“Post-Feminist” ‘Rosemary’s Baby’ is a Difficult Labor

Though the core idea of story–a young woman’s fear and uncertainty of what is happening to her body during pregnancy–is timeless, the execution of the remake is fairly dated. In the original, Rosemary is a naive housewife, yet she still manages to be tougher and emerges a more fully realized character than the remake’s Rosemary who stops struggling and pretty much does what she’s told once she becomes pregnant.

Film Poster for Rosemary’s Baby (2014)
Film Poster for Rosemary’s Baby (2014)

 

On one hand, the rational behind NBC’s two-night miniseries of Rosemary’s Baby is clear. Take a best-selling event novel, the type everyone was reading and talking about at dinner parties in 1967, and make it into event television. Along with the network’s recent live production of The Sound of Music and upcoming live musicals and limited series on the other networks, it’s an attempt to bring audience back to live TV viewing, commercials and all.

But Rosemary’s Baby, based on Roman Polanski’s 1968 film, itself based on the novel by Ira Levin (also author of The Stepford Wives), is a strange choice for a miniseries. There aren’t a lot of plot points in the story; basically young couple Rosemary and Guy Woodhouse move in next door to an older couple who quickly grow fond of them; after a night of dark hallucinations she can barely remember, Rosemary becomes pregnant, and goes through a difficult pregnancy where she loses weight and craves raw meat and awakens after giving birth to discover the baby is the antichrist and that earlier she was raped by the devil.

As a result, the story is stretched thin over a four-hour runtime and many new and ultimately pointless plots are added in, along with increased gore and violence in comparison to the original film. Perhaps the choice of story was influenced by the recent popularity of horror TV programs, like American Horror Story and Hannibal.

The miniseries also carries the baggage of its association with Polanski, an old friend of the miniseries’ director Agnieszka Holland. Though the original film is commonly accepted as a masterpiece, many critics, Hollywood players, and viewers have spoken on their desire to boycott his work (through just as many have spoken out in his support) due to his sexual abuse of a child. Choosing Rosemary’s Baby out of all the classic films available to remake suggests at least a tacit approval of Polanski and Holland had even planned to give him a cameo role, though scheduling didn’t work out.

Rosemary is told her pregnancy is making her look like a zombie
Rosemary is told her pregnancy is making her look like a zombie

 

In interviews, Holland has mentioned her desire to portray Rosemary’s Baby from a “post-feminist” standpoint and to make the character stronger and more active. Postnatal and prenatal depression are important to her adaptation, where horror is derived from the nature of pregnancy where, as she says, Rosemary is “dependent on the people who decide, instead of her, what to do with her body.”

To modernize the story, 2014’s Rosemary (Zoe Saldana) is a former ballet dancer used to be being the primary breadwinner, while her husband Guy (Patrick J. Adams) struggles to write a novel. After a devastating miscarriage, the couple leaves New York for Paris, where Guy will take a one-year teaching job at the Sorbonne and attempt to support her while she recovers from the trauma.

Though the core idea of story–a young woman’s fear and uncertainty of what is happening to her body during pregnancy–is timeless, the execution of the remake is fairly dated. In the original, Rosemary, played by Mia Farrow, is a naive housewife who spends her days decorating her apartment and buoying her husband’s acting ambitions, yet she still manages to be tougher and emerges a more fully realized character than the remake’s Rosemary who stops struggling and pretty much does what she’s told once she becomes pregnant. The casting of action star Saldana as Rosemary suggests the character is meant to be strong, independent women who takes control of her own life.

And at first, she appears to be. In part one, there’s even an action sequence where Rosemary chases a man who stole her purse and gets called brave by a cop. For a while, she acts as an amateur detective, attempting to investigate the disappearance of the couple who lived in her apartment previously, who appear to have met a tragic end; however, throughout part two, which chronicles her pregnancy, she floats around, quiet and weak, allowing her husband, neighbors and doctors to tell her how to take care of herself, ceding her investigation to a police detective and a friend.

In the original, the true star of the story is Rosemary’s increasing paranoia and the suspense and darkness that manage to permeate the film despite most of action taking place indoors in brightly lit rooms. The miniseries could have given Rosemary more agency without changing her actions too greatly if it brought viewers deeper into her mind and dreams; despite the title and her near constant presence onscreen, for most of the second half, it’s difficult to intuit what Rosemary is thinking.

 

Rosemary’s investigation falls away after she becomes pregnant
Rosemary’s investigation falls away after she becomes pregnant

 

With the internet as a resource for medical information, it would be very easy for 2014’s Rosemary to research the herbs in a drink she’s given and the host of prenatal conditions her doctor claims are perfectly normal. Though doctors in both versions tell her not to read pregnancy books or ask her friends about their experiences, it’s difficult to believe a modern-day woman would agree to stay so ignorant about her own body, accept chastisement for daring to question her doctor’s medical advice and refuse to consult friends, mommy blogs or even WebMD on her condition. It’s believable enough in the 60s, an era when men were expected to know more about women’s bodies than they did. It recalls a conversation in an episode of Masters of Sex, set around the same time, where a group of women agreed that they found the very idea of a female gynecologist creepy. The addition of an earlier to miscarriage to the plot appears to be an attempt to take this into account, suggesting Rosemary put up with the pain because she is determined to have a heathy baby this time and do everything her doctor tells her that maybe she didn’t do last time.

The choice of Paris as a setting appeals to the city’s place in the North American cultural imagination as the seat of old world sophistication and mystery. The move may also be an attempt to isolate the characters in a strange city where they don’t know the language, but this is idea is quickly abandoned. In an early scene, Rosemary complains that it’s difficult to be at a party where everyone is speaking French, but the partygoers realize this and quickly switch to English, which they default to for the rest of the series.

The original’s Castevets, Roman and Minnie (Sidney Blackmer and Ruth Gordon), an elderly Manhattan couple, are replaced by Roman and Margaux Castevets (Jason Isaacs and Carole Bouquet), much younger, urbane Parisians, whose relationship with the Woodhouses is suspicious from the very beginning. Much of the appeal of the Castavets in the original was the supposed harmlessness–yes, they were noisy and eccentric, but no one would ever suspect that a couple of kindly grandparent figures were satanists. But it’s hard to understand why the Woodhouses originally trust the 2014 Castavets, who impose themselves into the lives of a young couple they barely know, to the point of offering them a lavish apartment for free and inviting them to fetish parties.

Roman lounges in the trappings of his extreme wealth
Roman lounges in the trappings of his extreme wealth

 

More and more, it seems that our tendency when viewing modern movies is to be suspicious of the characters who seem the most trustworthy; charming, handsome psychopaths have become the norm. Perhaps that was the thinking behind the change, that it would be too easy to immediately suspect something was off about sweet old folks, better to do away with suspense all together and attempt to seduce viewers with glamour, foreign accents, and wealth. The things we yearn for, grow jealous of and thus, can be truly terrified of.

Despite its too-long runtime, the miniseries manages to feel rushed. By sticking too faithfully to the 1968 film, intriguing original plot lines are left no room to develop and seem pointless. We never find out why the building’s superintendent walks around on all fours like a dog or delve into the relationships between Guy and Margaux and between Guy and Rosemary’s friend Julia. There’s also the odd inclusion of multiple kisses between Rosemary and Margaux, which are linked to Margaux’s satanic ritual and suggest lesbianism goes hand-in-hand with devil worship. The miniseries gives a needlessly complicated solution to the mystery of the missing couple and the devil’s identity, suggesting Roman is also the devil, an immortal named Steven Mercato and maybe even Rosemary’s cat.

 

The Devil appears infrequently in the form of Steven Mercato
The Devil appears infrequently in the form of Steven Mercato

 

Moreover, because the miniseries is structured so that Rosemary is only pregnant in the second half, much of the original’s prolonged post-birth scenes are eliminated. This leads the story to rush through the last act, taking away a great deal of the strength and refusal to submit that the character displayed in these scenes.

Though Holland has spoken of her feminist intentions and Rosemary’s powerlessness is obvious, it’s unclear from the miniseries that Holland is making is a feminist statement about it. There’s a lot of material to explore in the story that Holland easily use make this point, but ignores. In both versions, Rosemary is shocked to find that her husband supposedly had sex with her while she was unconscious. She quickly moves on and it’s never acknowledged that even in the version of the night’s events that Rosemary accepts, the child was conceived through martial rape. In addition, the original attempts to explain Rosemary’s meekness through references to her strict Catholic upbringing; no attempts are made in the miniseries to suggest such a background for Saldana’s Rosemary. Instead, the only mention of religion in the miniseries is the dead woman’s Coptic Christian faith.

There’s also a clear feminist idea in the basic plot, which suggests that women are often discredited and called crazy because of the functions of their bodies, commonly seem in the idea that periods make women too irrational to take leadership roles or in the idea of “pregnancy brain” as explored in recent sitcoms. When Rosemary suggests that something is wrong in her pregnancy and her neighbors are witches, she’s dismissed as being delusional and experiencing pre-partum psychosis. When, in the original, Rosemary says she can hear the baby crying next door, it’s dismissed as post-partum depression. Holland appears uninterested in this theme, as she told the New York Times, “We’re not sure if it really doesn’t happen inside her head.”

