Bitch Flicks – Page 95 – The radical notion that women like good movies

Angry or Complicated?: Misrecognizing Black Women

At best, the White Gaze can be challenged on Twitter (see: #lessclassicallybeautiful); at worst, it can get you killed (see: Michael Brown, Eric Garner, Ezell Ford, Renisha McBride, Trayvon Martin). And for black women, in particular, our complex experiences disappear in the crossroads of intersectional oppression. Where racism and sexism meet, we fall through the cracks.

This guest post by Janell Hobson previously appeared at the Ms. Blog and is cross-posted with permission.

Anyone who may have seen interviews with Shonda Rhimes, read her forthright speech on diversity on television, or watched her hit TV show Scandal, would not recognize her in Alessandra Stanley’s description of an “angry black woman.”

It would be easy, actually, to become an “angry black woman” after reading Stanley’s New York Times review, but what such descriptors ultimately reveal is how certain critics fall back on readily available stereotypes and misrecognize the complexities of black womanhood.

Rhimes has rightly been lauded for bringing much nuance to her portrayals of black female characters in her television shows: the brilliant and assertive Dr. Miranda Bailey on Grey’s Anatomy, the ultra competent but vulnerable, wine-guzzling Olivia Pope on Scandal, and now the take-charge but flawed Annalise Keating in the new murder mystery, How to Get Away with Murder. Such characters have demonstrated a wide array of emotions on screen. Yet, Stanley reduced them all to “Angry Black Women.”

Chandra Wilson as Miranda Bailey on Grey's Anatomy — Chandra Wilson as Miranda Bailey on *Grey’s Anatomy*

In her clumsy attempts at praising Rhimes for enabling more complicated portrayals of black womanhood, Stanley revealed the often difficult task of transcending the White Gaze, which has a long history of racial distortion and misrecognition. “Confidence” or any behavior not characterized as servile from a black woman becomes “angry” and “scary.”

These distortions often manifest in other ways too, so that dark-skinned Viola Davis becomes “less classically beautiful” and “menacing” in her sexiness, and Nicole Beharie, who stars in the Fox TV show Sleepy Hollow, is reduced to a “sidekick.” Even when these women land leading roles in their respective TV shows, Stanley reduces their star power (through looks or character status). No wonder, then, when black women assert themselves, appear confident, or fail to merely be “of service,” they can only become the “Angry Black Woman.”

Kerri Washington as Olivia Pope on Scandal — Kerry Washington as Olivia Pope on *Scandal*

This is why so many have been eagerly awaiting Shonda Rhimes’ latest drama to arrive at Shondaland. We know she will feature shows that reinforce black women’s humanity.

In a culture where Janay Rice‘s suffering at the hands of her husband, Ray Rice, was only believed once her privacy was breached by TMZ’s release of a video illustrating her husband’s violence—and not when earlier video showed him dragging her out of an elevator, which merely prompted conversations that she must have “deserved” his treatment (i.e. a black woman’s “anger” instigates domestic violence)—and in a society where Oklahoma City police officer Daniel Holtzclaw can have his bail reduced when he is accused of raping and sexually assaulting eight black women, the “Angry Black Woman” trope makes it difficult to view these women as “victims.”

And even when black women’s bodies become the site on which national outrage and public conversations emerge to address problems such as domestic and intimate partner violence, they are still excluded from the table, as occurred when the NFL’s attempts to form an advisement panel—in the wake of the Ray Rice scandal—failed to include women of color. If we are not readily recognized as “victims,” we are also not recognized as “experts” or sources of knowledge and wisdom. And when we complain of this unfair treatment, we once again become “Angry Black Women.”

Viola Davis as Annalise Keating in How to Get Away with Murder — Viola Davis as Annalise Keating on *How to Get Away with Murder*

Of course the media landscape does not have sole power to transform our society and change what ails us. However, media normalizes concepts of race and gender, and any portrayals that advance our humanity can help us unpack our assumptions and challenge the racialized and gendered gazes that we bring to such images.

Will we recognize complex characters when we see them? Or will we resort to convenient stereotypes, as Stanley did in her review? And I don’t wish to only single out this one New York Times writer. Recently, advertisements for Fox’s new TV show Red Band Society, featuring Octavia Spencer as Nurse Jackson, described her as a “scary bitch“; they were eventually pulled from Los Angeles public buses after complaints from community members. Obviously, this rush to stereotype manifests not only in the pages of a widely read newspaper.

We need more diverse stories and more complex characters and images of black womanhood in media. But more than that: We need viewers to push themselves to interpret what they see on screen beyond recognizable stereotypes.

Octavia Spencer in one of the "scary bitch" ads for Red Band Society — Octavia Spencer in one of the “scary bitch” ads for *Red Band Society*

Fortunately, Rhimes has led the way. It’s time the rest of us learn to complicate our views.

Janell Hobson is an associate professor of Women’s, Gender and Sexuality Studies at the University at Albany, State University of New York. She is the author of Body as Evidence: Mediating Race, Globalizing Gender and Venus in the Dark: Blackness and Beauty in Popular Culture, and a frequent contributor to Ms.

Is ‘Glee’ The Rachel Berry Show? (The Answer May be Kind of)

‘Glee’ was set in Lima, and then it was set in Lima and New York, and then it was set in New York, and now, for its final, thirteen-episode season, it’s moving back to Lima. The most important thing, though, is that it’s finally going to end.

Written by Katherine Murray.

Glee was set in Lima, and then it was set in Lima and New York, and then it was set in New York, and now, for its final, 13-episode season, it’s moving back to Lima. The most important thing, though, is that it’s finally going to end.

Glee has been on for five seasons, and there was no point during that time when it knew when it was trying to be. Originally conceived of as a cynical indie film, the TV show version of Glee became a mishmash of voices, depending on who was writing each episode, and it swung from satire to saccharine, comedy to drama, genuine insight to whatever the hell “Shooting Star” was supposed to be on a regular basis.

Glee has never known what it’s trying to be, but the question really got called at the end of season three, when most of the main characters were due to graduate high school. At that point, somebody had to decide: is Glee a show about a high school glee club, or is it a show about particular characters, whom we can follow after they step outside high school?

Unsurprisingly, perhaps, the answer was still “I don’t know.”

The next one and a half seasons were split between the fictional high school, stationed in Lima, and a fictional performing arts school in New York, where most of the graduating characters happened to go. The New York plot line (eventually) featured three of the characters who had anchored the show during the first three seasons – heterosexual diva Rachel Berry, martyred gay man Kurt, and razor-tongued lesbian Santana.

In a slightly aged-up version of Fame, the characters lived and worked in New York, while Rachel and Kurt attended the fictional arts school, and they dealt with young-adult problems, like how to make long-distance relationships work, how to choose between competing opportunities, and how to deal with setbacks and disappointment. Adam Lambert was also there, for some reason.

Back in Lima, the B-team was still going to high school, and high school was full of new characters… who not-so-cleverly stepped in to fill the exact same roles as the old characters who’d left. Only, they had less distinct personalities, because no one is going to own the role of “The New Rachel” the way Lea Michele owns Rachel, and no one is going to be the new Kurt.

Part of Glee’s success came from its original casting decisions. The role of Rachel was written with Lea Michele in mind, and Kurt was created for Chris Colfer, after he auditioned for another part. Naya Rivera and Heather Morris (Santana and her on-again-off-again girlfriend, Brittany) were originally cast in small roles that got bigger once it became clear that their delivery was turning the characters into fan favorites. None of the characters added late in the series – except, arguably, Kurt’s boyfriend, Blaine – have made such a strong impression.

It’s understandable that the producers would want to keep Lea Michele, Chris Colfer, and some of their other rapidly aging stars. The problem is that Glee was never framed as a story about particular people; it was framed as a story about the high school experience.

Shows that start out in high school typically have a rocky transition once the characters graduate. The ones that manage it best are the ones that are focused on particular people who happen to be in high school, rather than high schools who happen to have people in them.

Buffy: The Vampire Slayer, for example, followed its main character from high school to college, and then from college to normal adulthood. The series was never about Sunnydale High – it was about the girl who killed vampires there. Similarly, Veronica Mars managed a slightly less graceful, but still pretty good transition to college, since the series was more about Veronica being a private detective than it was about Neptune High.

The way that Glee was framed and presented, during its first three seasons, it was mostly a show about high school. Rachel Berry was the lead character, but the focus of the show was the high school glee club and its power to transform the lives of students (by literally making them good singers as soon as they stepped inside the choir room, without any practice or training – I digress). The point of the show was that there were multiple journeys of personal discovery, and they were all united by the glee club.

Fame 2.0, in New York, was arguably a better show than Glee, but it wasn’t Glee, and, as we cut back and forth between the two shows, for one and a half seasons, it eventually became clear that someone was going to have to make a choice about which show to pour production resources into.

Someone chose New York.

The last half (or thereabout) of season five dumped the high school story line completely and moved everyone interesting – mostly characters who were introduced during the first three seasons – to New York on a permanent basis. The only strong character who didn’t move there was Coach Sylvester, played by Jane Lynch, but she came by to visit when she wasn’t hosting Hollywood Game Night. It was the right decision in terms of making a show that was good, but it was the wrong decision in terms of making a show that was Glee.

And, now the show is moving back to Lima for its final season. And its characters are now people who keep hanging around their old high school after they’ve already graduated.

The boldest, riskiest decision that Glee could have made two years ago would have been to dump its existing characters and try to create the same magic with an incoming cast. But that’s not the world we live in.

Instead, Glee has become a hybrid of High School Choir Show, and The Rachel Berry Show, with Rachel (who is still the series’ most recognizable character) tethered to her high school for the rest of her life, in order that the series may exist. In season six, she’ll return to McKinley High – along with lots of her friends – as the new coach of the glee club. It’s sort of like when Buffy became a “counselor” at her high school, during the last and worst season, just so the action could take place on site.

Rachel’s story – which mirrors the story of many of the characters on Glee – was that she wasn’t pretty, and she wasn’t popular, and people threw ice in her face, but she knew, deep down in her heart, that she could be somebody special. That all she had to do was believe in herself, and keep pushing, and trust that one day she’d get the brass ring. Unfortunately for her, Glee loved her so much that the show clipped her wings to stop her from flying away.

