainstream star-vehicles well into the 90s (and Rob Lowe, dismissed as another pretty face in the ’80s, was able to sustain a TV career into the present), most had faded from the public view by then, including Ally Sheedy (after starring in 1987’s Maid to Order, her own Weekend At Bernie’s) –though earlier in her career she, of the whole “Pack,” received some of the best reviews for her work. Sheedy went on to reinvent herself–and make good on her earlier promise–in a series of meaty roles in independent films in the late 90s: the most well known one (for which she won several awards) was Lucy Berliner in writer-director Lisa Cholodenko’s 1998 feature debut High Art.

What They’re Going Through: The Brat Pack Gave Teens a Voice by Caroline Madden

Whatever the Brat Pack actors did with their fame in real life does not reflect the impact they ingrained on our culture. They helped put a face and a voice to teen struggles. These talented young actors gave teenagers an identity and platform for their problems that will stand the test of time. We will always thank the Brat Pack for that.

‘Mannequin’: A Dummy’s Guide to True and Everlasting Love

By any regular standards, even the 1980s, ‘Mannequin’ is a TERRIBLE movie. It never should have been green lit, let alone hit wide release. It’s often lumped in with other Brat Pack pics, thanks to the presence of Andrew McCarthy and James Spader, but it really should be categorized separately, as a romcom gone wrong. Showroom dummies that come to life after hours should be the stuff of horror movies, or episodes of ‘Doctor Who,’ not fluffy fantasies starring a nearly naked Kim Cattrall. John Hughes wouldn’t have touched this material with a ten-foot pole.

This guest post by Karina Wilson appears as part of our theme week on The Brat Pack.

It’s hard to believe the filmmakers ever thought audiences would fall for the outrageous plot. An Ancient Egyptian princess, Emmy (Kim Cattrall), escapes arranged marriage to a camel dung salesman by disappearing in a puff of smoke and reincarnating as a showroom dummy in 1987 Philadelphia, where she finds true love with the career-challenged Jonathan (Andrew McCarthy) inside a glittering retail palace (Wanamaker’s, now Macy’s Center City). She exploits the well-documented Philadelphian obsession with classy department store window displays to turn Jonathan’s life around, defeat the bad guys, and [SPOILER ALERT] get married (in a climactic window display!) and live happily ever after.

Critics, understandably, hated it. Roger Ebert thought it was, quite literally, DOA (“Mannequin is dead. The wake lasts 1 1/2 hours, and then we can leave the theater”). Janet Maslin in the New York Times lamented the lack of substance (“In place of a real story, there is just the spectacle of stock characters being put through their paces to fill up the time”) and lousy performances (“It’s never a disappointment when the mannequin, which comes to life only intermittently, turns back into wood”). Leonard Maltin called it “absolute rock-bottom fare. Dispiriting to anyone who remembers what movie comedy ought to be.” Yet it was a hit – grossing more than $42 million off a $6 million budget – and was nominated for an Academy Award – for Starship’s theme song, “Nothing’s Gonna Stop Us Now.”

I willingly confess to loving Mannequin. It’s so wrong, it’s absolutely right. It’s a big, tatty rescue pooch who plants her paws on your chest and gives you a slobbery kiss of a movie: certain people, dog people, Mannequin people, can’t help but be charmed. Even now, watching it as a hard-bitten 40-something, it invokes my inner impressionable teen.

I adore the unromantic hero, Jonathan Switcher, because he manages to be simultaneously weird and endearing. There’s something a bit off kilter from the top: when we first meet him, he’s salivating over a naked clothes dummy. He exudes every which way of warning signal, from the pronounced doll fetish to the Frankenstein complex to the social ineptitude. When the dummy-making gig doesn’t work out, he is hired and quickly fired from a succession of menial occupations, which consequently causes him to be dumped by his improbably put-together girlfriend, Roxie (Carole Davis). Poor Jonathan would drown instantly if forced to dive into the perilous depths of the 2014 dating pool. However, this was the 1980s, when you could splash about in the shallow end and still qualify as Kim Cattrall’s dream date. On the plus side, Jonathan rides a Harley, lives in a sweet studio apartment (obviously comes from money, yay 1980s!), and he’s Andrew McCarthy. Andrew fucking McCarthy. Be still, my perpetual adolescent heart.