 

Rosemary accepts the devil-baby as her child
Rosemary accepts the devil-baby as her child

 

Holland could be suggesting that the story is meant to be allegorical. In the miniseries, Guy says he is surprised he is still able to find Rosemary attractive, though he refers to his decision to let the devil rape her. This statement recalls a woman’s fear that pregnancy will make her unattractive to her partner or cause her to be seen as an incubator. Rosemary’s discovery that the baby is the son of the devil and her desire to hurt him could refer to post-partum depression. However, if these are attempts at allegory, they are unclear and appears half-hearted.

I think the most interesting element of the story for a modern viewer should be the relationship between the Woodhouses. There was nothing special about their relationship at the start; they were young, attractive and constantly about to tear each other’s clothes off, but never had the chemistry, shared interests or inside jokes that would make the eventual deterioration of their partnership compelling. Guy is a secret sexist masquerading as a modern equalitarian man; early on his suggestion to Rosemary that he wants to support her for awhile seems innocent, but in light of his betrayal of her later, suggests he may have felt emasculated by her earnings. He wants to be a famous writer, but when he’s stalled by writer’s block, he’s easily convinced to sell his wife and her reproductive capabilities as if they were his property. Rosemary becomes a victim without ever being given a choice. Rosemary’s only choices come after the birth when she decides to help raise her child, suggesting that her maternal love has a stronger hold over her than anger over her abuse or fear of her son’s satanic paternity. The couple are each vulnerable to gender roles–Rosemary’s role as a parent and Guy’s career ambitions are their weaknesses.

 

Rosemary and Guy never have an appealing or convincing relationship
Rosemary and Guy never have an appealing or convincing relationship

 

It is often difficult to read media with explicitly sexist set-ups; the original story probably attempted to expose Guy’s betrayal and the view of Rosemary as his property by the other characters for its negative connotations, but the film’s refusal to do anything extreme or subversive (What if instead, Rosemary was the ambitious one who made the deal, or the couple decided on it together? What if she found out what had been done to her midway through the story and was allowed to struggle with it? Or if she obsessively researched her pregnancy and was dismissed as a hypochondriac? What if Rosemary’s pregnancy blog became a media sensation, or the Castavets shepherded Rosemary through fertility treatments?) in its modernization, suggests the filmmakers did not truly grasp the sexism inherent in the plot. Instead, by limiting her agency and sticking her in a retro-gender role, they merely create a passive tragedy of a meek young woman’s abuse at the hands of her husband and friends.

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Elizabeth Kiy is a Canadian writer and freelance journalist living in Toronto, Ontario.

Seed & Spark: The Film Industry Needs Women Like You

Being a female in the male-driven world of film often elicits instant praise: “Good for you! The industry needs women like you!” which opens the door for us to respond with, “Yes! Let me tell you all about our documentary, ‘Trichster’!” The problem is—because Hollywood is well-known for having an astonishing lack of females—this is without having ever seen or heard about our work; we’re just what the industry needs (having lady parts and all). We are proud to represent the growing number of women in the independent film industry and gladly share the story of our team, but we’d prefer the focus to be on our work.

Why an all-woman film team is marketing gold—and what that says about the industry

The all-woman creative "Team Trichster": Producer Amanda Giordano, Director Jillian Corsie, DP/Co-Producer Seun Babalola, Producer Carolyn and Cinematographer/Co-Producer Katie Maul)
The all-woman creative “Team Trichster“: Producer Amanda Giordano, Director Jillian Corsie, DP/Co-Producer Seun Babalola, Producer Carolyn and Cinematographer/Co-Producer Katie Maul)

 

This is a guest post by Katie Maul.

I’m co-producing a film with a team of four smart, innovative, creative professionals, who are, yes, all women. Take the time you need to applaud, throw your fist in the air and share this article on your social pages.

Being a female in the male-driven world of film often elicits instant praise: “Good for you! The industry needs women like you!” which opens the door for us to respond with, “Yes! Let me tell you all about our documentary, Trichster!” The problem is—because Hollywood is well-known for having an astonishing lack of females—this is without having ever seen or heard about our work; we’re just what the industry needs (having lady parts and all). We are proud to represent the growing number of women in the independent film industry and gladly share the story of our team, but we’d prefer the focus to be on our work.

Director of Photography and Co-Producer for Trichster, Seun Babalola
Director of Photography and Co-Producer for Trichster, Seun Babalola

 

Our film, Trichster, follows seven people living with trichotillomania, a disorder that causes them to pull out their own hair. According to the Trichotillomania Learning Center, the little known disorder is “estimated to affect one to three percent of the population,” and “by adulthood, 80-90 percent of reported cases are women.” As a direct result, our audience and cast reflect those percentages, and our growing fan base is largely female. Touting our all-woman creative team is a perfect way to reach and expand that audience and our rare case of an all-woman team is marketing gold.

Co-Producer and Cinematographer, Katie Maul, shooting a scene with Rebecca Brown
Co-Producer and Cinematographer, Katie Maul, shooting a scene with Rebecca Brown

 

As team-appointed “marketing strategist” for the film, this is not lost on me, and it’s why with every pitch, synopsis, interview or discussion about the film, the phrase “all-woman creative team” is brought up and is often the main focus. Interest is piqued at the mention of our collective gender and gives us access to apply for specialized grants, media/blog coverage, and mentorship programs and groups. “Five females producing their first film” is not only pleasing alliteration, but the inclusion of “female” automatically boosts our appeal and makes us “different and interesting.”  It opens doors and opportunities to collaborate with other women trying to break into the industry and gives us VIP access to women-only events and workshops.

It’s great marketing for us, but it’s a sad reflection on the industry as a whole.  The slowly expanding crack in the glass ceiling of filmmaking still hasn’t cleared enough women to come remotely close to evening out the playing field, so it’s no wonder that an all-woman team is news. The problem is: It shouldn’t be. We shouldn’t get attention for something as basic as our gender—we didn’t have to do anything to be born with vaginas. Somehow, the fact that we were simultaneously helps and hurts us in the film world. We are an anomaly, which is great for marketing opportunities, but not so great for our prospects in an industry where that anomaly exists.

Producers Carolyn Maher and Amanda Giordano
Producers Carolyn Maher and Amanda Giordano

 

Dr. Martha M. Lauzen’s study, The Celluloid Ceiling: Behind-the-Scenes Employment of Women on the Top 250 Films of 2013, shows that 16 percent of key behind-the-scenes positions of the top grossing 250 U.S. films were filled by women in 2013— that’s down 2 percent from 2012. Only 6 percent of last year’s directors from those films were women (another disappointing decline from the previous year). The numbers don’t lie; the off-balance industry is extremely one-sided when it comes to gender. The need for specialized grants, mentorship programs and organizations that support and encourage female filmmakers is real—and it’s infuriating. Don’t get me wrong, these groups should be commended on their persistent efforts and the advancements they’ve made to shatter that “celluloid ceiling,” but I have a feeling they would all agree that their necessary existence is maddening. An all-woman team shouldn’t be surprising or noteworthy; it shouldn’t be anything more than trivial information about the film, but, here, in 2014, our team is a pioneering anomaly. We will gladly do our part and continue to stand up for female filmmakers as we storm our way into the industry. And we will produce a film that will make the industry and those trying to break into it proud.

katie
Katie Maul

Katie Maul is Co-Producer and Cinematographer on Trichster, a documentary about seven people living with the little-known disorder, trichotillomania. She works full time as Marketing Strategist and Content Producer at Critical Mention, a media monitoring company. Katie pursues freelance projects on nights and weekends as an editor, producer, and videographer.

‘The Mindy Project,’ Selfies, and Feminist Ambivalence

Mindy Lahiri knows she’s hot, she’s comfortable saying it (“bet you didn’t think with this bod that I had brains too, and pretty good boobs”), and she takes it as a given that others generally agree. When Mindy slaps a stranger in a case of mistaken identity, she regrets it not because he was innocent, but because he’s a European immigrant, and “he’s gonna go back to his country and say ‘In America, hot girls can do whatever they want.’ That’s a bad message, Danny!”

The importance of Mindy categorizing herself as a “hot girl” is that it means all the times she says her ass won’t quit isn’t just her blowing smoke to cover up her insecurity over her body. Furthermore, the other characters on the show generally DO agree.

Mindy Kaling on 'The Mindy Project'
Mindy Kaling on ‘The Mindy Project’

My relationship with The Mindy Project is as complicated as its protagonist’s average romance. All feminism and politics aside, I’m ambivalent regarding its actual quality as a television show. Every episode makes me laugh out loud, but the structure and pacing can be, well… there’s an obvious reason this show abandoned its working title of It’s Messy.

Some of the characters are extremely appealing (Dr. Lahiri herself, of course; Danny Castallano, who taps into something deeply imprinted on me from years of living in the Good Ol’ Italian Boy thicket of North Jersey; Morgan, the sweet-hearted human non sequitor).

"I have the right to life, liberty, and chicken wings." - one reason I love Mindy Lahiri.
“I have the right to life, liberty, and chicken wings.” – one reason I love Mindy Lahiri.

And then there is everyone else, who are bland at best (Ed Weeks’s Jeremy), irritating at worst (Adam Pally’s Peter), and universally pointless and without a clear place in the show, contributing to an overall disjointedness that has barely smoothed out over the course of two full seasons. Despite their fuzzy and unsuccessful characterization, Jeremy and Peter still get plenty of screen time and dialogue.