Her story is now (spoilers say) that she “failed” in chasing her dreams, and has become a music teacher, like the series’ other failed dreamer, Mr. Shue. If Rachel wanted to be a teacher because she loved it, that would be different, but her only consistent motivation, over the past five years, has been wanting to be a star – something that the show has alternately criticized and rewarded her for at different times.

The truth is that Glee has always been partly The Story of Rachel, and the stakes have always been partly about whether or not she can triumph, despite having been unpopular when she was sixteen. At heart, it’s an underdog story, where (rightly or wrongly) she is the principle underdog, and we’re led to believe that her suffering will be redeemed because she turns out to be special.

The fact that Rachel now, literally, cannot leave high school behind just reinforces one of the most troubling messages Glee has produced – that the person you are at 16 is the person you have to be, always. That you’d better embrace that person and sing a song about her, because any kind of change or growth is inauthentic.

An essential part of growing up is letting go, and learning to leave the past, whether good or bad, behind. It’s a tragedy if Rachel stays trapped in high school, either because it was the best time in her life (like Mr. Shue), or because it always haunts her as the worst.

The only hope I have for season six is that it somehow involves letting Rachel go free. After hate-watching this thing for five years, though, I’m also just glad it will end.

The final season of Glee is set to air in 2015.

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

‘Sin City: A Dame to Kill For’ Review

There is so much violence both toward men and women in the movie, but it is so over the top that teamed with the beautiful highly stylized cinematography it is hard to take seriously. This time around, the world of Sin City has a very ethereal dream-like quality that tempers its grittiness a little.

If you are thinking that it’s been a long time since the first Sin City movie came out, you would be right. It first hit the screen in 2005, meaning it has nearly been a full decade before they have graced us with the sequel. A lot has happened in nine years; Brittany Murphy, who was in the original, passed away under mysterious circumstances. Devon Aioki’s brief reign as “Asian It Girl” has faded from our memories and people like Clive Owen and Josh Hartnett have found better things to do.

Despite myself I loved the first Sin City and on re-watching it I still do. I know it is deeply problematic–the lack of agency of the women in the movie, their constant portrayal as victims who must be rescued by big tough violent men, and their overt objectification are all things that drive me nuts. The movie isn’t particularly kind to men either, the vast majority of whom are portrayed as greedy, callous, vicious lechers. Even the good guys are mostly anti-heroes. Overall however, the snappy dialogue and visually interesting hyper-stylized cinematography captured me, and I couldn’t help but love the sex workers of Old Town. They are tough broads, ruled over by Gail played by Rosario Dawson, who live the way they choose, selling what they want and organizing and running their own turf where not even the dirty cops of Sin City can enter without their permission. If there is going to be a third Sin City movie, can it please center on the sex workers of Old Town? I feel like there could be many interesting stories to be told there.

Unfortunately Sin City: A Dame to Kill For woefully underutilizes the prodigious talents of Dawson. There are two core female characters: firstly, Ava Lord, played by Eva Green, who is the titular “dame to kill for” and Nancy Callahan, with Jessica Alba reprising her role from the first movie. Both women, unsurprisingly (this is Frank Miller after all) are highly sexualized. Nancy still works as a dancer at the diner although she is no longer as wholesome as she once was having developed a drinking problem and dreams of revenge following the death of detective Hartigan. Ava on the other hand is a classic femme fatale who uses her body and Dwight’s complete intoxication with her to further her own murderous ends.

One could argue that there are some positives for women’s representation compared to the first movie. Nancy is no longer a passive victim; she turns herself into an avenging demoness in a very dramatic transformation scene and with the help of Marv manages to finally take out the overarching villain of both movies (something no man has ever been able to do despite plenty of trying). I think the whole Joseph Gordon Levitt storyline exists purely to illustrate just how untouchable Roark is and yet there he is, killed by little old Nancy Callahan, former victim of his son and current exotic dancer in the very diner where he plays his high-stakes poker games.

Ava Lord manages to manipulate all the men around her to get exactly what she wants by pretending to be what they want her to be–a fragile woman who needs rescuing from her terribly sad life, someone who needs to be protected from the filth of Sin City. Eva Green is masterful in her handling of the material and manages to bring tonality to what would otherwise be a two-dimensional caricature of a traditional noir vixen. Ava Lord is a woman who is tired of living in a man’s world and so seeks to carve out a place of her own in it through any means necessary. She is also pretty twisted and appears to take much pleasure in the pain of others and is eventually punished for her sins. As far as wicked women go I’m pretty OK with Ava Lord.

We can all agree that Frank Miller is a misogynist toad, but I think Robert Rodriguez has managed to interpret the source material in a way that is not terrible, helped at least in part by his excellent casting decisions. It’s definitely not going to win “most feminist movie of the year,” but for a big budget action movie, a genre that is notoriously terrible for the ways in which it depicts women, I found it to be pretty watchable.

Trans* Women and the Horror of Misrepresentation

Felissa Rose as Angela Baker in Sleepaway Camp — Felissa Rose as Angela Baker in *Sleepaway Camp*

This guest post by BJ Colangelo previously appeared at her blog Day of the Woman and is cross-posted with permission.

While women (especially women of color) are constantly misrepresented, the trans* woman is without a doubt the most misrepresented minority group in existence. The horror genre frequently comes under fire for its formulaic uses of tropes and characters, and the “mentally ill trans* woman/psycho killer” is one we should really stop using. (NOTE: The asterisk at the end of “trans” is an umbrella term to encompass all non-cisgender gender identities including: transgender, transsexual, transvestite, genderqueer, genderfluid, non-binary, genderfuck, genderless, agender, non-gendered, third gender, two-spirit, bigender, and trans man and trans woman.)

The first thing that needs to be addressed is the depressing use of trans* women or cross dressers in horror and the fact filmmakers are treating the two like they’re interchangeable. For example: Norman Bates in Psycho may lose his cool and dress like his mother when he kills someone, but that doesn’t make him a trans* woman. However, Angela Baker in Sleepaway Camp is revealed as having male anatomy but then returns years later in the sequels happily living and identifying as a woman. I’d make the argument that Angela Baker is a trans* woman. Buffalo Bill in The Silence of the Lambs wanted to be a woman, I’d consider him a trans* woman, while The Bride in Black from Insidious and Insidious 2 may have been struggling from an identity crisis caused by the years of abuse inflicted on him by his mother. It’s difficult to tell whether The Bride in Black wanted to castrate himself because he truly wanted to be a woman, or if it meant his mother would finally love him. That’s a complex issue and one that could easily constitute its own article.

Origin of The Black Bride in Insidious 2 (see: boy in a dress)

Mey Valdivia Rude is a trans* woman and contributing editor/author to Autostraddle who recently covered this very topic with an incredible article titled “Who’s Afraid Of The Big, Bad Trans* Woman? On Horror and Transfemininity.” Her article is highly informative, but it is her experiences as a trans* person and a horror fan that are truly telling of the impact film has on its audiences. In describing her theatrical experience watching Insidious 2 she states:

As the movie was ending, I sank down into my seat, hoping that no one would notice that I was trans*. I was afraid that if someone realized I was trans*, they might make the connection between me and the serial-killer-turned-ghost in the movie. After all, if you don’t know me, you might see me and (incorrectly) think that I’m just some man who is dressed up like a woman. According to the filmmakers behind Insidious Chapter 2, that makes me creepy, insane and dangerous.

When I think of women in horror films that I can identify with, I can respond with characters like the bodacious and brash Elvira, Mary from Hocus Pocus, and a handful of other sassy, independent women. For trans* women, they have motel owning serial killers, kidnapping lepidopterists, malicious ghosts, and slashers. Considering horror films are predominately made by men and the fact Western society heavily values men over women, it’s somewhat predictable that we’d have all of these “mentally ill” male characters dressing like women. Why would a man want to live as a woman? That’s just insane! Henry Lee Lucas was forced to dress like a girl when he was a kid, and look how he turned out! Mey Rude goes on in her article to say, “The same insanity that causes them to be transgender is the thing that causes them to become serial killers, and causes them to be seen as frightening.” It’s very difficult for the average cis-gendered male to understand what it feels like to misidentify with the gender their anatomy and society tells them they’re “supposed” to be. Film representation is very, very important. Think of it this way–if Jaws made people scared of the ocean and IT made people afraid of clowns, what sort of idea are we perpetuating about trans* women if they’re frequently shown as psychotic, violent, or perverted?

Buffalo Bill putting on lip makeup in THE SILENCE OF THE LAMBS — Buffalo Bill putting on lip makeup in *The Silence of the Lambs*

A recent study showcased that trans* people across the U.S. experience three times as much police violence as non-transgender individuals. Even more terrifying, when trans* gender people were the victims of hate crimes, 48 percent reported receiving mistreatment from the police when they went for help. These statistics are the true horrors. Mey Rude sums it up perfectly:

When people look to pop culture and see trans* women portrayed as dangerous impostors that they should be afraid of, they cease to see trans* women as people and start seeing them as monsters. In the fictional world of movies it may be the trans* women who are frightening and menacing killers, but in real life, those trans* women are far, far more likely to be the victims of horrific and violent murders.

To my knowledge, there is really only one horror movie that showcases trans* women in a positive light, and even then the film showcases drag queens…not trans* women. (Pro-tip, not all drag queens are trans* women and not all trans* women are drag queens.) Ticked-Off Trannies with Knives is a tongue-in-cheek rape revenge film meant to be an entertaining film of empowerment a la I Spit on Your Grave. GLAAD (Gay & Lesbian Alliance Against Defamation) protested the film at its original Tribeca screening, but opinions on the film are extremely polarized. Considering the somewhat cartoonish film is the only real positive representation trans* women have in horror, I can sympathize with the anger from the trans* community. At the end of the day, I can’t hate the player but I will hate the game. Hollywood (horror in particular) needs a makeover on its portrayal of trans* women, and fast.

Just picture Jamie Clayton as a Final Girl real quick. THAT is a film I want to see.

If horror were to take a page from the books of dramatic films like Dog Day Afternoon, Dallas Buyers Club, or even the smash hit TV series Orange Is the New Black, we can start showcasing trans* women as actual people with feelings and complex thoughts and not just an easy way to tell an audience “this guy is supposed to be a weirdo, so we put him in a dress.” There are amazing trans* women actresses, and they would be amazing additions to the female horror cannon as much more than a punch line or a quick villain. Laverne Cox, Harmony Santana, Jamie Clayton, and Candis Cayne are just a few working actresses that would completely dominate in the horror world. Trans* women deserve proper representation in horror, and it’s about time someone does something about it.

