Bitch Flicks – Page 180 – The radical notion that women like good movies

Women of Color in Film and TV: A Post About ‘Community’s; Shirley? That’s Nice.

Written by Lady T.

Yvette Nicole Brown as Shirley Bennett on Community

Anyone who has absorbed even a little bit of pop culture can see that the “sassy ethnic woman” archetype is ubiquitous in television and film. Women of color – particularly black and Latina women – are often used as sassy, finger-snapping side characters who exist only to provide amusing one-liners in the background of whatever white person drama or comic event happening in the forefront. (On a great scene from Scrubs, Carla and Laverne demonstrate how to act like a “minority sidekick from a bad movie”:)

One refreshing departure from the “sassy ethnic woman” stereotype is Shirley Bennett on Community. Played by Yvette Nicole Brown, Shirley is one of four people of color in the show’s main cast, though the only woman of color. In an interview with The Daily Beast, which included cast members Alison Brie and Gillian Jacobs and writer Megan Ganz, Brown discussed why Shirley is a refreshing character for her to play:

As a black actor, it’s refreshing that I’m not playing the “sassy black woman.” It’s something that Dan Harmon was cognizant of from the beginning. It is something that I’m always cognizant of. Every woman on the planet has sass and smart-ass qualities in them, but it seems sometimes only black women are defined by it. Shirley is a fully formed woman that had a sassy moment. Her natural set point, if anything, is rage. That’s her natural set point, suppressed rage, which comes out as kindness and trying to keep everything tight.

Shirley is, perhaps, the only main character on Community who has her own catchphrase, but the catchphrase – “That’s nice!” – is a far cry from the finger-snapping talking-through-the-nose stereotype demonstrated on the above clip from Scrubs. Shirley is exactly what Brown described: a woman filled with suppressed rage who covers up her anger by trying to be sweet and kind. But rather than being an example of a different kind of negative black stereotype – the Angry Black Person who bursts into a rage for no stated reason – the Community writers and Brown show that Shirley has plenty of reasons to be angry.

Like the other members of the Spanish study group, Shirley comes to Greendale Community College when she needs to start a new chapter in her life after the first chapter ended badly: her husband abandoned her and their two children, and she wants to earn a business degree so she can sell her baked goods. Christian and motherly, Shirley takes on a protective nature to the youngest members of the group (Annie, Troy, and Abed), tries to develop a camaraderie with Britta and act as a cheerleader for her flirty dynamic with Jeff, and does her best to ignore the sexual harassment from Pierce.

Annie (Alison Brie), Britta (Gillian Jacobs), and Shirley get caught in a “reverse Porky’s” shenanigan

Soon, Shirley develops close bonds with other members of the study group, trying to keep the group dynamic sweet, light, and happy – but time and time, her repressed anger rises to the surface.

Shirley flies into a rage when Jeff shows interest in a woman other than Britta, acting indignant on Britta’s behalf, but she later admits that she’s still in deep pain over her own divorce: “I was too proud to admit I was hurt, so I had to pretend you were,” she says to her friend.

Shirley is put out and offended when her friends don’t want to attend her Christmas party, taking their reluctance as an insult to her faith, but again, Britta gets to the heart of the matter: Shirley is desperate to recreate a tradition that’s important to her, that’s missing from her life since her painful divorce.

Shirley, when given a chance to act as campus security with Annie for a few days, insists on being the “bad cop” of the duo, a role that Annie also claims. The two characters clash during most of the episode because both are desperate for a change in image. While Annie wants people to stop seeing her as a sweet little girl, Shirley wants people to stop seeing her as a sweet motherly type. (More on that in a minute.)

Annie and Shirley as campus security officers

In short: Shirley has a lot of anger. What makes Shirley’s anger so refreshing is that her anger is not portrayed as a sign of her blackness, or her womanhood, but as the sign of a flawed, complex human being with legitimate pain. Sometimes her anger is towards a perceived slight that has nothing to do with her (assuming that her friends judge her for her Christianity when they don’t), and sometimes her anger is completely justified (getting fed up with Pierce’s harassment and racist comments). Sometimes she’s wrong, and sometimes she’s right – just like any other person.

Anger isn’t a character trait limited to Shirley, either. Annie also has repressed rage. The two women have a lot in common, “aww”-ing over cute things and getting upset when they’re not taken seriously. But of all the other characters in Community, Shirley seems to have the closest bond with Jeff. On the surface, they have little in common – he’s a white playboy sarcastic former lawyer, she’s a married black Christian woman with children – but just as Shirley covers her anger with a layer of sweetness, Jeff covers his with layers of blasé indifference. The fact that a young, insecure Shirley turns out to be Jeff’s former bully from when they were children seems perfect for their characters, and their friendship deepens – and some of their anger is assuaged – after they confront this issue.

Jeff (Joel McHale) and Shirley, BFFs (sort of)

Sometimes the writers on Community give Shirley short shrift compared to the other characters, as if they’re not sure what to do with a woman who is now re-married and in a happy relationship (their strengths are in writing damaged people, not content people). I’d also like the show to further explore her complicated dynamic with Britta, a woman with whom Shirley craves close friendship, but also finds threatening. Still, I’m grateful that Community allows Shirley to be as flawed, funny, and complicated as everyone else at Greendale Community College. She’s my younger brother’s favorite character, and I think that’s nice.

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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.

As a black actor, it’s refreshing that I’m not playing the “sassy black woman.” It’s something that Dan Harmon was cognizant of from the beginning. It is something that I’m always cognizant of. Every woman on the planet has sass and smart-ass qualities in them, but it seems sometimes only black women are defined by it. Shirley is a fully formed woman that had a sassy moment. Her natural set point, if anything, is rage. That’s her natural set point, suppressed rage, which comes out as kindness and trying to keep everything tight. – See more at: http://www.thedailybeast.com/articles/2012/02/28/community-alison-brie-yvette-nicole-brown-gillian-jacobs-megan-ganz-roundtable.html#sthash.cAOgrEkS.dpuf

As a black actor, it’s refreshing that I’m not playing the “sassy black woman.” It’s something that Dan Harmon was cognizant of from the beginning. It is something that I’m always cognizant of. Every woman on the planet has sass and smart-ass qualities in them, but it seems sometimes only black women are defined by it. Shirley is a fully formed woman that had a sassy moment. Her natural set point, if anything, is rage. That’s her natural set point, suppressed rage, which comes out as kindness and trying to keep everything tight. – See more at: http://www.thedailybeast.com/articles/2012/02/28/community-alison-brie-yvette-nicole-brown-gillian-jacobs-megan-ganz-roundtable.html#sthash.cAOgrEkS.dpuf

As a black actor, it’s refreshing that I’m not playing the “sassy black woman.” It’s something that Dan Harmon was cognizant of from the beginning. It is something that I’m always cognizant of. Every woman on the planet has sass and smart-ass qualities in them, but it seems sometimes only black women are defined by it. Shirley is a fully formed woman that had a sassy moment. Her natural set point, if anything, is rage. That’s her natural set point, suppressed rage, which comes out as kindness and trying to keep everything tight. – See more at: http://www.thedailybeast.com/articles/2012/02/28/community-alison-brie-yvette-nicole-brown-gillian-jacobs-megan-ganz-roundtable.html#sthash.cAOgrEkS.dpuf

Women of Color in Film and TV: A Celebration of Black Women on Film in 2012

This guest post by Yvonna Russell previously appeared at The Huffington Post and is cross-posted with permission.

Beasts of the Southern Wild

Last year I proudly blogged about Octavia Spencer’s Supporting Actress Oscar win for The Help. Happily, this is the year of milestones and giving major props to the women of color actresses on film in 2012. Making history as the youngest Best Actress Academy Award nominee, newcomer Quvenzhane Wallis has charmed audiences and critics as “Hushpuppy” in Beasts of the Southern Wild. At 14 years old, actress Amandla Stenberg is a seasoned veteran of television and film. Amandla broke the color barrier winning the role of “Rue” in The Hunger Games. Starring as the lovely “Bronhilda” in Django Unchained, Kerry Washington turned a milestone with the lead in the ABC hit show, Scandal as the first African-American actress to star in a network drama series in 39 years.