Contrast the small and dwindling number of female supporting characters on the show, who are strictly on the sidelines. Mindy’s best friend Gwen (Anna Camp) was originally meant to be a main character, but was quickly edged out and forgotten, ultimately appearing in only 13 episodes. Nurse Beverly (Beth Grant) gets a lot of laughs, but compare her screen time to Morgan’s, who fits essentially the same role (bizarre nurse). Betsy (Zoe Jarman) might seem like a one-note “gasp!” character, but think about how far Community took Annie Edison? And then there’s Tamra (Xosha Roquemore), the only other woman of color on the series, who is a pro forma sassy Black woman straight out of an ABC sitcom circa 1992. Gwen might not have fit within the workplace setting of the show, but there have been opportunities to add other main female characters: Dr. Lahiri is the only woman doctor to have practiced with Shulman and Associates, even though we’ve seen at least six doctors work there, mostly young, and women make up 75 percent of current OB/GYN residents.

Mindy Kaling surrounded by white dudes. (Like on her show)
Mindy Kaling surrounded by white dudes. (Like on her show.)

Which pulls me back to my EVEN MORE COMPLICATED feminist feelings about this show. I admire Mindy Kaling as an extremely funny and talented actress and writer, and love her as a relatable celeb persona (I’m writing this piece in bed! Mindy Kaling writes episodes of TV in bed, as per her memoir! Stars: they’re just like us!). I respect how far she’s come as a woman of color in television and in comedy, two playgrounds full of white dudes hogging all the shovels in the sandbox.

The Mindy Project's original writing staff, from Mindy Kaling's instagram
The Mindy Project‘s original writing staff, from Mindy Kaling’s Instagram

But Mindy Kaling is one of those people who finds a secret passageway through the glass ceiling and then just holds up a sign that says, “sorry, suckers!” to the people left on the other side. Her initial writing staff had only one other woman on it, and only four women other than Kaling have earned writing credits on the show. When asked about the lack of diversity on her show at SXSW last March, she answered:

I look at shows on TV, and this is going to just seem defensive, but I’m just gonna say it: I’m a fucking Indian woman who has her own fucking network television show, OK? I have four series regulars that are women on my show, and no one asks any of the shows I adore — and I won’t name them because they’re my friends — why no leads on their shows are women or of color, and I’m the one that gets lobbied about these things. And I’ll answer them, I will. But I know what’s going on here. It is a little insulting because, I’m like, God, what can I — oh, I’m sitting in it. I have 75 percent of the lines on the show. And I’m like, oh wait, it’s not like I’m running a country, I’m not a political figure. I’m someone who’s writing a show and I want to use funny people. And it feels like it diminishes the incredibly funny women who do come on my show… I don’t know, it’s a little frustrating.

Kaling is right that she’s held to a double standard. All showrunners should be made to answer for the lack of diversity on their shows and in their writing staff.  Mindy Kaling should get asked more questions about her art, and not her symbolic importance. But her answer here is a cop-out that perpetuates that system of unfairness. “I want to use funny people” is the same bullshit justification used to give countless white dudes jobs over other women and people over color. Hearing it from someone on “our side” is incredibly disheartening.

Anyway, sheesh, I’ve already spilt 700 words on my complicated feelings about The Mindy Project, without even delving into such issues as that time it depicted a woman raping a dude as NBD. What I INTENDED to focus on here was one of the specific things I love about The Mindy Project that helps make up for all this stuff in the minus column, and that is Mindy Lahiri’s body image.

Mindy's answer to Varsity Blues
Mindy’s answer to Varsity Blues

Mindy Lahiri knows she’s hot, she’s comfortable saying it (“bet you didn’t think with this bod that I had brains too, and pretty good boobs”), and she takes it as a given that others generally agree. When Mindy slaps a stranger in a case of mistaken identity, she regrets it not because he was innocent, but because he’s a European immigrant, and “he’s gonna go back to his country and say ‘In America, hot girls can do whatever they want.’ That’s a bad message, Danny!”

Mindy can get it.
Mindy can get it.

The importance of Mindy categorizing herself as a “hot girl” is that it means all the times she says her ass won’t quit isn’t just her blowing smoke to cover up her insecurity over her body. Furthermore, the other characters on the show generally DO agree. There have been a few gross jabs at Mindy for her weight, especially in the earlier episodes (Danny tells her in the pilot she should lose 15 pounds if she wants to look nice on a date, and in a later episode gives her the side eye when she [falsely] claims to do the elliptical four times a week), but there have been a parade of hot dudes (including Danny, the Ross to her Rachel!) who want “up in them guts.” In the same episode Mindy declares, “I’m a hot, smart woman with an ass that doesn’t quit,” Morgan describes her as “The Indian doctor whose ass won’t quit?” It’s not a joke that Mindy thinks she’s hot, even if some of the ways she expresses that belief are funny.

"I'm not overweight, I fluctuate between chubby and curvy."
“I’m not overweight, I fluctuate between chubby and curvy.”

Mindy Lahiri isn’t entirely devoid of body insecurity, though. She insists she’s chubby and NOT “overweight.” She has developed a series of “illusions and tricks” to have sex without her partner seeing her naked. She goes through diet and exercise phases to lose weight because she’s “sick of being the person with a good personality.” Which is why Mindy’s body confidence reminds me of selfies, and how they’re simultaneously derided for being an expression of insecurity (what are you trying to hide with that lo-fi filter?) and overconfidence (why do you think we care to see your face again, even if you’ve perfectly executed the cat-eye look?).  The truth about being a woman in the patriarchy is that regardless of your closeness to the impossible ideal, you’ll probably feel hot as eff some of the time, completely hideous other times. The Mindy Project captures that perfectly.

Unfortunately, because all the other women on the show are such minor characters, this message all rests on one character and one body: Mindy’s. And one woman who isn’t a skinny white chick is still just one woman.

Robin Hitchcock is an American writer living in Cape Town.

The Gaze of Objectification: Race, Gender, and Privilege in ‘Belle’

What does it mean in a young woman’s life to be constantly stared at and treated as “the Other”? ‘Belle,’ directed by Amma Asante and written by Misan Sagay, has a lush, gorgeous look from the costumes to the landscape, and throughout this new film we, too, are invited to “look,” and to understand that “the dominant white male gaze” is related to power in 18th-century England. An actual 1779 portrait currently hanging in Scone Palace, Scotland, credited to artist Johann Zoffany, is at the heart of the complex ‘Belle,’ as is the issue of race.

Movie poster for Belle
Movie poster for Belle

 

This guest post by Laura Shamas, PhD, previously appeared at Huffington Post and is cross-posted with permission.

What does it mean in a young woman’s life to be constantly stared at and treated as “the Other”? Belle, directed by Amma Asante and written by Misan Sagay, has a lush, gorgeous look from the costumes to the landscape, and throughout this new film we, too, are invited to “look,” and to understand that “the dominant white male gaze” is related to power in 18th-century England. An actual 1779 portrait currently hanging in Scone Palace, Scotland, credited to artist Johann Zoffany, is at the heart of the complex Belle, as is the issue of race.

The film is based on the true story of Dido Elizabeth Belle (poignantly played by Mugu Mbatha-Raw), the illegitimate mixed race child of Captain Sir John Lindsay (Matthew Goode) and a woman named Maria Belle; her parents met on a Spanish slave ship. Dido’s mother dies before the story begins. The opening images of the film depict a child in a cloak in the shadows, a carriage ride on a rough road in England in the 1700’s, and then, the emergence of Captain Sir John Lindsay, who’s come to claim Belle as his daughter. But he’s unable to raise her, as he must sail away with the Royal Navy. He brings Dido to Kenwood House in Hampstead, the home of his aristocratic uncle, Lord Mansfield (sensitively portrayed by Tom Wilkinson), who is the Lord Chief Justice of England. He leaves Dido in the care of the Mansfields, but before Lindsay departs, he assures the girl that she is loved.

B-01384.NEF

The pastoral Mansfield estate already has a young blonde charge on the premises: Lady Elizabeth Murray (Sarah Gadon plays the older Elizabeth), whose own father abandoned her while he’s moved on to Europe. The young Elizabeth and Dido become inseparable, and as “cousin-sisters” grow up doing everything together: frolicking in the grass, sharing a bedroom, studying music, letters, French, and eventually, the proper mores of society as taught by their watchful aunts, Lady Mansfield (Emily Watson) and Lady Mary Murray (Penelope Wilton). The Mansfields themselves are childless, and truly love their great-nieces. The two girls are raised on relatively equal footing in the home, with some notable exceptions. For example, when visitors come, Dido is not allowed to dine with them, due to being born out of wedlock. She is, however, able to meet and greet guests after dinner in the parlor.

The news of Captain Lindsay’s eventual death is delivered by letter; Dido becomes an heiress, afforded an sizable annuity, and therefore, is set financially for life; this is in direct contrast to Elizabeth, who has no dowry and must marry well, much as in a Jane Austen novel, in order to maintain the standards of her upbringing and lineage.

