2013 Golden Globes Week: The Roundup

Cecil B. DeMille Award: presented to Jodie Foster

“Cecil B. DeMille Award Recipient Jodie Foster: Credibility Over Celebrity” by Robin Hitchcock




Lincoln: nominated for Best Picture, Drama; Best Director, Steven Spielberg; Best Actor, Drama, Daniel Day-Lewis; Best Supporting Actress, Sally Field; Best Supporting Actor, Tommy Lee Jones; Best Screenplay, Tony Kushner; Best Original Score, John Williams

“In Praise of Sally Field as Mary Todd Lincoln” by Robin Hitchcock


Les Misérables: nominated for Best Picture, Musical or Comedy; Best Actor, Musical or Comedy, Hugh Jackman; Best Supporting Actress, Anne Hathaway; Best Original Song, “Suddenly”

Les Misérables: The Feminism Behind the Barricades” by Leigh Kolb

“Extreme Weight Loss for Roles Is Not ‘Required’ and Not Praiseworthy” by Robin Hitchcock

Les Misérables: Sex Trafficking & Fantine as a Symbol for Women’s Oppression” by Megan Kearns


Hitchcock: nominated for Best Actress, Drama, Helen Mirren

“Too Many Hitchcocks” by Robin Hitchcock


The Sessions: nominated for Best Actor, Drama, John Hawkes; Best Supporting Actress, Helen Hunt

“On Sex, Disability, and Helen Hunt in The Sessions by Stephanie Rogers


The Master: nominated for Best Actor, Drama, Joaquin Phoenix; Best Supporting Actress, Amy Adams; Best Supporting Actor, Philip Seymour Hoffman

The Master: A Movie About White Dudes Talking About Stuff” by Stephanie Rogers


Hope Springs: nominated for Best Actress, Musical or Comedy, Meryl Streep

“Can Hope Springs Launch a New Era of Smart, Accessible Movies About Women?” by Molly McCaffrey


Cloud Atlas: nominated for Best Original Score, Tom Tykwer, Johnny Klimet, and Reinhold Heil

Cloud Atlas Loses Audience” by Erin Fenner


The Hunger Games: nominated for Best Original Song, “Safe and Sound”

“‘I’m Not Very Good at Making People Like Me’: Why The Hunger Games‘ Katniss Everdeen Is One of the Most Important Heroes in Modern Culture” by Molly McCaffrey

The Hunger Games Review in Conversation: On Jennifer Lawrence, Female Protagonists, Body Image, Disability, Whitewashing, Hunger & Food” by Megan Kearns and Amber Leab

“The Princess Archetype in the Movies” by Laura A. Shamas


Skyfall: nominated for Best Original Song, “Skyfall”

Skyfall: It’s M’s World, Bond Just Lives in It” by Margaret Howie

“The Sun (Never) Sets on the British Empire: The Neocolonialism of Skyfall by Max Thornton


Brave: nominated for Best Animated Feature

“The Princess Archetype in the Movies” by Laura A. Shamas

“Will Brave‘s Warrior Princess Marida Usher In a New Kind of Role Model for Girls?” by Megan Kearns

“Why I’m Excited About Pixar’s Brave & Its Kick-Ass Female Protagonist … Even If She Is Another Princess” by Megan Kearns


Wreck-It Ralph: nominated for Best Animated Feature

Wreck-It Ralph Is Flawed, But Still Pretty Feminist” by Myrna Waldron


Anna Karenina: nominated for Best Original Score, Dario Marianelli

Anna Karenina, and the Tragedy of Being a Woman in the Wrong Era” by Erin Fenner


Django Unchained: nominated for Best Picture, Drama; Best Director, Quentin Tarantino; Best Supporting Actor, Leonardo DiCaprio; Best Supporting Actor, Christoph Waltz; Best Screenplay, Quentin Tarantino

“The Power of Narrative in Django Unchained by Leigh Kolb

“From a Bride with a Hanzo Sword to a Damsel in Distress: Did Quentin Tarantino’s Feminism Take a Step Backwards in Django Unchained?” by Tracy Bealer


Girls: nominated for Best Television Show, Comedy or Musical; Best Actress, Television Comedy or Musical, Lena Dunham

Girls and Sex and the City Both Handle Abortion With Humor” by Megan Kearns

“Lena Dunham’s HBO Series Girls Preview: Why I Can’t Wait to Watch” by Megan Kearns


Modern Family: nominated for Best Television Show, Comedy or Musical; Best Supporting Actress in a Series, Miniseries or Motion Picture Made for Television, Sofia Vergara; Best Supporting Actor in a Series, Miniseries or Motion Picture Made for Television, Eric Stonestreet

“‘Pregnancy Brain’ in Sitcoms” by Lady T

“2011 Emmy Analysis” by Amber Leab


Breaking Bad: nominated for Best Television Show, Drama; Best Actor, Television Drama, Bryan Cranston

“Seeking the Alpha in Breaking Bad and Sons of Anarchy by Rachel Redfern

“‘Yo Bitch’: The Complicated Feminism of Breaking Bad by Leigh Kolb


Boardwalk Empire: nominated for Best Television Show, Drama; Best Actor, Television Drama, Steve Buscemi

Boardwalk Empire: Margaret Thompson, Margaret Sanger, and the Cultural Commentary of Historical Fiction” by Leigh Kolb

“Max’s Field Guide to Returning Fall TV Shows” by Max Thornton

Boardwalk Empire by Amanda ReCupido


Downton Abbey: nominated for Best Television Show, Drama; Best Actress, Television Drama, Michelle Dockery; Best Supporting Actress in a Series, Miniseries or Motion Picture Made for Television, Maggie Smith

“A Gilded Cage: A Feminist Critique of the Downton Abbey Christmas Special” by Amanda Civitello


Homeland: nominated for Best Television Show, Drama; Best Actress, Television Drama, Claire Danes; Best Actor, Television Drama, Damian Lewis; Best Supporting Actor in a Series, Miniseries or Motion Picture Made for Television, Mandy Patinkin

“The Best of 2012 (I Think)” by Rachel Redfern

Homeland‘s Carrie Mathison” by Cali Loria

Homeland‘s Carrie Mathison: A Pulsing Beat of Jazz and ‘Crazy Genius'” by Leigh Kolb


Mad Men: nominated for Best Actor, Television Drama, Jon Hamm

“Emmy Week 2011: Mad Men Week Roundup” [includes links to 9 pieces written about Mad Men]

Mad Men and The War on Women, 1.0″ by Diana Fakhouri


New Girl: nominated for Best Actress, Television Comedy or Musical, Zooey Deschanel; Best Supporting Actor in a Series, Miniseries or Motion Picture Made for Television, Max Greenfield

“Why I’ve Fallen in Love with New Girl by Lady T


30 Rock: nominated for Best Actress, Television Comedy or Musical, Tina Fey; Best Actor, Television Comedy or Musical, Alec Baldwin

“Max’s Field Guide to Returning Fall TV Shows” by Max Thornton

“The Casual Feminism of 30 Rock by Peggy Cooke

“Liz Lemon: The ‘Every Woman’ of Prime Time” by Lisa Mathews

“Jane Krakowski and the Dedicated Ignorance of Jenna Maroney” by Kyle Sanders


VEEP: nominated for Best Actress, Television Comedy or Musical, Julia Louis-Dreyfus

“Political Humor and Humanity in HBO’s VEEP by Rachel Redfern


Parks and Recreation: nominated for Best Actress, Television Comedy or Musical, Amy Poehler

“Why We Need Leslie Knope and What Her Election on Parks and Rec Means for Women and Girls” by Megan Kearns

“Max’s Field Guide to Returning Fall TV Shows” by Max Thornton

“Ann Perkins and Me: It’s Complicated” by Peggy Cooke

“I Want to Establish the Ron Swanson Scholarship in Women’s Studies” by Amanda Krauss

Parks and Recreation Seasons 1 & 2″ by Amber Leab

“Leslie Knope” by Diane Shipley


Louie: nominated for Best Actor, Television Comedy or Musical, Louis C.K.