For those of you who don’t recall, Andrew McCarthy was the Beta Male of the Brat Pack. He wasn’t as beautiful as Rob Lowe, or as badass as Judd Nelson, or as peppy as Robert Downey Jr., but you’d take him over Anthony Michael Hall or Jon Cryer any day. He had a burning blue stare, a voice that dropped to a creaky growl when – as often happened – his character was wracked with emotion, and a lift to his chin suggesting a stubborn streak a mile wide. He was cool enough to pop his collar and run with the in-crowd, but he was also sensitive enough to be an individual, even (shock!) an artist, and follow his dream. He was the Nice Guy before the term became so ridiculously devalued. He was the boy who might, quite unexpectedly, offer to walk you home after prom turned to tears, and then turn misery and humiliation into the most enchanted evening of your life through the power of his goofy grin and kind eyes. I loved him then and I love him still.

He’s wasted in Mannequin. He does his best with the material, and manages to make Jonathan geeky and adorable, a whisper away from quietly insane: in lesser hands, the guy would be plain creepy. McCarthy makes it halfway believable that Emmy, who has had her pick of hot dates (Christopher Columbus!) throughout history, might finally settle for the lowest status employee in the store. And Cattrall keeps up Emmy’s end of the deal, regarding Jonathan as a feline would a toy stuffed with catnip – with unadulterated delight. She bats him between her paws, chews on him gently, and, when the montage is done, curls up beside him and goes to sleep. Girl clearly likes to dominate, and there’s a coy whiff of BDSM about some of their dress-up-and-play. What else are they going to do with those tennis racquets other than spank each other’s ass?

In a cute subversion of romcom norms, then, Emmy is the Alpha Female who picks out the Nice Beta Male early on in the narrative and seduces him with a plastic smile. She has been dating for millennia. When she sees it, she knows exactly what she wants – and it ain’t the traditional alpha hero. Jonathan and Emmy are perfect for one another from the moment they lay eyes on one another. There’s no need for a makeover montage. This is due to bad storytelling rather than feminist innovation, but it’s so refreshingly unusual, it works. She’s content to dazzle, he’s content to be awed – and when required, he saves her life. We should all aspire to such a Mr. Right.

The writers, Michael Gottlieb and Edward Rugoff, manage to throw a few obstacles in the happy couple’s way (the course of true love never did run smooth) in the form of manic supporting characters. Forget three-dimensional, thinking, feeling, human beings – crass stereotypes abound. There’s flamboyant, gay, black, promiscuous Hollywood (Meshach Taylor), the set designer who takes Jonathan under his sateen wing. Estelle Getty pops up as the store’s owner, Claire Timkin. G.W. Bailey reprises his Police Academy shtick as Felix, the bumbling security guard – Cattrall was a fellow alumni, best known for her sex kitten turns in Porky’s and Police Academy at this point, so he must have felt at home. And there’s the villainous Richards, James Spader abandoning his usual sexy-husky bad-boy turn in favor of playing a rival storeowner with cartoonish slicked-back hair and outsize spectacles. None of it makes much sense. But somehow Jonathan and Emmy win and Richards and Roxie lose and the finale is all “Nothing’s Gonna Stop Us Now” most triumphant good.

That’s all, folks. Mannequin is fun, but wafer-thin. Although considered a cult classic, it has zero cultural significance, especially when compared to the canon Brat Pack hits that defined a generation. It’s a vapid Technicolor fantasy that, by being so poorly conceived and written, accidentally manages to subvert all the other Pygmalion stories. Flimsy as she is, Emmy is the romantic heroine who doesn’t have to be reshaped or reinvent herself in order to deserve her adoring swain. All she needs is for us to believe she’s real.

Karina Wilson is a British writer and story consultant based in Los Angeles. She writes a regular column on horror fiction at Litreactor and can also be found at Horror Film History.