BJ Colangelo is the woman behind the keyboard for “Day of the Woman: A blog for the feminine side of fear” and a contributing writer for Icons of Fright. She’s been published in books, magazines, numerous online publications, all while frantically applying for day jobs. She’s a recovering former child beauty queen and a die-hard horror fanatic. You can follow her on Twitter at @BJColangelo.

‘The Skeleton Twins’: Suicidal Siblings

The recommended treatment for attempted suicide in this film seems to be, “Give up your apartment and move across the country to live with a family member you haven’t spoken to for ten years. And whatever you do, don’t get any therapy!” Of course if these characters were introduced to a good therapist, just as when one particularly troubled character in ‘Cold Comfort Farm’ was, we wouldn’t have a movie–which maybe wouldn’t be such a bad thing.

When I was a kid, adults (who had no idea I would grow up to be queer) would talk about how gay men killed themselves once they reached a certain age. The adults acted as if they were talking about some strange species of animal featured on a National Geographic special instead of the people they (whether the adults acknowledged them or not) passed on the street and interacted with every day. The “queers commit suicide” trope was a film staple, one that Vito Russo denounced in The Celluloid Closet and shows up in clips from the documentary of the same name. Now that openly queer people (sometimes) get to write and direct their own films, the trope comes full circle with The Skeleton Twins, directed by out gay man Craig Johnson (who also wrote the script with Mark Heyman), which begins with a gay character (Milo, played by Bill Hader) turning the volume all the way up on Blondie’s “Denis“ in his Los Angeles apartment just before he gets into the bathtub and slits his wrists (cinematographer Reed Morano does a great job in this scene as well as the rest of the film).

We see Milo’s estranged twin sister, Maggie (Kristen Wiig), about to swallow a potentially fatal handful of pills when her disconcertingly cheery ringtone interrupts. The hospital is calling to inform her of Milo’s suicide attempt. So, in the manner of middling scripts through the ages, a character, Maggie, is able to take an unspecified time off work (with no notice), book a last minute flight across the country, invite her brother to recuperate at her home in upstate New York, then spring for an extra plane ticket for him. No one, not the hospital, nor later, her mother or husband seem in the least concerned that Milo could try to kill himself again, or that a suicide attempt is a symptom of an illness which should be treated to prevent the person from dying after a fresh, successful attempt.

The recommended treatment for attempted suicide in this film seems to be “Give up your apartment and move across the country to live with a family member you haven’t spoken to for 10 years. And whatever you do, don’t get any therapy!” Of course if these characters were introduced to a good therapist, just as when one particularly troubled character in Cold Comfort Farm was, we wouldn’t have a movie–which maybe wouldn’t be such a bad thing.

Twins’ Milo and Maggie appear to come from a working-class background. Maggie is a dental hygienist (which requires training but not a four-year college degree) and Milo seems to have skipped college to try to become a “famous actor” in Los Angeles. Later we find out Milo’s childhood bully now works as an electrician. But neither Hader and especially not Wiig act or speak like the working class members of my own family or anyone else’s–though Wiig’s self tan, which makes her look as if she were rubbed with the shavings of a burnt-sienna crayon, makes her resemble some working class folks I know. Luke Wilson, on the other hand, is hilariously natural as Lance, Maggie’s good-natured, good-looking, but not terribly bright, blue-collar husband. When he announces he and Maggie are trying to have kids. Milo says,”I can’t wait to be the creepy gay uncle.”

Lance answers,”You’re hired!”

Another trope that appears in the film is: all the siblings’ problems (even their father’s suicide!) seems to be the fault of their mother (Joanna Gleason in a brief, badly written, poorly conceived role) whom we see having dinner with her children. Again, the mother’s New Age leanings as well as the home she maintains in Sedona plus the ability to jet across the country for a meditation retreat are usually the provenance of the middle class and the wealthy, so the working class status of the family seems tacked-on.

Wiig has some nice moments outside of her comic rapport with Hader (all their best scenes are in the trailer) but she’s miscast. A person with this much to hide would probably present a sunnier facade to the world, the way politicians with draconian platforms cultivate a “friendly” persona. And the script doesn’t do Wiig any favors, calling on her character to smash a fish tank in not one, but two separate scenes to show her state of mind.

Hader plays his queeny character convincingly (though perhaps not as skillfully as an out queer actor would), but Milo seems to have had pretty much no life during the 10 years he was estranged from Maggie (the decade seems to correspond with how long the characters have been out of high school–but Wiig is 41 and Hader is 36, which adds to the film’s dissonance). We see in Milo’s apartment at the beginning a tank of goldfish and a photo presumably with an ex and those two items are the sum of the years the twins have been separated. Maggie, has, on the other hand, acquired a steady job, a house, a husband, and a history.

The characters have a way of joking in a “just kidding (but not really)” way that frustrated people use to blow off steam, but the script doesn’t really explore this dynamic. When Milo is reading Marley and Me he asks his sister if she’s read it and she tells him she has and found it “sad.” He asks why and she says, “You don’t know what happens?”

“What? Does the dog die at the end? Look how much I had left,” Milo spits, motioning to a few chapters worth of pages at the end as he tosses the book aside. He later tells her he knew all along that the dog died.

The jokes in the film are good, but there aren’t enough of them to carry the movie. They are disjointed, like skits (though they are better than the skits the two were in when they were both on Saturday Night Live), instead of a language the two siblings use to communicate with one another. We don’t need to know every detail of adult siblings’ background to believe in the characters bond and relationship: You Can Count On Me made Laura Linney and Mark Ruffalo’s brother/sister pair seem real, even though we didn’t learn much about their shared past and Linney and Ruffalo, like Wiig and Hader, look nothing alike. The scene in which Maggie confesses to Milo she is cheating on her husband is very much like the (superior) one in which Linney’s character tells Ruffalo’s that she is sleeping with her married boss.

Skeleton piles on the tragedy, so it becomes ridiculous. Not only did their father kill himself, but their mother is an unfeeling bitch! And Milo’s teacher in high school sexually abused him! And both Milo and Maggie have more than one scene in which they try to kill themselves! Any one of these elements would have been enough to build a film around, but put together they become an unwitting joke, like the compounded tragedy (Incest! Dead best friend! Closeted football player boyfriend!) made The Perks of Being a Wallflower laughable in spite of some good main performances.

Skeleton Twins is the second film I’ve seen (Mysterious Skin was the first) in which a gay man says the adult man who had sex with him when he was underage is the love of his life. In Mysterious Skin this claim made a little more sense: the audience heard it as evidence of how screwed up Joseph Gordon-Levitt’s character was. In Twins we don’t get the sense that Milo’s affection for his abuser is anything he should suppress, and Milo’s feelings of love don’t ring true. As I’ve noted before, no matter how “in love” they thought they were, minors who have sex with their teachers usually see, when they grow up, the power imbalance and manipulation in the relationship they were too young to perceive when they were students. Milo has had no such epiphany and for that reason alone–even without the suicide attempt–he should be seeing a therapist.

Fresh Air‘s Terry Gross, when she interviewed Tina Fey a few years back, asked about Saturday Night Live‘s checkered history with its women cast members, and Fey countered by saying that a lot of women had great opportunities to showcase their talents on SNL–and not many chances to put that talent to use elsewhere after they left the show. Although former cast member Wiig had a hit with (and co-wrote) Bridesmaids, subsequent films (which she had no hand in writing) like this one seem to have little idea what to do with her. She and Hader were not only on Saturday Night Live together but appeared in minor roles as the couple who ran the amusement park in the underrated (pre-Bridesmaids) Adventureland and I couldn’t help wishing someone had made a film that starred those characters–or another pre-Bridesmaids Wiig character, the one in Drew Barrymore’s Whip It–instead of Milo and Maggie.

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

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

Finally! A TV Show That Handles Transgender Issues With Grace

Television, historically, has not been a welcoming place for transgender people. “Trans representation” has previously consisted mainly of male sitcom characters relating stories about dating women who turned out to be transgender, and then saying “Eww!”

Things are changing now, though, with the breakthrough success of Laverne Cox on ‘Orange is the New Black’ and now director Jill Soloway’s new half-hour dramedy ‘Transparent.’

This guest post by Leela Ginelle originally appeared at Bitch Media and is cross-posted with permission.

Things are changing now, though, with the breakthrough success of Laverne Cox on Orange is the New Black and now director Jill Soloway’s new half-hour dramedy Transparent. All eleven episodes of Transparent are available for binge-watching on Amazon today.

Transparent revolves around the Pfefferman family, made up of three adult children—housewife Sarah (Amy Landecker), record company professional Josh (Jay Duplass), and free spirit/lost child Ali (Gaby Hoffmann)—and their divorced parents, Jewish caricature Shelly (Judith Light) and wealthy near-retiree Mort (Jeffrey Tambor).

Nearly all the publicity that’s greeted the show since its pilot’s appearance in March has concerned its main plot point: father-figure Mort commences her transition, aligning her body with her female gender identity. The first episode handles this quite elegantly. Mort gathers the children to their childhood home but is unable to break the news to them. Later, we see Tambor, now named Maura, at an LGBT support group sharing a story about encountering micro-aggression level transphobia at a big box store when having to produce an ID for a judgmental clerk (bonus points for accuracy!). At the group, Maura also voices a combination of disappointment and bewilderment at the selfishness and self-absorption of her three children. It’s an appraisal the viewer might share.

Jeffrey Tambor, Jay Duplass, and Gaby Hoffman form an awkward family.

Throughout the pilot, Sarah, Josh and Ali all come off as extravagantly privileged, arrogant, and shallow. They speak exclusively in off-puttingly “clever” banter that’s either the result of overwritten dialogue or inadvisably preserved improv.

Critics often say viewers shouldn’t judge a show’s quality by its pilot because writers discover their characters’ voices and rhythms as they go. That may well be the case with Transparent. While the show deals with its central character’s identity very well, there’s certainly room for improvement when it comes to the rest of the family.

