Fight to See Yourself On Screen

This is a guest post by Joyce Wu.

I’ve always loved movies. When I was a kid, nothing brought me greater pleasure than walking across those sticky floors to find the perfect seat, the scent of stale popcorn hanging in the air. My dad, my big brother, and I would always share a box of Sour Patch Kids. I loved spending those two hours inside the theater on thrilling adventures, falling in love, traveling to exotic locales, suffering terrible tragedies.

But Asian Americans didn’t seem to go on these adventures; they didn’t seem to fall in love; they didn’t travel to exotic locales. If anything, they were merely set decoration when the real protagonists of the stories got to those places. People of Asian descent didn’t seem to exist on screen at all, and when they did appear, bucktoothed and bumbling, their fleeting presence filled me with a burning shame, as if watching a family member humiliate himself in front of someone I was trying to impress.

When you hardly ever see anyone who looks like you on screen, and when the only people who look like you don’t seem like people at all, you begin to have a very limited notion of your own possibilities. This nagging insecurity I’ve lived with my whole life (and truthfully, what will always be a part of me and what drives my work) was nagging particularly loudly a few weeks ago.

Still from Screaming in Asian

I was at CAAMfest, an Asian American film festival in San Francisco. For the last two years, I’ve been trying to raise the money to make my first feature film, The Real Mikado, a comedy about an out-of-work Asian American actress who moves back in with her parents and directs a production of Gilbert & Sullivan’s opera The Mikado to try and save the community theater. I was at the festival to sceen the first ten minutes of the film as a short and to pitch the feature for the chance at a grant.

The day before the pitch, all of the filmmakers did a practice run-through of the event, and I was the last to present. I saw these passionate, talented people pitch their films about victims of war and impoverished children, and when it was my turn, I couldn’t find my words. All I could think was, “Why should anyone care about me or my stupid movie?” After years of struggling, I was so exhausted from pretending to be far more confident than I really was and so frustrated and hurt by the constant rejection that it all finally got to me.

Still from Screaming in Asian

I did the one thing that a woman who wants to be taken seriously is never supposed to do. I cried. I couldn’t even hold it together long enough to wait until I was in the privacy of a bathroom stall. I did it in front of everyone. Fortunately, the other filmmakers were incredibly supportive. Some of them cried too. That night, I stayed up all night revising and rehearsing my pitch. I stood in front of a mirror staring into my own bloodshot eyes and tried to convince myself that my movie was worth making.

The next morning, on about two hours of sleep, I walked up to the podium and told a panel of judges and an audience of about 70 people about The Real Mikado. I summoned everything I had from the deepest places of my soul and gave those people everything I could about who I am and why my film needs to be made. I killed it. I did as well as I possibly could have.

Short film teaser for The Real Mikado

Even though I gave it my all, I didn’t win the grant (that went to a wonderful documentary), but when I finished, a throng of young women from the Center for Asian American Media student delegate program came up to me and told me how excited they were about my film. They asked to take pictures with me and for advice on how to be an actor and whether or not I would watch their videos on YouTube and give feedback. One of them exclaimed, “Everything you said is what I feel!”

I had been feeling so defeated and so trivial that I failed to remember how powerful movies can be in shaping a person’s imagination and sense of self. These young women are yearning for the same thing I did and do: they want to see themselves as protagonists in their own stories; they want to go into a theater and see themselves.

Maybe this is too simple or wide-sweeping a generalization about white male privilege, but I doubt that Wes Anderson or Noah Baumbach ever wondered if their stories deserved to be told. The fact that I was filled with so much self-doubt speaks to a vicious cycle we’re all in, and we need to work together to stop it. How can we expect young girls (especially those of color) to grow up with enough confidence to be filmmakers when everything they watch is telling them that they are not valuable and that their stories don’t matter?

My film, like a lot of first features, is a personal one. It’s a little embarrassing to admit that I’m acting in and directing a movie that I wrote based on my own life. It feels more than a little self-involved to put myself on screen for all the world to see. But I realized a long time ago that if I don’t do it, no one else will.

Joyce Wu grew up outside of Detroit. Her short films have screened at festivals around the world. She was awarded a full-tuition scholarship to attend New York University’s prestigious graduate film program, where she completed her course work and is in pre-production on her first feature film, The Real Mikado. To find out more about the film, please visit: http://www.seedandspark.com/studio/real-mikado.

 

Sex Acts: Generational Patriarchy and Rape Culture in Gurfinkel’s ‘Six Acts’

Written by Rachel Redfern

Jonathon Gurfinkel’s debut film, Six Acts, winner of the TVE Another Look Award at the San Sebastian Film Festival, is premiering in the United States at the 2013 Tribeca Film Festival. The film is the product of six years of research and filming on the part of newcomers Jonathon Gurfinkel and screenwriter Rona Segal, who spent a substantial amount of time interviewing and speaking with young teenagers, asking about their experiences and stresses.

Six Acts (which can also be heard as ‘sex acts’) is about a young Israeli girl, Gili (Sivian Levy), who has just moved to a new school in an affluent suburb where she begins to engage in sexual activity with a number of her peers, essentially being passed around from boy to boy. While Gili holds the title role and the film is about the things that happen to her, in reality, the film is very much about portraying the generational behaviors of patriarchy and entitlement that allow rape and sexual assault to go unnoticed.

Perversely, Gili is raped again and again during the course of the film; she has just been convinced that she wanted it and that she enjoys being used for sex. These rapes are delicately portrayed in the way that Segal has scripted these scenes: Gili is pressured again and again and her repeated statements of “No” are not directly ignored, but brushed aside as the boys play angry when she refuses, clearly manipulating her. It’s significant that in each scene she is pressured and physically held or pushed until she finally gets quiet and the act is performed ending with kisses and the question, “Baby, did you like that” afterwards. At which point she smiles a little, looks away and tries to convince herself that she did. The two main boys in the film play a deceptive game; the first one, Tomer is quiet and seemingly arrogant; the second boy, Omri, is friendly and charming. Their characters are so finely crafted however, that for most of the movie, you find yourself still intrigued by these boys. Gurfinkel acknowledged the difficulty in filming these scenes saying,

“Some might say that the boys can’t be at fault because Gili seems like she’s actively cooperating, like she might want it. But this touches on the psychological formula of the strong against the weak, and the film shows how people take advantage of the weak, not just in a sexual way.”

Sivian Levy as Gili in Six Acts
Continuing with that goal of displaying the “psychological formula of the strong against the weak,” Omri’s father, his father’s friends, his brothers, and his own friends are all complicit in encouraging their aggressive and disrespectful behaviors. Cleverly, the film does a wonderful job of showcasing how Omri’s father’s conduct has influenced him into believing that such actions are how men should treat women. It’s frustrating to see how this cycle is repeated as Omri passes on his knowledge of exploitation to his much younger brother. It’s indicative to see the way that even Omri’s father’s friends look at Gili as she enters the room; they case her up and down and smile suggestively.

Shockingly, even Omri’s mother shrugs off the fact that her husband discusses his flirtations in front of her and merely closes her office door to her 13-year-old son’s conversation with his friends about how they should “fuck Gili.”

In fact, in many ways, the film is also a huge indictment about modern parenting, since no mother or father seems to take particular care as to where their children are or what activities they are doing, merely serving to enable them in the destructive and violent behavior that happens in their houses even while they’re present.

These scenes offer insight into the troubled lives of teens, specifically those living in Israel, though the film was also intended to tell a universal story. I have little experience with Israel, so it would be interesting to hear whether it’s portrayal of Israeli life is an accurate one.