“Listening and the Art of Good Storytelling in Louis C.K.’s Louie by Leigh Kolb


The Girl: nominated for Best Miniseries or Television Movie; Best Actress in a Miniseries or Motion Picture Made for Television, Sienna Miller; Best Actor in a Miniseries or Motion Picture Made for Television, Toby Jones

“Too Many Hitchcocks” by Robin Hitchcock



Argo: nominated for Best Picture, Drama; Best Director, Ben Affleck; Best Supporting Actor, Alan Arkin; Best Screenplay, Chris Terrio; Best Original Score, Alexandre Desplat

“Does Argo Suffer from a Woman Problem and Iranian Stereotypes?” by Megan Kearns


Moonrise Kingdom: nominated for Best Picture, Musical or Comedy

“An Open Letter to Owen Wilson Regarding Moonrise Kingdom by Molly McCaffrey


The Deep Blue Sea: nominated for Best Actress, Drama, Rachel Weisz

The Deep Blue Sea by Eli Lewy


The Big Bang Theory: nominated for Best Television Show, Comedy or Musical; Best Actor, Television Comedy or Musical, Jim Parsons

“The Evolution of The Big Bang Theory by Rachel Redfern

“Big Bang Bust” by Melissa McEwan


Zero Dark Thirty: nominated for Best Picture, Drama; Best Director, Kathryn Bigelow; Best Actress, Drama, Jessica Chastain; Best Screenplay, Mark Boal

“Jessica Chastain’s Performance Propels the Exquisitely Sharp But Aloof Zero Dark Thirty by Candice Frederick

‘Zero Dark Thirty’ Raises Questions On Gender and Torture, Provides No Easy Answers by Megan Kearns


The Newsroom: nominated for Best Television Show, Drama; Best Actor, Television Drama, Jeff Daniels

The Newsroom: Misogyny 2.0″ by Leigh Kolb


Sherlock: nominated for Best Actor in a Miniseries or Motion Picture Made for Television, Benedict Cumberbatch

“‘I Misbehave’: A Character Analysis of Irene Adler from BBC’s Sherlockby Amanda Rodriguez


The Impossible: nominated for Best Actress, Drama, Naomi Watts

“It’s ‘Impossible’ Not to See the White-Centric Point of View” by Lady T


 
Silver Linings Playbook: nominated for Best Picture, Musical or Comedy; Best Actor, Musical or Comedy, Bradley Cooper; Best Actress, Musical or Comedy, Jennifer Lawrence; Best Screenplay, David O. Russell

Silver Linings Playbook, or, As I Like to Call It: fuckyeahjenniferlawrence” by Stephanie Rogers


2013 Golden Globes Week: Big Bang Bust

This is a guest post by Melissa McEwan and is cross-posted with permission from her blog Shakesville
I have never been a great lover of sitcoms. Despite their ubiquity in American primetime television, especially when I was growing up, there just weren’t a lot of them for me to love. So much of the com always relied on sits that mocked or belittled or straight-up hated the characters in the show with which we were meant to identify. I have only ever been able to love sitcoms that loved their characters.

The earliest sitcom I remember loving—I mean really loving—was Good Times, a show about a black family who lived in the Chicago projects, the central feature of which was their struggle to navigate life in poverty. It was an imperfect show: There was a strong message of bootstraps, which simultaneously challenged narratives about the Welfare Queens to whom Ronald Reagan had not yet given a name, and indirectly entrenched judgment of anyone who would accept “a hand-out.” But it was an important and challenging show, which did not shy away from discussions of racial and feminist justice. And it loved its characters deeply.

The next sitcom I remember really loving was The Golden Girls, for so many reasons, but chief among them that the show loved its characters. There were jokes at the women’s expense, but they were delivered by one another (usually Sophia), and thus was it ever unmistakable these were in-jokes of a loving group. We weren’t invited to laugh at them, but with them.

There have been other shows I’ve loved along the way, some very much. But something about these not quite as lovable shows held me (or obliged me to hold myself) at a distance. I deeply dug The Cosby Show as a child, but there was always a thread of one-upping—between Cliff and Claire, between Cliff and the kids—that put me at unease. Someone was always getting the better of someone else, which never sat precisely right with me. I loved Family Ties, but there was always a weird hostility toward Mallory’s girlyness that alienated me.

It is a subtle difference, but I have always been most strongly drawn to the shows that invite me to love their characters because of their flaws, rather than in spite of them.

For all the times Parks and Rec has made my teeth grind with its Jerry bullying, I have known, always, that the show loves Jerry, and wants us to love him—and when the other characters are thoughtless or cruel to him, it is they who are wrong. It is their flaw, their envy, their self-involvement—not anything wrong with the inimitably lovable Jerry.

It is so rare that I love, really love, a sitcom that I feel overwhelmed with a bounty of riches that there are two shows currently airing that I adore: Parks and Rec and New Girl, about which I have written before that “the thing I like most is that it loves its characters. It asks me to root for them, and I do!”

All of which is prelude to this: The Big Bang Theory doesn’t like its female characters anymore, and so I don’t really like The Big Bang Theory anymore.

I didn’t like TBBT the first time I watched it, which was just some random episode in the middle of the series. But then I watched it from the beginning, when it went into syndication, and I liked it a lot. It’s never been a show I’ve loved like the aforementioned shows, but it was a show I enjoyed quite a bit, anyway—and I thought it did a pretty swell job of exposing Nice Guyism for the garbage that it is.

Mostly, I liked Penny.

I really liked this female character, despite her tokenism, who was routinely drawn as a complex human being despite the guys’ objectification of her. I liked that she was allowed to be funny, and clever, and have sexual agency, and teach the guys by example how to stand up to bullies.

The show, I thought, liked Penny, too.

And I really liked the additional female leads that were added in time. I liked Bernadette—even though she has a terrible case of Bailey Quarters which compels us to pretend that she’s not beautiful because she wears glasses and someone else is supposed to be the sexpot on the show—and I loved Amy Farrah Fowler. (I really like Leslie Winkle whenever she shows up, too.) I liked most of the scenes between the girls, and I was glad Penny wasn’t isolated in a tower of Exceptional Womanhood anymore.

But then something changed. I’m not sure exactly when it happened, but the show lost its respect for Amy Farrah Fowler. Once a formidable complement to Sheldon Cooper, she has been reduced to an unwanted trophy—he gets a girl (that he doesn’t even seem to want) and she has to settle for a shitty relationship because, hey, she’s a nerd; it’s not like she could do (or deserves?) any better.

And, this season, the show seems to have lost every trace of the love it once had for Penny.

Penny isn’t allowed to be good at anything anymore. She can’t accomplish this, she can’t understand that, she’s not even smart enough to take science classes at community college. This is the same character who used to (literally) kick ass on earlier seasons, and now her entire oeuvre consists of drinking wine and making sure Leonard still thinks she’s sexy.

There was an episode earlier this season, in which Penny was taking a history course, and couldn’t even write a decent paper on her own. Leonard was being a complete asshole about it, and, watching the show, Iain and I were bitterly complaining that the show had rendered Penny incapable of writing a 101-level essay. When at last Penny presented Leonard with a B+ paper, we were so happy—only to be immediately crushed by the reveal that Bernadette and Amy had helped her, and only helped her enough to get a B+, because they wanted it to be “realistic.”

Every time Penny trudges by in her waitress uniform, I now cringe. Because it’s just a reminder about how the show won’t let her succeed. At anything.

Which certainly doesn’t make for a better show. I would have found an episode about Penny and Leonard trying to navigate their relationship while she’s taken away by a movie role (professional success! yay for Penny!) exponentially more interesting than the last episode, where I instead watched Penny put on sexy glasses to give Leonard a boner to assuage her insecurity after another woman flirted with him.

The fact is, TBBT has officially fallen out of love with Penny. And that makes TBBT pretty damn unwatchable for me.

Take note, sitcom writers: I can’t love your characters more than you do.

———-

Melissa McEwan is the founder and manager of the award-winning political and cultural group blog Shakesville, which she launched as Shakespeare’s Sister in October 2004 because George Bush was pissing her off. In addition to running Shakesville, she also contributes to The Guardian‘s Comment is Free America and AlterNet. Liss graduated from Loyola University Chicago with degrees in Sociology and Cultural Anthropology, with an emphasis on the political marginalization of gender-based groups. An active feminist and LGBTQI advocate, she has worked as a concept development and brand consultant and now writes full-time.

She lives just outside Chicago with three cats, two dogs, and a Scotsman, with whom she shares a love of all things geekdom, from Lord of the Rings to Alcatraz. When she’s not blogging, she can usually be found watching garbage television or trying to coax her lazyass greyhound off the couch for a walk. 
 
 
 

2013 Golden Globes Week: 2013 Cecil B. DeMille Award Recipient Jodie Foster: Credibility over Celebrity

Jodie Foster at last year’s Golden Globes

Written by Robin Hitchcock.

This weekend at the Golden Globes, Jodie Foster will be honored with the Cecil B. DeMille Award to honor her lifetime achievement in cinema. At age 50, Jodie Foster is the fourth-youngest recipient of the award, but having started acting at only three years old, her career spans as long as many more senior actors, directors, and producers. 