095_Belle_ScreenGrab_039.JPG

When male visitors do eventually arrive for dinner at Kenwood House, such as potential suitors James Ashford (Tom Felton) and his brother Oliver (James Norton), they stare and whisper in asides, sizing up “the mulatto”; director Asante aptly depicts the 18th-century concept of women as objects here. In a later carriage scene, Elizabeth directly expresses to Dido that choices facing them, as women, are depressingly limited; they are unable to work, and a good marriage seems to be their only hope for the future.

The motif of “looking” is emphasized further in other sequences in the film. There’s a very touching scene of Dido staring at herself in the mirror, and clawing, in agony, at her own skin, trying to come to terms with her own identity.

gugu-mbatha-raw-in-belle-movie-11

But when a painter is commissioned for a family portrait of the two girls, there are several separate shots of Dido holding a pose, gazed upon by not only the painter, but surreptitiously spied upon by another potential suitor, the budding abolitionist John Davinier (Sam Reid).

The film points to the multiple meanings of “gazing” at Dido: yes, due to her remarkable female beauty, as in the title, but also because she is “the Other” in 18th-century British society: aristocratic, educated, and biracial. In one scene, this is especially highlighted. Both Elizabeth and Dido are asked to play the piano for the Ashfords during their first visit to Kenwood House. Lady Ashford (Miranda Richardson) doubts that Dido will be able to play at all. But it is Dido who, between the two girls, is the more accomplished musician. In a later scene, the objectification of Dido in British society is more dire, as misogynistic James Ashford, who once called beautiful Dido “repulsive,” stares at her on a river bank, and then assaults her.

belle-2

Mabel (Bethan Mary-James), the freed servant in the Mansfield’s London home, is another character connected to “looking.” Dido and Mabel stare at each other upon meeting, a recognition of their shared heritage — and yet their different positions in society. Later, in front of a mirror, Mabel shows Dido how to comb through her hair properly, starting with the ends first. Mabel tells Dido that a man first showed her how to do it.

Courtship becomes a major crucible in the film. Who will get a viable marriage proposal? Dido’s first proposal occurs under the watchful eye of a marble statue of Aphrodite in a bathing pose, seeming to imply it’s a love match. But later, the romance falls apart. Earlier, Lord Mansfield tried to entrust the keys of the house to Dido, offering her the honored place that her spinster Aunt Mary holds — a Hestia position as household caretaker. Hestia is the virginal domestic Greek goddess of the hearth who never leaves home. Worried about her future, Lord Mansfield implies that Dido won’t be able to make a suitable marriage match, due to her liminal societal position: her ethnicity combined with her aristocratic background. But his offer greatly disappoints Dido, and so we know that a romance is in her future; she chooses the way of Aphrodite, not Hestia.

Gugu Mbatha-Raw in Belle

Classism and racism are key parts of a secondary parallel plot involving Lord Mansfield, who must render a judgment on the horrible Zong massacre of 1781, about insurers and the deaths of 142 slaves on a cargo ship. Davinier becomes secretly allied with Dido here, trying to convince Lord Mansfield to rule against the ship’s crew, in favor of the insurers. Although there are several points in the film that seem anachronistic, as if twenty-century sensibilities are in motion instead of the more likely constraints of the time period, it is Dido’s agency in this later part of the film that seems most modern, and perhaps unlikely. Still, it gives Dido an important activist goal, and the two plotlines come together well in the end: Dido’s ability to decide her own future, the verdict in the Zong trial, and romance.

The famous Zoffany portrait of the girls is revealed in the end, highlighting the focus on its unusual qualities: a handsomely gowned, pearl-wearing young black woman touched by a well-dressed white woman, given equal center space at eye line level. In the film, Asante has shown us other pictures of the era, where Africans in paintings are given little space, infantilized, or enslaved, depicted as property. The impact of the independent spirit of Dido in the painting, and the equality in stature of the two girls in the portrait, is evocative and satisfying. Director Asante again reminds us of the motif of looking, gazing, as we ourselves finally stare at the family portrait that our heroine dutifully posed for at Kenwood. And instead of Dido merely seated, she’s smiling and in motion. Symbolically, and in contrast to Elizabeth, she is going somewhere. The theme of “looking,” or gazing upon from a position of privilege as related to objectification, is explored thoroughly in Belle. The film challenges us: what do you really see and why do you see it?

 

Laura Shamas is a writer, film consultant, and mythologist. Her newest book is Pop Mythology: Collected Essays. Read more at her website: LauraShamas.com.

Images of a Poet: A Review of ‘The House Is Black’

The Iranian feminist poet Forough Farrokhzad (1935-1967) led the way in both her life and art. Her pen foregrounded female subjectivity and desire while her independent lifestyle defied the gender norms of her time and place. Killed in a car accident at the tragically young age of 32, Farrokhzad is regarded as one of the great voices of 20th century Persian poetry. But the Tehran-born poet also occupies a special place in Iranian cinema. She wrote and directed ‘The House is Black,’ an award-winning documentary short film that is still revered by Iranian filmmakers and well-respected by critics and scholars. A landmark essay film of Iranian New Wave Cinema, it recently secured a place (235) on ‘Sight and Sound’s prestigious critics’ (2012) list of 250 Greatest Films.

Children of the colony

Written by Rachael Johnson.

A film is never really good unless the camera is an eye in the head of a poet.

–Orson Welles

The Iranian feminist poet Forough Farrokhzad (1935-1967) led the way in both her life and art. Her pen foregrounded female subjectivity and desire while her independent lifestyle defied the gender norms of her time and place. Killed in a car accident at the tragically young age of 32, Farrokhzad is regarded as one of the great voices of 20th century Persian poetry. But the Tehran-born poet also occupies a special place in Iranian cinema. She wrote and directed The House is Black, an award-winning documentary short film that is still revered by Iranian filmmakers and well-respected by critics and scholars. A landmark essay film of Iranian New Wave Cinema, it recently secured a place (235) on Sight and Sound’s prestigious critics’ (2012) list of 250 Greatest Films.

The House Is Black movie poster

The House is Black deserves all the critical acclaim it has received since its release in 1962. It is a powerful and rewarding film that should be more widely seen. It is also vital for critics, filmmakers, and lovers of cinema to remember and honor the work of women around the world who have made their mark in cinematic history. I acknowledge that some will find The House is Black a challenging viewing experience. It is a black-and-white documentary about a leper colony.

Forough Farrokhzad

Forough Farrokhzad

Filming people afflicted by disease is, of course, potentially problematic. The leprous body has traditionally been a site of anxiety and fear in the cultural imagination and those suffering from the condition have suffered terrible prejudice. Are the victims of disease being violated and exploited by the camera? Is the viewer being emotionally manipulated? There is, thankfully, nothing exploitative about Farrokhzad’s documentary. Her gaze never debases her subjects. She depicts their everyday lives and recognizes that they are not only active members of their community but also a part of their country as well as the human family. We see them pray, collect food, play games, enjoy music, apply make-up, attend weddings, and care for their children. They are not characterized as “other.” Note, however, that Farrokzhad does not shy away from the condition. Her gaze is direct. She has a poet’s grasp of detail as well as a poet’s empathy. Visibility is, in fact, crucial to her project. The producer’s voice-over narration at the opening of the documentary states: “There is no shortage of ugliness in the world. If man closed his eyes to it, there would be even more. But man is a problem solver. On this screen will appear an image of ugliness, a vision of pain no caring human being should ignore. To wipe out this ugliness, and to relieve its victims is the motive of this film and the hope of its filmmakers.” Throughout the film, Farrokhzad’s camera records and honors the experiences of the most marginalized of people.

A sufferer with his child

Farrokhzad does not put herself in the frame but she also employs her own evocative voice. In her voice-over narration, she reads from her haunting verse. The documentary, in fact, incorporates the scientific, metaphysical, sacred and lyrical. Farrokhzad’s poetry serves to articulate the suffering of the afflicted while images of men praying are interwoven with glimpses of patients being treated. A more extended montage of patients being treated is, also, supplemented by a medical voice telling us that leprosy is a contagious but “not incurable,” treatable condition.

Restoring visibility

The House is Black is a 20th century film about an ancient condition. It is not only expertly executed — there are some fine tracking shots — but it also highly innovative. The poet-director’s use of close-ups, rapidly edited, thematically connected images, as well as repetition of images, endow the documentary with a poetic richness and potency. Sadly, The House is Black is the only film the poet directed. Who knows what other wonderful work she would have given us. Nevertheless, we should be grateful for this utterly unique contribution to World Cinema.