Joyful Noise

Emayatzy Corinealdi’s feature film debut in Middle of Nowhere earned her a Gotham Award for Breakthrough Actor and the Independent Spirit Award for Best Female Lead. Honored by Women In Film as a Trailblazer, Viola Davis co-starred with Maggie Gyhllenhall in Won’t Back Down. Triple threat Tamara Tunie must be the hardest working woman in show business. Tamara continued her role as “Melinda Warner” on Law and Order SVU and a film role opposite Oscar nominee Denzel Washington in Flight. Ms. Tunie added directing a feature film, See You in September, to a resume that includes Tony Awards for producing Broadway hits, Spring Awakenings and Radio Golf.

Django Unchained

Queen Latifah provided the voice of in “Ellie” in Ice Age: Continental Drift, co-starred in A Joyful Noise and produced the TV remake of Steel Magnolias. Her production company, Flavor Unit Entertainment, has struck a deal with Netflix for a multiyear licensing deal.

Middle of Nowhere

Playing six unique characters in a ring cycle plot about soul reincarnation; Halle Berry joined an A-list actor ensemble in Cloud Atlas directed by Tom Twyker, Lana Wachowski and Andy Wachowski. Octavia Spencer followed up her Best Supporting Oscar win with roles in independent films Smashed and Blues for Willadean. S. Epatha Merkerson played a pivotal role in Best Film Oscar nominee Lincoln and co-produced and directed a documentary film, Contradictions of Fair Hope.

Won’t Back Down

Fierce are these black women in the entertainment industry who have empowered themselves and self-actualized success in front and behind the camera. According to the AFL-CIO, as of July 2012 there were 3,350 black-female actors employed. The next generation of triple threat talents will have to seize every opportunity. For aspiring producers, writers and directors, there is the CBS Diversity Institute, Project Involve, Sundance Producers Lab, ABC Talent Development, NBC Diversity Initiative, Independent Lens and Withoutabox. During Black History Month, let’s celebrate the women of color on film who embraced the challenges of directing, producing and diverse on-camera roles in milestone achievements of the past year.

“Beloved, you are my sister, you are my daughter, you are my face; you are me.” –Toni Morrison

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Follow Yvonna Russell on Twitter: www.twitter.com/StilettoFilms.

Women of Color in Film and TV: Talk About a "Scandal": ‘Bunheads,’ the Whitey-Whiteness of TV, and Why Shonda Rhimes Is a Goddamn Hero

This guest review by Diane Shipley previously appeared at Bea Magazine and is cross-posted with permission.

I love Scandal. Halfway through the second season, it’s still some of the most sharp, fast-paced, thrilling TV I’ve ever sat through. Sure, it’s often improbable and features silly banter, but it’s never predictable, and Kerry Washington shines like the star she is as clever, controlled, morally ambiguous “crisis manager” Olivia Pope. (Yes, she’s the Pope.) (Oh, if only.)

What I don’t love is the fact that Kerry Washington is the first black woman to have the lead in a network drama in my lifetime.

Shonda Rhimes’ Scandal

I’m in my thirties! And since five years before I was born there hasn’t been a black female lead in an American network drama. (That was one called Get Christie Love!, inspired by the blaxploitation films of the ’70s.) And while there have been Asian and Latina leading ladies in that time, let’s not pretend that TV has ever been full of diversity. It’s a white person’s playground.

So it’s maybe not surprising that when Gilmore Girls creator Amy Sherman-Palladino’s new show Bunheads first aired, Shonda Rhimes, who created Scandal as well as Grey’s Anatomy and Private Practice, felt a little fed up.

She tweeted ABC Family:

“Really? You couldn’t cast even ONE young dancer of color so I could feel good about my kid watching this show? NOT ONE?”

Which seems like a fair comment, as Bunheads‘ lack of diversity is a glaring omission.

It’s great to see a show that’s unabashedly female-centric and more concerned with telling stories than trying to be gimmicky (and which portrays performers with far more subtlety than Smash could ever manage). There are enough shows where women are nothing more than set dressing for it not to be an issue that all six leads in Bunheads are ladies.

But it is an issue that all six leads are white.

It would have been nice if Rhimes’ tweet had launched a respectful debate about the underrepresentation of women of color on TV. Instead, it sent Sherman-Palladino on a self-justifying rant in a horrible interview with Media Mayhem, which was notable for the fact that neither she nor the journalist who questioned her actually stuck to the point. That journalist, Allison Hope Weiner, said that what she took from the incident was that it was “inappropriate” for a woman to criticise another female showrunner, when there are so few of them.

Sherman-Palladino agreed, saying she would never “go after” another woman and that women in TV are not as supportive as they should be. She also pointed out that she only had a week and a half to cast four girls who could act and dance on pointe. Then she said that she doesn’t do “issues shows.”

It’s hard to know where to start with this clusterbleep of wrongness, but how about we begin with the idea that women should always support each other, no matter what?

Rebecca Paller of the Paley Center posted a blog post about the fracas, “Bunheads and Women: Why Can’t We Just Get Along?” in which she supports Sherman-Palladino and scolds Rhimes for her criticism, saying:

“You should have been more supportive of another female showrunner especially in this day and age when it’s so difficult to get a new dramatic series on the air.”

(Excuse me while I scream into a pillow until I throw up.)

Kerry Washington as Olivia Pope in Scandal

Here’s the thing: if anyone, regardless of gender, makes a mistake in their professional life, you have the right to call them out on it. Sure, Shonda Rimes could have been more deferential, but why the hell should she be?

Saying that women have to be nice to each other at all times because there are so few of us in top jobs only promotes the idea that we’re special snowflakes who have to be treated like precious cargo. While there are men whose shows are similarly lacking in diversity, female solidarity doesn’t preclude valid criticism. And the competitiveness among women that Sherman-Palladino alludes to is surely a symptom of the patriarchy and the fact that it’s so hard for women to get ahead rather than a case of “bitches be loco.”

Even worse, for white women like Sherman-Palladino, Hope Weiner, and Paller to ignore the context of Rhimes’ remark is breathtakingly ignorant. As you might have noticed, America has a history of oppressing both women and people of color and of stereotyping them in popular culture (the Academy is still rarely more impressed than when a black women plays a maid). And yet Paller mentions a possible Asian extra as proof that Bunheads is diverse, and says she’s “still not certain” why Rhimes saw fit to criticise Sherman-Palladino.

Shonda Rhimes is one of very few TV writers creating interesting black female characters. And she’s a black woman. That’s probably not coincidental. Sure, white men could be doing the same thing. But they’re not.

The most disappointing thing about Girls is that Lena Dunham appeared to not even consider that her show could include a main character who was black, or working class, or disabled, or transgender, and that viewers could still relate to that person. Because some of them are that person. Perhaps she was reluctant to make what Sherman-Palladino so charmingly dubs an “issues show,” but Scandal proves that a black character’s race doesn’t have to be her defining characteristic.

Kerry Washington as Olivia Pope in Scandal

A few months ago, Vulture ran a round table discussion with female showrunners to acknowledge that there have historically been so few women in charge of TV shows, and to celebrate the fact that things are starting to change. When talk turned to criticisms of Girls, this exchange actually happened:

E.K.: I think the lack of diversity on Girls probably has something to do with HBO’s willingness to let her be very specific, and tell her story. Whereas with network shows, there’s always a mandate. It becomes, “How are we gonna include this group of people?” or “We have to have some diversity.”

W.C.: And then every doctor is black.

E.K.: It becomes a token gesture. It doesn’t come from a place of sincere storytelling, or anything organic to the world.

It’s true; there’s been a lot of tokenism in TV over the years, with black doctors and lawyers and police officers clumsily slotted into the background of shows like politically correct afterthoughts since at least the early ’70s. But this was still progress, because before that television was so white-dominated that only by networks making a concerted effort to seek out non-white actors could things start to change. Even now, a lack of diversity is more often an oversight than some kind of brave creative choice.

And sure, we’re talking television here, and not real life. But TV shows matter. They’re probably our biggest shared cultural experience, and how they portray (or ignore) members of historically marginalised groups can reflect and reinforce stereotypes in an insidious way. Helena Andrews wrote a great piece for xoJane about Bunheads and the fact that, had her own ballet teacher not been black, she might not have realized that the white-dominated world of dance was something she could take part in, let alone enjoy:

“In a world that was looking less and less like me just as I was beginning to actually take a look at myself (oh, hey, there puberty) seeing an impossibly elegant (and forgive me) strong black woman every week was more than just a drop in the bucket of my confidence. It was a monsoon.”