For many, Jodie Foster represents the ideal model for transitioning from child acting to an adult career. She’s also known for being one of the most private people in Hollywood, despite her nearly lifelong stardom and such high profile incidents as her stalker John Hinckley shooting President Reagan in 1981. Jodie Foster is the first “openly gay” woman to receive of the Cecil B. DeMille Award, but she has almost never publicly commented on her sexuality. She “came out” in a 2007 when she thanked then-partner Cydney Bernard while accepting an award. Foster still generally refuses to answer questions about her relationships and other aspects of her personal life, and in so doing has, against the odds, cultivated genuine movie stardom without the trappings of celebrity. This is a rare feat for anyone in Hollywood and even more unusual for a woman. 

Foster’s priceless response to Ricky Gervais’ jokes about her sexuality at last year’s Globes 

And there can be no doubt this has made a direct contribution to Foster’s ability to practice her craft; the piece she authored for The Daily Beast responding to the tabloid spectacle surrounding (her Panic Room co-star) Kristen Stewart’s affair with director Rupert Sanders asserts, “if I were a young actor today I would quit before I started. If I had to grow up in this media culture, I don’t think I could survive it emotionally.” Foster elaborates:

Acting is all about communicating vulnerability, allowing the truth inside yourself to shine through regardless of whether it looks foolish or shameful. To open and give yourself completely. It is an act of freedom, love, connection. Actors long to be known in the deepest way for their subtleties of character, for their imperfections, their complexities, their instincts, their willingness to fall. The more fearless you are, the more truthful the performance. How can you do that if you know you will be personally judged, skewered, betrayed?

Jodie Foster has built her career on her ability to communicate vulnerability without diminishing her dignity, a compelling balance she is able to bring to her characters partially because her talent is not eclipsed by her celebrity.

Jodie Foster in The Accused

A recurring thread in Foster’s films is the issue of credibility: her characters often have to fight to have their voices heard and stories believed, and/or to be afforded the authority and status that they rightfully deserve. In The Accused, the first film for which Jodie Foster won a Golden Globe and an Academy Award for Best Actress, Foster plays Sarah Tobias, a victim of a brutal gang rape. The prosecuting attorney Kathryn Murphy (Kelly McGillis) makes a plea bargain deal with the perpetrators in part because she thinks Sarah makes a poor witness for a trial because she has a reputation for promiscuity and uses drugs and alcohol. Sarah has to continually reassert that she is worthy of justice and deserving of being heard, even to her ally Murphy. Ultimately, Sarah is given the platform to tell her story in the court and help secure some measure of justice toward those who assaulted her.

Jodie Foster as Clarice Starling in The Silence of the Lambs

Clarice Starling in Silence of the Lambs, perhaps Foster’s most celebrated role, is largely defined by her ability to command respect from a world that seems hell-bent on denying her equal status (as is astutely analyzed in this post by Jeff Vordham that previously appeared on Bitch Flicks.) Hannibal Lecter at first dismisses Clarice as a “rube,” but she wins his respect by forthrightly communicating with him through his constant attempts to play status games with her.

Like Clarice Starling, Ellie Arroway, Jodie Foster’s character in Contact, is not taken as seriously by her peers and colleagues despite her merit. Arroway has to passionately fight to keep funding for her search for extraterrestrial communications.  Even after the value of her research is proven by her discovery of a message from outer space, she is kept on the periphery of the (largely white and male) “in-crowd” that responds to this development. In the film’s final act, Arroway’s experience travelling through a wormhole and speaking with a representative of the alien species who sent the message is officially disavowed due to lack of evidence, although it is clear most of the characters trust the veracity of her account. Again, Jodie Foster’s gift for credibility connects the audience to her character’s struggle to be accepted and believed.

Jodie Foster fights to be believed in Flightplan

This recurring theme of asserting one’s credibility and value in the face of denial and dismissal is a fundamentally feminist motif. When she appeared on Inside the Actors Studio, Jodie Foster discussed her role in Flightplan, which also hinges on her character’s questioned credibility. The character was originally written for a man to play, and when Foster lobbied for the role she specifically noted that this conflict is inherently female: “‘There’s a point in the film where she is so bereft that she has to consider that she’s lost her mind… Well that’s a scene a man could never play. A man in a crisis like this wouldn’t question his sanity, he’d question someone else’s.”

Jodie Foster understands that as women, each of her character’s credibility is considered inherently questionable by a sexist society. In film after film, Foster infuses her characters with an authority that silences those doubts. And as such, watching Jodie Foster’s characters is often immensely satisfying to the feminist viewer. It’s fantastic to see the Hollywood Foreign Press honor her remarkable career with the Cecil B. DeMille award. Congratulations, Jodie.

‘Silver Linings Playbook,’ or, As I Like to Call It: FuckYeahJenniferLawrence

Movie poster for Silver Linings Playbook
Written by Stephanie Rogers

It went down like this: My sister and I were visiting my mom for Thanksgiving in the tiny but lovely and water-surrounded town of Solomons, Maryland. This was like a four-day adventure, and after spending one day eating, another day sleeping and watching football (don’t judge me), and another day accidentally setting off the entire alarm system at the college where my mom teaches Labor Studies, we thought … why not take a break from almost getting arrested and see a movie?

I wanted to see Life of Pi, mainly because it was right down the street, and the next closest movie theater was a two-hour drive, or, as my mom likes to say, “It’ll only take us 45 minutes to get there.” That’s apparently code for two hours. But my sister was all, “I want to see Silver Linings Playbook because Bradley Cooper!” And I was all, “I don’t even know what that is!” And she was all, “You get to see whatever you want all the time because you live in New York and never hang out with anybody and have no life!” And I was all, “Fine, Asshole. Fine.” So that’s how I ended up bitterly walking into a movie theater after seething in a car for two hours to see a movie starring one of those bros from ApatowEtcetera. I didn’t expect much.
But OMG!
(I have no idea why I’m writing this review like a 34-year-old 14-year-old, but this is how it’s going down, and I can’t stop it.) 

Jennifer Lawrence and Bradley Cooper in Silver Linings Playbook
If my sister had merely said, “That chick from Winter’s Bone is in it,” I would’ve been all, “You had me at Bone,” and we could’ve avoided a two-hour passive-aggressive insult-fest loosely refereed by my mom, who should really know the difference between 45 minutes and two hours by now, so don’t feel bad for her.
Look, Bradley Cooper isn’t The Worst. I kind of liked him in Limitless, and I could probably write a feminist analysis of Wedding Crashers if I felt like intellectually torturing myself for a minute, and The Hangover movies aren’t real (they fucking aren’t), and he did help out Sydney Bristow on a few episodes of Alias, so I’ll give the guy a break for all those things, but mainly for asking Sean Penn a question on Inside the Actors’ Studio in like 1992.

Tell me that’s not adorable.
But, who cares about Bradley Cooper when Jennifer Lawrence exists. I mean. Right? Winter’s Bone. The Hunger Games. And yes, say it with me: Silver Linings Playbook.
God I loved this movie. I’m not sure I know exactly why yet, or how it managed to incorporate elements of Dirty Dancing, One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest, Goodfellas, He’s Just Not That Into You, Rain Man, and Rudy into one cohesive-ish film that seems to both celebrate and critique the embarrassing clichés inherent in each of those movies, but I know I loved it. I know Jennifer Lawrence and Bradley Cooper will deservedly get Oscar nods for their performances, and I wouldn’t be surprised to see a Best Picture Nomination bestowed upon it. I know the film felt—as most do these days—occasionally problematic in its representations of gender, but I also know that I left this particular film giving way less of a fuck about those problems than I normally do. That isn’t to say I’m letting it off the hook for its failures; I’m just saying let me love it for a minute. 

Jacki Weaver and Bradley Cooper in Silver Linings Playbook
Here’s the premise: Bradley Cooper plays Pat. He gets committed to a mental hospital for eight months after he brutally attacks the man who’s sleeping with his wife (Nikki). He gets diagnosed with bipolar disorder. He gets out. He moves in with his parents because Nikki left him and got a restraining order against him. He tries to get his illness under control in the hopes that Nikki will take him back. Because his married friends Ronnie and Veronica (Nikki’s friend) realize that the probability of Nikki taking him back is, like, no, they decide to introduce him to Veronica’s sister. Enter Tiffany aka fuckyeahjenniferlawrence.
Lawrence plays Tiffany, a young woman whose husband died unexpectedly the previous year (and we don’t find out the details of his death until a heart-wrenching scene toward the end of the film). I worried at first that Tiffany might veer into Manic Pixie I-must-save-this-dude-from-himself-so-hard territory, but that doesn’t entirely happen. What prevents it from happening? Tiffany is a depressed, lonely mess herself, and she’s in just as much need of “saving” as every other character. The film doesn’t name a specific mental illness for her, but we know she takes medication and “goes to a lot of therapy,” as some dude warns (read: SHE’S CRAZY). 