‘We Are The Best’ or Why You Should Be a Lukas Moodysson Fan

“This sucks!” So says one of the main characters of writer-director Lukas Moodysson’s latest, ‘We Are The Best’ (which opens in the US on May 30). Diminutive, mohawked, 13-year-old Klara (Mira Grosin) is reacting to the live show in which she sees the worst of what middle school in early 1980s Stockholm has to offer: girls with long blonde hair in pastel leotards dancing stiffly to The Human League’s “Don’t You Want Me.” Although Klara, like her best friend Bobo (Mira Barkhammar), listens to punk music, has short hair, and wears the mildly bohemian fashions of the time (scarves and oversized jackets those who were teenagers in that era will recognize), boisterous high-spirited Klara is no nihilist. She is the kind of young iconoclast who has been a mainstay in literature since Mark Twain’s ‘Huckleberry Finn’ (and even before, going back to ‘Lazarillo de Tormes’)–the kind which girls and women in films (and even in literature) are rarely allowed to be.

we-are-the-best_cover

“This sucks!” So says one of the main characters of writer-director Lukas Moodysson’s latest, We Are The Best (which opens in the US on May 30). Diminutive, mohawked, 13-year-old Klara (Mira Grosin) is reacting to the live show in which she sees the worst of what middle school in early 1980s Stockholm has to offer: girls with long blonde hair in pastel leotards dancing stiffly to The Human League’s “Don’t You Want Me.”  Although Klara, like her best friend Bobo (Mira Barkhammar), listens to punk music, has short hair, and wears the mildly bohemian fashions of the time (scarves and oversized jackets those who were teenagers in that era will recognize), boisterous high-spirited Klara is no nihilist. She is the kind of young iconoclast who has been a mainstay in literature since Mark Twain’s Huckleberry Finn (and even before, going back to Lazarillo de Tormes)–the kind girls and women in films (and even in literature) are rarely allowed to be. Klara and her friend Bobo–with their highly defined likes and dislikes in music–are also one of the only instances in film in which girls (and even women) are allowed to have taste in (and opinions about) something other than boys and clothes–without the filmmaker or screenwriter denigrating them or their opinions.

Like most 13-year-olds, Klara and Bobo spend their time outside of school trying to alleviate boredom: hanging out at the park or the recreation center, where they cringe at the heavy metal cacophony of teenage boys rehearsing. When the director tells them that whoever has signed up for the rehearsal space is allowed to play as loud as they want, Klara and Bobo see the band has neglected to sign up for their current rehearsal time, fill in their own names instead and succeed in kicking the boys out. For the rest of their allotted time they whale on the instruments the center provides (a bass and drums), shout into the microphones, and have a great time. Their “band” is born.

During the school show they see the reserved, tall, blonde Hedvig (Liv LeMoyne) play classical guitar and instead of making fun of her, as they have in previous years, notice that she is talented. They need a guitarist for their band, so they invite her to join.

GrosinBestSolo
Mira Grosin as Klara

Hedvig, although conventionally beautiful (LeMoyne in oxford shirts, big sweaters, and hardly any makeup convincingly looks both like a shy teenager from the early 80s and a supermodel on her day off) has no friends at school, always eating lunch alone; the other students have deemed her an outsider because she is “Christian.” But when she accepts Bobo and Klara’s offer, the band of two outsiders becomes three, and they all happily share a lunch table from then on, nicely capturing the transition when teenagers see the value not just in the things but in the people they had previously dismissed as “weird.”

The girls throw their considerable energy into the band (and even play a gig at the end), with Hedvig teaching chords and time to the others, and Bobo and Klara composing anti-sports lyrics to a song when the gym teacher in school orders them to run laps. But we can see they’re still adolescents, in the way Klara and Bobo obsess over teenage boys in a punk band from the suburbs, or egg each other on when they decide to cut Hedvig’s hair (after which Hedvig’s mother lectures them in a surprisingly thoughtful way). The band becomes a cause and a solace to the girls, a way to get through the agony of middle school.

The band as a duo
The band as a duo

Although Klara’s main lament is that her parents and brothers are alternately boring and embarrassing, and she will never play as well as Hedvig, Bobo has a rougher time. She wears glasses and has cut her own hair into a short, unflattering style which, unlike Klara’s, never looks “edgy,” just awkward. The boys she likes never seem to like her back, and Bobo’s mother practices the type of sunny but apathetic parenting also featured in the contemporary-set Palo Alto. At a party in their apartment her mother points out Bobo’s homemade haircut to the guests, one of whom says, “It’s such a good cut on you,”  a statement so patently untrue that it hurts Bobo more than an insult would. After a different night of humiliation, Bobo asks Klara to tell her one good thing and Klara answers, “You’re in the best band in the world,” another lie, but one that is infinitely more comforting to Bobo.

Moodysson also wrote and directed one of my favorite queer girl coming-of-age films Show Me Love (its original Swedish title translates as Fucking Amal) and the ensemble comedy about a commune in the 70s, Together. Klara’s parents and Bobo’s mom could be the characters from Together ten years later: they’ve outgrown the commune, but they still have the same struggles–Klara’s parents arguing about divvying up the housework and Bobo’s mother paying too much attention to her own problems and not enough to her child. The scenes in which Bobo and Klara get drunk from the dregs of cups from Klara’s brother’s party echoes scenes both in Together where the kids drink the wine the adults have left in their glasses, and in Show Me Love when Elin tries one pill from every bottle in her mother’s medicine cabinet to see if they make her “feel anything.”

The band as a trio
The band as a trio

We Are The Best isn’t quite as sharp or funny as those two previous films. It could use some queer characters: these short-haired, outcast girls in a band together all seeming to be completely straight doesn’t ring true (though Hedvig, even though she’s a year older, doesn’t seem as interested in boys as Klara and Bobo–hmmm). And because the girls are so close, I expected at least one of their harassing classmates to yell “dyke” at one or all of them, which never happens, even though, at that time, queer panic (even in liberal Sweden) was in full swing among adults and would undoubtedly be worse among adolescents. Also anyone who’s not Swedish (or hasn’t spent a lot of time in Sweden) who is expecting to hear familiar music from the 80s (except that Human League song) will be disappointed. Still, the film is delightful and, like Moodysson’s other films, has special insight into the lives of adolescent girls (it’s based on an autobiographical graphic novel by the director’s wife, Coco Moodysson, and features their own daughter in a small role). His touch with the young performers is expert: we never doubt the reality of these girls, their personalities (Grosin’s  jaunty, smiling bravado is especially wonderful) or their friendship, all the more extraordinary considering that the actresses are the ages of the characters they play (Grosin was actually younger–11–during filming). Because of their commitment to the band, Klara and Bobo stop fighting about a boy (which could have ended their friendship) and, in the end, all three even earn the respect of the heavy metal band. The girls’ band might not be the best in the world, but it turns out to be the best thing in their world.

[youtube_sc url=”http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=R33H0ONZcSY”]

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Ren Jender is a queer writer-performer/producer putting a film together. Her writing has appeared in The Toast, xoJane, and the Feminist Wire. You can follow her on Twitter @renjender.

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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Cannes Film Festival: Jane Campion Accuses Film Industry of ‘Inherent Sexism’ by Rachel Donadio at The New York Times

This History-Making Marriage Equality Documentary is a Joyful Tearjerker by Sarah Mirk at Bitch Media

Op-ed: Why Days of Our Lives‘ Will & Sonny Might Be the Most Important Couple on TV by Jeremy Helligar at Advocate

Arab American Romantic Comedy “Detroit Unleaded” Will Make You Shout “Hell, Yeah!” by Stephanie Abraham at Bitch Media

Feature Doc On International Jewel Thief Doris Payne Gets A Limited Theatrical Run, Starting In NYC (Details) by  Tambay Obenson at Shadow and Act

Coming This Fall to ABC: ‘All Shonda Rhimes’ Thursday by Yesha Callahan at The Root

Zoe Saldana’s Nina Simone Biopic is in Trouble by Jamilah King at Colorlines

 

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

Seed & Spark: On Ambivalence

A useful piece of advice I received as a screenwriter was to make my main character proactive. If my lead was willful and had a clear goal, I would have no problem following them through their own actions to achieve, or not achieve, that goal. This was useful insofar as it allowed me to finally complete a script. With just a little finagling the plot points unfolded in all the right places and things made good sense. But naturally, I was therefore incapable of writing anything remotely true to my own life experience.

This is a guest post by Cat Papadimitriou.

A good friend of mine does an uncanny impression of me: he waits a moment to respond to something, and finally says “Well, yes, and no.” It’s true that I never have a one word answer for anything.

A useful piece of advice I received as a screenwriter was to make my main character proactive. If my lead was willful and had a clear goal, I would have no problem following them through their own actions to achieve, or not achieve, that goal. This was useful insofar as it allowed me to finally complete a script. With just a little finagling the plot points unfolded in all the right places and things made good sense. But naturally, I was therefore incapable of writing anything remotely true to my own life experience.

I had this film in my head about a girl who had a painfully pressing urge both towards and away from things she could not identify.  For months I lived in the colors, sounds and smells of the world of this film, and with the feelings she had. But for the love of God I could not make this chick DO anything!

I decided to re-watch a few of my favorite films and play “spot the goal.”

Muriel listening to ABBA in Muriel's Wedding
Muriel listening to ABBA in Muriel’s Wedding

 

Muriel’s Wedding. OK, Muriel wants to get married. And the events that propel the film forward are in fact brought on by her own actions. But she isn’t really acting on her desire to be married. She’s acting on her desire to avoid everything that reminds her that she’s not. It’s more a film about low self-esteem and disappointment in life than it is a film about a girl who only wants to be a bride.

In Trainspotting, the first thing Renton declares is that he is going clean. There’s a clear goal! Except that goal is one he acts on by shooting up “one last time.” Before the film is halfway through he has gone through withdrawal and started using all over again. As soon as I’m asking myself, “was quitting the goal?” he is floored by the presence of Diane at a nightclub, and is on a quest for love. But that is short-lived as well. Renton seems to hop all over the place trying to figure out what he wants, and that’s part of what makes the film so engaging; his desires change constantly. He wants one thing one moment, but life has another in store. We’re not bored by his lack of conviction, we’re enthralled by his thought process through it all.