The film’s setting is then of particular importance; while I expected discussion about religion and regional politics, there were none. The film literally takes place from the self-centered viewpoint of the universally common, affluent, and entitled suburban teenager. None of these issues plays a role because none of the characters care; the only things that matter are cars and poker and sex and money and drugs and sports. Minus the Hebrew being spoken, this film could have taken place in London, Los Angeles, Tokyo, or any other city with a stable middle-class. 

Sivian Levy as Gili in Six Acts
The world of flash, materialism, and ambition exists completely out of sight of the self-aware and moderate, with no such positive characteristics being shown by any character. The drive for the immediate is all that matters, and each of the boys is obviously the product of a family and cultural attitude that enables them to act upon this drive without consequences. In fact, after one of the many assaults enacted upon Gili, the young boy demands a kiss and then offers to buy her fast food on the way to the pharmacy. He then demands that she take a morning after pill, driving her there and giving her two packs just to make sure she’s not pregnant, regardless of the fact that she tried to leave and said she would handle the situation on her own. The fact that she could be pregnant is his only possible consequence, and even in that she is forced to comply with his demands (not that I’m against the morning after pill, just other people telling women when they should and should not take it).

One thing that I think could be potentially problematic in discussing a film like this is of course the trap of blame. In a few of the reviews that I have read so far there have been some people intent on blaming Gili for her actions, or at least pushing her as the impetus for these actions: she sent the boys a photo, she answered the call when they asked her to come over. One reviewer even went so far as to say that there’s “no point in feeling sorry for her” because she is rude to one of the boys before he rapes her. However, Segal’s intentions in writing the film belie such destructive victim blaming, as she states in an interview with regard to Gili’s character, “You can ask anyone and they will recall having a girl in their class who was always known to be ‘loose.’ I wanted to show that her decisions are not so black and white.”

Similarly, during my experience of watching the film, it seemed to me that I was merely watching the sad and terrifying journey of a girl who was too trusting and too naïve to see how terrible her new friends really were, and who lacked any responsible figure willing to step in and protect a minor.

Though Gili’s character is not without its problems: Gili’s desperate need for acceptance and love is painted in broad strokes, and it’s easy to see how easily she gets caught up in self-destructive behavior. The realization that her new friends are no friends at all is, as it is in real life, hard to see in the moment. On a very personal note, it was sad to see some of myself in her, to see the ways she so easily became devalued; it’s unfortunate that so many women will probably feel the same as I did when I watched the movie. 

Sivian Levy as Gili in Six Acts
The music is lovely but very much a part of the background; the cinematography is bold and engaging, highlighting the harsh situations that Gili has found herself in. Nothing is softened.

Six Acts premiers on April 18, 2013 at the Tribeca Film Festival at a point when sadly, a multitude of rapes and startling attitudes about rape culture have been exposed: incidents such as the Steubenville rape case, the problematic media aftermath, and the brutality of the gang rape in Delhi, just to name a few. While not always an easy movie to watch, I believe that Six Acts could be a very important film for these issues. I truly hope that it will reach a wide audience. 

For information about additional screenings continue on to the 2013 Tribeca Film Festival website.

———-

Rachel Redfern has an MA in English literature, where she conducted research on modern American literature and film and its intersection; however, she spends most of her time watching HBO shows, traveling, and blogging and reading about feminism. 

Gratuitous Female Nudity and Complex Female Characters in ‘Game of Thrones’

Written by Lady T.   

Ros from Game of Thrones. Full frontal nudity in 3… 2… 1…
[Yes, I have read the books.]
Game of Thrones, the HBO series based on George R.R. Martin’s A Song of Ice and Fire novels, premiered in April 2011. Since then, the show has received attention for its sprawling scope, large cast, morally complex characters, strong acting (particularly the performance of Peter Dinklage as Tyrion Lannister), and the numerous shots of prostitutes and naked boobs in almost every episode.
Yes, Game of Thrones is a show that loves its nudity. HBO is known for gratuitous displays of naked ladies in many of its show, but Game of Thrones might as well exist on a network called HBOOB. The series premiere alone had more boob close-ups than a Girls With Low Self-Esteem video (yes, that was an intentional reference to Arrested Westeros!) Numerous feminist writers have commented on the gratuitous nudity of the show, with Melissa McEwan at Shakesville and Madeline Davies at Jezebel nicknaming the program “Game of Boners.” (I prefer Game of Tits, myself).

Doreah: not nude in this scene, but give her a minute
Now, Game of Thrones is hardly the first show or film to show a lot of gratuitous female nudity, and I’m sure it won’t be the last. What I find interesting about the criticism of Game of Thrones’ gratuitous female nudity is that it’s not limited to feminist outlets and blogs. Mainstream television critics and humor outlets are talking about the soft-porn quality of the nudity and sex scenes:
  • Myles McNutt, critic and academic blogger, coined the term “sexposition” to describe the nudity on Game of Thrones, a term adopted by Alan Sepinwall and used in other criticisms of the show.
  • Someecards came out with a Game of Thrones-related “romantic” card that reads, “I want to get you as gratuitously naked as a Game of Thrones character.”
  • The Onion wrote about the season premiere with an article entitled, “Game of Thrones’ Season 3 Opens with Every Character Getting Fingered While Discussing the Arrival of Winter.”
  • Saturday Night Live did a sketch last year about Game of Thrones and its two creative consultants: author George R.R. Martin, and a 13-year-old boy who adds naked women in the background of every scene.
Apparently, all this talk of sexposition displeases and even offends the producers:
“A frustrated Weiss responded to a question about the amount of sex and nudity on the show, and the commentary about it, by saying, ‘We put in the show what we think belongs in the show. There are going to be people who think there’s too much of something, or not enough. If you create a show with a committee of a million people, you’re not going to make a very good show. We do what’s right to us.'”

Well. I’m satisfied. *cough*
Still, even though I’m glad to read these criticisms, I can’t help but wonder–why this show? Why is Game of Thrones unable to escape the “sexposition” jokes when other shows with gratuitous nudity are praised for grim dark realism?
I have a couple of theories about that, but I think the main reason Game of Thrones‘ nudity has become a popular punchline has to do with the show’s wide array of complex female characters. 

Daenerys Targaryen, between one nude scene and another

Game of Thrones is not like Lord of the Rings or other popular fantasy series that forget that women exist. Women are prominent in the society of Westeros, whether behind the scenes or fighting on the fields.
Game of Thrones has traditionally feminine characters like Catelyn and Sansa Stark, Cersei Lannister, and Margaery and Olenna Tyrell, queens and noblewomen who exist mostly in the domestic sphere but also show keen shrewdness about the way the world is stacked against them.
Game of Thrones also has female characters who break traditional gender roles, who would rather fight with a sword or a bow and arrow than get married and have children: Arya Stark, Osha, Yara Grejoy, Ygritte, Meera Reed, and Brienne of Tarth.
Game of Thrones has Daenerys Targaryen, a woman who combines traditionally feminine traits and a fierce warrior spirit by coining herself as the Mother of Dragons. (She’s also one of the few female characters who has had nude scenes that actually served a purpose.)
Game of Thrones even allows some of its female characters more complexity and development than they received in the book. Shae, a prostitute and Tyrion’s paramour, is a giggly non-entity of a character in the novels. On the show, she is a sharp observer of human behavior and compassionate to Sansa.
Game of Thrones has a scene where a female knight pledges fealty to a woman. How many times has that occurred in television history?