Jennifer Lawrence and Bradley Cooper in Silver Linings Playbook
One could write a full-length book about whether this film accurately portrays mental illness or if it relies too heavily on conventional on-screen mental illness stereotypes. Most reviews I’ve read tend to focus on the fact that Silver Linings Playbook at least attempts to depict the strains mental illness places on the sufferer’s interpersonal relationships. (I will say, for the record, that Pat does start taking his meds once he realizes he needs them to manage his bipolar disorder, and he also consistently goes to therapy. I don’t understand how so many reviewers keep missing this, as it’s a pretty significant argument against the idea that Silver Linings pushes some kind of superficial, new age-y pop psychology agenda that promotes “the power of positive thinking” as the exclusive treatment for mental illness. It does not do that.)
What it does do, though, is take a subtle jab at the cult of masculinity in America. The conflicts in the film are often caused by male anger and aggression, and several scenes even conclude with male violence—like when Pat’s rage fit with his dad (DeNiro) leads him to (albeit accidentally) hit his mother in the face, or when he throws a book through a window because he hates the ending, or when he gets arrested for intervening in a brawl at a football game. The film makes it perfectly clear that this style of hyper masculine conflict resolution ain’t getting anybody anywhere. Pat begins to succeed and really change in Silver Linings only when he agrees to take his meds and become Tiffany’s partner in a local dance contest—and it doesn’t get less traditionally masculine than the phrase “local dance contest.” 

Bradley Cooper and Jennifer Lawrence in Silver Linings Playbook
But, like Helen Hunt in The Sessions, it’s Jennifer Lawrence who grounds this film. Her performance as the emotionally disturbed Tiffany could’ve easily turned into a parody of women with depression (hi!), and the often absurdist nature of Silver Linings certainly lays a foundation for that. Tiffany never goes there, though. She fights to stay above ground, by dancing, by trying to forge a connection with Pat, and, as the film clearly indicates early on, by experimenting with medications to treat her (unnamed) illness.
Yes, she sleeps around. Yes, she manipulates Pat into entering the dance competition (eventually telling him a big ol’ horrible lie about Nikki). Yes, she buddies up with Pat’s over-nurturing mom (an excellent Jacki Weaver) to get information about Pat’s jogging routes so she can track him down—most of Pat and Tiffany’s initial conversations take place during exercise, ha.
And I didn’t love a lot of that. 

Jacki Weaver and Robert DeNiro in Silver Linings Playbook
I understood it, though, and even within the lack of believability at times, the emotions driving Tiffany’s decisions rang true for me. Who hasn’t been lonely and desperate to connect with another person? Who hasn’t made questionable choices in order to do that? I want to see those women on screen, women who I get to adore and despise, who make me feel uneasy and ecstatic, who I’m rooting both for and against. Why? Because I get to see dudes like that on screen all the time. We don’t expect our dude heroes to be perfect, and we shouldn’t expect it of our women heroes either. Where’s the fun—or truth—in that?
(Let me add, though, that I did not like the fact that Pat’s wife Nikki, who we see exactly one time in the movie, acts as nothing more than a vehicle to move the plot forward. Can we do away with that fucking women in refrigerators trope already?) 

Bradley Cooper and Robert DeNiro in Silver Linings Playbook
True story: I’m mentally ill. That’s probably the worst transition in the history of anything ever written, so I’mma just ignore it and keep on going. I’ve struggled with bipolar II for the past fifteen years, and I spent a good portion of that time undiagnosed (which is much scarier than the actual, very stigmatized diagnosis). Perhaps that’s one reason I loved the movie so much. The director, David O’Russell, mentions in an interview that his son is bipolar, so his desire to make the film stemmed from personal experience. That comes through wonderfully, in the actors’ performances especially, but also in the tragic comedy of it all. Silver Linings Playbook reminded me of one long obligatory party, with every mentally ill member of my family trying to interact with one another without snapping.
There might be fights, accusations, and the occasional horrific anxiety attack, but that doesn’t mean there isn’t understanding and love.

2013 Golden Globes Week: It’s “Impossible” Not to See the White-Centric Point of View

Written by Lady T, originally published at The Funny Feminist.

So this is a trailer for the upcoming film, The Impossible, telling the story about the 2004 tsunami:

There are a few title cards in the trailer that provide the necessary background for the story. The trailer helpfully tells you, “In 2004, tragedy struck southeast Asia.”

However, I don’t think those title cards are specific enough. I’d like to revise those title cards so they read, “In 2004, tragedy devastated entire nations, but we’re going to focus on one white family that was on vacation there.”

The Impossible is based on a true story of a real family that was separated during the tsunami and eventually reunited, each family member miraculously surviving. I can easily see why this story would appeal so much to filmmakers. “Family separated, in peril, in a devastated nation that is completely foreign to them” is such a great hook that it’s practically Captain Hook. Who wouldn’t be interested in the story of a family who have to survive in a country that isn’t their own?

On the other hand, this is a real-life tsunami that affected entire nations, that devastated the lives of the citizens who lived there, and the first prominent film about the tragedy is about white people who were staying at a hotel?

The family in The Impossible

Landon Palmer at the Culture Warrior has more to say on this:

“There is no reason to say that this experience wasn’t any less traumatic and devastating for those visiting (regardless of their particular race) than the inhabitants (once again, regardless of their particular race) of any of the affected nations. The problem with The Impossible trailer isn’t the depiction family’s experience of the tragedy itself, but its implications about what happens when, say, the film ends. While watching the trailer for the first time, an image kept appearing in my head of an exhausted, scratched-up family sleeping comfortably on a plane returning them safely to their home of origin. Being able to survive and then leave a tragedy is altogether different than having everything that is familiar, including one’s home, fall apart before your eyes. However, years of uncertain reconstruction and rehabilitation doesn’t fit the formula of a Hollywood ending quite like a welcome return to a home far, far away from moving tectonic plates.”

Or, you can read a briefer, much more blunt article at 8Asians here, titled “The Impossible Trailer Features Pretty White People Surviving Indonesian Tsunami.”

There are some who might say that one can’t judge a film before seeing it, but to quote our illustrious vice-president, that’s a bunch of malarkey. The purpose of trailers is to market the film and let viewers decide whether or not they want to see it. If a person does not want to see The Impossible because they don’t want to see, as my friend put it, “the tsunami from the perspective of the 1%,” that is a legitimate reason to not see the film.

You tell ’em, Joe.

As for me, I will probably see The Impossible. Naomi Watts scored a Best Actress nomination for the part , and I’m a huge Oscar fan who likes to see as many nominated films as possible from the Picture, Director, Acting, and Screenplay categories. The film also looks beautifully shot. Who knows? The Impossible could be a legitimately good movie.

Still, I can’t help but feel that the real impossible task is making a movie about tragedies that affect non-white people and expecting the film to get the same attention as one that stars Naomi Watts and Ewan McGregor.

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

2013 Golden Globes Week: It’s “Impossible” Not to See the White-Centric Point of View

Written by Lady T, originally published at The Funny Feminist.

So this is a trailer for the upcoming film, The Impossible, telling the story about the 2004 tsunami:

There are a few title cards in the trailer that provide the necessary background for the story. The trailer helpfully tells you, “In 2004, tragedy struck southeast Asia.”

However, I don’t think those title cards are specific enough. I’d like to revise those title cards so they read, “In 2004, tragedy devastated entire nations, but we’re going to focus on one white family that was on vacation there.”

The Impossible is based on a true story of a real family that was separated during the tsunami and eventually reunited, each family member miraculously surviving. I can easily see why this story would appeal so much to filmmakers. “Family separated, in peril, in a devastated nation that is completely foreign to them” is such a great hook that it’s practically Captain Hook. Who wouldn’t be interested in the story of a family who have to survive in a country that isn’t their own?

On the other hand, this is a real-life tsunami that affected entire nations, that devastated the lives of the citizens who lived there, and the first prominent film about the tragedy is about white people who were staying at a hotel?