A central conceit of the pilot is that not just Maura, but all the characters have hidden sides of themselves. Throughout the pilot, we see each family pursue their hidden interests. Sarah, for instance, comes across a former girlfriend from college, rekindling a passion she’d long forgotten. Josh, who’s dating a super young, skinny blonde singer, is revealed to have a seemingly secret relationship with an older, bigger woman of color. Ali, for her part, seeks out a strict, militaristic personal trainer, and quickly establishes a kinky dynamic in their workouts.

These plots are all interesting and I can imagine them developing nicely throughout the first season, but the show’s pace feels a little slack in the pilot. The three children’s narcissism and the exemption them seem to enjoy from any of the stress that defines daily life for most people, makes their experiences appear trivial.

This isn’t true of Maura. The necessity of grappling with her gender transition lends gravity to her story. Likewise, her impatience with her offspring’s myopic behavior makes her a kind of audience surrogate.

Tambor is terrific in the part. While it might have been nice to see a trans woman in the role, the fact that Maura is just embarking on her transition mitigates any charges that Tambor, as a cis man, has “stolen” the part from a trans woman actress, in my view. Moreover, Soloway has spoken about hiring many trans crew members for the set, and trans actresses and actors for other parts throughout the season.

Tambor lends real pathos to the role, communicating Maura’s gentleness and offering glimpses of the pain she experiences living an authentic life in a culture where unconscious transphobia lingers and informs countless otherwise impersonal encounters.

I can imagine that as the siblings engage with the reality of their parent’s transition, they’ll experience an increased intimacy in areas of their own lives. Whether the viewer will find that journey compelling or not remains to be seen.

Like fellow female show creator Jenji Kohan (Orange is the New Black), Solloway organically constructs a world seen through women’s eyes. The show’s main male character, Josh, surrounds himself with women, and seems at home with his sisters, and, in one of his few lines of dialogue, Sarah’s husband Len declares, “I like lesbians.” Unlike in OITNB, however, this world seems untethered to reality. The characters swim in money derived from unnamed or farfetched sources (a wealthy, successful music executive in 2014?).

That Soloway’s cisgender characters feel the most unrealistic shows how successful she’s been at representing Maura’s trans experience. In interviews promoting her show, she’s stressed how important that is to her, and has walked the talk, correcting NPR anchor Arun Rath when the latter misgendered Maura, and used the term “transgendered.”

Transparent‘s motives and sensitivities are unimpeachable. Let’s hope its drama and pacing become that way, as well. If that happens, it will be a must-see series.

Leela Ginelle is a trans woman playwright and journalist whose work appears in PQ Monthly, Bitch, and the Advocate.

Three Reasons Why Feminists Should be Watching ‘Mom’

It’s no coincidence that ‘Mom’ drew the ire of One Million Moms, a conservative media watchdog group that seeks to eliminate immorality and vulgarity (their words) in entertainment. In an undated post titled “CBS Makes ‘Mom’ Look Bad,” the group called for moms to protest ‘Mom,’ pointing specifically to the show’s portrayal of mothering: “If possible, try to imagine the worst possible characteristics a mother could have. Then multiply that by ten….” The post listed numerous examples of what was deemed “unacceptable content” on ‘Mom,’ but I think it’s the show’s deliberate challenge to the new momism that really ticked off One Million Moms.

Mom features two strong female leads played by Anna Farris and Alison Janney — *Mom* features two strong female leads played by Anna Faris and Allison Janney

This is a guest post by Jessamyn Neuhaus.

I’m a feminist and I’ve loved television all my life. Now TV has finally started to love me back with some of the most interesting and intelligent female lead characters ever seen in any entertainment medium. But there’s still lots to loathe, with gold-digging hussies, hysterical bridezillas, and helpmeet housewives aplenty on TV.

So when a show—particularly a show on one of the elderly big three networks—gives us something better, we should pay attention. Mom, the latest sitcom spearheaded by longtime TV writer and producer Chuck Lorre, is something better. Featuring two strong female leads, this CBS show about Kristy (Anna Faris), a recently sober single mother of two who is rebuilding a relationship with her own negligent mother Bonnie (Allison Janney), is not a flawless feminist text. But for those of us who believe mainstream popular culture can be a place for both reinforcing and challenging gender stereotypes, there are at least three reasons to be watching when the second season of Mom begins on Oct. 30.

1. Allison Janney is perfect.

Lorre has an uneven record when it comes to his female characters. Roseanne and Grace Under Fire were high points, and I think we can all agree that Two and a Half Men is the lowest of the low points. Even Lorre’s best shows are characterized by an unabashed mainstream commercialism, so it’s not surprising that some aspects Mom are cookie-cutter mediocre sitcom.

For instance, TV’s version of “working class” is frequently cringeworthy and Mom is no exception. Lorre has gotten props for his blue collar characters, but on Mom, a single waitress (admittedly, at an upscale restaurant) with two children and sober for only six months can afford to rent a three-bedroom home in a safe neighborhood and provide her family with smart phones, laptops, video games, and Anthropologie bed linens. Sitcoms don’t set out to be “realistic” of course, but it’s jarring to see the supposedly broke family enjoying luxury consumer goods. Kristy also sports a haircut and color that costs more per month than many viewers’ rent or mortgage payments.

A working class single mother of two could never afford these bed linens. Just sayin.’

In addition, many of the men on Mom are rather shallowly drawn male caricatures, from the loveable high school stoner who impregnates Kristy’s daughter Violet, to the loveable stoner ex-husband who impregnated Kristy years ago, to the whiny married-to-a-battle-ax boss with whom Kristy has a brief affair.

Then there’s the widely panned laugh track. At this point, a laugh track (even if it’s ostensibly recorded live audience laughter) is more than outdated. It undermines the show’s comedic impact.

And finally: the fat suit Farris donned in “Sonograms and Tube Tops.” It’s offensive, and it’s also just not funny. Really. Not. Funny.

Mom’s not perfect. But Allison Janney is.

Not to say that Faris isn’t good too. She has excellent comedy timing and physicality, and also handles some of the more serious moments in the show well, giving Kristy emotional depth within the limitations of a comedy-tackling-serious-subjects-with-a-light-touch framework. Farris has often deftly undercut the typecasting trap of being a cute petite blonde girl, and she does so on Mom.

But Faris’ solid skills are outshone in every scene with Janney, whose crackling delivery and unique physical presence exude…well, the only word is power. Power that is remarkable to see so confidently exercised by a female character on a traditional sitcom. Bonnie has a lot of past problems (teenage pregnancy, drug dealing) and current flaws (tenuously sober, intermittently employed, and highly self-absorbed). She’s making some amends to Kristy now, but she wastes no time on pointless guilt or doubt. Bonnie is always beautifully self-assured. It’s a real pleasure to see, on a traditional sitcom, a strikingly tall, handsome (not “pretty”), deep-voiced woman OVER 50 YEARS OLD strut her stuff without being made into a buffoon or an object of pity.

Alison Janney’s Bonnie is a woman to watch. — Allison Janney’s Bonnie is a woman to watch.

Janney won an Emmy this year for her work on Mom, as well as numerous other awards and accolades, and rightly so.

2. Female sexuality and reproduction are multifaceted and messy.

When the pilot ended with Kristy’s discovering that Violet might be pregnant, I almost gave up on Mom. Another TV teenage pregnancy, because that’s the most interesting thing that can happen to a high school girl, and naturally she’ll never consider an abortion because abortions don’t exist in TV Land? No thanks. But as the season continued, I was won over by some of the nuances and complexities of female sexuality and reproduction on Mom, including Violet’s pregnancy.

Although sitcomish in many ways, the pregnancy story depicted Violet truly struggling to decide whether to raise the baby herself or give it up for adoption. Violet changes her mind several times, up to and throughout her labor and delivery in the season finale. It was an emotionally difficult process, which included choosing potential adoptive parents and convincing her boyfriend it’s the right decision on “Clumsy Monkeys and Tilted Uterus,” and a tearful but determined goodbye to the baby after the birth. Meanwhile, Bonnie and Kristy support Violet’s decision but also experience it as a deep loss—though the emotional toll doesn’t stop Kristy from picking up her camera phone during Violet’s labor to “make a video for you to watch the next time you think about having unprotected sex.”

Kristy encourages Violet to use birth control in the future.

The National Council for Adoption praised the story line, and it was a refreshing change from the standard flippant sitcom treatment of birth mothers and adoption. (Ironically, one of the most egregious examples of such stories was the 2004 episode of Friends in which a birth mother played by Anna Faris is so nonchalant that she doesn’t even realize that she’s having twins.)

There are other things to applaud about the show’s depictions of sex, which are often humorous without falling into gratuitous references to horniness and/or female genitals (Two Broke Girls, I’m looking at you). The show begins with Kristy’s bad decision to sleep with her married boss but she clearly knows it’s stupid and soon ends it. She tries to make smarter sexual decisions, postponing intercourse with a nice guy in an effort to maintain her sobriety and to explore the long term potential of the relationship. But in “Nietzsche and Beer Run,” she falls immediately into bed and almost-love with a smolderingly hot philosopher/fireman (and who could blame her? What a combo!). This guy has a drinking/drugs/womanizing problem and for most of “Jail Jail and Japanese Porn,” Kristy teeters on the edge of messing up her life big time to be with him, but then snaps out of it and cuts him loose. Kristy also occasionally sleeps with her ex-husband, but with a minimum of drama. In contrast to TV’s tired “woman in her 30s who can’t find a husband or manage her romantic life,” Kristy’s sex life is convincingly messy but never demeaning or disempowering. She’s unashamedly sexual, gladly accepting the gift of a vibrator from Bonnie and joking that the only thing that could possibly cause her to relapse and drink again would be “I have a stroke and forget how to masturbate.” But sex is just one part of her life, and although she’s doing some fumbling, she’s not overwrought or hung up about it.

Bonnie’s healthy sexual appetite is sometimes portrayed as unfortunate promiscuity and sometimes embarrassing for Kristy, but Bonnie is never belittled by the writers for being a sexual person. She’s absolutely, completely confident in her attractiveness and picks up desirable (often younger) men with flawless and humorous ease that never stoops to presenting her as a laughingstock. Though Bonnie frets about the onset of menopause in “Estrogen and a Hearty Breakfast,” most of the time her sexuality is sophisticated and fluid in a way that’s unusual for network TV. In “Corned Beef and Handcuffs,” she smoothly comes out the victor in a kinky standoff with a pervy chef, and in “Leather Cribs and a Medieval Rack” casually reveals that she had a long time relationship with another woman. “You were gay?” gasps Kristy. “Not gay so much as temporarily disgusted with men,” smiles Bonnie. She knows she’s sexy, but more importantly, so do the viewers because the show does not depict Bonnie as a pathetic old cougar.