Not seeing anyone like yourself on TV, over and over again, is profoundly alienating, and yet Sherman-Palladino and Dunham seem to shrug off the idea that this matters, as if their life’s work has no effect on people.

Shonda Rhimes knows it does.

———-

Diane Shipley is a freelance journalist specialising in women/feminism, books, and wonderful, wonderful television. She also blogs at No Humiliation Wasted and tweets (a lot).

Women of Color in Film and TV: Talk About a ‘Scandal’: ‘Bunheads,’ the Whitey-Whiteness of TV, and Why Shonda Rhimes Is a Goddamn Hero

This guest review by Diane Shipley previously appeared at Bea Magazine and is cross-posted with permission.

What I don’t love is the fact that Kerry Washington is the first black woman to have the lead in a network drama in my lifetime.

Shonda Rhimes’ Scandal

She tweeted ABC Family:

“Really? You couldn’t cast even ONE young dancer of color so I could feel good about my kid watching this show? NOT ONE?”

Which seems like a fair comment, as Bunheads‘ lack of diversity is a glaring omission.

But it is an issue that all six leads are white.

It’s hard to know where to start with this clusterbleep of wrongness, but how about we begin with the idea that women should always support each other, no matter what?

“You should have been more supportive of another female showrunner especially in this day and age when it’s so difficult to get a new dramatic series on the air.”

(Excuse me while I scream into a pillow until I throw up.)

Kerry Washington as Olivia Pope in Scandal

E.K.: I think the lack of diversity on Girls probably has something to do with HBO’s willingness to let her be very specific, and tell her story. Whereas with network shows, there’s always a mandate. It becomes, “How are we gonna include this group of people?” or “We have to have some diversity.”

W.C.: And then every doctor is black.

E.K.: It becomes a token gesture. It doesn’t come from a place of sincere storytelling, or anything organic to the world.

“In a world that was looking less and less like me just as I was beginning to actually take a look at myself (oh, hey, there puberty) seeing an impossibly elegant (and forgive me) strong black woman every week was more than just a drop in the bucket of my confidence. It was a monsoon.”

Shonda Rhimes knows it does.

———-

Diane Shipley is a freelance journalist specialising in women/feminism, books, and wonderful, wonderful television. She also blogs at No Humiliation Wasted and tweets (a lot).

The Unfinished Legacy of Pam Grier

Pam Grier was the first black woman to be on the cover of Ms. Magazine (August 1975). Jamaica Kincaid wrote the article, “Pam Grier: The Mocha Mogul of Hollywood.”

Written by Leigh Kolb

[Warning: spoilers ahead!]

The first time I saw Pam Grier in a film, I blurted out, “Why isn’t she in everything?”

I first saw Grier in Jackie Brown, and couldn’t understand why she wasn’t featured prominently in more films (and then I quickly remembered African American female protagonists are few and far between). It wasn’t always this way, though.

Grier’s legacy has lasted over four decades, but there’s something about her career that leaves me feeling unsettled, as if her filmography is indicative of larger (backward) social trends. She started out headlining action films–an amazing feat for a woman, much less a black woman in the early 1970s. A glance at a few of these films show incredibly feminist themes that are incredibly rare 40 years later. Her early films were groundbreaking, but nothing much was built after that ground was broken.

Coffy (1973)

Coffy (Grier) is a nurse with a passion for bringing justice to those who keep drugs on the streets. The film opens with her posing as a seductive addict, and she gets herself in an apartment with a drug dealer and supplier. She brutally kills them, and then reports to her job as a nurse.

Coffy is a vigilante, trying to avenge those who made it possible for her 11-year-old sister to get hooked on drugs, causing her to wind up in a juvenile rehabilitation center. After her friend (a “good” cop, unlike many who are tied into the drug trade) is beaten brain dead after defending her, Coffy has an even deeper sense of purpose in retaliating against the machine that’s fostering corruption in her community.

“This is the end of your rotten life, you motherfuckin’ dope pusher!”

While Coffy uses her sexuality to position herself against her enemies, she does what she need to do to win. When a john is degrading her, she says, “You want to spit on me and make me crawl? I’m gonna piss on your grave tomorrow.” Racism, greed, corruption and masculine shows are evil, and a capable woman undoes it all.

The overall quality of the film, the fashion, the music–it’s clearly dated. However, the strong female protagonist stands out as something that’s all too foreign in 2013.

Foxy Brown (1974)

Probably the most popular of Grier’s blaxploitation films, Foxy Brown follows its protagonist through another journey of violent revenge. Foxy sets out to seek justice for the murder of her boyfriend (a government agent who worked to get drugs off the streets–again, an anti-drug theme). She poses as a prostitute to infiltrate the drug/prostitution/sex slave network that’s responsible for the blight of her community. She outwits her enemies and captors at every turn, and ends victorious.

When she’s going to the neighborhood committee for help at the end, she pleads:

“It could be your brother too, or your sister, or your children. I want justice for all of them. And I want justice for all the people whose lives are bought and sold, so that a few big shots can climb up on their backs, and laugh at the law, and laugh at human decency. But most of all, I want justice for a man, this man had love in his heart, and he died because he went out of his neighborhood to do what he thought was right.”

The group leader responds, “Sister, I think what you’re asking for is revenge.”

She says, “You just take care of the justice, and I’ll handle the revenge by myself.”

“The party’s over, Oscar, let’s go.”

Grier’s body–from the opening bikini-clad sequence to close-up shots of her naked breasts–is objectified more frequently in this film than Coffy. She had become more of a star at this point, and producers decided against it being a sequel to Coffy (as the writer had intended), so her career wasn’t a part of the film. Foxy is still a strong, empowered woman–she seeks help from her peers (the new “anti-slavery” society), helps other women and punishes men who are cruel to women. Foxy’s role seems as revolutionary as Coffy’s (maybe more so, with the increased star power).

Sheba, Baby (1975)

The opening credits to Sheba Baby are set to Barbara Mason’s “Sheba, Baby,” boasting how Sheba Shayne is a “sensuous woman playing a man’s game,” “she’s kicking ass and taking names,” and “she’s a dangerous lady, who is well put together…” Sheba is a private investigator in Chicago (a no-nonsense businesswoman, as she yells at her partner for leaving the office a mess) who is called to her hometown of Louisville when her father is in danger. She’d been a cop in the town before leaving, and an old love interest is in business with her father, who owns a loan company. Themes of police ineffectiveness and corrupt white men at the top of a chain of violence are featured again, and Sheba takes justice into her own hands when the police only step up when it’s too late (after her father is killed). She uses her looks to gain access to a yacht party, where she struggles, fights and overcomes the men who are responsible for her father’s death (as well as shutting down many other black-run businesses in the neighborhood).

“Now you tell your boss that he is not dealing with my father anymore. He is dealing with Sheba Shayne.”

While the themes in this film are similar–anti-racism, anti-white patriarchal corruption and pro-vigilante justice–Sheba, Baby is unique in Sheba’s even fiercer independence than the previous films. When Brick asks her if she “has anyone” in Chicago, she replies: “If you’re asking if I sleep alone every night, I’d have to say no. If you’re asking if I’m going steady with anyone, I’d have to say no. So what are you asking?” The next shot, they are in bed together. However, Sheba doesn’t rely on Brick’s help (she works without him), and leaves him at the end of the film because their separate careers are too valuable. In the final shot of the film, she’s walking the streets of Chicago, smiling and confident.

The ending of Sheba, Baby should have been indicative of a future of Grier’s style of female protagonist. However, Grier wouldn’t again headline a film until Jackie Brown, Quentin Tarantino’s 1997 film (he wrote it specifically for Grier, and she was nominated for numerous awards for it, including a Golden Globe). She certainly worked in the interim, and has since (including stage work and starring in The L Word). But nothing like the string of films she starred in in the 1970s.

When asked about being the first woman to play this type of powerful character, Grier responded:

“I saw women share the platform with men in my personal world, and Hollywood just hadn’t wakened to it yet. Bette Davis and Katharine Hepburn changed the way they saw women during the 1940s, but I saw it daily in the women’s movement that was emerging, because I was a child of the women’s movement. Everything I had learned was from my mother and my grandmother, who both had a very pioneering spirit. They had to, because they had to change flat tires and paint the house—because, you know, the men didn’t come home from the war or whatever else, so women had to do these things. So, out of economic necessity and the freedoms won, by the ’50s and ’60s, there was suddenly this opportunity and this invitation that was like, ‘Come out here with these men. Get out here. Show us what you got.'”