The family in The Impossible

Landon Palmer at the Culture Warrior has more to say on this:

“There is no reason to say that this experience wasn’t any less traumatic and devastating for those visiting (regardless of their particular race) than the inhabitants (once again, regardless of their particular race) of any of the affected nations. The problem with The Impossible trailer isn’t the depiction family’s experience of the tragedy itself, but its implications about what happens when, say, the film ends. While watching the trailer for the first time, an image kept appearing in my head of an exhausted, scratched-up family sleeping comfortably on a plane returning them safely to their home of origin. Being able to survive and then leave a tragedy is altogether different than having everything that is familiar, including one’s home, fall apart before your eyes. However, years of uncertain reconstruction and rehabilitation doesn’t fit the formula of a Hollywood ending quite like a welcome return to a home far, far away from moving tectonic plates.”

Or, you can read a briefer, much more blunt article at 8Asians here, titled “The Impossible Trailer Features Pretty White People Surviving Indonesian Tsunami.”

There are some who might say that one can’t judge a film before seeing it, but to quote our illustrious vice-president, that’s a bunch of malarkey. The purpose of trailers is to market the film and let viewers decide whether or not they want to see it. If a person does not want to see The Impossible because they don’t want to see, as my friend put it, “the tsunami from the perspective of the 1%,” that is a legitimate reason to not see the film.

You tell ’em, Joe.

As for me, I will probably see The Impossible. Naomi Watts scored a Best Actress nomination for the part , and I’m a huge Oscar fan who likes to see as many nominated films as possible from the Picture, Director, Acting, and Screenplay categories. The film also looks beautifully shot. Who knows? The Impossible could be a legitimately good movie.

Still, I can’t help but feel that the real impossible task is making a movie about tragedies that affect non-white people and expecting the film to get the same attention as one that stars Naomi Watts and Ewan McGregor.

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

2013 Golden Globes Week: "I Misbehave": A Character Analysis of Irene Adler from BBC’s Sherlock

Written by Amanda Rodriguez
Spoilers ahead
Benedict Cumberbatch is up for another Golden Globe for his leading role on the BBC’s hit show Sherlock. Season Two Episode One “A Scandal in Belgravia” is adapted from Sir Arthur Conan Doyle’s Holmes story “A Scandal in Bohemia.” The storyline focuses on Irene Adler, portrayed brilliantly by the arresting Lara Pulver, who has incriminating photographs of a member of nobility that Sherlock must retrieve.
In the original version, Adler is an opera singer who had an ill-advised affair with the prince of Bohemia, and he discontinued the affair because he was to become king and thought she was beneath his station. Adler threatens to expose the photos if the now king announces his engagement to another woman. In the updated TV episode, Adler is a high-priced lesbian dominatrix who operates under the pseudonym “The Woman” and holds photos of a high-ranking female member of the British nobility.
Irene Adler: lesbian dominatrix and general BAMF
Confession: I love Irene Adler. She’s infamous for her sensuality, independence, intelligence, and her ability to manipulate. Throughout the episode, Adler and Sherlock match-up wits, and Adler proves to be the cleverer one right until the very end. Adler establishes herself as the quintessential femme fatale. When contrasted with the other female characters throughout the series, she is the only one who is given a strong representation. The coroner, Molly Hooper, is a doormat, waiting for Sherlock to notice her and her inexplicable affection for him. Mrs. Hudson is a doddering old lady whom Sherlock abuses but takes umbrage if others treat her in a similar fashion, in a way claiming her as his property to abuse or reward at his own whim. Finally, there’s the recurring character of Detective Sergeant Sally Donovan, a tough, but mistrustful police officer who always thinks the worst of Sherlock and is too simple-minded to follow his deductions. 
Though Sherlock doesn’t know it, Adler is well-prepared for their first encounter when Sherlock shows up on her doorstep impersonating a mugged clergyman. In parody of his earlier nude appearance at Buckingham Palace, Adler presents herself to Sherlock in her “battle dress,” i.e. completely naked. This proves to be a cunning ploy because Sherlock can deduce little about her character without the aid of clues from her clothing. Not only that, but Adler maneuvers Sherlock to help her ward off some C.I.A agents by using her measurements as the code to open her booby trapped (har, har) safe. Adler then drugs and beats Sherlock until he relinquishes her camera phone, which contains a host of incriminating evidence that she claims she needs for protection. She ends their memorable first encounter by saying, “It’s been a pleasure. Don’t spoil it. This is how I want you to remember me. The woman who beat you.”
Illustration by Hilbrand Bos
Minus all the sexy dominatrix stuff, this is where the original Holmes story ends. Irene Adler disappears, retaining her protective evidence, and Sherlock must forevermore admire and be galled by The Woman who beat him. The BBC episode, however, takes creative license to continue the story, having Adler fake her own death only to show up six months later demanding Sherlock give back the camera phone that she’d sent to him presumably on the eve of her death. For six months, Sherlock has done his version of mourning, as only an admittedly high-functioning sociopath can (becoming withdrawn, composing mournful violin music, smoking, etc.). Does he mourn, we wonder, the death of a woman for whom he’d grown to care, or does he regret the loose end, the loss of a chance to ever reclaim his victory and trounced ego from such a superior opponent?
Before her faked death, Adler sent frequent flirtatious texts to Sherlock, with the refrain, “Let’s have dinner.” Sherlock responded to none of her messages, lending increased weight to the significance of their relationship. Upon her resurrection, Adler confesses that despite the fact that she’s a lesbian, she has feelings for Sherlock. Her feelings, in a way, mirror those of Watson, a self-proclaimed straight man who clearly has a deep emotional attachment to Sherlock. Sherlock then forms the apex of a peculiar love triangle at once sexual and cerebral.  
“Brainy is the new sexy.” – Irene Adler
Adler tricks Sherlock into decoding sensitive information on her camera phone. After breaking the code in four seconds that a cryptographer struggled with and eventually gave up on, Adler feeds Sherlock’s ego.
Irene Adler: “I would have you, right here on this desk, until you begged for mercy twice.”
Sherlock Holmes: “I’ve never begged for mercy in my life.”
Irene Adler: “Twice.”
She then follows up on all her sexual attentions toward Sherlock by sending the decrypted code to a terrorist cell. She reveals to Mycroft and Sherlock Holmes that she’d played them both and consulted with Sherlock’s arch enemy Jim Moriarty to do so. It turns out, she was playing a deep game, exerting endless patience in her long con with blackmail as her goal all along. She demands such a sizeable sum for the code to her valuable camera phone that it would “blow a hole in the wealth of the nation.”
At this point, Irene Adler has won. She’s literally and figuratively beaten Sherlock Holmes repeatedly at his games of deduction and intrigue. She’s planned for and obviated every contingency. Adler is the only woman to arouse Sherlock’s sexual and intellectual interest all because she proved to be better than him. Adler masterfully manipulates the emotions of a man who cannot understand how and why people feel, a man who seems incapable of anything but his own selfish pursuits. Her problematic confessions of interest in Sherlock despite her sexual orientation are negated in light of her schemes.
Unfortunately, this is where it all goes to shit.
Just as Mycroft is giving his begrudging praise of Adler’s plot (“the dominatrix who brought a nation to its knees”), Sherlock reveals that he took Adler’s pulse and observed her dilated pupils when interacting with him. He deduces her base sentiment has influenced her into making the passcode more than random, into making it, instead, “the key to her heart.”
Sherlocked…get it? Get it? Snore.
With that simple, inane phrase, Adler is undone. Sherlock has broken into her hard drive and her heart. Depicting a lesbian character truly falling in love with a man is a complete invalidation of her sexual identity. Not only that, but it has larger implications that are damaging and regressive. It advances the notion that lesbians are a myth, that all women can fall in love with men if given the right circumstances.
Having a female opponent who is more cunning than Sherlock ultimately lose due to her emotions also implies that women are incapable of keeping their emotions in check. Sherlock insists that her “sentiment is a chemical defect found in the losing side.” While he can detach from his emotions, she cannot, and thus he will always be better than her at the so-called game. Not only that, but this emotion versus reason dichotomy further reinforces the destructive gender binary that assigns certain traits to men and others to women, giving privilege to those assigned to men. Even Adler’s seductiveness, her cunning, her manipulation of the Holmes brothers, these characteristics are coded as female. Adler even enlists the aid of the male Jim Moriarty with the implicit reasoning that he is smarter, slicker, and more capable of handling the Holmes brothers.
Irene Adler must make her way in the world as a sex worker who deals in secrets. (Remind you of Miss Scarlet from Clue at all?) Capitalizing on sex and thriving on the power dynamics inherent in sex (especially heterosexual sex, in which we know Adler engages) are attributes generally assigned to women even though they are fabrications. Having to engage in sexual activity for money does not give women power. It, instead, forces women to exploit themselves and conform to a regulated form of femininity as well as other people’s sexual desires and fantasies (regardless of what the woman herself wants, likes, or doesn’t like). Considering the appalling number of rapes each year, each day, each hour, we also know that power dynamics (from a hetero standpoint) don’t truly favor women. Though the episode doesn’t get into it, presumably Adler is finally cashing in on all her secrets in order to make a better life for herself, a life in which she does not have to sell her body to survive. 
When Sherlock outwits Adler, he forces the dominatrix to beg for her life, which is worth little without her secrets. Though he feigns indifference, he ends up finding her after she’s gone into hiding and been captured by terrorists in Karachi. He then saves her from a beheading and falsifies her death in a completely untraceable way.
It’s poignant that Sherlock holds the sword over Adler’s neck, choosing whether she lives or dies.
At the end of the episode, Sherlock stands before a window chuckling to himself about how handily he settled the whole scandal with The Woman. He doesn’t only best her at their game of wit, but he debases and de-claws her. Divesting her of all her power, all her secrets, Irene Adler is completely at his mercy and must to be rescued like a damsel in distress or, worse, like a naughty little girl who’s gotten in over her head and must be dug out by her patriarch.
Despite the frequent declaration that “things are better for women now,” it’s hard to ignore that a story written in 1891 created a larger space for a woman to be strong, smart, and to escape. It’s also hard to ignore that Sherlock doesn’t just outwit Adler, he systematically dismantles all her power and only then does he graciously allow her to live. We can wish the last ten minutes of the episode had been cut, allowing for an ending in keeping with the original story, an ending that empowered a woman as one of Sherlock’s most formidable foes. A potentially more fruitful wish would be that Irene Adler returns in future seasons, stronger and more prepared to play the game against Sherlock Holmes, a game we can only hope she will win the next time around.
———-
Amanda Rodriguez is an environmental activist living in Asheville, North Carolina. She holds a BA from Antioch College in Yellow Springs, Ohio and an MFA in fiction writing from Queens University in Charlotte, NC. She writes all about food and drinking games on her blog Booze and Baking. Fun fact: while living in Kyoto, Japan, her house was attacked by monkeys.