Trenton and Diane talking about drugs in Trainspotting
Trenton and Diane talking about drugs in Trainspotting

 

So I tried to get to know this Nia girl living in my head. When I met her, she didn’t really want anything. And when I went down the list, “do you want to graduate college?” “Do you want a better relationship with your mom?” and so on, the answer was always “Well… yes and no.” So I let her act, or not act, on the yes and the no.

I let her inner conflict steer the film, and a cool thing happened. The drama came FROM her, and not as a result of her.

Contrary to what I was warned, Nia wasn’t wishy-washy. That’s not what being ambivalent is. It’s about being conflicted. And I found that Nia’s choices were much more interesting, spontaneous, and genuine when she was acting somewhat in spite of herself. She was surprising me. As in real life, she was not really affecting the world around her in any tremendous way. Life was going on, as it does, and she was the one changing. There were larger things at play than what Nia might have wanted.

Nika Ezell Pappas as Nia in Nia on Vacation
Nika Ezell Pappas as Nia in Nia on Vacation

 

I’m an atheist, by the way. Not because I am 100 percent positive that when I die my consciousness as Cat also ends. I believe this, but I also know that it is only a belief. We’re all agnostic by default. Ambivalence is the awareness that a single truth can encompass conflicting ideas—yes and no. Nothing is black or white. It’s usually black and white. Not so much grey, but checkerboard, or perhaps herringbone.

And the films I tend to gravitate toward are the ones that represent life, and people, in this way—truthfully.

Was the advice I got as a screenwriter good advice? You guessed it. Yes, and no.

If we’re not following actions taken by the main character, well, he or she is not the main character. But whether those actions are towards any one specific goal, or whether there is any awareness of a goal at all, is, I think, optional. Just think of all the amazing films we would be writing off if it wasn’t.

Guido, drifting away in thought in 8 1/2
Guido, drifting away in thought in 8 1/2

 

Where is young Anton going in The 400 Blows? Or Benjamin Braddock, in The Graduate? All that’s really clear is that they both want something else.

It takes Guido, in Federico Fellini’s 8 ½, over 75 percent of the film to admit that he wants nothing more but to make one honest film, and to look at his wife without shame. Yet we are enraptured as we watch him half-heartedly muddling through the production of his current film project. We’re not really watching the film he’s supposed to be making. We’re seeing his heart where it really is: in the past, in longing, in his understanding of himself, as it unfolds.

 

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Cat Papadimitriou is a Bronx born Brooklyn based filmmaker and story-teller devoted to telling stories of the under-represented.  Her last film adventure abroad was as camera assistant and educator in a two woman crew on the project Fire in Our Hearts and she is currently working on her first feature narrative, Nia On Vacation. She is most proud of her cooking abilities.

An Early Take Down of Nice Guys in ‘Broadcast News’

At the time of its release, ‘Broadcast News’ was lauded as feminist for depicting talented, authoritative, driven career women while only mildly pathologizing their dedication to their work. Sure, Jane Craig takes a few minutes out of her busy schedule every day to privately sob, and her personal life is inextricably tied to her work life, but the film does not judge or punish her for her priorities.

But there’s more to ‘Broadcast News’ feminism than women in the workplace. It also presents an ahead-of-its time criticism of the Nice Guy™ phenomenon.

The newsroom of 'Broadcast News'
The newsroom of Broadcast News

Growing up, I wanted to grow up to be a nosy reporter. I blame His Girl Friday, Lois Lane, and to a lesser extent, Broadcast News. I wanted to be a fast-talking, four-steps-ahead, take-charge champion of the truth and master of storytelling, just like Holly Hunter’s Jane Craig. That was my childhood proto-feminist power fantasy.

Revisiting the film as an adult, I expected Broadcast News‘ feminism to feel somewhat dated, even though it is less than 30 years old, just barely predating the swell of Third Wave feminism.

Holly Hunter as Jane Craig
Holly Hunter as Jane Craig

At the time of its release, Broadcast News was lauded as feminist for depicting talented, authoritative, driven career women while only mildly pathologizing their dedication to their work. Sure, Jane Craig takes a few minutes out of her busy schedule every day to privately sob, and her personal life is inextricably tied to her work life, but the film does not judge or punish her for her priorities.

But there’s more to Broadcast News‘ feminism than women in the workplace. It also presents an ahead-of-its time criticism of the Nice Guy™ phenomenon.

Nice Guy Aaron (Albert Brooks)
Nice Guy Aaron (Albert Brooks)

Jane’s colleague and best friend Aaron Altman (Albert Brooks) is a Nice Guy™. And he’s one of the worst kinds of Nice Guys. On top of the entitlement and resentfulness and extreme self-centeredness, he’s not even remotely nice. He’s sometimes astonishingly mean, especially to Jane, whenever she dares to choose another man over him, personally and/or professionally.

The “Unworthy Jerk” in this case is Tom Grunick (William Hurt), a handsome but dim newscaster being groomed for lead anchor. To his credit, Tom is upfront that he’s uninformed and relatively unintelligent, and seeks Jane’s help because he wants to do better. And to Jane’s credit, she tells him flat-out that she doesn’t have the time to teach him “remedial reporting,” in spite of her attraction to him.

Despite his intellectual shortcomings, Tom is talented on camera, and tries to be a better newsman. He produces a powerful (although it will be revealed, fatally flawed) segment on date rape (which, in perhaps his worst moment, Aaron loudly dismisses as a fluff piece, declaring “you really blew the lid off nookie.” Nice Guys notoriously and dangerously dismiss rape, so this is a crucial detail).

Jane yields to her attraction to Tom as he reveals his competence. When he’s placed as last-minute lead anchor in a breaking news update, Jane is terrified he won’t be mentally up to snuff. But he effortlessly relays the information Jane feeds him through his earpiece and proves his strong presence on camera.

Slick but stupid Tom (William Hurt)
Slick but stupid Tom (William Hurt)

Tom says their interplay was like “great sex,” and it seems they are headed for the real thing. But Jane misses the opportunity when she stops to check in on Aaron while he bitterly indulges in a spectacular bender. I enjoyed seeing that side of the “friendzone” depicted: the actual friendship that goes unacknowledged because the Nice Guy is being deprived the sex he “deserves.” As toxic as their relationship ultimately is, Aaron is Jane’s closest friend, and she shows him a lot of care and support. And he’s perpetually mean and judgmental, under the guise of wanting the best for her. But when he finally confesses his love and she rejects him, he cruelly wishes her a lifetime of loneliness while he finds his happy ending.

Jane and Aaron in the Friendzone
Jane and Aaron in the Friendzone

Aaron also pettily reveals that Tom unethically re-shot a cutaway to his faked on-camera tears in his date rape piece, prompting Jane to dump him. It’s a relief to the viewer; Tom is ultimately too hollow a person and Jane will never truly respect him, even without this egregious incident focusing her disdain. I hate to agree with Aaron, but Tom is just not good enough for her.. And it is nice that Broadcast News racks up some more proto-feminist points with the “I choose me” resolution to its love triangle.

The film’s epilogue does present some problems. Several years later, we see Aaron did get his happy ending with a wife and adorable child, even though he’s now working in the meager Portland market. Tom has followed his upward career trajectory to the lead anchor position and is engaged to a beautiful blonde. Jane is in the beginning of a relationship, but it may be threatened by her true love, her job, as she moves to New York for a major promotion. I’m relieved Future Jane isn’t a lonely spinster suffering for her choices, but the relationship disparity still feels pointed. And Aaron’s happy ending suggests he’s meant to be a more sympathetic character than he seems to a feminist watching this film in 2014.

But this is no (500) Days of Summer. Even if there is some sympathy for Aaron, there’s also plenty of criticism of his attitudes, and next to none for Jane for not returning his affections. We’re meant to question how much Jane puts into their friendship because of the negative effects on her life, not because it is “unfair” to Aaron. The film pointedly values Jane’s emotional needs more than Aaron ever will, despite his declarations of love. For a film pushing 30 years old, Broadcast News offers quite the nuanced deconstruction of the Nice Guy™ trope.

 

Robin Hitchcock is an American writer living in Cape Town who counts the theme song scene in this movie as one of the greatest moments in the history of film. 

‘Super Fun Night’ Postmortem

ABC announced late last week that ‘Super Fun Night,’ Rebel Wilson’s half-hour comedy about being supremely uncool, was getting the axe. After 17 very strange episodes, it’s time to look back and figure out what went wrong (and right) with this offbeat series.

Written by Katherine Murray.

ABC announced late last week that Super Fun Night, Rebel Wilson’s half-hour comedy about being supremely uncool, was getting the axe. After 17 very strange episodes, it’s time to look back and figure out what went wrong (and right) with this offbeat series.

The cast of Super Fun Night

Super Fun Night is/was a sitcom produced by Conan O’Brien, starring the hilarious Rebel Wilson as Kimmie, an awkward, uncool lawyer who lives with her awkward, uncool friends, while pining after her handsome, unattainable co-worker, Richard. It’s significant that Kimmie lives with her high school friends, since the defining question of the series is whether or not being cool is the prerequisite to having a satisfying life.