3. The moms on Mom are not “moms.”

Mom, in its title and in its content, strikes a blow against one of the more insidious aspects of gender ideology today: “the new momism.” Identified by Susan J. Douglas and Meredith W. Michaels in The Mommy Myth, the new momism sets impossibly high ideals and norms for good mothering. Douglas and Meredith argue that one symptom of the new momism is the widespread use of the term “mom” itself. They point out that “Mom” is what kids call mothers and in many ways it can be patronizing and problematic when adults use “mom” to describe women.

Recovering addicts, Bonnie and Kristy both attend AA meetings.

On Mom, the mothers are loving, but not even close to ideal moms. And not in a merely goofy Modern Family kind of way, but in seriously screwed up ways. Both Bonnie and Kristy are trying to reestablish trust with their daughters after years of addiction and neglect. Their AA friend Marjorie (Mimi Kennedy) is estranged from her children due to her past drug and alcohol abuse, and another friend, Regina (the always awesome Octavia Spencer) has to leave her son behind when she goes to jail for embezzlement. These are mothers who have messed up, but they are still trying to do right by their kids.

At times, Mom offers funny yet astute counterpoints to our society’s relentless glorification of mothering. For example, in “Loathing and Tube Socks,” Kristy’s son Roscoe’s run out of clean clothes and in desperation, she stops at a dollar store (a small but noteworthy nod to Kristy’s financial pressures) on the way to school to buy him new underwear. But Roscoe balks because they have anchors on them and “anchors are stupid” and he “likes his underwear to make sense.” “Oh for God’s sake, it’s just a design! It doesn’t mean anything,” she snaps, adding “I am not having this conversation with you.” Then a store employee won’t let Roscoe use the restroom to change. Kristy freaks, whips open a beach towel in front of Roscoe, and orders him to take off his pants and change right there in the aisle. The scene captures the frenzied moments when real-life parenting is absurdly exasperating; when you find yourself acting like a total jackass—arguing about anchor underpants with an eight-year-old, for example—and it’s not funny ha ha, it’s funny because it’s so frustrating and ridiculous that you either laugh or completely lose it.

It’s no coincidence that Mom drew the ire of One Million Moms, a conservative media watchdog group that seeks to eliminate immorality and vulgarity (their words) in entertainment. In an undated post titled “CBS Makes ‘Mom’ Look Bad,” the group called for moms to protest Mom, pointing specifically to the show’s portrayal of mothering: “If possible, try to imagine the worst possible characteristics a mother could have. Then multiply that by ten….” The post listed numerous examples of what was deemed “unacceptable content” on Mom but I think it’s the show’s deliberate challenge to the new momism that really ticked off One Million Moms.

Kristy, Bonnie, and even Violet are not sitcoms’ typical “good moms.” Rather, they are interesting, often complex, women who are definitely worth watching.

Jessamyn Neuhaus is a professor U.S. history and popular culture at SUNY Plattsburgh. She is the author of Housework and Housewives in American Advertising: Married to the Mop (Palgrave Macmillan, 2011).

Bitch Flicks’ Weekly Picks

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

Global film industry perpetuates discrimination against women at UN Women

Finally! A TV Show That Handles Transgender Issues With Grace. by Leela Ginelle at Bitch Media

How to Get Away with Dynamic Black Women Leads by Corinne Gaston at Ms. blog

Jill Soloway on Transparent and How Lena Dunham’s Success Convinced Her to Stop Pretending by John Horn at Vulture

How Bring It! is changing our perception of Black girls and performance by Sesali Bowen at Feministing

Here’s Some History Behind That ‘Angry Black Woman’ Riff the NY Times Tossed Around by Blair L.M. Kelley at The Root

Viola Davis Responds to Being Called ‘Less Classically Beautiful’: ‘You Define You’ by Yesha Callahan at The Root

The Power of Doc McStuffins by Katti Gray at Women’s Media Center

Why I Left by Jana Monji at RogerEbert.com

People Magazine Deletes Offensive Tweets About Viola Davis and Scandal by Rebecca Rose at Jezebel

Powerhouse Female Producers Join Forces to Launch New Company by Inkoo Kang at Women and Hollywood

20 Facts Everyone Should Know About Gender Bias in Movies by Soraya Chemaly at The Huffington Post

Reese Witherspoon Was Inspired by Tina Fey, Wants to Help Women in Hollywood by Corinne Heller at E!

Interview: ‘Black-Ish’ Creator Kenya Barris Talks Blackness in the Age of Obama and in the Shadow of Cosby by Jai Tiggett at Shadow and Act

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

Female Friendship: The Roundup

Check out all of the posts for our Female Friendship Theme Week here.

Pretty Little Friendships by Victor Kirksey-Brown

I don’t know if the writers portray this type of friendship and steer away from many of the harmful female friend tropes on purpose, or if it’s just because there’s no way to fit them in with all the other crazy shit that’s going on, but the strong and positive friendship these girls share is one of the reasons I enjoy Pretty Little Liars.

“I’m a Veronica”: Power and Transformation Through Female Friendships in Heathers by Alize Emme

A snappy dark comedy set in a high school bubble, Heathers touches on difficult subjects including murder and suicide, and nonchalantly addresses major social issues like female friendship and power. The friendships we are introduced to steer every aspect of the story as it progresses and bring us into a world where female characters aren’t just cardboard cutouts but multidimensional, seriously flawed, and sinfully interesting young women.

It Takes Two for Friendship by Laura Money

To me, this movie is all about a deep female friendship. Yes, it is a bit narcissistic on the surface – instantly falling in love with someone who looks just like you – but it really captures the essence of friendship, connection, and trust. Alyssa and Amanda realise that they look alike on their first meeting but soon understand that they are also both deeply unsatisfied with particular elements in their lives.

“She’s My Best Friend”: Friendship and the Girls of Teen Wolf by Andrea Taylor

The girls of Beacon Hills, especially Allison and Lydia, are loyal, dedicated friends. They help each other out and they encourage each other. They stand up for each other. They’re best friends with all the complexities that relationship implies. There are better, or at least more consistent, examples in media to turn to, but the perfect moments of female friendship in Teen Wolf mean a lot to me.

You’ll Never Walk Alone: Heavenly Creatures and the Power of Teenage Friendship by Caroline Madden

Peter Jackson shows the girls interacting and playing in these worlds. “The Fourth World” is a beautiful garden. Borvonia is a dark and delightfully wicked world of castle intrigue and courtly love. Seeing the girls in the worlds they’ve created demonstrates the extent of the fantasies and the pleasures their imaginative and playful friendship brings. Pauline and Juliet have an intense friendship; they don’t want anyone to stand in their way of spending time together or stop the joy that it brings for them.

Why This Bitch Loves the B— by Mychael Blinde

I avoided Don’t Trust the B— in Apartment 23 for quite a while; at a cursory Netflix glance it looked like anti-feminist tripe featuring catty women pitted against each other in a false dichotomy of “nice” and “bitch.” Then I watched it.

I could not have been more wrong.

The Queer Female Friendship of Frances Ha by Sarah Smyth

For Frances Ha is not a film where “boy-meets-girl,” and there is definitely no diamond ring. The love story of Frances Ha is between the titular character, Frances (Greta Gerwig) and her best friend, Sophie (Mickey Sumner), and it is precisely this friendship between two women which questions, resists, and challenges the definition of love posed by the (primarily) heterosexual and (almost always) heteronormative romcom genre.

I Married a Monster: Female Friendship in The Other Woman by Chantell Monique

Instead of hating and seeing each other as competition, the women form a bond, increasing their woman-power. Kate decides that she wants to make Mark pay for his unfaithfulness saying, “I want him to have to start over,” but she’s afraid she doesn’t have the killer instincts to do it. Her new friends step in, telling her that she does and that if they work together, they can get their revenge.

In Spite of Mean Girls: The Radical Vision of Pretty Little Liars by Jessica Freeman-Slade

In her bestselling collection ‘Bad Feminist,’ Roxane Gay starts the listicle entitled “How to Be Friends with Another Woman” with this as the very first item: “Abandon the cultural myth that all female friendships must be bitchy, toxic, or competitive. This myth is like heels and purses—pretty but designed to SLOW women down.”

Romy and Michele’s High School Reunion: Bosom Buddies Against The World by Emma Kat Richardson

While there’s quite a bit that’s frivolous about Romy and Michele – the film’s tagline is “The Blonde Leading the Blonde” – there is also, much more importantly, the heartwarming love story at the film’s creamy center. But this love has nothing to do with the complications and disappointments that romantic relationships can bring; rather, it’s what the Greeks called agape, or a deeply spiritual, passionate love between intimate friends.

We’re All for One, We’re One for All in A League of Their Own by Rhianna Shaheen

At the end, many of the league’s players reunite to be inducted into the National Baseball Hall of Fame. Old friendships rekindle and emotions soar. After following these women through what must have been the best time they ever had in their youth it is refreshing to see authentic portrayals of them as older women. It feels like their lives are unfolding before my eyes.

Walking and Talking With Non-Toxic Women Friends by Ren Jender

A short clip at the beginning of writer-director Nicole Holofcener’s first film, 1996’s Walking and Talking, lets us know that Amelia (Catherine Keener) and Laura (Anne Heche) have been friends since adolescence. Both are in their 30s and living in New York City–Laura with her boyfriend Frank, and Amelia alone in the sort of sunlit airy apartment someone with her job, even in a pre-gentrified New York (which, like many films from then and now is also mysteriously bereft of people of color), would never be able to afford.

Practical Magic: Sisters as Friends, Mirrors by Olivia London-Webb

This is why I love this movie. I have two real sisters in my life. One born and one chosen. I have strong powerful women everywhere I look–my friends, my mother, my sister-in-law, and my mother-in-law. I would go through hell for them. They would go through hell for me. What we are more than anything else are each other’s mirrors.