Considering the presence of so many complex women in Game of Thrones, it seems like critics might save their nudity-related complaints for other programs that populate their shows with mere ciphers (if they cast any women at all). So why are we still talking about nudity on THIS show?
I think our culture has become so accustomed to seeing naked women used as props in advertising, film, television, and in other forms of media, that we don’t always notice objectification anymore. Those of us who are actively feminist will notice unnecessary boobage in a show, but more casual consumers of media and popular culture might not pick up on the objectification in such displays of nudity, because the objectification is everywhere.
Game of Thrones, however, gives us scenes with characters like Cersei and Catelyn and Arya and Brienne and Daenerys, shows them as complex and complicated and morally gray as any male character on the show–and two minutes later, gives us a scene where a male character talks to a woman who exists as nothing more than a naked giggling prop.
The shift is jarring, as if the show is saying, “Women are complex, just like men–now here are some more boobs in soft glowy lighting, brought to you by The Male Gaze™.” It’s jarring enough that even a casual viewer is more likely to notice. You can’t be oblivious to the naked giggling props when there are so many fully-clothed, complex human beings around, reminding us that women are people. 
Or maybe the most casual of viewers can look at a scene where a man exposits all his schemes and dreams to one prostitute finger-fucking another prostitute and think, “Okay, that’s a little too much, even for me.”

———-

Lady T is a writer with two novels, a play, and a collection of comedy sketches in progress. She hopes to one day be published and finish one of her projects (not in that order). You can find more of her writing at www.theresabasile.com.

Gratuitous Female Nudity and Complex Female Characters in ‘Game of Thrones’

Yes, ‘Game of Thrones’ is a show that loves its nudity. HBO is known for gratuitous displays of naked ladies in many of its show, but ‘Game of Thrones’ might as well exist on a network called HBOOB.

Written by Lady T. 
Ros from Game of Thrones. Full frontal nudity in 3… 2… 1…
[Yes, I have read the books.]
Game of Thrones, the HBO series based on George R.R. Martin’s A Song of Ice and Fire novels, premiered in April 2011. Since then, the show has received attention for its sprawling scope, large cast, morally complex characters, strong acting (particularly the performance of Peter Dinklage as Tyrion Lannister), and the numerous shots of prostitutes and naked boobs in almost every episode.
Yes, Game of Thrones is a show that loves its nudity. HBO is known for gratuitous displays of naked ladies in many of its show, but Game of Thrones might as well exist on a network called HBOOB. The series premiere alone had more boob close-ups than a Girls With Low Self-Esteem video (yes, that was an intentional reference to Arrested Westeros!) Numerous feminist writers have commented on the gratuitous nudity of the show, with Melissa McEwan at Shakesville and Madeline Davies at Jezebel nicknaming the program “Game of Boners.” (I prefer Game of Tits, myself).

 

Doreah: not nude in this scene, but give her a minute
Now, Game of Thrones is hardly the first show or film to show a lot of gratuitous female nudity, and I’m sure it won’t be the last. What I find interesting about the criticism of Game of Thrones’ gratuitous female nudity is that it’s not limited to feminist outlets and blogs. Mainstream television critics and humor outlets are talking about the soft-porn quality of the nudity and sex scenes:
  • Myles McNutt, critic and academic blogger, coined the term “sexposition” to describe the nudity on Game of Thrones, a term adopted by Alan Sepinwall and used in other criticisms of the show.
  • Someecards came out with a Game of Thrones-related “romantic” card that reads, “I want to get you as gratuitously naked as a Game of Thrones character.”
  • The Onion wrote about the season premiere with an article entitled, “Game of Thrones’ Season 3 Opens with Every Character Getting Fingered While Discussing the Arrival of Winter.”
  • Saturday Night Live did a sketch last year about Game of Thrones and its two creative consultants: author George R.R. Martin, and a 13-year-old boy who adds naked women in the background of every scene.
Apparently, all this talk of sexposition displeases and even offends the producers:

“A frustrated Weiss responded to a question about the amount of sex and nudity on the show, and the commentary about it, by saying, ‘We put in the show what we think belongs in the show. There are going to be people who think there’s too much of something, or not enough. If you create a show with a committee of a million people, you’re not going to make a very good show. We do what’s right to us.'”

Well. I’m satisfied. *cough*
Still, even though I’m glad to read these criticisms, I can’t help but wonder–why this show? Why is Game of Thrones unable to escape the “sexposition” jokes when other shows with gratuitous nudity are praised for grim dark realism?
I have a couple of theories about that, but I think the main reason Game of Thrones‘ nudity has become a popular punchline has to do with the show’s wide array of complex female characters.

 

Daenerys Targaryen, between one nude scene and another

 

Game of Thrones is not like Lord of the Rings or other popular fantasy series that forget that women exist. Women are prominent in the society of Westeros, whether behind the scenes or fighting on the fields.
Game of Thrones has traditionally feminine characters like Catelyn and Sansa Stark, Cersei Lannister, and Margaery and Olenna Tyrell, queens and noblewomen who exist mostly in the domestic sphere but also show keen shrewdness about the way the world is stacked against them.
Game of Thrones also has female characters who break traditional gender roles, who would rather fight with a sword or a bow and arrow than get married and have children: Arya Stark, Osha, Yara Grejoy, Ygritte, Meera Reed, and Brienne of Tarth.
Game of Thrones has Daenerys Targaryen, a woman who combines traditionally feminine traits and a fierce warrior spirit by coining herself as the Mother of Dragons. (She’s also one of the few female characters who has had nude scenes that actually served a purpose.)
Game of Thrones even allows some of its female characters more complexity and development than they received in the book. Shae, a prostitute and Tyrion’s paramour, is a giggly non-entity of a character in the novels. On the show, she is a sharp observer of human behavior and compassionate to Sansa.
Game of Thrones has a scene where a female knight pledges fealty to a woman. How many times has that occurred in television history?

 

 

Considering the presence of so many complex women in Game of Thrones, it seems like critics might save their nudity-related complaints for other programs that populate their shows with mere ciphers (if they cast any women at all). So why are we still talking about nudity on THIS show?
I think our culture has become so accustomed to seeing naked women used as props in advertising, film, television, and in other forms of media, that we don’t always notice objectification anymore. Those of us who are actively feminist will notice unnecessary boobage in a show, but more casual consumers of media and popular culture might not pick up on the objectification in such displays of nudity, because the objectification is everywhere.
Game of Thrones, however, gives us scenes with characters like Cersei and Catelyn and Arya and Brienne and Daenerys, shows them as complex and complicated and morally gray as any male character on the show–and two minutes later, gives us a scene where a male character talks to a woman who exists as nothing more than a naked giggling prop.
The shift is jarring, as if the show is saying, “Women are complex, just like men–now here are some more boobs in soft glowy lighting, brought to you by The Male Gaze™.” It’s jarring enough that even a casual viewer is more likely to notice. You can’t be oblivious to the naked giggling props when there are so many fully-clothed, complex human beings around, reminding us that women are people.
Or maybe the most casual of viewers can look at a scene where a man exposits all his schemes and dreams to one prostitute finger-fucking another prostitute and think, “Okay, that’s a little too much, even for me.”

———-

Lady T is an aspiring writer and comedian with two novels, a play, and a collection of comedy sketches in progress. She hopes to one day be published and finish one of her projects (not in that order). You can find more of her writing at The Funny Feminist, where she picks apart entertainment and reviews movies she hasn’t seen.