She certainly did. But like so many cultural revolutions, the women’s movement saw backlash in the 1980s and beyond, as did this new kind of feminist, African American cinematic genre.

Grier points out that she’s often criticized for the nudity and violence in her early films.

In regard to the nudity, she says,

“We’ve got $20 million actresses today who are nude in Vanilla Sky, nude in Swordfish. So what did I do different? I got paid less, but that’s it.”

To critics of the violence, she points out,

“I saw more violence in my neighborhood and in the war and on the newsreels than I did in my movies, so it didn’t bother me. Coming from the ’50s, things were very violent. We were still being lynched. If I drove down through the South with my mother, I might not make it through one state without being bullied or harassed. I feel like unless you’ve been black for a week, you don’t know. A lot of people were really up in arms about nothing, and if you challenge them, they go, ‘Well, maybe you’re right.'”

She also notes that although some people objected to the term “blaxploitation,” she didn’t feel the films were demeaning:

“You know, Clint Eastwood, Sylvester Stallone, they can all do shoot-’em-ups. Arnold Schwarzenegger can kill 10 people in one minute, and they don’t call it ‘white exploitation.’ They win awards and get into all the magazines. But if black people do it, suddenly it’s different than if a white person does it.”

Her poignant commentary on the double standards in Hollywood serve as a larger reminder of the double standards in society. The notion of a black protagonist fighting villainous white people is something that is still uncomfortable. Grier’s nudity in the early films, and her blatant sexiness, felt different than typical female objectification. Even when her cleavage was featured prominently, she had the power–she wasn’t passive, so her sexuality didn’t seem like a marker of weakness simply for the male gaze. It was jarring to feel so comfortable with what looked like female objectification, because it was so different than what we are used to now. Looking at the poster art from her earlier films, one would see her portrayed as an object. However, in the actual films, she is a sexual being, with agency, independence and strength.

Jackie Brown

The Ms. article “In Praise of Baadasssss Supermamas” points out that “…Coffy and Foxy fought against systems that beat up on everyday folk. Imagine what they would do in the 21st century.” It’s a pretty great thought.

However, it’s more likely that we get Fighting Fuck Toys (FFTs) in modern cinema, and as Caroline Heldman writes:

“Hollywood rolls out FFTs every few years that generally don’t perform well at the box office (think Elektra, Catwoman, Sucker Punch), leading executives to wrongly conclude that women action leads aren’t bankable. In fact, the problem isn’t their sex; the problem is their portrayal as sex objects. Objects aren’t convincing protagonists. Subjects act while objects are acted upon, so reducing a woman action hero to an object, even sporadically, diminishes her ability to believably carry a storyline. The FFT might have an enviable swagger and do cool stunts, but she’s ultimately a bit of a joke.”

Grier’s heroes are never the joke, and that’s what works. She can carry a storyline, have sex when she wants it (or not) and end up victorious, with her complete agency intact. She’s a subject acting upon the injustices around her.

Pam Grier is an incredible actress, and her most iconic roles serve as a reminder that women can do it all on the big screen. It’s just been too long since they’ve been allowed to.

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

Women of Color in Film and TV: The Conundrum of Butch-Hottie Michelle Rodriguez

Michelle Rodriguez, famous for her roles in “Girlfight”, “The Fast and the Furious” series, and TV series “Lost”, is a cinematic conundrum. Much like most Latina actresses, Rodriguez is typecast. Unlike those Latina actresses who are typecast as extremely feminine and sensual, Rodriguez is typecast as the smoldering, independent bad girl who doesn’t take shit from men. In her roles, Rodriguez embodies many traditionally coded masculine traits (she’s strong, aggressive, mechanically inclined, independent, physical, etc). Despite this perceived masculinity, she is not depicted as a lesbian, and her butch attributes are actually designed to accentuate her sexual appeal.

Michelle Rodriguez as Letty: mechanic, car racer, and thief in The Fast and the Furious series

Written by Amanda Rodriguez

Michelle Rodriguez, famous for her roles in Girlfight, The Fast and the Furious series, and TV series Lost, is a cinematic conundrum. Much like most Latina actresses, Rodriguez is typecast. Unlike those Latina actresses who are typecast as extremely feminine and sensual, Rodriguez is typecast as the smoldering, independent bad girl who doesn’t take shit from men. In her roles, Rodriguez embodies many traditionally coded masculine traits (she’s strong, aggressive, mechanically inclined, independent, physical, etc). Despite this perceived masculinity, she is not depicted as a lesbian, and her butch attributes are actually designed to accentuate her sexual appeal. Certainly, several actresses have played this same kind of role before (though, with them, there’s often skin-tight leather or vinyl in the mix), but Rodriguez consistently plays this same role over and over again. Is this role progressive, consistently allowing a woman some measure of toughness despite maintaining her overt sexuality? Or is this role simply a variation on a well-established theme that won’t truly lead to a multiplicity of female characterizations independent from female sexuality?

Rodriguez’s breakthrough performance was in the critically-acclaimed independent film Girlfight where she portrayed an abused, impoverished, angry young woman who finds her peace in the boxing ring. The climax of the film has Guzman facing off with her male lover and defeating him in the ring. She is afforded the rare opportunity to be stronger and better than men at a male dominated sport, and while she’s tough and muscular, Rodriguez never loses her vulnerability and sex appeal. This film set the tone for the rest of Rodriguez’s career.

Michelle Rodriguez as Diana Guzman in Girlfight

Among Michelle Rodriguez’s notable performances is the no-nonsense mechanic by day, car racing thief by night, Letty Ortiz, from The Fast and the Furious series. Though she is an impenetrably tough member of an almost exclusively male subculture, Letty embodies tenderness and self-sacrifice in her heterosexual relationship with Neck Muscles McGee (aka Vin Diesel as Dominic Toretto). Rodriguez also plays the traumatized, gritty, untrusting cop with dubious morals, Ana Lucia Cortez, in Lost. Ana Lucia is the unyielding leader of the tail section of the plane, a significant contrast from the compassionate leadership of Jack Shepherd, who guides the remaining survivors on the other side of the island.

Michelle Rodriguez as Ana Lucia Cortez in Lost

Rodriguez also portrays Trudy Chacon, the jumpsuit-wearing pilot who defies orders to defend an exploited people in Avatar as well as the rigid Umbrella Corporation paramilitary officer, Rain Ocampo, in Resident Evil. Not to mention her role as Chris Sanchez in the floptastic flick S.W.A.T where Rodriguez is a single mother who doggedly makes her way into S.W.A.T ranks despite the institutional sexism inherent in the police force.

A pre-zombified Michelle Rodriguez as Rain Ocampo in Resident Evil

Of her acting career, Michelle Rodriguez has said, “Well, could you really imagine me playing the girlfriend that needs rescuing? Or the girlfriend?” She’s also said, “I don’t want people thinking of me sexually…I had a couple of offers to do some hot scenes in the shower with some guy and to make it real hot and sexy. The next thing you know, I’d be the next J.Lo or something. But that’s easy. I want [success] the hard way.” These quotes lead me to believe that she is consciously involved in the selection of her roles to the extent that she purposely eschews the quintessential eye-candy, sexualized parts typically offered to Latina women. Does that mean that the only thing left is shitty action movies that meld her fierceness to her sexuality in an almost paradoxically unique and formulaic way? Is her Otherness what allows her to fit into this strange niche, or does her Otherness essentially force her into this one-dimensionality? Do Rodriguez’s characters represent a link on an evolutionary chain, where she is still exploited for her sexuality but her strength and fortitude are the traits for which she’s truly valued? If so, will her characters eventually be given individuality in a non-exploitative way, or is this an evolutionary dead-end (much like her role as Shé in Robert Rodriguez’s Machete might suggest)?