2013 Golden Globes Week: ‘The Newsroom’: Misogyny 2.0

I am a great man.

Written by Leigh Kolb

During the first episode of HBO’s The Newsroom, news anchor Will McAvoy (Jeff Daniels) delivers a rousing monologue about why America is not the “greatest country in the world.” He renders the crowd of college students speechless as he lashes out at the “sorority girl” who asked the question, bashing America’s current “WORST-period-GENERATION-period-EVER-period.” Soft piano music plays in the background as he laments America’s past greatness:
“…We reached for the stars, and we acted like men. We aspired to intelligence; we didn’t belittle it; it didn’t make us feel inferior. We didn’t identify ourselves by who we voted for in the last election, and we didn’t scare so easy. And we were able to be all these things and do all these things because we were informed. By great men, men who were revered.” (emphasis added)

Most of the speech is eloquent, and will have audiences of all political persuasions nodding in agreement (as they should–American exceptionalism is misguided). 
What the audience of college students can’t see, and what no one seems to focus on, is the fact that Will, in all of his “great men” bravado, got this idea from a woman.
I’m not sure if Aaron Sorkin, The Newsroom‘s creator and writer, got the memo either. In  “How to Write an Aaron Sorkin Script, by Aaron Sorkin,” by Aaron Sorkin in GQ, AARON SORKIN (in case you missed it) writes:
“A student asks what makes America the world’s greatest country, and Will dodges the question with glib answers. But the moderator keeps needling him until…snap.”

In reality, Will sees what he thinks is an hallucination of MacKenzie McHale (Emily Mortimer) in the audience. As he struggles to answer the question, she writes him a prompt and holds it up: 

“IT’S NOT. BUT IT CAN BE.”

Then he launches into his “great men” manifesto, and the story begins.
IT WAS HER IDEA!
Much has been written about the “hostile” misogyny of The Newsroom (see here, here, here and here), and rightfully so. 
While all of the characters are flawed, Will is a hero, but the female characters are incompetent, clumsy and hysterical. Will goes on the air stoned, is condescending toward dates, tricks MacKenzie into thinking he was going to propose to her years ago, changes MacKenzie’s contract to allow him to be able to fire her every week, but he is our good guy, our hero.
The women? Again, critics have been deconstructing the show’s misogyny from its inception, but the women are unbelievable. Will’s ex-girlfriend and new executive producer MacKenzie is especially baffling. She has returned to America after reporting in Afghanistan and Iraq for two years to serve as the executive producer of News Night. She’s a well-respected reporter and producer, but throughout the first season she consistently unravels into a heap of one-dimensional stereotypes. Is it believable that an esteemed journalist doesn’t understand how to work email? That she doesn’t know anything about economics? 
MacKenzie frequently has emotional breakdowns in front of her staff.
It doesn’t make sense. Unless you’re Aaron Sorkin–then this is who women are. They are the flighty associate producer who mixes up the state Georgia and country Georgia and writes “LOL” on a funeral card. They are the gorgeous woman with a PhD in economics who is only convinced to anchor after being seduced by the Gucci wardrobe. They are the women who think an important news tip is a pick-up line, don’t understand the acronym or are too preoccupied with being jealous to get the news (thank goodness there were men to decode the message). They are the women who love Sex and the City and blow up if Valentine’s Day doesn’t go their way. They are purveyors of gossip, and love reality TV.
Maggie earned her position at News Night by being promoted accidentally before McHale promotes her for being “loyal.”
Will has flaws, of course. However, he is consistently portrayed as competent and heroic.
After Maggie’s (Alison Pill) roommate is a guest on News Night and goes on a tangent about abortion rights (which would have been a welcome conversation had it made any sense), her boutique is emblazoned with “Baby Killer” graffiti. Will literally walks out of the steam of the streets to go comfort her. It was was an overly dramatic visual reminder that he is a hero–in fact, he is a “great man.” 
“Don’t worry. I got this.”
If Sorkin’s sexism isn’t clear enough in his writing, an interview with The Globe and Mail serves as a persuasive character study. He refers to his interviewer as “Internet girl,” and tells her:
“I think I would have done very well, as a writer, in the forties. I think the last time America was a great country was then, or not long after. It was before Vietnam, before Watergate.”

There it is. Greatness was a time before women’s liberation and before the civil rights movement. And while I’m sure he wouldn’t admit to meaning that, there is clear white male American privilege and hubris that allows someone to truly believe that America was greatest in the 1940s. 
In the final episode of the season, Will ends up hiring the “sorority girl” from the beginning (after accusing her of ruining his life) and telling her she is what makes America the greatest country. He learns that seeing MacKenzie in the audience wasn’t his imagination–she was there with the prompts. She shows him the signs, and he says, “It was you?” She says,

“No, it was you, Billy. I was just producing.”

How unfortunate. His defining moment was prompted by women, yet he finishes with all of the power, even claiming or being given the power from their own contributions. Of course an audience of a news program only sees the glory of the anchor, not the leg work of the producers. But when a show revolves around the behind-the-scenes work of a news program, it’s disheartening and infuriating that MacKenzie–who prompts Will’s monologue and remakes News Night–is the fool, and Will gets all the glory for “civilizing” America.

It’s easy to laud the accomplishments of “great men” if you’re so sure that you are one yourself (Will McAvoy and Aaron Sorkin certainly do). And while the show features good acting and interesting critiques of media and almost-current events, it’s hard to fully appreciate all of that through the cloud of self-importance.

Is The Newsroom the best dramatic television series?
It’s not. And unless Sorkin quickly figures out his issues with women, it can’t be.

—–


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

2013 Golden Globes Week: From a Bride with a Hanzo Sword to a Damsel in Distress: Did Quentin Tarantino’s Feminism Take a Step Backwards in ‘Django Unchained’?

This is a guest review by Tracy Bealer and is cross-posted with permission from Gender Focus.

Movie poster for Django Unchained

One of the pleasures of being a Quentin Tarantino fan for the last (gulp) twenty years has been enjoying his development as a writer-director, especially in terms of his ever more complicated representations of women. To move from Reservoir Dogs, the female characters of which are limited to “shocked woman” and “shot woman,” to Kill Bill volumes 1 & 2, a film (Tarantino insists they be considered a single work) that masterfully investigates the multiplicity of feminine identity, is a dizzying and exhilarating evolution.

However, Django Unchained, Tarantino’s eighth feature, seems to further expand his interest in exploring the intersection of cinema, history and violence, but is rather regressive in terms of female characterization.