Martyrs: Female Friendships Can Be Bloody Complex by Dierdre Crimmins

Often in feminist criticism female friendships are discussed as a great barometer for the authenticity of the female characters. Strong bonds and healthy interactions serve the dual purpose of highlighting positive female roles and for showing the many dimensions of women as whole persons. I propose that in order to continue the push to show women as well-developed characters we also need representations of flawed female friendships.

St. Trinian’s: Girlish Wiles and Cunning Friendships by Bethany Ainsworth-Cole

Now whilst this seems like an odd collection of friendships, it is an important selection of lessons. It fosters the idea that girls working together will always be better than scheming men, and will always sort things out even if they do need help. Girls are fearless: willing to steal, blow up iron bars, fight back against creeps, and speak out. And most importantly, it’s OK to make mistakes. The girls also enjoy themselves doing it.

Best Frenemies Forever by Emanuela Betti

Can women be friends? Or, most importantly, can two women who share the same man be friends? The depiction of genuinely loving and caring female friends has found its way onto many movies and TV shows, but when it comes to the idea of a more complex situation—the “frenemies”—it’s harder to find characters that do it justice. There is a shallow notion that when two women want the same man, they turn into hair-pulling, catfighting brats.

The First Wives Club and First World “Feminism” by Amanda Lyons

But the focus on “getting everything” was a little hard to stomach from women living in huge condos in the heart of New York with an interior designer on their payroll. Somehow it felt like the message was getting a little lost in the middle of all the high-society hob-nobbing – there was nothing particularly universal about it, and any feminism that was being communicated was certainly of a rarefied kind that most of us wouldn’t be able to access.

Scarlett and Melanie: The Ultimate BFFs by Jennifer Hollie Bowles

Regardless of how psychological or interpretive you want to get with Scarlett and Melanie’s friendship, it serves as an invaluable example for how women can accept, value, and interact with one another.

Seed & Spark: Female Friendship On Screen–Art Imitating Life by Liz Cardenas Franke

But what if I spent my time, instead, helping another female filmmaker make her movie involving female friendship? Wouldn’t that be just as meaningful? And could it perhaps be making an even bigger statement—promoting the “cause,” so to speak?

Homegirls Make Some Noise: Antônia and the Magic of Black Female Friendships by Lisa Bolekaja

Classism, racism, sexism, and colorism are very real in the world of Antônia. But the film shows us a fresh narrative of Black women succeeding despite living in a slum, despite poverty, despite violence and all the ills that pervade real life. For just a moment, I’m able to watch Black women who are free to be themselves. They don’t have to unpack external baggage based on a checklist of intersections involving their skin color, social status, or gender. That is a rare treat. It’s their tight friendship that sustains them. Music is friendship, and friendship is music.

Kamikaze Girls: When a Lolita Meets a Yanki by Jasmine Sanchez

Julia: A Portrait of Heroic Friendship in an Age of Darkness by Rachael Johnson

Although peppered with flashbacks to the women’s childhood and youth, Julia is set during their formative academic and professional years. The film chronicles the women’s personal and political lives in the decade that saw the rise of Fascism. We witness how the fight against those dark forces transforms both friends.

9 to 5: The Necessity of Female Friendships at Work by Deb Rox

Like the three fates, the friends conjure a life-altering force by listening to each other, by laughing, by being friends. The scenes where they envisioned the demise of their “sexist, egotistical, lying, hypocritical bigot” of a boss start to play out for real in madcap, accidental, and intentional ways. As the fabric unrolls, each woman experiences being supported by the other two and feels compelled to help her friends. In their confusions, cover-ups, and retribution schemes, Violet, Doralee, and Judy knit together a solid friendship where each character finds strength and support. And manage to avoid getting caught. It’s the little things.

“I Love You More Than My Luggage”: Female Friendships and Fertility by Joanne Bardsley

The implication of the relative richness of the representations of female friendships at either end of the fertile period is that at these times the female is free to explore relationships which are not sexual but during the fertile period the female’s most important relationships are sexual. This is damaging and dangerous as it is a structural reinforcement of the objectification of women. We only see our friendships represented on screen when we are no longer of use to the patriarchy, when we have either yet to serve our function or have already performed our reproductive duties. It is only in the margins that we are free to pursue our own interests.

Making Sure Female Friendship Films Aren’t Forgotten: Take Care of My Cat by Adam Hartzell

The film is about the evolving friendships of five young South Korean women as they step away from their technical high school into a less certain world. Their degrees of closeness shift as they consider their futures in the face of particular restrictions in work and life opportunities due to gender and class discrimination.

Frances Ha: Chasing Sophie by Rachel Wortherly

In my experience, people who have seen this film often mistake Sophie’s actions as abandoning Frances for her boyfriend, Patch. The fact that it happens differently is a breath of fresh air. Rather, it represents an early point in which audiences experience the divide between Frances and Sophie in physical and emotional aspects. Sophie sees the opportunity to move on and fulfill her dreams, while Frances’ dream is fractured. The story of “us” that precedes this action becomes their separate, respective stories: “the story of Frances” and “the story of Sophie.”

Fearless Friendship! Usagi and Rei by Kathryn Diaz

Growing up isn’t cute. At six or 16 or anywhere in between, figuring out who you are and what your place in the world is isn’t sparkly fun-times. The best you can hope for is to have a real friend to muddle through the worst of it with you, someone who is having just as much of a crazy time as you are, who will run to your defense, give you pep talks when you’re about to face the Dark Kingdom, and shamelessly make fun of you for being such a crybaby after you call her a meanie.

What Now and Then Taught Me About Friendship by Kim Hoffman

Summer has always been a magical time where childhood lingers, and every time I get on a swingset again, or have a hankering for a push pop, or throw on my Now and Then soundtrack, I think of my childhood and feel invigorated with that rush of youth. I think of Taylor and Sara, and a time when we were so eager to make our own adventures. I also think of those four girls from the Gaslight Addition; somehow they affected my life by making me appreciate what it means to be and have a true friend in this wild world.

Reality Bites: A Tale of Two Ladies by Beatrix Coles

While a fun exercise, it’s really just as counter-productive to reduce these two women to their Reality Bites character archetypes as it is pointless. But yet, there is something familiar and soothing in these roles. We want the pretty girl who falls from grace punished, just as we want the girl wearing glasses to have a political point of view and to not be too concerned about whether she has a boyfriend.

Feisty and Heisty: Female Friendship in The First Wives Club by Artemis Linhart

The main characters’ friendship goes way back: a flashback shows the group in college, together with their valedictorian and close friend Cynthia. The four of them vow to be friends forever. This, however, turns out to be easier said than done. After graduation, the four of them lose touch and are only reunited years later, with the occasion being Cynthia’s funeral. After her husband took financial advantage of her and then left her for a younger woman, she commits suicide. At a post-funeral get-together, the three women bond over their own failed marriages and spite for their ex-husbands. Their friendship is rekindled as they decide to settle the score with their exploitative exes.

When Friendships Fray: Me Without You, Not Waving But Drowning, and Brokedown Palace by Elizabeth Kiy

Not all friendships are built to last. Teenage friendships are little romances between two people, tiny beautiful, impossibly fragile things that break apart upon touch or close examination. Just as a true romantic relationship between two unformed people rarely lasts, so often we grow out of our early friendships. Because so much of growing up means developing into a person who can live in the world, films about the ends of friendships can be just as satisfying coming of age stories as the typical narratives of beginnings. Each ending after all, is the beginning of something else.

“We Stick Together”: Rebellion, Solidarity, and Girl Crushes in Foxfire by Jenny Lapekas

In the spirit of Boys on the Side, along with a dose of teen angst, Foxfire is perhaps the most bad ass chick flick ever. Many Angelina Jolie fans are not aware of this 1996 phenomenon, where Angie makes a name for herself as a rebellious free spirit who changes the lives of four young women in New York. Based on the Joyce Carol Oates novel by the same name, ‘Foxfire’ is the epitome of girl power and female friendship, a pleasant departure from the competition and spitefulness often portrayed between women characters on the big screen (see Bride Wars and Just Go with It). However, it does seem that Hollywood is catching on as of late, and producing films that cater to a more progressive viewership (see Bridesmaids and The Other Woman). When I first saw Foxfire around 16 years old, I stole the VHS copy from the video store where I worked at the time.

“We Stick Together”: Rebellion, Female Solidarity, and Girl Crushes in ‘Foxfire’

In the spirit of ‘Boys on the Side,’ along with a dose of teen angst, ‘Foxfire’ is perhaps the most bad ass chick flick ever. Many Angelina Jolie fans are not aware of this 1996 phenomenon, where Angie makes a name for herself as a rebellious free spirit who changes the lives of four young women in New York. Based on the Joyce Carol Oates novel by the same name, ‘Foxfire’ is the epitome of girl power and female friendship, a pleasant departure from the competition and spitefulness often portrayed between women characters on the big screen (see ‘Bride Wars’ and ‘Just Go with It’). However, it does seem that Hollywood is catching on as of late, and producing films that cater to a more progressive viewership (see ‘Bridesmaids’ and ‘The Other Woman’). When I first saw ‘Foxfire’ around 16 years old, I stole the VHS copy from the video store where I worked at the time.

This post by Jenny Lapekas appears as part of our theme week on Female Friendship.

In the spirit of Boys on the Side, along with a dose of teen angst, Foxfire is perhaps the most bad ass chick flick ever. Many Angelina Jolie fans are not aware of this 1996 phenomenon, where Angie makes a name for herself as a rebellious free spirit who changes the lives of four young women in New York. Based on the Joyce Carol Oates novel by the same name, Foxfire is the epitome of girl power and female friendship, a pleasant departure from the competition and spitefulness often portrayed between women characters on the big screen (see Bride Wars and Just Go with It). However, it does seem that Hollywood is catching on as of late, and producing films that cater to a more progressive viewership (see Bridesmaids and The Other Woman). When I first saw Foxfire around 16 years old, I stole the VHS copy from the video store where I worked at the time.

Angelina Jolie’s shaggy hair and tomboy style in the film, along with her portrayal of the rebellious Legs Sadovsky, play with gender expectations, challenging our assumptions pertaining to clothing, gait, etc. Legs’ biker boots and leather jacket highlight the general heteronormative tendency to find discomfort in these roles and depictions. An androgynous drifter, Legs oozes sex appeal and promotes the questioning of authority. She teaches the girls to own their happiness, to correct the injustices they encounter, and to assert themselves to the men who think themselves superior to women. Legs’ appearance in Foxfire is paramount; she’s even mistaken for a boy when she breaks into the local high school. A security guard yells, “Young man, stop when I’m talking to you.” We see this confusion repeat itself when Goldie’s mother tells her daughter, “There’s a girl…or whatever…here to see you.”