Where Is My Girl Ash?: On "Evil Dead" 2013

Written by MaxThornton.
Warning: spoilers are invoked herein, and they’ll swallow your soul!
I try not to look forward to things; I’ve been hurt toomany timesbefore. But I couldn’t help feeling just alittle excitement for the Evil Deadremake, tempered though it was with trepidation.
Almost certainly not true, if you’re the kind of person who wants to see an Evil Dead remake.
The movie turned out to be a lot of fun: not mindbending by any means, but certainly a good time for a gorehound on a Saturday night. (And be sure to stay right through the end credits!) Its attitude toward gender, though, is an oddity I am still trying to process.
We had been told that Jane Levy as Mia was the Girl Ash. This is, of course, a genderflip of a genderflip (Ash in the original Evil Dead having been a male Final Girl) – or rather, it would have been if we’d gotten it. The equating of Mia with Ash seems to have been based entirely on the climactic sequence, the use of a certain implement, and a rather magnificent reiteration of Evil Dead II‘s “I’ll swallowyour soul!”/”Swallow this” exchange. Apart from this, though, the story is really far more centered on Mia’s not-terribly-interesting brother David (played by Shiloh Fernandez). Mia might be the focus of the plot, such as it is, and she might be the Final Girl, but – unlike Ash – she spends most of the movie possessed by the titular malevolence.
In fact, the whole possession business is handled in a bizarrely and really problematically gendered way. For one thing, the word “bitch” is employed a HELL of a lot. Both male and female characters refer to the possessed as being a “bitch” or “Satan’s bitch.” This version of the Book of the Dead is peppered with color commentary describing what the possessed will do and how to defeat them, and it consistently describes them as “bitches.” I mean, I realize that as a queer feminist among queer feminists I am not living in mainstream society, and I realize that I am writing this for a website with “bitch” in the title, but I honestly haven’t heard that word used with such wild abandon since this.
And the reason it matters is that, for almost the entire movie, it is female characters and only female characters who get possessed. There’s even a scene that cuts between the female characters being possessed and the male characters discussing plans of action. I don’t understand why the filmmakers thought it necessary to treat possession by the Evil Dead in this way, and it’s a decision that came close to ruining the entire experience for me.
This guy? 100% as douchey as he looks.
I do think that a lot of the differences between the original and the remake simply reflect the changes in horror conventions over the past 30 years: the pretty unnecessary pre-credits flashback sequence; the recovering-junkie plotline, which gives the characters an actual reason both to stay in the woods and to disbelieve an increasingly freaked-out Mia; the general fleshing out of characterization and backstory (which makes it all the more noticeable that one of the five characters has almost none); the post-Cronenbergian relish with which the movie utilizes bodily fluids, wallowing in spit and vomit and piss as well as more traditional gore; the hardcore blood and grossness – including one instance of an RN misusing a hypo in a way that makes this trans guy very nervous about his next testosterone shot – which makes it seem even more adorably quaint that the original was once a “VideoNasty” in the UK; and the much more visual nature of the horror overall. Obviously this is partly a budget thing, but in the original, the Evil is never actually seen when it’s not possessing someone – it’s simply evoked through POV shots using sound effects and Shakicam. Whereas in this one there is an inexplicable Evil Mia lurking in the woods, because, thanks to the influence of J- and K-horror, you gotta have your pale creepy dark-haired possibly-dead girl.
It’s perhaps more interesting, though, to compare the character relationships and the reallocation of memorable scenes between the original and the remake. I very much enjoyed the replacement of Ash and Linda’s romantic relationship with David and Mia’s siblinghood, because I generally find it more interesting to see people interact in ways other than romantically. When David gives Mia a necklace very similar to the one Ash gives Linda in the original, it’s a direct signal to fans that this is going to be the primary relationship in the movie.
I very much did not enjoy the tree-rape. First of all, it’s kept in (which, fuck); second of all, it’s made even more visceral and gruesome and drawn-out (which, double-fuck); third of all, it happens to Mia, the supposed focus and alleged Girl Ash. Thought experiment: try to imagine a world containing a version of Evil Dead in which a male Ash got raped by a tree. I’m guessing it’s not our world.
I’m so sorry about the tree-rape. I hope this puppy makes you feel better.
I was also deeply disappointed by the possessed-handsequence. As I wrote back in October:
I want to see a female Ash. I want to see a woman in a movie who is as goofy and prone to slapstick as Bruce Campbell in the original Evil Dead films. I want to see a woman in a movie who follows Ash’s character arc, from cowardly dweeb to loudmouthed braggart with a chainsaw for an arm.
Spoiler: I did not get this. I am still waiting for this. Filmmakers, if you’re out there and you care at all about the narrow slice of audience that loves really gory horror movies and also feminism, please make this movie. Evil Dead 2013 is a pretty decent horror film, but it leaves an awful lot to be desired on the feminism front.
———-

Max Thornton blogs at GayChristian Geek, tumbles as transsubstantial, and is slowly learning to twitter at @RainicornMax. 

 

No, ‘Oz the Great and Powerful,’ We Don’t Need More Male-Centric Fairy Tales

Written by Megan Kearns.

After seeing Oz the Great and Powerful, I was annoyed. And angry.

Everything in the film revolves around one dude: James Franco as Oscar Diggs aka Oz. Bleh. It’s a patriarchal dream come true.

Women in the film fawn over Oz, swoon over him, make googly eyes at him, get enraged by him and arguably wreck their lives because of him. Glinda (Michelle Williams), Evanora (Rachel Weisz) and Theodora (Mila Kunis) all repeat throughout the film that Oz is there to save them. Even after Glinda who’s wise to his shenanigans, knows he’s not really a wizard, she still perpetuates the façade that he’s a savior, the one person who will bring the land salvation. Oz literally puts a female character, the broken China Girl, back together. Oz catalyzes Theodora’s destructive transformation from naïve and sweet, albeit with a quick temper, to heartless and wicked. Oh and of course we get women pitted against each other. Just for funsies.

The film is boring and vapid. The tissue-thin characters lack depth, wasting the tremendous talents of Rachel Weisz, Michelle Williams and Mila Kunis. Hideous gender stereotypes get tossed around. In her fantastic review, Natalie Wilson points out the film’s many weaknesses, including reinforcing the trope that women are wicked and erasing the feminism of the books.

One of the reasons that made Wicked and The Wizard of Ozso special — they focus on the women for a change. As Bitch Flicks writer Myrna Waldron astutely points out, the Oz series boasts powerful women in leadership roles. The women aren’t princesses (aside from Princess Ozma in the books of course). The women are either “ordinary” or witches, dismantling the “all witches are evil” trope. The women in Oz lead, give advice, scheme, make decisions on their own, go on journeys, forge friendships. They may work cooperatively with men but they don’t sit around and wait for men to save them.

So how did this happen? How did a female-centric, feminist series devolve into male pandering? It comes down to an aspect of the film’s production that to the best of my knowledge I haven’t seen anyone else raise: the need for “a fairy tale with a good strong male protagonist.”

Producer Joe Roth — who didn’t realize The Wizard of Oz was just the first in a series of 14 books, — shares what drew him to develop Oz the Great and Powerful:

“When [screenwriter] Mitchell [Kapner] starts talking about that man behind the curtain and how he got there, this storyline immediately strikes me as a great idea for a movie for a couple of reasons. One was because I love The Wizard of Oz. But this character is only in the last few minutes of that film and we have no idea who he is.

“And the second reason was — during the years that I spent running Walt Disney Studios — I learned about how hard it was to find a fairy tale with a good strong male protagonist. You’ve got your Sleeping Beauties, your Cinderellas and your Alices. But a fairy tale with a male protagonist is very hard to come by. But with the origin story of the Wizard of Oz, here was a fairy tale story with a natural male protagonist. Which is why I knew that this was an idea for a movie that was genuinely worth pursuing.”