Kimmie, who would like to think of herself as being a little bit cool, drags her friends into misadventure by taking them out of the apartment and into the city on various outings they call “super fun night.” Also, she works in an office and stuff.

The show includes a strange mishmash of singing, and jokes, and serious after-school-special moments about accepting yourself. At times, it tantalizes you with the idea that it might actually be good, only to let you down in the following episode. There were lots of things to like and dislike about it, but I enjoy finding fault with other people’s work, so let’s start with the stuff that went wrong.

The Stuff that was Wrong

● The American Accent
Rebel Wilson is Australian; her character is not. That is a mistake of huge proportions, mainly for the reason that a lot of Wilson’s comedy comes less from what she’s saying, and more from the specific way she says it. For some unknown reason, Kimmie is American, and you can hear Wilson struggling with the accent during the first few episodes. It flattens her delivery and makes it hard for her to use the right inflection to carry off a joke.

Wilson has explained that the decision sprang partly from the fact that Kimmie is supposed to have gone to school in America, but, if the character had moved from Australia as a teen, I doubt anyone would have cried foul.

● The Law Firm
Kimmie is a lawyer in the way that children imagine people are lawyers – she’s vaguely in an office setting, wearing a suit, doing legal-sounding things. Her job bears absolutely no importance to the story, and yet the show insists on following her to work, where her career and her coworkers are drawn in very broad strokes, and not nearly as entertaining as the rest of the show.

It seems from the title, and the pilot (which aired as the eighth episode), that the real meat of the story is Kimmie’s interaction with her friends, Helen-Alice and Marika, who are also the funniest and most specific characters. It would have been easy to structure the show so that each episode was focussed on whatever Kimmie and her friends achieved on “super fun night,” and it’s surprising that so much screen time is instead given to Kimmie moving papers around at an imaginary job.

The only interesting fact about the law firm is that, between two Australian actors and one Englishman, nobody who works there is American. I’m pretty sure Matt Lucas even showed up in the elevator. As a citizen of the Commonwealth, I’m pleased that our invasion is proceeding according to plan.

● The Woman With No Personality
It’s clear that the series did not know what to do with Kimmie’s arch nemesis, Kendall. She’s the shallowest character, and the role was changed and re-cast after the pilot (some of the official websites still show a photo of the original actress, because that’s the level of support this show got on the ground).

The problem with Kendall is that she isn’t a person. She’s the most archetypical character on the show – a projection of what we imagine pretty, successful career women must be like (confident, lovelorn, a little bit mean), lacking in the little quirks and details that make the other characters seem human. Even after the writers flip the script and try to make Kendall into Kimmie’s friend, we never get a sense of who she is, beyond how she makes Kimmie feel awkward and slovenly by comparison. It drags down the law firm scenes even more.

● The Tinkley Piano Music
This is not actually a complaint about the music (though the music numbers were weird). It’s a complaint about the Very Special Moments the series had where the characters Learned A Lesson or otherwise expressed their innermost emotions in an entirely serious way. Kimmie is a virgin! Marika is a lesbian! Both of them were really unpopular in school! 

Super Fun Night tries really hard to be sensitive to all of these things (and more – so many more) by not laughing at the characters, or shaming them for their experiences. That’s awesome, but, given that this is a comedy, it would also have been nice if the writers had found a way of laughing with the characters instead, so that at least there could be laughter.

In spite of these issues, though, I confess that part of me was pulling for this series to succeed. And that’s because of the stuff that went right.

Kimmie and James on Super Fun Night

The Stuff that was Right

● Kimmie’s Relationship with James
After Kendall and Richard start dating, they set Kimmie up with one of Richard’s friends. Kimmie spends the week fantasizing about what kind of suave, handsome, Richard-like man they’ve selected, only to find out it’s James, a goofy fat guy, who seems kind of loud.

Kimmie’s first reaction is to feel insulted that this is who Richard and Kendall imagine her with, but, once she gets to know James, it turns out she likes him a lot. She realizes, in a fairly understated way, that even though she’s used to being dismissed because of the way she looks and the awkward first impression she makes, she made the same mistake with James. It’s a nice, self-aware moment in which the audience takes the same journey as Kimmie – James is presented in such a way that we’re encouraged to find him disappointing (and to think that the joke is going to be “look what an awful blind date this is”) before the situation reverses, and we realize that he’s really an OK guy.

The series also ends on a really strong note, in terms of the Richard-Kimmie-James love triangle.  Richard and Kimmie have always been friends – they share some of the same interests, and dork-out to the same kinds of things – but, once Kimmie starts dating James, Richard suddenly decides that he’s in love with her. He makes his feelings known during the final episodes of the series, right before he gets on a plane to leave the country and start a new job. Now that Kimmie finally has the chance to be with the man she’s been dreaming about, she frantically runs to the airport to tell him… that she thinks he’ll do really well at his new job and she wishes him the best.

Kimmie makes the mature choice of staying with James, the guy she’s actually built a relationship with, rather than chasing after Richard and the idealized romance she had with him in her mind. In real life, this may be what most sensible people would do, but, in TV land, this is the sitcom equivalent of “Ned Stark dies.” It completely reverses our expectations about how the story is going to play out, and shows that the writers are doing something insightful and intelligent with the genre. If I was going to identify a single reason why Super Fun Night deserved to exist, it would be that scene at the airport.

● Actual Lesbians (Not Just Lesbian Jokes)
One of the running jokes in the series is that everyone except Marika thinks that Marika is gay. The reasons for this mostly rely on stereotypes like the way she dresses, her love of sports, and the coffee table she built out of salvaged railway ties, but Marika also shows an obvious interest in other women, and an obviously fake-sounding interest in dudes, making her denial seem absurd.

Even if it’s a little heavy-handed (or a lot heavy-handed) it’s nice that Marika’s story line actually finishes out with her finding an awesome new girlfriend and accepting herself as she is (which means that the “LOL @ your lesbian coffee table” jokes also end). If you’re going to joke about your characters being gay, you earn it a little bit more if you’re willing to follow through by actually making your characters gay.

● It’s Totally Fine to Act Like a Dork
The thing that really set the series apart and made it seem special was this: the main characters, who are supposed to be kind of uncool, are actually kind of uncool. This isn’t a thing where they’re just wearing glasses (though one of them is wearing glasses). It’s a thing where their ideal Friday night involves cookies and DVD sets, and they keep fantasy figurines on their desks, and they have anxiety attacks about riding the subway, and they congratulate themselves for daringly eating papaya.

Most of the funniest jokes on the show are about this – which is why most of the funniest parts of the show involve Kimmie’s friends rather than her coworkers – but there’s no suggestion that the characters need to fundamentally change who they are in order to be cooler people. At the end of the pilot episode, they manage to agree that they will “sometimes” leave the apartment to venture outside, and that’s about as far as the concessions go.

It isn’t a novel idea that being a geek, nerd, or dork can be fine, but most of the celebrated characters within that niche are men. Comparatively, it’s much more rare to see a story about female geeks, nerds, and dorks, where they aren’t asked to change in some way, or to start dressing better, in order to prove they have worth. It’s rare to see a geek girl who isn’t also (secretly) a hot girl, and, as annoying as the Tinkley Piano Music moments are, it’s nice to see the characters confess insecurities that many women have without being punished for it.

There were a lot of problems with Super Fun Night – including the fact that it wasn’t consistently funny – but the core idea behind it was something important. It introduced geeky, nerdy, dorky female characters that women could relate to, and it inverted the legacy of 80s and 90s movies (which taught us that only cool people can date and have fun, therefore we should learn to be cool), by telling us that uncool people can still lead full lives and have self-esteem.

I’m not surprised that the series was cancelled, but I think it brought something of value, and, even after all the singing and the touching introspection at the law firm, I’m not really sorry I watched it. I would like a magic do-over where someone strengthened the content a little bit more before this went to air, but the feeling behind it was noble.

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

Violence, Fat Women, and Transphobia: The Latest ‘Louie’ Controversy

In the 18 months ‘Louie’ was off the air, you might have forgotten just how much debate this show generates. But in the two Mondays of its fourth season to date, Louis C.K.’s odd FX comedy has caused enough controversy to set the blogosphere abuzz.

In the 18 months Louie was off the air, you might have forgotten just how much debate this show generates. But in the two Mondays of its fourth season to date, Louis C.K.’s odd FX comedy has caused enough controversy to set the blogosphere abuzz.

FX has made the strange decision to burn off two episodes at a time, meaning that four episodes have aired thus far (and I’m going to be spoiling them, so consider this fair warning). Last week, the episode that sparked a couple of Salon thinkpieces was the one titled “Model.” Prachi Gupta summarizes:

Louie meets a beautiful model (rather, a beautiful model pursues Louie), she takes him to her house, and they have sex. While in bed, the woman (Yvonne Strahovski) tickles Louie, despite his urgent warnings that he doesn’t like being tickled. Losing control of his body, Louie then turns and, fully accidentally, hits the woman in the eye. She is taken to the hospital, and Louie is faced with a potential lawsuit from the woman’s family, the disdain of his friends for hitting a woman and the knowledge that “her pupil is paralyzed.”