Samuel L. Jackson and Kerry Washington in Django Unchained

-Spoilers follow-

Django Unchained is a powerful statement on the absurdity and cruelty that underpinned and perpetuated American slavery. The film follows Django, a freed slave played by Jamie Foxx, and his German partner, Dr. King Schultz (Christoph Waltz) as they attempt to liberate Django’s wife, Broomhilda (Kerry Washington), from the plantation run by Leonardo DiCaprio’s odious Calvin Candie. It includes the kind of Tarantino-esque irreverence and visual wit that are familiar from his earlier films, but also manages to treat the suffering visited on enslaved African American bodies, minds, and families with respect and horror.

Django unquestionably riffs on the same sort of cinematic revenge fantasies for historical injustice that led to the explosive conclusion of Inglourious Basterds, as well as the spaghetti westerns from which Django borrows its title and main character’s name. However, the film also cites captivity narratives, which is a progressive move racially, but not in terms of gender.

Leonardo DiCaprio in Django Unchained

Django Unchained inverts the traditional captivity narrative structure, in which “civilized” white women are captured by an “uncivilized” enemy (in American versions, typically Native Americans). By making Django the avenger and Broomhilda the damsel in distress, the story upends and thereby exposes the fictionality of such racialized categories, but it also places Broomhilda in a character trope that does not allow for the sort of self-actualization and power that typify earlier Tarantino women like Jackie Brown (of the film of the same title), Beatrix Kiddo in Kill Bill, or even the pack of female avengers in Death Proof. Instead, Broomhilda seems to exist in the narrative only to be rescued by Django, and the resulting film becomes nearly as phallocentric in form and content as Reservoir Dogs. (Kerry Washington is joined by four other female actresses, three playing other enslaved women, and the other one the simpering Southern belle sister of Calvin Candie.)

Broomhilda does not have such an unusual name by accident. As Schultz informs Django, and the audience, Broomhilda is a figure from Norse folklore, imprisoned on a mountaintop by her father Odin, and destined to remain trapped until her true love slays a dragon and walks through hellfire to save her. By applying this mythology to Django’s quest to free his own Broomhilda from her hellish captivity, Tarantino universalizes, and thereby de-racializes, the legend. But in so doing, he also by necessity equates the enslaved Broomhilda with the Valkyrie princess. And though both Broomhildas are, as the etymology of their name suggests, “ready for battle,” Kerry Washington is given little fighting to do onscreen in Tarantino’s script.

Jamie Foxx and Kerry Washington in Django Unchained
It seems almost crudely obvious to state that being imprisoned on a mountaintop in no way approximates the suffering endemic to slavery. And if we write beyond the script, Broomhilda undoubtedly endured, and survived, and thrived in spite of, unspeakable torment during her time away from Django, as well as before and during their relationship, leaving no doubt as to her strength. However, when we see her on screen, her character is more often than not marked by vulnerability, passivity, and girlishness.

The first glimpse the audience gets of Broomhilda (outside of Django’s idealized hallucinations of her bathing with him and walking beside his horse in a beautiful gown) is her naked, shaking body being exhumed from “the hot box”—an outside coffin in which she was chained for running away. During a dinner party, after she has learned of Django and Schultz’s plan to trick Candie into selling her, she is stripped to the waist in the dining room to reveal her whipping scars. Broomhilda’s obvious unease during this dinner party tips off Stephen, the head house slave chillingly played by Samuel L. Jackson, to her previous relationship with Django, thereby torpedoing the surreptitious plan. During the ensuing shoot-out she is passed from male hand to male hand, and ultimately thrown onto a bed in a shack, presumably awaiting sexual violation. After Django rescues his wife and destroys Candie’s “big house,” she claps in girlish glee. A warrior queen this Broomhilda is not allowed to be, at least not during the action of the film. 

Jamie Foxx in Django Unchained
I admire (and appreciate) Django Unchained for what it aims to be—a cinematic expose of the institution that has been called “America’s original sin.” There are too few films that seek to do this. However, as someone who has argued elsewhere that Tarantino’s evolution as a filmmaker is coextensive with a developing feminist consciousness, Django has forced me to rethink my assumptions.
———-
Tracy Bealer has a PhD from the University of South Carolina and currently teaches writing at Metro State University of Denver, where she regularly lets her students watch movies in class. She has published on Quentin Tarantino, the Harry Potter series, and sparkly vampires. 

2013 Golden Globes Week: Jessica Chastain’s Performance Propels the Exquisitely Sharp But Aloof ‘Zero Dark Thirty’

This is a guest review by Candice Frederick and is cross-posted with permission from her blog Reel Talk.
Zero Dark Thirty teaser
With her latest film Zero Dark Thirty, filmmaker Kathryn Bigelow continues her charge of completely eliminating any doubt that she’s going to be to that type of female director. You know the kind, the one that purposely tries to connect with her female audience by yanking tears from them or providing any real nuance or connectivity.

And she has beaten any expectations to the contrary out of the audience with this movie that exhausts the hunt for and ultimate death of terrorist Osama bin Laden. Jessica Chastain stars as Maya, a smart CIA operative who’s made it her sole mission to lead the search for bin Laden and ensure that he will no longer be a threat to anyone ever again. When we first meet her, however, she’s squeamish at even the sight of blood as she watches her male counterpart (Jason Clarke) brutally interrogate a possible terrorist lackey.

Jessica Chastain in Zero Dark Thirty
But when it seems like she’s played all her cards, she’s the single woman left standing among a weary team of men and bravely rises to the occasion. Though the audience follows her decade-long ordeal to capture and eliminate bin Laden, not without witnessing many innocent deaths, rarely does she ever emit any emotion from the audience. In fact, with the exception of Chastain’s emotionally spent final scene, which is more of a release than anything else, few areas in the film waste time tugging at the heartstrings. Rather, Maya’s relentless journey seems more stressful and high-pressured than wrought with emotion and painful to endure. There could have been more of a balance, rather than a ruler-sharp portrayal of a woman tackling her position. Granted, this is expected from a character in this line of work, but it made for a very detached commitment to the character from the audience. Just when we get to see a trace of personal struggle from Maya, Bigelow quickly snaps us back to the matter at hand.

Even though that’s just not Bigelow’s style, she surprisingly grips audiences in the first few minutes of the film when they listen to the barrage of frightful phone calls to 911 during the September 11th attacks. Reliving those tragic moments, then following it with the scene to Chastain huddled in the corner of the interrogation room sets the tone of the movie and leaves no questions about the intentions of the story. It’s clear, steady and deliberate retaliation. And there is simply no time for fear.

Chastain leaps into the role, completely shedding any remnant of every other character she’s played, and attacks it with the vigor and confidence it needs. Think Carrie on TV’s Homeland minus the glimmer of insanity (though it would have been understandable given her circumstances).

Jessica Chastain in Zero Dark Thirty
Unfolding like a timetable of harrowing events during this time, the movie might not elicit much empathy but it does successfully manage to push audiences to the edge of their seats, creating a heart-pounding thriller that is suspenseful despite the fact that you know what’s going to happen. Alexandre Desplat’s affecting score further heightens that effect. Bigelow’s stark but realistic approach to Mark Boal’s (with whom she first collaborated on The Hurt Locker) story is gritty and firm, leaving no room for fluff scenes (though the fleeting scene between Chastain and Jennifer Ehle, who plays a member of the retaliation crew, is much welcomed).

With a cast, which include James Gandolfini, Kyle Chandler, and Mark Strong, that’s committed to the increasingly tense dialogue and demanding story, Zero Dark Thirty offers audiences a look at the much meticulous investigation that was shrouded in secrecy, one which led to the ultimate capture of bin Laden. But it is Chastain’s performance, as restrained as it is powerful, that may just be the cherry atop this massive and meticulous film.

———-

Candice Frederick is a former NABJ award-winning journalist for Essence Magazine, and the writer for the film blog, Reel Talk. She is also the TV/Film critic for The Urban Daily. Follow her on Twitter

2013 Golden Globes Week: The Evolution of ‘The Big Bang Theory’

Kunal Nayyar, Johnny Galecki, Jim Parsons, Simon Helberg, Kaley Cuoco

Written by Rachel Redfern.

The Big Bang Theory, the show that legitimizes the nerd in all of us and tickles that small (or large) part of us that gets the Star Trek jokes. The writers of the show are like geeky unicorns who can finally tell that nerdy joke you’ve been trying for years and who make you smile with superiority when you manage to understand one of the many scientific concepts thrown around.