So only films with a “natural male protagonist” are worth pursuing? Roth has also produced Alice in Wonderland, Snow White and the Huntsman and the upcoming Angelina Jolie film Maleficent – all female-centric fairy-tale films. So maybe he’s tired of all the ladies. And of course he can personally pursue any story he wants. But to take such an iconic series with a plucky female protagonist, full of complex female characters and a female ruler (Ozma) and then strip it of its female empowerment and nuance all to focus on a dude?? Stop. Just stop.

What’s great about Dorothy is she’s not a princess. She’s a “regular” girl on a quest and an emotional journey, something we too often see men and boys embark on. Now I understand if they didn’t want to rival the Judy Garland classic. But why not film one of the other books in the series? Or why not film the musical Wicked, a story revolving around the bonds of female friendship?

So what about Roth’s assertion, that it’s difficult to find male leads in fairy tale films? Nope, it’s really not that hard. Jack the Giant Slayer, Shrek, Aladdin, Mickey and the Beanstalk, Pinocchio, Peter Pan, The Sword in the Stone, Hercules, hell even Beauty and the Beast all feature male leads in fairy tale films.

As I’ve written before when I wrote about my excitement for Brave, too many children’s films, particularly animated films, don’t feature girls and women in leading roles. “Originally titled Rapunzel, Disney’s Tangled, the most recent animated film featuring a girl, was renamed a gender-neutral title to be less girl-centric. Its marketing didn’t just focus on Rapunzel but featured “bad-boy” thief Flynn Ryder in order to lure a male audience. Male characters dominate animated films.” Wreck-It Ralph, Ice Age, Rango, Kung Fu Panda and aside from Bravethe entire pantheon of Pixar’s films (Toy Story, Up, Wall-E, etc.), put male roles front and center.

As of 2010, “family films exhibited a gender disparity as only 29% of speaking roles belonged to female characters in the top grossing films within the past few years.” Superhero films (Spiderman, Iron Man, Batman, The Avengers aside from Black Widow), and swashbuckling adventures (Pirates of the Caribbean, Star Wars) — all with huge audiences of children — also feature male protagonists. Most movies for kids are just sexism in training.

In fairy tale films, the female characters we do see are princesses (Brave, Snow White and the Huntsman, The Little Mermaid, The Princess and the Frog, Cinderella, Beauty and the Beast, Sleeping Beauty). While there’s nothing wrong with having characters as princesses — and with Brave we got a huge step for female empowerment — as a collective they contribute to princess culture. Princess culture typically celebrates female objectification, reifying the stereotype that women’s and girls’ worth should be tied to their beauty. It also perpetuates the pressure of perfection — women and girls must be everything to everyone. And princess culture follows girls into womanhood with wedding obsessions and the fairy tale myth of finding Prince Charming.

In too many films for both children and adults, female characters’ fall into tropes of damsels in distress, femme fatales, and manic pixie dream girls. Their stories often revolve around men, just like in Oz. The women talk about men. They wax about finding love. They yearn to be rescued, looking to men to fix their lives. 

With the pervasive lack of female protagonists, media implies that girls and women don’t matter. It teaches girls they should serve as supporting roles in real life, rather than lead themselves. In a film with three powerful sorceresses, the message shouldn’t be that a “good man” can save us all.

So no, we don’t need any more films, fairy-tale or otherwise, revolving around men.

Bitch Flicks’ Weekly Picks

What Peggy Olson From ‘Mad Men’ Teaches Us That Sheryl Sandberg Doesn’t by Michelle Dean via The Nation

‘The Host’: Less Anti-Feminist than Twilight, but Hardly a Sisterhood Manifesta by Natalie Wilson via Ms. Magazine Blog

Five Striking Similarities Between Elisabeth Moss’ Roles on ‘Mad Men’ and ‘Top of the Lake’ by Beth Hanna via Thompson on Hollywood

Why Do “Good Girls” Need To “Go Bad?” by Yoonj Kim via Bitch Magazine Blog

Reel Women: On Inappropriate Reactions from the Audience and Where Responsibility Lies by Britt Hayes via Screen Crush

[Amplify] True Colors: Documentary Film Featuring LGBT Youth of Color in Love, Friendship, and Theater! via QWOC Media

Read Our Review and Watch a Clip of New Documentary ‘Free Angela [Davis] and All Political Prisoners by Randall Jenson via Bitch Media 

Are Female-Led Blockbusters Finally Here to Stay? by Mark Harrison via Den of Geek 

What have you been reading or writing this week?? Tell us in the coments!

Movie Makers from the Margins: Sarah Polley

Written by Erin Fenner
I stumbled onto Sarah Polley during a typical Sunday TV slam – in which my roommate(s) and I watch  a set of television shows and/or movies while gently tearing them apart for end o’ weekend laughs.

With only Netflix to stream on this particular weekend we ended up on a movie we assumed would be a typical snort-inducing indie flick: the type that has good intentions and an endearingly low-budget, but still follows a set formula with too-familiar archetypes, dialogue and the sort of acting that can only be done with a whispery voice.

Michelle Williams and Luke Kirby in Sarah Polley’s Take This Waltz

Our Sunday tease-fest was abruptly cut short because we had picked Take This Waltz. Within the first minutes of watching the film we realized we had accidentally found something fresh and interesting. The camerawork alone was captivating. The writing was surreal while remaining painfully grounded. The story about a young married woman, Margot (Michelle Williams), exploring her own dissatisfaction with her marriage while trying not to explore her attraction to another man was intense, exceedingly sexy and hilarious.

It didn’t take long before we – typical Millennials with our addiction to information and technology – started feverishly Googling the film: then discovering the filmmaker was a “she.” That may have been the first time I accidentally found a female director. Every other time has been purposeful and even then it has been rare to catch movies that were directed or written by women.

An article in the New York Times celebrated that out of the top 250 grossing films in 2012 there were more female filmmakers than the year before. That increase was from five percent to nine percent. And while any increase in diversity is valuable, I can’t help but feel a bit cynical about whipping out party favors when women are making less than 10 percent of the top grossing films.

In a society that espouses equality as an ideal; the absence of women filmmakers should incite righteous indignation, right?

Mostly it just goes unnoticed.

After my brain was lovingly melted by Take This Waltz I did what I usually do when falling for a tall dark and surrealist or postmodern director. I sought out the whole collection. I needed to see all the Polley films ever made! Achieving that was just too surmountable. The young director has only made three films, and only two are available on DVD. I can’t even be a Polley geek. I can’t go to Polley trivia nights. Watching two DVDs in a row can’t even be a Polley marathon.

The second Polley I watched was her first feature-length film, Away from Her, about a couple and how they deal with their relationship when one of them develops Alzheimer’s and eventually needs to move to a long-term care facility.

Gordon Pinsent and Julie Christie in Away from Her
In Hollywood people over 60 are usually depicted as feeble and they are portrayed most often through the perspective of their children or grandchildren. Even The Notebook which features an aging couple – one suffering from Alzheimer’s – takes place mostly in the past: mostly when the couple was first falling in love and their cheeks were still fat with youth. The happy ending is that they die together.


Away from Her, instead focuses on the relationship of the aging couple as it exists in the present. The couple has regrets. They have fond memories – but their primary concerns are about how to handle their current situation and what they are losing now. Also. It shows that people over 60 have sex in a sexy but normalizing way.

The way in which Polley explores aging and disease is refreshing because while it is so different than most of the media we consume it actually more accurately represents life.

To get these sorts of new narratives we need directors from all backgrounds: not just the white male variety.