The title of Gupta’s piece is “Louie hits a woman – but it’s not his fault.” I’m reminded of the controversial season three rape scene of 2012, wherein Louie is sexually assaulted by the woman he is on a date with, and the conflicting feelings brought forth by that. Is the rape of men by women an underreported real-world issue that deserves to be acknowledged more than it is? Absolutely. Did the episode handle the issue in an appropriately sensitive and careful manner? Probably not. Did it nonetheless bring the issue to the attention of people who may not otherwise have considered it? I am willing to believe that it did.

It's so hard to be a white dude these days.
It’s so hard to be a white dude these days.

Similarly: Does violence against women sometimes happen in a context where it is truly accidental? Surely it does. But does this episode make a meaningful contribution to the cultural discourse around this topic? I’m not convinced, especially because male celebrities frequently beat women with impunity. Louie the character may be schlubby and unsuccessful, but Louis C.K. the real person is a real-life celebrity. I say this not to slander real-life Louis C.K. by implying that he beats women – to the best of my knowledge, he has never done so – but to point out that, if he did, there would likely be no consequences.

As such, isn’t it arguably a little disingenuous of C.K. to present us with a situation where his onscreen self hits a woman, but it isn’t his fault and he pays a steep price for it? Jennifer Keishin Armstrong suggests that this disingenuousness extends to the whole conceit of the character’s socioeconomic status. It’s not only unfair to pretend that Louie is just one of hoi polloi, it also perpetuates a cultural image of “poor” that is really a representation of robust (upper-)middle-class existence.

Alas, talking about socioeconomic injustice or violence against women is far less of a clickbait than debating the fuckability of a fat woman, so a great deal more discussion has been generated by this week’s episode “So Did The Fat Lady,” in which Louie is made increasingly uncomfortable by the romantic advances of a fat girl (Sarah Baker) until she bursts out in a monologue about the trials of dating while fat.

[youtube_sc url=”https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KFdWcNJ17YY”]

The debate was instantaneous and plenteous. The episode has been hailed as the start of a necessary conversation. It has been seen, with some frustration and disappointment, as the only way to get a fat woman’s voice out there. It has been scorned as clueless condescension that perpetuates fat-hating stereotypes.

I’m not fat or a woman, so I’m not going to mansplain the right way to react. I will just say that you should go read all of those pieces, as well as this interview with the lovely Sarah Baker and this piece by another actress who auditioned for the part, and try to take on board what everyone is saying.

What I can speak meaningfully to, however, is a little bit that has gotten overlooked in all the conversations, and that is the last 45 seconds of this week’s second episode, “Elevator (Part 1).” In a short section of standup that airs over the end credits, Louis C.K. delivers the following monologue:

I have two daughters, so I’m raising two future women. You know? Maybe. I mean, one of ’em might be a guy later. [audience laughter] It’s possible. [C.K. chuckles] It could happen. Someday one of my daughters will say, “Dad, I’m really a guy.” [laughter] And I’ll be like, “Eh, well, let’s get you a dick. [loud laughter] Let’s get you a dick, honey. I’m gonna get you the nicest dick in town. [shrieks of laughter; C.K. grins] Nothing’s too good for my little girl.” [laughter]

C.K. reacts to his own bit so I don't have to
C.K. reacts to his own bit so I don’t have to

When I wrote about Louis C.K. for our Male Feminists and Allies theme week back in November, I expressed my hope for his improvement on gender and trans issues. This is not what I had in mind. If C.K. really is aware and accepting of the possibility that one of his daughters might be trans, that’s terrific for them, but I somehow don’t think that turning this into a punchline is the best way of expressing this acceptance. Call me humorless, but in my experience it isn’t exactly sidesplitting to have to tell your parents that you’re not the gender they thought you were. And having them deliberately misgender you and objectify your genitals in the guise of supporting you, solely for the sake of a cheap laugh, sounds like no fun at all.

I expect better, Louis C.K. I expect a lot better.

___________________________________________________

Max Thornton blogs at Gay Christian Geek, tumbles as trans substantial, and is slowly learning to twitter at @RainicornMax. He wrote this piece when he should have been working on his final theology paper.

Aria and Ezra’s Problematic Relationship on ‘Pretty Little Liars’

One big problem with how this relationship is portrayed, especially its beginnings, is that it feeds into the mythology that teenage girls are temptresses who seek out older men and seduce them, applying pressure until these helpless men give in against their better judgement. This mythology has real world implications.

Spoiler Warning

The relationsip between Aria and Ezra is established in the pilot episode of Pretty Little Liars. At the beginning, I think the relationship very much represents the ultimate realization of the school girl fantasy that the older guy/teacher/pop-star that you are hopelessly crushing on will see you. Not just notice that you exist but see you for who you really are. Someone who is “different” from all those other girls, someone who is not just a child but a whole person.

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While Spencer considers herself to be the most mature of the Liars, it is Aria’s relationship that is the least like most high school relationships. She and Ezra at times behave like a young married couple. She makes him tea before he goes to work, and they stay in and watch classic movies. Their problems tend to be driven by external factors, Ezra’s mother wanting him to make an appropriate match, Ezra finding out he has a child. these are challenges that we expect to see in a relationship between people in their 20s and of course Ezra  IS in his 20s.

Initially their story follows a fairly well-trodden arc when it comes to older-guy younger-girl relationships. They run into each other at a cafe and get to talking. Ezra assumes she is in college and she does nothing to dissuade those assumptions. They end up kissing in a toilet. Later on in that same episode Ezra finds out pretty abruptly that Aria is only 16 when he turns out to be teaching her English class. He makes out that he wants to do the right thing and says they can’t see each other anymore. She claims that  they have a special connection and is deeply disappointing with his decisions. However he reneges when Aria is sad and kisses her deeply, re-establishing their relationship.

ezra-birthday

Generally Ezra’s interest in Aria is presented as fairly unproblematic. Aria’s parents react really badly initially, and they are both conscious that if the truth comes out the consequences could be dire. A fact that doesn’t come up till season four when Ezra returns to teach at Rosewood, is that in Pennsylvania where the show is set, while  the age of consent is technically 16  if  the minor is under the age of 18, the adult can be charged with “Corruption of a Minor,” a  misdemeanor offence,  and if the adult is in a position of power (teacher, clergy, or police for example) it is a felony.

In one scene Aria imagines what would happen if A leaked evidence of the relationship to the school administration and the end result is that Ezra is arrested and ends up in jail. However these appear  to be minor intrusions into their happy life of domestic bliss. Under pressure from their daughter, Aria’s parents become tacitly permissive of the relationship and they manage to avoid any problems with the school administration despite sometimes not being very circumspect on the school grounds. Ezra considers it prudent to leave his position at Rosewood High and moves on to teaching at the local college. He ends up getting fired from there in a last ditch endeavor by Aria’s father to get him to stop seeing his daughter.

The relationship lives in this sort of netherworld where it is both seen as illicit but also fundamentally acceptable because they are in love with each other and that has to mean something. While Aria’s parents react badly the question of why Ezra, a college-educated man in his 20s is attracted to and in love with Aria, a 16-year-old high school girl, the power differential between them is never ever addressed. The subtext that we are meant to swallow is that it is because Aria is exceptional, she is mature and amazing. One of the problems with this though, is that this perception of Aria doesn’t really jive with the many poor decisions she makes on the show that are pretty understandable in a teenage girl.

One big problem with how  this relationship is portrayed, especially its beginnings, is that it feeds into the mythology that teenage girls are temptresses who seek out older men and seduce them, applying pressure until these helpless men give in against their better judgement. This mythology has real world implications. A tragic example of this is the case of Stacey Dean Rambold, who was convicted with raping one of his 14-year-old students repeatedly but only given a 30-day sentence because he believed that  she was “older than her chronological age” and was “as much in control of the situation” as the man who raped her. The judge has since been censured but, this should never have happened in the first place.  Rambold’s victim has since committed suicide in the aftermath of the case.

One could argue that for much of their relationship Ezra is not actually Aria’s teacher; they didn’t meet in that context and so the power differential is not really an issue. I do not believe that large gaps in relationships are intrinsically negative, so if you take the teacher part out of the equation does that make it less problematic? I’m not sure. I don’t want to deny Aria’s agency as a young woman but I still think we would have to question why Ezra would want to have a relationship with someone so young, It would be a little different if he was a 35-year-old interested in a 23-year-old because adolescence is a very difficult time.

 

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The whole thing is made very (even more?) creepy in season four when it is revealed to us that Ezra knew who Aria was from the very beginning. He was aware of her age, he was aware that she was a student at the high school he was going to teach at, and he was aware of her relationship with Alison. So Ezra knowingly committed a felony in order to gain insight into Alison and her friends for his book – at least this is what he claims. He is effectively a stalker who manages to convince Aria that they have a very special relationship. He uses his prior knowledge of her to manipulate her. This pretty much sinks the final nail into the coffin on this relationship with me. I think overall I come down on the side that the Aria/Ezra relationship is highly problematic and I am interested to see how the show goes on to handle these new revelations about him.

 

pllezria

 

 

Gaayathri Nair is currently living and writing in Auckland, New Zealand. You can find more of her work at her blog A Human Story and tweet her @A_Gaayathri.