Michelle Rodriguez’s sexuality is definitely at the forefront as Shé from Machete

I don’t have the answers. I do like to watch movies just because Michelle Rodriguez is in them (which is good for her because, yay ratings, but bad for me because, ew bad movies), but I’m hard-pressed to fancy her roles as outside the patriarchy’s ideals for womanhood. Sure, she may be gritty and badass, but she’s still beautiful and sexy as hell. It seems more likely that patriarchy, like all extremely powerful institutions, continues to adapt in order to contain potential threats to its hegemony. I’ll continue to hope, though, that through her personal choices, a lone Latina actress can help even just a little to change the face of gender inequality.

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Women of Color in Film and TV: The Terrible, Awful Sweetness of ‘The Help’

Mmm…empty calories. Like The Help?

Guest post written by Natalie Wilson, originally published at Ms. Magazine. Cross-posted with permission.

If Kathryn Stockett’s novel The Help was an angel food cake study of racism and segregation in the ’60s South, the new movie adaptation is even fluffier. Like a dollop of whip cream skimmed off a multi-layered cake, the film only grazes the surface of the intersecting oppressions of race, class, gender and geohistory.

Let me admit that I was, in contrast to Ms. blogger Jennifer Williams, looking forward to the film adaptation of The Help, especially as I initially enjoyed the book. However, in hindsight, I realize my initial reaction to the book was naïve (and possibly compromised by a Christmas-chocolate-induced haze).

I maintain the novel is a good read. But its shortcomings – its nostalgia, its failure to really grapple with structural inequality, its privileging of the white narrator’s voice and its reliance on stock characters – are heightened rather than diminished in the film.

While the civil rights movement was a mere “backdrop” in the book, in the film it is even less so: a photo here, a news clip there, as if protagonist Skeeter, with her intrepid reporting, discovers that wow, racism exists – and it’s ugly! And even with these occasional hints that the nation was sitting on top of a racist powder keg, overall, civil rights are miscast as an individual rather than a collective struggle. To judge by The Help, overcoming inequality requires pluck (Skeeter), sass (Minnie) or quiet determination (Aibileen), not social movements.

Also gone is the book’s suggestion that male privilege works to disempower and disenfranchise women in the same way white privilege works to disempower and disenfranchise people of color. While admittedly the novel problematically framed black males as more “brutish” than whites, at least it nodded towards the ways in which hierarchies of race, sex and class intersect and enable each other. The relatively powerful white wives are “lorded over” by their husbands (or, in Skeeter’s case, her potential husband), then turn around and tyrannize their black maids in much the same fashion. The movie, in contrast, puts an even happier face on men/women relations than on black/white ones.

Simultaneously, it frames Skeeter, Minnie and Aibileen as a trinity of feminist heroes, but rewards only Skeeter with the feminist prize at film’s end – an editing job in New York. In the meantime, Aibileen has lost her job but walks the road home determinedly, vowing she will become a writer, while Minnie sits down to a feast prepared by Celia Foote, her white boss.

The audience is thus given a triple happy ending. The first, Skeeter’s, suggests it only takes determination to succeed – white privilege has nothing to do with it! The second, Aibileen’s, implies that earning a living as a writer was feasible for a black maid in the Jim Crow South. The third, Minnie’s, insinuates not only that friendship eventually blossomed between white women bosses and their black maids, but also that such friendship was enough to ameliorate the horrors of racism.

Thus, if the book was “pop lit with some racial lessons thrown in for fiber” as Erin Aubry Kaplan’s described it, the film has even less bulk. Instead, it’s a high-fructose concoction as sweet as Minnie’s pies. And like Minnie’s “terrible awful” pie, with which she infamously tricks the villainous Hilly into eating shit, the film encourages audiences to swallow down a sweet story and ignore the shitty Hollywood cliches – as well as the shitty reality that racism can’t be “helped” by stories alone.

As Jennifer Williams predicted, the film indeed offers:

The perfect summer escape for viewers who embrace the fantasy of a postracial America, [where] filmgoers can tuck the history of race and class inequality safely in the past, even as the recession deepens already profound racial gaps in wealth and employment.

To put it another way, viewers can tuck into this terrible awful slice of the past, forgetting how the ingredients that shaped pre-Civil Rights America have a seemingly endless shelf life and, even more pertinent, still constitute a mainstay of our diet.

Further Reading: For an in-depth analysis of the film in its historical context, check out An Open Statement to the Fans of The Help by the Association of Black Women Historians.

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Natalie Wilson, PhD is a literature and women’s studies scholar, blogger, and author. She teaches at Cal State San Marcos and specializes in areas of gender studies, feminism, feminist theory, girl studies, militarism, body studies, boy culture and masculinity, contemporary literature, and popular culture. She is author of the blogs Professor, what if …? and Seduced by Twilight. She is a proud feminist mom of two feminist kids (one daughter, one son) and is an admitted pop-culture junkie. Her favorite food is chocolate.

Women of Color in Film and TV: ‘Scandal’ Pilot: Loosen Up Your Buttons, Baby

Scandal

Guest post written by Nakeesha Seneb, originally published at Structured Breakdown. Cross posted with permission.

I think Shonda Rhimes, and her writing round table, are some of the most prolific storytellers of our times. Yes, I said prolific and I’m going to stand by such a big SAT word. Prolific actually means producing much fruit. I don’t know about you, but I love fruit. I can’t get enough of the juicy, sweet treats. That’s exactly how I feel about Scandal.

Where most screenwriters are taught to button up their Acts, Rhimes plays fast and loose with that rule and goes so far as to button up her scenes. Like a period, exclamation point or question mark, a button is a punctuation mark at the end of an act, or in Rhimes’ case, a scene. When we think about punctuation marks we most commonly think of, and use, the period. A period signifies the end; finality. You won’t find many period-buttons in Rhimes’ scripts. You’ll most often find exclamation points, which indicate strong feelings and high volume. In fact, the exclamation point wasn’t introduced until the 1970s, and then only in comic books to indicate a gun bang or punch!

Button Up Your Act

The pilot episode of Scandal is divided into five acts. Acts typically end at commercial breaks. The commercial break is a dangerous time for television writers because the audience now has a choice of getting up to use the facilities, grab a snack, or worse, turn the channel. If you study the end of each act in Scandal (or Grey’s Anatomy or Private Practice), Rhimes buttons up each act-end by raising the stakes before the commercial breaks. The punctuation marks she places at each break serves to keep her audience pinned in their seats. Let’s take a look at the structure of Scandal‘s pilot episode, “Sweet Baby.” Here’s a link to Rhimes’ original draft script.

In “Sweet Baby,” Act One ends with a murder suspect walking into the office with blood literally on his hands. Act Two sees that murder investigation and raises us a POTUS (President of the United States) embroiled in a sex scandal. In Act Three, Olivia’s conservative-soldier client, the alleged murderer, gets arrested because he refuses to be “outted.” By the end of Act Four, Olivia “handles” the POTUS’s sex scandal by destroying the life of the President’s accuser/mistress who then tries to kill herself. The middle of Act Five is where we learn the biggest scandal of them all: that Olivia and the President were having an affair. By the end of the show, the stakes are raised sky high when Olivia, feeling betrayed by her married ex-lover, takes the President’s mistress on as a client.

I strongly feel that these act ends are all exclamation points! They’re also a lot to cover, so this breakdown will only focus on the first act. The first act of a television show is known as the setup. A setup has three goals: to be immediate, quick, and grab attention.

Act I Scene 1: Exclamation Button

The setup starts immediately with the first scene. We are introduced to newcomer, Quinn, who’s trying to escape an undesired blind date. Rhimes grabs our attention with witty dialogue delivered by attractive individuals. Quinn believes Harrison is her date – whom she wants to ditch. Harrison is nonplussed by her attempts, instead he seems amused. We want to see how this ends and then – surprise! It’s not the man that every woman dreams of getting set up with. No, it’s better. It’s a dream job, and of course, every 21st century woman is going to jump at the chance of her dream job. Though Quinn doesn’t shout out loud at the prospect of working for Olivia Pope, strong feelings are written all over her face at Harrison’s offer. “I wanna be a gladiator in a suit,” is said with wide eyes and quiet awe.

Act I Scene 2-4*: Dash Button

In the second scene, we meet the famous Olivia Pope, and her dashing rogue of a colleague, Stephen. We meet them in the midst of a deal about to go wrong. Olivia momentarily halts the conversation with Stephen about engagements to smooth over the dilemma of two Russian bad guys pointing pistols at each other. Olivia comes off as badass, uber-confident and smart. With the deal settled, she and Stephen take their “package” and continue their banter about his impending nuptials as though no one was just in mortal peril.