Women filmmakers are still getting into the business. They’re less established and get less attention. Which is why we need to have a director spotlight here on Bitch Flicks – and why this will turn into a column. We’ll be speaking with up-and-coming filmmakers and reviewing the works of directors who face marginalization for their identity.

Because Polley was the first female director I discovered without trying I decided it was time to make more of an effort to seek out directors from all backgrounds. If you have suggestions for writers, directors, producers or filmmakers you want to see written about: leave them in the comments so we can have a conversation.

A Big Hurray! Lunafest 2013: Short Films For, By, and About Women

The 12th Annual Lunafest

Written by Janyce Denise Glasper

I truly enjoyed the 12th Annual Lunafest–nine short films for, about, and by women filmmakers which has one hundred percent of proceeds benefiting local charities including breast cancer research and nonprofit women’s organizations.

From five to eighteen minutes long, these nine diversified, honest, and beguiling films weaved an intriguing approach to storytelling of a thoughtful intelligent female spirit severely lacking in Hollywood , an industry still heavily promoting typical weak, overtly sexualized, “stay young forever” ideology.

My top three favorites were Angela Dorfman’s vibrantly engaging animation Flawed, Rebecca Dreyfus’s Self Portrait with Cows Coming Home and Other Works, a documentary film on Hungarian photographer, Sylvia Plachy, and Sasha Collington’s hilariously entertaining Lunch Date.

In Georgena Terry, the owner of Terry’s Bikes discusses how she reinvented the bicycle to support a woman’s unique shape and the injustice of men trying to sabotage her genius.

Lunafest opens with Georgena Terry, Amanda Zackem’s documentary film on a creator of her own self-titled line of women’s cycling bikes. Through vigorous research straight from an engineering hypothesis–countless hours of measurements, analysis, and discoveries–Terry learned that women were shaped differently from men and that bicycles should reflect those facts. Of course she gave her findings to a man and he laughed right in her face. Firing up her desires further, she worked even harder, deconstructing traditional man’s shape into a woman’s frame of mind, and started up a successful business that proves the notion that anything is possible with fearless determination. It wasn’t an easy journey, but she fought the good fight and won.

Now this was just the beginning of an enthralling, inspirational film fest.

Angela Dorfman shines as she draws out her frustrating insecurities in Flawed.

Flawed starts off on a brown wooden table where rests water, a set of watercolors, and blank paper. As each beautiful, colorful, splotchy watercolor drawing gets illustrated by swift moving paintbrush and table gets noticeably stained further, narrating Dorfman balances between lighthearted humor and serious tones about a young girl whose long-distance relationship with a plastic surgeon sets her on the path to questioning identity. She depicts a saddened reality of not fully loving her unique features and of easily accessible body reconstruction. Dorfman speaks of a world where people want to change their appearances or someone else’s to feel “normal” when in fact each trait of difference gives us our identifiable edge and distinct character.

Dorfman completely controls composition of her quirky, wonderful one-woman show–writing, drawing, directing, and producing an entire effort that all ages must see and hear!

Sylvia Plachy proudly still uses the same black box camera her father gave her, in the beautiful documentary  Self Portrait with Cows Coming Home and Other Works.

Dreyfus takes a rare look into the black and white world of Sylvia Plachy in aptly titled, Self Portrait with Cows Coming Home and Other Works. Silver haired with a thick accent, Plachy is an eclectic artist who speaks of her roots and interest in photography. Warm, humorous, and vivacious, she speaks of process, showcases favorite compositions, and allows viewers to see her in action, going on to photograph Albert Malyas. Dreyfus focuses on the beauty of not just Plachy’s powerfully compelling works that span four decades, but on an alluring shyness that defines brimming intellectual sensibility. Plachy lets the art speak for her. That voice though soft and wispy, can be heard in each photograph- loud and clear.

Sasha Collington wrote, directed, and co-starred in Lunch Date, which is in the works of being her first full-length film.

In Collingwood’s Lunch Date, a woman is dumped by her boyfriend’s younger brother in a rather hilarious spin on the classic break up. Of course, Annabel, the dumpee, is devastated and confused, categorizing her “faults,” wondering why any man would treat her so callously, not even once considering that he is obviously an immature, mean-spirited coward for using his brother as an outlet to part ways. Wilbur, the break up brother invites Annabel to share his awkward schoolboy lunch outdoors. They exchange stories and funny quips, building a minute relationship that is refreshingly innovative.

One cannot help but become intrigued by Collington’s plans for full length version.

Jisoo Kim’s magical animation about where women retreat to for serene relaxation.

Jisoo Kim, an artist working for Disney Interactive, crafted another animated picture, The Bathhouse, which is a spiritually gratifying feature of flowing tranquil womanly forms of all shapes, colors, and sizes. Too sensual for a spot in Fantasia, Kim’s piece starts off with busy, hardworking females in professional attire. Yet at the Bathhouse where magical water overflows, they freely strip of their clothes and bare their souls, swimming in serene waves like mystical mermaids. There are no classes, no stereotypes, no boundaries, as these women frolic with eyes peacefully closed and move to melodious, haunting music, enjoying time away from every day chaos.

It’s more than gymnastics as a girl privately battles puberty in Chalk.

Martina Amati takes a poignant look inside coming of age in Chalk. Avidly focusing on moments of breaking up with childhood, diving quietly into maturity at a gymnast training camp, a girl dolls up in makeup with her roommate. However, amongst back flips, cartwheels, sultry movements, and routine hands tousled in white dusty powder, she valiantly braves through her adolescence alone, always clutching at abdomen confused by the new found pain. Yet in a competitive world of coaches and balance beams, temporarily lost with no mother figure to discuss changing body and secrets thoughts of boys, she finds her way and accepts it without complaint.

In Blank Canvas, an artist fills a unique surface with an intricately designed composition.

Blank Canvas opens up to the reality of a cancer survivor, Kim.

Speaking rather frankly about hair obsession, how it defines beauty in American culture, she is opposed to boarding the wig route as most women feel inclined to do. Kim isn’t ashamed of her baldness, stating that she had a great hair life, and feels that the time is to now cherish her badge of courage. Cancer is not a shame, but a diagnosed circumstance that she lives with every single day. In Sarah Berkovich’s bittersweet and uplifting documentary, her camera follows Kim into a henna studio where an artist uses her head as surface to create and the end result is a breathtaking masterpiece of visually stunning expression.

A woman becomes one with water in Whakatiki: A Spirit Rising

In a connective merging of past and present, Louise Leitch’s Whakatiki: A Spirit Rising, little Kiri enjoys swimming freely in the river, but as an older woman, she appears to have lost that fiery freedom that being underwater gives her. Recluse, reluctant, and tired in obese appearance, she goes along with her family towards the riverbanks, sitting on the sidelines admiring fit Josie laid out in her bikini. Kiri’s angry husband’s tirade unleashes Kiri’s locked soul and immediately she runs straight into cascading waters, fully clothed in her plight to escape into the one thing that has always made sense.

In When I Grow Up, sometimes a role model is the one person a child neglects to see.

In Sharon Arteaga’s sentimentally touching When I Grow Up, Michaela is working hard on her school poster, non verbally communicating desires of her role model, the first Latina Supreme Court Justice, Sonia Sotomayer in the back of a van as Letty, her mother sells homemade tacos out of the van. An argument ensues when Michaela angrily berates Letty, hating that the taco business makes her late for school. It is in that final scene of mother changing into work uniform and daughter pausing at school entrance, in which daughter and mother stare into each other’s eyes and share not just a smile but a moment of oneness.