How can we resist developing a girl crush on Angie in this role?

The film’s subplot involves a romance of sorts between artist Maddy and Legs, the mysterious stranger, while Maddy feels a large distance growing between her and her boyfriend (a young Peter Facinelli from the Twilight saga). The intensity of the “girl-crush” shared between Maddy and Legs is akin to that of Thelma and Louise; while we come to understand that Legs is gay, Maddy’s platonic love is enough for the troubled runaway. Legs also assures Maddy after sleeping on her floor one rainy night, “Don’t worry, you’re not my type.” Similar to my discussion of the reunion between Miranda and Steve in Sex and the City: the Movie, the two young women coming together on a bridge is heavy with symbolism, especially when Legs climbs to the top and dances while Maddy looks on in horror and professes that she’s afraid of heights: a nice precursor for the unfolding narrative, which centers on Legs guiding the girls and easing their fears, especially those associated with female adolescence and gaining new insight into their surroundings and how they fit into their environment.

This scene may not be aware of itself as being set up as another Romeo and Juliet visual, but we realize perhaps Legs is a better suitor than Maddy’s boyfriend, whose male privilege hinders his understanding of what Maddy needs. — While this scene may not be aware of itself as being set up as a nice Romeo and Juliet visual, we realize perhaps Legs is a better suitor than Maddy’s boyfriend, whose male privilege hinders his understanding of what Maddy needs.

In a somber and almost zen-like scene involving Maddy and Legs, they profess their love for one another outside the abandoned home the gang has claimed as their own. Maddy says, “If I told you I loved you, would you take it the wrong way?” Obviously, while Maddy doesn’t want Legs to think she’s in love with her, she wants to make clear that the two have bonded for life and are now inextricably linked in sisterhood. Maddy indirectly asks if Legs would take her with when she decides to move on, and Legs hints that Maddy may not be prepared for her nomadic lifestyle. The platonic romance shared by both young women culminates in tears and heartache when Legs must inevitably leave.

Almost as if to kiss Legs, Maddy tenderly touches her face atop the gang’s house.

Legs is the glue that binds these young women, and she literally appears from nowhere. Her entrances are consistently memorable: she initially meets Maddy as she’s trespassing on school property, she climbs to Maddy’s window asking for refuge from the rain (another Romeo and Juliet moment), and eventually takes off for nowhere, leaving the girls stupefied and yet more lucid than ever. Legs is something that happens to these girls, a force of nature, a breath of fresh air. When she tells Maddy that she was thrown out of her old school “for thinking for herself,” we can safely assume it was just that–refusing to conform to the standards of others. The unlikely friendship that forms amongst this diverse group of girls clarifies the idea that this gang dynamic has found them, not the other way around; the pressed need for the collective feminine is what brings the girls together, rather than some vendetta against men.

Although Legs tattoos each of the girls in honor of their time together, they know they won't need scars to remember Legs. — Although Legs tattoos each of the girls in honor of their time together, they know they won’t need scars to remember Legs.

Legs sports a tattoo that reads “Audrey”: her mother, who was killed in a drunk driving accident, and we clearly see in the film’s final scenes that Legs suffers from some serious daddy issues, when she angrily announces that “fathers mean nothing.” Delving briefly into Legs’ painful past, we discover that she never knew her father. The quickly maturing Rita explains to Legs, “This isn’t about you.” Each of the girls has their own set of issues within the film: Rita is being sexually molested by her scumbag biology teacher, Mr. Buttinger, Goldie is a drug addict whose father beats her, Violet is dubbed a “slut,” by the school’s stuck-up cheerleaders, and Maddy struggles to balance school, her photography, and her boyfriend, who is dumbfounded by Legs’ influence on his typically well-behaved girlfriend.

After the girls beat up Buttinger, Legs warns him to think before inappropriately touching any more female students.

In an especially significant scene, the football players from school who continually harass the girls attempt to abduct Maddy by forcing her into a van. The confrontations between the groups progressively escalate throughout the movie, and climax after Coach Buttinger is apparently fired for sexually harassing several female students. Legs shows up donning a switchblade and orders the boys to let her friend go. Of course, the pair steal the van and pick up their girlfriends on a high speed cruise to nowhere, which ends in an exciting police chase and Legs losing control and crashing, a metaphor for the gang’s imminent downfall. The threat of sexual assault dissolved by a female ally, followed by police pursuit and a car crash has a lovely Thelma & Louise quality, as well. The motivation here is to avoid being swept up in a misogynistic culture of victim-blaming. What’s interesting about this scene is that another girl from school, who’s in cahoots with these sleazy guys, actually lures Maddy to the waiting group of boys, knowing what’s to come. Meanwhile, Maddy tells Cyndi that she’d escort any girl somewhere who doesn’t feel safe, highlighting the betrayal at work here. Cyndi, the outsider, exploits Maddy’s feminist sensibilities, her unspoken drive for female solidarity and the resistance of male violence to fulfill a violent, misogynist agenda and put Maddy in harm’s way. Later, in the van, Goldie excitedly yells, “Maddy almost got raped, and we just stole this car!” as if this is a source of exhilaration or a mark of resiliency. Perhaps we’d correct her by shifting the blame from the “almost-victim” to her attacker: “Dana and his boys almost raped Maddy.”

Legs says, “Let her out, you stupid fuck.”

Obviously, these are young women just blossoming in their feminist ideals, on the path to realization, and just beginning to question the patriarchal agenda they find themselves a part of in this awkward stage of young adulthood. It’s in this queer in-between state, straddling womanhood and adolescence, that we find Maddy, Legs, Violet, Goldie, and Rita, on the cusp of articulating their justified outrage. We may also question, how does one almost get raped? While the girls of Foxfire are young and somewhat inexperienced, with Legs’ help, they quickly obtain this sort of unpleasant, universal knowledge that males can perpetrate sexual violence in order to “put women in their place.” Dana announces, “You girls are getting a little big for yourselves.” We can’t have that. Women who grow, gain confidence, and challenge sexist and oppressive norms can make waves and upset lots of people. While the girls are initially hesitant in trying to find their way and make sense of their lives, Legs is the powerful catalyst for this transition from the young and feminine to the wise and feminist. While the high school jocks attempt to reclaim the power they feel has been threatened or stolen by this group of girls, Legs continues to challenge gender expectations by utilizing violence as well.

As she hitches a ride, Legs tearfully says, “You’re my heart, Maddy.”

Not only does this film pass the Bechdel Test with flying colors, it almost feels as if it’s a joke when the girls do manage to discuss men–like the topic is not something they take seriously or that boys rest only on the periphery of their lives. While Maddy suffers silently in terms of her artistic prowess and boyfriend drama, Rita–seemingly the prudest and most sheltered of the gang–talks casually about masturbation and penis size. However, it’s important to note that when men do make their way into the conversation, it’s at rare, lighthearted moments when the girls are not guarded or suspicious of the tyrannical and predatory men who seem to surround them. The penis-size discussion between Rita and Violet, we must admit, is also quite self-serving and objectifying. Rather than obsess over their appearances or the approval of boys, the girls’ most ecstatic moment is when Violet receives an anonymous note from a younger girl at school, another student Buttinger was harassing who is thankful for what the gang did. The fact that Violet is so pleased that she could help a friendly stranger who was also a target of the same perverted teacher says a lot about the gang’s goals and identity.

Thanks to Legs, Maddy overcomes her fear of heights.

Maddy and Legs recognize something in one another, and although theirs is not a sexual relationship, it is no doubt intimate and meaningful. With an amazing soundtrack that includes Wild Strawberries, L7 (wanna fling tampons, anyone?), and Luscious Jackson, and boasting a cast that includes Angelina Jolie and Hedy Burress, Foxfire is undeniably feminist in its message and narrative. With the help of Legs, the girls find agency, and with it, each other. Although most of the girls have been failed by men in some way, Legs offers hope in female friendship and lets her sisters know that male-perpetrated violence can be combated with a switchblade and a swift kick to the balls. Legs arrives like a whirlwind in Maddy’s life and leaves her changed forever. The lovely ladies of Foxfire will make you want to form a girl gang, dangle off bridges, and break into your old high school’s art room just to stick it to the man.

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Jenny holds a Master of Arts degree in English, and she is a part-time instructor at a community college in Pennsylvania. Her areas of scholarship include women’s literature, menstrual literacy, and rape-revenge cinema. She lives with two naughty chihuahuas. You can find her on WordPress and Pinterest.

Feisty and Heisty: Female Friendship in ‘The First Wives Club’

This guest post by Artemis Linhart appears as part of our theme week on Female Friendship.

This made-by-men film navigates female friendships through the proverbial battle of the sexes, steering clear of “a feminist manifesto,” unleashing just what it deems feasible. This is the premise, which sounds much worse than it turns out to be.

Three mid-40s women whose husbands have left them for younger women decide it’s time to opt out of misery and take matters into their own hands. Thus forms the First Wives Club. Assembling Goldie Hawn, Bette Midler, and Diane Keaton makes for a true 90s Dream Team of female energy. Who wouldn’t want to be a member of a club like that?

While a desire for revenge starts out to be the foundation of The Club, the driving force behind it soon proves to be the substantial companionship the three of them share.

When it doesn’t all pan out at first, a feud arises that splits the trio up temporarily. They lash out at each other in a way only close friends can and reconcile accordingly. The big fight is overcome and it is emphasized that there are more important things than silly catfights – specifically friendship and, in their case, the pressing issues at hand.

There is a lesson to be learned here – one that transcends the supposed target audience of the middle-aged woman, as well as the decades, and connects with more recent cinematic works focusing on female relationships. In order to end the notorious “Mean Girls” spirit, there needs to be a shift in perspective – starting with an awareness of the significance of establishing and maintaining support among females. By vanquishing the damaging representation of the “Girl vs. Girl” trope, The First Wives Club is a good example of teaching adolescents the values of female solidarity, which, in turn, is an important pillar of everyday feminism.