The scene starts with Olivia and Stephen–then there’s a conflict, which is resolved–and the scene concludes with Olivia and Stephen continuing their banter. It’s a set of dashes. “The dash is a handy device, informal and essentially playful, telling you that you’re about to take off on a different tack but still in some way connected with the present course,” instructs Lewis Thomas. The playfulness comes across in the scene as Olivia and Stephen leave the danger giggling over how much they love this job.

*It’s divided as three scenes because of location. If you know Final Draft, or any screenwriting software, you’ll understand. Scene 2: Olivia and Stephen are walking into the building. Scene 3: The confrontation with the bad guys. Scene 4: Olivia and Stephen walk out of the building.

Act I Scene 5-7**: Exclamation Button/Act End

Scene 5 starts with Quinn, our novice, coming into the extraordinary world of Olivia Pope and Associates. Through her, we begin to learn the rules of this new world. Olivia’s crew is introduced, along with their respective duties, and Quinn is quickly schooled that this is not a law firm but a firm of problem solvers. We learn the package Olivia negotiated for was a kidnapped baby who is promptly picked up by its diplomat parents.

The setup is complete by the end of Scene 5. Everything and everyone we need to know has been established. Now the story is about to get moving. A disabled, Iraq war hero appears in the office lobby with blood on his hands. “My girlfriend. She’s dead,” he says. “And the police think I killed her.” In a comic book, the exclamation point follows the BANG! In this scene, the gun has already gone off and we are seeing the effects of the aftermath. Harrison turns to Quinn and says, “Welcome to Pope and Associates!”

**Scene 5: Quinn and Harrison are walking into the office. Scene 6: they enter the office with the others. Scene 7: they are in the lobby.

Early on in our grade school education, we are taught how to construct sentences in order to get our points across. Today most of our writing is peppered by the point of periods. Punctuation marks, like exclamation points, dashes, and even the ellipses, we’re told to use sparingly. Rhimes and her team pays no heed to that grammar lesson. Their characters shout it out, are elliptically coy, and dash off with our hearts. And it has paid off for them episode and episode again!

———-

Nakeesha Seneb, a longtime addict of YA and paranormal romance novels, is the Co-Founder and Education Director of Tapestry Writers Collective. By trade, she’s a screenwriter who wrote and produced for the kids’ programming block of the Black Family Channel. Currently, Ms. Seneb teaches screenwriting and digital media production at the Art Institute of Washington, DC. The Structured Breakdown Blog focuses on structure and techniques used in the stories she reviews.

Women of Color in Film and TV: ‘Pariah’

Pariah (2011), a film by Dee Rees

Guest post written by Janyce Denise Glasper, originally published at Sugary Gingersnap. Cross posted with permission.

An astounding, vibrant piece of finely weaved storytelling and thoughtfully spoken artistry, this independent film centers on Brooklyn high school teen, Alike (pronounced ah-lik-e) an exceptionally good student and aspiring poet from a hard-working middle-class family. In her underground world, the shy girl hangs out with bold, outspoken, Laura, who has already proudly come out and lives with her sister.

Alike, however, is much too afraid of such honesty and chooses to entrap herself with dual identities- switching from hood gear to chic fashion, she is trying to do right by parents, Arthur and Audrey, but it’s her little sister Sharonda who begins suspecting the truth first.

Filled with hilarity, wit, and compassion, viewers follow Alike’s course of adolescence as she tries unsuccessfully talking to women, tests out her first strap on with Laura’s aide, writes poetry in a colorful composition notebook, and privately shares her talents with the encouraging English teacher.

All the while Audrey is desperate to make Alike appear more feminine and attractive to boys and wishing Alike to stop hanging around Laura, someone she clearly detests. Yet Arthur turns a blind eye, seeming not to give a care about his overbearing wife’s feelings and accepts Alike, “flaws” and all.

Bina (Aasha Davis) and Alike (Oduye) in the stages of love

Fed up with Laura, an interfering Audrey wants Alike to be friends with “normal” girl, Bina. But unbeknownst to Audrey, Bina shows the kind of interest in Alike that would have had her head spinning. A smart, intelligent, and worldly artistic individual, she shares a lot of compelling ideas and music with Alike, striking up a friendship that soon blossoms into a refreshing first love.

Spending time at clubs and critiquing each others writings, things were so blissful.

However, her immediate discarding of their relationship the morning after was quite detrimental and heartbreaking.

Alike breaks down, guttural and hurt by the strange 180, but sadly has no one to tell and transforms that anguish into poetry.

Alike with Audrey (Kim Wayans) during happier times

Once Alike finally confesses to her parents, hell breaks loose tenfold.

In the very turbulent scene, Sharonda pleas with Alike not to get in between the battle of their parents who are loudly arguing about her sexual orientation, but valiant Alike bravely wages on and puts up with an emotionally distressed Audrey who then verbally attacks and violently beats her revulsion into Alike.

After that climatic horror, things change.

Alike and Arthur (Charles Parnell) after that horrible scene

With a condoning mother seeing lesbianism as a treacherous disease deemed unlovable, Arthur is the exact opposite. A man harboring his own secrets, he seemed to have always known that Alike was a unique case. Not due to her escalating intelligence and her disdain for pretty clothing. Their relationship is much closer and because of this, it makes his understanding of Alike’s lifestyle believable.

Sharonda loves her sister no matter what!

In Laura’s own story, she also has a mother disgusted by her choices. Looking disgusted, she makes no move to be affectionate and slams the door in Laura’s face even as Laura expresses joy over passing the GED. This makes her friendship to Alike all the more genuine. Though she is an active flirt and very popular with the ladies, it’s perfectly clear that Laura needs constant companionship and love and once she sees Alike having fun with Bina, her jealousy comes clawing out.

A worthy note of mention, Dee Rees has done an exceptional job of not only showcasing strong female relationships, but also revealing the blunt shift that occurs when weakened and severed, especially the natural bond of a mother and daughter.

The lovely, talented Adepero Oduye

Adepero Oduye’s portrayal is touching, riveting, and beautiful as she plays a character struggling with the great divide, breaks free from timidity, and falls in love. Breathing sophisticated complexion into Alike, Oduye is divine poetry in motion, expelling words articulately and with tenderly, perfected bravado. From the moment she tearfully tells her mother she loves her and that end scene on the bus, Oduye showcases Alike’s proud acceptance into a promising future that only she can control.

Now this is the kind of African American role that the Academy is dead set against honoring. A woman who doesn’t allow herself to repressed by negativity and has the strength to move forward to better opportunities with talent driving her. To the conservative viewer- it’s crucial. Not only is this young African American woman smart and gifted, she happens to be gay.

Definitely robbed of an Oscar nod, here’s hoping that Oduye nabs another pivotal role that garners attention from the snubbing Hollywood elite.

The rest of the cast played their parts commendably, especially the incredible Kim Wayans, a famed comedian utterly unrecognizable in a very dramatic role. The polar opposite of Monique’s character in Precious, Wayans was marvelous as the cruelly ashamed, Bible-clinging mother.

Laura trying to change up Alike’s fashion sense!

In terms of story holes, Pariah does have its little flaws.

Alike delivers two powerful poems like a heavenly prophet. Thirsting for more, especially with Bina making suggestions to open mic nights and poetry clubs, there was an expectancy to seeing Alike come further out of her shell and share her gifts to an audience that actually wants to hear fresh talent onstage.

Alas no such scenes came into play.

What of Laura and Alike’s relationship?

Do they come together as a couple and bond even further?

What secrets was Arthur keeping under tabs?

A scene of him on the phone and then changing into a silk black shirt while chatting to Alike seemed oddly questionable. With them being so close, one imagined that he would voice his affair to Alike.

Now if it were with another man, Audrey would never be the same…

Actress Adepero Oduye, Pariah writer/director Dee Rees, and Actress Kim Wayans

I greatly appreciate the woman’s voice and their courage to tell such a profound story. Hoping that Dee Rees continues on the path of enlightening women and minorities to come forth and share their creative vision, bring their enriching narratives to independent screens and beyond. Let the age old statistics of white men being sole judge and victor be a thing of the past.

It’s been high time for segregation in the film honor system to be buried.