Arteaga thoughtfully analyzes that some daughters, including me, don’t realize how a hard-working mother can be a role model too. Sure she’s not famous, rich, or gracing newspapers for being the first to accomplish a phenomenal feat of a worldwide scale, but that hard-working mother persistently takes time to put effort in her child’s education, pay the bills, keep the roof over their heads, and making other ends meet. It is as though Arteaga solemnly asks, why not bestow that mother the honor of role model too?

Now that’s another part she would be proud to play.

One of twenty women screaming for justice in Megan Hague and Kyle Wilkinson’s Women Who Yell.

After the nine films ended, the crowd was treated to free miniature Lunabars and a local film by Wright State University students, Megan Hague and Kyle Wilkinson, entitled Women Who Yell. Inside a dark room focusing on female population of all ethnicities speaking alone in front of cameras breaking fourth wall barrier, these college students start off loudly screaming, passionately hollering out what bugs them, poignantly shedding hurts and sorrows, and bluntly voicing their attitudes about men’s perception. The issues addressed like sexual orientation, harassment, how women should support one another are topics still imperative today.

Jisoo Kim, artist and creator behind The Bathhouse.

In conclusion, Lunafest gave hope that there are women trying to change the film industry, who won’t be kept out in the dark much longer. They’re not bursting out of corsets, wearing tons of makeup, or waiting for a male hero. These filmmakers integrated organic naturalistic quality that adds genuine honesty to these amazingly told short stories.

Men may not always support it, but women do appreciate portrayals of integrity and the brazen female spirit.

School of Rock: Where Shrewish Women are "The Man"

Written by Robin Hitchcock

Jack Black in School of Rock

The first decade of this millennium was a pretty good time for American culture, all in all, George W. Bush notwithstanding.  YouTube was invented, the pound symbol was saved from oblivion by hashtags, and Tina Fey got famous.
But the early-to-mid aughts also brought something really unpleasant to our culture, something that had been brewing since the dawn of Generation X: the celebration of The Man Child.  In everything from Old School to Role Models to the Complete Works of Judd Apatow, male characters Peter Pan’d their way through life,  even as pesky forces like bills and harping girlfriends tried to harsh their mellow.
Perhaps the most troubling aspect of the Man Child trope from a feminist point of view is his female counterpoint: the Nagging Killjoy Shrew. This woman tells the Man Child to grow up, to accept responsibility, to stop acting exactly like he did when he was 19. To which the Man Child responds, “stop crushing my soul and my dreams! I just gotta be me.”
I have no idea where the cultural idea that women are better at being grown-ups than men came from. I think it may have been some misguided attempt to correct previous sexism while simultaneously getting out of having to do the dishes. I’m also not sure how the patiently suffering Sitcom Wife of the Man Child so prevalent in the 80’s and 90’s turned into the Hellish Shrewbeast of the 2000’s Aptovian comedy.
School of Rock, the 2003 film written by Mike White and directed by Richard Linklater, typifies the Man Child vs. Shrewbeast dynamic, which is a shame, because it is otherwise an extremely entertaining and lovable film, and I wish I could recommend it without reservation.
Jack Black plays Dewey Finn, a man-child whose unyielding pursuit of a rock n roll stardom has thwarted his maturation and upward mobility toward certain signifiers of adulthood like having an actual bed in an actual bedroom instead of a mattress on the floor of your buddy’s living room.  Dewey’s roommate Ned Schneebly (Mike White) has given up the rock and roll dreams he shared with Dewey in his younger days for the more stable and adult life of a substitute teacher. Dewey assumes Ned’s identity, taking a substitute teaching job at an elite prep school in order to make rent, with the side bonus of recruiting a bunch of children into his new rock band. Events occur, life lessons are learned by all, young selves are actualized by the transformative power of music, and humble offerings are made to the gods or rock. Like so many stunted artists, Dewey and Ned discover that teaching their craft to the next generation of dreamers allows them to stay active with their passion while earning a respectable living doing it. Roll adorable credits with the kids’ band playing an AC/DC song.
Dewey vs. The Man, including a cop, the man whose identity he stole, his employer, and Patty

But along the way, Dewey (and Ned) conflict with various Hellish Shrewbeasts.  First, Ned’s girlfriend, Patty (Sarah Silverman), who instigates Dewey’s deception by insisting he GASP, actually pay rent to continue staying in her boyfriend’s apartment (that bitch.) I cannot for the life of me figure out why Sarah Silverman accepted this role. Every word out of Patty’s mouth comes out sounding like a verbal a punch in the face (to Dewey) or yank on the leash (to Ned). She’s one of the most unpleasant characters I’ve ever seen on screen, indisputably the villain of the piece, even though her attitudes (Dewey should get a job so her boyfriend doesn’t have a Man Child living on his living room floor anymore; Dewey should not be casually forgiven for fraud and child endangerment) are entirely reasonable.  I don’t know if Silverman was miscast and/or misdirected, but her caustic performance unfortunately bolsters the Man-Child-Good/Responsible-Adult-Woman-Bad dynamic in School of Rock. Silverman is fantastic at playing the elusive female variant of the Man Child [see also Dee Reynolds in It’s Always Sunny in Philadelphia (after the pilot, where her character is a much more pedestrian voice of reason), and Daisy Steiner in Spaced] so she might have exaggerated the shrewish aspects of her character in an attempt to show range.

Joan Cusack as Principal Mullins with Jack Black

Patty isn’t the only flavor of Shrewish Nemesis Dewey must work around in School of Rock, and I’m not sure if that makes matters better or worse. Next up is the principle of the school Dewey has conned his way into, Rosalie Mullins (Joan Cusack).  Ms. Mullins is a stickler for rules and discipline, but it is clear that her straight-laced authority is part of what makes her school so exceptional. While Ms. Mullins inspires fear in her students and isn’t exactly liked by her colleagues (which she laments), but she is undeniably respected, both by the characters (even Dewey!) and by the film itself.  Unlike Patty, we see the lighter side of Ms. Mullins, first when Dewey discovers the key to loosening her up is a third of a beer and a Stevie Nicks jam on the jukebox, and later when she jubilantly congratulates her students after their climactic performance at the battle of the bands.

Miranda Cosgrove as Summer Hathaway, class factotum and band manager. 

Finally, there is a mini-Shrew in the form of “Class Factotum” Summer (Miranda Cosgrove). Summer has learned to play the game at her elite school, racking up gold stars and grade grubbing her way to the top. She and Dewey butt heads at first, but Dewey quickly deduces he can manipulate Summer into going along with his antics by giving her a somewhat specious mantle of authority as Band Manager. The twist is that Summer takes on this role with aplomb and ends up being a vital part of the Band’s production team (her new interest leading her father to ask in one of the best lines of the movie, “Why has my daughter become obsessed with David Geffen?”). One of the many ways that School of Rock is exceptional is how much dignity it affords its well-rounded child characters, which makes it no surprise that young Summer is the most sympathetic of the Shrews.
It’s unfortunate that School of Rock relies so heavily on the Man Child vs. Shrewish Woman dynamic, because it is otherwise a funny, heartwarming, endlessly entertaining film. It’s a comfort food flick for me, something I put on to pull me out of a funk. I was almost mad at my feminist goggles for revealing this unfortunate pattern.
“Write me a better reference!”

One more quick feminist gripe before I go: I know the character speaking this line of dialogue is nine and wouldn’t necessarily know any better, but it is a CRIME that when drummer Freddie challenges Bassist Katie to name “two great chick drummers” she offers up Meg White before Moe Tucker or Gina Schock. A CRIME.

In Her Words: Wonder Russell on Directing ‘Revelation’

This is a guest post written by Wonder Russell.