For the second time, The Big Bang Theory has been nominated for a Golden Globe award in Best Television Comedy Series. This is also the second Best Actor in a Television Series-Comedy or Musical nomination for Jim Parsons, the hilarious actor who plays Dr. Sheldon Cooper, an award that he won back in 2011. Similarly, Johnny Galecki was nominated for the same award in 2012.

Instead of just being another rendition of ‘Friends’ and ‘How I Met Your Mother,’ The Big Bang Theory has a unique foundation in its scientist main characters. The main characters Leonard Hofstadter (Johnny Galecki) and Sheldon Cooper (Jim Parsons) are brilliant, but struggle socially, embodying the traditional nerd stereotype in their love of science fiction shows, fantasy card games, comic book mania, and gamer lifestyle. In the typical sitcom, these kinds of characters are usually background extras that provide the comedic situation for a bad date; while definitely quirky, each of The Big Bang Theory characters’ intelligence and desperate need for affection provide the necessary comedic relief.

The show’s contrasting use of pop culture and advanced scientific concepts is engaging and is augmented by guest appearances from Star Trek alums LeVar Burton, Will Wheaton, and a voice-over by the unparalleled Leonard Nimoy, as well as scientific celebrities Stephen Hawking and Neil DeGrasse Tyson, to name a few.

However, despite the unique nature of the show and it’s legitimately hilarious dialogue there are problematic elements to The Big Bang Theory and it’s a problem I’ve mentioned before: the use of stereotypes. Stereotypes are obviously an important part of comedy; the stereotype is a relatable way to demonstrate a familiar funny situation (or an unfamiliar one since I know few people as smart and neurotic as Sheldon Cooper). However, the stereotypes used in The Big Bang Theory often pigeon-hole women who aren’t physically appealing into socially awkward nerds with latent lesbian tendencies and traditionally beautiful women into uneducated sluts with bad taste in men.

Kaley Cuoco plays Penny, the third main character on The Big Bang Theory, who is a beautiful, young waitress and a bit of an airhead. There are a few disturbing moments on the show when Penny is condescended to by the male characters and is given lines to reflect an “I’m hot but stupid” mentality. Now, this isn’t to say that there aren’t some people in the world who are probably like this, but perhaps it wouldn’t be so noticeable on The Big Bang Theory if it wasn’t used so often with it’s female characters.

Kunal Nayyar, Melissa Rauch, Simon Helberg, Jim Parsons, Mayim Bialik, Johnny Galecki, Kaley Cuoco

In the first three seasons it’s especially noticeable as all of Penny’s beautiful friends are given similar characteristics, as are the beautiful women that the boys date. Even Bernadette (Melissa Rauch), Howard Wolowitz’s fiancé, who has a Ph.D in microbiology, is often typecast as an airhead who doesn’t understand a common sense principle as well as the boys.

Perhaps this is a good transition into the sexist mess that was the early Howard Wolowitz character. One of Sheldon and Leonard’s close friends, for the first four seasons Howard played the role of a disgusting, probably should be on a sex offender list somewhere, horny aerospace engineer. His goal was to get laid and so he lied to women, hired prostitutes, chased them down in a park, and was in general, completely repugnant for laughs. While the character has improved since the introduction of the Bernadette character and their marriage, for the first four seasons, Howard’s character ran rampant through the show, completely unchecked and without any repercussions for his behavior. If anything, there was a congratulatory sense to his actions, as if him hiring a prostitute and going back to his old ways of disrespecting women after a small breakup was something the audience should be sympathetic toward.

Howard’s character displays what I like to call the ‘Mad Men Principle:’ is a show sexist because it portrays sexist situations, or is it instead brilliantly self-aware and exposing sexism? In the case of Mad Men I would argue that yes, it is self-aware and exposing the massive amounts of sexism that was commonplace in the 1960’s. Does the same hold true for The Big Bang Theory?

I would say that in the early years of the show, no, it was sexist. For instance, take the episode “The Killer Robot Instability,” during this episode the sexually rapacious and unethical Howard Wolowitz says something incredibly inappropriate, wildly sexual and completely disrespectful to Penny for about the millionth time, yet when she tells him off, she’s the one who has to apologize for being rude. Despite the fact that Penny has now put up with Howard’s constant pick-up lines and overt sexual come-ons, when she finally stands up for herself and informs him that his behavior is inappropriate, she is the one in the wrong; this action validates Wolowitz’s inappropriate behavior and paves the way for him to continue being disgusting without consequences.

Or again, how Wolowitz treats his mother badly and demands that his girlfriend and wife cook and clean and care for him: the lovely Bernadette looks confused by his constant insistence that she do so, but continues to participate in his illusions about how she’s going to behave.

However, the show has gotten better the past few seasons; the characters feel more well-rounded, there are fewer jokes at Penny’s expense, and the “quick, try to bone every woman in sight” attitude from Wolowitz has subsided since his involvement with the Bernadette character. In fact, there was a moment of acknowledgment and apology for his past behavior in season five, an act of redemption that has put the show on the good side of the ‘Mad Men Principle’ for me.

Simon Helberg, Jim Parsons, Johnny Galecki, Kunal Nayyar

 In fact, the season four episode, “The Roommate Transmogrification,” started a clever role reversal featuring Wolowitz and Bernadette as she is offered a high-paying job at a pharmaceutical company. This job will make Bernadette the main ‘breadwinner’ in their relationship and spawns a situation where Bernadette treats him like a trophy wife. Similarly, in season five’s “The Shiny Trinket Maneuver,” Bernadette tells Wolowitz that she’s not sure she wants children, a problem that’s resolved by her compromise to have children if Wolowitz will stay home with them so she can continue her career. It’s obvious that this compromise is unacceptable to him, a fact that I appreciated since it was automatically assumed in the episode (as it so often is in life) that it’s the wife’s duty to give up her career and stay home with her children.

It seems glaringly obvious to make this point about a show who’s title references evolution, but the great evolution and development of The Big Bang Theory makes it, in my opinion, a well-thought out and intelligent sitcom. I’m hopeful that this deserving show will win a golden globe this year and that I’ll continue to laugh like the giant geek I am at every brilliant Star Trek joke that Sheldon Cooper makes. 

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

2013 Golden Globes Week: ‘The Deep Blue Sea’

Movie poster for The Deep Blue Sea, starring Rachel Weisz


This is a guest review by Eli Lewy.

Note: major spoilers!

Being passionate can make one feel like life has a purpose and is worth living but focusing solely on it can lead to destruction. Hester (Rachel Weisz) is married to an older, refined gentleman (Simon Russell Beale). When they share glances, he thinks her eyes are filled with love when in fact she is in the midst of inner turmoil. Hester is having an affair with dashing Royal Air Force pilot Freddie (Tom Hiddleston), with whom she experiences real love for the very first time. Her husband finds out about her indiscretions, and she begins to live her life with Freddie out in the open. Hester has gotten what she so desires, yet happiness is regrettably still out of reach.

Leaving her comfortable, affluent life with her husband behind, she wonders about what her father the vicar would say about her transgressions; her father who was so anchored in tradition and who felt that pining for the flesh is a sign of weakness, and perhaps more importantly, that it is more proper for men to do the loving. Hester firmly believes that Freddie is ‘the whole of life’ for her, and when she is not in his presence she is a faint shell of a human being. She spends most of her idle time staring out the window, motionless, waiting for her life to come home.

We are introduced to Hester’s volatile state of mind in the very beginning, when she reads out what first sounds like a heartfelt love letter to Freddie yet in reality is a suicide note. Hester has fallen deeply in love with a man who cannot love her the way she so desperately needs. Freddie is far too flighty and is clearly marked by the Second World War in which he served. Externally, she accepts this, keeping her cool composure, yet it drives her mad inside.

London in 1950, when The Deep Blue Sea is set, is not a lively city but one ravaged by war. The tragedy has afflicted everyone who were forced to live through it, and Hester’s romantic inclinations seem to clash with her subdued, pained environment. No one in her poised yet unnecessarily harsh surroundings seems to understand the importance of Hester’s passion — calling it ugly, unserious, and superficial. To Hester, it has given her life meaning. Her husband attempts to bargain with her, to make her see that there are more important things in life, but she is determined to choose this path, even though it may be the end of her. The notion of an adulteress suffering for her sins is ancient, yet the sheer brilliance of the characters’ inner worlds, and the beautiful acting choices made by all involved makes The Deep Blue Sea rise above the anachronistic moralistic tales. There is strength in Hester’s resolution to relentlessly love.

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Eli Lewy is a third culture kid and Masters student studying US Studies. She currently resides in Berlin. She is a movie addict and has a film blog which you can find under www.film-nut.tumblr.com.