Women have more than breasts to bare, they have vocal hearts and fervent souls to unleash and set free.

Pariah passionately illustrates that though the uncertain future can be filled with failures, heartbreak, and disappointments, there are rewards despite the ugly, gritty turmoil that comes and goes.

That wherein lies life’s bittersweet poetry.

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Janyce Denise Glasper is a writer/artist running two silly blogs of creative adventures called Sugarygingersnap and AfroVeganChick. She enjoys good female-centric film, cute rubber duckies, chocolate covered everything (except bugs!), Days of Our Lives, and slaying nightly demons Buffy style in Dayton, Ohio.

Women of Color in Film and TV: Quotes of the Day: Essence’s Black Women in Hollywood Awards

Last Thursday, Feb. 21, Essence magazine held its sixth annual Black Women in Hollywood awards luncheon.

The honorees were:

Breakthrough Performance – Quvenzhané Wallis

Lincoln Shining Star Award – Naomie Harris

Visionary Award – Mara Brock Akil

Fierce & Fearless Award – Gabrielle Union

Vanguard Award – Alfre Woodard

Power Award – Oprah Winfrey

Nine-year-old Wallis, star of Beasts of the Southern Wild, thanked God, director Behn Zeitlin, and her on-set babysitters.

Winfrey said, of power:

“… for me is that it’s connected to a source that’s obviously greater than myself. Any time you can connect to the source and understand that that’s where all of your energy, your creativity, your joy and your triumph come from, I consider that to be authentic power.”

Union noted that she hadn’t always been “fierce and fearless,” and that she didn’t speak up against racism when she was younger and posed in photographs in ways that would “minimize” her “blackness.” However, she added:

“Real fearless and fierce women admit mistakes and work to correct them,” she said. “We stand up and we use our voices for things other than self-promotion. We don’t stand by and let racism and sexism and homophobia run rampant on our watch. Real fierce and fearless women celebrate and compliment other women and we recognize and embrace the notion that their shine in no way diminishes our light, and actually makes our light shine brighter.”

Brock Akil, writer and producer known for Moesha, Girlfriends, Cougar Town, The Game and Sparkle, delivered a tearful speech, saying:

“All I ever wanted to do was tell our story.”

The awards luncheon, held two days before the Academy Awards, celebrates the success of black women writers, producers, actresses and other Hollywood power-brokers. Actress Tracee Ellis Ross says, “It’s a beautiful afternoon where we’re celebrating each other and giving praise to women that don’t always get praised.”

This event by, for and all about black women in Hollywood serves as a celebration of the successes these women have had and as inspiration to the women who will come after them.

Women of Color in Film and TV: Thoughts on ‘The Mindy Project’ and Other Screen Depictions of Indian Women

The Mindy Project

Guest post written by Martyna Przybysz.

I was born and bred in Poland, a country that has for years struggled to embrace foreign cultures, and despite its growing tolerance and diversity across all aspects of society, including mainstream media, you wouldn’t quite describe it as multicultural. Having gotten the film bug at a young age, and having a film buff for a father, I have been exposed to the World and European cinemas early. Yet the topic of cultural diversity never as much as brushed upon the surface of mine and my peers’ discussions on film. Yes, there was Almodovar, and… there was Almodovar. It wasn’t until I have moved to the UK, back in 2005 that the term “ethnic minority” was first made known to me. Few years on, and I started flirting with the idea of joining the media industry. And this is when I realised that – despite an ever-present and rather obvious diversity of women in the world as such, as well as the labor market – the lack of women of varied ethnic backgrounds in the media, be it on screen or behind it, was striking. The Asian women being one of the under-represented groups.

Gurinder Chadha’s It’s a Wonderful Afterlife

The first year of my film studies was also the time of assimilation into a multiracial society, and the time when I was introduced to the insightful work of Gurinder Chadha, a British director of Indian-Kenyan origin. Chadha is known for her work depicting the lives of Indians, and more specifically, Indian women residing in the UK. Her films – such as my absolute favourite Bhaji on the Beach, and widely recognized Bend it Like Beckham – have not only focused on young South Asian women and the dilemmas they faced, confronted with what is expected of them by their community, but most importantly, they explored the topic of female bonding and intergenerational ties.

The women of Monsoon Wedding, directed by Mira Nair

The above topics were also being discussed in parallel by Indian director Mira Nair. There was the exploration of the implications that being in an interracial relationship in the ’90s America comes with, in Mississippi Masala, as well as that of secrets and conflict in a multigenerational Indian family in Monsoon Wedding. Nair and Chadha offered me a unique opportunity to explore their amazing and colorful culture, that I have otherwise wouldn’t be able to get to know so closely. But what I most liked about the work of these two women of South Asian origin, was the very first thing I appreciate in female-directed films in general: the fact that they focus on female characters and do not shy away from exposing and exploring their flaws.

Fast forward to 2012 and along came Mindy Lahiri. Or rather Vera Chokalingam, known to all by her stage name, Mindy Kaling. I know that Mindy was widely recognized way before The Mindy Project from The Office and I know that its devotees will want to assail me for this, but… I haven’t seen a single episode! But judging by her excellent writing and acting in her auteur project – I am sure that she was flawless.

Truth be told, I only discovered Kaling last year, upon my first trip to the U.S. in Autumn 2012. Hoping for an easy plane read, I bought her book Is Everyone Hanging Out Without Me? (and other concerns) and I was not disappointed. Mindy’s writing is light, funny, and with just the right amount of self-deprecation. And so is her show.

#themindyproject

Having gotten to know Mindy ‘the creator’, Mindy ‘the product of thus creation’ didn’t come as a surprise to me. She’s quirky, a bit ditzy, could easily pass as innocent, and definitely as naïve, and she is not particularly self-critical (take the latest episode’s taxi cab commercial featuring Dr Lahiri dressed in a dog’s costume and conversing with a puppet named Erica, the same commercial that gets her the highest ‘P’ rating, meaning ‘pity rating’).

“I just need to ride out this minor humiliation until I find my Kanye.”

Most of all of – Mindy is an extremely likable character. Despite her naivety, she is a smart and ambitious woman, finding fulfillment in her career, and yes, despite occasional bumps here and there in relation to men, she does value herself, which is a very powerful message on its own.

“It’s so weird being my own role model.”

Mindy’s career is not a topic yet discussed in depth – much of the in-work plot evolves around her competing with the two male doctors at her practice, or more recently, two male midwives from a rival practice – but her love life can be summarised in one phrase, that goes something like “the endless pursuit of romance.” As the show progresses, we discover that this is not all that Mindy is about. She values friendships, and yes, to our awe, she does value her patients in a completely selfless way (take episode 15 “Mindy’s Minute” as an example of her good-doctor attitude).

A majority of feminist statements made in the show have nothing to do with race. Similarly to Hannah from Girls, she is a full-figured lady, unobnoxiously proud of it (she wears dresses that accentuate her figure but rarely reveals her cleavage), and very much aware of it. She refers to herself in a belittling manner on a number of occasions, such as in episode one when she answers her phone on a date saying, “Do you know how difficult it is for a chubby 31-year-old woman to go on a legit date with a guy who majored in economics at Duke?.” So, there is a healthy dose of self-awareness. Or is there? I forever struggle with the concept of weight and bodily image of women on screen – the general consensus, according to the media, is that thin equals beautiful. Therefore it is always so ‘refreshing’ and ‘bold’ to see a ‘bigger’ female character on screen. I simply find those statements annoying. I dream of a day when any woman on screen will be considered beautiful for her individual qualities and features, rather than being seen and described as ‘something’ in comparison to ‘something else’.

Going back to the Indian culture – as already established, Mindy approaches everything with self-deprecating humour, like in the latest episode, when offered an opportunity to present medical news in her new pitiful persona (see: paragraph six), she fatastises of this being the beginning of her celebrity doctor dream coming true, and says to her co-workers “can you guys believe it… me, the child of immigrants…”. I mean, you gotta laugh. There is, however, a thin line between mocking one’s own culture and playing on the well-known stereotypes like Kaling, and overdoing it, like in New Girl, where Schmidt’s obsession for Cece’s ethnicity goes beyond tasteful at times. Mindy’s ethnicity does not really matter to her or the viewer, unless it is convenient for her to play with it in a stereotypical way (like when she makes authoritative statements about how Black guys love Indian women), which in my opinion, she does with a comedic grace.