In 2011 I was captivated by a series of vignettes the New York Times created, called “Fourteen Actors Acting.” They were interesting but also campy; nevertheless, I enjoyed the idea behind them as a jumping off point. At the same time, I was journaling in an earnest way about finding my passion, my path, and creating artistic renewal. I was feeling burned out and over-commercialized after hyping, pitching, and paying for a short film I acted in and produced, The Summer Home.


THE SUMMER HOME – Short Film from First Sight Productions on Vimeo.

I previously worked on two projects that were hugely generative and thematic – one was a stage play, Emerald and the Love Song of Dead Fishermen, and one was a short film, Teething. Working from pure inspiration and discovery is scary but also hugely satisfying. I knew the open-ended process was an experience I craved and wanted to work with again.

Out of my journal came an idea, the image of many paths that lead to the same goal. I played with expressing this idea through the interconnected lives of several women. I found a theme to guide me into the new year, 2012, when the word ‘revelation’ flowed across my page. Suddenly I had my structure, my process, and my theme. Revelation’s inception moved swiftly after that moment.

Wonder Russell

I’m an actor myself, first and foremost, and I am blessed to know actors I admire deeply for their authenticity and bravery. I think acting is terribly brave. Great actors allow themselves to be open, raw, and vulnerable, even as villains. They can’t hold back – everything must be on the table. Openness doesn’t mean emoting all over set like a Vaudeville performer, it refers to a complete dedication to the life of the character, free of self-censorship. I am very lucky that I knew instantly who I wanted to work with, and that when I pitched the idea, all of the actors said, “Yes, let’s!” As far as I’m concerned, a director’s job is pretty much done at that point! Strong, reliable, fearless talent will always elevate a project.

True to the nature of generative work, we entered six weeks’ worth of rehearsals. Film rarely rehearses, and if they do, it’s usually focused on locking down performance rather than exploring relationship. The joy of rehearsing Revelation was that it was all exploration! We played with masks and characters, we played with rasa boxes. I brought in guest instructors to teach us to move differently and break down preconceived notions of how the stories “should” be physicalized. I challenged each actor to complete homework that included journaling from dreams or memories, or listening to a piece of music and responding purely from instinct. It was immensely freeing. But more importantly, it worked –stories developed and took shape. Sometimes the story an actor thought they were telling had changed drastically by the time we were ready to shoot.

My goal with rehearsals was to unlock the actor’s creativity, and to get to the heart of a revelation that resonated deeply for them. Once we found that bright kernel of truth, we worked on how to portray it on film and without dialogue by finding a physical expression or series of actions that represented the internal journey.

Bridget O’Neill in Revelation

Sometimes I didn’t know how we would pull off this film, or if it would be a giant failure. I remember having lunch with a more experienced director and telling him, “People will either be moved by it, or think it’s pretentious bullshit.” He laughed and said that I was probably on the right track if I could keep things realistic while taking such a big risk with experimental film.

I trusted the process, and I allowed myself to be surprised at whatever showed up instead of trying to force anything. I really felt like I took on a role of midwifery to the actors’ process. And perhaps that’s because as an actor, I like direction that is a mutual journey of discovery.

The day we finally stepped onto our set was absolutely magical. I attribute that to the amazing crew including Ty Migota, DP, red-headed and funny as hell AC Nick Davis, Kris Boustedt, fellow Producer and constant source of help, my boyfriend at the time Paul Vitulli who was producing and keeping me happy, sane, and productive, the amazing art team known to Seattle filmmakers simply as the Gore Sisters, our MUA Kari Baumann, and game-for-anything grip Forest Coughtry. That’s it. Small set. Small crew. Intimate.

By the time we were rolling cameras and I was actually “directing,” it was a dream come true. I felt completely in my element and deeply in-tune with each actor. Actors intrinsically want to be authentic and bring the best of themselves, and I felt grateful to help guide that process. My directing style grows organically out of my acting, and it’s no coincidence that I share a short-hand with the actors I cast. Specifically, we work best within very detailed, imagined circumstances that we call “Let-it-be-trues.”

Jillian Boshart in Revelation

My directing approach is to warm up with the actor, run through the vignette’s physicality at least once, and then narrow the imagined circumstances. For example, a let-it-be-true for one actor was that she had a younger sister who looked up to her, but was in a very dark place and nearly suicidal – then I asked the actor to look into the camera and let her (imaginary) sister know how perfect, and how loved, she truly was. The take was stunning.

We shot for two very long days (one location, thank goodness), and it felt like Christmas day – or maybe more appropriately my birthday – every day. Every moment felt free, inspired, and like a gift. I know that’s a rare experience, and I know how very lucky we were to have a dedicated team and minimal technical difficulties (I’m looking at you, dry ice!) Each actor’s story moved me to tears. My heart wanted to burst from love and compassion.

If this all sounds too good to be true for a first time director, I’m sure it is! I am no stranger to production horror stories, but this shoot was like breathing inspiration.

The biggest challenge I faced on set was accepting that I was in charge. As an actor I think I come from a place of asking for permission first, and the role reversal took me a bit by surprise. My initial reaction was that I didn’t want to offend anyone! I quickly realized that I did the set no favors by playing small, and needed to take charge. I had to own that part of my job and not just commune with the actors backstage, but to ask for certain shots or decide when it was time to move on.

That ownership carried me through a very long post-production process. I found the courage to be honest with my vision, so that I could give clear feedback on what was missing and what was working. Editor Lindy Boustedt  and composer Catherine Grealish were game to try different approaches as well as challenge me when they felt something needed to be fought for. My acting coach calls this “going to artistic war,” and taught me to welcome it as a way to find the solution that is in the film’s very best intentions. You have to be passionate in order to make the bold decisions that banish mediocrity.

Ultimately, Revelation stands out not only as my directorial debut, but the project I am most passionate and clear about. My vision carried me from those questing moments alone with my journal, through the realization of a work of art that will make me forever proud.

Watch Revelation:

 
REVELATION: Omnibus from Revelation Film Project on Vimeo.

Wonder Russell is an actor gaining recognition for her work in edgy indie dramas and quirky webcomedies. Revelation is her first professional directing project.

Quote of the Day: Virginia Woolf

Virginia Woolf
Because I recently wrote a review of the film The Hours, I’ve got Virginia Woolf on the brain. Though Woolf’s last novel was published over 70 years ago, her words as a woman, as a writer, and as a feminist still echo their truth in our contemporary world, despite its insistence that gender inequality is a thing of the past. Because Woolf speaks her mind with such eloquence and veracity, I’ve no need to paraphrase her words, and I’ll just let her wonderful quotes speak for themselves:
“The history of men’s opposition to women’s emancipation is more interesting perhaps than the story of that emancipation itself.

Woolf’s indictment of femininity and womanhood makes me incredibly happy:

“Anything may happen when womanhood has ceased to be a protected occupation.” 

 And, finally, a reminder that Woolf was savvy to the Bechdel Test long before it existed:

“‘Chloe liked Olivia.’ Do not start. Do not blush. Let us admit in the privacy of our own society that these things sometimes happen. Sometimes women do like women…All these relationships between women, I thought, rapidly recalling the splendid gallery of fictitious women, are too simple…And I tried to remember any case in the course of my reading where two women are represented as friends…They are now and then mothers and daughters. But almost without exception they are shown in their relation to men. It was strange to think that all the great women of fiction were, until Jane Austen’s day, not only seen by the other sex, but seen only in relation to the other sex. And how small a part of a woman’s life is that.”

Painting of Virginia Woolf

And how small a part of a woman’s life is that. Yes, Virginia; how small indeed.