However, the key demographic of the film is not to be disparaged. Amidst the rather ageist “Girl Power”-craze of the 90s, it focuses on one of the movie industry’s lesser-discussed subjects. This is addressed directly in a self-referencing statement made by Goldie Hawn’s character: “There are only three ages for women in Hollywood: Babe, District Attorney and Driving Miss Daisy.” The film itself makes room for this overlooked, often excluded group of people and places it in a feminist context.

Triumphant Triumvirate

As the First Wives Club takes shape, the three women rise to the occasion and take on the challenge full-scale. This allows for the power dynamics of the group to shift and become more balanced. Annie (Diane Keaton) leaves her old pushover-self behind and takes charge. Elise (Goldie Hawn) gets off her high horse and Brenda (Bette Midler) gains more confidence in the face of her ex-husband’s new fiancée (satirized aptly by Sarah Jessica Parker, who rode her broomstick alongside Bette Midler just three years prior in Hocus Pocus, a female friendship tale of the witchy kind).

Owing to their new-and-improved friendship, they each gain strength and build each other up along the way. What follows is a buoyant heist show with slapstick galore – all of this against the backdrop of the good cause, the big picture, the women power. Indeed, they have the full support of one of New York’s society grande dames (Maggie Smith), who, too, was once a first wife (as well as a second, third, and fourth). Unconditional support also comes from Annie’s Daughter and Brenda’s boss, as well as a handful of cameos by the likes of Gloria Steinem and Ivana Trump.

After settling their own issues, they proceed to step it up a notch and help other women in need. As they found the Cynthia Swann Griffin Crisis Center for Women, the trio truly rises to the top – of society, the media, and the moral code – their (granted, naïve) objective being that no woman will have to suffer the same fate as their friend Cynthia.

Based on a novel by Olivia Goldsmith, this film is written, directed and produced by men. Whereas in the movie there are certainly a few problems with the representation of women and their actions, they seem less grave without direct comparison to the book. In view of the film version being constructed as a lighthearted comedy, there are a few content-related details worth mentioning.

The general tone of the much more progressive novel is darker and more serious. Here, the punishment for the ex-husbands is more brutal, while the female characters are portrayed as multi-dimensional – as opposed to their cinematic depiction, which is shrill, occasionally hysterical and lacks depth. Especially the roles of the new girlfriends are particularly cardboard in Hugh Wilson’s version.

In contrast to the film, the story is about more than revenge – it focuses on empowerment and actively addresses the notion that women should not feel afraid to be labelled as having strong opinions and personalities.

As one might expect, the film is considerably more hesitant concerning feminist representations. To sidestep a too “radical” stance that was perhaps misconstrued as “male-bashing,” a “light”-version of Olivia Goldsmith’s original ideas was created – often in questionable ways. The filmmakers’ way of redeeming the image of the “man-hating beasts,” for example, was the decision to reunite Brenda with her ex-husband. This seems like a cowardly quick fix that goes against everything the First Wives Club stands for, especially considering the fact that in the novel Brenda’s new partner is a woman.

And yet, while it may not be as groundbreaking as the book, the movie could be a great deal more disastrous. It is pro-emancipation without too much of an “anti-men” vibe. Interestingly enough, the title of the German version translates to “The Club of the She-Devils” – a crude demonstration of an obnoxiously archaic perspective on the film.

Retaliation in Style and in Rhythm

While the trio’s friendship seems to be based largely on achievement and a distinct goal respectively, there is, nonetheless, a perpetual sense of a true and meaningful connection. Merely by the way they interact with each other, it is palpable that there is still a lasting bond between them. There is, indeed, an air of the blithe BFF sentiment from back in their college days. Correspondingly, both Cynthia and Annie still keep a framed picture of the four of them in their homes.

Another symbolic marker of their friendship is Leslie Gore’s hit song “You Don’t Own Me,” their college-times performance of which they reminisce about and even repeat twice in the film. This song is truly a great pick and shows that the filmmakers were not too afraid to use a clearly feminist song. As a recurring theme, their own rendition of the sixties classic can be seen as a symbol of their lasting friendship as well as their newfound empowerment. It culminates in the very last scene of the movie as they sing and dance off into freedom. The happiest of endings: not primarily a romantic one, it celebrates the courage, independence and companionship of the three women.

Another important factor that comes into play is the way in which the women handle their respective husband’s new relationship status. While they harbor anything but positive feelings for the mistresses they have been left for, instead of blaming the “other woman” for the man cheating – as seems to be common practice among women on and off screen – they focus their anger and revenge on the men. They do this in a dignified manner, true to the tagline of the film: “Don’t get mad. Get everything.”

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

‘Kamikaze Girls’: When a Lolita Meets a Yanki

This guest post by Jasmine Sanchez appears as part of our theme week on Female Friendship.

There is a common belief that two types of girls exist: tomboys and girly-girls. This is often perpetuated by media. Look at any cartoon since the 1980s and onward. Another belief often perpetuated by the media is that women who fit one of these types aren’t likely to get along with the other. I’m not sure where this idea originated and I’m even less sure how it became so accepted. Either way, it’s just another fallacy that prevents women from being friends with women who don’t fit into their own idea of how women should act. However, one film proves how a friendship can form between two unlikely women.

Kamikaze Girls (originally Shimotsuma Monogatari in Japan) is a story of two teenage girls who each belong to a different Japanese subculture and end up becoming best friends. Momoko Ryugasaki is a Lolita living in a rural part of Japan called Shimotsuma. Despite what one might expect a girl who dresses like a cupcake to act, she is cold, manipulative and completely content with living in own fantasy world. She spends her days bored out of her mind living in her peaceful town, but occasionally makes trips to Tokyo in order to shop for clothing from her favorite brand, Baby The Stars Shine Bright. However, Momoko’s pretty dresses don’t come cheap, so in order to fuel her passion for Lolita fashion, she puts up an ad online selling her father’s old bootleg Versace clothing. This causes her to meet a yanki (Japanese delinquent), Ichigo Shirayuri, or “Ichiko” as she prefers to be called, who is interested in purchasing some knock-off clothing. Once she sells her the fake Versace, Momoko expects their interactions to end there; however, Ichiko decides to befriend her and rope her into her own little adventure.

While their connection doesn’t form immediately, especially in Momoko’s case, the two eventually are able to form a close bond. When they first meet they are both taken aback by one another’s exterior–Momoko is horrified to be dealing with a yanki and Ichiko thinks that Momoko is a little girl. Once she finds out they are the same age Ichiko admits to her folly, “I shouldn’t judge by appearances,” which Momoko counters with, “But appearances says everything.” This sets up their dynamic for the rest of the film as Ichiko is willing to look beyond, while Momoko prefers the superficial. After business is done, Momoko wants absolutely nothing to do with Ichiko as she doesn’t see friendship or any form of human connections of something of value. Not to mention her disgust with Ichiko’s clothing, short temper, and habit of spiting on the floor. This still doesn’t prevent Ichiko from coming over to Momoko’s house uninvited, or joining her for tea at her favorite café. Despite being a tough biker gal, it’s clear that Ichiko has a sense of loyalty and wants to befriend Momoko, because she feels indebted to her after getting great deal on the clothing sold to her. However, a flashback of Ichiko’s past before she was a yanki shows that she was bullied and had no one as a friend. This changed when she met her mentor and gang leader Akemi. Ichiko most likely sees Momoko in a similar predicament and wants to help her out by befriending her. Unfortunately, Momoko is not as receptive to Ichiko’s offers of friendship and inclusion of her biker gang.

*Spoiler Warning*

Although Momoko resists Ichiko’s attempt to convince her to join her on her search for a legendary embroider named Emma, she is literally dragged along anyway. Their “quest” pretty much consists of them walking aimlessly around the city and hijinks ensuing. When they are unable to find Emma, Momoko offers to embroider Ichiko’s coat, which she stays up all night to do. Despite being exhausted, Momoko admits to being filled with happiness when seeing Ichiko’s delight in her stitching, an emotion that surprises her as well.

Their bond with each other is deepened when they start to rely on each other for their emotional struggles. When Ichiko finds out the guy she liked is involved with someone else, more specifically her former gang leader, Akemi, she is understandably brokenhearted by this revelation and calls Momoko and asks her to meet her on a hill. When Ichiko repeats the words of advice Akemi had given her, “Women shouldn’t cry in public,” Momoko turns around and reminds her that they are alone. This allows her to break down and cry. This is Momoko’s way of comforting her, while allowing her to keep her pride. When Momoko is asked by her favorite brand to embroider a dress with her own design, she is intimidated by the prospect and at a loss at what to do. Momoko asks Ichiko to meet with her to talk about it, and although Ichiko is surprised by Momoko needing her, she states she will go anywhere for her. Her words of advice for Momoko are harsh but encouraging as she reminds her of the embroidery she did on her jacket and how it made her feel. Ichiko sees the talent that Momoko possess and wants to help her flourish. Although she is somewhat unsure of herself, after her talk with Ichiko, Momoko is able to find the inspiration to embroider the dress.

Toward the end of the film, Momoko’s friendship is in full force when she drives by motorbike in order to help Ichiko when she finds out she will be beaten by gang members. Everything she does from this point goes against Momoko’s mindset as a Lolita, however she realizes that Ichiko means more to her than being delicate. When Momoko reaches Ichiko and the gang members, she has already been beaten quite a bit. The sight of Ichiko’s blood causes Momoko to unleash her rage and she grabs a bat and starts swinging against as many yankis as she can. After she freaks them out with her sudden attack, she lies and claims to be the daughter of a legendary yanki. This convinces them to let them both go as they ride off on Ichiko’s bike together as they laugh about Momoko’s bluff.

The film relies on an odd-couple dynamic between the two leads, not just in appearance, but also in personality. Both characters are interesting in their own right. Momoko is a misanthropic dreamer, while Ichiko is delinquent with vulnerable side. Through their interactions with one another they are able to uproot a part of each other that they couldn’t see before. However they don’t completely change at the end of the film; Momoko still prefers her life of indulgence as a Lolita and although Ichiko has a brief stint modeling Lolita clothing, she’s still tough as nails and prefers to ride her bike through the countryside. Their choices are treated as positive ones by the film, since they’re both still young and as long as they have each other they will be okay.

Jasmine Sanchez is a university student working on a major in English Literature. She loves comic books, British television, anime/manga, and cult classic films. She one day hopes to travel to Japan. You can find her on Twitter at @takship.