Nonetheless, the former show touches upon such issues as arranged marriage and the compromises that Asian women must make in order to remain in good graces of their family. With Mindy, on the other hand, we never really learn much about her family, or what was expected of her, but the sole fact that she is a doctor, and expects her brother to become an educated professional himself, brings us back to the “child of immigrants” syndrome. Maybe because she is already so Westernised there is nothing to really rebel against, and the cultural aspect falls to the background. Nothing that Mindy does bends the rules quite as much as what Jesminder did in Bend it Like Beckham, but then, the times have changed.

Mindy Kaling as Mindy Lahiri

Mindy Kaling is the creator of The Mindy Project, as well as the main writer on the show. There is no question that she’s witty, talented, utterly adorable, and challenges, however subtly, some most common cultural stereotypes ingrained in the audiences’ minds by the media. It is not a show for everyone, for sure. But it is an entertaining show, that can find its audience amongst both, men and women.

Let’s face it, we love quirky and goofy characters. Deep down we all hope we are more adorable than pitiful when we find ourselves in embarrassing situations. Does it matter then what colour/ethinicty/gender the characters are? And if we say that it doesn’t, why aren’t there more female Indian protagonists like Mindy Lahiri on the big and small screen? And how is this astounding imbalance a reflection of the melting pot that our society is today? That is beyond me. And so the debate continues.

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Martyna is a Pole living in London, UK. She works in media and the arts. A sucker for portrait photography and a salted caramel cheesecake. This is her blog: http://martynaprzybysz.tumblr.com.

Women of Color in Film and TV Week: A Girl Struggles to Survive Her Chaotic Homelife in ‘Yelling to the Sky’

Written by Megan Kearns.

Yelling to the Skystruck a visceral chord with me. I related to it in a way I often don’t with films. I’m not a biracial woman growing up impoverished, who turns to selling drugs as a means of survival. But I grew up with an absent father and a single mother struggling with mental illness, feeling trapped by my surroundings, desperate to break free.

All the actors give stellar performances in this emotionally raw and gritty film. Zoe Kravitz in particular captivates with a nuanced, powerful performance as the smart, struggling Sweetness O’Hara, trying to survive in a whirlwind of turmoil. Sweetness and her older sister live in a troubled home with unstable, unreliable parents: their white father, an alcoholic and their African-American mother who suffers from mental illness.

Yelling to the Sky opens with a jarring scene. Sweetness is getting bullied and beaten up in the street by her classmates. Latonya (Gabourey Sidibe) taunts her for the lightness of her skin and her biracial heritage – briefly raising complex issues of race and colorism. But she’s rescued by her older sister Ola (Antonique Smith in a scene-stealing powerhouse performance) who we see, as the camera eventually pans out, is very pregnant. This juxtaposition of a brawling pregnant woman, a fiercely protective sister, makes an interesting commentary on our expectations of gender.

Sweetness’ unpredictable father Gordon (Jason Clarke) vacillates between affectionate charisma and volatile violence and rage. He verbally and physically abuses every woman in the household. He tries to make amends for his deplorable parenting later in the film. But since he’s caused so much trauma, it might be too late for forgiveness.

Unfortunately, we never really learn about Sweetness’ mother Lorene (Yolanda Ross) who seems numbed by medication and/or depression beyond Sweetness asking if she was hospitalized in a mental institution when she “went away.” I wish the film had explored more of their relationship.

While I was disappointed the film didn’t explore mother-daughter relationships, it does show the bonds of sisterhood. The relationship between Sweetness and Ola is my favorite part of the film. We see the girls joke, play, challenge and comfort one another. Both rely on one other for support. Ola leaves home to live with her boyfriend, leaving Sweetness to fend for herself alone. But she’s not the only one trapped. Months later, Ola must return home with her baby, now a single mother. Her dreams of escape nothing but nebulous memories.

Yelling to the Skyis a searing portrayal of one girl’s pain. Of her frustration at being confined and trapped in a world not her choosing. Sweetness doesn’t focus on her education or her future. She deals with the immediacy of her pain. She starts selling drugs as a way to make money. She numbs herself with drugs, alcohol and surrounding herself with a cadre of bullies and drug dealers. Sweetness desperately yearns to escape. But where to? Where can she go?

Mahoney said she wanted to evoke feelings of claustrophobia when Sweetness spent time at home. And she succeeds beautifully. You feel just as trapped as Sweetness, chained by loneliness, fear and desperation. When she’s out in the streets, it feels frenetic with drunken stupors, drive-by shootings and drug deals gone wrong.

Zoe Kravitz as Sweetness O’Hara in Yelling to the Sky

Is the film perfect? No it definitely falters at times. I wish we had learned more about each of the characters. It feels very much like a snapshot, a voyeuristic peek through the window into their messy and complicated lives. Just when you’re lured in, the window abruptly closes. But the biggest flaw? I wish it had more deeply explored the issue of race without resorting to stereotypes.

A painful history of colorism and skin shade hierarchy— dark vs. light skin — exists amongst black women. When the media portrays black women, we often see women with lighter skin, straighter hair and more Caucasian features. Both L’Orealand Ellephotoshopped black to make their skin appear much lighter. The media often whitewashes black women, continually perpetuating the unachievable attainment of the white ideal of beauty. “The myth of black beauty” and the preference for lighter black skin can be traced back to slavery.

While light-skinned biracial and black women possess privilege, they may also face a backlash and be deemed not “black enough.” While the jarring opening scene of Yelling to the Sky certainly alludes to this, it is never explored further. Instead, the film resorts to racial stereotypes: “dark(er)-skinned black people are mean and like to victimize light(er)-skinned black people,” “girls/teenagers/women who are “authentically” black are bad” and “interracial relationships are dysfunctional.”

I cringed seeing Sidibe depicted as the dark-skinned, mean, overweight bully terrorizing a lighter-skinned petite girl. When the roles reverse and Sweetness beats the shit out of Latonya, I get the sense that it should feel like vindication for her earlier torment. But it feels empty and hollow. But maybe that’s the point, that retribution and violence are empty and hollow. As this is a semi-autobiographical film, perhaps these circumstances transpired in writer/director Victoria Mahoney’s own life, especially as she’s a biracial woman. But as these racial stereotypes occur over and over in media, it would have been great to have them deconstructed or not appear at all.

We don’t see enough female protagonists, women of color in film or female filmmakers of color. We don’t see enough films exploring issues of gender and race. And we should. In an interview, Mahoney (a promising new filmmaker who is certainly one to watch) shared her inspiration for the film:

“Stemming from my teenage obsession with Chekov’s Three Sisters and a connection to the theme of “manufacturing illusions in order to sustain day to day life.” I related on a gut level to the notion of joy and opportunity, existing elsewhere while in the same breadth knowing it was a lie. The illusion of “one day it’ll be different” is what kept me alive and smashing that illusion might’ve been my death. Putting this film out is important because (yet another generation of) young people are facing the exact same isolation, confusion, neglect, inquiry, desire, and heartache. All these years later, there’s little to no progress or solution. Adults have become freakishly focused on ‘self’, so much so, that we’re failing our responsibilities to participate and aid in the development and advancement of young people’s spiritual and intellectual growth.”

This is what I related to and why I’m so thankful for Yelling to the Sky. I may be a white woman and I may not have made the same choices Sweetness made, but it showed me I wasn’t alone. It felt cathartic watching.

My childhood existed of treacherous terrain to navigate. My mother was preoccupied by her own problems. I never knew what I was walking into when I went home. So I focused on the future. I clung to the hope that one day things would be different. That was the sole reason I survived. It’s the one thing that kept me going. While my mind was fixated on the future, my actions were grounded in the present. Like Sweetness, I skipped classes and almost didn’t graduate high school for I wanted to numb my pain. It’s this delicate dance of present angst and future hopes that Mahoney captures so well.

Sure, some people may find Yelling to the Sky bleak or hopeless. It’s heartbreaking to watch Sweetness spiral out of control. Sweetness clamors to escape, to break free. Yet there’s nowhere to go. Echoing real-life, the film ends with ambiguity and uncertainty. You don’t know how her life will turn out. Sweetness’ story – her struggle to survive amidst the chaos swirling around her, desperate to cling to any semblance of community – is one worth telling. And it’s one we don’t see often enough.